I've been a little quiet on the family blog this fall; it's not that there's nothing to write about, I assure you. It's only because I started a Master's program. As it turns out, a Creative Writing Master's expects you to write a lot. (Who knew?) To date, I have written 41 papers for class. I started in July, so you can do the math on that.
It's hard to find minutes to write for myself, but I do have a few thoughts in the quiet week of Christmas Break to share on the all important topic of evolution. I'm talking mainly about social evolution - the way we grow and change with our surroundings and our circumstances. This year we've had a lot of change in our world, and I see it manifesting in each of us differently. My kids are weathering the storms of physical and emotional growth and maturity with as much grace as I could ask of them. There are certainly ups and downs, but I remain proud of their ability to make mistakes and learn from them. So far the stakes have been low, and I'm glad for opportunities to parent them through small things, hoping that the life lessons will stick someday when there are big things.
Aaron dissolved the family business this year, stepping away from tile setting and construction for the first time in his life since he was sixteen years old. Making the decision to accept a job at the school for the Building, Grounds & Maintenance crew was scary; he's been setting his own work schedule for so long I wondered how he was going to adjust to that setting. (Not only does he have set hours on a set schedule, he's got to watch his construction crew language now that he's in school around kids all the time!) But this change has transformed our family in so many ways.
He goes to work at 5:45 every morning, and punches out right before the kids get out of school. That makes him available to pick them up from school, attend every single school activity, and be home every single night for supper. No more road trips, jobs in other states, no more working every odd hour imaginable, including weekends. I can't count how many days and nights he was missing from the family unit in pursuit of the business that kept us afloat. Having him here and present has changed our family dynamic tremendously.
My favorite change that has come with this new position is harder to define. For many years, my job at school has been a little bit of a mystery to my husband. I can talk about school as much as I want, but the truth is, unless you are IN education, it's hard to really relate to the special circumstances and challenges that being an educator brings. He's become a different kind of listener; now that he is in the system he understands me differently, and I can't begin to articulate how much our relationship to each other has deepened and evolved.
I remember a conversation we had a long time ago when we were first married. I was spending lots of hours at school, working on one thing or another. Aaron would be annoyed at my seeming inability to set it down and just come home. He couldn't understand why I would spend unpaid hours there doing extra or unnecessary things. I think when you work in the private sector, that is probably unheard of: you get paid for the work you do and that is that. Teachers' hours are measured in heartbeats, not in money. We live and breathe for our kids, and don't think about the time or the money or the stress; we think about their faces and their minds and their hearts. Once, a long time ago, he asked me, "Why are you giving so much of yourself to other people? What about you?" And I didn't have a good answer for that - I didn't even know how to explain it.
Well last week, we came full circle, back to the question. Being in the school all day every day has put him in close, regular contact with students. And one, in particular, has caught his attention. He's begun to notice for himself that some kids don't have what other kids have. It's one thing to know it, its quite another to FEEL it, especially when that kid is someone you begin to feel a connection to. In the past month, he's been on a mission; buying extra packs of socks and pants and tee shirts, school supplies and odds and ends and donating them to a particular classroom. He comes home with stories about his interactions with students - one teacher even convinced him to wear a purple fuzzy Santa hat all day and participate in a school Scavenger hunt. (What?! Have you MET my husband?) These are just a few examples - he's volunteering for overtime, going in on weekends just because, and asking what else we can do to make life better for kids at school. I'm leaving out some details for privacy, obviously, but this change in my husband is delighting me more than I can even articulate. He gets it - finally. And that means he gets me too, on a level we haven't been able to connect on before.
It makes me think about how we evolve. Every new challenge changes us and brings us to an entirely new plane of understanding. I couldn't have imagined this 15 years ago when we were first married. I wonder what the next fifteen will bring?
December 23, 2018
September 23, 2018
Eventually
Today I got a rare peek into the bliss that parenthood promises is coming one day. Someday my kids are going to be functioning, responsible adults, capable of completing tasks without my help and delighting in each other's company. (Right? That's gonna happen some day, right??) It's hard to see the bliss sometimes...it gets a little lost in fights over who gets to sit in the front seat and endless loads of unwashed laundry.
I know that my kids are always going to need me - I'm sure they will still seek me out for my infinite wisdom when I'm old. Right now I'm more like an annoying gnat that makes them do their chores and their homework. I haven't transitioned out of the role of disciplinarian yet, so it still catches me by surprise when I get to see the other side.
Today Cooper threw his whole self into the yard work. I can't even believe I just typed that sentence. Usually when Aaron announces it's a yard/garage/beach cleanup day, all three kids try to lock themselves in their rooms and pretend they just moved to Tahiti. Today Cooper cheerfully got dressed and went outside to help. I didn't have to say anything - he raked up sticks and acorns, then helped Aaron deflate the tubes and get them stored in the garage At one point I said, "Hey. You're doing a really good job and I appreciate it." He said, "Thanks. I'm going to be great at taking care of a family some day."
Oh. Gosh. Yes you are, buddy.
Carys is registered for another 5k in October and she isn't currently doing any activities, so she asked me today if she could go for a run and if I would bike along and keep her company. She's 11 years old. I'm pretty sure when I was 11 I was eating Cheetos and watching Growing Pains on the couch every Sunday of my life. But heck yeah, let's go work out! So we went for a bike/run. She finished three miles in just over 28 minutes, and asked me to write it down so she can work on getting that time down.
Like, what?
And then Emma. She actually talked to me for a few minutes about some personal feelings and things going on in her 14 year old world. Out of respect for her privacy, I'll just leave it at that. But it felt really nice, to have her ask my opinion, get some advice, and then share her feelings. I can't pretend that's always gonna happen, because I'm sure it won't - but it was pretty great to feel a little like a confidante instead of like her parent for just a minute.
It was an out-of-the ordinary day for sure. The Vikings lost to Buffalo and Detroit beat New England - maybe the apocalypse is on the way, who knows.
Regardless, I'm soaking it up. There's a window that opens occasionally that lets me see their grown-up selves. They might actually be functioning adults some day! Some day they'll be calling to tell me about their own families and their own adventures outside of my four walls. It looks exciting...but I think I'll take my time getting there.
I'll deal with the Front Seat Of The Car Rotating Schedule, the six baskets of unwashed laundry in the utility room and the fight that is currently raging upstairs over who lost the green hairbrush if it means I get to have them under my roof for a little while longer.
August 26, 2018
What Matters
It took a lot longer than I thought it would, but Dad finally completed the project he and Mom set out to do three years ago: he moved to Fairmont. I could go into complicated details and ramble on for pages about all the ups and downs they encountered along the way. It was certainly no small task to pack up 30 years of their life and move it, and that came after the epic search for the perfect house. But find it we did. Dad is settled and comfortable in the new place, and now it's time to get the other house ready to sell.
It took a small village to make it happen, let me tell you. It took a few dumpsters and a bunch of trailers and two really hard working young men I happen to know from school, and NOW we are down the finest of details: just a good and thorough cleaning.
Deep cleaning has never been my favorite thing, let me just say that. Complicating things a little is the fact that Mom has been gone two years already, so quite a bit of dust had accumulated in the unused areas of the house. It's also a two story Victorian, with 10 foot ceilings, intricate woodwork and stained glass windows. Cleaning this house is turning out to be a massive project.
But I was thinking about something tonight when I was there, and that's what compelled me to sit down and write. As I was wiping down woodwork and running my hands down the picture window today, I remembered that when we first moved into that house, Mom wanted to strip all the paint off of the woodwork. She was genuinely annoyed that someone had painted it in the first place. She bought a heat gun and had begun the arduous process of stripping that main picture window. She worked on it a lot - always doing a few inches at a time in between her other projects. But it was an impossible task - after months of work, she'd barely managed to get around one window. When she considered that the main room alone has 4 windows and 3 doorways, she began to see the futility of the project. One day she just tossed the heat gun in the garage and went out and bought a gallon paint and repainted that same strip of woodwork.
And tonight as I was scrubbing that same window, it occurred to me: my hands are everywhere that my mother's hands have been, a hundred times. I'm cleaning her house, the way she cleaned it, with the same purpose. She kept house for my dad; she made it his home and a thing of pride for them both. They found this house in 1986...it is an 1890's original, and together they stripped wallpaper off of every inch of the downstairs family room. They painted and rewired and created my childhood home out of thin air it seems. Every room has the original stained glass. Every floor is original hardwood...never had carpet, never been stapled. I remember them planting the rose bushes and the hydrangeas; Mom loved the lilacs and almost died of a broken heart when the city came and cut down the three red maples lining the front sidewalk.
It became infinitely less tiring to do the work when I thought that every pass of my hand was a mirror to my mother's. When I had a terrible urge to skip cleaning under the heat registers, I could hear the cluck of her tongue, scolding me for even considering doing a half-assed job. (She would have said that, I think..."Sara Jane! Don't do a half-assed job!) So I didn't.
Somebody is getting a great house. It may not have central air; it isn't updated with modern amenities, but it was always always filled with love. I played ball with my brother and dad in the backyard. I had sleepovers in the big room at the top of the stairs, had my first movie date (on a VHS tape that I rented from a movie store!) in the living room, and stood for prom pictures on the front step. My mom made a million and one cookies in that kitchen, rocked my children to sleep in the living room, and played every game in the world and made every craft known to mankind with them in that house.
Her hands were always busy; I think it makes this task a little sweeter, to be busy there and get it ready for sale so Dad can move on without this extra financial burden.
I haven't really been nostalgic until now. We moved into and out of a lot of houses in my youth - I learned quickly not to get attached to walls and paint and pretty windows. It's what's inside the walls that matters, and we always took it with us when we left. I won't be sad when the house goes because what matters isn't there anymore.
What matters lives in Fairmont now, in a gorgeous ranch-style-double-garage-corner-lot-central-air-filled home. What matters lives in Nashville and sends me snarky text messages on a semi-regular basis to keep a smile on my face. What matters is curled up next to me right now, two reading and one watching a veterinary documentary because that's what she's going to be someday. What matters is outside gathering up the remnants of our last family day on the water before I start back to work tomorrow.
And what matters is waiting for me somewhere close, just out of reach but I can still feel her, and still hear her, whispering, "don't do a half-assed job." I won't, Mama.
It became infinitely less tiring to do the work when I thought that every pass of my hand was a mirror to my mother's. When I had a terrible urge to skip cleaning under the heat registers, I could hear the cluck of her tongue, scolding me for even considering doing a half-assed job. (She would have said that, I think..."Sara Jane! Don't do a half-assed job!) So I didn't.
Somebody is getting a great house. It may not have central air; it isn't updated with modern amenities, but it was always always filled with love. I played ball with my brother and dad in the backyard. I had sleepovers in the big room at the top of the stairs, had my first movie date (on a VHS tape that I rented from a movie store!) in the living room, and stood for prom pictures on the front step. My mom made a million and one cookies in that kitchen, rocked my children to sleep in the living room, and played every game in the world and made every craft known to mankind with them in that house.
Her hands were always busy; I think it makes this task a little sweeter, to be busy there and get it ready for sale so Dad can move on without this extra financial burden.
I haven't really been nostalgic until now. We moved into and out of a lot of houses in my youth - I learned quickly not to get attached to walls and paint and pretty windows. It's what's inside the walls that matters, and we always took it with us when we left. I won't be sad when the house goes because what matters isn't there anymore.
What matters lives in Fairmont now, in a gorgeous ranch-style-double-garage-corner-lot-central-air-filled home. What matters lives in Nashville and sends me snarky text messages on a semi-regular basis to keep a smile on my face. What matters is curled up next to me right now, two reading and one watching a veterinary documentary because that's what she's going to be someday. What matters is outside gathering up the remnants of our last family day on the water before I start back to work tomorrow.
And what matters is waiting for me somewhere close, just out of reach but I can still feel her, and still hear her, whispering, "don't do a half-assed job." I won't, Mama.
June 23, 2018
You Win Some, You Lose Some
My kids are a little on the competitive side. All of them. I don't know how this happened; I'm sure neither Aaron nor I had anything to do with it, genetically or otherwise. But it is what it is, and so we live with it and try to manage it to the best of our abilities. I could tell you that this particular character trait is a recent acquisition, but that would be a lie. They've had it since birth, it seems, and my life's mission is to mold them into kids that may like to win but can handle losing gracefully and even grow from it. They sure like the winning part, but we are still figuring out sometimes how to lose.
Fortunately, they don't often put their disappointment on display in public; they get emotional, they withdraw a little, and Aaron and I see it in the car on the way home. They're all a little different: Emma fuels her losses with an increase in focus and intensity. She's by far the most aggressive of all my kids; she likes the weight room, thrives on hard work and never backs down from competition. Have you ever seen her get fouled on a lay-up and miss it? You can pretty much guarantee there's a retaliation foul coming. I have tried and tried to soften this particular response, but when your mom is your coach, that's tougher to do. This summer Coach Junkermeier is working on that and I've been delighted to see a new level of control creeping into her game.
Depending on the situation, Carys goes full-on emotional when she loses. Like, meltdown central. I'm talking tears, slamming doors, the whole nine yards. She doesn't do this in front of people - we mostly see it when she's playing video games with Cooper or getting beat in pretty much everything else by her sister. I was really really worried that this might bleed over into school and organized sports, but the exciting thing is that I've seen no trace of it in individual competitions. She seems to be very calm when competing against herself for scores in gymnastics or times in her races. Maybe the emotion is connected more to sibling rivalry than anything, so my fingers are crossed on that one.
And then there's Cooper. What can I say? Cooper hates losing so much that he doesn't even want to TRY sports that he might fail at. He's all about the things he has confidence in; he can lose at tennis and chess, because he feels like he's pretty good in those arenas and losing is just an opportunity to get better. But if he doesn't feel a level of confidence going in, he has almost zero interest in trying. He hates to feel weak, I think. We encourage him to try lots of things, but I suspect he's going to stick with the things he feels good at already.
I have been pondering this competition thing my family has going a lot lately. I've gotten to watch softball and basketball and tennis and swimming and running all week and I have seen how my kids handled it each time they had successes and failures. I think we're getting better, I truly do - Carys missed a first place by .03 in a race and rather than melt down she just said, "Dang it! I can do better than that next time!" Emma played a varsity scrimmage at league for basketball and managed to play an entire game with no fouls. Cooper's team lost the big Coaches Vs. Players tennis competition, and while he was disappointed, he was looking forward to the next session so he could have another attempt. I'd say that's progress.
Tonight I was scrolling through old photos and videos on my phone and I stumbled on a folder of video clips I found on my Mom's phone. My mother had her own way of managing my kids and their special eccentricities - she was brilliant. She and my dad played games with them all the time, and often had to deal with the competitive meltdowns when somebody lost. I had completely forgotten what she came up with to deal with it. Rather than focus on the negative behaviors of the "losers" my mom turned it around and forced the "winners" to do something ridiculous. She told them they had to make up a Victory Dance and made them perform in front of the whole group when they won. Suddenly winning maybe wasn't their favorite thing, as they became extremely self-conscious, and the "losers" so thoroughly enjoyed the performances that they forgot to be mad. Brilliant.
One summer they rented a cabin for a weekend of camping and fishing. They played endless games of dominos and chinese checkers and chess and cards with my kids. Mom made every single winner get up and dance, even my Dad. The kids are hysterical with laughter at each other and themselves. And I get to hear my mother's voice, doing what she did best: teaching and playing and loving on my kids.
Fortunately, they don't often put their disappointment on display in public; they get emotional, they withdraw a little, and Aaron and I see it in the car on the way home. They're all a little different: Emma fuels her losses with an increase in focus and intensity. She's by far the most aggressive of all my kids; she likes the weight room, thrives on hard work and never backs down from competition. Have you ever seen her get fouled on a lay-up and miss it? You can pretty much guarantee there's a retaliation foul coming. I have tried and tried to soften this particular response, but when your mom is your coach, that's tougher to do. This summer Coach Junkermeier is working on that and I've been delighted to see a new level of control creeping into her game.
Depending on the situation, Carys goes full-on emotional when she loses. Like, meltdown central. I'm talking tears, slamming doors, the whole nine yards. She doesn't do this in front of people - we mostly see it when she's playing video games with Cooper or getting beat in pretty much everything else by her sister. I was really really worried that this might bleed over into school and organized sports, but the exciting thing is that I've seen no trace of it in individual competitions. She seems to be very calm when competing against herself for scores in gymnastics or times in her races. Maybe the emotion is connected more to sibling rivalry than anything, so my fingers are crossed on that one.
And then there's Cooper. What can I say? Cooper hates losing so much that he doesn't even want to TRY sports that he might fail at. He's all about the things he has confidence in; he can lose at tennis and chess, because he feels like he's pretty good in those arenas and losing is just an opportunity to get better. But if he doesn't feel a level of confidence going in, he has almost zero interest in trying. He hates to feel weak, I think. We encourage him to try lots of things, but I suspect he's going to stick with the things he feels good at already.
I have been pondering this competition thing my family has going a lot lately. I've gotten to watch softball and basketball and tennis and swimming and running all week and I have seen how my kids handled it each time they had successes and failures. I think we're getting better, I truly do - Carys missed a first place by .03 in a race and rather than melt down she just said, "Dang it! I can do better than that next time!" Emma played a varsity scrimmage at league for basketball and managed to play an entire game with no fouls. Cooper's team lost the big Coaches Vs. Players tennis competition, and while he was disappointed, he was looking forward to the next session so he could have another attempt. I'd say that's progress.
Tonight I was scrolling through old photos and videos on my phone and I stumbled on a folder of video clips I found on my Mom's phone. My mother had her own way of managing my kids and their special eccentricities - she was brilliant. She and my dad played games with them all the time, and often had to deal with the competitive meltdowns when somebody lost. I had completely forgotten what she came up with to deal with it. Rather than focus on the negative behaviors of the "losers" my mom turned it around and forced the "winners" to do something ridiculous. She told them they had to make up a Victory Dance and made them perform in front of the whole group when they won. Suddenly winning maybe wasn't their favorite thing, as they became extremely self-conscious, and the "losers" so thoroughly enjoyed the performances that they forgot to be mad. Brilliant.
One summer they rented a cabin for a weekend of camping and fishing. They played endless games of dominos and chinese checkers and chess and cards with my kids. Mom made every single winner get up and dance, even my Dad. The kids are hysterical with laughter at each other and themselves. And I get to hear my mother's voice, doing what she did best: teaching and playing and loving on my kids.
June 17, 2018
My Dad
I have always been my Daddy's girl, forever and for ever. I don't tell him enough, or ever, how deeply my attachment to him resides. I don't know if I need to; I think he knows. He was always always the good guy, the one who cuddled and laughed and played. I haven't forgotten a single childhood regular event: riding on his back all over the living room, wrestling and rough-housing until he finished with The Claw on my face and a massive tickling session. While Mom played word games with me all day long, it was Dad who read books to me every night. He played catch with me all summer in the yard, made me read the newspaper, taught me about current events and was always my biggest fan.
I admire my father's infinite patience, his easy smile, his compassion, his intelligence, and his unwavering commitment to my Mother and our family.
In the months since we lost my mom, my dependence on him seems to be multiplying. He's the only one to tell my stories to, the only one with my whole heart and history imprinted on his own. He knows how I feel about pretty much everything before I have to say it.
He would never tell anyone that he's as good a writer, or better, than I am. No one would guess that he's a walking Encyclopedia of everything from Andy Griffith to foreign policy. He knows something about almost everything, and says nothing unless you ask him.
Once, when I went over to see my Mom in the nursing home, after she had lost the ability to speak, I paused outside her door. It was open just a little. Dad was sitting in the chair next to her bed. He was holding her hand, she was just looking at him, silently. He was just looking right back, gazing quietly into her eyes. I stood there for a long minute, unwilling to interrupt this moment. One of the CNAs walking down the hall paused next to me and whispered, "He sits like that, with her, a lot. Just looking at each other, no words. I hope somebody loves me like that someday." I had to leave; I walked outside, sat in my car and cried for twenty minutes. My dad loves me a powerful lot. He loved my Mom even more and I can't even describe in words what it felt like to be raised in a family like that. I am so lucky, and I know it. I don't take it for granted for a single second.
The pictures from my childhood were largely taken by my mother; she hated being in them, so she always took them. I have dozens of favorites of me and my Dad. My favorite recent photo is this one, taken at a Pizza Hut about a week before my Mom's diagnosis. I see so much of me sometimes in Carys; she was remarkably close to my Mom, and she's got an affinity for my Dad and his cuddles that I recognize. In this picture, Carys is tucked neatly into his arm, but all I can see is me, feeling every bit as secure and happy as my Dad's embrace always makes me feel. Happy Father's Day, Dad. Love you.
I admire my father's infinite patience, his easy smile, his compassion, his intelligence, and his unwavering commitment to my Mother and our family.
In the months since we lost my mom, my dependence on him seems to be multiplying. He's the only one to tell my stories to, the only one with my whole heart and history imprinted on his own. He knows how I feel about pretty much everything before I have to say it.
He would never tell anyone that he's as good a writer, or better, than I am. No one would guess that he's a walking Encyclopedia of everything from Andy Griffith to foreign policy. He knows something about almost everything, and says nothing unless you ask him.
Once, when I went over to see my Mom in the nursing home, after she had lost the ability to speak, I paused outside her door. It was open just a little. Dad was sitting in the chair next to her bed. He was holding her hand, she was just looking at him, silently. He was just looking right back, gazing quietly into her eyes. I stood there for a long minute, unwilling to interrupt this moment. One of the CNAs walking down the hall paused next to me and whispered, "He sits like that, with her, a lot. Just looking at each other, no words. I hope somebody loves me like that someday." I had to leave; I walked outside, sat in my car and cried for twenty minutes. My dad loves me a powerful lot. He loved my Mom even more and I can't even describe in words what it felt like to be raised in a family like that. I am so lucky, and I know it. I don't take it for granted for a single second.
The pictures from my childhood were largely taken by my mother; she hated being in them, so she always took them. I have dozens of favorites of me and my Dad. My favorite recent photo is this one, taken at a Pizza Hut about a week before my Mom's diagnosis. I see so much of me sometimes in Carys; she was remarkably close to my Mom, and she's got an affinity for my Dad and his cuddles that I recognize. In this picture, Carys is tucked neatly into his arm, but all I can see is me, feeling every bit as secure and happy as my Dad's embrace always makes me feel. Happy Father's Day, Dad. Love you.
April 14, 2018
Music
To say that music is an important part of life at the Gudahl house would be an understatement. I was raised in a home that was perpetually full of music from parents who valued music both for entertainment and for education. Every last memory I have is tied to a song, an artist, a genre, a feeling.
I will never complain about a house full of music. When the kids were very young I introduced "Dance Party Cleanup" into our evening routine. I would blast loud music in the house and everyone had to pick up an item one at a time and dance it over to where it belonged. The kids were so silly, moving and grooving their toys to the toybox, and as long as I was participating, cleaning up our small messes was never much of a chore. Eventually we bought Just Dance for the Wii and learned some actual moves so we could hone our dance party skills. Some of my favorite memories are doing the four-person choreographed moves to Taio Cruz's 'Dynamite' and One Direction's 'You Don't Know You're Beautiful.' Emma, Carys, and Cooper threw their whole selves into learning those songs and we often danced it out when one or more of us was having a particularly bad day. (In case you're wondering, Aaron was not a participant in any of the dance parties, though he often clapped at the end of a particularly graceful performance.)
When they got older and were given the opportunity to take choir, they jumped at the chance. And when they were invited to learn instruments, they went all in, as my kids seem to do. Emma picked up the french horn, the trumpet, the mellophone and the cello. Carys chose the flute and the cello. I was feeling a little like our plates were pretty full already when she announced that she wanted both piano and percussion lessons as well. We got the piano lessons going...still contemplating percussion. (I don't have room for a drum set!)
Cooper has rather grudgingly attended a multitude of concerts and recitals declaring he would "NEVER" play an instrument because concerts were "BORING." He usually brought a book and read quietly in the auditorium during his sisters' performances. But a little nudge from the one and only Judy Berkeland sent him home bright and shiny this week declaring he too would be a cello player. I tried not to say 'I told you so' but I may have smiled a little smugly as he skipped away. (By the way, if I have 3 cellos in my house, do I get a discount, or what?!) He hasn't gone to the Intro to Band night yet, but I would bet dollars that he comes home with an instrument preference there as well. It is hard not to get on the bandwagon. The music programs here in Fairmont are thriving, and it is certainly due to the powerful and talented women who run them.
In the midst of it all, we play vintage vinyls on the record player, jam in the kitchen to whatever pop music has caught Emma's attention this week, and sing along loudly in the car every morning to whatever we can find on the radio.
This morning an April snowstorm began brewing in the early morning hours. I was up early, listening to the Indigo Girls in the kitchen maybe a little too loudly while I unloaded the dishwasher. I heard one of the kids padding downstairs, picking up the chorus line almost instinctively. And later when they were knocking out the weekend chore list, it warmed my heart to see Carys choosing a playlist from my phone. Then I was thoroughly entertained by Cooper who was belting out every word of Imagine Dragon's 'Believer' while he folded laundry. Complete with awesome dance moves .
I will never complain about a house full of music. When the kids were very young I introduced "Dance Party Cleanup" into our evening routine. I would blast loud music in the house and everyone had to pick up an item one at a time and dance it over to where it belonged. The kids were so silly, moving and grooving their toys to the toybox, and as long as I was participating, cleaning up our small messes was never much of a chore. Eventually we bought Just Dance for the Wii and learned some actual moves so we could hone our dance party skills. Some of my favorite memories are doing the four-person choreographed moves to Taio Cruz's 'Dynamite' and One Direction's 'You Don't Know You're Beautiful.' Emma, Carys, and Cooper threw their whole selves into learning those songs and we often danced it out when one or more of us was having a particularly bad day. (In case you're wondering, Aaron was not a participant in any of the dance parties, though he often clapped at the end of a particularly graceful performance.)
When they got older and were given the opportunity to take choir, they jumped at the chance. And when they were invited to learn instruments, they went all in, as my kids seem to do. Emma picked up the french horn, the trumpet, the mellophone and the cello. Carys chose the flute and the cello. I was feeling a little like our plates were pretty full already when she announced that she wanted both piano and percussion lessons as well. We got the piano lessons going...still contemplating percussion. (I don't have room for a drum set!)
Cooper has rather grudgingly attended a multitude of concerts and recitals declaring he would "NEVER" play an instrument because concerts were "BORING." He usually brought a book and read quietly in the auditorium during his sisters' performances. But a little nudge from the one and only Judy Berkeland sent him home bright and shiny this week declaring he too would be a cello player. I tried not to say 'I told you so' but I may have smiled a little smugly as he skipped away. (By the way, if I have 3 cellos in my house, do I get a discount, or what?!) He hasn't gone to the Intro to Band night yet, but I would bet dollars that he comes home with an instrument preference there as well. It is hard not to get on the bandwagon. The music programs here in Fairmont are thriving, and it is certainly due to the powerful and talented women who run them.
In the midst of it all, we play vintage vinyls on the record player, jam in the kitchen to whatever pop music has caught Emma's attention this week, and sing along loudly in the car every morning to whatever we can find on the radio.
This morning an April snowstorm began brewing in the early morning hours. I was up early, listening to the Indigo Girls in the kitchen maybe a little too loudly while I unloaded the dishwasher. I heard one of the kids padding downstairs, picking up the chorus line almost instinctively. And later when they were knocking out the weekend chore list, it warmed my heart to see Carys choosing a playlist from my phone. Then I was thoroughly entertained by Cooper who was belting out every word of Imagine Dragon's 'Believer' while he folded laundry. Complete with awesome dance moves .
February 5, 2018
Obsessed
It's no secret that my husband has a sweet tooth. He drinks Coca-Cola by the gallon and I will find Snickers bars stashed just about everywhere in our house and our cars. Those two staples have been part of my grocery list for so long that it just seems natural to throw them in whenever I'm at the store. But he has one other sweet eccentricity that has been cause for a great deal of entertainment in our house.
Every night, he has a bedtime snack while watching the news or the late show. And that may not seem to be an unusual habit to have...except that Aaron will choose one particular dessert favorite, and then eat it every single night until he literally gets sick of eating it. Literally.
Example: early in our marriage he would put three scoops of ice cream in a bowl and then sprinkle powdered chocolate Nestle's Quik over the top. He ate that every single night for more than a year. I am not kidding. One day he got tired of it, and switched to chocolate pudding with cool whip on top. And then he ate that for nearly a year. Every single night.
This is all the honest truth, I swear it. He will settle on one and stay with it until he doesn't like it anymore or until something more interesting comes along. Sometimes it's ice cream, sometimes it's a baked good like brownies or white cupcakes with frosting. One summer I made the mistake of learning to make Raspberry/Cream Cheese-filled turnovers with icing, and he decided THAT was going to be his bedtime snack. That's the only one I balked at - those take nearly an hour to make and I do NOT have that kind of time on a daily basis.
Regardless of the treat, this has been his habit for as long as I've known him, and usually it doesn't ruffle any feathers or make any sort of disturbance in the force, if you know what I mean.
Until last month. We were shopping at HyVee and Aaron must have been inspired to make a change in the routine. He was poring over ice cream bars, and stumbled on something called "JC's Pie Pops." They came in three flavors: banana, strawberry, and key-lime pie. He grabbed one of each flavor and brought them home to taste test.
Strawberry was the favorite, so he went back the next day for an additional box. Life could have gone along smoothly, except for the fact that JC's Pie Pops are a limited quantity item. Once he bought out all the strawberry ones, tragedy struck: they restocked the strawberry shelf with only banana. He came home in actual distress. He had stopped at Fareway and Wal-Mart and neither of them carried the product.
"Oh well," I said. "Guess you'll have to find something else." He looked at me like I had just suggested he go to the moon. He said, "Well, you know some of the people who work at HyVee. Why don't you call them tomorrow and see what you can do."
Um, what?
I said, "You cannot be serious."
He said, "It's not that hard, you talk to Matt and Chris all the time. Just stop by there and tell them I need some strawberry ones. They'll do it. They probably like it when customers request things."
I think I just stood there blinking at him. Finally I said, "Aaron, I am not going to go to HyVee and request strawberry pie pops for you."
He kind of glared at me a little, but let it go. A couple of days later he sat down next to me on the couch and said, "Hey, do me a favor. Grab your phone, I need you to look something up for me. If you Google search JC's Pie Pops they give you this form that you can fill out and turn in to your grocery store so they will stock more of them. Just quick download that form and fill it out and you can just leave it at customer service." I laughed out loud and said, "Aaron! I am not doing that. Seriously. Just find something else for a snack, for heaven's sake!"
A few days later he came home from work with the saddest expression. I asked what was wrong, did he have a bad day at work? He said, "No. I stopped at HyVee and asked about the Pie Pops. Turns out there's a distribution issue and HyVee isn't going to carry them anymore."
"Oh, that's too bad," I murmured. I tried my best too look properly sympathetic, but secretly I was glad not to have to hear any more about them.
And I never heard another word...until last weekend. Carys had a gymnastics meet in Owatonna, while Emma and Cooper both had basketball games. We split up - I stayed closer to home with the basketball crew and Aaron took sis to gymnastics. They took forever getting home, it was really late, and I was wondering how long the meet actually lasted, whether or not they stopped to eat, etc.
As it turns out, their late drive home had nothing whatsoever to do with gymnastics. During the meet Aaron got to thinking...if HyVee was discontinuing JC's Pie Pops, then there was a possibility that they would still be in stock at other existing HyVees. And maybe even discounted! So Aaron did a little Google searching, and when the gymnastics meet was over he stopped at every single HyVee between Owatonna and Fairmont. He actually bought out the entire stock of strawberry JC's Pie Pops along the way.
So now my freezer looks like this on every shelf:
The worst part about this whole affair, is that last night he sat down next to me, Pie Pop in hand, to watch the end of the Super Bowl game. I said, "you know, those do look good. I should try one."
He looked at me, deadly serious, and said, "Absolutely not. You cannot have even one. Who knows how long that will last me until I can get more?"
I laughed, uncertainly, and said, "for real?"
"For. Real." And he went back to watching the game.
Every night, he has a bedtime snack while watching the news or the late show. And that may not seem to be an unusual habit to have...except that Aaron will choose one particular dessert favorite, and then eat it every single night until he literally gets sick of eating it. Literally.
Example: early in our marriage he would put three scoops of ice cream in a bowl and then sprinkle powdered chocolate Nestle's Quik over the top. He ate that every single night for more than a year. I am not kidding. One day he got tired of it, and switched to chocolate pudding with cool whip on top. And then he ate that for nearly a year. Every single night.
This is all the honest truth, I swear it. He will settle on one and stay with it until he doesn't like it anymore or until something more interesting comes along. Sometimes it's ice cream, sometimes it's a baked good like brownies or white cupcakes with frosting. One summer I made the mistake of learning to make Raspberry/Cream Cheese-filled turnovers with icing, and he decided THAT was going to be his bedtime snack. That's the only one I balked at - those take nearly an hour to make and I do NOT have that kind of time on a daily basis.
Regardless of the treat, this has been his habit for as long as I've known him, and usually it doesn't ruffle any feathers or make any sort of disturbance in the force, if you know what I mean.
Until last month. We were shopping at HyVee and Aaron must have been inspired to make a change in the routine. He was poring over ice cream bars, and stumbled on something called "JC's Pie Pops." They came in three flavors: banana, strawberry, and key-lime pie. He grabbed one of each flavor and brought them home to taste test.
Strawberry was the favorite, so he went back the next day for an additional box. Life could have gone along smoothly, except for the fact that JC's Pie Pops are a limited quantity item. Once he bought out all the strawberry ones, tragedy struck: they restocked the strawberry shelf with only banana. He came home in actual distress. He had stopped at Fareway and Wal-Mart and neither of them carried the product.
"Oh well," I said. "Guess you'll have to find something else." He looked at me like I had just suggested he go to the moon. He said, "Well, you know some of the people who work at HyVee. Why don't you call them tomorrow and see what you can do."
Um, what?
I said, "You cannot be serious."
He said, "It's not that hard, you talk to Matt and Chris all the time. Just stop by there and tell them I need some strawberry ones. They'll do it. They probably like it when customers request things."
I think I just stood there blinking at him. Finally I said, "Aaron, I am not going to go to HyVee and request strawberry pie pops for you."
He kind of glared at me a little, but let it go. A couple of days later he sat down next to me on the couch and said, "Hey, do me a favor. Grab your phone, I need you to look something up for me. If you Google search JC's Pie Pops they give you this form that you can fill out and turn in to your grocery store so they will stock more of them. Just quick download that form and fill it out and you can just leave it at customer service." I laughed out loud and said, "Aaron! I am not doing that. Seriously. Just find something else for a snack, for heaven's sake!"
A few days later he came home from work with the saddest expression. I asked what was wrong, did he have a bad day at work? He said, "No. I stopped at HyVee and asked about the Pie Pops. Turns out there's a distribution issue and HyVee isn't going to carry them anymore."
"Oh, that's too bad," I murmured. I tried my best too look properly sympathetic, but secretly I was glad not to have to hear any more about them.
And I never heard another word...until last weekend. Carys had a gymnastics meet in Owatonna, while Emma and Cooper both had basketball games. We split up - I stayed closer to home with the basketball crew and Aaron took sis to gymnastics. They took forever getting home, it was really late, and I was wondering how long the meet actually lasted, whether or not they stopped to eat, etc.
As it turns out, their late drive home had nothing whatsoever to do with gymnastics. During the meet Aaron got to thinking...if HyVee was discontinuing JC's Pie Pops, then there was a possibility that they would still be in stock at other existing HyVees. And maybe even discounted! So Aaron did a little Google searching, and when the gymnastics meet was over he stopped at every single HyVee between Owatonna and Fairmont. He actually bought out the entire stock of strawberry JC's Pie Pops along the way.
So now my freezer looks like this on every shelf:
The worst part about this whole affair, is that last night he sat down next to me, Pie Pop in hand, to watch the end of the Super Bowl game. I said, "you know, those do look good. I should try one."
He looked at me, deadly serious, and said, "Absolutely not. You cannot have even one. Who knows how long that will last me until I can get more?"
I laughed, uncertainly, and said, "for real?"
"For. Real." And he went back to watching the game.
January 9, 2018
Competition
Cooper is a sensitive soul; he is thoughtful, intelligent, and has a wonderful vocabulary. He's a fantastic reader, and tries hard to be a good friend. Among all these wonderful qualities, we've discovered that Cooper is also a little bit competitive. (I have no idea where he gets that, by the way.) This weekend his 4th grade team went to their very first traveling basketball tournament in New Prague. We are clearly a C level team, but due to full brackets we got placed in a higher division. It was a rough first tourney; our team lost all three games, and lost them big.
I was coaching my own team, so I wasn't able to go along. Aaron was sending me updates on the day regularly; they were very descriptive and highly entertaining. I asked him to send me a couple of pictures from the day if he had a chance; I hate missing my kids' events. Somewhere after the second loss (34-14) I asked, "How's Cooper handling it?" He sent back this picture:
Oh goodness.
We have been working on losing without high emotion; I believe that during the last talk we had about it, I suggested that when he felt frustrated he should take some time alone and calm down. I think maybe this is his strategy?
I was coaching my own team, so I wasn't able to go along. Aaron was sending me updates on the day regularly; they were very descriptive and highly entertaining. I asked him to send me a couple of pictures from the day if he had a chance; I hate missing my kids' events. Somewhere after the second loss (34-14) I asked, "How's Cooper handling it?" He sent back this picture:
Oh goodness.
We have been working on losing without high emotion; I believe that during the last talk we had about it, I suggested that when he felt frustrated he should take some time alone and calm down. I think maybe this is his strategy?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)