When I somehow managed to produce 3 children in 4 years, I thought my life was pretty busy. I can remember trying to break my day into 30-minute intervals, and setting a goal of just trying to survive them one interval at a time. I had a 3 year-old, a 10 month-old, and a newborn. The bottom two were offset in their feeding schedules by 45 minutes; which meant that I was perpetually feeding someone round the clock. The 3-year old was in her most exasperating stage of getting into Every. Single. Thing. within her grasp and calling for my attention in the most aggravating ways. (Baby powder bottles emptied on carpets, etc.)
I remember looking fervently ahead to the future and fantasizing about the days when they could go to the bathroom on their own, feed themselves, buckle their car seats, dress themselves. I remember thinking that life was going to get infinitely easier, and my time would be mine again.
Ah, what a fanciful world I lived in.
Because fast-forward seven years. (What? Seven years?) They are 10, 8, and 7. They can go to the bathroom on their own (though the girls prefer to go at the same time and talk to each other while they take care of business), they can feed themselves (and mostly not spill anything), they can buckle their own car seats (after they finish a UFC-worthy brawl over who sits where ), and they can dress themselves (in mostly matching outfits except for the socks, which I am told is a fashion thing now.) All that bliss, and guess what? I have ZERO time for myself. ZERO.
Because of all the things.
I mean, I guess I knew there were things - I actually went looking for things, and I even paid for the things. But I never really knew just exactly what the things were going to mean for my LIFE.
Let me elaborate: Emma participates in Basketball, Soccer, and Softball. She plays the cello and the french horn and sings in the choir. She helps with youth CER programs and is pressing me hard to let her add summer gymnastics to her already packed summer schedule. Carys is in Gymnastics, Soccer, Softball and Basketball. She wants piano lessons to start yesterday, and wonders why "Emma gets to do everything." Cooper is in Wrestling, Soccer & Baseball, plans to start Football next year, and thinks that his skills at Minecraft should qualify him for an Olympic medal.
I may not be warming bottles and changing diapers and finding the correct pattern of rocking/bouncing/walking for each individual child's comfort, but instead I am coaching teams, watching games/meets/matches, signing off on practice minutes, working concession stands, selling fundraising items, attending concerts, shopping for cleats, sneakers, leotards, gloves, helmets, bats, rosin, cello strings, music stands, & shin guards and driving all over southern Minnesota all day, every day.
There are days when I am just over it. Seriously OVER it. I want to stay home and sit on the couch and eat chips. And watch terrible daytime television.
But here's one of those ways that it is both frustrating and awesome to be married to my husband. I'm a joiner and a do-er, that is for sure. But when I reach my tipping point, but husband reminds me that it is NOT about me. It's not about how tired I am, how many miles I have put on the Prius in the last year, how I think if I have to eat another meal of hot dogs/pizza/popcorn I might actually die of malnutrition.
When I go over the dark side, I have made it all about me, and that's where he becomes the family hero. Well, first he points it out to me, how I've made it all about me - and that's the frustrating part. If I could just swallow my pride for ten seconds, I would see that he's right. (It almost killed me to write that last part, just so you know.)
But he IS right, I try to do it all myself. I have terrible control issues. I like to have my hands in everything all the time, especially when it comes to my kids. I want to facilitate every opportunity, and then when I realize I've overdone it, I just poop out, for lack of a better term.
Aaron is always, always, always able to pick up my tattered and fraying ends and get our balls rolling in the right direction once more. He reminds me that my tired does not equal their tired. My sick of driving does not equal their missing a practice or a game. It IS, actually, all about them, and if I could learn to let him do more along the way, I might not reach the brick wall quite as fast or often as I seem to do these days.
And the truth is, the older they get, it has the potential to get even more busy. He asked me to combine our several calendars into one master calendar so he could more accurately pinpoint where he is needed and when. I finally managed to get one together, and I was rather horrified to discover that no monthly calendar was big enough. Our level of involvement has exceeded every monthly template that Microsoft Office has to offer. I had to take a deep breath and download a weekly calendar, just for the space.
Someone out there is going to tell me that we are doing too much, sacrificing family time in favor of activities and hurting more than helping by being so active. And to that I respectfully say: No Sir. We still have family time; some of our best conversations happen while driving somewhere. We still eat meals together, often picnic-style near someone's concession stand. I say that it's not WHERE or HOW we are together, it is simply that we are TOGETHER. My kids will know that at every single thing that is important to them, we will be there, showing up, doing whatever it takes to say "I saw you do something amazing today" even if that something amazing is ingesting sunflower seeds in an alarming quantity or figuring out how to make those dang softball cleats stay tied, already.
What are they learning from those activities? They are learning that they can do new things. They can do hard things. They can be pretty good at something, and they can struggle with something too. They are learning to win with integrity; to lose with grace. To support each other, to be part of a team. Their music education is helping unfold the corners of their minds and making life richer and more beautiful.
Along the way we get to become part of dozens of new families, and all of them have their own special dynamic. Each sport brings us in contact with new families, who are passionate and funny and friendly and boisterous and proud. At the orchestra concert the other night, my tough tomboy wore concert black, a sequined skirt, had her hair piled on her head, and with the stature of a queen stated that orchestra made her feel professional and important.
Someday, they may have to give something up; they may have to choose, or whittle down their options. I want them to be able to to say that they tried everything they ever wanted to try. I'm going to make it possible for them to find whatever it is that sets the rhythm of their hearts.
I have some close friends who have already closed this chapter in their lives; their kids are grown and gone. Every single last one of them looks back on these crazy-busy years with fondness and gratitude. They tell me every day to savor it, to enjoy the chaos. I will. We will.
I will still admit, however, that the three big empty boxes on the calendar in December (only three, by the way) give me quite a little thrill. Three whole days of nowhere to go, nothing to do? I'm giddy.
December 18, 2014
October 15, 2014
Milestones
40 is upon me. I haven't been looking forward to this milestone; I think when the big numbers approach, we tend to take inventory of our lives, and too often people find them lacking. It's easy to think about all the things we haven't done yet, all the places we haven't been, or the people we haven't become. I was about to wallow in my own melancholy, but when I got to school today one of my students asked, "Hey Ms. Gudahl, what have you done in your first 40 years?"
Sometimes I'm not the teacher; I still have a few things to learn, and I love it when a student does the honors.
I hadn't been looking at 40 that way. And now that I'm thinking about it, my first 40 years have been pretty amazing. I waited a long time to settle into a family life and routine, and spent much of my youth having one adventure after another. I decided that rather than create a bucket list of all the things I haven't done yet, I would celebrate my fortieth year by making my "Been There, Done That" list. I think instead of feeling anxious about all the living left to do, I'll rest easy in the contentment of all the things I've already done, good/bad and otherwise.
Let's see...
* I have lived in 10 different cities, in 4 different states and 2 different countries.
* I've pitched a tent in a sandbar on the side of a river and watched the sun come up over the Continental Divide.
* I've loved and lost a Jessie dog, and will probably never get over it.
* I broke a wrist and got a concussion snowboarding down a mountain bowl at 12,000 ft.
* I climbed to the top of Blarney Castle in Ireland and bent over backwards (literally) to kiss the Blarney Stone.
* I hiked to the top of Mount Princeton and notched my first fourteener.
* I ate lunch in an abandoned mine shaft on the top of a mountain.
* I took a train to Seattle, and stayed a week with people I met on the internet. (Great people, actually, but holy cow that was a big risk. How invincible we feel in our twenties...)
* I camped in a snowbank in -10 degree weather on the banks of a lake in Kansas with a Brittany spaniel tucked into my sleeping bag to keep me warm.
* I competed on a trap team in Colorado; I was the youngest member of the team by almost 40 years.
* I spent four hours eating a meal at a restaurant in Florence, Italy with complete strangers.
* I ran a half-marathon - the Bolder Boulder - without walking, and finished under my goal time.
* I was robbed in Salzburg, Austria and had to panhandle and work for money to make my way home.
* I can perform an amazing card trick, thanks to my friend Doug Rachac who spent about a zillion hours trying to teach it to me.
* I became a Christian for real in March 2003.
* I watched a glass blower in Venice make a glass penguin for me.
* I wrapped an inflatable kayak on Raft Ripper in the bottom of the Brown's Canyon Run and needed a private boat and about 10 people to help me get it out.
* I've had the privilege of mentoring more kids than I can count in my classroom each year for the last 15 years. Some of them have become lifelong friends.
* I learned how to live an (almost) sustainable life; how to raise animals, grow my own food, and even prepare it in a way that is better than average.
* I've made it to 40 without a single traffic ticket, although I have experienced 2 car accidents.
* I gave birth to 3 babies in 3 states in 4 years.
* When we were still young and reckless, Aaron and I used to ride his motorcycle all over the countryside, at questionable speeds. (Sorry, Mom!)
* I've eaten a picnic lunch in the bed of a pickup truck in the back of a cornfield.
* I've been a lifeguard, a dispatcher, a waitress, a secretary, a coach and a teacher.
* I won $75 once on a scratch off ticket.
* I've been to 19 country music concerts, 4 pop concerts, 1 Lilith Fair and 1 Widespread Panic concert. (That last one was enough to last me another 40 years, I think - holy cow. WP at Red Rocks. Need I say more?)
* I've eaten a hot dog at Target Field.
* I touched the Vietnam Memorial.
* I have had my heart broken. I have broken someone's heart.
* I can bait a hook, light a campfire, mow a lawn and run a garden tiller.
* I can make an owie feel better with kisses and lovies.
* Three years in a row, I cut down my own Christmas tree, dragged it down the mountain, chopped off the bottom and put it up in my living room. (Okay, Aaron helped a little bit, but it was still pretty cool!)
* I talked to Justin Timberlake's grandmother on the phone.
* I watched a veterinarian perform an autopsy on a cow, effectively ending my dreams of becoming a veterinarian.
* I've been a frequent visitor of amusement parks: I like rollercoasters in particular.
* I've rocked a karaoke mic a few times. (Usually with a little liquid courage, I have to admit.)
* I've gotten a four-wheeler stuck in a mud hole on a country road so badly that by the time I got home there wasn't a square inch of me anywhere that wasn't splattered in mud.
* I've buried people I love.
* I spent Y2K in a mountain cabin drinking Dom Perignon out of coffee cups and waiting for the end of the civilized world.
* I have a few friends who would do almost anything for me.
* I have known love, of the deepest kind: steady, reliable and true.
I think if I wanted to keep going, I could probably keep going. Maybe I could be here all night, even. And that's what I'm taking with me, when I usher in this new decade of my life. I've lived, quite a lot. And I have a lot of living left to do...I can't wait to see what the next forty look like.
Sometimes I'm not the teacher; I still have a few things to learn, and I love it when a student does the honors.
I hadn't been looking at 40 that way. And now that I'm thinking about it, my first 40 years have been pretty amazing. I waited a long time to settle into a family life and routine, and spent much of my youth having one adventure after another. I decided that rather than create a bucket list of all the things I haven't done yet, I would celebrate my fortieth year by making my "Been There, Done That" list. I think instead of feeling anxious about all the living left to do, I'll rest easy in the contentment of all the things I've already done, good/bad and otherwise.
Let's see...
* I have lived in 10 different cities, in 4 different states and 2 different countries.
* I've pitched a tent in a sandbar on the side of a river and watched the sun come up over the Continental Divide.
* I've loved and lost a Jessie dog, and will probably never get over it.
* I broke a wrist and got a concussion snowboarding down a mountain bowl at 12,000 ft.
* I climbed to the top of Blarney Castle in Ireland and bent over backwards (literally) to kiss the Blarney Stone.
* I hiked to the top of Mount Princeton and notched my first fourteener.
* I ate lunch in an abandoned mine shaft on the top of a mountain.
* I took a train to Seattle, and stayed a week with people I met on the internet. (Great people, actually, but holy cow that was a big risk. How invincible we feel in our twenties...)
* I camped in a snowbank in -10 degree weather on the banks of a lake in Kansas with a Brittany spaniel tucked into my sleeping bag to keep me warm.
* I competed on a trap team in Colorado; I was the youngest member of the team by almost 40 years.
* I spent four hours eating a meal at a restaurant in Florence, Italy with complete strangers.
* I ran a half-marathon - the Bolder Boulder - without walking, and finished under my goal time.
* I was robbed in Salzburg, Austria and had to panhandle and work for money to make my way home.
* I can perform an amazing card trick, thanks to my friend Doug Rachac who spent about a zillion hours trying to teach it to me.
* I became a Christian for real in March 2003.
* I watched a glass blower in Venice make a glass penguin for me.
* I wrapped an inflatable kayak on Raft Ripper in the bottom of the Brown's Canyon Run and needed a private boat and about 10 people to help me get it out.
* I've had the privilege of mentoring more kids than I can count in my classroom each year for the last 15 years. Some of them have become lifelong friends.
* I learned how to live an (almost) sustainable life; how to raise animals, grow my own food, and even prepare it in a way that is better than average.
* I've made it to 40 without a single traffic ticket, although I have experienced 2 car accidents.
* I gave birth to 3 babies in 3 states in 4 years.
* When we were still young and reckless, Aaron and I used to ride his motorcycle all over the countryside, at questionable speeds. (Sorry, Mom!)
* I've eaten a picnic lunch in the bed of a pickup truck in the back of a cornfield.
* I've been a lifeguard, a dispatcher, a waitress, a secretary, a coach and a teacher.
* I won $75 once on a scratch off ticket.
* I've been to 19 country music concerts, 4 pop concerts, 1 Lilith Fair and 1 Widespread Panic concert. (That last one was enough to last me another 40 years, I think - holy cow. WP at Red Rocks. Need I say more?)
* I've eaten a hot dog at Target Field.
* I touched the Vietnam Memorial.
* I have had my heart broken. I have broken someone's heart.
* I can bait a hook, light a campfire, mow a lawn and run a garden tiller.
* I can make an owie feel better with kisses and lovies.
* Three years in a row, I cut down my own Christmas tree, dragged it down the mountain, chopped off the bottom and put it up in my living room. (Okay, Aaron helped a little bit, but it was still pretty cool!)
* I talked to Justin Timberlake's grandmother on the phone.
* I watched a veterinarian perform an autopsy on a cow, effectively ending my dreams of becoming a veterinarian.
* I've been a frequent visitor of amusement parks: I like rollercoasters in particular.
* I've rocked a karaoke mic a few times. (Usually with a little liquid courage, I have to admit.)
* I've gotten a four-wheeler stuck in a mud hole on a country road so badly that by the time I got home there wasn't a square inch of me anywhere that wasn't splattered in mud.
* I've buried people I love.
* I spent Y2K in a mountain cabin drinking Dom Perignon out of coffee cups and waiting for the end of the civilized world.
* I have a few friends who would do almost anything for me.
* I have known love, of the deepest kind: steady, reliable and true.
I think if I wanted to keep going, I could probably keep going. Maybe I could be here all night, even. And that's what I'm taking with me, when I usher in this new decade of my life. I've lived, quite a lot. And I have a lot of living left to do...I can't wait to see what the next forty look like.
September 10, 2014
Firsts
It is only fitting that we end the summer with a series of firsts. We spent our free moments this summer, every one of them, at the lake or at the pool, and by the end of the summer we tackled some pretty amazing milestones.
1. The first summer that Carys went tubing faster than 0.0004 mph - and liked it!
2. The first summer that Emma went wakeboarding!
3. The first time that Cooper did a back flip off the diving board!
It also marked the first time I was able to watch my children do the above activities and not be on the verge of a nervous breakdown the entire time. :)
1. The first summer that Carys went tubing faster than 0.0004 mph - and liked it!
2. The first summer that Emma went wakeboarding!
3. The first time that Cooper did a back flip off the diving board!
It also marked the first time I was able to watch my children do the above activities and not be on the verge of a nervous breakdown the entire time. :)
August 20, 2014
Finally
How can I begin to talk about my trip back to Colorado this summer?
Every sentence I try to write is the wrong sentence. I should be able to produce a long wordy sentence filled with metaphoric imagery that accurately captures the feeling in my soul when the plane touched down on the runway at DIA. But alas, there is no such sentence. So here's the best I can do:
I went home. That's all. The plane touched down and I got off the plane like I had done a hundred times before. I got my baggage, got in my town car (Thank you, Matt, for that - best ride I have ever had coming home from the airport!) and my driver drove me through the city. I watched the exit signs on the highway pass by me like old friends: Wadsworth, Kipling, Colfax. I waited for Matt and Erin at a restaurant, and watched the parking lot with an odd detachment. I had already been traveling for 8 hours, and I had expected to feel a giddy anticipation waiting for them to get there, but instead I felt still and calm and completely emotionless. I guess looking back on it now, I think I felt so completely at ease that it was impossible to feel anything except complete ease.
After they arrived and we got settled in the truck, we still had a 3 hour drive up the mountain to Buena Vista, and you would think, after 8 years away, that it would be a nonstop chattering of two long-lost friends, wouldn't you? How do I explain that it was the most absolutely normal level of conversation you could imagine? I've thought about that so many times since I came back to Minnesota; I traveled a million miles to talk to Erin like I talk to her every week. I may have been a long time away from Colorado, but I'm really never far from her and our friendship.
And THAT, made coming home feel even more like home.
I kept expecting there to be some crescendo of emotion; some moment that would bring me to tears. Instead, I felt so much myself - so much MORE myself than I have felt in years - that I could have walked into McGinnis Middle School the next morning and started teaching 6th grade Language Arts like I had never left.
I discovered the next morning just how at home I really was. Of course I would forget to bring my toothbrush and toothpaste - of COURSE I would. So I dropped Erin off for work and stopped by City Market to pick up a new one. In less than 10 seconds, I bump into Jamie Page. Who, God bless her, says "hey Sara." In that easy way she always has. Not with a double-take, not with one of those "is that really who I think it is" glances. Like I'm not about 25 lbs. heavier and certainly older and been gone for a million years. God bless Jamie Page. And THEN, as I'm checking out, the cashier says to me, "Hey, you look kind of familiar. I feel like you might have been one of my kids' teachers."
Swear to God, that happened. And I HAD been his kid's teacher. So we spent a couple of minutes catching up on good old Ethan Adamek - boy Ethan, your dad sure is proud of you, wherever you are.
And my days went just like that, moment by moment. My coming home caused no big panic or joyful celebration - I saw my people, and we spent time together as if my being there was exactly how it was supposed to be.
And now I have to admit something. I left my kids in Minnesota, and I was very disoriented without them - I am conditioned to monitoring their every move. So for 24 hours I was constantly checking my phone wondering and worrying. But gradually that eased, and a couple of times I caught myself remembering that I even HAD children. *yikes* Now, to be fair, I didn't have my kids when I lived in BV. (Well, I did have Emma, but she was just a little peanut at 2 - and the other 6 years I was there childless kind of cancelled that out, I'm afraid.)
The town, thank heaven, looked almost exactly the same. A couple of new businesses, a name change here or there, but BV was still BV. Oh - except for the South Main project. I didn't really like that, actually, and I sincerely hope I am not offending anyone by saying that. But seriously, it looks like someone cut out 6 blocks of Breckenridge or Estes Park or something and pasted it on to the edge of BV, and it was just weird. And wrong, somehow. That's just one opinion, though. Oh - and also the re-painting of the city signs with red and yellow instead of green and white. It looks like McDonald's came through town with a paintbrush. But other than THAT, the town was practically perfect.
My first afternoon home was reserved for Linda, the Queen, because if I'm gonna do it, I'm gonna do it right. Linda is my reason for ever getting to be in that dang place to begin with, and in case you're wondering, the center of the known universe is actually in her kitchen. The path to enlightenment starts on Shady Lane and ends with a chocolate no-bake cookie. It took her approximately two hours to return me to my center and all the uncertainty and stress I had accumulated over the last 8 years was washed away and I felt whole again. I suspect that she is the bright light in a lot of people's worlds...I hope she knows that.
Here's a picture of Linda and me at the Rope (The Lariat, for everyone who isn't local) having lunch:
Do you see that smile on my face? That is the most genuine smile I've had since I can't remember when. That's me, for real, no painted-on sunshine or anything - just the real me.
On days 2-3 I checked in with old friends, ate food at all my favorite places, even visited my old classroom. It was nice, but not revolutionary - I think because it still felt pretty normal. Like a comfortable shoe, I guess. I will say that the one pang I felt the strongest was missing my husband, Aaron. Every single Colorado second was his and mine together, and it did feel very odd to be there without him. I kept taking pictures of favorite things - the menu at the Evergreen, for one - and sending them to him at home.
On day 4, Erin and I were getting ready to head back up to Denver. God knew I was leaving BV and sent this to me in the morning when I woke up:
Wow. Wouldn't you love for this to be your view when you leave the house to start your day?
Anyway...we had tickets to see the Indigo Girls, who happen to write the soundtrack to my entire life, and they were performing at Red Rocks Amphitheater. In case you don't know, Red Rocks is the best place to see a concert ever in the world. Ever. I have seen some amazing concerts there, and to see Amy & Emily perform on that stage was sort of a bucket list item, so to speak.
I won't say anything more about the concert; I don't possess the words anyway to do it justice. It was the Moment of Moments, though, when the Colorado Symphony began the first bars of "Ghost" and there I was, at home, with my best friend, listening to the song that is MY song, being sung by my songwriting heroes and I am not ashamed to say I cried my eyes out through the whole entire song.
I was ready to come back to Minnesota the next day. I was really missing my husband, and really missing my kids, so it felt just right to get back on the plane. But I really needed to go home this summer - I didn't even really know just how much I needed it. And it was just exactly how it was supposed to be.
**Update**
Hey, guess what? You Tube is amazing - somebody at the same concert recorded some of Amy & Emily's set. Now I can relive it over and over - the internet is amazing. The videographer doesn't have the steadiest hand, and of course it isn't quite the same as being there, but still. If you don't know the IG, you need to get to know them. This is Closer to Fine - Erin's favorite.
Every sentence I try to write is the wrong sentence. I should be able to produce a long wordy sentence filled with metaphoric imagery that accurately captures the feeling in my soul when the plane touched down on the runway at DIA. But alas, there is no such sentence. So here's the best I can do:
I went home. That's all. The plane touched down and I got off the plane like I had done a hundred times before. I got my baggage, got in my town car (Thank you, Matt, for that - best ride I have ever had coming home from the airport!) and my driver drove me through the city. I watched the exit signs on the highway pass by me like old friends: Wadsworth, Kipling, Colfax. I waited for Matt and Erin at a restaurant, and watched the parking lot with an odd detachment. I had already been traveling for 8 hours, and I had expected to feel a giddy anticipation waiting for them to get there, but instead I felt still and calm and completely emotionless. I guess looking back on it now, I think I felt so completely at ease that it was impossible to feel anything except complete ease.
After they arrived and we got settled in the truck, we still had a 3 hour drive up the mountain to Buena Vista, and you would think, after 8 years away, that it would be a nonstop chattering of two long-lost friends, wouldn't you? How do I explain that it was the most absolutely normal level of conversation you could imagine? I've thought about that so many times since I came back to Minnesota; I traveled a million miles to talk to Erin like I talk to her every week. I may have been a long time away from Colorado, but I'm really never far from her and our friendship.
And THAT, made coming home feel even more like home.
I kept expecting there to be some crescendo of emotion; some moment that would bring me to tears. Instead, I felt so much myself - so much MORE myself than I have felt in years - that I could have walked into McGinnis Middle School the next morning and started teaching 6th grade Language Arts like I had never left.
I discovered the next morning just how at home I really was. Of course I would forget to bring my toothbrush and toothpaste - of COURSE I would. So I dropped Erin off for work and stopped by City Market to pick up a new one. In less than 10 seconds, I bump into Jamie Page. Who, God bless her, says "hey Sara." In that easy way she always has. Not with a double-take, not with one of those "is that really who I think it is" glances. Like I'm not about 25 lbs. heavier and certainly older and been gone for a million years. God bless Jamie Page. And THEN, as I'm checking out, the cashier says to me, "Hey, you look kind of familiar. I feel like you might have been one of my kids' teachers."
Swear to God, that happened. And I HAD been his kid's teacher. So we spent a couple of minutes catching up on good old Ethan Adamek - boy Ethan, your dad sure is proud of you, wherever you are.
And my days went just like that, moment by moment. My coming home caused no big panic or joyful celebration - I saw my people, and we spent time together as if my being there was exactly how it was supposed to be.
And now I have to admit something. I left my kids in Minnesota, and I was very disoriented without them - I am conditioned to monitoring their every move. So for 24 hours I was constantly checking my phone wondering and worrying. But gradually that eased, and a couple of times I caught myself remembering that I even HAD children. *yikes* Now, to be fair, I didn't have my kids when I lived in BV. (Well, I did have Emma, but she was just a little peanut at 2 - and the other 6 years I was there childless kind of cancelled that out, I'm afraid.)
The town, thank heaven, looked almost exactly the same. A couple of new businesses, a name change here or there, but BV was still BV. Oh - except for the South Main project. I didn't really like that, actually, and I sincerely hope I am not offending anyone by saying that. But seriously, it looks like someone cut out 6 blocks of Breckenridge or Estes Park or something and pasted it on to the edge of BV, and it was just weird. And wrong, somehow. That's just one opinion, though. Oh - and also the re-painting of the city signs with red and yellow instead of green and white. It looks like McDonald's came through town with a paintbrush. But other than THAT, the town was practically perfect.
My first afternoon home was reserved for Linda, the Queen, because if I'm gonna do it, I'm gonna do it right. Linda is my reason for ever getting to be in that dang place to begin with, and in case you're wondering, the center of the known universe is actually in her kitchen. The path to enlightenment starts on Shady Lane and ends with a chocolate no-bake cookie. It took her approximately two hours to return me to my center and all the uncertainty and stress I had accumulated over the last 8 years was washed away and I felt whole again. I suspect that she is the bright light in a lot of people's worlds...I hope she knows that.
Here's a picture of Linda and me at the Rope (The Lariat, for everyone who isn't local) having lunch:
Do you see that smile on my face? That is the most genuine smile I've had since I can't remember when. That's me, for real, no painted-on sunshine or anything - just the real me.
On days 2-3 I checked in with old friends, ate food at all my favorite places, even visited my old classroom. It was nice, but not revolutionary - I think because it still felt pretty normal. Like a comfortable shoe, I guess. I will say that the one pang I felt the strongest was missing my husband, Aaron. Every single Colorado second was his and mine together, and it did feel very odd to be there without him. I kept taking pictures of favorite things - the menu at the Evergreen, for one - and sending them to him at home.
On day 4, Erin and I were getting ready to head back up to Denver. God knew I was leaving BV and sent this to me in the morning when I woke up:
Wow. Wouldn't you love for this to be your view when you leave the house to start your day?
Anyway...we had tickets to see the Indigo Girls, who happen to write the soundtrack to my entire life, and they were performing at Red Rocks Amphitheater. In case you don't know, Red Rocks is the best place to see a concert ever in the world. Ever. I have seen some amazing concerts there, and to see Amy & Emily perform on that stage was sort of a bucket list item, so to speak.
I won't say anything more about the concert; I don't possess the words anyway to do it justice. It was the Moment of Moments, though, when the Colorado Symphony began the first bars of "Ghost" and there I was, at home, with my best friend, listening to the song that is MY song, being sung by my songwriting heroes and I am not ashamed to say I cried my eyes out through the whole entire song.
I was ready to come back to Minnesota the next day. I was really missing my husband, and really missing my kids, so it felt just right to get back on the plane. But I really needed to go home this summer - I didn't even really know just how much I needed it. And it was just exactly how it was supposed to be.
**Update**
Hey, guess what? You Tube is amazing - somebody at the same concert recorded some of Amy & Emily's set. Now I can relive it over and over - the internet is amazing. The videographer doesn't have the steadiest hand, and of course it isn't quite the same as being there, but still. If you don't know the IG, you need to get to know them. This is Closer to Fine - Erin's favorite.
July 11, 2014
Summer 2014
I've been neglecting the blog lately - sorry about that. Somewhere around mid-May I developed a terrible case of Too Much On My Plate and in an effort to regain my sanity, I spent much of my writing time writing creatively, rather than recording my family adventures. Mostly because my real life was too busy and I had too much stress, so I escaped into writing fiction for a little while. But here it is July already, and I realize that I skipped a couple of months of family life on here. So I'll try to catch up a little over the next couple of weeks.
This year we are experiencing the Summer of Extremes. We don't have "just a little bit" of anything around here. The weather has been too rainy, the garden is growing too fast, my kids are involved in too much, and the mosquitoes here in Minnesota are OUT OF HAND. It must be all the damp weather, I would guess, that makes it impossible for us to be outside and enjoy ourselves. One step outside after dusk and you are nearly devoured by them. I haven't even prepared our outdoor patio this year because I know we can't be out there anyway.
Let's start with the kiddos and the summer of too many activities. So far this summer, I have shuttled my children through basketball camps, softball practices and games, baseball practices and games, swimming lessons, cello lessons, summer reading programs at the library, and soccer camps. The girls are both playing fast pitch softball, on the same team. It has been really fun to watch them play together two nights a week. Cooper started baseball this year, and he plays on two different nights a week. That only leaves 3 days each week where we get to be home in the evenings eating real food. The rest of the time we are subsisting on hot dogs, popcorn and fast food restaurants. My cooking skills are practically dormant, and I should probably start buying stock in sunflower seeds.
Ball wraps up this weekend, and then we will have a few precious days together before the soccer season starts. I love watching my kids be active, and I am hoping they will use these opportunities to gain some of the skills I can't teach them myself at home. How to be part of a collective team, how to lose gracefully, how to handle disappointments, and how to win with integrity. It also keeps their little bodies healthy, and keeps them sleeping soundly through the night, so hey - it's a win for all of us!
You know this wouldn't be a typical Gudahl blog post, though, without a few parenting adventure stories.I have a couple of notable moments to recount. Let's see... on the mild end of things, Emma drove the golf through the garage door. So that was awesome. On the more extreme end of things, we had a close encounter of the head lice kind this summer. Let me tell you, you have not truly LIVED as a parent, until you've treated your children for head lice.
**Side Note**
Before I continue, I must stand on my soap box and shout to the rooftops: Can we please change the stigma surrounding head lice?! PLEASE? There is some dark and terrible connotation attached to this malady - people feel shame that they have it, and keep quiet about it. That's why it keeps spreading, people! If we all just admitted it, notified people promptly when we've possibly shared it, and treated it fast, we could overcome this very common yet totally time-consuming problem.
There, got that out of my system. God bless the parent who notified our softball team when her little munchkin came home with it. Because we all share helmets on the softball team. And almost all of us got it. Thank goodness for that awesome mom, because if she hadn't mentioned it, I wouldn't have noticed it in my girls until it was really bad. I truly thought it would be easy to spot, and easy to figure out if you'd picked it up. I was wrong! Aaron and I checked our girls a couple of times and didn't see anything concerning. However, I was looking for actual critters, and you aren't likely to SEE actual critters. Turns out both my girls had picked it up, so we began The Process. The good thing is, once a few of us admitted we had it, more were willing to admit it too, and all night long we were texting each other pictures of all of us in our kitchens, eyes watering from chemical shampoos, glum looking girls on chairs, metal combs in hand. It was kind of nice to go through it together - you don't feel quite so alone. Also, God bless my parents. Because when I found out we had it, I went straight to their house armed with $100 worth of lice treatment. My mom stayed up for hours upon hours, helping me treat my girls, treating me just in case, and letting us sleep there for 3 days. (If I had any lice in my house, they die after 48 hours of no human contact, so I needed a place to stay until I could be sure they were all dead.) When most people would recoil at the news, my mother just took a breath and said, come on over, let's get this done. Aaron and Cooper took the easy road...it's called a razor with no guard. Coop didn't really mind - except for having to use sunscreen on his head for a couple of weeks.
As for vacations, we decided this summer to stay close to home for the most part. We spent four days on the 4th camping at the Yacht Club where we have a summer membership. It was nice to be able to be interchangeably on our boat, in the pool, by the fire or in the camper pretty easily. The kids got their fill of kneeboarding, tubing and swimming. Aaron got his fill of wakeboarding and eating s'mores. I got my fill of reading good books and having time to socialize with our friends. We ALL got our fill of mosquitoes - did I tell you how bad they are this summer? Seriously!
I have one last summer adventure to look forward to. I turn forty this year, (ugh) and my early birthday present is to take a 5 day vacation with my best friend from Colorado. Yay! I get to go back to the mountains, and all by my lonesome for a change. We have all sorts of adventures planned, and I'm practically giddy with anticipation. I don't know quite what I will do without a family to cook for, to shuttle around, to cheer for from the stands. Just thinking about getting to choose a restaurant without first looking at the kids menu is pretty exciting. I don't quite remember what that is like, but I'm sure I'll be writing all about it when I get home.
This year we are experiencing the Summer of Extremes. We don't have "just a little bit" of anything around here. The weather has been too rainy, the garden is growing too fast, my kids are involved in too much, and the mosquitoes here in Minnesota are OUT OF HAND. It must be all the damp weather, I would guess, that makes it impossible for us to be outside and enjoy ourselves. One step outside after dusk and you are nearly devoured by them. I haven't even prepared our outdoor patio this year because I know we can't be out there anyway.
Let's start with the kiddos and the summer of too many activities. So far this summer, I have shuttled my children through basketball camps, softball practices and games, baseball practices and games, swimming lessons, cello lessons, summer reading programs at the library, and soccer camps. The girls are both playing fast pitch softball, on the same team. It has been really fun to watch them play together two nights a week. Cooper started baseball this year, and he plays on two different nights a week. That only leaves 3 days each week where we get to be home in the evenings eating real food. The rest of the time we are subsisting on hot dogs, popcorn and fast food restaurants. My cooking skills are practically dormant, and I should probably start buying stock in sunflower seeds.
Ball wraps up this weekend, and then we will have a few precious days together before the soccer season starts. I love watching my kids be active, and I am hoping they will use these opportunities to gain some of the skills I can't teach them myself at home. How to be part of a collective team, how to lose gracefully, how to handle disappointments, and how to win with integrity. It also keeps their little bodies healthy, and keeps them sleeping soundly through the night, so hey - it's a win for all of us!
You know this wouldn't be a typical Gudahl blog post, though, without a few parenting adventure stories.I have a couple of notable moments to recount. Let's see... on the mild end of things, Emma drove the golf through the garage door. So that was awesome. On the more extreme end of things, we had a close encounter of the head lice kind this summer. Let me tell you, you have not truly LIVED as a parent, until you've treated your children for head lice.
**Side Note**
Before I continue, I must stand on my soap box and shout to the rooftops: Can we please change the stigma surrounding head lice?! PLEASE? There is some dark and terrible connotation attached to this malady - people feel shame that they have it, and keep quiet about it. That's why it keeps spreading, people! If we all just admitted it, notified people promptly when we've possibly shared it, and treated it fast, we could overcome this very common yet totally time-consuming problem.
There, got that out of my system. God bless the parent who notified our softball team when her little munchkin came home with it. Because we all share helmets on the softball team. And almost all of us got it. Thank goodness for that awesome mom, because if she hadn't mentioned it, I wouldn't have noticed it in my girls until it was really bad. I truly thought it would be easy to spot, and easy to figure out if you'd picked it up. I was wrong! Aaron and I checked our girls a couple of times and didn't see anything concerning. However, I was looking for actual critters, and you aren't likely to SEE actual critters. Turns out both my girls had picked it up, so we began The Process. The good thing is, once a few of us admitted we had it, more were willing to admit it too, and all night long we were texting each other pictures of all of us in our kitchens, eyes watering from chemical shampoos, glum looking girls on chairs, metal combs in hand. It was kind of nice to go through it together - you don't feel quite so alone. Also, God bless my parents. Because when I found out we had it, I went straight to their house armed with $100 worth of lice treatment. My mom stayed up for hours upon hours, helping me treat my girls, treating me just in case, and letting us sleep there for 3 days. (If I had any lice in my house, they die after 48 hours of no human contact, so I needed a place to stay until I could be sure they were all dead.) When most people would recoil at the news, my mother just took a breath and said, come on over, let's get this done. Aaron and Cooper took the easy road...it's called a razor with no guard. Coop didn't really mind - except for having to use sunscreen on his head for a couple of weeks.
As for vacations, we decided this summer to stay close to home for the most part. We spent four days on the 4th camping at the Yacht Club where we have a summer membership. It was nice to be able to be interchangeably on our boat, in the pool, by the fire or in the camper pretty easily. The kids got their fill of kneeboarding, tubing and swimming. Aaron got his fill of wakeboarding and eating s'mores. I got my fill of reading good books and having time to socialize with our friends. We ALL got our fill of mosquitoes - did I tell you how bad they are this summer? Seriously!
I have one last summer adventure to look forward to. I turn forty this year, (ugh) and my early birthday present is to take a 5 day vacation with my best friend from Colorado. Yay! I get to go back to the mountains, and all by my lonesome for a change. We have all sorts of adventures planned, and I'm practically giddy with anticipation. I don't know quite what I will do without a family to cook for, to shuttle around, to cheer for from the stands. Just thinking about getting to choose a restaurant without first looking at the kids menu is pretty exciting. I don't quite remember what that is like, but I'm sure I'll be writing all about it when I get home.
April 10, 2014
Almost
About a month ago my friend Erin called to tell me there were rumblings about a possible opening for an English teaching position in Buena Vista. I must say right off that we considered this seriously. I went so far as to order transcripts, secure recommendations, apply officially, accept an interview, and begin entertaining buyers for the farm. We went to great lengths to make this a possible option; in the end we made the decision not to go. Please forgive me that I can't go into all the specifics this time - I can't tell you the details and walk you through it; I simply cannot relive it.
It is no mystery to anyone that I am homesick something awful for Colorado. People often ask me what it is about that place that I love so much, and I just can't tie it up in a neat little summary for them. I would have to spend a couple of hours telling stories and giving examples; that town is so much more than just a sum of its parts, and it requires more than mere words to paint that picture.
For a couple of weeks I fought a fierce internal battle, and on any given day I could be found leaning one way or the other. Aaron and I spent hours going through the pros and cons...sorting out housing issues, school issues, moving issues, family issues, etc. But in the end, the decision was made through circumstances I could not control...one by one, each carefully placed plan fell through, and it became very clear that I am not meant to go.
I think when I saw the open position, I became swept up in the memory of BV...it has a powerful hold on me. But the Universe is wise, and God is good, and you know what they say about unanswered prayers. This is where we are, and where we are is good. We made a life for our family that is good. More than good, maybe, as Erin reminds me every single time we talk.
On the day I sent the email declining my interview, my heart was broken anew. It felt like I had very nearly grasped my bliss, and here it was, slipping slowly through my fingers. And on that day, when I was at my lowest, I got a note from my friend Angie in Blue Earth. (I bet you don't even know, Ang, how timely it was.) Out of the clear blue sky, she sent me a message about a song she liked that she thought I would like too. The song is called "A Life That's Good" from the Nashville soundtrack. As I listened, the words solidified for me that the life we have here, the life we have made HERE, is good. (I can't tell you, Ang, how much I needed that - needed it right then. I'll tell you all about it when we're out on the boat together this summer.)
It gave me a sense of peace. I have to share it, so you can feel it too, in case peace is what you're really needing right now. Thank heaven for my friends. For Erin, whose strength keeps me grounded and Holly who stands beside me always and Melinda who makes my wish list look possible, and Kathy whose heart is just like mine and sends Maisy when I need her, and for Angie Loge who has absolutely no idea that she saved me. And for everyone everyone (you know who you are, you wonderful people - holy cow, if I get going I might be writing for days) everyone, who makes it bearable to live in sub-Arctic conditions 9 months out of the year. Love to you.
And to God, who knows the plan...hopefully. Just kidding, God, I know you got this.
It is no mystery to anyone that I am homesick something awful for Colorado. People often ask me what it is about that place that I love so much, and I just can't tie it up in a neat little summary for them. I would have to spend a couple of hours telling stories and giving examples; that town is so much more than just a sum of its parts, and it requires more than mere words to paint that picture.
For a couple of weeks I fought a fierce internal battle, and on any given day I could be found leaning one way or the other. Aaron and I spent hours going through the pros and cons...sorting out housing issues, school issues, moving issues, family issues, etc. But in the end, the decision was made through circumstances I could not control...one by one, each carefully placed plan fell through, and it became very clear that I am not meant to go.
I think when I saw the open position, I became swept up in the memory of BV...it has a powerful hold on me. But the Universe is wise, and God is good, and you know what they say about unanswered prayers. This is where we are, and where we are is good. We made a life for our family that is good. More than good, maybe, as Erin reminds me every single time we talk.
On the day I sent the email declining my interview, my heart was broken anew. It felt like I had very nearly grasped my bliss, and here it was, slipping slowly through my fingers. And on that day, when I was at my lowest, I got a note from my friend Angie in Blue Earth. (I bet you don't even know, Ang, how timely it was.) Out of the clear blue sky, she sent me a message about a song she liked that she thought I would like too. The song is called "A Life That's Good" from the Nashville soundtrack. As I listened, the words solidified for me that the life we have here, the life we have made HERE, is good. (I can't tell you, Ang, how much I needed that - needed it right then. I'll tell you all about it when we're out on the boat together this summer.)
It gave me a sense of peace. I have to share it, so you can feel it too, in case peace is what you're really needing right now. Thank heaven for my friends. For Erin, whose strength keeps me grounded and Holly who stands beside me always and Melinda who makes my wish list look possible, and Kathy whose heart is just like mine and sends Maisy when I need her, and for Angie Loge who has absolutely no idea that she saved me. And for everyone everyone (you know who you are, you wonderful people - holy cow, if I get going I might be writing for days) everyone, who makes it bearable to live in sub-Arctic conditions 9 months out of the year. Love to you.
And to God, who knows the plan...hopefully. Just kidding, God, I know you got this.
April 2, 2014
To Read or Not to Read...
I'm planning to ramble today. This post will not be terribly
well-planned, nor will it be carefully edited, so I apologize in advance. I'm
feeling so frustrated, lately, that I just have to pour out all my crabbies on
to a page somewhere, and let it sit and ruminate for a while. At that point I
might be able to make sense of some of it and then develop some kind of plan of
attack to alleviate my stress.
(This is a teaching post, FYI, not a parenting post, so if I've
lost you already, feel free to click off on this tiresome rant. If you are a
teacher, and feel like watching a fellow colleague have a meltdown, then by all
means...read on.)
I'm just a little alarmed, okay I'm just a LOT alarmed, at the
direction that the written word is taking these days. I know I am from a vastly
different era than the 8th graders I see every day, and maybe I'm just OLD, but
I truly believe that classics are timeless. If a person is motivated to read
something, and has the reading skill necessary to read it, then I have a
responsibility as a teacher to expose them to GOOD literature.
The problem lies in the fact that it is becoming really difficult
to do the first two parts of that last sentence. Middle-schoolers sometimes not
possess the reading skills to access good literature. But even more troubling,
they often lack the motivation to try. Don't get me wrong - I do have students
who come to me passionate about the written word; I do have kids who love to
read. But the number of kids who don’t read regularly is growing every year.
In today's fast-paced Insta-World (I'm going to coin that phrase -
remember you heard it here first ) I am losing ground in the battle to convince
them that the journey is worth it. So often I see a student pull themselves out
of a reading and say "this is too hard." They shrug their shoulders,
pull out their smart phone and open up Flappy Bird. They want instant access to
facts (thank you, Google) they want instant feedback on their daily activities
(thank you, Facebook) they want instant access to their friends (thank you,
Snapchat) they want to IM and Skype and Facetime. The payoff during this
technological firestorm we live in is an Insta-World, where human interaction
is at your fingertips, and accessing information and ideas through hard work
has become an antiquated art - something their grandparents did Back In The
Day.
They have no idea, actually, what the payoff is for doing the work, because they
aren't willing to do it. The payoff for doing the work is to become a better
thinker, to become more connected to the human condition, to understand
something on a level beyond the average thought process of the general population.
There is beauty in the process, and it can change the way you perceive the
world, change the way you interact with others, and change the core of who you
are. It sure isn't easy, but it sure is worth it.
Take Sylvia Plath, for example. Now, you may be a reader…you may
even enjoy poetry from time to time. But Sylvia Plath isn’t on anybody’s short
list. Do you know why? She writes raw, cynical, painfully honest metaphoric
truths. It’s HARD to read her stuff. It’s hard to make sense of it; and when you
do, it’s even harder to embrace. Which is precisely why I read it. I feel like
I’ve unlocked the door to a higher level of consciousness when I finally figure
it out. I wish I could describe what it feels like, that moment when you see
something clearly for the first time. That moment when something difficult and
vague comes sharply into focus. There comes first a moment of triumph, when you
can understand it, followed closely by a wash of emotion when the meaning of
the work sinks in. It makes me feel alive in a way that nothing else can. I
have more than once set a book down on the nightstand and felt like a
completely different person afterward.
That feeling is something I am desperate to communicate every year
to the students who sit in desks in my classrooms. They are 8th graders, so obviously I’m not handing
out copies of The Bell Jar or even A Room of One’s Own. Rather, I find myself
trying to convince them that The Odyssey is even more exciting than
Ridiculousness. (I won’t tell you how often Homer loses that battle…you really
don’t want to know.) Mostly, I want them to become aware of the power of the
written word. I want just once to change them – to make them feel alive, to
make them feel like they might never be the same again after reading something
powerful.
Unfortunately, (and here comes the BIG truth…the reason for my
great passion and even greater despair today) I have come to the sad
realization that the written word as I learned to appreciate it, is dying a
slow and painful death.
Technology may be a wonderful thing, but it is absolutely killing
language. It is stripping it of its beauty, making it small and mean. My
students communicate with each other in the language of robots and computers. I
wrote a dialogue on the board in class one day that looked something like this:
“R U going 2nite?”
“N”
“Y”
“B/C. RU?
“Prob”
“K. CU 2MOR”
“TTYL”
“<3”
Every single one of the kids in my class could read it. Right down
to the “less than 3” symbol, which they all equate with a heart. They told me
this was likely an exchange between good friends since the symbol for love was
used.
Really? We equate “love” with “less than 3?” When did that happen?
Even more distressing: I wrote the following stanzas from Emily
Dickinson on the board. She knew a few things about love herself:
Heart, we will forget him,
You and I, tonight!
You must forget the warmth he gave,
I will forget the light.
When you have done pray tell me,
Then I, my thoughts, will dim.
Haste! ‘lest while you’re lagging
I may remember him!
Want to guess what kind of response I got? Out of all the kids I
showed it to that day, an alarmingly small number (4? 6?) were able to
successfully interpret the base meaning of the poem. Once I helped them read
the actual words, (What does ‘haste’ mean?) we tackled the idea that the writer
is speaking to herself. (What? Why is she talking to herself?) Making sense of
the message was next on my list (She likes that he’s warm? That makes no sense,
Mrs. G!) You’re right, it doesn’t! Keep trying!
One wise soul suggested that dim meant the writer was stupid to
break up with the guy. Almost…but not quite.
I ordered a classroom set of Divergent this year. With all the
movie hype, I thought that putting actual books in the hands of my kids was a
good use of funds. And hey - it's a pretty good book. It's entertaining; it has
some great vocabulary words, (Guess how many of my students figured out that
the names of the factions are just "fancy words" for the definitions
of the factions' value systems? That's called synecdoche, by the way - good
job, Veronica Roth.) It isn't exactly To Kill A Mockingbird, but it's
entertaining.
Maybe this is the trend I need to follow. Maybe I need to scrap
Shane and my unit on Western Filmography and swap it out for the Next Big Movie
Blockbuster. I don't want to believe that True Grit and The Man Who Shot
Liberty Valance and High Noon have run their course in terms of what they have
to teach us about justice, loyalty, and the code of honor. Maybe it's just a
Hunger Games kind of world out there now...I don't know.
I do know that good reading skills and exposure to good literature
has had a profound effect on me, and I will continue to fight the good fight
for as long as I can. Tomorrow maybe I’ll hand out a little Shakespeare and see what happens.
March 12, 2014
The Dentist
My kids love our dentist. It is one of the great joys in my life, that my kids love our dentist.
I say this, because I have dentist-phobia. Or severe dental anxiety. Or whatever you call it when I would rather do anything anything anything at all except go to the dentist.
This fear is deeply rooted in my childhood, where most of our irrational fears reside. I had chronic tonsillitis as a child, and it was treated primarily with shots of tetracycline, which created quite a bit of damage to my teeth. As a result, I spent a LOT of time at the dentist. There is a story about one epically bad trip to the dentist that may or may not be entirely true, depending on how much my brain has embellished it over the years. The story is that on one particular trip, the dentist asked if I preferred the gas or the Novocaine that day. In my young, desperate, terribly misguided mind, I thought that if I refused both of them, they would let me get up and go home.
I was wrong.
Turns out refusing both of them just makes for a much more painful extraction.
So...I am afraid of the dentist. Even my grown-up, perfectly logical, rational self becomes nearly paralyzed with fear in the lobby of the dentist's office. My hands get clammy, my mouth gets dry, my heart rate increases, I stammer idiotically when asked a question...it's truly humiliating. I mean, what adult do you know needs to be gassed in order to get through a cleaning? Oh, well, that would be ME. My husband, on the other hand, LOVES the dentist. He had the full orthodontia experience, from some caring grandfatherly type, no doubt. He thinks I'm certifiable, of course.
Anyway. My kids LOVE our dentist. We were referred to this particular dentist through a friend.(Since we LOVE him, and this is going to be a rave review of his practice, I hope he doesn't mind if we mention him publicly...we see Dr. Paul Roggow in Jackson, MN)
The first time we took Emma, I thought I was going to have a heart attack in the lobby. Aaron warned me not to transfer my fears to my children so I was trying to hold back my stress, but I was terrified for her. Let me tell you, it was unwarranted. Not only did the appointment go well, but they took her picture in the chair, sent her home with a bag of goodies, and then a few days later, she received a handwritten card in the mail from them, thanking her for coming! She was hooked.
Every appointment we've had since then has been magical for my kids; when Emma broke a tooth and had an emergency extraction, I asked, "how was it?" She said, "it felt SO much better when he got it out!" Then Dr. Roggow called me later that night just to check on her and ask how she was feeling.
After Carys received her last "thank-you" note from them in the mail, she wrote them a letter back, explaining how hard she was working at brushing and how much she missed them. This is not the experience I remember from my own childhood, so I do take actual JOY in the fact that this is what we have found.
Yesterday, I took Cooper for his first cleaning. He has heard so much from his sisters already, that he went in with high expectations. He was outgoing and friendly, which is the politically correct way of saying he asked a million questions, giggled uncontrollably, and tried to impress the hygienist with his recently acquired armpit-fart talent.
I could only sit there, mortified, as my little man responded to her with his super-star best foot forward:
Jill: "Cooper, I'm going to get Mr. Sunshine ready so I can look at your teeth!"
Cooper: "You don't have to call it Mr. Sunshine. I know it's just a light."
Jill: "You are just like your sister!"
Cooper: "Which one? Because I'm actually not like one of them at all. We're only technically related."
Jill: "I was thinking of Carys." (She pronounced it Car-iss)
Cooper: "Her NAME is Carys. Who would ever name their kid CAR-ISS?"
Jill: "What flavor do you like, bubble-gum or cookie dough?"
Cooper: "Cookie dough is bad for your teeth! Why would you have cookie dough at the dentist?!"
And so on, and so on.
Keep in mind he giggled throughout, and flashed his dimples and batted his long eyelashes, so all this banter (which his mama calls sass) kept Jill in stitches as she worked on his teeth.
Last year I had a small chip on one of my lower teeth, and it bothered me so much that I finally broke down and went to Dr. Roggow to have it fixed. I will admit that the experience was the best I had ever had in the chair - although I still experienced terrible anxiety leading up to the procedure. They took advantage of my presence and did a full and thorough exam and cleaning, and let me know that I definitely have some work that needs to be done.
I shouldn't have expected anything less...while I brush and floss like a fiend, I don't actually make regular dental appointments part of my life, so I knew that I had some work to be done. I got the quote, said thank you, and went on my merry way. Sometime later, Aaron went in for a cleaning and the traitorous office staff mentioned that I had yet to make the appointment for my work...and Aaron came home and let me know that I was NOT getting out of this.
He stood next to me while I called to make the appointment. The first one I made happened to fall on a weekend that I was coaching a track meet last spring, so I had to reschedule. Then for the second appointment I developed a mysterious case of strep throat, so of course I had to reschedule. Aaron grumbled and groused and brought it up every chance he got, so I set the appointment for Wednesday, March 12th. (Hey! That's today!)
It just so happens, that the boys basketball team at our high school made it to the State tournament for the first time in 24 years. I've had every single one of those boys in class, and several of them are in my homeroom, so I can't possibly miss my chance to watch them play. And it just so happens that their first round game is Wednesday, March 12th. (Hey! That's today!)
Of course, I'll have to reschedule...
I say this, because I have dentist-phobia. Or severe dental anxiety. Or whatever you call it when I would rather do anything anything anything at all except go to the dentist.
This fear is deeply rooted in my childhood, where most of our irrational fears reside. I had chronic tonsillitis as a child, and it was treated primarily with shots of tetracycline, which created quite a bit of damage to my teeth. As a result, I spent a LOT of time at the dentist. There is a story about one epically bad trip to the dentist that may or may not be entirely true, depending on how much my brain has embellished it over the years. The story is that on one particular trip, the dentist asked if I preferred the gas or the Novocaine that day. In my young, desperate, terribly misguided mind, I thought that if I refused both of them, they would let me get up and go home.
I was wrong.
Turns out refusing both of them just makes for a much more painful extraction.
So...I am afraid of the dentist. Even my grown-up, perfectly logical, rational self becomes nearly paralyzed with fear in the lobby of the dentist's office. My hands get clammy, my mouth gets dry, my heart rate increases, I stammer idiotically when asked a question...it's truly humiliating. I mean, what adult do you know needs to be gassed in order to get through a cleaning? Oh, well, that would be ME. My husband, on the other hand, LOVES the dentist. He had the full orthodontia experience, from some caring grandfatherly type, no doubt. He thinks I'm certifiable, of course.
Anyway. My kids LOVE our dentist. We were referred to this particular dentist through a friend.(Since we LOVE him, and this is going to be a rave review of his practice, I hope he doesn't mind if we mention him publicly...we see Dr. Paul Roggow in Jackson, MN)
The first time we took Emma, I thought I was going to have a heart attack in the lobby. Aaron warned me not to transfer my fears to my children so I was trying to hold back my stress, but I was terrified for her. Let me tell you, it was unwarranted. Not only did the appointment go well, but they took her picture in the chair, sent her home with a bag of goodies, and then a few days later, she received a handwritten card in the mail from them, thanking her for coming! She was hooked.
Every appointment we've had since then has been magical for my kids; when Emma broke a tooth and had an emergency extraction, I asked, "how was it?" She said, "it felt SO much better when he got it out!" Then Dr. Roggow called me later that night just to check on her and ask how she was feeling.
After Carys received her last "thank-you" note from them in the mail, she wrote them a letter back, explaining how hard she was working at brushing and how much she missed them. This is not the experience I remember from my own childhood, so I do take actual JOY in the fact that this is what we have found.
Yesterday, I took Cooper for his first cleaning. He has heard so much from his sisters already, that he went in with high expectations. He was outgoing and friendly, which is the politically correct way of saying he asked a million questions, giggled uncontrollably, and tried to impress the hygienist with his recently acquired armpit-fart talent.
I could only sit there, mortified, as my little man responded to her with his super-star best foot forward:
Jill: "Cooper, I'm going to get Mr. Sunshine ready so I can look at your teeth!"
Cooper: "You don't have to call it Mr. Sunshine. I know it's just a light."
Jill: "You are just like your sister!"
Cooper: "Which one? Because I'm actually not like one of them at all. We're only technically related."
Jill: "I was thinking of Carys." (She pronounced it Car-iss)
Cooper: "Her NAME is Carys. Who would ever name their kid CAR-ISS?"
Jill: "What flavor do you like, bubble-gum or cookie dough?"
Cooper: "Cookie dough is bad for your teeth! Why would you have cookie dough at the dentist?!"
And so on, and so on.
Keep in mind he giggled throughout, and flashed his dimples and batted his long eyelashes, so all this banter (which his mama calls sass) kept Jill in stitches as she worked on his teeth.
Last year I had a small chip on one of my lower teeth, and it bothered me so much that I finally broke down and went to Dr. Roggow to have it fixed. I will admit that the experience was the best I had ever had in the chair - although I still experienced terrible anxiety leading up to the procedure. They took advantage of my presence and did a full and thorough exam and cleaning, and let me know that I definitely have some work that needs to be done.
I shouldn't have expected anything less...while I brush and floss like a fiend, I don't actually make regular dental appointments part of my life, so I knew that I had some work to be done. I got the quote, said thank you, and went on my merry way. Sometime later, Aaron went in for a cleaning and the traitorous office staff mentioned that I had yet to make the appointment for my work...and Aaron came home and let me know that I was NOT getting out of this.
He stood next to me while I called to make the appointment. The first one I made happened to fall on a weekend that I was coaching a track meet last spring, so I had to reschedule. Then for the second appointment I developed a mysterious case of strep throat, so of course I had to reschedule. Aaron grumbled and groused and brought it up every chance he got, so I set the appointment for Wednesday, March 12th. (Hey! That's today!)
It just so happens, that the boys basketball team at our high school made it to the State tournament for the first time in 24 years. I've had every single one of those boys in class, and several of them are in my homeroom, so I can't possibly miss my chance to watch them play. And it just so happens that their first round game is Wednesday, March 12th. (Hey! That's today!)
Of course, I'll have to reschedule...
February 19, 2014
Wrestling
A few months ago, we signed Cooper up for youth wrestling. We had been doing basketball camps already, but this was the first chance we had to get him into the wrestling room to see if he would like it. He was lukewarm initially, but quickly came around and began to look forward to each practice. Emma was already having traveling basketball practices, so that meant Carys, who was kind of adrift each evening, was left to her own devices in terms of entertainment.
One evening, bored to tears while we watched Cooper warming up on the mat, she asked, "Can I do wrestling too?" Of course, my Mama instinct said no way, absolutely not, but her Daddy the wrestler was quicker with a response: "Sure, Sis, come on out here."
I cringed, I winced, I cautioned, I pleaded, but to no avail. She ran happily out to join her dad and brother, and that was only the beginning. Each night thereafter, she packed a bag with shorts and a tee shirt and jumped right in to the mix, learning single leg take downs and half nelsons, and thoroughly enjoying herself. Soon she asked for wrestling shoes, and a singlet, and Aaron tried to convince me that her flexibility and core strength was helping her hold her own on the mat, at least with her practice partners.
As a mom, it is painful to watch your son get taken down hard and stretched into multiple unnatural configurations, but it is doubly difficult to watch your little girl, who formerly spent her days curled up on your lap with a stuffed animal and storybooks get thrown into a headlock and flipped over onto her back.
She braved her first mat burns, her first accidental choke hold, a few bruises and other unmentionable scuffles all the while basking in the glow of her father's attention.
Cooper also began to thrive...due in no small part to his sister tagging along to practice with. She outweighs him by 3 pounds, so he has to make up in technique what he lacks in weight. Aaron is proud as punch, obviously, and before long we were wrestling in Sherburn on Monday nights, in Blue Earth on Tuesdays, and in Fairmont on Thursdays.
This weekend we thought they were ready to try their first Open Tournament. There have been a number of Team tournaments throughout the winter, but we didn't think they were ready to wrestle-off for a position on the team. An Open allows everyone to enter, unattached to a team, and it was finally time to see if their practice minutes were making any kind of difference in their skills.
We arrived for the Fairmont Youth Open early, to get a jump on weigh-ins. Cooper made the 45 pound class, and Carys made the 50 pound class, and both kids were giddy and excited. As the rest of the world poured into the gym, I began to get really nervous. There was a line forming outside the building to check in and register. The stands were packed. All ten mats were crawling with kids practicing. At one point, they surpassed 200 in registration, and I was full of anxiety.
Carys and Cooper tussled around for a little while on the mat, calmly ate a banana next to me in the stands, and casually sipped on their water bottles. I chewed on my fingernails, re-braided Carys' hair for the third time, and tried desperately NOT to look on the outside like I was feeling on the inside.
Coop's class was called first, and Aaron took him down to the mat. He lost his first match, mostly because he was so surprised by the actual meet format that he wasn't very prepared and he got pinned almost immediately. As soon as the ref held up the other boy's hand, Cooper finally realized what that meant, and he just plain got mad. The next match he battled much better; in the middle of the match Carys yelled, "Sink it in deep, Cooper!" and Aaron about died laughing - she pays attention at practice, apparently! When the ref held up Cooper's hand at the end of the match, his grin spread ear to ear. By the end of the day he got to stand on the 3rd place podium and get a medal to take home. If he wasn't convinced before, he was definitely convinced now, and you could see the pride and excitement glowing in his eyes.
And then it was Carys' turn. When they called her class down to the mat, I thought maybe I was going to throw up. There is no fear like the fear of the unknown, and I had no idea how this was going to go. It was clear that these kids were here for real competition; I knew this would be very different from the clinical approach that they were seeing in practice.
She stepped on the mat for her first match, and at the whistle I tried to concentrate on filming so I didn't think so much about what was actually happening. Grandma Gail, who has had years and years of practice cheering from the edge of the mat, was shouting all sorts of encouraging words, and Carys just grinned and giggled and wrestled her way through three rounds. She lost by decision, but she made it all three rounds without incident.
I breathed a little, then, and Aaron picked her up and squeezed her hard and she was pretty happy with the first one, even though she didn't win. For her second match, we all thought it would probably be similar to the first one. Except it wasn't. Her competitor was a no-nonsense little tough guy and Carys walked almost immediately into a headlock. One of the Fairmont coaches was kneeling on the sideline and he talked her through it, trying to get her to hook his leg. She survived to the end of the period, but she was definitely a little rattled. She took the up position to start round two, and just wasn't strong enough to hold him. He got away from her, and she walked right into headlock #2. This time he threw her down, and she hit the mat pretty hard. I could hear her gasp a little, and my throat closed up and my heart stopped beating for a few seconds I think. Fortunately her practice minutes paid off, because she rolled through it and nearly earned a reversal. But the damage was done, because while she wrestled hard for just a little bit more, her opponent caught her in a cradle and finally managed to pin her.
So there I stood, on the edge of the mat, feeling like I might maybe die, as Carys slowly removed her leg band, shook her opponent's hand, shook his mother's hand, and then walked over to Aaron. She held her composure until he picked her up. Then her head tucked down on his shoulder and a few tears began to drip from her eyes. She rubbed her chin and the back of her head, and said, "Mommy, that really hurt." I probably shouldn't have said anything, because her pride might have let it go at that, but my throat was already thick and I kind of choked out, "Oh honey, I know..." And then she started to cry. (I was dangerously close to tears myself.) Aaron just walked her away from the mat for a few minutes and rubbed her back and told her over and over that he was proud of her.
We both told her she didn't have to continue if she didn't want to, but once she got over the initial shock of it, she asked him, "Dad, how do I get out of that headlock? I don't want that to happen again." And Aaron jumped right on that and took her to a practice area to work on it. She didn't even hesitate to go to the next match, and she got a 4th place medal out of the deal.
I still feel terribly conflicted; on one hand I am so proud of her toughness...much more than I would expect out of your average 7 year old. She has always been the softer of my two girls, so I just have no idea where this quality came from. There is another part of me that is pulled by my mothering instinct to put the big kibosh on this wrestling business. Basketball will be starting in a few weeks for her age group, so why not wait for something less...physical, I guess?
But last night we went over to Blue Earth for practice. Aaron wasn't feeling well, so this was the first time I had attended this particular practice session. I was really impressed by Coach Wood's clinical approach to teaching technique; he spent a lot of individual time working on each skill. It was nice to see other girls on the mat as well, and Carys had no shortage of practice partners. At the end of the night, Cooper scored 5 in the Takedown Tournament, and Carys even scored 1. When Coach Wood mentioned the Blue Earth Open coming up this weekend, BOTH of my kids cheered. And on the way out the door, Carys says, "Hey Mom, I bet I can do better than 4th this weekend!"
All I can do is smile, and say "I bet you can, sweetheart, I bet you can."
The video for Carys is below; the headlock I previously described happens around 1:48.
Cooper's first win!
One evening, bored to tears while we watched Cooper warming up on the mat, she asked, "Can I do wrestling too?" Of course, my Mama instinct said no way, absolutely not, but her Daddy the wrestler was quicker with a response: "Sure, Sis, come on out here."
I cringed, I winced, I cautioned, I pleaded, but to no avail. She ran happily out to join her dad and brother, and that was only the beginning. Each night thereafter, she packed a bag with shorts and a tee shirt and jumped right in to the mix, learning single leg take downs and half nelsons, and thoroughly enjoying herself. Soon she asked for wrestling shoes, and a singlet, and Aaron tried to convince me that her flexibility and core strength was helping her hold her own on the mat, at least with her practice partners.
As a mom, it is painful to watch your son get taken down hard and stretched into multiple unnatural configurations, but it is doubly difficult to watch your little girl, who formerly spent her days curled up on your lap with a stuffed animal and storybooks get thrown into a headlock and flipped over onto her back.
She braved her first mat burns, her first accidental choke hold, a few bruises and other unmentionable scuffles all the while basking in the glow of her father's attention.
Cooper also began to thrive...due in no small part to his sister tagging along to practice with. She outweighs him by 3 pounds, so he has to make up in technique what he lacks in weight. Aaron is proud as punch, obviously, and before long we were wrestling in Sherburn on Monday nights, in Blue Earth on Tuesdays, and in Fairmont on Thursdays.
This weekend we thought they were ready to try their first Open Tournament. There have been a number of Team tournaments throughout the winter, but we didn't think they were ready to wrestle-off for a position on the team. An Open allows everyone to enter, unattached to a team, and it was finally time to see if their practice minutes were making any kind of difference in their skills.
We arrived for the Fairmont Youth Open early, to get a jump on weigh-ins. Cooper made the 45 pound class, and Carys made the 50 pound class, and both kids were giddy and excited. As the rest of the world poured into the gym, I began to get really nervous. There was a line forming outside the building to check in and register. The stands were packed. All ten mats were crawling with kids practicing. At one point, they surpassed 200 in registration, and I was full of anxiety.
Carys and Cooper tussled around for a little while on the mat, calmly ate a banana next to me in the stands, and casually sipped on their water bottles. I chewed on my fingernails, re-braided Carys' hair for the third time, and tried desperately NOT to look on the outside like I was feeling on the inside.
Coop's class was called first, and Aaron took him down to the mat. He lost his first match, mostly because he was so surprised by the actual meet format that he wasn't very prepared and he got pinned almost immediately. As soon as the ref held up the other boy's hand, Cooper finally realized what that meant, and he just plain got mad. The next match he battled much better; in the middle of the match Carys yelled, "Sink it in deep, Cooper!" and Aaron about died laughing - she pays attention at practice, apparently! When the ref held up Cooper's hand at the end of the match, his grin spread ear to ear. By the end of the day he got to stand on the 3rd place podium and get a medal to take home. If he wasn't convinced before, he was definitely convinced now, and you could see the pride and excitement glowing in his eyes.
And then it was Carys' turn. When they called her class down to the mat, I thought maybe I was going to throw up. There is no fear like the fear of the unknown, and I had no idea how this was going to go. It was clear that these kids were here for real competition; I knew this would be very different from the clinical approach that they were seeing in practice.
She stepped on the mat for her first match, and at the whistle I tried to concentrate on filming so I didn't think so much about what was actually happening. Grandma Gail, who has had years and years of practice cheering from the edge of the mat, was shouting all sorts of encouraging words, and Carys just grinned and giggled and wrestled her way through three rounds. She lost by decision, but she made it all three rounds without incident.
I breathed a little, then, and Aaron picked her up and squeezed her hard and she was pretty happy with the first one, even though she didn't win. For her second match, we all thought it would probably be similar to the first one. Except it wasn't. Her competitor was a no-nonsense little tough guy and Carys walked almost immediately into a headlock. One of the Fairmont coaches was kneeling on the sideline and he talked her through it, trying to get her to hook his leg. She survived to the end of the period, but she was definitely a little rattled. She took the up position to start round two, and just wasn't strong enough to hold him. He got away from her, and she walked right into headlock #2. This time he threw her down, and she hit the mat pretty hard. I could hear her gasp a little, and my throat closed up and my heart stopped beating for a few seconds I think. Fortunately her practice minutes paid off, because she rolled through it and nearly earned a reversal. But the damage was done, because while she wrestled hard for just a little bit more, her opponent caught her in a cradle and finally managed to pin her.
So there I stood, on the edge of the mat, feeling like I might maybe die, as Carys slowly removed her leg band, shook her opponent's hand, shook his mother's hand, and then walked over to Aaron. She held her composure until he picked her up. Then her head tucked down on his shoulder and a few tears began to drip from her eyes. She rubbed her chin and the back of her head, and said, "Mommy, that really hurt." I probably shouldn't have said anything, because her pride might have let it go at that, but my throat was already thick and I kind of choked out, "Oh honey, I know..." And then she started to cry. (I was dangerously close to tears myself.) Aaron just walked her away from the mat for a few minutes and rubbed her back and told her over and over that he was proud of her.
We both told her she didn't have to continue if she didn't want to, but once she got over the initial shock of it, she asked him, "Dad, how do I get out of that headlock? I don't want that to happen again." And Aaron jumped right on that and took her to a practice area to work on it. She didn't even hesitate to go to the next match, and she got a 4th place medal out of the deal.
I still feel terribly conflicted; on one hand I am so proud of her toughness...much more than I would expect out of your average 7 year old. She has always been the softer of my two girls, so I just have no idea where this quality came from. There is another part of me that is pulled by my mothering instinct to put the big kibosh on this wrestling business. Basketball will be starting in a few weeks for her age group, so why not wait for something less...physical, I guess?
But last night we went over to Blue Earth for practice. Aaron wasn't feeling well, so this was the first time I had attended this particular practice session. I was really impressed by Coach Wood's clinical approach to teaching technique; he spent a lot of individual time working on each skill. It was nice to see other girls on the mat as well, and Carys had no shortage of practice partners. At the end of the night, Cooper scored 5 in the Takedown Tournament, and Carys even scored 1. When Coach Wood mentioned the Blue Earth Open coming up this weekend, BOTH of my kids cheered. And on the way out the door, Carys says, "Hey Mom, I bet I can do better than 4th this weekend!"
All I can do is smile, and say "I bet you can, sweetheart, I bet you can."
The video for Carys is below; the headlock I previously described happens around 1:48.
Cooper's first win!
February 4, 2014
Busy
Life has been really busy lately; so busy, that I haven't had a single second to record some of the more significant events around here. I was pondering what kind of post I could make this month to summarize all the comings and goings and happenings in the Gudahl house, but this morning provided me with one of those time-stands-still moments that does it just beautifully for me.
The Kindergarten program at Fairmont Elementary is exceptional; I could go on all day about that. Just one example would be the nights they set aside for students to come in with a parent, have dinner together, and bond a little over their education. This fall, they hosted one of those evenings and we weren't able to attend due to other commitments. I was determined to make it to the next one, so when I saw the sheet come home I made a mental note that it was going to be held in the first week of February. Cooper began talking about it at home days and days ago, and reminded me often that there was going to be a "party" at his school. I could tell it was important to him, so I added it to the calendar in my phone.
Last night, Emma had basketball practice at the elementary school at 5:00. I am helping coach her basketball team, so I was there with her, while Carys and Cooper were attending wrestling practice with Aaron at the high school. When my practice ended, I noticed one of the girls wasn't going home, but sitting in the hallway. When I asked if she needed to call her mom, she said, "No, my mom is doing that Kindergarten thing with my brother, and I'm just waiting for them."
I felt the bottom drop out of my stomach.
I walked over to the signboard in the hallway and saw that I had, indeed, missed the program. I pulled out my phone and saw that I had entered it a day later on my calendar.
I can't tell you how terrible I felt driving home. I accept full responsibility for it; we have had somewhere to go and something to do nearly every day, nearly every minute, for the last month. Of course it makes perfect sense that the program would fall on the same night we already had two other commitments.
If I had taken a single minute to re-check the date, taken a single second out of my day to really look at what clearly was so important to the little man, I would have seen the conflict and figured out how to fit it in. Cooper has been wrestling in two different clubs all winter, so it wouldn't have been a big deal at all to miss one night of practice to attend his school function.
I dreaded having to tell him. When all 5 of us got home, it was already 7:00, and the kids were rushing through showers while I was rushing to put dinner on the table. Things were chaotic, and I thought I'd better wait to give him the bad news until things were calmer and quieter. Unfortunately, dinner was followed by a mad homework-completing extravaganza, followed by tooth-brushing, jammie-wearing, story-reading, bed-tucking, drink-of-water-getting craziness, and I just let it go.
This morning, as I was making breakfast, Cooper came into the kitchen and tugged on my sweater. He said, "Mom, do you have to work at 5:00?" I said, "No, why?" He said, "Because I think my school party is at 5:00 and I didn't want you to miss it."
I wasn't prepared, I wasn't ready. I just turned slowly around and said, "Buddy. I am so sorry, but we missed it. It was last night."
I wish I could accurately frame his reaction with my words. His face absolutely crumpled, and tears filled his brown eyes immediately. He turned on his heel and went into the living room where he threw himself on the sofa and cried his little heart out.
For a moment I just stood in the kitchen, holding a spatula in the air while the eggs bubbled behind me. Aaron looked at me, wide-eyed, and said, "Oh Sara. He was REALLY looking forward to that."
I felt just sick. I turned off the stove and went to Cooper, where he was pouring his troubles face-down into the couch cushions. As I pulled him on to my lap, I felt guilt of such an enormous magnitude. When the kids were younger, I used to devote whole days to them, individually. We would have Mommy and Emma days, Mommy and Carys days, and Mommy and Cooper days on a rotating basis. The other two would go to Grandma's, or to daycare, and I would spend time that was singular to each one alone. I haven't done that in nearly two years, I think.
There was no excuse to make; all I could do was tell him over and over how sorry I was that I had messed up. I promised to find a way to make it up to him, and he pressed his forehead into my neck and tried to catch his breath. He would wipe his eyes hard with the back of his hand, and sniff loudly, but he still wouldn't look at me. I felt truly like the lowest human on the face of the earth.
I could only promise that he and I would carve out some time together tonight and we would do something just the two of us. Suddenly I had landed on something that seemed to interest him a little more, and he finally fastened his brown eyes on me and said, "Like what?"
I was so excited that he had finally looked at me that I blurted out, "Maybe you could teach me how to play Skylanders?" (That is the name of his favorite video game, and I have had absolutely no inclination to play it whatsoever, but it was the first thing that popped into my head.) The clouds in his eyes began to part, and even though his cheeks were still red and swollen, he said, "Ok. But we better play the Giants first, because that's the easiest and you won't be very good at it."
Then, as he used the bottom of his tee shirt to wipe his nose, he launched into a description of characters, and what powers they have, and what obstacles we will face, etc. I recognized that we had turned the corner, and I sighed a little sigh of relief that we were able to get through the worst of it before I had to leave for school.
But make no mistake; I have let him down, and I know it. It feels terrible, because a promise made needs to be a promise kept, and I had PROMISED him we would attend his program. So I have some work to do, and it has to start with me slowing down the activity train a little at our house.
When you are presented with opportunities for your kids, you are quick to say yes, because you want to give them lots of experiences. In today's athletics world, every minute you give them helps, so we say yes yes yes to soccer and softball and basketball and wrestling and swimming. Multiply that times 3 kids, and some days we don't know if we are coming or going.
I have the same problem in my professional life; I coach at the high school, I coach at the elementary, I run youth camps, I run the Student Council, I'm a team leader, I'm part of the Staff Development committee...and the list goes on and on.
But the list needs to come to a screeching halt, or at least a slow crawl, because let's be real here. I like to be a positive presence in the lives of my students...but I am also in the business of being someone's mom. And I need to be a good one, because I will run out of chances to read to them, to play with them, and to make them feel like they are number one in my world.
I sent an email to the head track coach at our school today. I am taking the spring season off this year. This spring, I'm going to go to the library with my kids. I'm going to take them to the park when it is warm. I'm going to be home by 4:00 every day to make dinners, clean the house and still have time to sit on the end of their bed and read the next book in the Narnia series. I'm going to ride bikes with them outside, and jump on the trampoline, and take them to Kindergarten programs.
And as for tonight...I'm off to play video games, with my number one guy.
The Kindergarten program at Fairmont Elementary is exceptional; I could go on all day about that. Just one example would be the nights they set aside for students to come in with a parent, have dinner together, and bond a little over their education. This fall, they hosted one of those evenings and we weren't able to attend due to other commitments. I was determined to make it to the next one, so when I saw the sheet come home I made a mental note that it was going to be held in the first week of February. Cooper began talking about it at home days and days ago, and reminded me often that there was going to be a "party" at his school. I could tell it was important to him, so I added it to the calendar in my phone.
Last night, Emma had basketball practice at the elementary school at 5:00. I am helping coach her basketball team, so I was there with her, while Carys and Cooper were attending wrestling practice with Aaron at the high school. When my practice ended, I noticed one of the girls wasn't going home, but sitting in the hallway. When I asked if she needed to call her mom, she said, "No, my mom is doing that Kindergarten thing with my brother, and I'm just waiting for them."
I felt the bottom drop out of my stomach.
I walked over to the signboard in the hallway and saw that I had, indeed, missed the program. I pulled out my phone and saw that I had entered it a day later on my calendar.
I can't tell you how terrible I felt driving home. I accept full responsibility for it; we have had somewhere to go and something to do nearly every day, nearly every minute, for the last month. Of course it makes perfect sense that the program would fall on the same night we already had two other commitments.
If I had taken a single minute to re-check the date, taken a single second out of my day to really look at what clearly was so important to the little man, I would have seen the conflict and figured out how to fit it in. Cooper has been wrestling in two different clubs all winter, so it wouldn't have been a big deal at all to miss one night of practice to attend his school function.
I dreaded having to tell him. When all 5 of us got home, it was already 7:00, and the kids were rushing through showers while I was rushing to put dinner on the table. Things were chaotic, and I thought I'd better wait to give him the bad news until things were calmer and quieter. Unfortunately, dinner was followed by a mad homework-completing extravaganza, followed by tooth-brushing, jammie-wearing, story-reading, bed-tucking, drink-of-water-getting craziness, and I just let it go.
This morning, as I was making breakfast, Cooper came into the kitchen and tugged on my sweater. He said, "Mom, do you have to work at 5:00?" I said, "No, why?" He said, "Because I think my school party is at 5:00 and I didn't want you to miss it."
I wasn't prepared, I wasn't ready. I just turned slowly around and said, "Buddy. I am so sorry, but we missed it. It was last night."
I wish I could accurately frame his reaction with my words. His face absolutely crumpled, and tears filled his brown eyes immediately. He turned on his heel and went into the living room where he threw himself on the sofa and cried his little heart out.
For a moment I just stood in the kitchen, holding a spatula in the air while the eggs bubbled behind me. Aaron looked at me, wide-eyed, and said, "Oh Sara. He was REALLY looking forward to that."
I felt just sick. I turned off the stove and went to Cooper, where he was pouring his troubles face-down into the couch cushions. As I pulled him on to my lap, I felt guilt of such an enormous magnitude. When the kids were younger, I used to devote whole days to them, individually. We would have Mommy and Emma days, Mommy and Carys days, and Mommy and Cooper days on a rotating basis. The other two would go to Grandma's, or to daycare, and I would spend time that was singular to each one alone. I haven't done that in nearly two years, I think.
There was no excuse to make; all I could do was tell him over and over how sorry I was that I had messed up. I promised to find a way to make it up to him, and he pressed his forehead into my neck and tried to catch his breath. He would wipe his eyes hard with the back of his hand, and sniff loudly, but he still wouldn't look at me. I felt truly like the lowest human on the face of the earth.
I could only promise that he and I would carve out some time together tonight and we would do something just the two of us. Suddenly I had landed on something that seemed to interest him a little more, and he finally fastened his brown eyes on me and said, "Like what?"
I was so excited that he had finally looked at me that I blurted out, "Maybe you could teach me how to play Skylanders?" (That is the name of his favorite video game, and I have had absolutely no inclination to play it whatsoever, but it was the first thing that popped into my head.) The clouds in his eyes began to part, and even though his cheeks were still red and swollen, he said, "Ok. But we better play the Giants first, because that's the easiest and you won't be very good at it."
Then, as he used the bottom of his tee shirt to wipe his nose, he launched into a description of characters, and what powers they have, and what obstacles we will face, etc. I recognized that we had turned the corner, and I sighed a little sigh of relief that we were able to get through the worst of it before I had to leave for school.
But make no mistake; I have let him down, and I know it. It feels terrible, because a promise made needs to be a promise kept, and I had PROMISED him we would attend his program. So I have some work to do, and it has to start with me slowing down the activity train a little at our house.
When you are presented with opportunities for your kids, you are quick to say yes, because you want to give them lots of experiences. In today's athletics world, every minute you give them helps, so we say yes yes yes to soccer and softball and basketball and wrestling and swimming. Multiply that times 3 kids, and some days we don't know if we are coming or going.
I have the same problem in my professional life; I coach at the high school, I coach at the elementary, I run youth camps, I run the Student Council, I'm a team leader, I'm part of the Staff Development committee...and the list goes on and on.
But the list needs to come to a screeching halt, or at least a slow crawl, because let's be real here. I like to be a positive presence in the lives of my students...but I am also in the business of being someone's mom. And I need to be a good one, because I will run out of chances to read to them, to play with them, and to make them feel like they are number one in my world.
I sent an email to the head track coach at our school today. I am taking the spring season off this year. This spring, I'm going to go to the library with my kids. I'm going to take them to the park when it is warm. I'm going to be home by 4:00 every day to make dinners, clean the house and still have time to sit on the end of their bed and read the next book in the Narnia series. I'm going to ride bikes with them outside, and jump on the trampoline, and take them to Kindergarten programs.
And as for tonight...I'm off to play video games, with my number one guy.
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