Back to School '10

I know for some people that the new year begins on January 1. But I'm from a family of school teachers, so the new year really begins right around now, at the beginning of school.

I have to say this has not been the easiest of summers, and by the beginning of August I was so fed up with the constant bickering and the Polly Pockets and Barbies everywhere and the telling me, "Mom, I need something to doooooo," I was about to lose it. As my friend Suzanna says, "Sometimes mercy comes in the form of a big yellow school bus." I frankly could not wait for this day, and actually, neither could the girls.

"When is school starting?" they would ask me every day.

But now that school did start (yesterday for Lucy and today for Elaine), of course I've got that nostalgic, weepy feeling about my babies growing up so fast and before you know it, I'll be trying to get them to pick out sheets and towels for their dorm room when all they're interested in is picking out the best posters for their walls (do college kids still put up posters? I could be off on that.)

So, my real question is, how is that just last week I had this person in my house...

...yet now she looks like this:
Please note that she is displaying her new rainbow Skechers to their best advantage. She had been begging me for Skechers, so after I bought all her new uniforms at Kohls, they gave me a $20.00 coupon back (it's like getting paid to shop!), plus I had a 15% off card, and we went to get the shoes she wanted. Here's a sampling of our dialog in the store:

Lucy: These are awesome, Mom! These are just what I want; I can't wait to show everyone at school!

Me (remember--raised by a missionary): OK, Luce, just remember, these are special. There's no way I'd paid forty dollars for shoes for a 7-year-old. After our coupons, they cost about $13.00. You don't have to tell everyone they're Skechers, either, because what if someone else doesn't have them? Everybody's shoes are just fine, no matter what brand they have. That's why everyone wears a uniform to school--so nobody feels bad that someone else's clothes are nicer than theirs.

Lucy: ELAINE, LOOK AT MY COOL SHOES! THEY ARE SKECHERS!

I guess that's one of those talks that you hopes sticks in their head later in life, kind of like the common sense talk we have almost every day. Actually, I am picturing my mom up in heaven, laughing at me because we had this exact conversation circa 1982 about Lee jeans or something.

OK, moving on, here's her backpack and most especially her just-long-enough-to-be-braided hair.
Note the shoes still being displayed:

My dad had spent the night before with us so he'd be on-hand for the first day of school. I'm so glad he was there, and he prayed for both girls that they would have a great year.

(And again, the displaying of the shoes): Now today is Miss E's first day. This is her yesterday:
And now today...
Junior kindergartners don't have to wear a uniform yet, so she can go freestyle. This leaves me with another year of finding clothes with cats all over them. In the meantime, she has a cat backpack, with a pink cat attachment, and, because they each get to bring one thing from home today, of course she is bringing Catty. I was supposed to wash Catty yesterday, but I forgot, so today we just put a party dress on her instead.


One of my favorite pictures...

...to this. Elaine doesn't look very happy because Lucy is standing too close to her and breathing the same air she does. (Remember? Sometimes mercy comes in the form of a big yellow school bus.)

I finally got them both dropped off, oh wait, after they both said goodbye to Cleo the Cat. Lucy said, "I bet she's so sad that we're going to school, and she'll be all alone with you, Mom." Seeing as she spends most of her time hiding in various closets and it's only been two days since any one of us hasn't been hissed at or bitten by her, I'm not too sure about that.

At school, Lucy ran down the hall confidently to her second grade room. It's a Northwoods theme, complete with a fish pond in their class, a cabin, and a mascot named Martin the Moose. They're going to learn to record each other, get postcards from all 50 states, and they've already been to the library where Lucy checked out a Bobbsey Twins book. She's going to have a great year because she is one of the happiest, best little citizens there is. She is made for school.

Elaine's room is a garden theme. There are all sorts of centers and a tent that looks like a beehive where they can go in and read. Buzzy the Bee is their mascot, and every morning they have Buzzy time where they can tell about their life. Lucy was in this same room three years ago. When I went to the open house, I noticed that all the other mothers were 12-15 years younger than I am. They probably thought I was Elaine's grandma. Not that I have any insecurity about that.

Here's Elaine with her teacher, who is the sweetest, kindest person you'd ever want to meet.

Whew. They're off to school and I'm back at home, turning on some music because it's so quiet around here. I think I'll go take a walk with my free time. We just wrapped the Sept/Oct issue of the magazine (more on that later), and I'm supposed to be thinking about the Christmas issue now. Nothing like a warm August morning to get you in the mood for the holidays. But of course with time the way it is, they'll be here in the next day or so.

A New Addition

Last week I hinted about a possible big announcement coming. I guess there's no time like the present to tell you all about it.

When Elaine was about to turn two, we started to get the questions. "Are you going to have any more?" "Wouldn't you like to try for a boy?" "Don't you want to have another baby?"

At that time I was adamant. No way. My stock answer is: I've got two hands. Both of them are full. My pregnancy with Elaine was difficult. She was premature. I've got thyroid disease. It's not going to happen. Besides, we're happy with two. And they are...what's the word I'm looking for? I think it's spirited. They wear me out (in the sweetest possible way).

People got more insistent. "You've got to have a third," they'd say. "Three are great. The girls would love it!"

My dentist told me, "Definitely have another one. Three is what totally pushed my wife over the edge." (Uh, that's not really selling me on the idea.)

But as time went on, you moms know what I'm talking about, I started to get a little of that baby longing. Seeing maternity clothes. New baby gear. People with dear little babies. Sigh. I love babies.

Darren and I began to talk. He would say, "Wasn't it so much fun, when the girls were born and we just carried them around in those carriers? And now it's all over."

"I know," I would answer. "Elaine is so tall. And she's going to junior kindergarten this year. Junior kindergarten!"

I came across some of the girls' old baby clothes and would get all teary-eyed.

We talked some more. Were we crazy? Were we ready for being wakened in the night? Another little creature who would get sick at all the worst possible times? Potty training? Extra new gear around the house? More needs, more money, more worry? We've gotten fairly serene over the last couple years with just our two. Should we add a third?

After much discussion, we have come to a decision.

The decision is....yes. We're ready. We're going to have someone new here at Guilford Road.

So, for the third time in my life, I am so pleased to announce:







It's a girl!








(sound of record screeching)

Yup. We're adopting a cat. We've never had a cat! We were strictly a dog couple (though I still can't really talk about my boys much. I get too weepy. I miss them.) But the girls have been begging us for over a year for a cat.

"No way," Darren said. "We don't need a cat."

But they worked on me until I started wanting one, too. I had criteria though, a long list. I love Siamese cats, so I wanted that breed. They're supposed to be loving, loyal, and very intelligent. Also, I love the movie, "That Darn Cat." I wasn't picky about seal point, lilac point, whatever (don't I sound like an expert?) just Siamese. I didn't want a kitten, i.e., I want one that already knows how to use a litter box. I didn't want a fluffy one that would shed all over. I kind of wanted a female. And I wanted one that was declawed. Now before you freak out, I would not personally declaw a cat. But I also am not having some animal sharpen its claws on my leather furniture.

So, I began an almost yearlong search on Petfinder. Let me tell you--filling my criteria was next to impossible (the lady at the shelter told us a declawed Siamese is the Holy Grail). Until one day a few weeks ago, a dear little cat's profile popped up. She was four years old (they approximate), short-haired, chocolate point, front declawed. She had been abandoned in the basement of a foreclosed home with five other cats. By the time the shelter found them last March, they were starving. One of them died. It took until July for them to even be ready to adopt out.

We decided to take the plunge and foster this little cat--just to see how it goes. We've had her for almost two weeks now. We kept telling the girls that the kitty is just here for a 2-week vacation. Then she'll need to go back so she can find a forever family. Before they go to their school open house tomorrow, they'll need to say goodbye (We love to mess with their heads). When they come home, we'll tell them that we are going to be her forever family!

I'm sure you're dying to know her name. The shelter named her Cleo, which actually quite suits her. The girls had already decided that any cat they got (they were so positive it would happen someday no matter how many times their dad told them no) they were going to name "Miss Marple." Consequently, we're naming her Miss Cleo Marple and most of the time just calling her Cleo. As my friend Mary says, "She'll be the lesser known Marple sister."

She appears to be adjusting nicely. At first of course, she just wanted to hide in a laundry basket bed we made for her in the back of the closet. But now she is getting intrepid and roaming around. She's beginning to talk to us (Siamese are big talkers) and lets us pet her for longer and longer periods of time each day. She's even purred happily for one of us. I won't tell you exactly who, but it's the household member who was adamant about not getting a cat.

So, there you go. Our new addition. As my mom told me a long time ago, "When your youngest goes to kindergarten, you'll get sad and think you want another baby. Just go plant some flowers."

Or...adopt a Miss Cleo Marple!

Short and Sassy

Every year, this particular week in August, I do the back-to-school haircut post. I let the girls' hair just go all summer long. Then we go to Ms. Robin and get fresh new 'dos for school.

However, last spring, Lucy announced that she wanted to grow her hair long because she wanted to donate it to Locks of Love. Really, I can't argue with such philanthropy so I said OK, but she has to be in charge of it, meaning brush it and put it up neatly. This is the child who, if I get within three feet of her head with a hairbrush, starts to cry and I had no intention of listening to that for the next 18 months. She's been really good about that, and Elaine announced she was going to grow her hair for Locks of Love, too.

I foresaw more problems with this scenario, particularly since she has hair like mine, which I once decided to grow out. I did that for 15 months and, I'm not kidding you, it grew two inches. She'd probably be able to donate her hair around the time she left for college. But...I said OK to that, too, and she grew it all summer. Except each morning, it would be snarled up, and she would cry when I tried to run the brush through. Any cute hairstyle I gave her, she would remove within five minutes. Basically, she ran around looking like a shaggy dog all summer.

Last week I told the girls that we were making our end-of-summer visit to Ms. Robin, to at least get their bangs trimmed.

"I want my hair cut," Elaine announced. "I don't like it now. I want to look like Sal."

Do you remember Sal?

I asked, "Are you sure? Lucy's still going to be growing hers long. You can get yours cut if you want, but I don't want you to regret it."

But, being the inner short-haired person she is, just like her mom, she assured me she was dying to get it cut and she was going to bring her book so Ms. Robin would know exactly how to cut her hair."

"Man, that starts early, doesn't it?" Darren said, having been used to me dragging various pictures to the salon for the last 15 years. He just doesn't get it. But frankly, I'm comforted that he's not clipping magazine pictures and taking them to a stylist. He's a simple razor man.

Here's the shaggy dog outside Ms. Robin's shop:

In the chair, ready to take the plunge (she can hardly see):

Spraying on the "magic water":

Look how much she's cutting!

Getting excited about the new look:

Almost finished:

Side view:

Ta da!

Isn't that cute? And when it's dry, it curls up even more.

"That cut suits her," Ms. Robin remarked, "Short and sassy!"

"Yeah, especially the sassy part," said Darren.

Like a typical woman, she couldn't stop checking herself out in the mirror and saying with a satisfied little bounce, "NOW I look like Sal!"

She looks much more like the little cat she is instead of a shaggy dog, for which I'm thankful. And gone are the morning brushing/crying sessions for which I'm even more thankful.

Win-win!

You Get What You Need

Last fall I wrote a post about my mom's and my friends: Barbara and Julie. You can read it here, if you haven't already ('cause it gives background on who they are). A few weeks before my mom died, Barbara went into the hospital for breast cancer surgery. When my mom heard about it, she had my dad go to the florist next door and bring back a selection of things. She pointed to the one she wanted for Barbara--a miniature yellow rose bush--to represent their friendship. After my mom died, Barbara wrote me a letter (like, on paper. With a pen. And a stamp. In the mail. That's how our moms do things.) She said she had planted the yellow rosebush and in the weeks leading up to my mom's death, little buds had come out all over it. The afternoon she got home from Mom's memorial service, she went out to her garden to look at her rosebush--it had bloomed all over. Isn't that the greatest story?

Anyway, remember the week when I wrote that "Sad" post? Well, on that Friday, the girls and I were supposed to go to Wheaton--to Julie's--for a pool party. We were so looking forward to it. I got in my car to pick the girls up from VBS--Darren had the other car at work with him--and it took me three tries to start it. Then when I got to the church, it died again. I knew there was no way I should risk driving over an hour on I-90 with it. I'm not exactly a car person, it may surprise you to learn.

So, incredibly disappointed, we made it home and called Julie to tell her we couldn't come. She said, "I'm getting in my car. I'll come to you!" So, an hour or two later, there she was...with cupcakes and gum and Hello Kitty nail polish for all of us.

First, we went to the Japanese gardens because she hadn't seen them yet. The girls showed her how to feed the fish, and she took videos of them, running and screaming toward the "Contemplative Garden" area. Oh, the irony.

Then we came home and flopped in the living room, while the girls busied themselves with the Hello Kitty nail polish. We were chatting (or as we call it, "sit-n-frit"), and Julie said, "Ever since you blogged about styling that doll, I've become obsessed with the idea."

She picked up Elaine's dilapidated doll, Sophie, who was lying on the couch. "Look at her," she said. "I've got hair serum in my purse. Do you think it would work in her hair?"

I looked at her. There are so many things I like about this person, not the least of which is, I can see her nuttiness and raise it.

"Lucy's doll Sydney has HORRIBLE hair," I told her. "I wonder if...I wonder if..."

"We should wash their hair," we said in unison and raced upstairs to the bathroom with dolls under our arms.

The girls ran up to see what the commotion was. "What are you and Aunt Julie doing, Mom?" Lucy asked. She looked puzzled.

"Having a beauty shop with Sophie and Sydney. We'll surprise you with them when we're done," I told her.

Here are some pictures we took with Julie's phone. This is before. Look how much in need they are of our ministrations.

Here I am, washing Sydney's hair. We decided since I'm blond, I should be Sydney's stylist, and since Julie's a brunette, she should be Sophie's.

Here's Julie. She's a Hollywood stylist. That's why she's wearing sunglasses.

And here's Sophie. "Look at her," Julie said. "She even looks more relaxed."

"What would you do if Darren came home from work right now?" Julie asked.

"He's bringing some of his visiting co-workers back tonight, too," I told her.

She affected a foreign accent. "Ohhhhh, look at these American women. They do not have enough work to do, so they wash the doll's hair. This is a very strange country!"

We left the bathroom and headed for the guestroom, for the intensive styling session. We pinned up the dolls' hair, applied product, and blowdried it in sections.

Here I am, putting serum in Sydney's hair:

And here's Julie, brushing through Sophie's hair.

"Aren't you glad we have master's degrees?" Julie asked.

"I think we should submit some of these photos to Loyola and DePaul, respectively," I answered. "Look how well this doll's hair has responded to treatment."

Here is Sydney, all fixed up:

And here's the amazing transformation the Hollywood stylist worked on Sophie:


The girls were thrilled with their newly styled dolls, and Julie and I went back downstairs to lie on the living room floor.

"I'm exhausted," she said.

"Me, too," I answered. "And those dolls didn't even tip us."

After Julie went home, and I was laughing to myself about the day, I thought yet again about how personal God is. He always knows exactly what you need, exactly when you need it.

Sometimes when you're grieving, you need a hug or someone to cry with you. Sometimes you need a rosebush to bloom at just the right time. And sometimes you need your lifelong friend to drop everything, show up on your doorstep with cupcakes, and style some dolls' hair with you.

Thanks, Julz! You are the best.

P.S. Some day I'll need to write down more of Aunt Julie's and my antics through the years. Our parents knew us well enough to discern that any odd behavior or disconcerting questions from us somehow had to do with each other, kind of like the time Julie asked her dad, apropos of nothing, "Can someone fly under an assumed name?" And he said (emphatically), "No. Does this have to do with Alice?" Then there was the time we went to the Theosophical Society in costume...But those will keep until another time.

They're BACK!

Episodes actually started last Sunday night, but at least on my PBS station, they were doing the tri-annual pledge drive and bumped it. The nerve.

If you don't know what I'm talking about (I'm ashamed of you), but...it's Inspector Lewis. It's the best show you're not watching. Why aren't you watching? I like it even more than Foyle's War, and THAT is saying something, Readers.

Here're a few reasons why:

1. It's a spin-off of Morse, one of the greatest detective series of all time. In fact, 10 years ago when we went to England, we had time to go to only one--either Cambridge or Oxford. I could see Lewis (as in Jack, not Inspector) stuff at either place, but I had to walk where my favorite fictitious detective walked. John Thaw, RIP.

2. It's witty and smart. They don't really do guns. They think and do research and follow leads, while bantering with each other. With lots of literary references and stuff.

3. Beautiful scenery. You know, Oxford.

I hope that's enough for you, so don't force me to say 4. Inspector Hathaway (whom I like to think of as Baby Morse). He's the guy on the left.

Two of my best friends, who shall remain nameless, have not been watching this show in previous seasons because they're watching 24 or Bridezillas or I don't know what. So wrong. You will thank me! In fact, they're rerunning last season before they run the new season so you'll have time to catch up.

If you need some teasers, here you go...

Watch!

Highlights and Lowlights

Where have I been the last week and a half? I've been here, there, and everywhere and have had no time to blog. You'll understand when I tell you. Because I pay to be blond (and am sometimes blonder than I pay to be), I'll give you this last week or so in some highlights and lowlights.

First, Friday (a week ago). I took some of my birthday money that my in-laws gave me and bought tickets. I bought a ticket to see/hear Beth Moore in September, and I bought tickets for Darren and me to see/hear Robin Mark on Friday. It was great to go and listen to some great music, plus hear Robin talk and pray, which was worth going to church about 10x in a row. He's phenomenal. If you're not familiar with him, just check him out on youtube. A highlight.

Saturday (the 7th) we finally got around to celebrating Lucy's 7th birthday. We did have a little celebration with my mom in June, actually the last day she was home. Then on Lucy's actual day, my mother-in-law came up and I left the hospice for a couple hours, and we all went to a drive-in for lunch after VBS. That was fun, but birthdays are a big deal at our house--not a big party or anything, but you get to pick the meal and the cake and have a couple friends over. Of course both girls always want our best friends, who we really haven't seen much this whole summer. It was so fantastic to all be together again.

Here we are clustered around somebody's iPad for some reason.


Here is the cake Lucy wanted, plus cupcakes. Elaine and I decorated them. Well, let's say I decorated them while Elaine ate the candy and licked the frosting. And I must add my birthday cake disclaimer: I make with love, not skill:


Here's my beautiful seven-year-old girl and her sweet BFF (yes, they call each other that).


Blowing out the candles...


Isabella brought Lucy a giftbag with sunglasses, a Hello Kitty glasses case, lip gloss flavored like sugar cookies, clip-on earrings, and Silly Bands. Perfection. Before everyone came over, Elaine demanded, "Are they bringing me a present, too?" "No," I told her. "Only birthday girls get presents. When it's your birthday, they will bring you a present."

"Well, you know," she told, "I really don't like to be left out."

She handled it all pretty well though. The whole evening was a definite highlight.

Sunday afternoon, Darren and I were taking the sacred Sunday afternoon nap. We both sat straight up from sleep when we heard a piercing scream. Running down to the living room, we saw Lucy holding a paintbrush (the kind you find in a little kid's paintset) and crying, and Elaine holding her ear and screaming.

"I was just trying to give her a makeover, I promise!" Lucy sobbed.

"She poked my ear five times! She poked it thirteen times!" Elaine screamed.

It took quite awhile to calm everyone down, but in about 45 minutes they were both sitting at the kitchen table, making cards and singing "Blessed Be Your Name," while Darren and I were wondering if there's an available room for us at Shady Pines. A lowlight.

Sunday night--dinner out with friends, sans children. A highlight.

Monday morning--Elaine comes in the bathroom and curls up on the floor. "My ear hurts," she whimpered. I lifted her hair, looked, and saw dried blood all over. I looked at her pillow and saw blood on it, too.

Blood coming from the interior of your child's head. A lowlight. An impromptu trip to the pediatrician an hour and a half away. A lowlight. The doctor not being able to see the eardrum due to blood blocking it. A lowlight. Stopping at a gas station and buying everyone completely overpriced snacks and consuming almost an entire bag of Swedish fish on the way home. I guess you could call it the highlight of that day. Stopping by Walgreens and picking up the tiniest vial of eardrops for $35.00. A lowlight. Trying to put eardrops into a 4-year-old's injured ear 3x a day for the next several days. The lowest light you can imagine.

Wednesday. I went to a job interview at a nearby hospital and got the job! I was the only contender, but I got the job! A highlight, especially since the job was completely dropped in my lap. God is better than He has to be.

Thursday. Another trip back to the pediatrician--do you remember that it's an hour and a half away?--and this time he can see that the eardrum is just fine; Elaine just had a small gouge in the ear canal, which is healing nicely. We can call that a highlight at this point.

Friday (as in yesterday). A trip to the splash park with the girls and two of their friends. I have not been great about coordinating playdates this summer, so I really wanted to make it happen for them. It was such a highlight. The park was pretty empty, and they ran around and pretended to be Word Girl and Super Why and I don't know what all. They were covered in sand from the sand box, black stuff from the playground material, and chocolate ice cream, despite running through the sprinklers over and over. Then we came home, and they all played dress up and raided my closet for shoes, clomping all over the house and hiding under the bed when their moms came to pick them up so they wouldn't have to leave. All four of them were great girls the whole afternoon. A highlight.

We had other stuff happen in between, but you're probably not still reading this by now. I took the girls shoe shopping, which should get entire entry of its own. And this week I've got the annual back-to-school haircut post and more. Plus, watch in the coming weeks for a possible big announcement.

Saturday. Finally sitting down with a cup of tea and blogging. A highlight!

Game Addictions Can Be OK

When Lucy was five years old, someone gave her a Webkinz for a birthday present. It was a pink poodle. Being still a fairly newbie mom, I was all, "What's a Webkinz?" and the giver gave me a long explanation about online rooms and pets and games and I don't know what all while I just nodded politely.

Yeah, that was two years and six Webkinz ago (because Webkinz is brilliant. If you don't add a pet every year, your current pet DIES. I did not know that until another mother told me, fortunately, in time to save Nina, the pink poodle's, life.) Now we have Nina, a brown dog named Anna (during Elaine's phase of naming everything Anna), a white cat brilliantly named Kitty, a black cat named Winifred, a flowered turtle named Daisy, and a fox named England. I'll let you figure out which girl named what.

Lucy still loves Webkinz, but she has also graduated to the American Girl site, PBS Kids.org, and some music learning site she found out about at school. Elaine and I, however, faithfully visit Webkinz World every day. We do Love My Pet, the Wheel of Wow, Jumbleberry Fields, Gem Hunt, and the Wishing Well. We also visit the Employment Office. We like to make the money. Lucy likes to spend it. It all works out.

In June, Elaine's fancy was captured by the pet of the month, a pink pig who came complete with a music video called "Piggy Plum Pie." It is mandatory that we watch this at least once a day. She talks about it constantly and asks, "Can I get that pink piggy for my birthday? And her best friend, Chester the Cow and their other friend Lester the Dog for Christmas?" (Side note: She has mentioned her birthday and Christmas every single day since last December 12 and December 25, respectively.) Then she'll ask, "And can we make piggy plum pie, too?"

I've been promising all summer that we would make piggy plum pie together, and yesterday we finally did it. I found a recipe and bought the ingredients.

Here she is with her first task, picking off the stickers and washing the plums:


Now she's stirring the plums and other ingredients. Big sister got interested and wanted to watch:


Here she is with the ingredients in the shell. I told her to smile with her almost-made pie. This picture is also evidence that it's imperative for me to do the annual back-to-school haircut post SOON:


Then we made the topping. Here is her piggy plum pie, ready for the oven:


And here is the finished product:


We all had a slice of piggy plum pie with vanilla ice cream, and it was gooood stuff. If you want the recipe, just let me know.

And lastly, you must watch the video, too. It's only fair that I am not the only person with this song as my ear worm for the entire summer. It's catchy! And you just may find yourself making the pie and topping it with some ice cream high. You can thank Elaine and Webkinz.

The Dusty Road

I don't normally do follow-up posts (because really, there's usually not much to follow up on. See: the bathroom remodel post), but I've got so many thoughts about yesterday's "Sad" post and I've got to get them down here.

Yesterday afternoon I was feeling so awful (which is kind of like every afternoon), and I sat down and just blurted a bit of it out on the blog and threw it out there without rereading it a bunch of times like I usually do and thought, "So be it." Since then I've gotten notes from people and comments from total strangers, and I realize, "Yes. There are a lot of us out there. I'm not alone."

One of my mom's best friends wrote to me, and I know she is so sad, too. She said what helped her was imagining Mom seeing Jesus welcome her to His home and the special room He has prepared for her. I love hearing what is helping other people because I just keep thinking about the time when I was four years old and David Fisher hit me on the side of the head with a baseball bat and I came inside, roaring, to tell my mom and then fell down the basement steps. She gathered me up in her arms and just said, "Oh, my baby, my baby," over and over again. And whenever anything bad would happen to me throughout life or I'd be upset about something, before she gave me words of wisdom or would pray for me, I'd get a hug and hear her say, "Oh, my baby, my baby," even up until her last few months. So after going through this worst of ordeals, I keep looking around for her and waiting for her to come back so I can tell her all about it and hear those words again.

There was one dear lady who remained anonymous in the comments on "Sad," but she said something so profound I'll never forget it my whole life. She just lost her 36-year-old son, two days after my mom died, in a motorcycle accident. She said, "I think of the children's book entitled 'We're Going On a Bear Hunt' which keeps repeating we can't go under it, we can't go over it, we have to go through it."

Like I said, I have no idea who she is, but I just want to hug her. Over the past year or so, my mom said to me several times, "There are worse things than dying of cancer." Oh yes, there are. Having your son die unexpectedly in the prime of his life is worse. Like my friends Jack and Alysa whose friend hanged himself in his garage, leaving behind a wife and three little kids. That's definitely worse.

Today was the last day of that Ruth study I was telling you about. I've spent six weeks reading every word of the book of Ruth and going over her story--how she was widowed so young and set out on a dusty road with her also widowed sister-in-law and mother-in-law. How they came to the crossroad and all started bawling and Naomi told them to go back. How tempting that must have been to want to go back home to her parents and family and the place she knew and the gods she grew up with and everything that was familiar. Watching her sister-in-law do exactly that and maybe wanting to run down that road after her, but instead, putting her arms around Naomi and looking up to God and saying, "I'm going with you and You," even though she had no idea what to expect. Would they have a home in Bethlehem? Would there be food to eat? Would anyone befriend or protect them? Let alone, would she ever get married again or have children?

But she chose to keep walking down the road into the Unknown, and the story ends with her married and bearing a son who became the grandfather of King David, and, not only that, but the ancestor of Jesus Christ Himself. And Kelly, the author of the study wrote this:

"I presume we have no idea how the biggest and seemingly insignificant decisions affect our lives and those around us. This doesn't mean we need to obsess and overanalyze and drive ourselves nuts wondering. It only means we have to pursue Christ. He works all the other things out. I am personally amazed at how God masterfully preserved the line of Judah so many times over by the fragile threads of foreigners like Ruth. Only the gospel can make such sense of things."

I handled all the little memorial gifts from my mom to her friends and family, and I included Revelation 21:4 in all the cards, "He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain. For the old order of things has passed away."

And I got this picture in my mind today that I keep replaying over and over: everyone gathering around the throne in Heaven at that time, and it's not like there's this afterthought such as, "Oh, by the way, there's no death here. Pass it on." but instead Jesus, with His voice like a thousand rushing waters, shouting out, "No more accidents! No more heart disease! No more cystic fibrosis! No more AIDS! No more suicide! No more cancer!" and on and on, while all our cheers keep getting louder and louder until they echo through all the universes.

In Hebrews 11, there's a list of those who remained faithful. In my humble opinion, there's an ongoing list through the ages besides those that are included in that chapter, and maybe that will get read out when we get to Heaven too, so we can all celebrate together--after this long life of mourning together. My mom will for sure be on the list. Ruth, who made the fateful decision to keep walking down that dusty road instead of turning back, will be on it. I want my name amongst the faithful, too.

Only the gospel can make sense of such things. Can't go under it. Can't go over it. Have to go through it.

Sad

Lots of people ask me how I'm doing. And mostly I just say, "Sad." There are a lot of words I could use: anguished, heartache, lonely, sorrowful, broken, etc., but I can kind of just sum it up with sad. I mean, I try not to spill my emotional junk all over people, but it's sort of ludicrous to tell them I'm fine.

I wake up in the morning, and I'm sad. What are we going to do today? Be sad. What's for breakfast? Sadness. Do you want to go to the park? Yup, if it's Sad Park, count me in. What do you want to watch? That Sad Show.

Here's what nobody can really tell you about bereavement until you experience it yourself and it's this: Life has an insidious, brutal little way of continuing on. Your car (or both of them) still breaks down. You still have to figure out what to cook for dinner. The bathroom still needs cleaning. Your kids still come home from VBS with a vial of colored sand and sprinkle it throughout your bed, and sand is all over the floor and the shower and the sheets and the pillows and the blankets and you have to rip everything off and throw it in the wash and remake your bed at 11:30 at night. (If you're wondering if I handled that situation with sweet grace and a tender mother's love, Readers, oh no, I did not.)

And as much as you just want to throw the (non-sandy) covers over your head and lie there, listening to Annie Lennox sing "Little Bird" on continuous repeat ("My, my, I feel so low, My, my, where do I go...") you don't get to.

When I think about this summer, particularly the beginning part when my mom was in the hospice, it seems like some awful techni-color nightmare. There were some beautiful, spiritual moments, and I'll forever count it a privilege that I held her hand while she took her very last breath. But there were the other times when she was so distressed and told me she was burning alive and thought she was going to hell. If I think too much about that time, and I try not to, I feel like I'm just going to freak out.

I told Darren, "It's like we were all in this massive car crash. I got out of the car and called the paramedics and made sure everyone was OK and got everything organized. But after it was all over, I discovered I have a broken neck and massive internal injuries."

Spiritually, well, that's another story, too. That feels like I got to walk up to the gate of heaven only to have it slammed in my face--consigned back to the regular world for me. It seems like whenever you feel far from God that pastors always like to tell you, "That's because YOU moved," but I didn't. I didn't move. So...where is He?

A couple months ago, Darren and I were visiting a Sunday School class and one of the questions was, "Do you ever doubt the Resurrection?" and everyone in the class (who spoke up) said they never doubted the Resurrection. Wow, I wish I had whatever they've got because I have doubts all the time. Like, at the mall. And the airport--surrounded by everyone else who seems to be doing just fine on their own. Am I the only one who believes this stuff? I'm thinking there have got to be a number of things that can really blow a hole in the side of a person's faith, and death is one of them.

I find myself going through the motions, and I don't necessarily think that's a bad thing. I say, "I believe, I truly do believe, Lord, please help my unbelief." I've been doing this Bible study on the book of Ruth all summer, and, while it's a great study, I don't think I am getting as much out of it as I would another time. Tomorrow is the last day, so this afternoon I went online and ordered a new study called "Rain on Me: Devotions of Hope and Encouragement for Difficult Times."

I hope I will find hope and encouragement from them, and if I do I'll try to post them on here. I feel as though I've been given a passport to another land: Those Who Are Left. I've got quite a number of friends there, too, and they're a great comfort. Like my friend Ann-Marie--her dad died when she was in college--who wrote me an encouraging note. Like Jamie--her dad died a number of years ago--who IM'd me from Switzerland just to say she was praying for me. Like Anna--her mom died five years ago--who said, "The weeks after the funeral are the worst. Call me day or night if you want to talk." And especially like Sarah who told me, "Oh, Alice. When my mom died, I couldn't even say the words 'my mom' for about five years without crying." They're a lot like Job's friends (before they started giving advice) when they just came along and sat down in the dirt and cried with him.

This post today is for my girls to read when they grow up...for Lucy who comes in and sits down next to me on the bed while I'm watching the slide show from my mom's memorial for the nth time and says, "Let's watch it again." For Elaine who looks up at me while I'm reading through my saved emails from 2003 that my mom wrote and says, "Why are there those tears in your eyes, Mom? Will you put this dress on Polly for me?" To them I say, "I think it's natural to feel this way. Life hurts so bad sometimes, and there's nothing that can fix it. Keep reading your Bible even if you don't feel like it. If you can't pray, just tell Him you don't know what words to say right now. Jesus Christ is the same, yesterday, today, and forever. Hit the replay on 'Little Bird' as much as you want (or Supertramp's 'Take the Long Way Home'--that's another good one). Sad is normal. Sad is OK for now."

And to my dear friends, those I mentioned in this post and lots of others I haven't, thanks for sitting down next to me at Sad Park.

Brightening Things Up

The two events in this blogpost really have nothing to do with each other, but life is blah and I've been a lazy blogger lately, so you're getting them both together.

Our upstairs bathroom needed a little brightening. Remember the downstairs makeover? I'm too lazy to even link to it. Well, the upstairs needed it, too, but without costing hardly any money.

Here it is before. The people who had our house before us did a beautiful job, but I'm disappointed in the wall mirror in this bathroom. I wish we could have two wood-framed mirrors, one above each sink. Don't you think? But...that's kind of a big project.


Here's a cabinet I am definitely not in love with. Also a project for another time.


It all needed a splash of color, so...voila.


And also...ta da! Courtesy of Kathy at One Elegant Lady...


Aren't they great?


These are my two favorites:


I brought the girls in to see the changes, and Lucy said, "Cool! Now we have a London bathroom." And Elaine said, "Whoa. Rock and roll, Mom!" (I swear to you, she said that.)

In other news, I went out this week. By myself. In the evening. For dinner. I got in my car and drove 90 miles to Chicago (it took three hours).

I met some of my favorite people, three of my mates from a job I used to work BC (Before Children). We met at my favorite restaurant (bonus), here:


We all worked together in the mid-90s as general office people in a huge commercial real estate corporation for this crazy guy. We loved him. In fact, I still have a dream at least three times a year that he asks me to come back and work for him. He used to walk on his hands around the office and play Stevie Wonder, "Superstition" over and over and over as loudly as possible. One time he made me leave work and go to a music store so I could buy the Jefferson Airplane album that had "White Rabbit" on it so he could sing, "Go ask Alice, she's ten feet tall," with accompaniment.

Anyway, we were all young(er) and getting our masters' at DePaul and whatnot but basically spent our time laughing and going downstairs to Seattle's Best. Now we're older and get together about every three years and laugh at all the same stuff. I've been so sad lately, so it was great to just get out and have fun.

I wish I had a before picture and I know we've had a bunch taken, but I can't find any. But here we are now:

Left to right: Anne--she's British and the only person I know who takes Masterpiece Theatre as seriously as I do. Next is Marie--she works for the city counsel and teaches at Malcolm X. She is hilarious and the master of the malaprop. Me--ummmm, mom/blogger. Last is Joel; he used to be a struggling actor. Now he's married, two kids, and works for the Lyric Opera. One of the funniest people I've ever known.

So ah, that's about it. I put new towels and pictures in the bathroom and went out with friends. Then I blogged about it. It could be a GuilfordRoad new low.

A Slice of Life

I think I've said this before, but each morning when Lucy and Elaine wake up, they're supposed to get dressed, brush their hair, brush their teeth, make their beds, and straighten up their room.

The success of this plan is fair to middling, especially the "straighten up the room" part. Pretty much every day it's a disaster. Then I walk in, my head spins around a few times, and I say some variation of, "I'm confused. How is this clean? Get it done. Now." and walk away. Sometimes I think "Clean your room," might be engraved on my tombstone, but it will have to find room below "Fasten Your Seatbelt," and "Ladies Don't Eat Like Pigs at the Trough."

Then a few minutes later, I find the girls elsewhere in the house and I ask, "Is your room clean?" and, wide-eyed and innocent, they claim, "Yes, Mama, we cleaned it, we really did!" And it looks exactly.the.same. I can only believe that either a) they're trying to gaslight me, or b) they're the worst room cleaners in the world. I'm just more comfortable with Option b.

For example, here's their bookcase. Seriously. This is how they put books away, if they put them away at all.


I won't show you what the rest of the room looks like--I actually think I did that once before on this blog, and also Darren wonders why I keep exhibiting our shame on the Internet. I go in about once a week and fix the havoc they have wreaked. Here's the bookcase after I'm done with it:


Now, this is a complete side note, but see the top shelf? Here's a parental recommendation for you if you don't already do this. Get audiobooks for your kids, no matter how young they are. Someone (who doesn't read this blog) was telling me recently that each of their kids--same age as mine--have a TV in their room, and every night they go to sleep watching a movie. I'm not one of those no-TV people, but that's just sad to me. Audiobooks are a great way to fall asleep--and it helps your kids obtain a much higher reading comprehension level than they would normally on their own. Plus, they're just fun. So whether you download books on your iPod or your Kindle or whether you kick it old school with a CD player and CDs like we do, it's a great investment. I could do a whole post on my favorites, and maybe I will someday.

Moving on.

In the middle of my cleaning the bookcase yesterday, Elaine came to get me.

"C'mere, Mom, you gotta see my dolls. They're all at school," she said as she grabbed my hand. Now notice this--because their room is a pit and I am cleaning it, she is now messing up the guestroom. Gah.

Here are her dolls at school:


Wait a minute, what is this?


That's Elena. She's the doll Elaine got for her first birthday. Lucy named her, so it's not quite as narcissistic as it sounds. But what kind of mother lets her child go to school with hair like that? And naked to boot? This must be remedied.

So I take a break from book organizing to assist this poor creature.

Much better:


Suffice it to say, this often happens while I'm cleaning their room. The state of their dolls' hair and attire would shock you. It just can't go on. Then they (the girls, not the dolls, but really, who knows??) are so happy when I've fixed them up.

"How do you know how to do this?" Lucy asks. "You are awesome at fixing dolls, Mom. Did you take lessons?"

Of course I did, right between Literary Criticism and a seminar on James Joyce. Those haven't gotten me that far in life, so maybe with Lucy's praise it's something I should be adding to my resume soon.

After the doll dressing and bookcase cleaning, Elaine came back in the room because hey, who doesn't want to play in a clean room? The better to mess it up again. She wanted to pose in front of the bookcase with her favorite book. I think you'll agree that the resemblance is uncanny.


Now maybe some of you might be reading this and saying, "Hey Alice, sounds like you're a 41-year-old who plays with dolls." And to you I say, "From henceforth, I would like it to be referred to as styling."

So, if you have any dilapidated dolls needing such styling or bookcases needing organizing, please contact me. My references are impeccable, and my salary should be commensurate with my vast experience. I'll be waiting for your call.

What We Did On Our Summer Vacation

We've been gone all week on vacation in Door County, and, in the words of Peter Gibbons, "I did nothing, absolutely nothing, and it was everything I thought it would be."

Basically, the girls and I went to the beach every day (Darren worked). We brought our camera, and I meant to take great, artsy pictures like Julie K. and Alysa do: striped beach umbrellas, the girls' little feet in the sand, them eating copious amounts of a revolting ice cream called Blue Moon that tasted like Fruit Loops, stuff like that, but I realized I forgot the camera card, so I didn't even take any pictures of this glorious doing-nothing party.

The girls played in the water, and I sometimes I played with them or we looked for shells or made sand castles, and the rest of the time I laid on a beach towel and read. I reread To Kill A Mockingbird (and cried at all the same places I always do), Maeve Binchy's Circle of Friends, Rumer Godden's The Greengage Summer, and Diane Setterfield's The Thirteenth Tale. Then for the first time I read May Sarton's Journal of Solitude.

When we weren't at the beach, I played Crazy 8s and Go Fish with the girls and watched House Hunters on HGTV. For part of the week, my dad and Chuck and Rome came up too, which was great. We went to the park and climbed to the top of the tower like we always do. And I watched Elaine and Chuck play this hilarious passive-aggressive game they have made up (actually, Elaine made it up) called "Martinelli's." She stands in front of him with a pad of paper and a pen. Here's a sampling of their dialog:

Elaine: Welcome to Martinelli's. What would you like to eat?
Chuck: a hamburger and fries
Elaine: We don't have hamburgers and fries. What else do you want?
Chuck: Chinese food
Elaine: We don't have Chinese food. What else?
(This progresses on indefinitely as his requests get more and more outlandish, like shark fins, none of which can be found at Martinelli's. Then finally, Rome will try to help.)
Rome: May I have some salad?
Elaine: Sure, I can get you some salad.
Chuck: Why does she get salad? I don't think you have any food at this restaurant. I'll just have the Number 8 soup
Elaine: We don't have Number 8 soup. And we don't have Number 9, either.
Chuck: I don't believe you're writing anything I order on that pad. You're just scribbling on it.
Elaine: I am NOT just scribbling.
Chuck: Well then, read me what you wrote.
Elaine (lifts the paper up to her eyes, sighs, and begins with exaggerated patience in a robotic voice): It is im-poss-i-ble to read this to you because you are so mean.

They play variations of this game every time they're together.

Another highlight of the week was that I discovered Julie's Upscale Resale in Sister Bay. What a great store. It was filled with clothes (overpriced), accessories, and housewares, displayed really well--including having various pages from home/decorating magazines in all the little nooks throughout the shop, saying "Try this!" or "You could do this with this table!" etc. Brilliant idea.

I bought this tres cute Gucci purse for fall:



And these two scarves (she had lots of beautiful scarves). This one will look great with a red sweater...



And I love the cityscape pattern on this one...



So, that was Door County. Then on Saturday we headed to Minneapolis to a memorial for my cousin, Jon. He died unexpectedly of a heart attack at age 43. His family had a really nice service for him--a lot of good memories. I hadn't known him very well (we have a huge family), but I was glad that we could be there.

There was a luncheon afterward, and I'm still not sure what happened, but I started feeling sick and sicker as I was sitting there. I finally went outside to lie down in the car (in the 93-degree heat), and then Darren and the girls joined me. We started to drive to our hotel (with me still lying down and saying, "I'm dying. I'm pretty sure I'm going to die soon."), and Darren asked "What are your symptoms?"

"Please pull over right NOWWWWW...." I moaned. Yep. That was a pretty self-evident symptom.

We finally made it to the hotel and then to our room on the 10th floor where I pulled the shades, blasted the AC, and became one with the bed for several hours. Doubletree Minneapolis, I love you so.

While I was unconscious, Darren took the girls swimming and then out to dinner. When I finally woke up, I felt somewhat better, it was thunderstorming like crazy outside, and I found When Harry Met Sally on cable.

The next day we came home, and today Darren's gone to his office while I've got two little suntanned girls and loads of laundry to do. It was a good week.

What have you been doing this summer?

A New Shop

I have so many artistic friends. I have friends who make accessories and friends who make scrapbooks and friends (more than one) who are photographers. Most of them have etsy sites. Are you familiar with etsy? It's a great place where creative people can have their own little online shops and sell stuff. Looking for unique Hello Kitty themed accessories for girls? Try etsy. How about custom-made Chinese-theme handbags (as I always am!)? Go to etsy. It's a fun place to find one-of-a-kind items and throw a little support to independent designers out there. Sometimes I feel a little inadequate because I am practically the only person I know without an etsy site, but then I reassure myself that my ministry is consumerism.

All that to say, my friend Kathy is just opening her new etsy site: One Elegant Lady. Kathy makes gorgeous cards and collages and killer handbags (have I lost any men readers I have at this point?) My friend Peg has a robin egg blue and black damask handbag by Kathy, and it does cause me to stumble, readers.

And I've been to as many of those card-making parties as you have, and while they're fun and you can make some cute stuff, Kathy's cards are works of art. My particular (current) favorite is her Ooh-La-La Paris line. She also told me she's got a London line coming right up. She uses quality cardstock and designer papers, which she hand picks.

I don't know if you've bought cards at Hallmark or Target lately, but just buying a few for your family can cost over twenty dollars. Kathy's little gems are reasonably priced, and honestly, I would frame hers and put them up around my house.

She's still adding items and pictures (she doesn't have any handbags shown yet), and she's planning to start a One Elegant Lady blog, too. I'll keep you posted, and in the meantime, check out her cool new shop!

And while you're at etsy looking at One Elegant Lady, remember to visit Becky at Bowture and Betsy at Yellow Elm. You too can join my consumerism ministry!

Friendship Day

Yesterday you celebrated Independence Day, right? I've celebrated it every July 4th of my life in much the same way: parades, cookouts, baseball games, fireworks, the usual. And it's good that way, it really is. Except last year my brother-in-law and sister-in-law and I watched the hot dog eating contest on ESPN, and not only will that put you off hot dogs, it could pretty much put you off food for the rest of your life. Really, it's pretty much everything that is wrong with America, encapsulated right there.

Yesterday though, we did something different--we celebrated American-Filipino Friendship Day, which is also July 4th, didja know that?

We went to Chuck and Rome's. She told me, "You don't need to bring anything," so I didn't. Also, she produces this show, so really, what could I bring except something made with Cool Whip and bring total dishonor to my family's name? Someone tells me "don't bring anything," and I believe her.

Except she also told her many aunts not to bring anything, and they all brought at least three main dishes. Also, I'm all about helping the hosts in the kitchen, but I just beat it out of there because it was clear the experts had arrived. Everyone was chattering around in Tagalog, and it was a great kick-off to 4th of July.

Lucy whispered to me, "Mama, us and Tio and Packa--we're the only white people here!"

I repeated this to Rome, who burst out laughing and said our friend Bob was coming so there would be one more white person. Her family is the nicest big group of people ever, and they'll switch over to English for you too, so it didn't matter anyway.

Lucy and Elaine quickly found other kids to play with, and the girls busied themselves chasing the lone boy round and round the house and yard, trying to get his baseball cap off his head and smear him with glitter makeup.

Then it was time to eat, but first Rome's dad (who, along with her mom, are visiting from the Philippines this summer) read some verses for us and said his prayers had been answered because he was getting to spend his birthday--also July 4--with his daughter and with Chuck and, as he gestured to my dad, "his compadre," which made me tear up a bit and laugh too because my dad needs a compadre right now and also he's about twice the height of Rome's dad.

Then he prayed for the food, and we started to eat.

And eat.

And eat.

I can't begin to tell you everything that was on offer for this unique 4th of July/Friendship Day, but here is a sampling (heh, most of which made its way to my plate): orzo with shrimp and dill, mahi mahi, steak/pepper/pineapple kabobs, fruit salad, something that I think is called "pased" (pronounced with two syllables)--it's noodles with shrimp and chicken and vegetables. I absolutely love it, but Chuck rolls his eyes at it. He said, "Yeah, I liked it too the first twenty times I had it at potlucks. It's everywhere, all the time. It's like how someone always brings lasagna to American potlucks so you just don't take it anymore." Well, I still like it. There was also shrimp curry and grilled tuna (Darren's favorite), oh, and a traditional lamb dish w/ rice that was fantastic, and like I said, I can't remember everything else. Oh, and fried chicken.

After we ate all that, it was, of course, time for dessert, which included something that looked like egg rolls but they're sweet and filled with banana, chocolate bundt cake, some other sort of double chocolate cake, caramel rice pudding, leche flan (Lucy's favorite), a Ghiradelli cheesecake, and the traditional American cake with white frosting decorated like the flag with strawberries and blueberries.

By the way, I know I'm probably missing at least 8-10 other things there. So we sat on the deck on a hot, muggy July day and celebrated birthdays, and family, and friendship between nations, and um, food.

People kept coming and going throughout the day, and finally as we were getting ready to leave (which involves working the entire crowd, shaking hands with all the men and cheek-kissing all the women), another family with little boys arrived. The lone boy with the baseball cap now firmly in place took them aside and told them, "The girls here are CRAZY. You have to watch out for them."

We finally went home in the dark, watching all the various town fireworks go off around us, while the girls fell asleep in the backseat with sweaty hair and their eyes smeared with hot pink glitter eyeshadow. We got home around 10 and carried them up to their beds, still asleep.

It was a great day.

Overheard

(while the girls were playing with Polly Pockets the other day)

Lucy: We'll do a play. This will be the title of the first act in our play: "Meteoration." Do you know what "metoriation" means? It's when you meet people.

Elaine: Oh. OK. Moto benny.

Lucy: No, they're not going to speak Spanish at the Meteoration. Just English.

Another viewpoint

Alysa wrote about Mom's service here. And, since she's a gifted photographer, there are some pictures too! It was cool to read about that day through someone else's eyes. And she gives our family a lot of love in it, but let me assure you, the feeling is more than mutual. If I want to have a laugh/cry, I think about one of the many weekends we shared at my house during college. We woke up, and there was some sort of massive bug in our room. We shrieked at the top of our lungs and, I think, ran in to my mom's room (where I'm sure she joined our shrieking) until my dad came upstairs (disgustedly) to kill it for us. HEY. It was a big bug.

Anyway, thanks Alysa--for doing life with us and getting up to sing in celebration of it!

(P.S. I'm fat in that last picture because I'm seven months pregnant. Just to clarify.)

(P.P.S. Those adorable boys in the pictures with my girls are our nephews, Ryne and Joseph.)