This Doesn't Just Happen to Me, Right?

Once upon a time there were hundreds of bloggers gathering in New York City for fun, for discussions, for networking. In other parts of the country there were people who either didn't blog at all or perhaps did blog but just didn't have the resources to go to NYC for BlogHer in 2010. There was at least one woman who was a little bitter that she didn't get to go, because she used to live in New York. She wanted to go, but going would require several things that she couldn't sacrifice. First, money. She couldn't see spending that money on herself. It is money she could use to have fun with her kids. Second, she'd miss her family. She's a homebody and loves her family fiercely. If she goes on vacation, there better be a family member in attendance. Third, she's quiet, shy, socially awkward (which I am sure a lot of bloggers are...we are the nerds).


So. Instead I experience #homeher2010.


Here's my Home Her experience yesterday.


My husband told me the cat needed food and litter. There is only one place in town left that carries the litter our cat uses so that requires a visit to the actual grocery store. I had thoughts of visiting the FAIR even though I had decided not to visit again this year.



So D and I went to the grocery store. We bought some stuff. She got her free cookie. She wanted her free balloon but I was (TM) Mean Mommy and said no this time. We bought our stuff and I decided to hit Panera for the chicken wild rice soup. D and I shared some soup and a half of a sandwich. I played Words With Friends (Heather51) and Scrabble. Also I felt really cool since I was the only person who had an iPad. Yes I am that cool.


The chicken and wild rice soup at Panera is mighty tasty.


I took her to the fair and we watched horse stuff. I have no idea what they were supposed to do but it was kind of cool. Horses jumped over crap. Occasionally the horses refused. One rider was thrown off her horse but she was fine.


We may have shared some fries. With cheese on top.


I randomly determined the exit time and just before I was going to strap D in her seat she uttered the words: "Ah Poopered." Nice.


It wasn't long before I realized a few things. One, she had poopered an explosive diarrhea that had soaked through her shorts. Two, there was shit on the stroller and pretty much the lower half of my adorable little girl. Three, I had approximately 3 baby wipes to handle what was clearly a throw in the bathtub kind of poop. Four, I needed to pick my big kids up from school in less than a half an hour.

Improvising as best I could I located the tub of Wet Wipes and figured it wouldn't hurt to use those in such a situation. Then I pulled out the last wipe in the tub. So that plan worked out well.

Apologizing to my sweet baby girl, I threw a clean pull-on on her still sort of dirty butt, trying to ignore her pointed protests about the shit still on her thighs. I know Baby, we have to go home to finish cleaning up. Her agreeable nature made me feel even guiltier Uh huh Mama.

But here's how I make myself feel better. I got home, cleaned her up, threw the shitty stroller outside, got her clean clothes AND made it to school in time to pick up the Bigs.

That reminds me. I should fill up the wipes in the diaper bag.

Fun With Birds and Protection Issues

Last week I took my kids on a spur of the moment trip to the National Eagle Center in Wabasha, Minnesota. The kids didn’t know where we were going, only that we were going somewhere that we could be inside since the air temps continued to dip below zero.

We arrived at the Center and almost immediately the kids started complaining and asking to go somewhere else. Here I thought this would be a cool thing for them to see FIVE EAGLES up close without any cages or glass between them, but noooooo, they wanted to do something. Okay, I can admit the birds didn’t do a lot but just stand there and look at us, (and what else would they do?) but I had hopes that it would get better.

We’d arrived shortly before a presentation would begin, at the end of which a handler would bring in an eagle, weigh her and feed her. The kids were not convinced this would be a good thing and I was skeptical that D would sit through what might be a 45-minute presentation, but we all perservered and I think M and K really were interested in the facts the volunteer was sharing with us.

We learned what eagles eat, we saw photos of the protective covering that eagles can cover their eyes with, we heard what had happened to the five eagles at the center and why they couldn’t be returned to the wild. We saw and touched reproductions of an eagle’s skull and eggs.

Then it was time for the handler to bring in the eagle.

Now, you’d think that the volunteers would be comfortable with the eagles, especially if they’d been volunteering for a number of years, nonetheless, when the handler entered the room with Harriette the eagle the volunteer gentleman let loose an unmistakable squeak that was anything but gentlemanly. Considering the other end of the front row was completely devoid of specatators, I would have considered the other end of the room a more fart-friendly zone, but to each his own. The handler heard the mishap as well and we exchanged glances and kudos to both of us for keeping a straight face. Perhaps the older gentleman’s gas is actually an eagle repellant and he was, in effect, protecting me and my children. Chivalry is not dead.

It was hard to top the demonstration of feeding the eagle but M and K stood next to the eagle so I could take a photo, then we looked at a few exhibits demonstrating how much (or how little) eagles weigh and how much force their talons can put on an object. D started to get tired and my fun meter was about full so we headed home.

Naturally, as soon as we got to the car and got everyone buckled in K announced he had to pee so we made it approximately 2 blocks before we had to stop at a gas station and get everyone back out of the car.

The rest of the ride home was blissfully uneventful. Thank goodness.

Rain

It's supposed to rain today and I find odd comfort in that.

The rain won't come until late in the day which will sort of negate my wish for the overcast. I long for a morning that doesn't look like morning, a morning that encourages oversleeping. Not all mornings, but THIS morning most of all.

The years when September 11 dawns bright and crisp with azure skies are a shock to the system that is so easily transported to other times. The rain mutes the day, takes the slightest bit of sting off the wounds of remembering.

And yet the whole idea of writing about remembering that day seems hollow. I was not there. I knew no one there. But New York was my city, a claim I stake having lived on Governor's Island with the Statue of Liberty and the Twin Towers rising in my watery backyard. New York made a big impression on a little girl.

Even weeks ago, as I watched my oldest daughter get her ears pierced, New York invaded my senses. I was again 6-years-old, sitting in a high stool in a jewelry store that happened to be located in the underbelly of one of the Towers. The excitement of getting my ears pierced was punctuated by the exciting locale. No matter where we were in the city, I felt a part of something thrilling.

Battery Park, Statue of Liberty, riding the subway. Fountains begging for coins to be tossed. Italian ices from street vendors. Paper fans and baby doll shoes from China Town. Fear. The dank scent of wet metal. Craning my neck to see the top of a building. Feeling astounded at the sight of tiny, tiny cars below.

I imagine New York retains that energy today, though the events of a day that started out just as any other day have changed it, and all of us.

Adventures in Volunteering and Eating With the Little People

This week is Quarry Hill week at the big kids' school. Quarry Hill is the local nature center, built on the grounds of a former state hospital. There is an old limestone quarry, hiking paths, a pond, an old fireplace and a man-made sandstone cave.

The cave used to be open and as a kid I remember playing in and around the caves. Since then, two of the cave entrances have been closed off and the third entrance now has an iron gate blocking the door. The only way you can get into the cave these days is with an employee of Quarry Hill.

The cave is often the highlight of Quarry Hill week for the kids. I volunteered to chaperone M's kindergarten class one day and was disappointed that they were not going to the cave that day. I haven't been in the cave since I was a kid. Last year I didn't volunteer for Quarry Hill week at all.

This year I volunteered two days. The first day I went with M's 2nd grade class and the second day I volunteered with K's kindergarten class. By some sort of luck, I was able to go to the cave with BOTH classes.

The second graders were excited as we neared the cave and had to be reminded several times to quiet down. The kids had to pair up and share a flashlight that will be transferred to the other partner half-way through the cave tour. We looked at crickets and learned how to tell that a cricket is a female cricket. We noticed the cave was 60 degrees. I was relieved to learn that there are no bats in the cave in the summer time...they only use the cave in the winter.

Somewhere along the way I inherited another friend, another little girl claimed my other hand for the last half of our time at Quarry Hill. M on one side, A on the other.

When I went with K's class, the kindergartners were just as excited until one kid planted the seed that he was nervous about being in the cave. Then suddenly the whole class was filled with worry. The only thing that brought them out of their funk? The mention of a secret passage. Ooooo. It really is just a hole in the wall of one of the cave's rooms, but the kids thought it sounded exciting. Then we all walked through it and a few of them felt cheated and wondered where the secret passageway was.

I gained another little friend in K's class as well. I must look friendly or something. Boy, do those kids have me all wrong. I guess M and K haven't told them about my mommy fits.

I ate lunch at school with each of them on the days that I volunteered. Surprisingly, I had to open more things for the second graders than I did for the kindergartners, but the second graders all have known me for going on three years now so maybe they just felt more comfortable. Both lunch sessions included a few questions about the notes that I write and put in the kids' lunch boxes almost every day. One girl in M's grade looked at me and said "my mom only puts a note in my lunchbox on Valentine's Day." I felt a little sad for her and happy for Miss M. They do care and they are proud of those notes. Apparently the other kids are a little jealous.

Hey, it's a little thing, but at least I'm doing something right!

Always Remember

Memories.

Places and people I remember...Texas edition

My junior year of college, my best friend Rachel and I embarked on our Spring Break adventure to the great state of Texas. We had no real plans other than to swing by College Station and visit her high school roommate Laura. Laura attended A&M (gig ‘em) and was back in school after just having her spring break the previous week. So she couldn’t join us on all of our adventure since she had things like homework and classes to distract her from our good times.

Rachel and I were going to drive down to Texas from Minnesota. We left as soon as Rachel finished her last final. I had finished my finals earlier and driven back to Rochester to get some parent time and probably to get some clothes washed before the trip. We met halfway between Rochester and Mankato at the Happy Chef parking lot in Owatonna.

We’d decided that my car would be a better choice to drive since it ran pretty consistently. I drove most of the way down. We stopped in Kansas City for a beer and a game of darts because we really had our priorities and we were getting awfully thirsty. We finally crossed the border into Texas at an ungodly hour and immediately pulled into the rest stop to sleep. Yeah, we slept in the car at a rest stop. We were in college, but apparently not that bright.

We started our adventure by heading to Irving to get some photos of Texas Stadium for my brother, who is a Cowboys fan. We then proceeded to get lost in Dallas, ending up in some less-than-comforting-looking areas and trying to quickly escape the area. I don’t remember seeing a single person outside, which was sort of unsettling.

Our Texas tour took us to Galveston, Houston, Corpus Christie and North Padre Island besides College Station, but maybe those stories will be told another time.

This post is more about College Station, and our 2 nights there. Laura took us to two different bars while we stayed with her in her dorm room (which was twice the size of mine at Mankato I must say…AND she had her own bathroom). The first night she took us to a country bar. This was at the time that Rachel and I were big into two-stepping and such. Since we were out-of-towners we were quite the novelty for the young men down there and spent most of the night on the dance floor. We were schooled too late on the meaning of taking a boy’s cowboy hat (blush) but didn’t have any issues with not following through on the deal. I think it was one of the most fun times I’ve had at a country bar. Everyone knew how to dance and everyone did dance. I bet there were fewer drunk people because of that. The men in Minnesota who could dance tended to be in their 40s or older. Not too promising for a girl on the lookout for a good man!

The other night that Laura took us out, we went to a karaoke bar. The bouncer at the door who checked our IDs got a big kick out of the way us Minnesotans talk. “Minnesooooota,” he kept repeating and laughing. I guess we draw out the long o a bit.

The first time Rachel and I went to the mike to sing we made sure to play up the out-of-towner bit. You see, at this karaoke bar heckling and booing is the norm. We were not deterred though. We were seasoned professionals. Plus we had liquid ambition.

“We’re from Minnesoooooota. Ya, you betcha.”

I don’t remember what we sang. Probably The Lion Sleeps Tonight or something from CCR. Whatever that first song was it didn’t really matter. It was the mention of Minnesota that brought Staples to us.

Staples, or Randy as his parents liked to call him, was from Minnesota. He sought us out after our song to shoot the breeze with fellow northerners. He was in College Station attending college, but his family still lived in Staples, MN. (See how clever we are with the nicknames?)

Randy and Laura hit it off, shall we say? Which was good since the two of them were the ones who lived in Texas. They spent roughly a half-hour saying good-bye that night. Oh, and when we got back to Laura’s dorm? He called her.

Yep. It was love. Brought about by Rachel and I being dorky Minnesotans.

They dated. They got married. They had babies. They stayed in Texas.

This morning I got this email from my friend, which was forwarded from Laura:

It is with such a heavy heart that I'm writing you to tell you that my dear Randy has joined his Father in heaven. He was in a horrible motorcycle accident this past Saturday near our house. The surgeon was with him for over 24 hours but was unable to save him. His injuries were just too great and he was losing too much blood. He received over 100 units and that still wasn't enough.

He managed to stay with us until his mom, step-dad and sister arrived early Sunday afternoon, but he was fading fast - kept alive only by machines. His family and I had to make the extremely difficult decision to let him rest in eternal peace.

His funeral is being held this morning here in Loveland. Never did I imagine when he proposed to me 10 years ago today that this is how I would be spending that anniversary.We will also be holding a memorial service for him in Tomball, TX and it will most likely be on April 26th.

Please keep R (9), G (6) and me in your thoughts and prayers. We're going to need a lot of those in the days ahead as I try to figure out what our lives will be like without him. It's still very hard for me to imagine that, since I spent over 1/3 of my life with him.

You really never know when it's your time, do you?

Please keep this family in your thoughts...