An Elf's Open Letter to Santa

Dear Santa,

Waiting for Santa to fill their stockings,

For a few weeks now you’ve been making your appearances, shacked up at the mall with daytrips to schools, businesses, bars and more.  You’ve gobbled your share of cookies and slurped an unfathomable amount of cocoa.  You’ve had thousands of kids plopped on your lap, and probably been sneezed on, coughed on, cried on and maybe a few other less desirable things on you, too.  You still see the flashes when you close your eyes and by the end of the day your Ho, Ho, Ho! Is more of a croak, but you’re the star of the show, the CEO of Christmas. 

And I curse you Santa.

While you smile and wave at your adoring adorable fans, the elves, most of us taller than five feet and holding that adorable fan’s hand, do your bidding, and for Ho Ho Nothing.
 

While the story says we toil away in your Toy Shop all year for minimum wage in candy canes, in reality we have it a little better.  While the job is unpaid (and in fact costs quite a bit), it only takes about two months to complete.  But there are certainly challenges, especially with three of my four charges on the good list at any given time. 

Santa, have you considered our hours of brainstorming, making lists (and checking them twice, which by the way, I thought I was your job!), comparing each kid to make sure Santa doesn’t give one too much and another too little.  Then, more hours searching Amazon.com for good deals on items that ship free. Not to mention, Santa, there’s the risk of looking like a shoplifter when trying to sneak an item in your cart while shopping with your kids.  And then, looking a bit loopy at the register, as the item is exposed for the world to see before it’s scanned and bagged, and you’re trying to distract the kids by getting them to look elsewhere, “Hey, is that uncle Casey?”  “Look at that!” “I think your shoe is untied”, only to have the cashier hold the item up and ask if you want it bagged. Curse you as well, Target.

There’s hiding items in your house and making those areas off limits to certain people, which makes said certain people even more interested in said area.  “Don’t open that closet!”  “Why, Mom?” “I think I saw a huge spider in there… and a bat, and probably a snake or porcupine…”.  

There’s the godforsaken wrapping. It takes hours to do, and they have it littering the living room in about 3 minutes on Christmas morning. Santa, can’t you just be lazy one year?  Send out a little press release that you’re saving trees for Christmas and no gifts will be wrapped? Just a thought.

Mr. Claus, it’s a lot of work to be your elf.  But you can keep your cozy, red velvet seat, and your cookie crumb beard and peppermint breath.  Because, even though it’s tedious, and tiring, and, so dang expensive, I’ll keep up the charade for as long as I can.  While it would be nice for the elves to get credit for making it all happen, the truth would set the magic free.   The stuffed stockings in the morning would just be a tradition without the anticipation, the stories, the letter writing, and the terrified faces of toddlers asked to sit on your strange lap for the first time. 

But, if you don’t mind, Santa, I have a request.  All I want for Christmas is for my mostly good little boys and girl to keep on believing.  The oldest is 9 and I know time is running out – but a couple more years of tucking her in with sugar plums dancing in her head would be much appreciated.  A few more years of the boys waking us up to tell us Santa came would be great.  And most importantly, being able to use “Santa’s watching” to instantly stop whatever troublesome thing
they’re up to for a while longer would definitely make my day. 

Sincerely,

Angie Elf 

Spin Cycle: Lessons in a Messy House

Standing at the sink, trying to figure out how to fit the day's 32^nd cup into the dishwasher rack that holds a maximum of 30, my almost 4 year old runs into the kitchen with legitimate excitement, wiggles his little orange and gray toes and announces “I found matching socks!”.  There’s crumbs and dirt (so much dirt, that is in no doubt related to the dirt/mud/ice/snow driveway we have right now), there are piles of tractor pictures on every flat surface, along with a baseball hat, mate-less glove, a half eaten granola bar.  Eeew.  And that is just the kitchen.

It’s not that I’m a bad housekeeper (I tell myself).  In fact, before we had kids, even in college, our house was always clean, my husband never had to wear damp from the dryer pants to work and the kitchen sinks were empty – even though we didn’t have a dishwasher.  How did it all go downhill so quickly?

I don’t think its laziness.  From about 6:20AM to 10PM I’m always doing something: the off-to-school rush, the banishment to my office for hours, after school chaos, dinner, homework, practice spelling and vocab, bath time, read stories to all four of them, tuck them in, make lunches for tomorrow, chase the kids out of the bathroom and back to bed, check out and/or clean up whatever science experiment they started in there, then finally sit down on the couch about 8:30PM and plan my work for the next day, make a grocery/birthday/Christmas/whatever is coming list until I put down my pen at 10PM for the news.

I wonder if the house would be neater if there were more hours in the day to get stuff done, then I realize that would just give the kids more time to mess it up.  So, while the “Mom Scouts” are off earning their badges in sock-matching, sink scrubbing and crumbless carpets, I decided to do what I do best, spin.

In my day job as a marketing professional I get to frame products and services to give them a purpose, and make them sound appealing or desirable.

My “spinspiration” came during parenting time at my youngest’s ECFE class, we were discussing the building blocks of math, and one of the first math skills kids learn is to group, match and organize items, recognizing similarities and differences.  How could I deny this learning opportunity to my offspring by matching their socks for them? And, what other important lessons can be learned from my shotty housekeeping.

So far, I've found a few lessons in my messy house:

1.  Perhaps when the 5-year-old can’t find clean pants because he put his clean clothes on his bed, instead of in his drawers, like I asked him to, asking him where he put them results in critical thinking and recognizing sequence of events.

2.  Maybe when there are only 4 forks left in the drawer because I haven’t yet emptied the clean dishwasher, figuring out how many are needed and finding them in the dishwasher is subtraction and addition.

3.  The investigation into the spilled juice that has mostly glued my foot to the floor is probably a good attempt at storytelling or persuasive speech, and cleaning it up anyway, is a good lesson in personal responsibility.

4.  The thin coating of dust on everything is most likely a better, organic immune system booster than vitamin C, I think I read… somewhere.

5.  The little pebbles that find their way in the house in the grooves of their boots serve to toughen our tootsies, no soft soled sissies here.

6.  Hurtling the heap of winter outdoor clothes that never seem to stay on their hooks most definitely improves agility and balance.

7.  Finding their homework in the tower of paper that arrives home in three backpacks each Friday afternoon teaches determination.

8.  When there’s no cups left for that 3^rd or 4^th glass of milk or juice in a day, Finding and rinsing the cup you used for drinks 1, 2 or 3 seems like problem solving to me.

9.  The mom’s fed up with all the toys everywhere and you have 10 seconds to get it in your room countdown is a daily lesson on how to count backwards.

10.  Avoiding discipline for the latest act of destruction: coloring on the wall, gum in the carpet, is a good start for Law Concepts 101 – pleading the fifth, deflecting blame, or pleading mom’s insanity (But Mom, it’s been there forever!).

11.  The long lived leftovers in the fridge, a science experiment in progress and quite possibly the next best thing since penicillin.

I’m still trying to spin a few things, like the clumps of SpongeBob toothpaste that magically appear on the bathroom sink daily and the tiny scraps of paper that look like a notebook had its own surprise party and didn’t clean up. 

I can tell myself how nicely the sandy dirt from the backdoor that trails into our kitchen exfoliates my feet while I cook dinner, but really the spin is just a final last attempt to not feel rotten about having a house that could probably apply for national disaster assistance 350 out of 365 days a year.  Trying to keep a clean house with 4 kids under 10 is a challenge, and when you’re not passionate about spotless windows and clutter-free counters, it’s nearly impossible. 

So I’ll try not to be jealous and maybe a tiny bit ashamed when the Mom Scouts parade around with their sashes full of super mom/housekeeper badges.  Instead, I’ll focus on my achievements in other motherly things. 

For example, my kids eat well, the freezer has just meat, veggies and a tub or two of ice cream, one may be coffee flavored (in other words, mine).  But, there are no frozen pizzas or chicken nuggets, if we have those I make them from scratch, that ought to count for something.  And probably is the reason I have so many dishes to do all the time. 

I write a note for their lunch boxes each day, I read to them all each night, really look at their pictures, even if it’s the 40^th green tractor of the day.  I remember, most of the time, to thank them or tell them about a good thing they did that day.  We talk about what’s on the evening news, even if it’s a bit scary, because I think, as they grow the more “reality” they know the better and being the one to explain the scary and strange things to them is important to me.

I demand their best, congratulate them on the best tries and help them understand their failures, so they can get better the next time. I come up with fun ways to remember their spelling words, for my 2^nd grade boy, that almost always includes potty humor.  I try to make their birthdays special by drawing their decorations, designing and constructing cakes and making the food they want.  I discipline them. I show them I love them.  And, I think, I hope, that when they’re grown, they’ll remember all that more than the daily search for matching socks and the towers of pieces of papers in our messy house.

Broken Promise Land

The boys lake side on Superior, drift wood construction and a little agate hunting.

On occasion, my heart writes checks the bank of time, and sometimes money, can’t cash.  Sometimes this happens more often than I like.  Sometimes, so often, the broken promises litter the living room floor like candy wrappers on Halloween night.  Welcome to Broken Promise Land.

Well, they aren't exactly “promises”, but close enough for the under 10 crowd.  You give a kid the slightest hope for something fun and they take it to heart and mind.  Anticipation and expectations bloom in little minds that have yet to grow the weeds of constraint, like us grown-ups.  Their ideas become lush and colorful gardens, while ours resemble my real “I know there’s a tomato under this lamb’s quarter somewhere!” garden.  The weeds: our bills, obligations, lack of time, all steal from the anticipation and expectations to make an idea more realistic – not in itself disappointing, but less likely to disappoint if it doesn't work out.  For instance, finding that tomato in my garden has already been eaten by the resident garden worm.  Oh well.

But even knowing this, I like to think big, make plans and occasionally let them slip to the kids.   Rookie mistake, I realize, but I greedily want their excited little faces when they hear it and, I don’t have the patience to wait. 

This summer I told the kids *if they were good* I’d take them down to Lake Superior once a week when we go to town to run errands. They like to splash on the shore, find agates, build forts out of drift wood. It’s fun, and free.  We made it there three times.  In 12 weeks.  They weren't that good a couple of weeks, but it’s a lot to ask for them to behave while I work during the day.  A couple times the weather or T-ball games got in the way, but sometimes it was my fault, too much to do, not enough time to play. 

We also promised the kids a camping trip this summer.  We had it marked on the calendar, and of course picked the weekend of a torrential rainstorm with no back-up weekend available before school started.  I was just as disappointed as the kids were.  The last couple years the camping memories have been the best of summer and I’ll miss not seeing a 2014 trip in our photo album.  Maybe next year we can go twice.  Better not mention that to the kids.

I’m sure there are some lessons to learn in Broken Promise Land.  The old sales mantra of “under promise, over deliver” comes to mind.   Or maybe the kids could learn “you can’t always get what you want” without even knowing who the Rolling Stones are.  And recently, my oldest boy pointed out an advantage of his own, he mentioned that when I tell him he’s grounded for a week it never lasts that long, to which his big sister gave him a swift elbow to the ribs and said “Luke! Shush!”.

I want my kids to be able to keep their boundless anticipation and excitement for as long as possible.  So there’s not much I can do but make one more promise, no fingers crossed, to do better on following through on the fun stuff…and, maybe on the discipline too.

What to Expect When You Lose What You're Expecting

I didn't know pregnancy loss had "a month" until my facebook news feed was filled with supportive and touching images the last few weeks, claiming October for awareness.  One image said the purpose was to "start the conversation about pregnancy loss".  That line struck me. Before giving birth to four kids, I lost two pregnancies and at the time of the first loss, I knew only of an aunt who had lost pregnancies, but I was too young at the time to really understand or remember what it all meant.  I didn't have anyone to talk to, ask questions or get a little reassurance.

I had considered doing a blog post on this topic since I started this blog, but I was never sure how to form it. The "starting a conversation" phrase inspired me.  I'm also a big believer in "signs" and at the beginning of this month I was reading the novel "What Alice Forgot", about a woman who wakes from a head injury and has lost 10 years of year memory.  As I was reading I wondered what that would be like if I woke up thinking it was 10 years ago, and realized if I did it would be during the most devastating time of my life so far, on the eve of the DNC for my second loss.  It took me a little time to gather my thoughts and feelings for this blog.  And please understand, these are my experiences with first trimester loss, and I don't mean to say this is what happens to other women, and I don't think I could ever comprehend the heartache and devastation of a loss later in pregnancy.

The following insight is what to expect when you lose what you're expecting, told through my stories of loss.

1. Expect the Loss of Innocence

My husband and I were road-tripping to the West Coast as expectant parents on a our belated honeymoon, and as we drove the coast the spotting started, and then the loss itself.  We were far from home, and I was feeling like my poor baby was being buried by way of gas station toilet as we traveled home.  It was reality I'd not experienced before.  Life's not perfect or easy, but it had never been this hard.  It had never been this personal.  To have something so magical dashed away.  It was an awakening for me.  A real loss of innocence.  The first time I really felt like I had to deal with a serious adult situation.   We'd been listening to the Big and Rich CD, "Horse of a Different Color" as we drove and the song "Holy Water" put words to how I was feeling so perfectly:

"Somewhere there's a stolen halo, I used to watch her wear it well.  Everything would shine whereever she would go.  But looking at her now you'd never tell.  Someone ran away with her innocence.  A memory she can't get out of her head. I can only imagine what she's feeling when she's praying.  Kneeling at the edge of her bed".   [Read the full lyrics] [Listen to the song]

2. Expect Kindness by Surprise 

I come from a rather non-heart on the sleeve type family, we feel deeply, we just don't display it in soap opera flair, wailing draped over a bed or with wild-eyed fist pounding and cries of "Whhhhyyy".  So I shouldn't have expected that kind visual of reaction when my family heard of the loss, but I think it needed someone to show me it was okay to feel as horrible as I did.  No one did.  Until one day, I get a big envelope in the mail with a sweet little book, about better days head, from the wife of my husband's good friend.  That single, simple act of kindness allowed me to validate my feelings and I'm forever grateful for that.

3. Expect a Bad Timing Breakdown

People are curious and they want to ask questions - either as a way to show they care or just because they are nosy.  However, they don't always interrogate you at the appropriate time.  For example, my second loss was in early October.  A couple months later at Christmas dinner, at a table of no less than a dozen people, my aunt asks "so what happened with your pregnancy?"  My second loss was unusual, a rare molar pregnancy and I got a lot of questions about it, but that day, as the table grew quiet and I tried to explain, the tears began to flow and I felt like a fool.  What my aunt didn't know was because of this type of loss there was an extensive follow up period that I was still enduring....

4. Expect Inconsiderate People

Shortly after my second loss, my employers (a married couple) announced that they were pregnant and due a month after what was supposed to be my due date.  This couple just happened to be childhood friends and college roommates of my husband.  I wasn't upset about their pregnancy, but my work environment transformed in to a mine field. Because they were friends they knew the details of both losses, but empathy was lost on them.

I should explain a molar pregnancy is very rare, and only occurs in 1 in 1500 pregnancies. It's when two sperm fertilize one egg resulting in a whole extra set of chromosomes.  The baby fails to develop early on, but the placenta grows fast giving you all the appropriate pregnancy symptoms.  Because of the extra "information" the placenta is more like a tumor that can grow through your uterus and attach to other organs.  One in five molar pregnancies turns cancerous.  Not many years ago the fix was a hysterectomy.  Now the treatment is a very through and painful DNC to remove every single cell, necessary to prevent regrowth.  It's impossible to tell if every cell is removed in surgery, so for months you have to return to the lab weekly for a blood draw to make sure your HCG hormone level is going down.  You're also given birth control and told you can't "try again" for a year.

My friends knew this.  Every Friday, I'd spend my lunch hour at the clinic lab waiting to get my blood drawn and then the afternoon waiting for my "is it cancer?" call.  I did this for three months.  The lab didn't take appointments and I was on occasion 5-15 minutes late returning, at one point I was told to keep track of those minutes so they could be deducted from my sick days (regardless that I was salaried and came early/worked late regularly).  Our office plan was open, no cubicles and the female boss's desk was just 10 feet or so from mine.  More times than I cared to bear, the pregnant lady from the office next door would come over and hang out at my boss's desk to chat.  They would discuss symptoms, baby showers, whether they could ride a snowmobile or not, all while I would practically draw blood biting my lip trying not to cry.  I'd then go home a wreck to my dear husband who put up with more sadness than anyone should have to. I didn't expect to be treated with kid gloves, but a little discretion would have been nice.

5. Expect a Rock

Expect your spouse to not share or show their emotions - or at least not in the way you expect them to.  I knew my husband was upset and sad, but I also saw his greatest concern was for me.  Having a baby (in the first trimester) was still a little abstract for him, but his tenderness toward me let me know he understood even if it wasn't the same for him.

6. Expect Your Spouse to Feel Helpless

Whether your loss is natural and spontaneous or requires medical treatment, the whole process is out of your spouse's hands.  My knight in shining armor didn't know  how to come to my rescue.  I needed to say what I needed from him, which was really just his presence and love.

7. Expect to Want to Know Why

With both losses I needed a reason,  not just a physical "why" reason, but a spiritual reason - an understanding of the purpose of the loss.  My first loss at 7 weeks was a spontaneous miscarriage, I don't know the physical reason for that loss - was it something I did?  Was it the long drive to the west coast?  Walking on the lower oxygen mountains?  But, with this loss, I understood soon after, the spiritual reason  - which was to need my new husband in a way I never had before. I had been his shoulder during a health situation with this dad, but I'd never been the one one needing a shoulder.  This loss showed me how well my husband could care for me, how tender he could be, how available he was when I needed him most.  All important things to know about your spouse and the father of your kids.  I feel my first loss was a lesson in this way.  My second loss, I know the physical reason, but 10 years later, still wonder what the spiritual purpose of that prolonged devastation was.

8. Expect to Cry Yourself to Sleep

Bedtime was the worst for me, especially after the second loss.  For months, maybe longer, the thoughts and dreams that entertained me as I drifted off to sleep were of  the future and of course they included having children.  Given the "you can't try again for a year" instruction, it literally felt like the doctor had sucked the dreams out of me with the "unviable tissue".  And I would cry. Every night. For a long time.

9.  Expect to Want to Fill the Empty

The DNC left me physically and mentally empty.  A hole I couldn't figure out how to fill, until one night I ate so much at a restaurant I felt like I could burst - and as horrible as that felt, I realized when I was that full it was pretty impossible to feel empty in any way. In my desperate sadness this became an easy answer, so for months I ate until I couldn't.  I gained 20lbs, which 10 years later still hangs on me.  I've gained and lost the weight with each of my kids, except this 20lbs and I'm starting to wonder if I'm subconsciously hanging on to it as the only thing I have left from those pregnancies.  Or maybe I'm just extra creative in coming up with excuses.

10. Expect to Hear Things You'll Feel Bad About

My sister is a year younger than me and got married a year after me, and when I was having trouble with my pregnancies, she told me that our dad told her not to rush into having babies while I was going through this.  Sure it would have been incredibly hard to have my younger sister pregnant as I was struggling but I never thought about how my losses would impact others out of courtesy for me, and I felt bad. And in all honesty, a little good too, for the misdirected concern.

11. Expect Due Date Anxiety

Early losses fade and it seemed like just as I was starting to feel normal the due date was upon us, bringing me back to the sadness.  We were supposed to be doing something so amazing and important on that day, and now it's just your average Wednesday.

12.  Expect Life to Go On

The hardest part of the early loss for me was that the baby was only "real" to me.  You have to go back to work and back to normal with this inner ache that most around you don't understand and don't care to discuss.  Your sadness has to be limited to your own time and the normalcy of the world around you seems so hard to fit into.  Remembering to act "like yourself" is tiring, but having people ask you if you're feeling okay because you look down, and then having (or wanting to, but can't) explain that it's more than what they expect to be wrong with you, is even worse.

13. Expect to See Babies Everywhere

One of the cruel facts of life is that you notice things in your environment because your brain is tuned into them.  When you lose a baby you see all the babies and pregnant ladies - they practically glow.  There's always a pregnant women in line with you at the store or crossing in front of you on the street.  After my second loss, not only were the boss and next-door lady pregnant, but a month later another employee announced that his wife was pregnant with twins. I thought I was going to have to chain myself to my desk to keep from jumping out the window.

14. Expect the Guilt & Feeling of Failure

When a loss begins you immediately being spinning all the scenarios of what caused it in your head.  "I shouldn't  have drove over the mountains", "I had to slam on the brakes because of that idiot driver, could that have done it?", "Did I eat deli meat!?".  You worry you did something wrong.  The guilt and feeling of failure are so personal.  You let everyone down.  It was your fault, you were trusted to grow this baby and you messed it up.  The logical part of your brain and Google will tell you this isn't true, but you can't help how you feel.

15. Expect to Be Angry and Annoyed

People try to come up with things to say that are supposed to make you feel better.  For me it made me feel angry and annoyed.  "You're still a mom to a baby in heaven."  Well, I didn't want a baby in heaven.  I can't smell that baby or rock that baby.  I can't see or hear that baby and while it's a sweet sentiment, it just reminds me of what I'm missing.  Do moms of babies in heaven go to kindergarten round-up 5 years later? Or have kid size hand prints on their windows?  Yes, those souls will have a home in my heart for eternity, but I'm not their mom in the way I want to be. Sometimes words make it worse. Sometimes a simple hug can say it better.


The burden of sadness from losing a pregnancy is something many women experience.  Whether you're alone in your grief or share it with those close to you, no one can fully understand your feelings - the mix of shock, sadness, guilt, anger and loss of the lifetime of dreams you had for that child can't be described or shared like it can with the loss of a living family member.  In a lot of ways, even with a support system, you're alone in sorting out and managing your feelings.  And it's okay to wallow in them.

It's also okay to share your story - to start the conversation - for those women just now going through the pain of a pregnancy loss.  You may say something that gives them a sense of comfort or at least the benefit of knowing what they are experiencing isn't unusual.   So if you would like, please feel free to comment below with your experiences.  Maybe our words can help someone who stumbles on this blog during their search for answers about their loss.

Not everyone gets the happy ending that I did, and my heart breaks for those people.  We're so fortunate in these modern times to have options when it comes to becoming a parent, from medical interventions to adoption and beyond. I hope those suffering through a loss right now can find the peace they need with it - an understanding, a reason or an acceptance that helps them move on.

Where Did My Words Go?

As a mom, I'm used to misplacing things, or more likely having things I've placed moved by a small person that little old ladies in any store, ever, like to call "little helpers".  I'm relatively certain they are responsible for my newest "missing" article - but it's a hard one to pin on them...  my words are missing.

I found something I'd written a decade ago, nothing of importance, except that it was pre-kid and it was amazing.  Complex thoughts combined intelligently in a series of sentences that used words I don't even remember knowing.  I had to look twice to make sure I really did write it. 

These days, I get a little edgy when it's time to practice the weekly vocab with my 3rd grader.  Sure I know what the words mean but can I define them?  I'm lucky to be able to string a verbal sentence together without an awkward pause or the words "thingy" and "stuff".  What happened?!

I read, I work, I communicate with grown people on a daily basis and even though my poor, tired brain has been steeped in baby babble for the last 7.5 years, I should still be able to communicate like an educated person... yet, no.

I can almost feel the words I used to know wiggling in my brain.  Like a caterpillar just about to emerge as a butterfly.  When I'm trying to use them in conversation, I know they're in there... they're a whisper I can't quite hear.  I just can't catch them.  Where did my words go?  I wonder if years of reading children's books, followed by sleepless nights, has caused the smart parts of my brain to lock themselves in a safe room until the onslaught of Dr. Suess and Pete the Cat subside.  Every once in a while a good word will slip out (re: see "onslaught" above), but when that happens I just think the ol' gray matter is testing the waters.  A little "If we let you have your brain back, will you use it properly?" trial period. No Brain, not yet. It's fall/winter/spring kid sickness season now, we won't sleep right until March, don't expect too much on the intellectual front.

Should I care that I need to nod and smile when someone is raving or ranting about their amazing... (what's a good word like adventure... but not really adventure... we'll just go with...) thingy... raving or ranting about their thingy with words I no longer know?  Excuse me, I speak mommy now, can you please keep it to words with less than six letters and make it rhyme?

I debated on investing in a word of the day calendar to try to sound interesting again, but considering it's the middle of October and my monthly calendar still says September, I believe that may be a waste of money. 

So bear with me, as I rely on my kids' weekly vocab lessons to rebuild my vocabulary 10 words at a time and if I look confused when you explain something that doesn't include counting shapes or feature talking animals, just dumb it on down to "thingy" and "stuff" and I'll try to catch up!

Made With Love

I'm a big proponent of DIY projects that save me money.  I make my kid's birthday cakes and decorations.  I get a little crafty around the holidays and when it comes to Halloween hand-made is the only way to go.

Luke as SpongeBob, Layna is Ariel and Jake was a "peanut".

Even when I want to be lazy and buy costumes, a stroll through Target's Halloween aisle reminds me at $35 a pop (x4 = $140... I guess we won't eat for a week), a little nighttime crafting is the only way to go for costumes.  Made with love... in other words I burned my self with the glue gun 5 times putting together this Sponge Bob costume, I don't care if it's not cartoon accurate, you're wearing it.

My parents are DIYers.  The difference being they had legitimate talent.  My mom made our clothes, costumes and even my wedding dress.  My dad made our dressers - one of which is still used by my daughter almost 30 years later. Unlike yours truly they made things that deserved to be cherished, and I did.  Now my kids get the benefit of their hard work, with blankets, stuffed animals and clothes from grandma and wooden garages for the boys trucks, and a wood cradle for my daughters dolls.  Amid rooms of store bought junk, I had to explain the special value in something made by hand.  I asked my kids to imagine the item being made for them, how much time and effort it and the whole time it was being crafted they were being thought of. The time dedicated just to them - with them even being there, that's worth more than gold.

The things I make don't have the longevity to be cherished.  The cakes are gone in hours, the poster board decorations last on their bedrooms walls for a few months and the costumes are lucky to last through the couple Halloween functions we attend.  The kids almost always like the things I make them, and sometimes they even turn out "cool!".

I've found that one of the side effects of the affliction of parenthood is the evaporation of hobbies. I was asked at an ECFE class last week to introduce myself and share hobbies and interests, the only thing I could come up with is "I read sometimes, I think"... are karaoke and wine hobbies?  I have the best intentions to resume my pre-kid hobbies, but now, time is always filled with school and work and the fact that my family feels I should prepare them dinner every single night.

For now my only real hobby is making things for my kids' birthdays, Halloween and holidays. Party planning their theme lets me harken back to my pre-kid creative craftiness. Making crazy cakes, drawing characters for decorations or figuring out how to make a 4 year old into a 4-wheeler for Halloween. It's glue gun burns, marker stained fingers and scissor cramped hands, but I love it... because I love them.  I love finishing a project and setting it up in the living room so it's the first thing they see in the morning, their excitement is only motivation I need to do it again.  I hope they can look back on the photos someday and laugh at the hilarity of some of the results, but mostly realize how much love and thought was in those goofy projects.





Here are a few of my favorite DIYs:

Cinderella & BamBam, who wasn't as impressed
 with his costume as the princess.

Phineas (from & Ferb), a paperdoll and "camo"
(that's a thing right?)

Word Girl & Mickey Mouse

Jake's Pirate Party (Jake & the Neverland Pirates)

Layna's Alice & Wonderland Party, a true labor of love.

Rapunzel Party, I have to admit - girl parties are more fun.

Luke's Construction Party, complete with "Big Bad Worker"
safety vests.

Matt's Curious George Party.  The felt George Wall decor
actually lasted a year on his bedroom wall.

Jake's first birthday - puppy party.
Saran Wrap & Gel frosting don't mix. Starbursts make good tongues.

Tractor Party. The hay bales were the best part.

Matt's 1st birthday - Winter Party with

Polar Bear Cake & Penquin Truffles.

Flower Garden Party - to the right is a "prize garden"
where the kids picked treats to fill their bags.

Summer Fun is Learning in Disguise, and 7 Other Lessons from Summer Vacation

Summer always holds so much promise in May:  Almost every weekend is free and the options for fun are endless, if only time and money came as easy as the good ideas.

Working at home, summer is as much of a hassle as it is fun.  My productivity slides as hand-washing turns into a water fight and reading into a wrestling match.  I'm convinced school was invented to preserve the lives of younger siblings, more than it was for education.

Now as the backpacks are loaded and lined up for the morning hustle, I'm in a bit of denial that summer is over.  Every weekend was full, lots of money was spent, but many of my summer "must-do's" have been left undone.   Every summer seems to end this way, as the last of the sand slips through your fingers, and the school year saddles you for another nine months.

For me, the perfect summer remains elusive, but the kids seem to find a little fun in each day, and through them I'm reminded what summer vacation is all about.  Here's what they taught me this year:

1. 3 Months is Only 12 Weeks (or so)
As soon as the last school bell rings, the clock starts ticking down. I remember driving by the electric billboard at school a few days ago, in June and seeing "School Starts September 2nd", and thinking "Ahhh, we have the whole summer".  Last week I drove by it and was panic-stuck when I realized we only had 4 days left!  The time in between just evaporated. I blame all the plans and activities: T-ball, parties, fairs, day trips, family events... all things we wanted to do, but all taking time to plan and participate, leaving just a few "dog days" to relax and do nothing.  The lesson, you may have time to do it all, but you won't have time to do nothing.

2. Summer In Two Words:  Hot Dogs
Turns out you can actually survive on grilled processed meat for three months straight. Food cooked outdoors always tastes better, especially because Daddy is the grill master in our house.  The lesson, summer tastes like hot dogs and brats...with the occasional pasta salad.

3. It's Never Too Cold To Swim
I'd be surprised to hear that we cracked 80 degrees for more than 10 days this summer, but the same kids that are "frrrrreeeeezzzing" when the house is 67 degrees in the winter are doing "canyon balls" (as they call them) into the pool when it's only 65 degrees outside. The lesson, don't let a little weather ruin a pool day.

4. Rain Makes Mud, Mud Makes Messy
Messy makes my babies... the most happy. Even bad summer weather has a silver lining - mud is always fun, even when mom has to dig it out of your ear canal.  The lesson, washing machines are a necessary and important investment.  If you're feeling extra economical, you can pre-treat in the pool.

5. Walks Rock
Even though I moonlight as a "stay-at-home" mom, behind closed doors there's a computer with demanding (while lovely) clients who usually need something yesterday or at the latest tomorrow.  The kids get bored with me working, so to break up the day we'd go outside  for short periods during my typical work day and burn off a little energy.  The favorite activity was walking our dirt road searching for agates, and we'd always find some, along with other pretty rocks.  The lesson, when the house can't contain you anymore, take a walk for rocks.

6. Nothing Can Be Anything
When the kids are being good and I think "now's the time to get stuff done!" Sometimes laziness intervenes and I'm privy to the hilarity of my kids' imaginations - whether the boys are pretending to be my husband and his friends - driving tractors and baling hay or my daughter is making sand cookies to peddle to her "hard-working" brothers, taking the time to watch them always makes me smile.  Sometimes, I even laugh out loud, like a rainy day they all donned sunglasses, vests, old walkie talkies and toy pistols as they stealthy crept along the walls, agents with the "FBI", in search of sneaky snake (that was just an old plastic snake).  Perhaps a better job for animal control, but the FBI got him. The lesson, for the kids nothing can be anything, for me the "anything" is as precious as it is hilarious.

7. Summer's Just Enough Time To Not Severely Injure Your Sibling.
Summer vacation is the perfect time for the "nights and weekends" siblings during the school year, to reconnect.  To remember why they love each other, and shortly there after to remember why they despise each other.  By the end of July, the sharing and caring wears thin and being shacked up with siblings for weeks on end gets old.  The joy of togetherness fades until the kids can't decide what piece of living room furniture to sit on without a wrestling match.  They hide the remote from each other so many times they can't find it when their dad gets home and for some reason the busted toy pick-up with the missing seats and no hood is suddenly the most desirable vehicle out of 2,173 to play with.  The battles continue outdoors, in deciding who gets to throw the ball for the dog, who gets to open the mailbox and who gets to use what shovel in the sandbox. School and it's age segregating structure keeps the kids from each other for 8+ hours a day, ensuring the youngest survive until the older siblings are too cool to play with them anyway.  The lesson, it's quite possible school saves you trips to the ER and a mental breakdown or two.

8.  The Growing Season
For 9 months kids are behind locked doors learning, but for 3 months they are home growing.  All the walking, swimming and biking does a kid body good, but they're also growing in other ways - without being told what to do at all times, they get to do what they want, developing their personality, confidence and imagination.  And being home to help with chores, they learn skills that serve them well all their life. I can't believe how much my kiddos grew and changed this summer. The lesson, summer fun is learning in disguise.

I (like most parents, I imagine) want my kids to have the best summer vacation.  Yet, the work that goes into planning the "big stuff" seems to zap the fun out of it. Or, even after creating the perfect outing/event/activity the kids aren't nearly as impressed with the idea as you were.

I guess the ideas left on my list will keep until next summer, but to make me feel better I asked the kids if they had a good summer and got a resounding "yes", whew!  They loved the fairs, parties and day trips, but they all agreed on enjoying the little things, especially have a "huge" swimming pool this year (I guess 30" deep is huge when you're under 10).  As sad as it seems to let summer go, fall is filled with it's own kind of fun and lessons to learn, and if you can't find anything to do, I know from experience you can make mud all year long.

#2 with a Side of Guilt...

A short nine months after our daughter was born, I discovered I was pregnant with Baby #2.  I would say it was a surprise, but we'd just put our house on the market and my husband specifically said "You better not get pregnant!", which is a clear opportunity for the universe to say, "You're not the boss of me!".  Sure enough, two weeks later I had to check the package twice to make sure the two pink lines meant "baby-on-board."

In the early weeks the idea of two kids didn't really phase me, "everyone" has two kids, right?  What's the big deal? But as my daughter grew and our daily activities and rituals became more routine, the idea of bringing home a baby created a feeling I didn't expect, a big heaping, helping of guilt.

Being a mom of one is easy to remember compared to trying to remember the early days with my other kids. Early morning wake-ups, followed by snuggling in bed, eating breakfast, holding a napping baby while I worked, breaking for The View for me and a bottle for baby. It was an easy schedule - a little of what I needed, a little of what she needed.

One morning I was balancing a bowl of Corn Pops on my baby belly, my daughter tucked to one side of me, mesmerized by some toy she was holding, when I realized soon it wouldn't be just us taking turns with daylight hours. Pretty soon there'd be a tiny person who needed me "now" and my little girl would have to wait.  And it made me feel awful. It made me cry.  It made me think "What have I done!"  And each sweet moment we had began to feel like the last, and in some ways, they were.

We sold our house just in time.  I was 4cm dilated and contracting every hour, but we closed and moved and I lasted a whole week longer until my doctor decided I live too far from a hospital to be so dilated and contracting with a toddler while my husband worked 45 minutes away.  The morning I went in to be induced was heart wrenching, I felt this was the day my little girl's world changes forever and it's all my fault. It was hard to be excited for a new baby when I was sure I'd condemned my daughter to a life of "just a minute!", which translates to "I don't have time for you, I'm too busy with this noisy poop machine."

Bringing our new son home didn't really help my feelings.  Everyone was fine with our new dynamic but me.  My daughter was instantly the "Best Sister Ever".  A little mommy if there ever was one.  She was 18 months old and ready for independence, so having mommy occupied was a welcome reprieve from singing Old MacDonald for the 200th time.

She found all sorts of fun while I was glued to the couch with my shirt half off feeding her brother.  One day she made an indoor sandbox out of her brother's baby rice cereal. (Tip: Don't ever try to vacuum that stuff.)

I held on to the guilt for a few months, I clearly remember the day it went away.  It was a really hot day, the baby was in his little chair and I was snapping the day's obligatory new baby photos when my daughter came over, the breeze from the fan blowing her wispy hair back.  She smooched her brother as I snapped away.  It wasn't until that night, as I was clicking through the pictures that this shot stopped me and I finally understood.  As I looked at these tiny people interacting I finally saw what she had, instead of what she lost. She had a brother who, seven years later, is her best friend (most days) and her back-up whenever she needs it.  She gained someone to love and be loved by, and she has someone to turn to if she can't turn to Mom and Dad.  You would think as someone who has three younger siblings herself that I would have known this from the start (hormone clouded judgement?).

I also realized that trying to be the best mom for one kid is very different than trying to be the best mom for two or more kids.  With one kid you are 50% of their everything.  With more kids you're only 33%, 25% or less.  You still give all the love, but you don't have to be the entertainment, shoulder, snuggler, teacher, playmate all the time... sometimes to your dismay. Siblings are happy to jump into those roles, and others... antagonist, irritater, toy breaker.

I'd like to say I scraped the rest of that side of guilt into the garbage and was done with it, but I managed to store some to reheat with the births of brothers #2 and #3. With the younger brothers it was more of an appetizer than a side dish, easily forgotten once the meal arrived.

Even now I find a crumb or two of guilt laying around, especially when I realize how little one-on-one time I get with the kids.  But as I listen to them playing some made up game down the hall I think, maybe that's just me missing it, they are too busy having fun with each other.

The Sound of Quiet

In my house quiet is hard to come by.  With young kids (three quarters of them boys) and a dog, the volume of our house regularly reaches unsafe levels.  I often threaten to wear ear plugs, but as most moms know, hearing (or not hearing anything) is part of a mom's anti-danger awareness system which goes on high-alert when your eyes are otherwise occupied, and I can't safely turn that off.

Last week, my parents, bless their angelic souls, had all four of the kids to their house for a week (a whole week!!).  They've had two or three of them in the years past, but this year, the youngest is potty trained and they all got to go.  It was the first time in 8.5 years I had no children at home with me.  And, it was quiet.

There were no truck noises, no fighting, no "Mom! So-and-so won't let me blah-blah-blah".  There was no me yelling for them to be quiet only to hear "What?! We can't hear you! We're being to loud!", followed by sounds of my head banging off the wall. Of course there were none of the good noises either: the giggles, silly sayings and sweet "Mom, I love you"s. But... there was quiet.

I almost forgot it existed during the daylight hours.

When it was quiet, I heard the wind in the trees, the birds chirping away, the laundry thumping in the dryer downstairs, and  I heard myself think!  I went hours without having to speak.  No twenty questions to answer, no over dramatic punishments to threaten - "No dessert for a year!".  I didn't have to hold a press conference to announce the evenings menu, so I wasn't asked 5 separate times while I was preparing it:

"Thank you for attending this evening's dinner press conference.  The menu tonight will be a Roasted Red Pepper Pasta with Chicken, salad and garlic bread. Any questions? --- Yes, you four in the front row."
In unison: "Are there onions in it?"
"No, there are no onions in it."  "Yay!"
"Any more questions?  Tall guy, that just walked in."
"Pasta, again?!"  "Would you like to rephrase that?".

While I was hearing "quiet", I realized I no longer had to listen.  As a parent your eyes and ears and nose never turn off.  You could be reading a book and still hear the little feet sneaking into the kitchen, opening the refrigerator and then smell the pickles as they are being stealthily snatched from their jar.  Moms can even wake from the deepest slumber when they hear the flick of the bathroom light switch at 4:18 AM.

Being able to power down from Mom-mode was almost like a vacation for my brain, even if I was still at my desk working.  Last week was a gift for me more than it was for the kiddos. Sure, I missed them (less than I thought) and I worried (even more less than I thought -- but my parents are pros at managing kids, they had four of their own not that long ago). We all survived, though the grand-angels halos maybe be a tad tarnished, it's hard to be on your best behavior for a full day, let alone a whole week.

They're home now.  The noise has returned.  All Mom-systems are "GO".  I can only hope that for my parents, the memory of the chaos, exhaustion and overwhelming energy of 4 grandkids will fade like the pain of childbirth over the next few months and they will want the kids to come visit again next summer, for, maybe.... two weeks?

Give Props to Working Pops

The whole world knows how hard being a mom is.  There are thousands (maybe millions?) of mom blogs, facebook posts, magazine articles and even the media to remind us.  We hear what the stay-at-home moms should make based on what they do in a day ($115,000 a year according to Forbes).  We know working moms have to make tough choices to be able to pay the bills, and that work-at-home moms are probably just crazy to begin with because who would ever try to get work done with the kids around.  Even the stay-at-home dads get their 15 minutes of fame every once in a while, but the working dad NEVER gets credit, even when they meet the crazy high expectations of what society thinks a "dad" should be.  My kids have an awesome working dad that makes me want to let the world know that working dad's have it hard too (shh...maybe even harder).

Hear me out.

When our children were born, I was prepared.  I had a plan.  The marsupial instincts kicked in, and with baby strapped to me, life went on as normal - if at a slower pace.  I am woman, hear me roar.  And roaring never sounds like a cry for help, even if you intend it to be.  So Dad is on standby mode as you juggle bottles, diapers, and dinner.  We whine about having to do everything, but we don't want anyone to help.  Frankly, we're impossible and if Daddy holds, changes or feeds the child we are inches away supervising -- correcting the hold, the angle, the burping.  And lord help him if he tries to fill the dishwasher or make dinner.  I imagine the constant supervision and direction doesn't quite inspire them to take an overactive role in the child rearing. Mom's just naturally take charge, we pick and schedule doctors, schools, and activities.  We are the Boss which leaves Dad the role of assistant.  Affectionately abbreviated to Ass.

My hard-working hubby has been the delegated ass in our house for years now.  He doesn't mind so much as long as there is beer around.  And after a few of those beers, the tough exterior drops just enough for me to learn that how even though he's happy he doesn't have to manage the chaos that is 4 little kids, sometimes he feels he's not even part of it.  My husband works 60 hours a week, often nights, occasionally weekends and he misses out on the fun, but also the routine. When he's home, it's the kids' schedule or my plans, my interior design and style of home management (which consists mostly of putting out fires, having a glass of wine and then putting out more fires).  He works so hard to provide for us, but barely gets any say or time to enjoy any of it.  I'm sure we're not the only family like this.

Ma usually has the house spinning like a merry-go-round, while Pop is just trying to figure out when to jump on.  They literally made the in-crowd, but aren't always part of it.

Working dads have it harder.

Dads, just like moms, have unreachable expectations.  They feel bad when they miss school functions and t-ball games because of work. And every hunting, fishing, boys weekend trip also becomes a guilt trip when they leave Ma and the kids at home.   A dad today is still supposed to be the strong, hardworking, "wait until your dad gets home" disciplinarians, while at the same time a sentimental teddy bear, soapbox car building, fishing partner - and when you're not busy can you please see why the car is making that funny noise - guy.  There are only so many hours in the day.

My husband, and all the other working dads out there, need to know they are appreciated and vital.  They may not be able to attend every school concert or sports event, but they are setting a great example for their kids.  Something moms should make sure the kids notice.

The silver lining is seeing the moments the kids get to spend with their dad, even if it's just helping him with the yard work.  It may not seem like much, but I know those quality moments will mean so much more than seeing Dad on the bleachers at their t-ball game when they are older.

The days when Dad is around to connect with the kids and I are so important, maybe, just maybe, I could let him be Boss for a day.  Or at the very least, when I see him trying to find the right moment to jump on our merry-go-round life - remember to slow it down a little and reach out my hand to pull him on, because we're always happier when "Daddy's Home!!".

Pride and Panic: Please Pass the Bubble Wrap

Children, I think, are more detrimental to heart health than salt, booze and a sedentary lifestyle combined. Not a day goes by that my heart does not melt, swell, break or stop because of my kiddos.

We've got "Country Kids", and there's nothing they want more than to be like their 4-wheeling, snowmobiling, mechanic daddy.  My boys are tough and strong and proudly redneck -- and my husband encourages the ol' growin' up in the country tradition of kids learning how to drive before they can even
write cursive.

When my oldest boy was just 5 years old he could drive our old riding lawnmower (with the blade removed and my husband walking next to him, calm down), in reverse down the driveway with a trailer attached.  This is something I don't think I could easily do at any age, and he did like he has been for years.

I remember my husband coming to get me  -  "come see this!" -  and me freaking out appropriately, applying a defibrillator to myself and then lecturing my husband on 5 year old driving anything, while secretly being amazed and proud of how competent my little boy was.   I've learned over the last few years that pride and panic usually come as a combo -- the short of breath, anxious feeling you get as your child leaves for the first day of school, their first bike ride without training wheels or performing in the school talent contest... morphing into a burst of pride when they succeed.

As your kids grow, their firsts become more panic inducing -- their first solo step is a big deal, but compared to their first solo drive... I can't even imagine, hopefully in 8 years we'll all be floating on fluffy cushions as a mode of transportation and I'll never have to worry about my kids behind the wheel of a car... on a highway...driving 70MPH. (Pause for deep breath).

As a mom, your desire for your child's success and well being amplifies the emotions of the situation.   I'll never forget the tornado of emotions as my first-grade daughter and kindergartner son took the stage to sing God Bless America in front of about 300 people at the school talent show.  The pure adorableness, their obvious nervousness, and their bravery to stand in front of that crowd, these two tiny people on stage, huddled together, sharing a mic, singing sweetly out-of-key with determination. Heart stopping. Melting. Swelling. And then not winning. Breaking.  I can't believe the stress of that 3 minutes didn't do me in and if I hadn't been distracted by my video camera crapping out I probably would have been a blubbering mess.

All our life's experiences give us the insight of what can go wrong when we take a risk, and our super-mom persona wants to deflect all that agony.  But a life without risk, making an effort, putting ourselves out there, is a life without the satisfaction of success and pride in our own abilities, even if we (and our moms) have to deal with a little defeat along the way.

So we take our pride with a side of panic.  We pack our bucket to collect the pieces of a broken heart and try to remember to breath when our hearts stop, just so we can be ready for the swell of pride - and that moment your kid looks up from whatever amazing feat they just accomplished to catch your eye and see your excitement for them.  Melt!

Home Alone

Before you become a mom, you imagine that motherhood is filled with a pretty balanced mix of hugs and cuddles to tantrums and poop up the back diapers.  You think you have a good idea of the work involved and you probably think it's life just like the child-free days, but with little stinky noise-makers.  But what you probably didn't notice - and no one took the time to tell you - is that you are never alone, ever. Ever.

Sometimes you may look alone -- for example, it's 9PM and my 4 little turds are tucked into their beds, I'm tapping away on my laptop down the hall from their rooms and from the outside looking in, I appear, alone.  But I'm not. You're never alone if your children are within shouting distance - even when they are asleep.  You're always waiting, listening, and waiting and listening and turning down the volume on the TV and listening harder and tiptoeing down the hall to take a peek because it sounded like someone got up, or coughed or talked or moved.   From the moment that first head pops out of your hooha you're on Red Alert.

Recently when my three older kids were at school and my husband was home from work, he took our youngest to town with him because I had a meeting to go to, but they left about an hour and half before I had to.  And as I saw his truck bounce down the driveway I realized - I'm home alone!  There was no listening, hollering, checking to see who was where or what was happening.  It was just me - I was what's happening and man was it was weird and amazing and a bit disorienting.  I quickly calculated how much time I had... just over an hour - and then I proceeded to waste about 5 minutes trying to figure out what to do with my time. Then I spent another two minutes complaining to myself about wasting 5 minutes.  But I was confused - what should I do?  Do I clean, make myself lunch, do I watch trashy TV, where should I sit - all the furniture is available!!  I was totally unprepared for being home alone -- and I pretty much squandered the most precious gift of the last 8 years.

I turned on trashy TV, made lunch and did my make up in the living room, but I felt alive! I could hear myself think.  I got to eat all my lunch without anyone asking for some. It was amazing, but next time will be better - now I know to prepare.  I've started a list in my Google Keep, so the next time I'm unexpectedly home alone I'll have a plan.  Each minute will be used to the fullest and it will be mind-blowing.

Our youngest is 3.5 and in a couple years will be in school all day.  Soon I'll be "home alone" everyday, which bodes well for my business, the tidiness of our house and my temperament.  I asked my youngest what I will do all day when he's at school too - he said I would probably drink coffee, and he's 100% right.  I'm sure the novelty of an empty house will wear off then and I'll be waiting at the door for the bus to come and the noise to re-enter the house each day, but for now I'm going to make sure I take advantage of every free second I get.

Symptoms, Diagnosis and Treatment of Cabin Fever

Escaping the fever for little bit...

In snow-bound neighborhoods throughout the country you can walk down the street and hear shouts and screams that can't even be contained by walls around where they originate. Frantic mom's with messy hair and mis-buttoned shirts press against their windows wondering if they'll ever find a way out, wondering if any of them will survive... Cabin Fever.  

SYMPTOMS
Cabin Fever is a seasonal disease, like the flu - but even the most celebrated scientists have yet to discover a vaccine to prevent the wide range of effects the fever has on the whole family.  The symptoms are easily mistaken for other common diseases - often, moms themselves are left wondering if they are losing their minds or perhaps have gone bat-shit crazy.  As anxiety ramps up, the caged animal feeling starts to creep in, women become a bit wild-eyed and snappish. Dinner becomes F'n Dinner and laundry -- F'n laundry.  Bedtimes for the offspring get earlier each night and outrageous punishments are threatened for the simplest mistakes. 

The male head of household is more immune to cabin fever than the others, especially if he works out of the house.  He may try his best to avoid the home during the term of the illness as a means of self-preservation and in all honestly a means of protecting his manhood.  Typically older males avoid the fever by finding urgent work to do in the garage/basement or at a friends house.  If a male contracts cabin fever you may find them doing death defying feats on the roof removing snow or tempting fate with stunts in pick-up trucks or snowmobiles.   If they are unable to leave the home though, the prognosis is dire.  They typically display the same symptoms as the mom of the house, but with a more annoying tone and actions.  They often overstep their bounds by commenting on how things are done in the household, which in turn severely increases the Cabin Fever behaviors of the mother.

The affected children often appear blurry - mostly because they are bouncing around so much it's hard to focus on them. The fever makes it impossible for them to control the volume of their voice and in boys increases the instances of sound effects exponentially.  Fast paced movements are common, when at the peak of the fever many children find it hard to just sit or walk. Running, jumping and flailing are commonly seen.  Children become territorial and commonly argue with siblings over established space and toys.  The longer the children are in a Cabin Fever inducing environment the more likely it is that the mother will threaten to pack them up and send them to a grandparent.

DIAGNOSIS
Diagnosing Cabin Fever is relatively simple and a trip to the clinic is usually not needed.  To see if you or your family have the disease do the following: 
1. Look out the window, is everything white?
2. Look at the thermometer, is it below 10 degrees?
3. Look at your children, do you feel the urge to run away?

If you answered yes to 2 or more of the above questions it is 100% certain that you are suffering from cabin fever.  

TREATMENT
While the only effective treatment for Cabin Fever is time+sun+warmer temps.  There are ways that you can cope with the symptoms. Many recommend charming family projects or arts and crafts, fun-ish sounding contests that end up being a mountain of work for a minute of enjoyment before the full force fallout of the child that didn't win and/or get what the other child got.  While these ideas sound delightful and the pictures of them in magazines and in pinterest are just too cute to ignore, you need to realize that you are not some adorable 50's housewife that lives and breathes for her child's happiness.  When the scissors and glue come out, you don't see potential, priceless treasures about to be made around the kitchen table.  You see weapons of mass destruction and no "FE" to go with the "MA" that has to clean it all up.   So try these instead:
1. If you can not escape the household, remove the male from the household.  Send him off for death defying feats with this friends or describe a strange sound coming from your vehicle, that should keep him busy in the garage for awhile.
2. Buy loads of clearance Christmas and Valentines candy.  If the rabid children start getting too close to you throw some toward a far away corner, that should keep them away for a bit. It won't necessarily help them, but at least you won't have to deal with them for a few minutes.
3. DVR all the children's favorite shows, when they start to burn out on candy put their shows on sneak down to the bathroom, quietly close and lock door.  Sit on edge of tub hugging yourself and rocking back and forth. 
4. Do not calculate the hours until bedtime until after 3PM.  After 3PM remind yourself how close you're getting frequently.   
5. Start the bedtime routine a few minutes earlier each night to speed up the countdown to bedtime process. If your the kids are old enough to tell time, just speed up the clocks, they probably aren't smart enough to figure that out.
6. Most Important - stay well stocked with wine and chocolate.  After the last little turd is tucked in for the night it's go time.  Just flop on the couch and breathe.

 As far as I know the world is still turning, so eventually it'll warm up and cabin fever will subside for a few months. Until then amuse yourself by making your hair crazy and pretending to claw your way out the windows when the neighbors walk by.

7 Ways to Ruin Your Child's Dinner

Kids can be picky eaters, as most moms know. Having four kids I've got pretty much the spectrum of eaters -- from my veggie-fied 3rd child who will head to the garden for a snack, to my finicky 2nd born who says he doesn't like anything but pizza and tacos. The other two have their likes and major dislikes and when it comes to dinner it's almost guaranteed I won't be able to make everyone happy.  I'm so good at dinner fails I thought I may as well share my sure-fire ways to ruin dinner:

1. Put Onions in it.
No matter how tiny they are chopped, if one tasty little translucent piece of onion is spotted, our table looks like the clocked ended on "Chopped".  Everyone with their hands up, backing away from the table.  Onions are the #1 dinner ruining ingredient in our house with peppers and tomatoes tied for 2nd. 

2. Serve it on the Wrong Color Plate.
Sometimes dinner is ruined before any food is eaten, simply because it's served on the wrong color plate, with a fork that doesn't have enough stripes or because the child is not sitting in his desired spot at the table. Thank goodness for paper plates, finger foods and seating arrangements. 

3. Fake the Refried Beans:

Sometimes I come up with a brilliant idea for dinner (I know! Tacos! Everyone loves those!) and I set about making them only to discover I have no refried beans, a M-U-S-T on taco night in our house.  So I do what I have to do -- you dig a can of black beans out of the back of the cupboard and smash them into a purple mush, Hmpf... I add some cheddar to try and "brown" it up and realize... I'm not fooling anyone. 

4. Taco Night Ruined Take 2.
Even if you have refried beans in stock - there are other ways to ruin taco night, for example you could brown your beef and while seasoning, mistake cayenne for chili powder and dump a good tablespoon of it in the meat.  The end result is some really hot tacos, a two year old chanting "too spicy! too spicy!" after every bite and half a gallon of milk gone in one sitting.  

5. To Cook or Not to Cook that is the question.

Our pickiest eater believes he is allergic to vegetables - but occasionally he will eat them if they are prepared right, the problem -- sometimes the preferred method is cold and sometimes he likes them cooked.  Unfortunately I'm not that great a cooking veggies, so they usually end up somewhere in between, hot - but not quite cooked enough.  This one is impossible to win! 

6. Ingredient Limit: 1
The whole concept of cooking is to combine ingredients and flavors to create something delicious - but for some reason the kids prefer each ingredient in it's own glory. How many melt downs could I have avoided if I'd just remembered to put the meat sauce on the side instead of on the noodles.  How much time have I wasted picking the chicken out of enchiladas or the separating the rice from the meat and veggies in an MN staple hotdish.  And every kid knows you can put the hotdog or hamburger in the bun, but you still need to take them apart to eat them, right?

7. Over Promise and Under Deliver

This one doesn't happen often, but when it does it's catastrophic. Picture this -- the kids are on edge from Dad being away on a business trip and to keep their spirits up I promise dinner out on Taco Tuesday at the little Bar & Grille in our small town.  (It is literally the only place to eat here, we're a one bar, 3 church town).  I pick them up from school and head to the restaurant, the parking lot is empty and it looks pretty dark inside. I pull up to the door and there's a new sign.  New hours for the slow season. (Sept - March... when we all hibernate in Minnesota).  They are 100% closed on Mondays (this I knew) but also Taco Tuesdays!  I start to panic knowing the fallout from this could require FEMA, I tell the kids - oops they are closed! And get a resounding wail from the 4 little people in the back.  Cries of "NO!!" and just plain, loud, ear-piercing crying were the soundtrack to the ride home (luckily, only a few miles).  I actually had all the taco ingredients on hand - but having them at home just isn't the same. Dinner ruined again.

Luckily with the few meals that do go off without a hitch and all the goodness that is packed in to Flintstones vitamins, my kids are still thriving.  Now that I'm not a dinner ruining beginner, finding new ways to make "the worst dinner ever, Mom!!!" is kind of a thrill. Bon Appetit!

The Steely Sweetness of Motherhood

 "Two Mothers" by Leon Maxime Faivre 1888
(I added the undies for a facebook post)

It's amazing the transformation that takes place when your first baby is placed in your arms.  Whether you were the quiet girl, prissy girl, bitchy girl.... any kind of girl before becoming a mom, we all turn into the woman in this 1888 painting, "Two Mothers" by Leon Maxime Faivre.

I stumbled upon this painting while googling something for a client and it caught me.  I looked at it and instantly felt a connection.  I went back to work, but I needed to see it again. I found a better version and looked at it some more and I felt like she was me.  The image I've shared here is one that I added undies to so I could share it with my friends on facebook. (they frown on boobies and little boy parts).  But if anything, it makes her even more me... and here's why:

At first glance I could relate in that I often look this disheveled when I leave the home with my kids.  But beyond that was the transformation I mentioned, that moment you gaze on your child's face and you know you will love them and tenderly hold them forever - but also that you would go to any length to protect them. You magically become this ball of mush, yet as strong and resilient as steel at the same time.

I love how she holds her children in one arm, curving her body around them, while the other arm grips an ax ready to battle the shadowy beast approaching from distance. In the easy living days of the 21st century, I rarely have to battle actual beasts (though we have had a bear in our yard... so maybe some day) but she is the perfect metaphor for all I do protect my children from - broken hearts, bedroom boogie monsters, dangerous strangers, the list goes on.

The beauty of motherhood - or maybe the super power of motherhood, is that we gain the ability to harness a steely, rage-ful strength toward an enemy, while still projecting that enduring love and tenderness to our kids.

I also love that this painting makes me feel the role of a mother has not changed since the caveman days.  As a mom I fret over whether I'm doing everything right, I think most moms feel the same way.  This painting gives me hope... if we protect and love our kiddos with the same passion as our cave woman ancestors the human race will survive until neon pink bras and cartoon undies look as old as an animal hide dress.

The Mental Disorganization Known as Motherhood

Every year my New Year's resolutions have a similar theme, 2011: Simplify... 2012: Organize... 2013: Simplify (again, for real this time!!).  But with a business and a pack of kids... things just can not really be simple, and it would take more brain/will/physical power than I possess to organize this giant casserole that is my life.  So for 2014, I decided to get real, "Realistic" actually.  I made it facebook official that my resolution this year is -- to be realistic. 

Living in the boonies, and not really having another adult to converse with for most of the day gives you lots of time to think, observe and analyze your life.  I ponder our casserole life in the shower, while trying to fall asleep, while being captain minivan on yet another adventure to Target.  Metaphorically I consider things like does our life casserole have too many noodles? Should I have used rice?  Does it need more liquid? Green beans or peas? or corn?!  Cream of Mushroom or Cream of Chicken?  There are so many variables and potential outcomes, it's mind boggling to the point of being a mental disorder -- "The Mental Disorganization Known as Motherhood" or MDKM. 

For just one brief window, I'd like to have it all together.  I'd love to sink into the couch with a glass of wine and say to myself "It's all done and practically perfectly! Bravo!" 

Instead I curl into my couch corner with my planner and notepad and make lists and highlight things and circle things and trace things over and over.  And when I've got a good stack of lists and a glass too much wine, I may accidently let them mingle and make baby lists.  "Pack the suitcase" turns into a 6 person chart with checkboxes of clothing and personal hygiene items.  "Grocery shop" turns into a full notebook page of planned meals and groceries needed organized by department and aisle (as best as I can remember).    It sounds like I've really got it together, but making the list is the easy part. Remembering to bring it to the store... whole 'nother story. In fact, even when I do remember to use them, the drilled down lists just make a simple task like "Pack the suitcase" seem like climbing Mount Everest.  A stubborn case of the MDKM.

As a mom your head has to be in the full "ON" position, all the time.  You have to remember every school event and deadline, lunch money, nature club, homework, favorite shirt needed for favorite shirt day, that the kids need to drink Kool-Aid for dinner because there's only enough for breakfast cereal... why do we live 20 minutes from the nearest gas station?!  And no matter how many lists or good intentions, you'll forget something -- why just today I walked my three oldest kids to the bus.  The youngest is 4, the temperature was 9 degrees and snow with high winds was the forecast.  Yet, he's waiting for the bus without a hat or scarf!  (He had 2 pairs of mittens though!)  Luckily he has a hood on his jacket and I gave him my scarf to wear -- but how did I not notice that until we were waiting for the bus?  Probably because I spent the whole morning making sure everyone was dressed "Do you have socks?" "Do you have socks?" "Do you have socks" Socks. Check.  Jake eat the crunch part of the Lucky Charms too! Luke drink your milk!! Layna where's your hairbrush... and what time is it --- we've got 5 minutes!!  MDKM.   

So "being realistic" seems like a resolution I can keep.  Realistically one of the kids will not be dressed right for the weather.  I may have to write the lunch money check while running my kids down the driveway (it's long!) for the bus.  I might pack my son's sandwich in the Disney Princess sandwich keeper thing and I might not have a clean house, ever - not even for a tiny bit. But being realistic and admitting that makes me feel a little like I have my crap together, allowing me to accept my Mental Disorder Known as Motherhood diagnosis and treat it frequently with wine and snuggles from the kids and hubby.  Realistically, 2014 should be just fine.