Moving!

Hello, faithful readers!

In an effort to pursue opportunities to speak and write, I am moving to http://donehoo.blogspot.com/.

Please be patient as my hunky hubby helps me make this new site pretty!  I will be blogging from the new site from now on, and eventually moving my archives there too, so please subscribe there, like me (Emily Donehoo, Writer) on Facebook, share with your friends, and if you need a speaker for your women's group, send a shout my way!

Thanks for reading!
Em

Focusing on the Grass in Order to See the Mountainside

I remember being in college and thinking, I can't wait to find that perfectly flawed man, have a bunch of cute kids and stay at home with them.  It will be so great.  I will work out every day.  I'll have to be a real writer, because I'll just make that my full-time job since I won't be working for real, and I will have SO MUCH TIME on my hands.


And I remember sitting at a park listening to a mom scream at her kids for getting muddy while they were playing and thinking, I will never get mad at my kids for getting dirty.  That woman is an idiot.  Why in the world would you bring kids to a park to play and expect them to not get filthy?


But guess what.  Only parts of those dreams have become reality.

I have a flawed man.  We have a bunch of cute kids.  I work out sometimes.  I am a writer, but not a "real" one by my college-definition...

But...TIME... what is that?

And I totally scream at my children for the messes they make.  JUST LIKE THAT EVIL WOMAN IN THE PARK.  I growl and roll my eyes when Kevin dumps his food on the floor for the 3rd time that day....

I started a blog thinking I would write every day at naptime. I have written 1 post this year.

And I do have REAL job... the most important and noble one there is.  Problem is, it doesn't feel important or noble.  It FEELS like I could try really hard or not at all and get the same result.

I remember feeling bogged down, like life was full of pressure to finish this paper, win that game, find the perfect guy, be the perfect  friend...

And now I think, "I had SOOO much time on my hands, and I could do whatever I wanted whenever I wanted!  College was the best!"

The truth is I have always been one of those 'grass is greener' kind of people.

But maybe the grass is only greener because of the way the light shines on it from where I'm standing.

It seems that the photographs I like best are the ones that either show the entire landscape and light dancing, or are extremely close up, so close that I can really only recognize shapes, patterns, light, details I would never notice if I was just looking from a normal distance.  And maybe that's how life is.

Life is more beautiful when I take a step back and look at the entire landscape, when I see the big picture, the end goal. The boys will grow up and move out.  They will be really neat adults with manners and good hygiene.  They will be ball-players, chefs, and maybe even American Ninja Warriors.  It is beautiful when I imagine my children as grown, self-sufficient, confident men.

Conversely, it is spectacularly beautiful when I stop thinking in terms of "getting things done," and look at my children to see them exactly as they are right now.   When we baked cupcakes for Jeff's birthday today and Nolan dripped honey down his chin, on his shirt, on the counter, it was beautiful to take this thing that would have been much easier for me to do by myself while they were playing wii, and turn it into an up-close, Nolan loves honey, and the way he looks with that sticky mess all over his chin is crazy gorgeous.  Thank God I get to do this with him moment.

The hard part is in the middle, the day to day perspective where we just blindly go about our day, missing the intimate details of our lives, our children, our spouses, and unable to see the big picture, unclear of where we are going, or where we have been... Out of focus.

If the grass is greener because of the way the light shines on it from where I'm standing, then why don't I just follow the light?  If life is hard when I lose focus, stop seeing the details, and forget the big picture, then why don't I just focus on the little things that make up the big picture?

There's only one reason.  Because it's hard.

But I guess, like I said last time I blogged...if at first I lose focus, focus, focus again.

Trying again...

I am 34 years old, and I am finally beginning to realize that, "If at first you don't succeed, try try again" is actually pretty good advice.

I bring it up because here I am, attempting to start blogging consistently again.  Why did I stop?  I don't know.  Why did I stop working out?  Why did I go back to screaming at my kids to "get their crap and get out the door now!!"? Why did I gain 15 pounds after I lost 55?  Because life happened.

And life is going to continue to happen.  I'm going to miss a workout.  I'm going to get mad at my kids and eat my feelings (cookies) and get mad about eating my feelings, so I'll eat my feelings (fruit snacks) about eating my feelings.

But when I stop working out because I missed a workout, or stop writing because I missed one week of blogging, or "cheat" on my "food lifestyle," and say, "Well, I might as well eat everything I stopped eating because I can't stick with it anyway," then I am just sabotaging the hard work it took to accomplish all that I have already accomplished.

The advice in the Paleo World goes like this, "Don't let perfect be the enemy of good."

But it applies to so much more than just food.

If at first I don't blog, blog, blog again.

If at first I don't work out, wod, wod again.

If at first I yell at kids, be calm again.

If at first I eat cookies, eat broccoli again.

Funny how trying to be perfect makes me overweight, sad, angry with my kids, lazy, and a non-writer.

"Trying Again" may mean I am a failure, but it also makes me persistent, dedicated, disciplined, thinner, self-controlled, motivated, and more patient.

You can learn to be a failure too.  It's better than being perfect.

Why Moms Are the Toughest People in the World.

Let's just start with a short recap of the past month in our house.  Kevin got roseola.  Jeff and I got the "I think I'm going to die" kind of stomach flu.  We got well for about a day, and then the whole house got Scarlet Fever (read-- strep that is so nasty, the sore throat is the least of your problems).

But this is how the humorously horrible day went down:

Two days prior, I had taken Daniel to the doctor and MADE them do a strep test.  Rapid Strep Test came back negative. Doctor all but rolled her eyes at me and said, "Send him to school!  He just has a little cold virus."
I said, "Okay..."

A friend asks if I can watch her 1 1/2 year-old at the last minute.  She had a sitter cancel.  I say, "No problem!" because the last time I watched another little boy, my kids were so entertained by him that it was easier.

She drops him off at 7:30 am.  He screams for the first hour.

He poops nasty yellow liquid.

I think, "he must not feel very well."

I call his mom.  She says, "I'll be there in about a half hour."

It's time to take Daniel to school.

I go upstairs to pee.

I come downstairs and there is a broken lamp, a crying child (not mine), another crying baby (mine), and two sweet, peaceful children coloring.

I pick up the lamp, snuggle each baby, put them in "baby jail," ask the "big boys" (a 3 and 5 year-old) to get their shoes on.

I look at the clock.  Plenty of time to walk to school. I will just put the big baby in the stroller and the little baby in the baby carrier.  Danny can walk, and Nolan will ride his strider.  

I go outside to get the baby carrier, and when I come back in the house, the two babies are both screaming.  Kevin is gushing blood from his eyelid, cheek, nose, and lip, and the other baby is sitting there beating the crap out of my Kevin.  I tell the other baby, "We don't hit!" and sit him in time out.  He screams.  Kevin is screaming, and the other two have become bored of getting their shoes on and are running around in circles in the living room repeating, "La la looo!  La la looo!"  I get Kevin calmed down a little, check the clock, remove big baby from timeout, and weigh my options.  If I drive, I'll have to install the 4th carseat, get everyone in and out of the car seats, probably hit the traffic light, find a parking spot, and load and unload the car... It will be faster to walk.

So we walk.  And by the time we get to the end of the block, I notice that Daniel has no backpack.  So we go back and get it.

Now we are really late.  I hate being late.  And I really hate being late to kindergarten because if you're late and miss the open door, then it closes and locks and you have to go in through the front door dragging all of the other children and you have to push the buzzer and sign in and give a reason for being tardy and the kids I'll have to drag through the hallway are loud and they disrupt the whole school, not just me.

So we really hoof it.  And we are getting really close, and it looks like the Kindergarten door is going to still be open when we get there because we have 1 minute left.  And then Daniel sees a friend.  So he takes off running to say hi... and he runs past Nolan, who was in front of all of us on his Strider... "winning" the race that only Nolan was competing in.  And when Daniel takes off in front of Nolan, Nolan stops.  Flops.  And screams.

And Daniel has already run out of sight to an area where I am sure the pedophile-kidnapper that I just got an email about is lurking, waiting for my child.  So I have a baby on my back, a baby in the stroller, a 5 year-old who ran off towards a pedophile (for all I know) and this floppy, screaming child who does not follow me when I walk away if he has a fit.  Nolan's fits have been known to last for (seriously, I've timed them) 30 minutes or more, and that Kindergarten door is going to close and if there's a bad guy over there, so help me...

So, after 5 failed (because he flops on the ground) attempts and holding Nolan's hand and pulling him towards the school, I turn into my Herculean mother and pick Nolan up kicking and screaming and carry him upside down to the Kindergarten playground just in time to see Daniel happily bounding through the joyous open door.

I set Nolan down.

I text Jeff.  "You're getting a vasectomy."

Nolan finishes his timeout.

The other moms and dads on the playground are sympathetic, which is nice.

We make it back home.

Friend comes to pick up crabby diarrhea baby.

I give Nolan a snack in the car on the way to school.

He is really hungry at snack time because he didn't really have lunch, so his teacher gives him 4 helpings of fruit and yogurt.

The rest of the afternoon is fine.  I pick up the boys and start to get dinner ready.  At about 5:15, the doctor calls and says, "So, Daniel's strep test came back positive.  I guess moms always know.  I've called in the prescription for Daniel, but if your other kids aren't feeling well, you'll need to come get them checked also."

Meanwhile, Nolan has fallen asleep on the couch.

I wake him up, thinking it is just because he missed naptime and we need to go get Daniel's prescription.  The other two kids are already loaded in the car, and as I pick up Nolan, he begins to make that coughing/ hiccuping "this is going to be ugly" noise.  Well, I pick him up and sprint for the garage, but the chunks splatter the carpet, basement door, and wall.  I've gotten him to the garage by the second round, and now vomit has landed in my husband's shoes by the back door.

So, we get Nolan some clean jammies, clean up the inside-the-house chunks, obtain a puke bucket, and go to Walmart for the prescription, some Clorox wipes and gatorade.  By the grace of God, we make it all the way through the store and out to the parking lot where Nolan pukes on and in the grocery bags.

So we spend 15 minutes wiping all of the things we just bought with Clorox wipes and I begin to laugh, because, really, this is just hilarious.  As I am laughing and wiping, I see Nolan begin to pull down his pajama pants in the parking lot because he has vomited on them, so the laughter continues.

So we get everything wiped down.  We get everyone in the car, we make it home, tiptoe around the puke in the garage.  I get Danny his medicine, get Nolan cleaned up, pajama'ed, and puke-bucketed.  Wash my hands a million times.  Nurse Kevin, and get them all to bed.

I hose down the garage, scrub the living room carpet and walls some more.  Then I head upstairs and take a shower.  Just as I get my jammies on, Jeff gets home from work.

"How was your day, hon?"

I just laugh.

And that is why moms are the toughest people in the world.

The Value of Hard Work

Let me just say that I love Mike Rowe.
A) I think he's cute.
B) I love that he's willing to do ANYTHING that requires hard work.
C) He is a great story-teller. (Please click on the link below.  Yes, it takes 20 minutes to watch, but I bet it will make you squirm, laugh, and learn.)

http://www.ted.com/talks/mike_rowe_celebrates_dirty_jobs.html

In this talk, he said something that has had me wondering about ever since I watched it.  He doesn't really elaborate much on the philosophy of it, but he says being told to, "Follow your passion" is the worst advice ever.

And I'm still not sure about whether I agree or disagree with him.

First of all, I would argue (because my first inclination is to argue) that by giving a Ted talk about the heroism in doing Dirty Jobs, Mike Rowe is, in fact, following his passion.  If he is not passionate about hard work and encouraging others to appreciate and embrace the value of hard work, then he sure goes to enormous lengths to lead people to believe otherwise.  This man bit off a sheep's testicles to celebrate the value of hard work, my friends.  I'm pretty sure he is passionate about the subject.

This is the whole reason I disagree.  In order to do the hard work day after day after day, we must be passionate about something involved in it.  Now, there may not seem to be a direct correlation to your willingness to do a dirty job and passion, but I assure you, there is.  A single mom may go to extreme lengths, like working 2 or 3 jobs because she is passionate about supporting her children, even if she is not passionate about any of those jobs.

I am certainly not passionate about doing dishes or laundry or wiping pee off of the bathroom floor, but I do them all daily because I am passionate about caring for my children.

I think part of what he really meant by that is that we were made to work for work's sake.  We MUST work.  God made us to WORK.  When we don't have anything to work on, we make up stupid things to work on.  We NEED to do work.

And even though we don't think we want to do nasty things, like shovel poop or be a pig farmer or sift through trash, it feels good to just work.

I don't really like to weed my garden.  I watch the weeds take over as I look out the window while doing dishes.  I procrastinate because it's too hot or we have somewhere to be and I don't have time to pull them all... And when I can't take it anymore, I walk out back, force the boys to play ball in the backyard, and before I know it, the boys are giggling and playing, and I'm smiling in the sun, watching them play and enjoying the work of gardening.

And sometimes we learn a lot by just doing what needs to be done.  One suck lesson is that love is sacrifice. And whatever we love... whatever we are passionate about... we will suck it up and clean the crap off of whatever it needs to be cleaned off of... because we love.  Not because we LOVE cleaning up crap, but because we love the ones who crapped on us...

Huh... sounds like somebody else I know.

Subtitles

Know what I hate?  When old ladies in the grocery store tell you to “enjoy every minute” of my kids being small.  God’s honest truth is that EVERY MINUTE OF PARENTING IS NOT ENJOYABLE!  Especially if you’re doing it right.

I recall being in high school, listening to someone, probably a friend’s dad or a teacher, say, “These are the best years of your life.”  And I remember thinking, Who the heck are you to tell me what I am enjoying and what is left to come in my life?  And if you do have any credibility, why in the world would THIS be the best life has to offer?  This sucks.  I’m bored out of my mind, people around me think the sun rises and sets on whether or not people like them, the football (or any other sports team) team wins or loses, and what grade they got on the last biology test.  Call me high maintenance, but I expect more from “the best years of my life.” 

Why is this lie perpetuated?  Why are there myths of how fabulous having children is?

Now, I understand that life goes by quickly and before you know it you’ve graduated from high school.  Before you know it, your KIDS are graduating from high school.  And I have no problem with an old lady coming up to me and saying, “It goes by fast.”  Or, “I remember this stage so fondly, and I didn’t appreciate it when I was in it.  I wish I could’ve enjoyed my kids more when they were that age.”

Here’s the problem:

What the old lady and the washed up football player MEAN to say is, “I really wish I would’ve appreciated what I had when I had it, because now it’s gone.”

But, they can’t verbalize their feelings to a stranger or a kid properly, so they turn to the exact same thing that I turn to when I feel like I really want my kids to understand it.  I FORCE it on them.  I cram it down their throats and make threats and scream and yell and go crazy trying to control them.

The reality is that I SHOULD say, “Nolan, I really love you and I need you to take a nap because that’s how you grow and get big like a baseball player and control your emotions.” 

But because he is attacking my “break” from his tantrums and needs, I scream like a crazy person about how he needs to obey me and that I will win because I am a 33 year old woman waging war on a 3 year-old’s napping strike.  He knows that he’s winning because I’m the one who is acting crazy.

But back to the old lady and the washed-up football player.  If they’re not trying to be rude, then why do I want to punch them in the face?  Or push my cart, full of all 3 kids, in her direction and say, “Why don’t YOU enjoy them for the rest of the morning while I get one thing started, finished, cleaned up and put away?”  Or tell the guy, “You were wrong!  I hated high school!  And I deliberately loathed it more because you told me it would be the “best time of my life”!”

When I was pregnant, I always felt that towards the end of each of my pregnancies, strangers had subtitles.  Their mouths would say, “Wow, when are you due?”  But the subtitles would say, “Holy shit, you’re huge.  Have that baby already so I don’t have to look at your fat-self anymore.” 

Wouldn’t it be great, though, if when we encountered the well-meaning old lady or the ex-jock pining over his glory days, we could just train our brains to read their subtitles instead?

So when people give us unsolicited advice, all we hear are things like, “Parenting is hard, and it’s easy to get lost in just trying not to drown, but I wish I would’ve looked at my kids and really SAW them for who they are were as often as I possibly could, I would’ve enjoyed them more.”  OR “I didn’t realize what I had back in high school, and I wish I would’ve enjoyed it more. “

I wish I could give my kids subtitles when they say, “I’m STILL hungry.”  Their subtitles would say, “That dinner was delicious.  May I please have some more?”

I bet I could train myself to HEAR what people MEAN to say, instead of what they ACTUALLY say… but… I also need to train myself to say what I should say, not tell others what they SHOULD do.

Ugh.  Life is hard.  Oh well.  Guess I’ll just go “enjoy every minute of being with my kids.” And recognize that “these are the best years of my life.”  And everything will be just fine.

"Stop Chewing on Your Shirt."

So, Daniel chews on his shirt.  And Nolan hits and kicks and screams when he's mad.

I can't get them to stop.

I nag at them when they do it.  "Get your shirt out of your mouth."  "Stop hitting your brother."

They stop for a minute.

I leave the room.

Chewing continues.  Hitting ensues.

My nagging becomes louder, more irritated, more forceful.  "I said, get that shirt out of your mouth!"  "WE DON'T HIT!"

We don't hit, but we sure do scream!

And give time outs.

Nolan punched me in the face and kicked me in the belly yesterday because I tried to carry him to timeout when he refused to pick up his trains.

So I followed through, of course.  There was a time out.  And then the "nothing else is happening until your trains are picked up.  No lunch, no baseball, no going outside, no playing with the other toys you already got out and started playing with."

He cried for at least 10 minutes.  He likes to cry, make a big, long, loud fuss, and then when he's done with it, there are no grudges, he's happy as can be, over it.

So I try teaching, "Nolan, you know how it feels really overwhelming when you have a really big mess in your room and I ask you to clean it up?  It looks too big and scary and like you can't do it all?  That's why we have to put our toys away right when we are done playing with them.  Because if we do that, then it's not that big of a deal to just put a few toys away."

"Wahhhhhh!!!!  It's too big!  It's too much!  I need Danny to help me!!!!"

"Your mess.  Your responsibility."  Then I walk away.

And my sweet Daniel begins to cheer him on, "You can do this, Nolan! Just start with the tracks..."

Before I know it, both boys are running up the stairs giggling and there are no trains or tracks in sight.

Mission accomplished.  Or is it?

I'm pretty sure that Daniel said, "Nolan, put a bunch of toys in your shirt to carry them upstairs, and I will put a bunch in my shirt and we'll be all done."

At first blush, I think, "Oh Daniel is so sweet.  He is such a sweet older brother."  But the reality is that Nolan is learning that he can take advantage of a nice person to do what he doesn't want to do, even though it is his responsibility.

Is this such a bad thing?  Don't we all do this?  Isn't part of the reason I picked Jeff for my husband because I knew he was organized and that he would make me keep my chaos to a reasonable level?

Isn't this using your spiritual giftedness?   Sort of, but not really.

So, what's the right thing to do with that?  Do I let it go?  (Which I did.)  Or do I keep hounding?  (This is horribly annoying to me, and I'm sure it's annoying to the boys.  It also doesn't seem to work, only to infuriate.)

5 minutes later, this sweet brotherly cooperation has gone sour and Nolan is beating the crap out of Daniel upstairs.

Here we go again.  Another timeout.  Another lesson.

Another lesson for mommy in "You can't control other people's choices.  You can influence them, but you can't make decisions for them."

How do you parent? Monsanto vs. God

"A gardener doesn't MAKE things grow.  A gardener just creates the conditions through which the power of the seed is released."  --Timothy Keller

When I was going to college to become a teacher, the professors echoed something to me over and over and over again.  If your students aren't getting it, consider the fact that YOU aren't teaching it well... or at all.  This was repeated and illustrated so many times that it is now burned into my brain, and as a first year teacher, I lived plenty of my own "I never taught them how to" frustrations.  They were high school kids that didn't put their names on their papers.  They came to class with NOTHING.  NOTHING.  No book, no pen, no notebook.  And while I nagged them daily, my professors had been right.  I hadn't proactively taught them to show up with the appropriate supplies.  I hadn't taught them to write their names in the upper right-hand corner of their papers.

There is a difference between nagging and teaching.  Let's define them.
Nagging: Yelling, asking, commanding, and/or begging someone repeatedly to do something that they continue to not do your way.

Teaching: Walking with the other person through the thing you want them to know or be able to do until they can figure out how to do it all by him/herself.

And in that first year of teaching, I learned that teaching works maybe 50-75% of the time if you're REALLY good at it, and nagging works maybe 5% of the time, if that.

I KNOW that nagging is ineffective.  But I still do it to my kids ALL.THE.TIME.  I expect them to know all sorts of things that I think they should know, but they don't, and I just yell.  I haven't taken the time to teach them.  I am much too busy to stop everything I'm doing to teach them at that moment.

And I KNOW from being a teacher that I was supposed to plan ahead and teach them the "getting ready to go somewhere routine," but I just want them to do what I tell them to do when I tell them to do it so we can please, for crying out loud, just be somewhere on time for once.

So, when I realized that I was nagging and not teaching, I taught.  I gave them a "get ready to go somewhere routine."  And it worked.  For one day.  Maybe two.

Now, part of the problem of the routine not working is that I get bored with routines.  I like rituals and traditions that make me feel happy and nostalgic and warm and cozy like drinking coffee every time I sit down to write or listening to jazz or blues when I cook a real breakfast, but routines for the sake of keeping things organized are lame to me.  I just can't keep up with it.  I try to break the rules of the routine instantly.  I don't know why exactly.

The other part of the problem is that I have 4 different people that I'm trying to get to do something, and we are the way that we are.  We struggle with the things we struggle with... For each of us it's something different, but we THINK my professors in college were right.  We THINK that we can educate people out of their problems.  We think we can control other people.  oooh.  We can't?  We can't make people wash their hands after they poop?  We can't make people pick up their shoes?  We can't make people think what we want them to think and do what we want them to do?

Nope.  But we THINK we can.  And it's more frustrating to THINK you can control another human being, TRY to control another human being, and FAIL than it is to ACCEPT that you cannot control them and move on to things you can control.  Like Tim Keller said, "A gardener doesn't MAKE things grow.  A gardener just creates the conditions through which the power of the seed is released."

I cannot make my children do anything, but I can do my best to give them the right conditions to grow.  Even if I've got a cactus, a broccoli plant, and an apple tree...

The difference in parenting through control or parenting by simply creating an excellent environment is like trying to farm Monsanto's (Genetically Modifying) way or God's (Organically) way.  And I don't want to be like Monsanto, but sadly, many times I am.

And then there was chaos...

So, I'm pretty sure that the last time I posted on this blog was about the time I got pregnant with Kevin, so since I'm trying to begin posting again regularly, here's a recap.  Kevin was born.

Kevin is cute.

 Nolan does not yike bwoccoli.

 Nolan is cute.

 Danny "graduated" from preschool.

The boys put on a "Dinosaur Train" Concert for me.

 Kevin started sitting up.

 Danny started T-ball this year.

Kevin LOVES Avocados.

Kevin LOVES ceiling fans even more than he loves avocados.

Kevin is cute when he sleeps.

Kevin is a good giggler.

Daniel made a "hooter." 

Jeff finally had a day off and we went on a hike.

Danny is awesome.  Star Wars, Cape, and Underoos kind of awesome.

 Make a flowerpot hat kind of awesome.

 Kevin can stand up in his crib.

 And then there was chaos.

I think we are all caught up here.  The real writing will commence next week;)

God and Pinterest.

I had intentionally avoided pinterest for a while.  You see, I already have several things in my life that suck the time away... children, books, facebook, workouts, email... and I knew that if I started another one, more and more and more hours of the day would just get whittled away on this pinterest thing.  And then I was looking for ideas for a friend's baby shower, and Caroline pulled up pinterest and voila!  HUNDREDS of AMAZING IDEAS for EVERYTHING in about 15 seconds. UGH...  And... another time-sucking device coming into my life.

But... last night I had a goofy dream and woke up thinking that my whole life is like God's pinterest "Emily's Life" Board full of ideas and people and visions He created... Like He's up there saying, "Hmmm... We'll put this idea here.  Combine it with this vision... Oh.  I like that.  Let's intersect these visions with this person.  Oh, and this will be a catalyst for that..."  

No big metaphor here, I just think pinterest is really cool with all of the creations and ideas in one place... Just like God... All of the amazing, cool ideas and creations all in one place...from God.  And it's kind of comforting that He is up there looking at all of the amazing people and things He made and matching me up with the ones He knows I need.

Inspired by a Pop-in.

A friend I haven't seen in months just did the random pop-in this afternoon.  And just seeing her face and giggling with her for a few minutes made my day.  Sometimes I forget how wonderful it is to be blessed by so many wonderful friendships, and I am only reminded when something out of the ordinary happens, like Kimi stops over in the middle of the afternoon while I'm cutting up strawberries and I almost don't answer the door because I'm afraid it's a Jehovah's Witness or someone trying to sell me some milk.  Just her 20 minute visit reminded me that I have so many wonderful, caring, fun friends in my life, and I just feel so blessed to have these friendships.

I don't know that I would realize just how lucky I am if I hadn't abandoned everything I knew before to move across the country to live "someplace pretty and peaceful."  Because I remember having what Rick Godwin calls "The Oh God Moment."  Feeling so alone and so afraid and so... stupid.

I had just dropped off my 'known each other our whole lives' best friend at the airport in Denver after she had driven across the country with me from Michigan.  And driving back up to Estes Park, I thought, Oh God. I don't know anyone here.  What in the world did I just get myself into.  I just left everyone I have ever loved and everyone who has ever loved me to come out here to the mountains and clean toilets?  What was I thinking?  Why did I do this?  Why am I here?  What am I going to do?  How am I ever going to make any friends or meet a husband or...?  Oh shit.  What did I do?  What did I just do?


Oddly enough, as the road began to get winding and more interesting, and the beauty of the mountains began to unfold, I remembered, Oh yeah.  I'm here because this is beautiful.  And I have room to breathe... and adventure awaits.


And Colorado has never been any different than that to me.  It has been lonely at times through the past 8 years I've lived here, but it has never ceased to be beautiful and adventurous and a great place to be able to breathe... even though my father always says otherwise...

But it has also been so interesting in terms of making friendships, this living in a place without family, living in a place where I started out with zero friends.

I have one friend who grew up here, her husband grew up here, and both of their parents still live close by.  And every time I have a party, she always asks, "How do you know all of these people?"  And I don't know how I know them, I just meet them, and I like them, and I tell them that we should be friends.  And then we are.  And then I make them come over and have dinner.  And then I make my kids play with their kids and all of a sudden I'm throwing a party and I just want to invite the whole world over and make them all be my friends.  I sound a little like Dorie from Finding Nemo... 'I will take you home, and you will be my squishie."  Then again, Dorie and I have a lot in common... Forgetful, willing to just go along on an adventure, and if I get caught in something I'm leery of, I 'just keep swimming...'

There's no real point to this blog today, except maybe to say that I'm really grateful for you, friends.  And I'm glad I moved across the country, because it's beautiful here, I can breathe, and... adventure awaits.

Lost My Balance, Found Seasons Instead.

There is so much talk in the world today about "finding balance."

Well, I'm just feeling so unbalanced lately... I really need to just even my life back out.
'My life will be so much better when I find a man who balances me.'
I need to find a balance with my job...

Blah blah blah blah...

Either I am way more like my father than I care to admit or "having a balanced life" is pretty much a load of garbage.  Much like the load of garbage sold to young girls about there actually being a perfect man out there in the world.  Or the load of garbage sold to teenage boys that Axe Body Spray makes beautiful women want you so much their clothes fall off when you walk by.

My life has never been "balanced."  And I don't ever foresee it being that way.  I am passionate.  And I am a visionary.  And I am an artist and a mother and a wife and a triathlete and a Christian and a friend and a sister and a professional presenter and a teacher (kind of) and a cook and a laundry-doer and a coupon-clipping grocery shopper and a DGL Coordinator and a...

And if I fit my definition of "balanced," I would be able to wake up at 4 am to write for 3 hours before the kids wake up, do a load of laundry every day (yes, get it into and out of the washer and dryer, folded, ironed, put away...), do the dishes directly after every meal, have the dishwasher unloaded and ready to have dishes put in it, have a healthy breakfast, lunch, and dinner, work out to train for a triathlon for 1.5 hours every day, play with my kids every day.  Teach them something every day.  Read every day.  Clean every room of the house once a week.  Volunteer at the nursing home once a week.  Present for MOPS once a month.  Present for CollegeBoard once a month.  Spend time talking or participating in an activity with my husband every day.  Call my mother, father, brothers, sisters-in-law once a week.  Get Daniel to school on time with his hat and mittens and snowpants. Remember everyone's birthdays and send them cards on time. Plan ahead enough to take a decent family picture for Christmas cards before Christmas Day rolls around.  Spend time with friends.  Go to play dates a couple times a week.  Go to church.  Volunteer at church.  Be in a book club.  Be in a writer's group. Blog....

Balance, to me, means that I am able to do all of the things I love AND all of the things I have to do just to get by.

And, you know what?

There are 24 hours in a day. I am a raging lunatic if I don't sleep.  And something's gotta give.

If I am going to ever finish this book, then my kids will wake up some days with no clean clothes; the dishes will sit in the sink until Jeff comes home; dinner will be something I can make in 15 minutes, the amount of time that I spend working out will be much less than the amount of time I spend drinking coffee and staring at a blank computer screen, and sometimes I will forget the Hershey Kiss roses we made for Danny's teacher.

And when the book is written, I will spend a large amount of time working out, training for a tri.  And I won't write.  And then it will be baseball season and Jeff will be gone lots of nights, and I'll drag the boys to a bunch of baseball games...And after the tri is done, then it will be August, and I will present for the CollegeBoard in Texas all August long.  And then I won't have written for a couple of months and I'll feel all "unbalanced" because I'm not using my brain.  So I'll seek out several groups of people to help me use my brain...

And this is just how life is.  Season after season... Busy with everything, then bored and lonely with nothing.  And chasing after balance just makes me feel like I'm doing it wrong.

But I don't think I'm doing it wrong.  I am just doing my best to live the life that God gave me.

And that looks more like  Ecclesiastes 3. 1-8 than as my friend, Matt Colley says, "a rolling ball of zen in a world of chaos."

To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:
A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;
A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;
A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away;
A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.
With that, I will stop this pointless chasing after balance and just live trying to get the timing right... Healing when it is Healing's season, Laughing when it is Laughing's season... Writing when it is Writing's season... Playing when it is the Playing season... Last time I checked, none of those are listed on the calendar, so the beautiful thing is that I will only know what season it is when the season arrives.

And while I have a favorite season, I only love the Fall because it is so refreshing after a long hot summer, and I only love the winter because you can't ski without snow and it doesn't snow in the summer.  And I only love Spring because it means the Winter is over....

While this season may be long and difficult, inspiring and insightful, it is a season, and unlike the dirty laundry and dishes, someday it will be done.

Life Cycle of a Stay at Home Mom.

Mom Thought: Gosh, I used to use my brain a lot more than I do now.  I'm kind of bored.  Maybe I should find a volunteering opportunity or pick up a part time job or start a blog or doing something creative.  


After getting a part-time job and starting something creative...

Someone at the job says, "You're doing a really great job with this, and we'd like to give you more responsibility.  We really need you to pick up some more hours.  Can you do that for us?"

Mom Thought: Well, I only did this so I could help out the family with some extra cash and use my brain, but I don't want to let them down, so OK."


Someone at the preschool says, "You are so organized, would you mind helping out with our fund-raiser?"

Mom Thought: Well, it IS a good cause, and I wanted to help out more by volunteering...


A friend says, "Do you want to be a part of our book club?  I know how you love to read."

Mom Thought: It WOULD be really good for my brain, and I think it would challenge me.


The blog she created on a whim, thinking it would be easy to continue sits, loomingly un-updated since the first entry, and it calls to her, "You have 'followers.'  They are waiting on you to write something in here."


Mom Thought: I really miss hanging out with good friends.  Maybe I should join a Mommy Group.  I do have Fridays available.


Mom can't figure out why she's been so stressed and yelling at her kids more and freaking out about lunches not getting packed or why getting coats on and getting out the door is so stressful or why she just can't take one more annoying thing in her life.


Kids say, "Mama, we MISS you.  Are you going to another meeting?"

Mom thinks: What did I get myself into?  Should I be taking on all of these things?  I miss my kids.  I need to spend more time with them.  Maybe I should get rid of some of these responsibilities.  I have been pretty stressed lately.  It's just too much.


Mom says to the job, pre-school, Mommy group, and book club, "You know, I am just taking on too many responsibilities right now, and I can't juggle them all at once.  My family is suffering and, I just can't take on all of these things, so I can't volunteer.  I can't work more hours, and I'm not going to make it to book club this time."

Three weeks later...

Mom thinks: I'm kinda bored.  I'm really going to get going on this blog.  And now that I'm not working so much, I COULD actually do that pre-school fund-raiser thing...

Friday Night with the Hoo's.

Every Hoo down in Broomhooville, the tall and the small peeked out their windows to watch the snow fall.
"Dat one, I yike dat one," Nolan Hoo said with a shout.
"The one I like is better," Danny Hoo boasted without a doubt.

The snow fell and fell, drifting by and by
Until the biggest snow piles were taller than the smallest Hoo
when they stood side by side.

So in the warmth of our home,
we cozied up with some soup,
Papa's potato, to be precise,
We were warm, we were cozy,
In fact, the snow was quite nice.

We danced in the kitchen to oldies with glee
Because mama said that we couldn't turn on the TV.
So Daddy strolled around, guitar in hand
So little boys could "dance" around the land.

With moves like the Nolan two-step,
which is just marching up and down,
Or Danny just spinning around and around.

And then, whose idea it was is unknown,
But the decision was made for a Toga Party in our home.
So cute were the little Hoo's tripping over their attire
We giggled and giggled until our sides were on fire.

In the morning we didn't arise and hold hands around a tree.
It wasn't Christmas, and we didn't sing.
But Mama Hoo was not a Grinch when she awoke that day,
Who knew she didn't need coffee?  She just needed to play.

The Trick to Cuter (and better-behaved) Kids!

So... my kids have gotten cuter in the past few weeks.

They're not any different.  They don't look differently or act differently or speak differently, but they are much much cuter.

And it has way more to do with how I see them than it does with how they are.

I am finding out what everyone's been telling me their whole lives... I have really cool kids.  I always knew this on some level, but I just couldn't see it.

I was too busy trying to build them into what I thought they should be.  Too busy trying to make them fit the mold of well-behaved, good-charactered children to see who they are and see who God made them to be.  I was too busy trying to succeed at motherhood to look at them and enjoy who they are.  Too worried about whether or not others thought I was a good mom.  Trying so hard to earn the, "Your children are so well-behaved.  You are such a great mom." compliments.

But the thing is, when I am not so uptight about their behavior and how they make me look... they behave better than when I am uptight about it.  When I take the time to sit and listen to them and answer their questions and hear about how Daniel pretended to be Yoshi, then Bowser, then Toad, then Donkey Kong, then Yellow Yoshi, Pink Yoshi, and Jr. Bowser this morning, but he can't decide who he's going to be after lunch. And when I take the time to play with him and be Daisy or Princess Peach (which, by the way I have no idea how to do), he looks at me with beautiful blue eyes and says, "I love you so much, Mama."  And, while I generally find the whole pretending games to be pretty annoying because for Daniel, it's more about choosing the characters (and changing his mind about it) than actually playing, now I realize that it's an odd and endearing quirk that someday will translate into something really cool.

And I don't have to worry about that, because, while he is my son, my brain, my heart, my everything is not in him.  His brain, his heart, his everything is in him.  This is a weird phenomenon that happens when you have a child and you don't know it's going to happen or when it is happening, but when we become parents, at some point, someone actually has to tell us this obvious thing that our sons and daughters have their own thoughts and emotions, etc.

And when I just hug Nolan when he needs a hug and just watch him (because he doesn't want me to talk to him or play with him usually), he laughs even more belly laughs and snuggles even better snuggles.

And when I look at them with these eyes, with the "you are... who you are" eyes, I see beautiful children who I really like to spend time with.  And I don't need anyone to tell me that I'm doing a good job.  I don't need anyone to notice that I work hard to care for them.

Because when I see them as people, I can appreciate them.  When I see them as walking compilations of my successes, faults, or failures, they are no longer people, just the things I wish I had done better.  I really really like looking at them and seeing a tall gangly blond 4 year old kid with the vocabulary and spiritual inquiry of a college student and a stocky, giggly ham who loves to snuggle with nigh-night, make people laugh, and irritate his older brother.  It is way more fun to just be a parent to two goofy kids than it is to look at my kids and only see the things that are wrong with me and how I do things.

I'm saying this all in past tense as though I'll never go back there again, as though I'll never get too busy to appreciate my children again, as though I'll never try to control how they interpret things or see things or say things, etc.  But I know I will.  I know I won't see them with the "right" eyes all of the time, but just knowing that when I do see them with the "right" eyes, we all have more fun together is a big incentive.

Because Someday They'll Be Big.

So, the other day, before Dr. Mario could eradicate all of the viruses from our home, the boys and I decided that it would be fun to watch Toy Story 3 together.

And you see, I blubber like a baby when I watch this show.  The first part gets me all teary, the home movies of a little boy playing, taken, I'm sure when the mom or dad had just enough time to think, Gosh, this is cute.  I bet I'll want to remember how cute he was someday. 

But then the reality hits that the little boy is big.  He's going off to college.  His room probably smells like a hockey bag.  And as the cute little boys and I snuggle on the couch all achy and sick, I look over at their cute crusty noses and sob and think, someday they're not gonna want to snuggle on the couch with me anymore.  They'll be big and smell like boy and they'll be too embarrassed to hug me.


So, of course, Nolan points to my face, frowns and says, "Crying, Mama.  Cry."  And Daniel, sensitive soul that he is, says, "Mama!  Why are you crying?!"

"Because, honey, someday you will be big, and you won't want to hug me."

"Can I hug you now, Mama?"

"Of course you can, honey, of course you can."

Not to be outdone by his older brother, Nolan comes barreling onto my lap, "Me too, Mama.  Meeee tooooo!"  The pushing and shoving of brotherhood already in full swing.

"I will hug you when I get big, Mama."  Daniel says, so concerned.  His blue eyes big and sincere.
"Me too, Mama.  Me too," says Nolan.

Funny, I don't believe them.  Not that they don't mean it.  They just don't know what it means to be a teenager yet.  They just don't know the long winding road they have ahead of them.

Just like I, most times, don't know what it means to "cherish them while they're young."  Because right now they're so... crusty-nosed and whiny and oatmeal-smearing and juice-spilling... But they're also... crusty-nosed and oatmeal-smearing... And it's cute, the noses.  The innocence.  The bubble bath-smelling.

And I know I should see them as their adorable selves more often, appreciate the way that they are now with sleepy-head hair, dinosaur t-shirt and diaper, bright orange shorts combined with a button-down Cars pajama top...

I should appreciate their goofy little kid quirks and strange way they see the world.  I should look at Nolan needing to be snuggled and Danny wanting to play with me as opportunities to love, not interruptions to something I have to get done because...

Someday they'll be big and smelly.

Mario World Pictures

My son has an obsession... And I may feed it, or support it, or, I don't know, but you see, my husband has appointed me "Head of the Department of Fun" in our family.  As you can see from the pictures below, I take my job very, very seriously.

 Here are the (from L to R) Yoshi, Princess Peach, Mario, and Luigi costumes I made the family for Halloween this year.  I got one idea and then another and another, and I was having a good time, so we dressed up the whole family!  This may be where I began to feed the obsession.

When I began brainstorming ideas about Daniel's  birthday party, I  started with the Petey Piranhas.  You see, they were the only decorations I was going to do.  Cheap.  Easy.  Cute.  Fun.

But then I realized that making some mushrooms would be cute and easy too.

And we ran out of red construction paper, so then came the  1ups.

And what is a Mario Party without Goombas?

And, of course, every party is a better party with a cup full o' mustaches.

And the construction paper decor just keeps going....

And going...

This is where the kids played "Be Yoshi and Get the Goombas" by knocking over the Goombas with their  "Yoshi Tongues."

And, of course our Super Mario World Adventure included  gathering coins and star cookies from various question mark boxes throughout Super Mario World.

Daniel's favorite part!

Nolan doing what he does best... Destroying cupcakes.

Even the Mario Characters were all partied out by the end.

This Head of the Department of Fun declares creating a small piece of Mario World a  "Super Fun Adventure."  I may have had more fun than the kids... It's pretty cool when the nostalgic childhood memories for a parent connect with her child, because this was super fun for me.

Mario World turns into Mario Hospital.

So, a week ago, our home was transformed into the Super Mario Brothers Super World.  We had mustaches, Goombas, Mushrooms (no, not that kind-- it was a kid's party for crying out loud!), Petey Piranhas, 1ups, question mark boxes filled with coins and star cookies, and even Princess Peach was taken into Bowser's castle so our little Marios and Luigis could rescue her and receive prizes. 


One day later, it became Super Mario Hospital housing patients with the flu, conjunctivitis, and strep.  Poor Dr. Mario (Jeff) was the only mostly healthy one of the bunch, able to avoid the truck that ran me over and left bones aching that I, didn't know I had.  Dr. Mario also did an amazing job making at least 14 viruses disappear in the middle of the night as Yoshi (Daniel) vomited them out all night long. Baby Mario (Nolan), however, decided to hoard some viruses in his eye after an allergic reaction to adult soap.  


Nurse Peach (me) decided it was time to get to the bottom of all the sickness, so she enlisted the help of Dr. Luigi at the Urgent Care.  When it was revealed that the Strep-io bacteria was the cause of apple-sized tonsils and a very strange voice in Nurse Peach, she decided to eradicate the Strep-io by checking  Yoshi and Baby Mario's tonsils as well.  


So after getting more pills for Dr. Mario2 to make the bugs disappear, Nurse Peach began to investigate.  She did major observance of Yoshi and Baby Mario. What she found was not surprising.  Yoshi does quite well with the elbow coughing and runny nose wiping, even if he does stick his tongue out an inordinate amount.  However, Baby Mario's hygene seemed to be alarmingly bad.  You see, he puts small objects, like his toy tow truck, Mater, into his Gatorade and pulls it out to lick the Gatorade off of this toy truck.  Then, he places his dirty, stew-covered spoon back in the drawer with the clean silverware.


I am curious as to how many times he has done this.  He did it so quietly and   
quickly that I am sure this was not the first time, and I am sure the silverware drawer was filthy before I discovered this little problem.  At least the silverware drawer has been disinfected.  Now on to disinfecting the rest of the house.  I think Nurse Peach needs one of those invincibility stars.

It's Beginning to Feel A Lot like Christmas... oh wait...

I remember Christmas as such an exciting and joyful time as a kid... Parties and presents and pretty dresses...  My mom saying yes to things she usually said no to, like cookies or playing games with me at the kitchen table or letting me help her bake.  Seeing cousins and aunts and uncles we didn't normally see, and spending more time with the grandparents.    
And then there was the magical, mystical quality of it all...
Waking up on Christmas morning, padding downstairs where the lights on the tree were still on to see a huge mound of presents in the place where I left my empty stocking the night before.  A mound of presents left by a fat guy who came down my chimney...?  All in return for some hot cocoa and a couple of cookies?  Which, incidentally, was an idea that I bought into for a really, really, really long time.
And I really liked going to church only on Christmas Eve because they did the candle thing and even as a little kid, I thought that was really pretty and peaceful.  Plus I knew that when we got home, there was a party at our house and we would get to open a present and then it wasn't long until Santa would come!
When I think of Christmas in childhood, I think of joy, peace, excitement, love.

What I never felt as a child during Christmas time was...stressed out.

As an adult...
I returned home from a workshop in Texas on December 3rd.  I was weary from the work and the travel and so glad to be home.  I walked through the gate and into the airport sighing with relief and thought to myself, Ah.  Denver.  I'm so glad I don't have to go anywhere until... Crap.  Two weeks.  Seriously?  Less than two weeks.  I have to leave for Michigan in less than two weeks?!!!  Are you kidding me?!  I haven't bought one present or baked one thing!  How could this be?!  


Christmas time is so... stressful.
Do I have enough time to order that for her?  Can I get it in that size?  Did you deliver this to that person?  Did you buy them a ____?  Do we have enough money to pay for the gas?  Are we at your family's house for the same amount of time we are at mine?  What are my brothers going to make fun of me about this year?  How much poop am I going to have to clean out of the car seats?  Is she going to like this?  They have everything.  What kind of a gift can I even buy them?... 

And all of these things always seems to sneak up on me.

So, this year, after realizing I had less than two weeks until we got in a car to go visit family... I made a list.  I checked it twice.  And on the second check, I simply crossed out a bunch of stuff that I could skip (or do after Christmas) and attempt to keep my sanity.  I didn't bake anything.  Seriously.  Not. One. Thing.  I didn't buy my kids presents.  Seriously.  The Sunday before we left for Michigan I filled up their stockings with cool travel games to keep them busy in the car, but that was it.  Then we went to see the Muppets as a family.  Somehow we still have more toys and games than we know what to do with.  I only took on one photo project that consisted of 8 pictures.  And sin of all Must Do Christmas Tradition sins, I didn't send out Christmas cards or get our family pictures taken.  (If you happened to notice not getting a Christmas card with a picture of our smiling family on it, now you know why.)

And still, even after eliminating all of those things from my list of things to do, the prevailing feeling was not joy, peace, excitement, or love.  It was stress.

Granted, it was wonderful to see all of the family that we got to see.  It was super fun to play Farkle with the families and go out for drinks with my brothers and sisters in law.  It was awesome to watch my boys have so much fun with their cousins and grandparents.

But it seems as though I am finding more joy in normal life these days, more peace in the day to day, more excitement about my cup of delicious coffee in the morning, more love in the way Nolan asks every evening, "Nuggle, Mama?  Nuggle?"

I used to be a self-proclaimed "Special Day Junkie."  Now I love when my life is quiet and ordinary.  Does that mean I'm getting old? Or wiser?

Regardless... Now that whirlwind of stress and chaos is over, it's beginning to feel a lot like Christmas around here... Joyful, peaceful, loving...just in time to take down the tree and all of the decorations.

Things I like about Texas

1. Micheal my brother lives there.
2. If a man has been anywhere in the general vicinity when I am getting into a vehicle with a piece of luggage, I have never been allowed to load it into that vehicle.
3. When I ordered fajitas and a margarita at the airport the other day, the woman asked me if my order was "for here or to go."

The End.