For Sale

One sister for sale! One sister for sale!


One crying and spying young sister for sale!

I'm really not kidding, So who'll start the bidding? Do I hear a dollar? A nickel? A penny?

Oh, isn't there, isn't there, isn't there any One kid who will buy this old sister for sale,This crying and spying young sister for sale?

You're a good sport, Ella.

Betcha Didn't Know...

Last week my friend Denise “tagged” me to supply a list of quirks. I will admit, I rolled my eyes and thought, really who wants to hear about my own mundane quirkiness? We all have it, I know. And actually, Denise’s was quite amusing. But why sum it all up in one post? I mean I’d feel better about it surfacing gradually.

And then as I was out for my morning run today, I was thinking about how one of my quirks is that I was probably personally responsible for the abrupt end of dozens of "chain" letters throughout my childhood. I disliked them, didn't believe they'd work (because I knew there were others like me). I was almost always the weak link. I think tagging is a lot like electronic chain letters--and I will stay true to form and probably not tag anyone further. However, during my run, I did come up with some random tidbits of my life. It’s a little more interesting and not so self-incriminating.

SO…betcha didn’t know:

-I took the MCAT (medical school entrance exam) in college, but never opened my scores. Seriously. Didn’t even peek. It drives Brian bonkers.

-I know how to implant human tumor into the epaxial muscle of mice. I have a lot of rodents in heaven waiting for me.

-I have had dinner with a US Supreme Court Justice. As in, I sat right next to him.

-I have climbed Mt. Sinai with a camel literally breathing down my neck. They are so gross.

-I swore a hundred times that I’d never marry a boy from Utah.

-I was once pulled over and ticketed for violating three traffic laws at once. (My 16-year old brazen self took it to court and got off because the police officer didn’t show up.)

-I once washed a load of white clothes with a dead bat. Lots of Clorox followed.

The End.

Neighborly Demolition

I went for a run the other morning and saw something unusual. A man walked out of the front door of his home, carrying a houseplant in each arm. It was at first a common scene--a man carrying out the last of his belongings before moving.

But on the other side of the house, waiting for him to leave was this:


Two minutes after he walked off the premises, this piece of equipment tore off the roof. Neighbors came out of their homes to witness the demolition. According to Brian it was the topic of discussion at the bus stop. Given that the land was valued more than the house, it was being torn down to build something like this:

I headed home so Brian could get to work and thought I would come and check on the progress in a couple of hours. For sure, it would take them all day to knock that house down. When I returned two hours later, this was the condition of the house:

If you enlarge the picture, you’ll see that only the chimney is left standing as well as the far wall of the house (with blinds hanging off the window). And I couldn’t stop thinking about this poor house all day. I felt kind of sad about it. Tearing down older, smaller homes to build big, new ones is a common occurrence in our neighborhood, but seeing the house come down struck me. A 50+ year old house, full of almost a lifetime of memories was obliterated in a couple of hours. Perhaps children were raised there or a couple grew old there together. Why is it that destruction comes so easily—that it can be done in a tiny fraction of the time it takes to build? It seems unfair. In the meantime, we'll watch the progress of the new home being built--a sign of birth or rejuvenation, right? Something like that.

Eight Years!

It’s funny how on your wedding day you just don’t think you could be ANY happier. And then eight years later you look back on that joyous day and realize that that was merely scratching the surface. Marriage does get better with age. Happy Anniversary, Bri. I love you.

Birthday Celebration-Stage 2

The party is officially over. I think we have adequately celebrated Ella turning 5. Saturday we had beautiful weather and entertained 12 children for two hours in Halloween costumes. I think I would have cried if it had rained and we had been confined indoors.

After yesterday's festivities, I decided there are two things only required for a successful party. The decorations don't matter. The games don't matter. The crafts don't matter. In fact my not-so-brilliant find-the-spider activity of following yarn strung around bushes, around trees fell apart. Kids were in tears, frustrated, wandering aimlessly around the yard, tied up in knots.

Next year, we're streamlining. Simplifying. Major party overhaul. The two things that seemed to work well this year:

Playing on the play set

And birthday cake

That's all we're doing next year. Two things. Live and learn.

A Five-Year Lesson

The other day I was at my parents’ home in Kensington, looking at a large family picture consisting of my parents, their seven children along with accompanying spouses and children. The picture was taken 7 years ago, following my Grandfather’s funeral in Bountiful, Utah. Recognizing that Ella and Samantha were not with us in the picture, I thought for a split second, “wonder what we did with our kids that day—who was watching them?” Obviously, it didn’t take long for it to occur to me that that photo was taken before Ella and Samantha were born. After that fleeting thought, I realized that although Brian and I have only been parenting for five years, it seems so strange to think of life before them. Rearing children is such an intense experience that our minds become cemented around our time with them, blurring earlier parts of our lives.

When Ella was first born, we of course received a number of heartfelt gifts and cards to welcome our new daughter. My Grandpa Munk, my stepdad’s father in Montpelier, Idaho, who has since passed away, sent us a sweet, two-sided, hand-written letter. I don’t think I’ve read the letter since that time, but I clearly remember his congratulations and his remark that “now your life has really begun.” I didn’t really know how that could be the case at the time. All I knew then was sleep in two-hour increments, sore breasts and black stretch pants. It sure didn’t feel like a new beginning to me.

And yesterday as we celebrated Ella’s fifth birthday, I saw the wisdom in his remark. I glow with pride over this happy, smart, witty, five year old. And Ella herself is only a piece of the new life of which my Grandfather spoke. I now know what it means to truly sacrifice for others—my children and my husband. I know how rearing children makes you fall in love with your spouse in a whole new way. And I know what it means to work hard every day alongside your spouse for a greater good—an eternal family. So I guess you could say I get it now. Or at least that’s what I’ve picked up so far.


That said—here is stage 1 of the 5-year old’s birthday celebration. Stage 2 comes on Saturday when she has her party with her friends (wich is really what she’s been anticipating).

1- Permission was granted for her to open her sweet birthday package from Grandma and Grandpa Bowcut first thing in the morning. With two new cute dresses included, it sure made her decision of what to wear for the day easy.



2- Heart-shaped waffles before school


3- Sporting a crown and birthday vest all day at school (supplied by her teacher).

4- Enjoying ice cream sandwiches with her classmates and passing out party favors.

5- Dinner and birthday celebration with Grandma and Grandpa Munk, Great-Grandma Spring and Aunt Miriam.

There would have been a picture of a very exhausted Mom, but I was too exhausted. Happy Birthday, Ella Bella. You are a true joy.

Control

A week ago tonight I returned from the Exponent II Retreat in Harvard, MA (it's obviously been a bad blogging week). It was the first time post- Samantha that I have left the fam and gone on an adventure by myself. I will admit, I had a little anxiety up-front about going. Would the girls miss me too much? Would Brian forget about the pre-school carpool or the violin lesson? What would they do for entertainment if it rained ALL weekend? What if the girls ran out of clean clothes? What if the van broke down because I still haven’t gotten around to having it serviced? What if the house caught on fire? What if Ella left the door open and a squirrel got in and ran rampant through the house? What if Brian forgot he had two children and took a trip of his own and the girls had to fend for themselves all weekend?

So I have slight control issues. It has nothing to do with Brian as a competent father—it is much to the contrary. He surpasses me on many fronts (such as the clean, orderly house I came home to last weekend—can’t remember the last time HE got that luxury.) This is also why I am generally the designated family driver. Not because I’m a better driver (a speeding ticket and running over the Dora scooter, which led to a sobbing pre-schooler, have been recently added to my record), but because I can’t relinquish the control.

Last weekend, I did. With parenting AND driving. I drove with two of my good College Park friends, Jenni and Donna, for 8 hours to Boston (Ladies, I never got that picture I wanted of us! Sorry you're not represented!). Jenni drove most of the way, but she did let me get behind the wheel for a few hours. It was the fastest 8 hours--we talked non-stop. Adult conversation. For 8 hours. What a concept. I can’t remember the last time I drove in a car for an extended period of time without having to pacify kids, dole out snacks or sing songs. I did glance at my watch every now and then and think about at what point in the schedule Brian was at with the girls—and I did wonder when my cell phone would ring with clarification questions or some emergency.

But the phone didn’t ring.

As we drove further and further north, we got progressively deeper into Fall. The leaves turn earlier up North and New England was on the verge of gorgeousness.
And then I got to the retreat, and reunited and met some of the most fabulous women ever. There were lots of smart women, honest conversation, a serene setting, yummy food, and a large supply of chocolate and Diet Coke. I also got to be with my two very dear Oberlin friends, Anne and Margaret, who both live in Boston. That meant lots of catching up (intermingled with essential gossip) and some serious Nertz playing (Kathryn, Anne's long-time friend is fortunately down with the game).

Here we are together looking a little unsightly—wet hair, morning time, no make-up. The beauty of Exponent.

And the next day, I realized that I had stopped looking at my watch. I couldn’t remember what itinerary I had left for Brian and an emergency just didn’t seem so imminent. I became engrossed in the workshops, relished in the company of good friends—and I discovered I really had relinquished control.

For you Moms out there—try it. It sure feels good.