Hey, Hey, Hockeytown!

Just a quick note for you non-hockey people (and how is that possible by the way? I mean, seriously, what is WRONG with you?). My Red Wings managed to pull off an amazing run after the Olympic break and are back in the Playoffs yet again and will be contending for Lord Stanley. Considering their injury-prone season this was no small feat,and I am so proud.

Now we simply await the last couple of games to see who the first round opponent will be, and I will try to contain myself to some degree. For this Wings fan though, I am just happy they are in the playoffs for the 19th consecutive season (the longest run in professional sports). No Fear, No Excuses, No Mercy, No Limits! Go Wings!

Simple Growth

A few months back "Real Simple" magazine (the one magazine to which I hold a subscription, although I am guilty of grabbing a "People" off of the rack every now and again) asked its readers to write an essay on when they realized they were officially a grown-up. I've been pondering this question at odd moments ever since, as by most people's standards I am, indeed, an adult at this point, even if I somehow still find this surprising to myself.


But unlike, apparently, the thousands of people who wrote of specific humorous, poignant, monumental, or at the very least, telling moments, for me, nothing comes to mind as the so-called "light bulb" millisecond where I thought, "ah- ha!" I truly must be a grown-up now. The truth is somewhere in getting married and gaining a mortgage, raking the leaves and carting the groceries in from the garage, it might have happened. Or perhaps it was saying no to the door-to-door salesman, being called ma'am for the first time, scrubbing my own toilets, or cooking dinners for more then just myself. I might have grown-up during the thousandth load of laundry, in the middle of wrapping presents for an entire family Christmas after being personally responsible for all of the holiday shopping, or learning that when I am sick I am still required to be fully functional for my husband and daughter. I even suppose I could say I officially grew up when I figured out my husband and I will quite possibly never see eye to eye on certain issues, and at times we will not be each others favorite people but that this does not mean our marriage is headed for the proverbial "crap heap." I KNOW when I am old and gray he will be the one beside me, sitting on the porch of OUR camp, so I guess I must be in a grown-up relationship, right?


Honestly though I suppose the "I must be a grown-up moment" most likely occurred somewhere in the countless hours I have thus far logged being a mother. Maybe in the labor that would not end, in one of the early a.m. feedings when I somehow found myself in the glider rocker nursing Isabelle with no memory of having actually gotten out of bed to feed her. Or perhaps during, say the 12th hour of pacing the floor with a crying, screaming, will not be comforted no matter what, baby. And now I find myself in the last days of her preschool, and registering her for Kindergarten, with my nerves in knots and my heart in my throat at the thought of all that will face her in the big, scary albeit wonderful world that is school. I want her days to forever be candy and light, safe and secure with never a bad hour, a mean kid or a hurtful word said, even while recognizing the need for all experiences, including the not so great ones to become a well-rounded person. Does this make me a grown-up or just a parent?


So, no single defining moment. Life happens and I grew up. It goes on everyday. Real Simple.

Random Thoughts

Wait.... wasn't that the name of a Saturday Night Live bit some years back? "Random Thoughts" by Jim or John Handy or some such?? Nope, it was "Deep Thoughts" by Jack Handy, right? Or maybe I am just losing my mind, which is probably closer to the truth. But the truth is I am still here, just busy and ... well, feeling scattered in my thoughts with too many varying ideas to put them into some kind of coherent thought-out blog entry. So, keeping that in mind here are my little nuggets of insight/wit/idiocy that I can offer up this month:

1. I do not recommend making-over two rooms simultaneously. As mentioned before we moved Isabelle into her big girl bed which necessitated switching up her room and the office/guest room. This basically involved destroying my upstairs for an extended period as I had to dismantle two rooms entirely and push furniture into the only other available room up there (our bedroom) and the hallway. Picture us climbing over furniture and wending our way around objects in an effort to find our bed at night, and if you had to use the bathroom during the wee hours of the dark it was a real adventure, usually involving a few swear words and stubbed toes. Painting two rooms back to back weekends was a fair amount of work as well, although it went relatively smoothly. And of course, following the family Peterson Law of averages, Isabelle's new bed did not go together in a, shall we say, "simple fashion" with its head and foot boards, so Clay had a few temper flare-ups which added to the festivities. All in all, a little more to handle then I had anticipated, but the end results are two new rooms that do look quite good if I do say so myself.

2. Thank god for the Olympics for they provide some good television to watch. I am so tired of the same old "stuff" and now that football season is over a girl needs more sports because all I have is...


3. Hockey. No, I have not forgotten my lovely Red Wing boys, although they are having one rough season, plagued by more injuries then any team in the NHL and serious injuries mind you. With all the things that have gone wrong for them one would almost think they had some kind of voodoo curse hanging over their heads. Yet somehow they are still lingering near the all important cutoff point to make it into the NHL playoffs going into the Olympic break, and now that they are finally getting healthy, people would be wrong to count them out just yet. Remember, they have the longest running consecutive playoff appearance record of any team in professional sports. And, they have managed to stay alive basically by fielding a team from their Grand Rapids crew and with a rookie in goal. A rookie named Jimmy Howard, who in my opinion has earned the right to be THE goalie from here on out and into the playoffs. Also, watch out for Team Sweden in the Olympics everyone (lots of my Wings are Swedes!!)


4. It is possible for my daughter to never stop talking from the time we leave my garage until the time we pull into the church parking lot of her preschool. This drive typically takes me fifteen minutes, and I swear to you the child does not take more then two breaths the entire time. The other day I felt like I was caught in a giant run-on sentence set on hyper-drive and after I dropped her off I got back in the car and sat still listening to the silence and just laughing to myself. Isabelle's energy level could power small countries. It goes something like this..."Do you see the train on the bridge? I want to ride Thomas again sometime. Oh, no! Thomas is in trouble! We have to rescue him! He fell off the track. Lets push him back on, help me Mommy! PUSH! PUSH! Good, we saved him! Uh oh! Its, Maleficent! (the evil fairy in Sleeping Beauty for those of you not up to date on fairy tales.... Isabelle's favorite evil villain who is a frequent guest in her imaginary play). Drive faster, Mommy. She has a bomb! I am going to call Prince Phillip to take care of it. Phillip! Can you take care of the bomb for us? I don't have time. I have to go to school now. Look Mom, an octagon! There are lots of shapes aren't there? What shape is that sign? Look an oval! Mom, did you see that puppy? Wasn't he cute? Mom, we need to get to school on time because Miss Tracey said it is my job to hand out the sit-upons. I hope we won't be late. Look a square!" You get my point.


5. Cheese Its are the best snack food in the entire universe. Just the original red box, not reduced fat, not any jazzed up flavor, just original Cheese Its. You must always have a box on hand as well as a back up just in case the first one goes empty. It is probably in my family's DNA as my mother also seems to possess a similar desire for the cheese cracker. Get your own box!


6. Never let your husband answer a door to a salesperson. Kirby vacuum cleaners paid us a visit the other day and like an organized mob hit they swooped in on Clay, stuffed a free bottle of Spic n' Span cleaner into his hand and "Boom!" were in the door. Clay wasted the next 45 minutes of his life listening to a long sales pitch from this woman who told him the machine was only 2195, neglecting to mention, of course, that the decimal point in that price did not come after the one. It took forever for him to get rid of her. Rule number one and two to all of you husbands, always say NO and NEVER, EVER let them in the house.


7. Anyone telling me I look nice, whether it is my daughter or some guy old enough to be my grandfather, always boosts me up and makes me feel better. Does that make me fragile in my self-esteem and desperate for an affirmation on my appearance or just normal in that I like a compliment? ( I suppose if you are someone like Heidi Klum you would hear them all the time and it would mean less, right? Or is it the same for all?).


8. I want to be my cat, Mindy for a day and see what it is like to essentially sleep for almost 16 hours, eat, bathe, and get petted.


9. Get off your lazy butt and remove the snow from your car BEFORE driving down the highway. I was behind some schmuck the other day when a rather large sheet of snow dislodged from their hood and proceeded to take flight over their car and land like a two ton boulder on my windshield, temporarily blinding me, and startling the sh-- out of me, before breaking into smaller pieces and falling off of my car in a watery mess, all at 60 or so miles an hour. What if I had flipped out and swerved and caused an accident? As it was it caused Isabelle to scream and yell, "Mommy what was that?!" and I was left to try and calm my freaked out child.


10. No child will ever walk around a puddle when they have the option to splash through it as evidenced by my walk with Isabelle on Friday. Thank goodness for waterproof boots but the jeans were thoroughly soaked.


11. How cool is it that I live somewhere that I can go and watch sled dogs race? I watched the finish of the UP 200 this past Sunday, and while it was not even close to my first time it still is one of the great events to turn out for every winter here in the upper peninsula. A truly unique experience on what turned out to be a gorgeous day on the shores of Superior, reminding me yet again what a beautiful place I live in.

12. I could go on and on, but I will end for now so that I can actually post a blog entry!

Sonata

As my roller covered the last of the minty green paint I could not help but recall when I had first chosen the color for Isabelle's baby room. I was so thrilled to be planning her room ... to be making it "just so." It was bright and cheerful, and hopeful and happy, exactly how I felt... exactly what I hoped Isabelle would feel in her room. Now, here I was years later saying good-bye to it with a much more subdued shade, something called "earthy cane." Isabelle's baby room was becoming our office, and we were moving Isabelle into the larger room next door to accommodate the full bed she was getting moved into .... no more toddler bed for the big girl. Frankly, she was long overdue to be out of it and we had simply put it off in the hopes that perhaps we would sell the house before necessitating switching rooms. No such luck.

So, here I was painting over the first of many stages. I would be lying to say I did not feel a slight twinge at the thought of her growing up and leaving behind that baby room. Seeing Isabelle that first evening tucked into her "big bed," so proud of all her space and multiple pillows with room for Mindy, our cat to join her if she wanted, I realized how quickly time goes. I glanced around the space and suddenly could envision it a few more years down the road with posters on the walls, school books scattered on the floor, nail polish bottles on the dresser, and clothes draped over the foot board of the bed. What color would the walls be then?

This weekend I will paint Isabelle's new bedroom the color of her choice, a robin's egg's blue. A lovely, calm, serene color that makes you dream of summer days and sail boats on a lazy lake. The store called the color, in a rather grand fashion, "sonata." However, I kind of like the name as a sonata can be a rather complicated musical composition in that it contains three to four independent movements that vary in key, mood, and tempo .... much like my beautiful daughter herself. Each movement is like a stage, separate and yet connected in theme to the whole. Yes, the color is perfect, very Isabelle. I got to pick the first time around but from here on out it will be Isabelle's choice every time we redo her room. After all, this is her life to live, her musical composition to write, her sonata.

My Relationship with Chicken Little

It happens sometimes. Inevitably it will come in the night as I lie in the dark wrapped in my blankets, cocooned in the shadows of my bedroom, listening to the deep, even breaths of my husband next to me, the rare car going by on the road outside, or the familiar creaks of my house. Its, the WORRY. And it doesn't have to be any particular, specific worry, mind you. It can be any of a host of them.... from money, to health, to relationships, to the all too familiar worry of child-raising. Even worry about some of my own goals that I would still like to achieve. Goals, that as a mother, you all too often set aside for a time, to make room for your families more pressing needs.


The worry will creep its way in, form a nice solid lump in my throat and leave me wide awake for a few hours before my exhausted mind is finally able to shake it off enough to drift into some semblance of a rest. And why? By all accounts, I lead a perfectly blessed life with much to be thankful for, and I closed out 2009 thinking essentially that. And perhaps that is precisely why in the small hours of the night I get these occasional worry attacks ..... because I am waiting for the "bottom to fall out." I look around at what some families, some people go through and frankly, I harbor almost a sense of guilt for our stability and security. Ultimately our biggest worry always comes down to a loved one being harmed or getting sick, doesn't it? And it takes on a whole new level as a parent.... the worry could swallow you whole if you let it. It makes me pray all the harder for the continued health and happiness of those I love as if I might have a time limit on my luck. Ridiculous, I know, but I come from a long line of worriers, and at times I think I could raise it to an art form.

Of course, common sense (usually) prevails, and I recognize my worry won't really get me anywhere (other then to drive me a little crazy). Plus, walking through life like your own personal version of "Chicken Little" waiting for the sky to fall is no way to live either. So, I do my best to stifle that worry gene of mine, swallow my "Chicken Little" moments and remember that with every new year comes new possibilities for relationships, goals, and the myriad of other tasks we all set for ourselves. So, lets see what 2010 brings.

Famous Mommy

I will never be famous. I will never be some big time career lady who does power lunches (whatever those are), and I am certainly not one of those women who people look at and think "how does she do it?" In a world where we are all too often defined by what we do for a living, the ego of a stay-at-home mom can take a beating. This is all to apparent at social events where inevitably the question arises, "And what do you do?" My response is most commonly met with a polite dismissal, a few comments about how he or she could never stay at home followed by an exit to refill a drink or greet someone else (as if they could not conceive of having anything in common with someone who does not "work.")

Of course, I am stereotyping. Not all people are like this, although sadly there is still a huge problem with a person's job title being equated with what their somehow worth. And when you are a mom, especially one who stays home, you find yourself still fighting that, even though you know better. I continually feel like I need to justify myself to people, prove to them I am not some sloth-like person who is just too lazy to have a "real job." (Never mind that my real job, which I do not get paid for, could kick most of their asses on any given day). I find myself wanting the validation though, and since I do not get something concrete like a paycheck this can at times be hard to come by. Then I have to remind myself once more it doesn't matter what anyone else thinks or believes... I know the truth.

The truth is:

I wanted to be the one to kiss every injury and wipe every tear. I wanted to make the lunches and give the baths, and read the books, and play dolls, and restaurant, and fix her hair and help her get dressed, and tuck her in at night, and sing her songs, and take her to school. I even wanted to be the one to deal with her tantrums, and discipline her and teach her wrong from right because that is part of being a parent too.

No, I am not famous, but today I took my daughter sledding. Every time she reached the bottom of the hill in a spray of snow with a grin big enough to rival the Joker on Batman and every time she would yell, "Again!" And I could nod agreement and smile right back and say, "Again" too, because being a mom IS my job title and I didn't have to be anywhere else. Later we came in and baked Christmas cookies together in my kitchen, her little body pressed next to mine on her stool, rolling the balls of dough through the granulated sugar. No, I'm not famous, but in the eyes of my daughter, I am a rock star and that is more than enough for me.

Christmas Without Her

It was at about this same time last year when I kept thinking I saw her. Out of the corner of my eye I would get a glimpse but when I would turn ... nothing. Yesterday it happened again while I was perusing the Christmas isles at a local store. Something in the curve of the woman's small-boned shoulder and the tiny, impractical slipper-like ballet shoes she was wearing despite the cool December air, momentarily tricked my brain into believing my Grandmother was a mere few feet from me. But, of course, she wasn't, and when the second passed, along with its little bit of magic, the elderly woman, feeling my eyes on her, glanced over. I offered up a half-smile, hastily returned the forgotten ornament I clutched in my hand to its hook and fled the store, completely shaken.


I suppose it is only natural that my mind would conjure up thoughts of Grandma Elaine so frequently come Christmastime. After all, every Christmas day was spent at her house as a child, and some of my best holiday memories were made there... ALWAYS with Grandma as the central figure. I still remember the family opening presents from each other after dinner (which tended to be a chaotic affair .... picture a huge circle of chairs....aunts, uncles and a gang of my cousins all tearing into gifts and you get the idea) and Grandma and Grandpa sitting, watching it all with huge grins on their faces. Looking back now I am sure I have idealized it some, but truthfully, it was pretty ideal.

Last Christmas I cried when my first holiday card came in the mail and with it the realization that no longer would I receive one from my Grandmother. This week (after sudden inspiration) I dug in my hope chest and pulled out a bag of cherished cards I have saved over the years given to me by loved ones. Sure enough several of the cards were from her. For some reason it was comforting to see her signature there on the paper, still declaring her love.

Grandpa spent this past Christmas without my Grandma. This year they will not be apart. And as I decorate my house, bake my holiday cookies, write out my Christmas cards, wrap my gifts, and read Christmas stories to Isabelle, I know my mind will turn to them both again and again. And that's okay because as I am making my new traditions I want to also remember to embrace the old ones and weave them into this family tapestry for Isabelle. Then, with any luck, maybe someday, she too, will look back on parts of her childhood as "pretty ideal." Merry Christmas, Grandma and Grandpa.