Creature Bug

Going to Work

Yesterday was Take Your Child to Work day, which many of Jason's students used as a great opportunity to ditch school and go see how cool working is (or not).

Instead of ditching school, Sydney actually went to school. For an assortment of reasons, Sydney didn't go to work with me. The main reason was that students were giving final speeches, and while they have developed a plethora of techniques for conquering their shaky nerves, I suspect a child waving at them from the back of the classroom would have just sent them over the top.

So, Sydney went to school with Jason. And, boy oh boy, was she just beside herself with excitement. The night before, she picked out her clothes, helped her daddy pack her lunch, and got her overnight bag all ready since my grandpa was picking her up at school to take her up to the Family Farm for her weekly visit. She went to bed early the night before since she knew that she'd have to wake up early, and she didn't complain about waking up at 6:15 am. Normally, Jason leaves for school very early because it's better for him to get work done before school than to stay after school more than the required time (ie: I beg him to be home by 4:00). However, he made an exception this time and left for school later than he needed to be.

By all accounts Sydney had a fabulous time. She gave hugs to the girls, and avoided giving high-fives to the boys (well done, my child). She drew on the dry-erase board, watched Winnie the Pooh on the iPod, ate donuts in the school office, and ran around the gym during Jason's prep time. As an added bonus, Inkling took her son to work with her too, so Sydney was jazzed about seeing him. Lunchtime rolled around, and my grandpa arrived to pick up Sydney. Jason told me later, "I wish Sydney could have been with me all day. It was so much fun having her around."

There are certain benefits to being almost four, and this year it was finally being old enough to go to work with Daddy. Who knows if this early experience with teaching will actually mean she'll want to be a teacher--gosh, if she follows in our footsteps, she won't figure out her career choice until her college adviser says, "Uh, maybe you should pick a major?"--but I'm glad she had a great experience her first time going to work with Jason. There are valuable lessons in learning what your parents do for a living, but of course, you already knew that, didn't you? Smarty pants.

*****

(c) 2008 Creature Bug. All rights reserved.

Let's Hear it for The Boy

Jason called WOU today to find out whether or not he passed his graduate exams that he took two weeks ago. (Yes, that's what he was doing Valentine's Day. No, talking about the Stuart Era--while interesting--is not so much romantic.)

Even though he finished his classes a year ago, it wasn't ever very convenient to take the exam. And by convenient I mean "feeling ambitious enough to put brain through academic torture." At long last, he forced himself to just do it, even if he didn't feel totally prepared.

The education exam was not so difficult (per usual for education exams).

The history exam was giving Jason nightmares. Literally. He had difficulty getting a hold of one of his professors in order to find out what he might need to study for. When you take courses on the Aztecs, Incas, Mayans, Stuarts, Tudors, Terrorists, NAFTA, Africa, and Central America it's helpful if you have a general ballpark of what the essay questions (3 questions, answered in four hours) are about.

In the end, he had to take an educated guess (as well as put in no less than 100 hours of studying).

He called WOU this morning to find out if he passed, and then he called me with the answer:

"Hey. So. I got a master's degree."

Love this man. So proud of him. Also? Feeling happy that I can finally put away the huge stacks of books that have been littering our room (Jihad vs. McWorld, anyone?) for the past couple months. Mostly though I'm just feeling darn proud that tonight I get to sleep next to guy who just earned his MS in Education. Oh yeah.

Week 192: iParty

Even though Jason and I usually have a joint birthday party on the weekend between our two birthdays, this year we had thought we might pass on the whole party bit. Not because we don't like people celebrating our birthdays, mind you (mine is Friday...still plenty of time to get me a present, hmm?), but because it would involve us driving the hour up to the Family Farm. Sometimes driving just doesn't seem like too much fun. For Jason's birthday I made shiny top blueberry cobbler, spaghetti with browned butter and mizithra cheese, and called it good.

But then my parents tempted us up to their house on Saturday with the promise of an excellent birthday present.

We have joined the iMasses. It's very exciting. I have a suspicion that the real reason why my parents gave us an iPod is because Sydney was asking for one, and although they kept telling us repeatedly that we really really needed one, we would have none of it. Ultimately my parents couldn't bear the thought of (1) their granddaughters not having every day access to an iPod and (2) these granddaughters being raised by parents who didn't see the immediate need to have one. So, now we have one, and it's fabulous. I've left the task of downloading/uploading/all things iPod related to Jason because I spend enough time on the computer without adding another project. The only thing I'll probably do myself is get all the episodes of This American Life.

Not only did we get an iPod and an iTunes gift card (wee! thanks Cousin!), but my parents also gave us a new desktop computer and external hard drive. If I didn't know better I'd think the new computer was run by a battery because it is as quiet as a mouse. Quieter, in fact, judging from my experience with mice. And if techy stuff doesn't interest you, I got some very shiny earrings and bracelets. Ooh, pretty.

Other birthday party highlights (photos courtesy my dad and Sarah) include:

 

a cake with 32 candles,

blowing out the candles,

 

and the licking of frosting off the candles.

Everything a birthday party should be.

PS: Added birthday bonus: today was a snow day, so no school! Yippee!

*****

(c) 2008 by Creature Bug. All rights reserved.

32 Things I Love About You

Happy Birthday to my wonderful husband, who gets to be a year older than me for nine whole days. To celebrate him turning 32, here are 32 things I love most about him.

1. He gives me a hug, a kiss, and tells me he loves me every single day.
2. He reads bedtime stories to Sydney every night.
3. His playfulness when he wrestles with the girls.
4. That he cuts his own hair
5. He always notices when I've cleaned the house.
6. Our mutual ability to recite Seinfeld lines to each other with perfect intonation: "The sea was angry that day, my friends." "I'm DRIVING the bus!" "We had a deal!"
7. The way he dances
8. He loves to exercise and is persistent about asking me to exercise too.
9. He always compliments me on dinner and says "thank you" even if all I did was put a pizza in the oven.
10. Cereal, also, is a perfectly good dinner to him.
11. He will watch "Grey's Anatomy" with me, even though I think he (not so) secretly hates it.
12. He has given up watching "CSI" just because I couldn't handle watching it anymore.
13. He doesn't complain that I refuse to get cable tv (even though we wouldn't have to pay for it).
14. He reads books.
15. I know he's a really great teacher.
16. He's way smart.
17. He is loyal to his friends.
18. Our secret code to tell each other "I love you"
19. That I can lean over to him in church and he instinctively knows to turn his watch towards me so I can see what time it is.
20. His freaky ability to sing cartoon/commercial/old tv show jingles, word for word. Seriously. It's some sort of gift.
21. He has limitless patience with me.
22. The amount of time and effort he is putting into our backyard
23. He's a great gift giver (diamond earrings one year for Christmas, trip to Maine this year).
24. We can play cribbage together, and even when I beat him, he will still play another round.
25. He will do laundry, vacuum, straighten-up, and cook without being asked.
26. His commitment to Tuesday nights: dinner, Dutch Brothers Coffee, story time at the library
27. We promised never to go to bed angry, and have stuck by that promise all our marriage except one night when we had a stupid argument over the dog.
28. The way he looks at me when we hear the theme song to "Antique Roadshow"
29. His passion to be a man dedicated to serving God.
30. His love of good smelling candles, and a willingness to spend a small sum of cash on peppermint candles because that's our favorite
31. When I told him I was afraid of having another baby for fear he'd be disappointed if we didn't have a boy, he said, "I'd never be disappointed. I love my girls."
32. He lets me put my freezing cold feet on the back of his legs when I crawl into bed at night.

Happy Birthday, Iokona.  {* * *}

Love, Me

From the party

Sure, Christmas was this week. But there was also a birthday party that turned out to be a marvelous way to get the relatives together for lunch, cake, and holiday/party merriment. Since I was busy doing whatever it is that I do at birthday parties (shake sprinkles on cupcakes? search for matches? create hearts on the cake out of candy canes and then shake my head in amazement at my own cleverness?), then Sarah captured these pictures of the day for us.

Jules was all for getting at that cupcake. I'll be honest and say this isn't her first encounter with sugar, or with cake, or frosting, or ice cream. She's a pro at handling desserts.

We don't mess around when we're eating. "Clothing Optional" has always been my motto at meal time. Not really. Don't come over and expect no clothing. I wear lots of clothing. Whole wardrobes of clothing. My children, however, eat in whatever attire they prefer.

All sorts of wonderful birthday goodies: a new carseat, brightly colored toys, Little People, and her very own Baby Yeti who is just as festive as can be in his peppermint striped attire. We love him.

And we love our birthday girl, though she might not be feeling the love since tomorrow we're going on vacation. Without children. Without diaper bags. Without carseats or strollers or playpens. In fact, Jules will unfortunately be finding herself going without me and my nursings to help her through the night. For the first time.

Let's not think about how traumatic it's going to be for both of us. Let's just think about how pretty those cupcakes are.

Pretty cupcakes.

And a pretty vacation is just around the corner...

Joy to the World

Three hundred and sixty-five days ago I was wishing that a baby would be born. I had been hoping; I had been pondering. And then my Christmas dreams came true. With the help of an epidural and a mile-long walk into the hospital because the parking lot was under construction.

When she was born we named her Julianne Ryan--the "anne" after my sister Andrea, the "Ryan" after Jason's brother's middle name, and the initials matching Jason's. We've called her Jules since before she was born because she was, indeed, our Christmas jewel.

Tomorrow a birthday party, an afternoon spent with aunts/uncles/cousins/grandparents, a trip to Powell's and dinner at the Spaghetti Factory. Who knew turning one could be so spectacular?

Week 184: And still I write

Four years ago today, I started writing on the Internet. I had no idea what I was getting into exactly (and if I had I might have chosen a more clever blog name). My former student Angie had started this thing called a "blog," and I was intrigued. Maybe some of my students would be interested in reading about my pregnancy--especially since I had vehemently sworn I would never have children (yes, my fingers were crossed; no, I didn't really think I'd never have kids). They would get a big kick out of me, their stern English teacher, lamenting about hormones and food cravings.

And so I wrote.

It was mostly funny stuff, and I used up some of my creative energies by alternately writing between my voice and Sydney's. I told my family, but they thought it was weird. Weird that I was writing. Boring that I would write about my life. Odd that Sydney would have a voice when, of course, she couldn't really talk. Yet my former students hung around and encouraged me to keep at it.

I wandered around the blogworld with some trepidation. I saw people commenting, but it was still so foreign to me. Comment? On a stranger's blog? What would they think of me? I still don't comment on all the blogs I read because I have my moments of insecurities about my own writing. The first blog I ever commented on was Diane's at violetismycolor. I remember she had written a post about Oak's Park, and I was just so thrilled to find someone who lived in Portland. And then she commented on my blog, and it made my day.

After a year I moved from Blogger to Typepad, and here I have remained to give voice to parenting moments, teaching moments, personal moments. In four years I've gone from being a childless, former English teacher working at Red Robin as a waitress, to being a mom of one staying full-time at home, to being a mostly at-home mom of two working very part-time at teaching.

In four years I've written about buttons and backyards, food and family, joys and depression. I've been pregnant three times and had two children, my oldest who is now 184 weeks old. I've lost a friend and two grandparents. I've run out of gas, literally and figuratively. I've cried as I've typed up posts of frustration, laughed as I told funny (or not) jokes, smiled as I've shown off pictures of my family. I've even been bored with blogging, and probably bored a few of you a time or two.

In four years I've received more than 4500 comments, and this marks my 650th post here at Typepad. Some blog moments I think I'll always remember, like how I found Raehan through Catherine Newman's BabyCenter journal, or the poem I wrote about Sydney for her first birthday, or the post that brought ccap and Inkling's first comment, or even the times I've met bloggers in real life. I've discovered that my family finally decided to start reading my blog, and even some of my friends who thought I was a crazy lunatic a couple years ago when I was talking about what I do here at Creature Bug. I've struggled with how to review products while remaining true to my stories, wondered if anybody really likes my writing, worried that I spend too much time on the computer, regretted not commenting more often.

And still I write.

Even after four years, I still second guess my writing. It's silly to spend so much time wondering if I should put a comma here, or here, or there, but I do. That's why I don't post every day. I'd drive myself crazy, and probably everyone else as well. But one thing I always do every day and that's think about the people I've met over the course of these four years. I am thankful for each of you, even those who you who observe my little world in silence, because every time I look at my sitemeter or read a comment one of you blessed souls have left me, it lets me know I'm not alone in this crazy life.

I write because I want to capture the joys and trials of this life I'm living. I write because I have something to say. And I write because someone is listening.

Thanks for the last four years.

All 50 States

You have no idea how many times I have captured Sydney's 50-State song on my camera. Singing in her jammies. Singing in the dark. Singing it on a Monday. On a Tuesday during breakfast. On a Wednesday during lunch.

Here she is singing it on a Thursday. As in, this morning. (video length: 1:17)

She was getting ready to leave soon for Grandma and Grandpa's house, that's why she has her backpack on. And somewhere around the "M"s, Jules grabbed the camera. The conditions we directors have to work under! Maybe I should go on strike.

Especially when my actors can't stay focused on the task at hand: (video: 20 seconds)

But I know, it's hard work memorizing all those states. So much so that Sydney needed to do a warm up lap for practice. (video: 1:07)

I think we're about ready to take this show on the road. Maybe Fox will pick us up since "24" has been postponed. We could write an episode for each letter of the alphabet. I don't know if we could compete with "Gray's Anatomy," but it might be better than reruns of "Two and a Half Men."

Not exactly compelling television, but we find it highly entertaining around here.

Treats

Oh, I know I should finish my three-part blog post, but I'd rather show off some fun pictures instead. As it turned out, I didn't get any pictures of Julianne--only a video that I need to edit down--but she didn't dress up for the evening anyway. Or at least, she dressed up as Super Baby who can take off with a handful of candy at lightning quick pace.

As for Syd...oh, we were waiting all day long for Daddy to get home and take her out through the neighborhood. Free candy? Mercy. There's no way she's missing that event.

She has had her Trick-or-Treat outfit picked out for a month. It's her favorite princess dress (that was originally a Valentine's Day dress from Grandpa Steve), and she was certain it would woo the candy right away from our neighbors.

Since it was cold outside tonight, then she had to wear two long-sleeved shirts under her dress, tights, and a fabulous chenille cape. Dress to impress to get candy for the Princess. Repeat it with me! Dress to impress to get candy for the Princess!

And, of course, no night out on the town is complete without our hat and kid gloves. There was a bit of trickery involved in getting the gloves on since Jason wasn't aware that there were right and left gloves, but he managed. You can see that I had nothing to do with the dressing up since, as I have mentioned before, if Daddy is home then there's no sense paying much attention to me. I can just make myself useful and hold the camera. Or the baby. Or whatever, as long as I'm not interfering with whatever Daddy is doing.

Ready to head out! Soccer bag in tow to collect the pounds of candy that our neighbors are willing to bestow upon small and impressionable children.

Off they go, Daisy barking at all threatening ghosts and goblins and scary chipmunks that cross the Princess's path. Sydney did have a change of heart about her shoes when she got to the top of the driveway. She had wanted to wear princess shoes--slip-on, heeled shoes--even though I told her that even though I support and endorse wearing heels, they aren't exactly trick-or-treating attire. She finally agreed with me and changed into her new pink tennis shoes. They have little sparkles on them, so they are still princess attire.

Reveling in the bounty of the evening. She was, Jason said, a fabulous princess who remembered to always say Trick-or-Treat and Thank-you at the appropriate time. Manners are very important for princesses. Moderation is also important, so she allowed herself two pieces of candy. We won't mention how much candy I ate tonight. Let's just say I do not follow the code of conduct befitting a princess.

Candy munched, teeth brushed, bedtime stories told.

The clock didn't need to strike midnight before this princess turned into a sleepy pumpkin.

And good night.

Proof

In case you didn't believe me when I wrote about Julianne walking at a mere nine months, today I offer you proof. (video: 23 seconds)

It's not particularly in focus, but that's because she kept moving towards me. Who is this child walking at nine months, with eight teeth, and saying "mama," "dada," and "Daisy"? Part of me wants to say Slow Down! except that I really am not so fond of the pre-two years old stage. Yeah, yeah, cute and amazing and discovering things. Babies are neat. I know. But truthfully, I really want to give her a bowl of cereal, a spoon, and drink my mug of tea while it's still hot. Big dreams.

And in complete fairness, I present a video of Sydney singing a song that Jason is working on teaching her. (video: 37 seconds)

We'll call this video "Stage One," because as of today she has already moved on to "Stage Two," which includes the M's. Jason somehow got it into his head that it would be amazing if Sydney knew all 50 states. In alphabetical order. That it would make a really good impression on her kindergarten teacher (in two years), a teacher who will no doubt not know her 50 states in order, and realize very quickly what kind of demented parents this kid has. Let me take a moment to say here that I personally do not know all 50 states in alphabetical order. Clearly, I missed this day in school, and it has caused me nothing but pain and misery ever since, especially that day in American History my junior year in high school where we had to list all 50 states and I couldn't. If only I had been sitting behind Jason (instead of in front of him), I could have cheated off his quiz. Not that I was a cheater in school, of course.

Now that Jason has taken Sydney under his wing, I have to learn the song too in order to keep up. Just today I was trying to sing through the song and paused before "Kansas," trying to remember if it was "Kansas" or "Kentucky" first. Sydney quickly provided the answer. "Kansas, Kentucky, Wheezy-anna, Maine."

Forget being smarter than a fifth grader, I'm just trying to keep up with my three year old.

PS: If you're in the video watching mood, you really ought to check out this video of my brother's dog who is a genius at breaking out of their fenced yard.

Closing

This morning, at 8:45 am, we signed the closing papers on the house we have been trying to sell for over a year. I cried on the drive to the title company, cried as I signed the papers, cried as I walked away, cried as I was about to order my Pumpkin Spice Latte that I got in order to celebrate the occasion.

Yes, this house ordeal has made me cry. A lot.

Just to be clear, we didn't sell our house. No, thankfully, we still have this house. What we sold was the accumulation of two years of planning, dreaming, building, and hard work. Two years of sweat, tears, stress, and then ultimately more tears. We sold the house that was meant to be sold, but not exactly how we had planned it. It was supposed to be a good idea and make our lives a little easier, but then didn't quite turn out that way. Well, I guess it still was a good idea, it just didn't end up being a good reality.

But it's gone. Gone are two house payments. Gone are nights spent worrying. Gone is the heavy load of stress that has burdened me for months, a burden so heavy that I haven't been writing as much as I would like, or talking as much as I want, or sharing the burden in any form whatsoever. In order to cope with it I cut out every extracurricular activity from my life, including my precious and emotionally stabilizing MOPS group. Even though, as my doctor said at a recent visit, what I should be doing is getting out and meeting with people and finding connection, my heart hasn't been in it. My coping mechanism was to shut myself in, take medication, and clean the house a lot. I haven't exactly been the best wife, parent, or friend the last few months, but I made it through. Four months of the worst depression I have faced in years, and here, on the other side of closing papers I can say, we got through it.

I can't say I'm a stronger person because of this.

Or my emotional fortitude is better.

Or my ability to handle difficulties is more refined (as I sit here sobbing at the computer).

But I can confirm one thing: I still have faith that God cares about me. I don't know why things happened the way they did, and at the end of the day maybe there isn't some great lesson to be learned. For all the sorrows I have experienced in my life, this is the only one in which I have asked, "Why?" Why us? Why didn't it work out? Why did it seem like God was punishing us? Why couldn't I hold it together?

And you know what, I may never know why. Sometimes things happen. We don't know why. For all our planning and hopes and expectations, not everything goes the way we thought it would. I have to tell myself, daily, this was not about God punishing us. I don't always believe it, but if I have learned anything over my 31 years of existence it is that hope remains even in the darkest times, and that hope tells me that I am loved and even when things fall apart--especially when things fall apart--God has not forgotten me.

October is a new month, one in which I hope to find some healing. Maybe even call up a friend, or two, or three.

1951 Barnes Avenue doesn't belong to us anymore. We have closed the doors, and by the strength of God we have walked away.

Jubilation at Nine Months

How much easier it is to step out with joy when someone we love holds our hand.

Week 173: How to Celebrate 35 Years of Marriage

Have your granddaughter be the adorable flower girl.

Ask your son to officiate the Renewing of the Vows ceremony with your best friends as attendants.

And throw in a moment of your daughter-in-law singing "Unforgettable" alongside a garden of sunflowers.

Be so blissfully happy that you can ignore the adorable granddaughter sulking in the field because she wasn't allowed to sing into the microphone.

Add some delicious cake (which thankfully appeases sulking granddaughter),

a romantic dance,

and an extra romantic kiss under a bright September sky to make the celebration just perfect.

Three cheers for Grandpa & Grandma!

Baby Steps

Eight steps. From one end of the kitchen to the other, that's how far Julianne walked last night.

Walked.

For the record, she doesn't turn nine months old until the 21st, so theoretically we could say she started walking at eight months old. Good grief. She's still this tiny baby, and yet she is so determined to keep up with her sister. She has adopted the motto of "Anything you can do, I can do sooner." First tooth. Crawling. Walking. Sleeping through the night. I'm not quick on the bragging rights because for one, walking early doesn't mean anything. And two, this competitive streak, this force of nature that compels her to move all the time is going to keep me on my toes for a very long time. Sydney is my cautious, hesitant one. Jules, not so much.

I mentioned to a friend of mine last night that Jules had taken her first steps, and she said, "Everyone in your family is so athletic. Even your girls."

Not sure if walking early is an indication of athleticism, but it's definitely an indication that we're not ones to sit around. Sydney has learned to keep up with us, and now Jules is learning too. Even though Jason is far more athletic than I am--he plays basketball twice a week, runs, coaches soccer, ran in Hood-to-Coast, is already planning on running the Eugene Marathon next spring--I'm not exactly un-athletic. Sure, I may joke about being uncoordinated, but the truth is I have running in my genes. I didn't enjoy running that much until about five years ago, then I became addicted to it. Runners' high? Loved it.

Both my parents have run marathons, and my brother was the Division III Track and Field Athlete of the Year for his outstanding performance in long distance running. After Sydney was born, my brother's gift to me was a new pair of running shoes. Nothing says Congratulations like "Here's a pair of shoes to run off that baby fat." Kidding aside, I honestly wanted running shoes more than a pack of onesies so his gift was certainly appreciated.

So, I ran in those shoes. Put lots of miles on them, and was ready to get another pair because running shoes need to be replaced after 350-550 miles. But before I replaced them, I got pregnant, and I stopped running. Then Julianne was born last December, but I was so not up for getting back in shape by running in the rain. I'm not that dedicated.

Summer arrived, and with it my new determination to exercise more often. Not only did I have the goal of getting back into my wedding dress for our 10-year anniversary, I knew I would just feel better if I was in shape. It helps me clear my head and get rid of mental stress. I vowed that I would get back to running. To help me out with my new goal I got a new pair of running shoes from PBN. They outfitted me with running shoes from Ryka; specifically, this pair of MC2 Run.

The shoes feel great on my feet. They aren't too heavy, and the soles are nicely cushioned. Even the laces are sturdy, which is good since Julianne loves to chew on them. As soon as I got them I immediately put insoles in them because I have ridiculously flat feet and so need special arch support. I'm sure my feet problems contributed to me getting tendonitis in both my knees when I started exercising after Sydney was born three years ago. This time around, I was smarter. Good shoes are the best place to start when beginning any exercise program, but it's super important to have the proper insoles if you have feet with issues. In fact, after these MC2s reach their mileage, I'm going to get a different pair of Ryka shoes specifically designed for flat feet (which I discovered using their ShoeFinder guide). Additionally, if you have tendon/joint problems, it's a good idea to wear knee straps like I do to help alleviate that pain in the patella. (I should once again mention my brother since he's the one who gave me the knee straps. It's nice to have a super athlete/physical therapist in the family!).

Okay, so after having the shoes for over a couple months, I admit I'm not in running shape yet. More like, walking while pushing 50 pounds of stroller around the neighborhood kind of shape. Even though the shoes are attractive and comfortable and fun to wear, they don't have that magical ability to instantly transform my legs into power-horses. I'm still in serious need of some muscle, except in my arms that are fabulously toned from picking up kiddos are the livelong day. Yeah, I could totally almost beat my sister in an arm-wrestling contest, I just know it.

However, I have done enough walking/wandering/hopping along to make a difference: I am proud to say that as of one week ago I am now back to my pre-pregnancy weight and can fit into almost everything in my wardrobe. Sure, it took me eight months (and more than a few nights of going to bed hungry), but I did it. (And if you say, as a certain parent of mine did, "Great! Now it's time to get pregnant again!" I will run screaming from the room.)

I feel confident that my feet are in good shape wearing good shoes, and now that there is a new walker in the house, I'd say these shoes came just in time.

*****

Good news for you if you want some new shoes! Ryka is giving away 50 pairs of new shoes EVERY SINGLE DAY until October. You definitely should sign up for that.

Plus, Parent Bloggers Network is also hosting a contest today to give away more Ryka shoes. Check out the details here.

Week 170: Remember Love

 

Being married ten years is no small feat. You would think that with all the writing I do, I would be able to adequately--or more than adequately--capture what my heart feels after ten years of marriage. But the truth is when it comes to romantic words, Jason is far and above better than I am. He gets the perfect card every year, and writes the perfect message. Me? I sometimes don't even get a card, that's how horrid I am.

And yet, ten years later he still loves me. Still loves it when I dress up. Still loves it when I fix him spaghetti with browned butter and mizithra cheese. Still loves it when I remember to plug the cell phone in at the end of the day instead of making him hunt through my purse (or diaperbag or backpack or car) to find it.

And I still love him. Gosh, how I love him.

This weekend, when I was driving him home after he finished up the Hood to Coast relay in Seaside, I was lamenting our current situation of a real estate investment gone very bad. I was having a moment of bitterness (and, dare I say, fist shaking at God), and Jason said, "But we've learned that even when it's hard, even when we're facing the most difficult thing ever, we're still okay. We're not strained, we're not angry at each other, we're not fighting. We're okay."

We're okay.

We are. And at the end of the day, it's just money we've lost. I won't lie and tell you that I've suddenly become okay with not being able to pay bills, or have a backyard, or extra money for a vacation. Disappointment is still disappointment. Despite all that, Jason reminds me that we have each other, we have our health, we have our kids, we have jobs we love, we have a faith that is greater than either one of us. We have what matters. After ten years, I'm still learning this lesson. I'm still learning to be content with what I have, which is a lot.

You may well ask, what does all this have to do with dragging out my wedding dress, putting it on, and romping through a creek? How on earth does my ten-year anniversary have anything to do with Trashing the Dress?

For me, it has to do with remembering. When I put on that dress I was awash in memories of our day ten years ago, feeling like the most beautiful woman in the world marrying the most handsome man in the world. I remember the feeling of expectation and excitement, of wonder and wonderfuls. I wasn't worried about the house we would live in, or stressed about what lesson plan I would put together for my class. I was in the moment and very in love.

It's good to remember that and allow the warmth of those memories to melt away some of the struggles that have tormented me over the past few years. In truth, not all the creases around my eyes are from laughter, and not all gray hairs are just from age. I have at times forgotten the feeling of hope and expectation, but putting on that dress and wandering along the creekbank of my childhood helped me remember the joy of being a bride and living in the moment. I was reminded that every day love is not only within my reach, but in my arms in the form of an amazing husband, a smiling toddler, a giggling baby.

Another main reason why I did the whole TTD thing has to do with a storybook that I'm putting together for Jason. Since he reads my blog, then I won't give the surprise away, but when it's finished I'll show you what I came up with.

Until then, I will tuck away the fear that you'll find it absolutely vain that I'm linking some photos here and focus on what it is that I really want to share, which is this: True love is real, and the face that you see in these photos is the face of someone who has found love and is blessed to experience it every day of her life.

*A million thanks to my SIL Sarah for taking the photos and wading through the creek with me. She took over 350 photos (she's not timid about that photo button!) in 75 minutes and made the experience just as fun as could be. Any compliments of the photos should go directly to her.*

Week 160: Half a year old

Thank you all for the wonderful, congratulatory, WOO HOOing comments you gave me for finishing grad school. I know that so many of you have been with me long enough to read my many posts on whatever class I was taking at the moment, and all the ensuing exuberance and stress that such classes brought. Your comments were the icing on the celebratory cake (actually, I made myself a plum tart rather than cake). Seriously. You're all Rock Stars.

Naturally, it's a relief to be done, and also a relief to be done at this particular moment. The last couple weeks were more than just a bit tricky to be lallygagging (as if) at the computer, typing away on nominalization and noun phrases and whathaveyou, because a certain tiny someone has become a certain tiny crawler.

Oh yeah.

She's mobile.

Even though the last six months have sped by at lightening speed (unlike the first six months of Sydney's life which felt like the unending winter of Narnia), I wasn't ready to start redoing the house in order to accommodate a crawler. None of us were, really. Including Sydney. Especially Sydney. For as much love as Sydney has in her heart for Jules, there are moments in the day when she'd rather not have to share her new Winnie the Pooh books. Or her blocks. Or make sure that her Memory cards are not on the floor whereby they will soon become wrinkled and slobbery and un-new.

I know how she feels since there are plenty of moments in the day when I'd like to read my new Real Simple magazine instead of picking up that fragment of a weed that Daisy brought into the house from her last adventure and now is making its way into Jules' mouth. Sydney and I even work together, strewing the living room with all sorts of fabulous toys that Jules should adore with all her heart and want to play with and crawl to and fall in love with. "Here!" Sydney says, "Play with this, Jules!"

Jules will comply, mostly. Until you put something on the floor that she isn't supposed to have and quick as a flash she's up on her knees and tearing across the room and reaching, reaching, grabbing, squealing with joy at the prospect of a new and utterly fabulous forbidden toy that she can make out with.

"ACK!" Sydney and I exclaim together more than a few times during the day. "No Jules!"

I know, I know. We should say something other than "No." Redirect, redeploy, reinvent our house to have a room where Sydney and I could hide all our toys and books and magazines from tiny, curious fists. Well, let's face it: it's faster to say No. She's got to hear it eventually. Might as well break her ambition to rule the world now. And there's no denying that she has ambition and will in no uncertain terms let you know what she wants. I don't remember this about Sydney at this age, the whole "give it to me or I'll arch my back and screech in frustration" act.

It would be unfair to say that we have a lot of frustration going on in the house, because really, we're all generally happy people. Sydney, despite the real tears that she cries every day over something, is a kick in the pants and makes me laugh every day. Jules is little Miss Happykins, who smiles even when she's whining because she still thinks every one is a total hoot. And Jason and me? We're on summer vacation, people. It could rain all summer (but it better not) and we'd still be happy because we're not working, and thanks to 12-month paychecks Jason still gets money. You have to love that. Oh, and just to remind you, we're going to be in Kauai this time next week. Where I will not be having a complex over how I look in a swimsuit. (Don't tell me I look skinny, because clothed-skinny is so not the same as swimsuit-skinny and we all know it...so, I'll spend the vacation in shorts. Big deal. Which means, I guess, that I do have a complex about how I look in a swimsuit, but whatever.)

But back to the present, Pacific Northwest time...Yes, we're all learning how to adapt to this new little girl who is no longer content to lie on her back and examine her toes. That trick has been played, and now the new trick is to move and grab and keep us on our toes, making sure no chokable pieces are on the floor. Sydney's run-in with chokable parts will be permanently ingrained in my memory (the link to that story is worth checking out, btw. It's a CRAZY story), and I'd like to avoid any matters similar to this with Jules. I have to brush up on my game though because just today when we were up visiting my parents, Jules grabbed a fistful of grass and shoved it in her mouth. Yes, there's adventure at every corner.

I know you shouldn't wish for your kids to get older faster, but this age--this constant vigilance and language deciphering--it's not my favorite. Obviously, I've only experienced it once, but babies are tricky. I really hit my parenting stride when Sydney turned two-and-half. We could talk. Drink cocoa together. Share secrets about Grey's Anatomy. Fun stuff.

That's not to say that Jules isn't fun too, but darn it all if it isn't a lot of work. And a lot of vacuuming.

The Longest Road

Well, I did it.

I finished graduate school.

When Jason and I started, way the heck back in the summer of 2000, the plan was that we'd end up with our MS in Education after three summers. I'd get an MS in English Education; Jason would get his in Social Studies. That's how the program is set up, and that was how we figured we'd do it.

Oh, you know, except that we didn't.

We were two-thirds of the way done when one summer it got a little trickier to shell out a few thousand bucks for tuition. We'd finish it the next summer, we said.

But then the next summer we couldn't finish it either.

Bit by bit we'd take classes here and there, watching as bit by bit tuition would also get more expensive. Jason was able to finish sooner, but I had a couple set-backs. I had a baby one summer, so I didn't take any classes. Then another summer the classes that I needed to take weren't being offered. And well, seven years later, here I am. It's kind of embarrassing how long it has taken me, considering it's a twelve-month program. Seven years? People become lawyers in seven years. People can get medical degrees in seven years. But that's the way it goes. To my credit, I was doing other stuff besides taking classes. Like working, and being pregnant, and having babies, and being pregnant, and folding laundry, and...stuff. I won't let a little thing like seven years get in the way of me being proud of myself. I'm here.

Done.

There is the small matter of passing the comprehensive exams in August, and I'm sure I'll still end up taking some classes just for fun, but I'm done with all the required stuff. Done writing papers. Done worrying about keeping my streak of straight A's. Done staying up until 2 am typing, finishing my paper just as a baby wakes up crying to be fed.

Even though I wish I had finished the program a long time ago, I can say for certain that I truly loved every single English class I took. I loved the Teaching Writing class with David, the Teaching Grammar class with Cornelia, the Shakespeare class with Dr. Rand, the 1920's class with Carol. But the courses that I really loved were those Lit Theory and Irish Lit classes from Gavin. Oh, I do love me some Irish lit.

One of the best traditions to come from these many, many years of graduate school is getting together every once in awhile with some of the folks I've met in Gavin's classes. Last night was one of those nights when a few of us were able to get together for dinner, and it was, as always, a lot of laughs. I was so surprised when I looked at the time to see that I already had to go home. Two hours flies by when you never run out of things to talk about.

As I drove home, listening to NPR's hilarious interview with Flight of the Conchords, I thought back on all the years of school.  It took a long time, longer than it should have. It took a lot of money, though quite well spent. It took a lot of effort, more so after having kids. But I did it.

I did it.

Week 159: The Birthday Party

Cross it off the list: birthday party number three.

If I had been more organized I would have had Sydney's birthday party the week before she turned three. But since that didn't happen then we had her party last Sunday, nearly a week after her birthday. Sydney didn't seem to mind much because it dragged out the overall festivities, which meant we had a week of happy birthday singing and "My party is at the farm! On Sunday! My Birthday Party! With Clover!" enthusiasm.

We always go out of town, having the party at my parents' house because most of our family lives in the Portland/Vancouver area. It's worked out pretty well that we have her birthday party at the farm because it means (1) I don't have to clean my house, and (2) since it's all family then I get to skip past the party-games, party-favors, and overall party-stress-of-what-to-do-with-little-kids. There are little kids at the party (Sydney's cousins), but I don't have to worry about keeping them busy and out of trouble because they're happy as clams jumping on the trampoline and riding around on the golf cart. Yes, farm life is good. And very entertaining.

Where it becomes a little bit less convenient is when we have to do all the grocery shopping down here and then pack all the food, cake, and assorted party supplies in the car (which hasn't grown in size, incidentally) for the hour-plus drive up north. Even more inconvenient is when somehow the groceries don't get packed, and we have to send Jason out to do more grocery shopping up there, only to arrive moments before the party is supposed to start so that we all (ie: me) end up a bit frantic in the kitchen slicing tomatoes and lettuce and such. Thank goodness for Sarah who blew up the balloons, put the potato chips in the bowls, and made lemonade as she greeted guests. (Note to self: don't throw parties that Sarah can't attend.)

It is, of course, better that I have the help of my family to throw birthday parties. My dad grilled burgers, hot dogs, and ribs (yum!). My mom convinced Mother Nature to be nice, so we had gorgeous hot weather. And the rest of us just enjoyed ourselves in the shade while the kids ran hither and yon.

As for the birthday cake, I had asked Sydney what kind of cake she wanted. Her request? "Pink!" A pink cake. Okay. I could do that. Except that, well, I didn't. It started with me baking a yellow cake.

Then I was stuck.

If I'd made a white cake, or even devil's food cake, I could have put pink frosting on it (or rather, white frosting tinted pink). But yellow cake? I can't envision yellow cake with any sort of frosting but chocolate. Yellow cakes don't have white frosting. They just don't.

So I was torn. What to do, what to do.

Well, I think I came up with a good compromise:

Double layer yellow cake with vanilla pudding between the two layers, and chocolate frosting with pink sprinkles and pink candles. Even though Sydney does like pink a lot, she is also a big fan of chocolate, and perhaps an even bigger fan of red vines. If you're going to substitute pink for anything, substitute it with sugar. That usually works.

The year of being two was a good one. A really good one. It'll be hard to top it, but knowing Sydney, I think she just might. She's that amazing.   

690

There has been a looming concern on Jason's teaching horizon regarding his status of being able to teach Health next year. He's been teaching it for the last three years on a conditional license, but in order to be able to teach it next year--thereby guaranteeing his position at his school--he had to pass the Health Education Praxis Exam (ie: expensive tests that teachers have to take in order to get their teaching license) so that he could be Professionally Certified to talk about fat content, and meth, and sex.

Really, what's not to love about talking about reproductive organs with seventh graders? Just this week he started the unit on puberty. *snicker snicker* It used to make him kind of uncomfortable, but now he finds it all quite hilarious because the kids would totally rather be somewhere else than listening to him talk about ovaries and...um...other body parts. *more snickering* I love a man who can tell me why I got pregnant in terminology fit for a junior higher. Plus, if there's anyone who should be teaching health it's Jason. Aside from his unwillingness to eat wheat bagels (I've tried...the man loves his white bread), he's a healthy living guy.

He took the test five weeks ago, but didn't feel terribly confident about how he did. After all, he didn't take any health education in college. His class schedule was filled with things like Civics, and national government, and American Thought and Culture. They don't talk too much about mental health and STDs in those classes (although maybe they should).

Just to be safe, Jason even interviewed at West HS because they needed a social studies teacher. Since he's going to be coaching soccer there next year, he has a very good shot at getting that job (this is when we like the preferential treatment given to those sportsy types).

He had to score better than a 690.

The news came in the mail, and I, federal law breaker that I am, opened the letter even though my name appeared nowhere on the envelope.

He passed. I knew he would. He's so sex-y like that.

From the weekend

Whether or not we get sunshine on Memorial Day Weekend is a bit of a toss-up in these parts. Last year? Not so good. This year? We turned on the AC in our house (oh sweet AC, how I love thee). It was a good weekend for nice weather since we had an outdoor wedding to go to on Saturday. Actually, we missed the ceremony for the wedding since our car broke down, but after many many tears and further pleading with the mechanic, we were able to get it fixed and made it to Jaime and Jeremy's reception in Brownsville. It was lovely and wonderful.

Other than the wedding, it was a nice relaxing weekend around here with the added bonus of having Jason's parents visit. Since my parents have farm-ish things to do like dogs to feed and grass to mow and bbq ribs to eat and parties to throw that don't include their eldest daughter, they can't often do overnight trips to our house. We therefore more than regularly invite Jason's parents down to visit us since they don't have any of the aforementioned things going on, except for a dog to feed, and he's just an old blind chihuahua so he's really more like a gerbil than a dog. Furthermore, Jason's brother lives in Rhode Island and has no plans to ever return to the mighty Northwest, even though he hates all the East Coast beers, so we are The Family.

We didn't veer too far off the traditional path, and spent the weekend hanging around outside, eating burgers.

Jason manned the grill, fixing us all some tasty burgers that included pineapple and cheddar cheese. Oh yeah, that's how we do it around here. (All you burger lovers ought to read Mopsy's description of burgers, so deliciously written that we were compelled to go out to Red Robin for Sydney's birthday dinner.)

While I was off in the kitchen fixing pasta salad and all-things-that-must-accompany-burgers, the grandparents volunteered to play with the grandkids. Holding Jules is a rough job, but somebody has to do it.

I could tell she really wanted to sink that tooth into a burger, but Sydney wouldn't share. And neither would I.

The entertainment of the afternoon was bubbles and hopscotch. Oh, the magical wonders of tiny plastic wands and sidewalk chalk.

   

The broom in hand is to sweep up chalk since sometimes the cleaning is all part of the playing.

That's my little three year old. Goodness gracious we love her so. We celebrated her birthday yesterday with a picnic lunch outside, a trip to Red Robin for the requested "fries and hotdog on a stick" (although Jason and I stuck to burgers) as well as a side order of birthday singing with ice cream sundae. There was also a lollypop from Dutch Brothers, and a trip to the library where she was serenaded with another round of Happy Birthday. Once I finish my homework I'll have something to write for my sweet curly headed girl. There's so much to say.

Week 157: Three Years Old

Week 154: Standing Tradition

I like traditions. I'm not a fanatic about them, but there are a couple I try to keep, one in particular.

It started with a newspaper article published in 1948. The original news picture is of my dad standing in my grandpa's palms.

July 7, 1976, the local newspaper published another article, this time including a picture of me standing in my dad's palms under the original picture. According to the news article, I had been standing in my dad's hands since I was 12 weeks old. And, by the way, it's not just a "quick! get the picture before she falls" deal. I could stand a full minute without assistance. How did I not become a professional athlete with such early talent? It's a mystery.

September 2004, Sydney officially became a member of the Palm Stand Club.

 

We've been working with Jules, but she wasn't particularly interested. Just wouldn't lock her legs. I begged. I pleaded. I lovingly told her the family would be disgraced if she didn't shape up. The weight of the family name rested on her tiny feet.

Welcome to the club, Jubee.

PS: No Photoshop magic here. It's just all about getting a baby to lock her legs and find her center of gravity in your hands.

Week 152: To cheer, to run

3 hours, 46 minutes, 34 seconds.

He did it. Jason finished the Eugene Marathon this morning. He's been training for a couple months now, and today was the big day to put his feet to the 26.2 mile test. (And to save you from possibly embarrassing yourself in the future, you should never ask, "So how long is this marathon?" All marathons are the same distance.)