Boy, I sure had fun making art all week. Even though I was exhausted when I got home, it was quite w thrill to spend a seven hour day, minus lunch hour with a bunch of ladies making art. Oh, they crack me up. And surely there was a few tears at one point when the conversation on Reiki got just a little too deep about the spirit world. I learned a lot and am inspired to work on some new projects. Well, of course, I will get this one done first. It is beautiful, if I do say so myself. Technique uses hand painted fabric. Our first two days we just created fabric bits, some for fun and some with our image in mind. The third day we started making. I got the distant areas done and discovered my dupyed pieces were not intense enough. So the fourth day, I rushed around dying in the morning. After lunch break, the pieces were dry enough to heat set. And pow! Awesome! Exactly right. So I snipped and snipped completely most of the image. This morning, I set in a few shadows and highlights for drama and sat at my machine tacking the aplique pieces down in netween instructional talks. I am excited for the results. And, I can't wait to finish it soon. Thanks for Denise. Thanks for Cheryl, the studio hostess and giver of a beautiful quilt....ask me the story sometime. She just gave it to me and my mother because we liked it. Now to find someplace to hang it on my two walls in this house. Oh, above my bed! I always wanted to decorate my room. Anyhoo, thanks to my mom for invitng me to go. and lastly, the garage sale shoppers for buying my junk so I could pay the three hundred without dipping into my budget. And, I must not forget to thank Dad for taking the kids to school and picking them up afterwards. Otherwise, I would have missed about two hours of class.
Friday, August 31, 2012
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
Man of the House
Monday, I rolled Home tired from a day of dying fabrics and learning in a town thirty minutes away. The kids are eating dinner. My dad had volunteered to take the kids to school in the morning and walk them home in the afternoon so I could attend this fabric dying and quilting class with Denise Laberdie. As I sat on the porch rocker watching the kids climb the tree after finishing a meal I did not have to plan, make, nor clean up, I imagimed for a moment that I was the man of the house.
After enjoying a few minutes watching the kids, I would go inside. Yes, inside to the air condition. I would plop off my shoes in the middle of the family room floor. I'd sit on the couch and turn on the boob tube. (Wait, I wouldn't call it a boob tube if I was a man, would I?). Seinfeld would be on; I've seen this one a couple of times. Still funny. I would play Scrabble on my iPad. Spouse would wrangle with the kids. Once things settle down upstairs, I would wonder up. I'd finish my game and wait until Spouse has finished homework with one or the other kid. A short check in, "How was your day? Did you learn anything new?". Okay, good night. And it is off to bed to. Watch some online episodes I missed or read a book.
Well, that is not exactly what happened in the real world. Rsther, I had a small snapshot of what a full time working mother must feel like. Luckily, my dinmer was made and kids fed. Left overs were in the fridge (I actually prepared that the day before) But, once Dad stepped out, it was all me. Somewhaere between homework, baths, and teeth brushing, I cleaned the two upstairs bathrooms and dusted the master bed room. Since I squeezed in vaccumming the upstairs and mopping the downstairs between church and going to the Bay for one last swim in an outdoor pool, I comsidered House "clean enough" for the week. Man, I was tired. May legs were actually shaking and muscles cramping from standing all day during the class and cleaning. Yet, I swam through the evening
getting homework completed, e-mailing teacher questions about said homework, sending son back to
brush teeth a second time, clipping kids' finger nails, painting mine, talking with absent Spouse on the phone, cleaning up kitchen, changing the water in the fish bowl, feeding the hermit crabs, picking up books in the middle of the hall, getting ready to cater dinner for the women in the quilt class the next
day, replying to select e-mails, and probably a gadzillion other little things I fogot. The kids were
tucked into bed. First chapter of Book Club selection was cut short as I fall asleep.
This afternoon, day two of full day class, I get another view of a full time working Parent. The
kids are well care for, fed, dressed, and run to ballet (Daughter, Son plays his Nitendo DS) by dear
Papa-Nanny. I am happy to meet the kids at the door. Homework wasn't done before practice. So
straight upstairs...what? Your hungry? Snack. Then baths for two stinky kids, books, homework, it
is past the 8:00 pm cut off. I am putting in over time. I don't get the math. How am I supposed to do this! Oh, I get it. Done. No Daughter, go to bed now, I am clocking out. Son, what are you doing
up? We woke you? Okay, good night.
Downstairs, I am rinsing the containers from the lunch boxes and reflecting. I am thankful that
Husband and I decided that I would not return to full time work. In a normal life time, being a full
time teacher and full time mom would be a challenge. I know I would figure it out and muster
through only doing each job at 80 some odd percent. And, the art, my life line, would fall through
the cracks in the railway. But, we would survive. With our reality now, with a body that functions
like I am fifty-seven instead of thirty-seven due to commplications from my surgeries and side-
effects from my drugs, I could not make it in a full time position. Around two o'clock, I want to pass
out. Today, imfact, I fell asleep in the sewing room while my peers were bustling around the wet-
studio. I fell asleep in the car on the way home too. No, silly, I was carpooling with my mom. Over
time, I might build up stamina. My mom's doctor who replaced her ankle a year ago told her she only has so many steps in that ankle. It is up to her how she wants to spend them. Would she rather park
a far distance and walk the parking lot or park in the handicap and save those steps for something
amazing? Husband stated during our conversation about me returning to work now I had cancer, "It
all depends on where you want to spend your precious time." Our reality is my time is shorter than
most of yours. That is our reality. Tonight, after just two full days of being on my feet, I have
confirmed that I physically could not teach all day, five days a week. Oh yes, I miss it emensely.
But, I am more glad to not miss wqtching my kids grow up first hand, even when they are arguing.
Oh, I need to read the poem I wrote them three years ago.
Point of Reflection: Are you doing what you should be doing in your life? Even if what you are doing is a challenge, are you making the best of each moment? Have you heard your calling? Did you choose to listen? Could you do one thing towrds making that change tomorrow? Would you?
After enjoying a few minutes watching the kids, I would go inside. Yes, inside to the air condition. I would plop off my shoes in the middle of the family room floor. I'd sit on the couch and turn on the boob tube. (Wait, I wouldn't call it a boob tube if I was a man, would I?). Seinfeld would be on; I've seen this one a couple of times. Still funny. I would play Scrabble on my iPad. Spouse would wrangle with the kids. Once things settle down upstairs, I would wonder up. I'd finish my game and wait until Spouse has finished homework with one or the other kid. A short check in, "How was your day? Did you learn anything new?". Okay, good night. And it is off to bed to. Watch some online episodes I missed or read a book.
Well, that is not exactly what happened in the real world. Rsther, I had a small snapshot of what a full time working mother must feel like. Luckily, my dinmer was made and kids fed. Left overs were in the fridge (I actually prepared that the day before) But, once Dad stepped out, it was all me. Somewhaere between homework, baths, and teeth brushing, I cleaned the two upstairs bathrooms and dusted the master bed room. Since I squeezed in vaccumming the upstairs and mopping the downstairs between church and going to the Bay for one last swim in an outdoor pool, I comsidered House "clean enough" for the week. Man, I was tired. May legs were actually shaking and muscles cramping from standing all day during the class and cleaning. Yet, I swam through the evening
getting homework completed, e-mailing teacher questions about said homework, sending son back to
brush teeth a second time, clipping kids' finger nails, painting mine, talking with absent Spouse on the phone, cleaning up kitchen, changing the water in the fish bowl, feeding the hermit crabs, picking up books in the middle of the hall, getting ready to cater dinner for the women in the quilt class the next
day, replying to select e-mails, and probably a gadzillion other little things I fogot. The kids were
tucked into bed. First chapter of Book Club selection was cut short as I fall asleep.
This afternoon, day two of full day class, I get another view of a full time working Parent. The
kids are well care for, fed, dressed, and run to ballet (Daughter, Son plays his Nitendo DS) by dear
Papa-Nanny. I am happy to meet the kids at the door. Homework wasn't done before practice. So
straight upstairs...what? Your hungry? Snack. Then baths for two stinky kids, books, homework, it
is past the 8:00 pm cut off. I am putting in over time. I don't get the math. How am I supposed to do this! Oh, I get it. Done. No Daughter, go to bed now, I am clocking out. Son, what are you doing
up? We woke you? Okay, good night.
Downstairs, I am rinsing the containers from the lunch boxes and reflecting. I am thankful that
Husband and I decided that I would not return to full time work. In a normal life time, being a full
time teacher and full time mom would be a challenge. I know I would figure it out and muster
through only doing each job at 80 some odd percent. And, the art, my life line, would fall through
the cracks in the railway. But, we would survive. With our reality now, with a body that functions
like I am fifty-seven instead of thirty-seven due to commplications from my surgeries and side-
effects from my drugs, I could not make it in a full time position. Around two o'clock, I want to pass
out. Today, imfact, I fell asleep in the sewing room while my peers were bustling around the wet-
studio. I fell asleep in the car on the way home too. No, silly, I was carpooling with my mom. Over
time, I might build up stamina. My mom's doctor who replaced her ankle a year ago told her she only has so many steps in that ankle. It is up to her how she wants to spend them. Would she rather park
a far distance and walk the parking lot or park in the handicap and save those steps for something
amazing? Husband stated during our conversation about me returning to work now I had cancer, "It
all depends on where you want to spend your precious time." Our reality is my time is shorter than
most of yours. That is our reality. Tonight, after just two full days of being on my feet, I have
confirmed that I physically could not teach all day, five days a week. Oh yes, I miss it emensely.
But, I am more glad to not miss wqtching my kids grow up first hand, even when they are arguing.
Oh, I need to read the poem I wrote them three years ago.
Point of Reflection: Are you doing what you should be doing in your life? Even if what you are doing is a challenge, are you making the best of each moment? Have you heard your calling? Did you choose to listen? Could you do one thing towrds making that change tomorrow? Would you?
Saturday, August 25, 2012
How to have a garage sale.
Prelude: A hummingbird flew into my garage the day before the sale. He linger for a moment on a red item am then swooped away. I didn't know we could get them down here. Maybe I ought to get a feeder.
Before I devolge harbourred secrets of a sucessful garage sale, let me start with a story of ill representation of humanity. So it is the first day, Friday, sometime early in the sale. A woman mills aroung slowly. She is slowly evaluation everything. She picks up a few loose items. She asks about the dining table. We walk over to it and the six chairs. "It is Dutch Modern, and we are decorating with Mission," I explain. She shakes the table. I explaing that we only quickly screwed on the legs this morning and it is not wigglely if the nuts are screwed on with a wrench. She talks about looking for something for her daughter. She says she will think about it and asks the price. Sevety five for the set. That, by the way, was my purchase price ten years ago from my neighbor's sale. She wonders to the other table, asks if it has chairs, is told no, and says she will think about. Meanwhile someone is intested in the Burley double stroller and bike trolley so I go over there. In a few minutes the table woman calls me over. We talk about how it needs to be buffed and maybe varnished. She says something about it is for her daughter and womders if I will take forty. I say sixty. Big story of her daughter not haing a lot. She asks fifty. With hesitation, okay. It is for her daughter's new home and somewhere in there someone has cancer or something blah lah blah. Later in the day, she comes pick it up. Maybe this is when she talks about being ill or something as she is climbing up into the truck with a step stool. She is friendly, we, my mom and I, laugh with her as we help load. I was a good moment feeling like we'd really helped her out.
Flash forwrd to today, the close of the sale. I had packed up the loose itms I thought I could consign or sell to the flea market. The kids and I drove around running things here and there. At Front Range Merchantile, they gladly bought a few antique dresser scarves. After making the exchange, Daughter wants to go look for Bsrbies. I turn around to approach the first aisle and there it is, my table. $257.95. I couldn't believe it. The vary next day after I shared my geuine soul and caring to this woman, she flips it for a huge profit. It isn't the fact she buffed it up and resold it in one day, it is the fact that I felt totally taken advantage of. After all, I ran downstairs where it was stored to look for a missing cap on one of the chair legs. When I couldn't find it, I asked for her number so I could look harder later and call her if I found it. After all, she was going to give it to her daughter, right? She played the cancer empathy card, and I ate right of her hand. Seriously, fifteen dollars? I hope karma catches up with you, Honey. Just be honest, geesh.
Okay, I will step off of my soap box now. How about those tips?
-Get a friend to help, preferably one who will bring you beakfast and watch the sale so you can run to the store, Thamks Mom.
-Advertise specialty items like crafts, children's clothing, specific furniture, etc. by doing all caps in the article. We emphasized crafters and furniture and that is who came.
-Be aware that when you say the sale starts at 8 am, they will come at 7:15.
-Resalers come on Fridays.
-Families come on Saturdays.
-Resalers will clear you out of big items like furniture, will try to get it super cheap, may make you feel a bit insecure, and will be your best customers.
-Have jobs in mind for children helpers.
-be clear that anything in the sale is not to reenter the house.
-Bend a little because their puppy dog faces are too cute and let them have something from the sale but only in exchange for a toy of equal value.
-Send kids on missions like bugging their friend around the block who is having her own sale.
-Put things of interest out near the street to entice the drive-bys to park and take a better look.
-Label what you can that isn't one dollar. Anything without a label is one dollar.
-Put out bins. One for small items for a quarter. The if you have a lot of children's clothing, sort by size and gender in bins.
-Offer bulk purchase prices for similar items.
-Make lunch, a sandwhich or a wrap, the night before.
-Get out breakfast bowls and cold cereal the night before and set for kids to serve themselves.
-Put fives and tens in your left pocket and dollars in your right pocket. If you are left handed, switch that.
- Play light music to take the edge off the day.
-Call the thrift store, DAV or ARC are dependible, to schedule a pick up after the sale.
-Smile a lot and say hi to all customers. Your kindness will motivate sales.
-Have a friend help...wait I said that already.
- Schedule a massage...oh wait...yah, well, okay...at least plan an easy dinner or delivery, have kids bath early, and watch a movie. Don't do anything but cuddle your kids on the couch and go to bed early.
-And last but not least, give away at least ten percent to charity. Offer out your bounty and gifts will flow in trifold.
Before I devolge harbourred secrets of a sucessful garage sale, let me start with a story of ill representation of humanity. So it is the first day, Friday, sometime early in the sale. A woman mills aroung slowly. She is slowly evaluation everything. She picks up a few loose items. She asks about the dining table. We walk over to it and the six chairs. "It is Dutch Modern, and we are decorating with Mission," I explain. She shakes the table. I explaing that we only quickly screwed on the legs this morning and it is not wigglely if the nuts are screwed on with a wrench. She talks about looking for something for her daughter. She says she will think about it and asks the price. Sevety five for the set. That, by the way, was my purchase price ten years ago from my neighbor's sale. She wonders to the other table, asks if it has chairs, is told no, and says she will think about. Meanwhile someone is intested in the Burley double stroller and bike trolley so I go over there. In a few minutes the table woman calls me over. We talk about how it needs to be buffed and maybe varnished. She says something about it is for her daughter and womders if I will take forty. I say sixty. Big story of her daughter not haing a lot. She asks fifty. With hesitation, okay. It is for her daughter's new home and somewhere in there someone has cancer or something blah lah blah. Later in the day, she comes pick it up. Maybe this is when she talks about being ill or something as she is climbing up into the truck with a step stool. She is friendly, we, my mom and I, laugh with her as we help load. I was a good moment feeling like we'd really helped her out.
Flash forwrd to today, the close of the sale. I had packed up the loose itms I thought I could consign or sell to the flea market. The kids and I drove around running things here and there. At Front Range Merchantile, they gladly bought a few antique dresser scarves. After making the exchange, Daughter wants to go look for Bsrbies. I turn around to approach the first aisle and there it is, my table. $257.95. I couldn't believe it. The vary next day after I shared my geuine soul and caring to this woman, she flips it for a huge profit. It isn't the fact she buffed it up and resold it in one day, it is the fact that I felt totally taken advantage of. After all, I ran downstairs where it was stored to look for a missing cap on one of the chair legs. When I couldn't find it, I asked for her number so I could look harder later and call her if I found it. After all, she was going to give it to her daughter, right? She played the cancer empathy card, and I ate right of her hand. Seriously, fifteen dollars? I hope karma catches up with you, Honey. Just be honest, geesh.
Okay, I will step off of my soap box now. How about those tips?
-Get a friend to help, preferably one who will bring you beakfast and watch the sale so you can run to the store, Thamks Mom.
-Advertise specialty items like crafts, children's clothing, specific furniture, etc. by doing all caps in the article. We emphasized crafters and furniture and that is who came.
-Be aware that when you say the sale starts at 8 am, they will come at 7:15.
-Resalers come on Fridays.
-Families come on Saturdays.
-Resalers will clear you out of big items like furniture, will try to get it super cheap, may make you feel a bit insecure, and will be your best customers.
-Have jobs in mind for children helpers.
-be clear that anything in the sale is not to reenter the house.
-Bend a little because their puppy dog faces are too cute and let them have something from the sale but only in exchange for a toy of equal value.
-Send kids on missions like bugging their friend around the block who is having her own sale.
-Put things of interest out near the street to entice the drive-bys to park and take a better look.
-Label what you can that isn't one dollar. Anything without a label is one dollar.
-Put out bins. One for small items for a quarter. The if you have a lot of children's clothing, sort by size and gender in bins.
-Offer bulk purchase prices for similar items.
-Make lunch, a sandwhich or a wrap, the night before.
-Get out breakfast bowls and cold cereal the night before and set for kids to serve themselves.
-Put fives and tens in your left pocket and dollars in your right pocket. If you are left handed, switch that.
- Play light music to take the edge off the day.
-Call the thrift store, DAV or ARC are dependible, to schedule a pick up after the sale.
-Smile a lot and say hi to all customers. Your kindness will motivate sales.
-Have a friend help...wait I said that already.
- Schedule a massage...oh wait...yah, well, okay...at least plan an easy dinner or delivery, have kids bath early, and watch a movie. Don't do anything but cuddle your kids on the couch and go to bed early.
-And last but not least, give away at least ten percent to charity. Offer out your bounty and gifts will flow in trifold.
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
The Choice Factor
In light of one public figure, Mr. Akin, who is completely misguided, I am going to write a story tonight that may be a little difficult to read.
It was October. I was eighteen, a freshman at the University. My friend Shana needed a date for her boyfriend's best friend. She asked me. I was excited because I had not been to a semi-formal event yet. I had to borrow a dress. It was black with little pastel colored roses on it. The size was one up from my petite frame so it hung to the floor if I took of my pumps. Being used to tops being too big, I carefully pinned the deep V-neck so it wasn't too revealing.
After puffing out our hair, it was the early nineties after all, we walked over to the fraternity house. The air was cool and fresh. The anticipation of the first snow, real Colorado snow, hung in the air. We passed through the guest list line and up the steps. The house was warm and loud. Music pumped from every room. People were smashed against walls until we squeezed towards the back of the house where the catering was. I met my date. He was tall and okay looking. He had course brown hair and wore a plaid shirt. Attractive, I guess. He definitely wore his ego on his shirt sleeves, and I felt really small. It was too loud for much conversation as the four of us danced a bit in the front room. Then we went back to the back room where this guy, they called him Duckie, gave me a glass of wine. This was a wine and cheese party. I didn't like it so I just took little sips. Duckie spent most of his time chatting up anyone who walked by. Apparently he was very popular. Or, at least e thought he was. He noticed I wasn't drinking and took my glass. He returned with another glass. It was better tasting.
So the night progressed. We danced with our friends. They eventually disappeared. It was late. I wanted to go home. I was feeling a little fuzzy. Duckie wanted to show me a CD or something in his room. I wanted to find my friend. He told me that since Shana's boyfriend was his roommate, I would find her down the hall. I followed. We got into the room. He put on the song. He grabbed my waist and started slow dancing. It was nice. Then we started kissing. It was really nice.
Now, I will save you the details, but you can guess what happened next. I have gone through it many a times and not knowing if I could have stopped it. It wasn't violent. It wasn't what I wanted to do. I wasn't asked. Did a kiss mean yes? Not when you are fuzzy in the head and pinned to the couch. It hurt. I cried. I heard my friend's voice in the hall. He quickly dressed and went out of the room. I sat there feeling sick and dizzy. What had just happened? I wanted to go home. I was embarrassed. My dress was still on. It was ripped where I pinned it. Smoothing down my hair, I waited until the voices in the hall to die down and snuck out of the house. It was cold outside.
Back at the dorms, I showered and went to bed. The next morning, Shana calls wondering where I went the night before. I can't remember what I told her. I remember I dressed in the baggiest overalls I could find in my closet. I wanted to hide. He took away my virginity without even asking. I felt confused. Was it my fault? I shouldn't have drank that wine. I didn't have but a few sips because it tasted so gross. In the hall, I joined the girls to walk to the cafeteria for breakfast. Allie was going on and on about her wild night filled with love escapades with her Marice. They were the most beautiful couple in the dorm. He was a dark Mediterranean Ken, and she was an green eyed, freckled, Irish Audrey Hepburn. As I listened to her excitement over his romance, I asked myself, was this what it was supposed to be like? The girls roared and snickered at their previous night's love affairs. I felt sick. I went to the restroom. I felt weird down there. I looked in the toilet after going, and there was the condom. Apparently, it got stuck when he quickly exited. I was horrified. What if it leaked?! What if I was pregnant with this horrible person? I couldn't believe this was happening to me.
The next couple of weeks I waited for that blessed drop of blood. It came. I prayed great gratitude. During the wait, I ran all the scenarios through my head. Would I keep it? Could I keep it? I don't think I could. I would hate it. Could I carry it and give it away? One time. One ugly time and all my plans for my life could...snap...be gone. I never quite answered these questions. All I knew is that I was glad I could choose. I had a choice.
A month later, not pregnant, not a virgin, and getting over the profound burden of all that, the dreams stopped. My friend talked me into going to a party at the same fraternity. I told her to promise to stick with me this time and I would go. We walked up to the front and guess who was at the table with the guest list? He looked up and said, "Oh, let me guess. Heather, right?". My heart sunk so low in my belly that I wasn't sure it was still beating. My head got hot.
"No, it is Sara, and I am on the list," I say stomping up the stairs behind my friend. The music was louder. The dancing great. Shana kept feeding me red jungle juice. I was angry. I was hurt. I was confused. So I drank it. Stupid, I know. A male friend from my psychology class offered to walk me home. I felt even sicker then that night it happened. Outside, it was snowing. I didn't have a coat. It was slippery. I was crying. I couldn't see the lines on the street. They were jumping. Josh carried me across the street. I walked the rest of the way to the dorm. Amy down the hall was home and agreed to help me. So he left and the night proceeded as expected. I got so sick that I thought I was bleeding. It was red from the juice. It burned because of the Everclear.
In the end, I found some really good friends who I am still friends with today. Several of the girls have the same story to tell. They were given drinks, started making out, enjoyed that, but then it went too far before they could figure out what had happened. Needless to say, it was legitimate rape. There, I said it. I lost my virginity to a rapist. It was all horribly unpleasant. It was an act of violence. But, the fact is I did not want to have sex. I was given too much to drink, pinned down and never asked. The point is that my story, and those of my girl friends, are fact. They are truth and legitimate. I am so glad I had a choice if I became pregnant through this act. I was never the same after this and have never truly gotten over the experience even though I am married and have two lovely kids.
Well, every good story has to have a happy ending. These new girls I met through Amy from down the hall formed a sisterhood that became our survival through those fun, although trying, years. We had one girl out of the five who was Designated Mom for the weekend. As designated mom, your tray was cleared for you at meals, your room cleaned, and basically you were treated like a queen. In return, you couldn't drink more the one beer. Your job was to make sure all the other girls were behaving themselves, hold their hair back if they didn't, make sure no one got cornered in a room by boy, and everyone made it home safely. Designated Moms is the absolute number one tip for a young lady. So make a smart choice when you are way from mom and designate someone to be your DM and get you home in one piece.
The best choice is freedom to choose. Just put yourself in my shoes. Play the scenarios in your mind. What would you do? Se there, you made a choice.
It was October. I was eighteen, a freshman at the University. My friend Shana needed a date for her boyfriend's best friend. She asked me. I was excited because I had not been to a semi-formal event yet. I had to borrow a dress. It was black with little pastel colored roses on it. The size was one up from my petite frame so it hung to the floor if I took of my pumps. Being used to tops being too big, I carefully pinned the deep V-neck so it wasn't too revealing.
After puffing out our hair, it was the early nineties after all, we walked over to the fraternity house. The air was cool and fresh. The anticipation of the first snow, real Colorado snow, hung in the air. We passed through the guest list line and up the steps. The house was warm and loud. Music pumped from every room. People were smashed against walls until we squeezed towards the back of the house where the catering was. I met my date. He was tall and okay looking. He had course brown hair and wore a plaid shirt. Attractive, I guess. He definitely wore his ego on his shirt sleeves, and I felt really small. It was too loud for much conversation as the four of us danced a bit in the front room. Then we went back to the back room where this guy, they called him Duckie, gave me a glass of wine. This was a wine and cheese party. I didn't like it so I just took little sips. Duckie spent most of his time chatting up anyone who walked by. Apparently he was very popular. Or, at least e thought he was. He noticed I wasn't drinking and took my glass. He returned with another glass. It was better tasting.
So the night progressed. We danced with our friends. They eventually disappeared. It was late. I wanted to go home. I was feeling a little fuzzy. Duckie wanted to show me a CD or something in his room. I wanted to find my friend. He told me that since Shana's boyfriend was his roommate, I would find her down the hall. I followed. We got into the room. He put on the song. He grabbed my waist and started slow dancing. It was nice. Then we started kissing. It was really nice.
Now, I will save you the details, but you can guess what happened next. I have gone through it many a times and not knowing if I could have stopped it. It wasn't violent. It wasn't what I wanted to do. I wasn't asked. Did a kiss mean yes? Not when you are fuzzy in the head and pinned to the couch. It hurt. I cried. I heard my friend's voice in the hall. He quickly dressed and went out of the room. I sat there feeling sick and dizzy. What had just happened? I wanted to go home. I was embarrassed. My dress was still on. It was ripped where I pinned it. Smoothing down my hair, I waited until the voices in the hall to die down and snuck out of the house. It was cold outside.
Back at the dorms, I showered and went to bed. The next morning, Shana calls wondering where I went the night before. I can't remember what I told her. I remember I dressed in the baggiest overalls I could find in my closet. I wanted to hide. He took away my virginity without even asking. I felt confused. Was it my fault? I shouldn't have drank that wine. I didn't have but a few sips because it tasted so gross. In the hall, I joined the girls to walk to the cafeteria for breakfast. Allie was going on and on about her wild night filled with love escapades with her Marice. They were the most beautiful couple in the dorm. He was a dark Mediterranean Ken, and she was an green eyed, freckled, Irish Audrey Hepburn. As I listened to her excitement over his romance, I asked myself, was this what it was supposed to be like? The girls roared and snickered at their previous night's love affairs. I felt sick. I went to the restroom. I felt weird down there. I looked in the toilet after going, and there was the condom. Apparently, it got stuck when he quickly exited. I was horrified. What if it leaked?! What if I was pregnant with this horrible person? I couldn't believe this was happening to me.
The next couple of weeks I waited for that blessed drop of blood. It came. I prayed great gratitude. During the wait, I ran all the scenarios through my head. Would I keep it? Could I keep it? I don't think I could. I would hate it. Could I carry it and give it away? One time. One ugly time and all my plans for my life could...snap...be gone. I never quite answered these questions. All I knew is that I was glad I could choose. I had a choice.
A month later, not pregnant, not a virgin, and getting over the profound burden of all that, the dreams stopped. My friend talked me into going to a party at the same fraternity. I told her to promise to stick with me this time and I would go. We walked up to the front and guess who was at the table with the guest list? He looked up and said, "Oh, let me guess. Heather, right?". My heart sunk so low in my belly that I wasn't sure it was still beating. My head got hot.
"No, it is Sara, and I am on the list," I say stomping up the stairs behind my friend. The music was louder. The dancing great. Shana kept feeding me red jungle juice. I was angry. I was hurt. I was confused. So I drank it. Stupid, I know. A male friend from my psychology class offered to walk me home. I felt even sicker then that night it happened. Outside, it was snowing. I didn't have a coat. It was slippery. I was crying. I couldn't see the lines on the street. They were jumping. Josh carried me across the street. I walked the rest of the way to the dorm. Amy down the hall was home and agreed to help me. So he left and the night proceeded as expected. I got so sick that I thought I was bleeding. It was red from the juice. It burned because of the Everclear.
In the end, I found some really good friends who I am still friends with today. Several of the girls have the same story to tell. They were given drinks, started making out, enjoyed that, but then it went too far before they could figure out what had happened. Needless to say, it was legitimate rape. There, I said it. I lost my virginity to a rapist. It was all horribly unpleasant. It was an act of violence. But, the fact is I did not want to have sex. I was given too much to drink, pinned down and never asked. The point is that my story, and those of my girl friends, are fact. They are truth and legitimate. I am so glad I had a choice if I became pregnant through this act. I was never the same after this and have never truly gotten over the experience even though I am married and have two lovely kids.
Well, every good story has to have a happy ending. These new girls I met through Amy from down the hall formed a sisterhood that became our survival through those fun, although trying, years. We had one girl out of the five who was Designated Mom for the weekend. As designated mom, your tray was cleared for you at meals, your room cleaned, and basically you were treated like a queen. In return, you couldn't drink more the one beer. Your job was to make sure all the other girls were behaving themselves, hold their hair back if they didn't, make sure no one got cornered in a room by boy, and everyone made it home safely. Designated Moms is the absolute number one tip for a young lady. So make a smart choice when you are way from mom and designate someone to be your DM and get you home in one piece.
The best choice is freedom to choose. Just put yourself in my shoes. Play the scenarios in your mind. What would you do? Se there, you made a choice.
Thursday, August 16, 2012
110 minutes, 109, 108, ...
Tick tock goes the clock. The kids sleep. They may rest their nervous heads for thirty three mor minutes. I, Mom, am awake. Head is racing. First, yoga at 9:30. Arrive early. Meditate. Linger in savasana as long as desired. Meander home. Stop by Micheals for canvases and King Soopers for dinner on way. Home. Shower. Eat huge ham and cheese sandwich with pickle and tomatoe from garden. ....
Oh, dear, she is up. She is doing her hair. Smile. Okay, okay....so then finish something. Finish anything. Get it done. Yeah! Oh she is so pretty in her new outfit. Gymboree of course. Brown mini-skort with sunflower florals and sunflower yellow top. I know, not what I thought she would pick out. "Mommmm,, you are writing about my outfit...". Caught.
Well, here it goes. A third grader. This fact makes me a bit sad and proud. A first grader. Both kids in school. Smart, beautiful, funny kids. I will miss your company as I take a nap when I feel tired. I will miss your input as I wonder the grocery store aisles smiling at toddlers in the carts screaming for a fruit snack. You grow and grow. Yes, I am excited to get in to my studio; it has been too long. Yes, I am so excited to go to am yoga class. Yet, I am torn with emotion over your being away all day. It only means one year closer to you leaving my nest. Good luck today.
Oh, dear, she is up. She is doing her hair. Smile. Okay, okay....so then finish something. Finish anything. Get it done. Yeah! Oh she is so pretty in her new outfit. Gymboree of course. Brown mini-skort with sunflower florals and sunflower yellow top. I know, not what I thought she would pick out. "Mommmm,, you are writing about my outfit...". Caught.
Well, here it goes. A third grader. This fact makes me a bit sad and proud. A first grader. Both kids in school. Smart, beautiful, funny kids. I will miss your company as I take a nap when I feel tired. I will miss your input as I wonder the grocery store aisles smiling at toddlers in the carts screaming for a fruit snack. You grow and grow. Yes, I am excited to get in to my studio; it has been too long. Yes, I am so excited to go to am yoga class. Yet, I am torn with emotion over your being away all day. It only means one year closer to you leaving my nest. Good luck today.
Monday, August 13, 2012
Day 82
Prescript: the editting functions on this app have not been functioning correctly. Please escuse any weird typos as I just give up at some point and go to bed. Thanks...smile.
What a trooper. I would love to be in my little guy's head when his mother, who has been gone for five days, calls to explain that he will have to skip breakfast in the morning. As I sulk in the Kansas City International Airport with my folks waiting for a flight delayed by two hours, Dad takes Son and Daughter out for a good meal. See, he will be tested in the morning for his reactions to sugars.
In the dawn of the day, after arriving home at nearly midnight, I am woken by my Dot. I smile to see her fuzzy head next to mine on my queen sized pillow. She has pulled in tightly and swung her foot over my knee. She is asleep. She peeps. Son sleeps. "Let's get up and est nefore your brother gets up."
Mission accomplished. Brother drops down on the couch crying. He's hungry. He wants to eat. sister comforts. sister turns on Phebus and Ferb. Brother laughs at something. Mom gets ready for the day, sweeps the floor that may not have been swept in five days, and shuffles mail. Time to go. daughter crying now. She doesn't want to go. She agrees to conscessions and motivates Hungry Boy to the car.
An hour drive goes by quickly with networked video game players. We check into the Children's Hospital. No, it isn't a big deal. We are just testing Son's reaction to surpgsrs with a breath test in hopes of solving the mystery of his tummy discomforts. This is a three hour long test on and empty stomach. He breaths in a tube every fifteen minutes. The first one on empty and followed by a cup of uber sugary lemonaide stuff. He drinks it like a pro. The nurse is clearly impressed. Then three hours of waiting with only interruption every fifteen minutes.
What troopers. Well, the hospital makes it pretty easy with On Deman movies, Star Wars Ntendo games, play area, and an art walk. Me, well, I have five days of e-mails to catch up on thanks to free Wifi. Three hours. No immediate reactions. Results in two days. Blah blah blah. Boy looks faint. Head out with a bag of chips and a juice. Bass Pro Shop for late lunch as a reward! Yeah! Good job Kids.
Traffic. I miss the first turn off and slam, not litterally, into a nice jam. The off ramp that I was going to take to turn around is blocked off. All three lanes are blocked off. We shuffle one, two, three, one two, three, one , two three into the center shoulder. Fire engines, police, people in reflective vests with measuring tape, and one misplaced, black leathr lace up men's dress shoe. I feel sick. Someone is still here. They don't know what to do. Should they go home? I try not to cry. I have to drive. Slowly, we move forward and are released to our personal business.
Kids are clearly upset. The Kid hasn't eaten in eighteen hours. Sister snuck out for a quick sandwhich, by the way. We finally pull over north of Denver at the Orchards Mall. There aren't too many resturants to choose from. rock Bottom Brewery will do. They have fish and chips anyway and that is what Son wanted at Bass Pro Shop Diner. So all are happy again.
Summer pulls to a close in two days. A lot of growing occurred in 82 days. I look across the table at my offspring and admire. Son gives Sister a few fries. Sister gives Her brother the rest of her fruit. It doesn't matter these are fruits she clearly explains that she doesn't like. These kids are survivor kids. They are resilent. They are symbionic. The fight like lions, wrestle like wolves, and groom each other like chimps. My job here is done. NAYGH. Love you to the moon and back twenty times over. XOXO
What a trooper. I would love to be in my little guy's head when his mother, who has been gone for five days, calls to explain that he will have to skip breakfast in the morning. As I sulk in the Kansas City International Airport with my folks waiting for a flight delayed by two hours, Dad takes Son and Daughter out for a good meal. See, he will be tested in the morning for his reactions to sugars.
In the dawn of the day, after arriving home at nearly midnight, I am woken by my Dot. I smile to see her fuzzy head next to mine on my queen sized pillow. She has pulled in tightly and swung her foot over my knee. She is asleep. She peeps. Son sleeps. "Let's get up and est nefore your brother gets up."
Mission accomplished. Brother drops down on the couch crying. He's hungry. He wants to eat. sister comforts. sister turns on Phebus and Ferb. Brother laughs at something. Mom gets ready for the day, sweeps the floor that may not have been swept in five days, and shuffles mail. Time to go. daughter crying now. She doesn't want to go. She agrees to conscessions and motivates Hungry Boy to the car.
An hour drive goes by quickly with networked video game players. We check into the Children's Hospital. No, it isn't a big deal. We are just testing Son's reaction to surpgsrs with a breath test in hopes of solving the mystery of his tummy discomforts. This is a three hour long test on and empty stomach. He breaths in a tube every fifteen minutes. The first one on empty and followed by a cup of uber sugary lemonaide stuff. He drinks it like a pro. The nurse is clearly impressed. Then three hours of waiting with only interruption every fifteen minutes.
What troopers. Well, the hospital makes it pretty easy with On Deman movies, Star Wars Ntendo games, play area, and an art walk. Me, well, I have five days of e-mails to catch up on thanks to free Wifi. Three hours. No immediate reactions. Results in two days. Blah blah blah. Boy looks faint. Head out with a bag of chips and a juice. Bass Pro Shop for late lunch as a reward! Yeah! Good job Kids.
Traffic. I miss the first turn off and slam, not litterally, into a nice jam. The off ramp that I was going to take to turn around is blocked off. All three lanes are blocked off. We shuffle one, two, three, one two, three, one , two three into the center shoulder. Fire engines, police, people in reflective vests with measuring tape, and one misplaced, black leathr lace up men's dress shoe. I feel sick. Someone is still here. They don't know what to do. Should they go home? I try not to cry. I have to drive. Slowly, we move forward and are released to our personal business.
Kids are clearly upset. The Kid hasn't eaten in eighteen hours. Sister snuck out for a quick sandwhich, by the way. We finally pull over north of Denver at the Orchards Mall. There aren't too many resturants to choose from. rock Bottom Brewery will do. They have fish and chips anyway and that is what Son wanted at Bass Pro Shop Diner. So all are happy again.
Summer pulls to a close in two days. A lot of growing occurred in 82 days. I look across the table at my offspring and admire. Son gives Sister a few fries. Sister gives Her brother the rest of her fruit. It doesn't matter these are fruits she clearly explains that she doesn't like. These kids are survivor kids. They are resilent. They are symbionic. The fight like lions, wrestle like wolves, and groom each other like chimps. My job here is done. NAYGH. Love you to the moon and back twenty times over. XOXO
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
Laughter Yoga
We were laughing so hard we were crying. Three generations of women grabbing tissues by the handfuls and roaring with laughter. I was laugh crying so hard that I started to cry cry. It felt great. My mom was sitting across the room on the other couch. I sat next to Grandma. Mom was telling her that we were going to meet at eight o'clock for breakfast. This was the fifth time Grandma asked when she'd see us again.
"What! We are all going to die at nine o'clock?" Grandma exclaims.
"No, we are going to go to First Watch to have breakfast at eight o'clock."
"Do I have to fix breakfast?"
"We are going to the resturant at eight o'clock"
"Oh, that's good before we are all dying at nine o'clock."
And, that is when the laughing started. I know, maybe this conversation with an 87 year old who has little short term memory storage shouldn't be a laughing matter. Why shouldn't it be? She started the laughing after all. It just escullated when she paused and said, "Wait, what is happening at eight?".
That's when I started to cry, real cry. You, know the heaving chest, snot running down my lips cry. Laughing and crying. Crying and laughing. It wasn't funny at all. She couldn't remember, and she knew she wasn't remembering. I know what that is like. Do you remember eight months ago when I was recovering from whole brain radiation? Many of you asked how I felt. I said I felt like my eighty year old grandmother. Not only was I physically weak, but I was mentally weak. Just like my grandmother, I couldn't remember things you just said. And, I knew you had said it. That is why I reacted in such a way to the broken record player conversation. We all three did. The laughter was a good thing for us. Not only did it burn off a couple of calories from the wonderful scallop dinner we just had, but it released some major blocked chi. Let's face it, growing old and being terminally ill is kind of a laughing matter. What should one do? Sit there and wallow in her impending loses of life's vibrancy. Or, should she giggle at the profound oddity and irony of the experience.
When I left Grandma at the door of the apartment complex, she said smiling, "I am so glad I don't have to cook breakfast tomorrow. See, I am not as batty as we all think." Love you Grandma. And, folks, please be kind and patient to anyone loosing their mind. It isn't easy. God bless the brain I have and the miracle to mend its broken bits. Maybe not everything connects like it once did, but I know I will have breakfast tomorrow at nine o'clock.
at eight?"
"What! We are all going to die at nine o'clock?" Grandma exclaims.
"No, we are going to go to First Watch to have breakfast at eight o'clock."
"Do I have to fix breakfast?"
"We are going to the resturant at eight o'clock"
"Oh, that's good before we are all dying at nine o'clock."
And, that is when the laughing started. I know, maybe this conversation with an 87 year old who has little short term memory storage shouldn't be a laughing matter. Why shouldn't it be? She started the laughing after all. It just escullated when she paused and said, "Wait, what is happening at eight?".
That's when I started to cry, real cry. You, know the heaving chest, snot running down my lips cry. Laughing and crying. Crying and laughing. It wasn't funny at all. She couldn't remember, and she knew she wasn't remembering. I know what that is like. Do you remember eight months ago when I was recovering from whole brain radiation? Many of you asked how I felt. I said I felt like my eighty year old grandmother. Not only was I physically weak, but I was mentally weak. Just like my grandmother, I couldn't remember things you just said. And, I knew you had said it. That is why I reacted in such a way to the broken record player conversation. We all three did. The laughter was a good thing for us. Not only did it burn off a couple of calories from the wonderful scallop dinner we just had, but it released some major blocked chi. Let's face it, growing old and being terminally ill is kind of a laughing matter. What should one do? Sit there and wallow in her impending loses of life's vibrancy. Or, should she giggle at the profound oddity and irony of the experience.
When I left Grandma at the door of the apartment complex, she said smiling, "I am so glad I don't have to cook breakfast tomorrow. See, I am not as batty as we all think." Love you Grandma. And, folks, please be kind and patient to anyone loosing their mind. It isn't easy. God bless the brain I have and the miracle to mend its broken bits. Maybe not everything connects like it once did, but I know I will have breakfast tomorrow at nine o'clock.
at eight?"
Monday, August 6, 2012
Hitting the Floor
Yesterday morning, I hit the floor. A wave came over me as I slapped sunflower butter on my son's sandwhich. I can't do this. I was so tired and so full of lists swimming in my head. The lists swarm like bees. Get this done. Oh, you still have this to do. Wait there isn't time. There just isn't enough time left. The kids started arguing about which chair they got to to sit in for lunch. "Mom! Mom! It is not fair." And, the wave came pushing me to the floor. Rocking on my haunches craddling my forhead in my hands. I knocked back and forth soothing myself enough to swallow all that was left.
Even the strong break. I have been feeling like a robot moving in and out of a life not expected. One day you are healthy, vibrant and the next you are feeling the punches. Sucker punches. I strive to be as normal feeling as possible. I think that is what keeps me here with you. Power of intention. But then, I am making sandwiches and feeling sick to my stomach. My head aches and the sound! The sound of them nagging each other. I stopped listening to the words. It is just sound. Who cares about the chair? I don't want to be making sandwhiches. I want to...I have no idea what I rather be doing.
Deep breath. Son comes to hold me for a second. daughter brings me a tissue. I am better and it is over. The flood from the tsunami recedes. Swallow. Breath. Finish sandwhiches.
I read a blog post yesterday by a friend who is in Guatamala as a missionary. They have been down there about a month now and settling in finally. In her writing she discussed her concerns with raising third culture kids. Though there are a lot of negative warnings, she has discovered the positive underlying the charge. Instead of worrying about how the kids may grow up with a challenging concept of belonging and connections, she prays that they mature with the knowledge of developing strong relationships. The power of intention. A mother charged with steering her children through unease waters puts on her armor and takes a dive into the wave.
It is not easy to be a mother charged with the stewardship of raising young people to become outstanding adults. Maybe we are putting forward more effort then necessary. Maybe we can settle the earthquakes before the tsunami over takes us? Or maybe we just have to roll with the wave and hit the floor in the heaviness of the burden from time to time. Only time will tell. I will forever wear my stretch marks as a band or courage.
Even the strong break. I have been feeling like a robot moving in and out of a life not expected. One day you are healthy, vibrant and the next you are feeling the punches. Sucker punches. I strive to be as normal feeling as possible. I think that is what keeps me here with you. Power of intention. But then, I am making sandwiches and feeling sick to my stomach. My head aches and the sound! The sound of them nagging each other. I stopped listening to the words. It is just sound. Who cares about the chair? I don't want to be making sandwhiches. I want to...I have no idea what I rather be doing.
Deep breath. Son comes to hold me for a second. daughter brings me a tissue. I am better and it is over. The flood from the tsunami recedes. Swallow. Breath. Finish sandwhiches.
I read a blog post yesterday by a friend who is in Guatamala as a missionary. They have been down there about a month now and settling in finally. In her writing she discussed her concerns with raising third culture kids. Though there are a lot of negative warnings, she has discovered the positive underlying the charge. Instead of worrying about how the kids may grow up with a challenging concept of belonging and connections, she prays that they mature with the knowledge of developing strong relationships. The power of intention. A mother charged with steering her children through unease waters puts on her armor and takes a dive into the wave.
It is not easy to be a mother charged with the stewardship of raising young people to become outstanding adults. Maybe we are putting forward more effort then necessary. Maybe we can settle the earthquakes before the tsunami over takes us? Or maybe we just have to roll with the wave and hit the floor in the heaviness of the burden from time to time. Only time will tell. I will forever wear my stretch marks as a band or courage.
Day 74
The last several days have been about work. We have been having fun all summer with lots of trips, swimming, and play dates. This pst week included a sleep over of two of Daughter' s closest friends and a little brother. After a big afternoon at the Boulder County Fair horse show, the kids came over ready in PJs for a movie, Mirror Mirror. Since we all had junk food and a lot of sugar for dinner at the fair, I made smoothies of avacado, spinach, pineapple, mixed berries, bananas and orange juice. It was a nice evening. The little brother went home and the the girls went to bed fairly easily...surprise. The best part of it all is sneaking downstairs after hearing their whispers and startling them with a BOO! In the morning like my parents used to do.
Thursday, we took one of the friends to the Bay. I
T is a city pool with five water slides. It is a lot of fun for this age of kid. This w a blast for the kids to have a friend along. This summer is the first for Son to go on the slides. He is pretty proud of himself. We snuck home in the afternoon rains leaving just before the crowds. In the evening, I went to yoga with a friend. Afterwards, we had a little chat in the diner next door. What a pleasant day.
The following dat, Friday, was a work day of sorts. I working housekeeping chores and then started the studio. We are having a grage sale soon and I needed to go through my messy room. I haven't been able to get in there to work on art or pick it up this summer. To give the kids a break, we went to get our hair cut. My first official cut since Nember 2011. It needed to be cleaned up. It is only about one and half inches long and had little spikey areas that struck out in the back. Its grey. I hate it. Anyway, the kids did pretty well in the afternoon working on projects while I sorted fabric.
Sturday was a bit the same as I really wanted to get the studio cleaned up so I had room to work once school started. And Sunday was spent running to the grocery store, getting ready for house guests, packing my own things for a trip to see my grandparents and sister, and straightening the studio. I tried to get the kids to go outside to play several times. But, they won't, not even when I was out there pulling weeds and trimming bushes. I think they are crazy because there is no way my mom could get me inside during the summer when I was their age. I called her up to comfirm this, and she said yes, she had to make me come in when the Texas heat it one hundred.
The afternoon break on Sunday was yoga. The studio has a kids class and an adult class at the same time on Sunday. We then went to the fair for the last afternoon. Husband met us there and we went on a $16 ferris wheel ride. Yep, $4 a piece. Well, at least the carosel operator let Son and Me on for free when I told him I only had money for Daughter to go. After an hour in the heat looking at the fair animals, we went to the ice cream shop to cool down. The evening was spent finishing housekeeping tasks, like changing sheets, while the st of the family fanned themselves on the couch watching Princess Diaries. I know, real exciting lives the real housewifes of Bould County lead.
Tomorrow, I will have an infusion of my cancer stopping drug Herceptin. The kids will go to a friend's to play. Later, my mother-in-law will arrive with her husband. They will stay the week. I will miss them for the most part with my own trip to the sweltering heat of Kansas City. Oh, but the plans the have for the kids during their last week of summer vacation!
Thursday, we took one of the friends to the Bay. I
T is a city pool with five water slides. It is a lot of fun for this age of kid. This w a blast for the kids to have a friend along. This summer is the first for Son to go on the slides. He is pretty proud of himself. We snuck home in the afternoon rains leaving just before the crowds. In the evening, I went to yoga with a friend. Afterwards, we had a little chat in the diner next door. What a pleasant day.
The following dat, Friday, was a work day of sorts. I working housekeeping chores and then started the studio. We are having a grage sale soon and I needed to go through my messy room. I haven't been able to get in there to work on art or pick it up this summer. To give the kids a break, we went to get our hair cut. My first official cut since Nember 2011. It needed to be cleaned up. It is only about one and half inches long and had little spikey areas that struck out in the back. Its grey. I hate it. Anyway, the kids did pretty well in the afternoon working on projects while I sorted fabric.
Sturday was a bit the same as I really wanted to get the studio cleaned up so I had room to work once school started. And Sunday was spent running to the grocery store, getting ready for house guests, packing my own things for a trip to see my grandparents and sister, and straightening the studio. I tried to get the kids to go outside to play several times. But, they won't, not even when I was out there pulling weeds and trimming bushes. I think they are crazy because there is no way my mom could get me inside during the summer when I was their age. I called her up to comfirm this, and she said yes, she had to make me come in when the Texas heat it one hundred.
The afternoon break on Sunday was yoga. The studio has a kids class and an adult class at the same time on Sunday. We then went to the fair for the last afternoon. Husband met us there and we went on a $16 ferris wheel ride. Yep, $4 a piece. Well, at least the carosel operator let Son and Me on for free when I told him I only had money for Daughter to go. After an hour in the heat looking at the fair animals, we went to the ice cream shop to cool down. The evening was spent finishing housekeeping tasks, like changing sheets, while the st of the family fanned themselves on the couch watching Princess Diaries. I know, real exciting lives the real housewifes of Bould County lead.
Tomorrow, I will have an infusion of my cancer stopping drug Herceptin. The kids will go to a friend's to play. Later, my mother-in-law will arrive with her husband. They will stay the week. I will miss them for the most part with my own trip to the sweltering heat of Kansas City. Oh, but the plans the have for the kids during their last week of summer vacation!
Thursday, August 2, 2012
Day 71...13. Days of Summer Thrive
This is the last full week of summer for the kids and me. They have another week and will spend it with their paternal grandmother and her husband while I travel to see my grandparents and sister's family. I am pretty excited to go back to the humidity, but I am hoping my nephews will take me out for a late night fire fly catching adventure. Oh, the memories of staying with Papa Homer and Ann. They have both passed now. They had this giant back yard that had a huge slope that we went sledding on in the winter. In the summer there was a vast vegetable garden at the foot of the slope. My cousins, all boys, lived down the street. They built a bridge across the creck and it was literally a bridge to Teribithia. In the late sweaty evening, the fire flies came out. We ran around catching the fliers in baseball caps. garmdma provided us with milk jugs with holes punched in the top. Just pick out the frieflies from the cap, drop into the jug, and you have a personal lantern. That and the root beer floats in the glass bottom pewter mugs made summers so lovely.
The past couple of days have been full of summer memories, I hope, for the kids. Wednesday started off witha visit to the Boulder County Fair. They have been making stick horses with the royal court since they could walk. As I watched Daughter tower of the little tikes, I noted this just might be her last year. Okay, hopefully I can fan her imagination and playfullness for a few more years like my mother did for me. Then, we had to see the cows for Son. Home for lunch as the temperature reaches the nineties. A little more house cleaning for Mom while the kids...what where they doing? Then it was a few errands to the Gallery to pick up some art and to RedBox for a video for later. Next, the horse ballet with friends, disgusting hotdogs, cool fluffy chickens, giant bunnies, more goats and cows, all while it stormed. We stayed dry, sort of, between showers and celebrated the wet kept the usual dust at bay. Phew, I was tired.
But, the evening had yet to begin. The three kiddos we spent the afternoon with came over for movie night. Being as we all ate junk food at the fair, I made avocado, spinach, banana, pineapple, and mixed berry smoothies with a pinch of dairy-free chocolate chips. Yum! We watched Mirror Mirror and the youngest, not old enough to sleep over, went home. When his mom came to the door, he promptly announced he was bored during the movie. To each their own. After brushing teeth and rearranging sleeping bags a dozen times, the four remaining kids were ready for Lala Land. Yah, right. The two guests had to ask my two to settle down and go to bed. This they did do by 9:30. Not bad.
This was so fun! For the first time in my motherhood, I got to sneak down the stairs to the family room and yell BOO! The kids were so startled. I remember my folks doing that when I had sleep overs. Now, I know why. French toast breakfast followed by some serious Barbie playing. sSon got to be Ken. Thanks, girls, for including him. One girl went home, the other wanted to go swimming with us. After exchanging clothes for a swim suit, we were off for a full day at the Bay. Five slides, splash area, large five foot swimming area, baby pool with its own slides and stretches of lawn and sheltered picnic tables is a delight for all. We tried going to the Bay two times earlier in the week and got rained out. So this time we went before lunch. Three and a half hours of wet fun on our third day at the pool this week. Did I mention we went to Kanemoto on Monday and the Erie Rec Center with friends on Tuesday. Phew check that off the summer bucket list.
A full week of activities for sure. My reward? A BLT with avocado. Do you think I like avocado? And the victory lap is a hot yoga class with a friend followed by a leisurely snack of salad and smoothie. I have to say I am pretty proud of my kids. At first they started to cry and literally ran to me and clung to my arms when I said I was going out. I calmly said, " Look, I have been with you and your friends for a full 24hours of non-stop entertainment. Now it is my turn to go relax. I expect you to respect that.". They let go of their hold on me. They said they were sorry and would let me go if they could watch TV. Oh, the constant wheeling and dealing of those two. In the end, their desire was granted as they waited for their dad to come home and I left for yoga. They must have given their dad the run around. I found Son passed out in a weird position snoring with his mouth open. Daughter was sound asleep still holding her book on Marc Chagall erect on her chest. And Dad, well, I found him smack dabble in the middle of the bed with his clothes still on. Thanks for letting me get some me time and girl time. Now, kids, tomorrow, I am thinking we stay home all day while you go invent imaginary worlds in the backyard like Phineus and Pherb. Me, well, You can find me sorting my studio so when you are at school in thirteen days, I can pick up a paint brush instead of a dust rag.
The past couple of days have been full of summer memories, I hope, for the kids. Wednesday started off witha visit to the Boulder County Fair. They have been making stick horses with the royal court since they could walk. As I watched Daughter tower of the little tikes, I noted this just might be her last year. Okay, hopefully I can fan her imagination and playfullness for a few more years like my mother did for me. Then, we had to see the cows for Son. Home for lunch as the temperature reaches the nineties. A little more house cleaning for Mom while the kids...what where they doing? Then it was a few errands to the Gallery to pick up some art and to RedBox for a video for later. Next, the horse ballet with friends, disgusting hotdogs, cool fluffy chickens, giant bunnies, more goats and cows, all while it stormed. We stayed dry, sort of, between showers and celebrated the wet kept the usual dust at bay. Phew, I was tired.
But, the evening had yet to begin. The three kiddos we spent the afternoon with came over for movie night. Being as we all ate junk food at the fair, I made avocado, spinach, banana, pineapple, and mixed berry smoothies with a pinch of dairy-free chocolate chips. Yum! We watched Mirror Mirror and the youngest, not old enough to sleep over, went home. When his mom came to the door, he promptly announced he was bored during the movie. To each their own. After brushing teeth and rearranging sleeping bags a dozen times, the four remaining kids were ready for Lala Land. Yah, right. The two guests had to ask my two to settle down and go to bed. This they did do by 9:30. Not bad.
This was so fun! For the first time in my motherhood, I got to sneak down the stairs to the family room and yell BOO! The kids were so startled. I remember my folks doing that when I had sleep overs. Now, I know why. French toast breakfast followed by some serious Barbie playing. sSon got to be Ken. Thanks, girls, for including him. One girl went home, the other wanted to go swimming with us. After exchanging clothes for a swim suit, we were off for a full day at the Bay. Five slides, splash area, large five foot swimming area, baby pool with its own slides and stretches of lawn and sheltered picnic tables is a delight for all. We tried going to the Bay two times earlier in the week and got rained out. So this time we went before lunch. Three and a half hours of wet fun on our third day at the pool this week. Did I mention we went to Kanemoto on Monday and the Erie Rec Center with friends on Tuesday. Phew check that off the summer bucket list.
A full week of activities for sure. My reward? A BLT with avocado. Do you think I like avocado? And the victory lap is a hot yoga class with a friend followed by a leisurely snack of salad and smoothie. I have to say I am pretty proud of my kids. At first they started to cry and literally ran to me and clung to my arms when I said I was going out. I calmly said, " Look, I have been with you and your friends for a full 24hours of non-stop entertainment. Now it is my turn to go relax. I expect you to respect that.". They let go of their hold on me. They said they were sorry and would let me go if they could watch TV. Oh, the constant wheeling and dealing of those two. In the end, their desire was granted as they waited for their dad to come home and I left for yoga. They must have given their dad the run around. I found Son passed out in a weird position snoring with his mouth open. Daughter was sound asleep still holding her book on Marc Chagall erect on her chest. And Dad, well, I found him smack dabble in the middle of the bed with his clothes still on. Thanks for letting me get some me time and girl time. Now, kids, tomorrow, I am thinking we stay home all day while you go invent imaginary worlds in the backyard like Phineus and Pherb. Me, well, You can find me sorting my studio so when you are at school in thirteen days, I can pick up a paint brush instead of a dust rag.
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