playing can be so confusing

*this just in: I wrote something new for Mama Manifesto and it's up over there today. It hopefully paints a picture and sends a message and resonates. If not, it's just about my own bouncy brain and crap television. See you there. I mean, if you go over there. Nicely.

And also:


Miles and Asher had a combined birthday party recently. Both sides of the family were there, so people who don't know each other that well from either side were all there. (And yes, it was quite redundant of me to explain that.) Above, you will see Cousin O, to the right, with the squirt gun. And at the far left is Cousin M. Cousin O and Cousin M have rarely been around each other.

Which brings me to this conversation between Cousin M (left) and an adult family member.

Cousin M - Is O a boy or a girl? (see long-haired boy on the right)
Adult - He's a boy.
Cousin M - (skeptically) Are you sure?
Adult - Yes, I'm very sure.
Cousin M - (said like he has a huge secret) Do you think Miles knows that???

The hilarity here is that of course, as a closer family member, Miles does know the sex of his Cousin O. But Cousin M just could not be convinced. He seemed to feel someone needed to tell Miles right away, and therefore, he explained, as the wiser and older of the two- Miles, your Cousin O is a boy, but I still think she's a girl.

To which Miles responded, No, she's not a girl. He's a boy.

Dude. Kids are hilarious.

The End.

{Disclaimer: All parental parties know the details of this story and find it funny. No offense was taken at the assumption of Cousin O's sex. Because it happens all the time. He can be wearing a Spiderman costume and people still assume, because of the long hair, that he is a girl. His parents think it's hilarious.}

This post is a part of You Capture at I Should Be Folding Laundry

helping: a picture story

Every year around 20,000 people gather in our small Midwestern town, driving from all over the state and neighboring states for camping and music.

People come to the concerts hours early, holding their space as close to the front as they can. There's a fence to hold them back and a large gap in front of that fence in front of the stage. Usually that gap is filled with volunteers, security, people restricted to wheelchairs, and family and friends of band members.

I love The David Crowder Band, so I stopped helping backstage (my mom is one of the creators of the festival, so we help each year) to go stand in the gap. I love to turn around every once and a while to look back over the jumping and screaming crowd.

At one point, I turned around to see this:


Apparently, a young man had been content to stay in the crowd despite the fact that he wouldn't be able to see much.

But a few fellow crowd-ers obviously thought he should have a better view.



I just loved it. There was something so moving (and maybe a little dangerous) about this gesture. He wasn't up there for long, but he enjoyed an entire song, very near the front, with a bird's eye view.

David Crowder Band

I love it when I randomly spot acts of kindness. They are there all the time, amidst the growing crowd. I wonder what it would be like if we paid more attention to these acts than the bad news?

wooooo hoooo!


P.S. Just so you know, after The Crowder Band was finished, it's possible that myself and three friends drove a golf cart through the backstage area, me at the wheel pretending to tweet from my phone, while yelling "Twitter will kill you!!!" And it's possible that we very purposely passed very near David Crowder and nearly ran into a large bus. And it's possible that David then yelled back, "It will! It will!" It's possible that happened, but I'm not saying.

(As a Twittering geek, I love the YouTube Rockumentary by the David Crowder Band entitled Twitter Will Kill You It's one of my very most favorites ever.) (If you haven't seen the David Goes to the Dentist thing on YouTube, the end will make no sense to you. But if you love Twitter, the rest will still totally crack you up.)

(My dog is snoring in such a way that I keep thinking it's my phone buzzing. Then I think of Twitter.)

(Can I give you a huge Thank You one more time for all the comment love and support and encouragement over this whole book thing? And the reality show thing? Who knows what will happen with the show, you know? It will come down to whether or not I'm chosen and if at that point Ryan and I feel that whatever format is chosen for the show is something that would be a positive experience for our family.) (I have no idea if that made sense.) (Am tired.)

(The End.)

summer rules

1. Run, don't walk, to the park.


2. Sneak snacks no matter what time it is.


3. Chase chipmunks with squeal-y matching friends.


4. Skip naps and take long baths, washing off the lake or the pool or the sand or the dirt or the all of the above.


5. Worry less about getting clean and more about getting fun.


6. Look long at the water and the sky while you stay up late.

7. In other words, ignore the rules.

Stripes

A day at the water park, cooling off in the water and soaking up the sun?

Summer bliss in my book.

(And this place is a mere three blocks from our house-I love that.)



I'm pretty sure these water park days will be ear-marked in the memory books of my boys, too.

Asher, Miles and strong friend, E

Oh My Serious Fun.

I love to watch them play in the water, rush down the slide, water drops dripping from their noses. I love the way water keeps their minds busy for hours, while I sit and take it all in. But this last time, what I loved the most was the way Asher snuggled into me after getting hurt, wrapped in a towel and fell fast asleep. It's been a really long time since I snuggled a sleeping boy baby, rocking back and forth and nuzzling blond hair. (They are just growing far too big.) I loved it, every second of it, even while I knew I needed sunscreen that I couldn't reach for without waking him, and therefore fried my Scandinavian-pale arms and legs.

These red and white stripes across me are totally worth it. Kind of like stretch marks.

This post is a part of Tuesdays Unwrapped at Chatting at the Sky. Thank you, Emily.

Moooo. Peeew.

We went to a Dairy Days event. Yes, this confirms it. We live in the country now.



Farms stink. (The child would not let go of his nose-I hope he didn't offend the cows.)


Oh look. That one looks offended.


Oh well...let's just look at this guy instead...

The next day, our little dude was on the front page of the local paper on this very same tractor. Now we have to fight off the paparazzi like never before. It's kind of hard having a child star.


The End.

spontaneous dichotomies

The roads are the kind that dip and swirl, pulling your stomach with them. My iPod was on shuffle and the songs matched this experience and I knew that was grace.

I was keenly aware of grace.

I listened to an entire audiobook about grace on my seven hour drive, and I thought, it's everywhere I look. I can see it. This is what I mean by extraordinary.

It was in the stacked green trees on the hills and on the cows in the fields, and my heart started revving up when I looked at the GPS and saw I was only a mile away. I knew I was about to see one of my life's most treasured grace faces, smiling at me in a deeply rooted recognition of soul. I'm not making it up when I say that the sun peeked through the clouds right in that moment, and then disappeared for the rest of the weekend.

There is nothing, nothing, like sharing a sobriety date with someone. And that it all happened through blogging? Well, we sure blog-met for a reason. Many reasons.

So when I stepped out of the car after a spontaneous decision to drive to Maggie's house when she said, "you should come over," it was surreal. It was good, maybe even a little taste of perfection. I'm starting to see that the best things in life really are experienced when you simply follow your heart-gut and do unplanned and slightly neurotic things.

I mean, 14 hours in the car in 2 days? Out of the blue. Who does that?

Me.

And I'm so glad.

Maggie's home is a refuge, a true shelter of peace. Her family is precious. My short time there, totally worth the hours in the car with a sore bum and a far too frequently full bladder. Road trips are such a mix of frustration and grace, like a condensed version of the whole of life's dichotomies. I think I love me some road trips.

Maggie and I are closing in on 5 months of sobriety. We talked about it, of course, but we also talked about a hundred other things. We are becoming more of what we were always meant to be, together. And no one understands exactly as Maggie does what I'm feeling about all of that at any given time. It's indescribable and much like my road trip. As I think about that, I realize that we both quit drinking in much the same way I decided to go on this trip. Suddenly, unexpectedly, with a mix of the fear of the unknown and the excitement of hope.

Maggie fully understands my discomfort, the ache of sitting in the same position too long, while she recognizes the grace of freedom like the wind through the open windows that she sees in my face.

I'm just so grateful.

Also. I slept in the book room. Which means that the reading of all the book titles on the shelves stole a whole bunch of my sleep. It was totally radical.

Also. The icing on my visit cake? Surprising Becky and Ann. Let's just say there was a lot of hugging and squealing and then more hugging.

Thank you, Maggie. I love you and your family and your guacamole.

And then, I love coming home, to the place where my boys interrupt my thoughts as I write this, like their children's music sporadically interrupted my ipod shuffle on the trip. These interruptions can be annoying at the same time they are the most delicious tastes of grace, breaking in and bringing my focus back to my three greatest loves.

Actually, it felt more like a shoe hit my head. Or a toaster.

This is Heather.

She's not naked. Her dress is strapless. But you knew that.

Yes. Yet another Heather born in the 70's. Heather is one of my dearest friends, and she was married last weekend. It was a beautiful day full of bluegrass music and sun and friends and family. I love my Heather, and have since elementary school. We're Heather squared, or The Heathers.

The day before the wedding, I happened upon a new shoppe in the small town in which we live. I opened the door with low expectations. After all, this is rural Minnesota so let's just say the shopping is...limited.

And then a miracle occurred.


Well, okay. Maybe it wasn't a miracle. I mean, I don't even really LIKE shopping much at all. But do you wanna know what I do like? Knowing that all I have to do is go to ONE store and I will love everything and the prices won't make me ask why I'm supposed to give over my first born, and I might even feel giddy about the purchases I make. Which is not usually something I feel when shopping.

This is what I purchased

Friends, Miles took this photo, so if you're wondering if I'm shrinking or if my posture is even worse than it already was, no. I am trying to get myself hunkered down so he can get me in the photo. He's a good little photographer, but he's still short.

The dress? $40. The jewelry? $15 for all. Uh huh.

(Before I forget and the Blogging Gods strike me down, I will disclaim you-that's totally a phrase-and let you know that Lillian's is not paying me to share this information with you. I just want you to know because I love that place. You can click on the link to see if there's a location near you.)

Anyway. The dress is my favorite that I've ever purchased. Ever.

The reason we came across this fabulous new store is because we were at the outdoor market downtown, and there it was, right there, smiling at me-the Lillian's sign that led me to my favorite shoppe ever. I'm not just saying that. And also, I must mention the friendly and probably kind of scared of me staff. They rock. (Hi Stacey!)


We went back to the market this week, because we're smart and we know that it's there weekly. It wasn't as much fun at all, though. My boys were hopped up on sugar, which was totally my fault since I fed them sugar. Their ears weren't working and I brought them into Lillian's and they kept hiding in and under things. LOVE THAT. (sarcasm) So we went back outside and had more sugar. After that, for some reason, the boys were even crazier and so I said, "Alright then, we're leaving. If you can't listen we have to go now." So I stomped off with them slowly trailing behind. (That way, I could have a really good time calling over my shoulder KEEP WALKING. FOLLOW MOMMY.)

And then the opposite of a miracle happened. Something hit me in the head and I was all, OWWHATWASTHAT? My natural reaction was to put my hand on the spot that was bonked. What I found there surely surprised me.

More bird poop than should ever be found in anyone's hair, ever, that's what I found. It was down one side of my head and my pants, and now on my hand. I was stunned speechless.

We got back to the van, after walking another half a block while people slowed to stare at my head, and I started to hurriedly rifle through the perfectly clean and tidy (sarcasm) van for the wipes. I found them. And I used what was left of the package to try to pull poop out of my hair.

Prepare yourself for this next part...



There were worms in it.

Seriously. WHAT KIND OF BIRD WAS THIS? I never saw it, but I know this for sure...it was huge, and it has trouble with digestion.

So there I sat, trying to figure out how to drive while also concentrating on keeping my head tilted to the right to be sure my poop hair didn't touch my cheek.

I turned to pull out of my parking spot (in which I had parallel parked flawlessly, by.the.way.) and that's when I saw her, getting out of her car and heading toward the market. I honked, and with tilted head, I called out to her,

MOOOOOMMY!!!! (Okay, I didn't call her Mommy, I called her Mom...but I really wanted my Mommy.)

And then I did something I've never done before. I said the "S" word in front of both my children and my mom. Because friends, that IS what was in my hair and it was a bit traumatizing. So it just came out.

MOM, A BIRD S*#T ON MY HEAD.

She didn't even scold me or put soap in my mouth. She just cleaned the rest of the poop out and then totally freaked out when I showed her a worm in a wipe.

I love my Mommy.

The End.


Oh P.S. This is what I usually do when the boys have been given too much sugar and it's raining. Sorry, hardware store people...

The girl who lived on the lake

The last time I drove by
it hurt
to think back on her,
on me
not so long ago
but so long ago

I came that way again
turning my eyes to the lake
to see the changes
the new houses
the remodels
the spaces where
cabins once stood

In came a hundred
memories
of a twenty-something
party girl
who lived on the great wide and
green lake

What would she ask me?
I thought
What would she want to know
about who she would become,
who she would be becoming?

You'll be okay
I'd tell her,
then. now.
but you are taking a terribly
long way
to okay.
It's starting now
and you know
but you don't know

You will have a new life
while you're still both you
and a wife and a mom
and you will feel like both
and carry too much
of the now with you
then

The pit of your stomach
may never forget this
version of yourself,
broken
by yourself,
and not yourself
by he and them
and her and him

But your heart
will start to heal
long from now,
the now
on the lake,
and you will see
somehow
in the blue eyes
of boys that came from you
and him
that you are okay

Even good.
And the pit of your stomach
will make its twinges
a little less
as you drive around the lake
as yourself now,
you
who would not be she
without the girl who lived on the lake.


{freely written as an experiment to see what I would write in five minutes or less after a drive around the lake I lived on for a year many moons ago, a drive filled with emotion. It's quite a rough draft, so thank you for taking the time to attempt making sense of it. Happy Friday.}

This post is a part of Five for Ten at Momalom.

A picture story: Of Miles and 90

The next morning I woke up to a small finger tap-tap-tapping my arm.


Mommy, he said,

Is it Mommy and Miles Day again?

No sweetie, it's our whole family's day today, but that sure was fun, wasn't it?

Puppy dog eyes.

And it was. It was so good. We boarded a bus in the morning and bounced our way to St. Paul for a day at the Children's Museum with other families from Miles' preschool. We even got to see Uncle K for a while. When Miles ran to hug him I thought, I haven't seen him that excited in a really long time. He misses living by Uncle K.

We explored inside the museum...always really quickly, from thing to thing to thing. I tried hard to fight the Mommy Fears, the ones that rear their ugly head and make me think of injuries and kidnapping. Seriously. Motherhood is hard on a girl's brain, isn't it?



And then we explored outside.

We found this way cool little building sandwiched in an alley and despite the orange cones in front of it, we explored that too.

I know, I'm teaching my child to ignore orange cones for photo opportunities. Don't judge.


I want another Mommy and Miles Day. He is one of my favorite people.

Also, today I am 90 days sober. I don't tell you that so you'll praise me. I've got a LONG way to go on this journey, but I tell you that because I realized on Mommy and Miles Day that I wasn't in a hurry. I wasn't wishing to get back on the bus so I could get home to what I'd become so dependent on needing. I was just there.

I was just there.

The End.

~This post is a part of Tuesdays Unwrapped at Chatting at the Sky. Thank you Emily~

I wore makeup - A picture story

I wore makeup yesterday. (And yes, the same sweater I wear all the time. I wore that too.)


(I asked google if makeup should be makeup or make-up or make up and google said, all of the above.) (All of the above makes me feel itchy. Any of them will be fine? Huh, I don't know. I like one right answer...I'm working on that.)

Ryan and I brought our beautiful boys-with streaks of makeup on their faces-to my Mom, and then we kissed them on their soft cheeks, goodbye we said, and then we drove to Minneapolis to see Ryan's brother perform at the Walker Art Center. You see, Ryan's exceptionally talented musician brother, Dave was being honored at a two day event...


The concert was a wordless kind of amazing.
(I would have taken pictures, but I was all worried that it was against the rules and that's another thing that makes me itchy, breaking the rules.)

I did take a picture in the lobby, of an artistic shell with Ryan and his Mom reflected in the background.


Dave is a part of about eleventy-seven bands. His gift reaches across genres and shakes drumming hands with excellence in whatever he touches. He's a creative soul of the genius variety, and I'm not just saying that because he's my husband's brother. (Although that helps.)

Other people say this stuff too: "One evening is not sufficient to showcase the varied talents, consummate showmanship, and genre-defying innovations of Dave King, one of the most prolific jazz/rock percussionists of his generation." - Walker Art Center

We sat and listened and ate candy and elbowed each other and looked at each other with awe over the songs. Then we sometimes laughed at Dave's jokes and switched positions in our seats to stay comfortable. You have to be comfortable when you hear one of Dave's bands play because you surely don't want to focus on anything but the transcending sounds.

The show finished and we were proud of Dave and filled up with tired and goodness. Then we drove through thick fog and belted out the lyrics to Sister Christian on the 80's station. It was very late and when we drove in the driveway I said, I love the bed five times fast. So Ryan laughed and then we slept.

This morning I woke up and thought, that was so good and then I thought, I love home and the people in it.

And then today I did not wear makeup. Or make-up. Or make up.

The End.

In a safe place

"We do not remember days, we remember moments." -Cesare Pavese

I had some time alone at home and was spending it catching up. I hurried through Miles' room with an empty laundry basket bumping my leg as I walked. I bent to throw the dirty clothes from the floor to the basket and was hit with his smell like a bump to the head. It stunned me with its goodness and I was surprised to miss him even though he'd just left. I was there with his smell, one that's all boy and just this boy, my boy, all heavy with earth and fresh air and his hair. Oh, that hair that grows to a thick and careless mop and then transforms to a short faux hawk per his request because it looks cool, he says.

Either way is fine with me, I think, as long as it keeps its smell.

And then I'm hit with the next waft of him, something dirty and messy but mixing itself up to not stink. Like life.

Later, on his small bed, I hold the boy with his smells across my lap like a baby. With my back to the wall and not a sip of wine in me, I rock him back and forth and make up a story about a superhero boy just like him. No jumbled words and fuzzy mind make it messy, it's just Mama and Miles on the bed at night. His big blue eyes with brows like his Daddy look up at me with the intensity of listening for the part about a resuce, and with a lump in my throat I think, I want him to remember this moment.

Me, being a safe place.

~~~~~~~

Because of sobriety, more than ever before, life is about these moments and not days or weeks or months and especially not years. There is no other choice but moment by moment or the heaviness is crazy-making. Some of these moments are terribly hard, full of craving and regret, and they are merely survived and slowly felt, but no longer skipped or numbed. This way, they can be healed.

So now I'm standing around with laundry baskets and thinking, what would we do without these brilliant moments of respite, of stillness piled high with good things like birds or scents or humor? What would we do?

In the middle of this thing called recovery, while I'm facing thoughts that bring feelings that bring pain, these moments kick up joy and they are like a superhero story complete with rescuing. These moments are the reason I will look back on this part of my life and see that somehow, I was safe.

Grazing

Friday~November 27, 2009

We ate like...

Well,

like




cows...

constantly grazing...



with thanksgiving in our hearts

and on our tongues.





And it was good.

Glasses for Asher: A Picture Story

Thursday~November 5, 2009

He saw the world through new eyes,

had ice cream for a Getting Glasses Celebration,

got the wiggles out because of the sugar from the
Getting Glasses Celebration,

and then he said CHEESE a lot to appease his
Mother Who Snaps a Gazillion Photos.

Then last night as the sun set
so did his love for his glasses.

I said you get to wear them again tomorrow
and he said NO.

I put them on him this morning and he didn't seem to mind them.
PHEW, I said.

Then I turned to look at him
and he was doing this...



Yes, less than 24 hours after the Getting Glasses Celebration,
the spectacles are completely bent and no longer can be placed on the noggin.



Oh my sanity, I'll miss you.

(He's too cute. I can't even stay mad.)