Dear Friends and Family (the select few whom I trust to get my jokes),
Despite my fondness for the written word, and plenty of good material, I’ve yet in my life to write a Christmas letter. My reticence stems from the ones my parents always got from high school classmates trying to prove they were successful. Mikey is five and in 3rd grade this year. He has his drivers license and has taken over the family menu planning. Fifi, our wonderdog, was on Letterman demonstrating her exceptional talents in butt sniffing and hairball coughing. Bill Senior was elected the Luck Wisconsin vacuum salesman of the year for the 5th time running, and as a result we were able to take a 2nd honeymoon up to Hayward where we renewed our vows in the mouth of the big muskie at the fishing hall of fame…….

Here is my version:

Ariana is now 10 and in 5th grade. After a couple years of squinting and headaches, I finally got a clue and brought her to the eye doctor. He recommended a dog. Actually, she got glasses. She is still in Tae Kwon Do, which she loves (I think half the fun is what I call Tae Kwon Clothes) and just passed her green belt test. She is still in girl scouts and planning a hostile takeover of the cookie program. She is maturing by leaps and bounds, though she still has “pantrums” (tantrums in the morning when her pants don’t fit). She has lots of other stuff going on, but her favorite things are still writing books and plays and coordinating projects with her underlings. A recent such project involved each of them getting inside a garbage bag and crawling around the house en masse (and I have the pictures to prove it). Her goal in school this year was to get a Great Spartan award, an honor given to students who show academic excellence or outstanding community service. She can now rest on her laurels, as Doris the janitor nominated her and Lexi….for helping set up tables in the lunchroom.

Elijah is 8 (will be 9 in February) and is The Firstborn Son, the jewel in the family crown, the scion of a great donut empire. Or, he would be, if he’d brush his teeth and do his homework. He won’t , so for the time being he’s a normal 8 year old guy. He is in boy scouts (I think the rank this year is Tasmanian Devil or Sewer Rat, something like that; last year they were Wolves and quite nice). This year his den is into such badges as “How to Not Listen” and “How to Destroy Everything In Sight”. He joined his big sister in Tae Kwon Do and just earned his orange belt, of which he is very proud. He got a special gift from Gramma—a gun rack that belonged to my wonderful Grandpa who I hope he grows up to be like. He found a great way to use it; he is displaying his TKD belts on it. It will look very nice once he cleans his room and one can actually see it.

Ben is 7 and still a unique kind of guy. He is in chess club, challenge math (we may need a maternity test to be sure he is mine) and is a boy scout (a nice little wolf like Elijah was last year). Other than that, he is obsessed with Club Penguin (that online game thing where you turn yourself into a penguin and collect pets named Puffles). He worries a lot that his puffles have run away (“They ran away, I just KNOW it!”) as he is not allowed online enough to optimally care for them. I let him use Dad’s phone the other day (it’s a fancy pants thing that does everything but wash your dishes) and he laid on the couch with it and was playing a game. Then I checked on him and he had it hidden under his quilt. So I went and I said “what are you doing?” When no response was forthcoming, I took a peek, and sure enough he had figured out how to get into Club Penguin on the internet application on Dad’s phone. “Ben,” I said with great concern, “you have a problem.” To my surprise, he agreed. “I KNOW!” he retorted. “It’s not loading!”. He is also very creative, like his sister. He is creating a power point slide show of his cat, Blue, using photographs of her and adding captions. My favorite says “Thanks, but I eat bird”.

Wil is 5 and in his senior year of preschool at Rocori Kinder Connection. He’s having a great time this year and doing so well that he has determined he is in need of an office at home from which to continue his academic pursuits (practicing…”W-i-l-l-i-a-m”). I was fine with that idea, until he told me the ideal location for his studies is MY desk. I’m willing to share, but he planned to remove all of my things and put his own stuff there. That would mean crayons, glue, and construction paper, none of which I need for my own coursework. He also likes to make and deliver mail using Zac’s Cozy Coupe car. He would like a real fire truck for Christmas, please. He recently spent a weekend in Wisconsin with my parents and I most fittingly have dubbed that place Redneck School. He came home in workboots 3 sizes too big, a blaze orange hunting cap, tools hanging from his belt loops, button down shirt tucked in, and hands in pockets. He looks just like my dad. It’s OK so far, but if I start seeing buttcrack, it’s all over.

And as for Zac himself, he is 2. I think that is enough said, but I’ll add more for the sake of creativity. We call him Manic Muffin. The “Muffin” is the unfortunate term of endearment he was given at birth. The manic is because he is nuts. For example, last night we had a family movie night (quite rare, and to be treasured). I was unable to see the movie because he was determined to put (and keep ) a basket over my head. It doesn’t help that everyone else think it’s precious and calls him “baby”. Will he be 30 and still called baby—and trying to put baskets on my head?

Leo is doing great at age 7, although he is creeping into morbid obesity and Gramma says his breath smells like carp. The cats are happy and fluffy, bringing home frequent gifts of half-butchered field mice and the occasional poached bird. Last but not least in the pet department, early this month we brought home a very special guy named Casey.

Casey is a white boxer and he is deaf. I think Leo wants him dead, but the rest of us are enjoying him. I am personally learning a lot about how people feel when communicating with me—and why they throw stuff at me. He is clearly quite joyful with his new lot in life, gleefully bounding about, leaping like a porpoise over children, furniture, and parents. He knows about 12 signs so far—sit, stay, friend (he offers his paw to shake), kiss (then you get a wet one), water, run, outside, potty, bed, Daddy (and I believe that tells you whose dog he is), no, and play. He is tall and slim; by comparison Leo looks like a marble. I think I would be resentful too.

Thomas, our miniature donkey, is still shaggy and cute. He lives down the road on Aunt Lynn’s hobby farm where he enjoys walking audaciously underneath her horses and narrowly escaping the equine jaws of death as he does so.

Brian still thinks the Vikings are important and still doesn’t understand why I don’t. I laugh to think of the metamorphosis over the years. When I met him, all buff and young, he built his week around the Vikings, culminating with a Very Important Meeting with his friends to watch the game. The mornings of the game, he was not to be disturbed as he had some Very Important Preparations to do, to get in the right frame of mind so that he might be at his best to help the Vikings win. Now, he sits in his purple recliner that lists to the right, amidst Barbies and Bakugon and dogs and kids. To make matters worse, he’s not buff anymore, either—although I think he looks pretty good for being SO MUCH OLDER THAN ME.
And as for me, I continue to work at the VA in the acute psychiatric unit where I see lots of entertaining things that the HIPPAA law forbids me from sharing.

And so, from our very full house to yours, happy holidays!

Tracy

Casey

Our life has been delightfully upended by the addition of Casey, a white boxer. Casey is deaf--CULTURALLY deaf :) He has been deaf since birth. The story of how he came to us is thought-provoking.

With the loss of Miss Minnie last spring, we knew that at some point we would want another dog. We figured we would get a pug, because we know and love that breed (and I swore I'd never have anything else). For a long time, we just weren't ready. About a month ago, I started to think it might be time. I saw several ads in newspapers for pug puppies for sale. I even made a few contacts and tentative plans to go see litters of pups. Nothing came together; in some cases, schedules just didn't allow us to see a litter before it was gone. In other cases, all that were left were black males, and we wanted to leave that role to Leo. At any rate, it just wasn't coming together and I basically gave up and figured I'd try again later. Besides, with my schedule of driving to Fargo for days at a time and our days already filled to the brim, it seemed kind of stupid to bring more work into the house.

So then one day I was driving home from Fargo, on the phone with my mom, and she mentioned that Britta (my cousin) was working with a deaf white boxer and thought it would be perfect for Hans. It caught my interest right away, but I didn't think it could work out.

Well, here I prefer to just make a long story short. Suffice it to say we now have a beautiful new family member and he has definitely made himself at home (on my bed, on my couch, head in my toilet). He is EXTREMELY bright and learns extremely fast. He picked up on the invisible fence in a snap, and knows and response to several signs. I should mention that he is without question Daddy's boy. They clicked right away.

I'm sure readers will wonder how fares the pug. If he could talk, he would mostly be saying "Would you just screw off?". But I am catching glimpses of friendship forming. After weeks of Casey chasing Leo, today Leo chased Casey. It was too funny. Casey has this thing with flashlights and will follow a light anywhere. So I was making circles with a light on the living room floor and Casey was chasing it in a circle and Leo was chasing Casey in a circle. Truly a hilarious sight. I will try to get it on tape.

I'm nearly done with this semester------------and then only one semester to go to finish my BSN and RN. That will be quite welcome.

Christmas picture attempts

Someone always has to ruin them. This year, Zac is taking that role, for the most part. Except....in these.....it was not two legged kids who were not cooperating.

Time Marches On

The other day Ana and I were doing her practice for Knowledge Bowl (she just joined and is doing great--it's like a trivia contest for elementary kids, they compete with other districts). One of the questions involved the definition of a word ending in -cide. I explained that suffix means "to kill". I gave her some examples. Homocide--to kill another human. Suicide--to kill yourself. Paricide--to kill your parents. Genocide--to kill a group of humans. And fratricide--to kill your brother.

She smiled.

And then we heard from the other room: "YOU'RE NOT GONNA FRATRICIDE ME!"

quick check in

The school year is well underway--for me as well as the kids--and my free time is nonexistent right now as my senior year of nursing school is pretty intense. Just so everyone knows I"m still alive (and so are the kids), here are some pictures! Hopefully they will be worth the thousand or so words I should be typing.

A few quick things to mention. First, Ben turned 7 last week. Second, on that same day, Elijah got his white belt in Tae Kwon Do. So now we have two martial artists! He is doing great and his teacher says he is very lucky to have his big sister in his class.

Wils is funny as ever. He doesnt like almond snickers because "it makes my breath stink" ???

Zac is Zac.....too cute and too loud.

speedy dewivery

When Hans (brother) was little, he had this game he would play, where he would make me "mail", knock on my bedroom door, and announce "speedy dewivery!" and run away. This was his take on the mail guy on Mr. Rogers.

Well, I have been getting speedy dewiveries. Wils and Elijah have been playing post office and then Wil drives around in Zac's cozy coupe and delivers the mail from the trunk. We all get mail, with our names on it even. The way he gets around having to write our names is he gives us a piece of paper and tells us to write our name. Then he makes that paper into our mail. Then he delivers it!

On my way out to go to work yesterday he told me he needs stamps, for his post office. Oh really, I said. What kind? "With the flags on it!" I heard from a ways away--Elijah, the postmaster general, was overseeing it all.
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Strange things for mothers to do

I found the COOLEST road kill yesterday. The biggest snapping turtle I've ever seen! I"m not kidding, the head is the size of a softball. It was very, very, very dead; the guts were 100 feet down the highway. It has claws an inch long, and spikes on its' tail. The shell looks like something you'd find on a dinosaur.

So, being the unique mommy that I am, I took the kids on a bike trek to see it, and we brought a big garbage bag and shovel so we could take it home, bury it, and see if the skull will remain for us to have a souvenir. We really had to take a good look at those claws and spikes though, it was just so cool, and being that I'm 37 and have never seen one close up, much less that big, I figured it's an experience they'll remember.

Earlier this week, I caught a few snakes for Elijah, and then it got loose in the car while we were driving (long story as to why it was in the car). Elijah was screaming "it's loose! it got out!" and everyone went nuts. I found him right away under something in the cargo area.

And I DO tell the kids................"I hope you appreciate having a wierd mom, because I doubt your friend's moms are bringing home roadkill and catching snakes for them"

Cold Spring Parade

all sorts of fun and a lot of work

Finally--i finished my summer semester of school. this was a VERY difficult semester academically--i mean very challenging. but, i did it, and i think it was probably the hardest ill encounter because it was a full time courseload of one semester (usually 16 weeks) squished into 10. I got an A minus in applied drug therapy and was ecstatic--------------that class was freakin' hard! I got my first B--in research. You wouldn't believe how hard that class was. Very picky statistical stuff and a very long paper (a review of the literature) plus a long article critique. I was totally fine with a B, believe me. And then............the one I am proudest of.......the physical assessment course. It required that I videotape myself doing a complete physical assessment (using another person as a patient--in an exam room at work), much like a physical exam by a doctor, without notes. VERY complicated--not as easy as it sounds, at all. There are minute things like diaphragmatic excursion, percussion of the liver, symmetric expansion, cranial nerve testing, range of motion, and so on. There was a series of theory exams first, which i did really well on (a few 100 percents even). But the video part had me quaking in my boots, it was SO HARD and you could only miss very few points before they flunk you. So, the theory was done, the video was done, I just had to wait for her to grade it....and if I flunked the video, it didn't matter how well I did on the theory, I'd have to wait another YEAR to continue on with school (due to the order of courses and the need to retake the course).

Long story short--out of 131 points you had to get 101 or something like that, to pass; it is 77 percent. Well, she posted my grade, and it was 85. Which I thought meant 85 points, and flunk. And then she didnt post my final grade! I was sure she was trying to figure out what to do with me. Finally, after agonizing for days, I emailed her and asked if I flunked the video. Her response was...no, actually, I got an 85 percent on that, and besides that, my theory grade (percentage-wise) was the highest she has ever seen in teaching this course either in a classroom or online, and I got an A. I melted in a huge puddle of relief, let me tell you!

So, although I didnt repeat my 4.0 of last semester, I'm fine with it, and still have a 3.8 or so--which is JUST FINE WITH ME.

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Lij caught some bass tonight and filleted them (with my very close supervision....using "the way hans taught me, he is REALLY good at it!"). He explained as he worked, with his little brothers listening closely. "See, that's the ribs. Feel that. See? Now I'm going to cut that out". like a budding Babe Winkelman. his brothers were in awe and he was eating it up.

and then we came in and fried them up! It wasn't much meat--they weren't "keepers" so it was naughty--but was he ever proud. He put some in a bowl, added some tartar sauce, and wrote a note "Daddy.....the bass I caught today". I have a picture but haven't uploaded yet. My Canon died so now I'm stuck using the camera on my phone.
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I took Ariana to the eye doctor and I thought he was going to prescribe a dog, her vision is so bad! I couldn't BELIEVE the stuff she couldn't see! She has some new glasses that are extremely cute--will also post pictures of that. She is busy preparing for 5th grade.
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I took Ana, her friend Lexi, Elijah, Ben, and Wil to valleyfair yesterday. I finally got smart and left the babies (Brian and Zac) at home. Joanie met us down there between appointments with her mom so I wasn't alone with them that much--just at the beginning and end. We rented a cabana which was a huge lifesaver, we had a home base to leave everything. it was right next to the wave pool. we had a great time. i was very glad Lexi came with--it was much more fun for Ana. They were allowed to venture off on their own several times and each time demonstrated maturity and responsibility. They tried some pretty scary rides! The boys liked the milder ones and for the most part they all liked the same ones so it was really easy to move them around as a group.

But, aside from the fun, there was a scare. I am tentative about writing this because I suspect some people will say this is what happens when you have a big family ("too many kids"). it has nothing to do with that. Basically, we lost William! He wandered away from me at the wading pool while I was talking to Joanie across the fence. This was a fenced in area FULL of lifeguards and he had a life jacket on. He and the other two boys were standing right with me, and Joanie and the girls came up outside the fence to make some plans. When I turned back, I didn't see Wil. I looked around for quite awhile, thinking he was just in the wading pool/splash pad having fun (he does do that--he is independent). I couldn't find him anywhere. Lij and I were freaking out. i asked a lifeguard for help, but i didnt have my "ears" on (can't get them wet) and couldn't understand him; he was gesturing OUTSIDE the fenced area to a lifeguard station. i didnt want to leave the fenced area becuase I thought Wil was in there looking for me. Finally, frantically, I did; I got to the lifeguard station in a huge panic, as you can imagine. By then it had been 10 minutes. But as soon as I got there, this big tall lifeguard guy looked very reassuring. I told him I couldn't hear, and he wrote on a piece of paper "we have him. two employees are bringing him." I asked if they were sure it was him; he got back on his walkie talkie and said "he won't say his name" I asked if he was blonde; back to walkie talkie, yes blonde curls. I said to ask him if his name was Wil. "Yes, it's Will. they will be here soon" the guy wrote. Can you imagine my relief? Poor lijah was in tears, he was so worried; i had him posted in the wading pool area watching for Wil to come by. Ben was with me, i sent him back to get Elijah.

Pretty soon through the crowd comes a group of valleyfair employees. In the middle of the group was a lady holding a little boy with blonde curls--yes, it was Wil! reminiscent of little lord fauntleroy once again.

I tried to piece together what happened, and all I could get from the employees was that they had seen he had a cabana wristband on so had brought him all the way over back to the cabanas (quite some distance away) assuming he had wandered from there and someone would be looking for him there. They have an extensive system for incidents like this and all employees in the park knew there was a lost kid (apparently it happens all the time).

Today I talked to Wil about it and got the rest of the story...kind of. Patched together below...."I went to get you and I didnt see you so I went outside the fence. {keep in mind I had not moved--i was in the same area of the wading pool the entire time--he had become disoriented}. Then a mom took me and gave me to two lifeguards. and they asked if my name was william and I said yes. and then they gave me to you. and now I'm fine." (and he went back to his digging on the beach)

so that's it, in a nutshell. i wish i could thank the mom who saw that he was lost and made sure he was found.

Right now he is busy making maps for Grandma to come to the mall of america, "except, only, I don't know how to get there" he says. Hmmm....sounds like his mama............

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Despite all that, we had a great time and plan to go back next year for sure. We won't invite Zac for at least 2 more years and maybe then Brian can come, we'll see if he's grown up enough yet. yes, i will bring one more adult, but before you say this happened because i had 3 boys to be responsible for, i have several things to point out. yes, i did make a mistake in not making him hold my hand while i had my eyes off him as I talked to joanie and the girls...but...today at work i told this story and another lady said she lost her kid at valleyfair 20 years ago, same scenario, and she was there with just him. plus, elijah and ben were right there by my side, they stayed very close to me all day, so that i was able to focus on keeping track of wils. elijah was a big help with that, actually....his bossiness is handy in situations like that! he kept a close eye on his little brothers and kept them in line. So, though i wish it hadnt happened, it did; the end is happy, and we all learned.

when we arrived back at the house at 10 30 (yes, they almost stayed til closing!), the funniest thing happened....it was hysterically funny...you had to be there, but.....Leo, the dog, was so happy to see us, he ran in place for a few seconds and then wiped out and fell. we laughed and laughed...and THEN he got all silly and ran around the house like a mad dog making these wierd squealing noises. i have no idea what was UP with him but it was funny.
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last but not least, a zac story, from brian. he said he was laying on his back on the floor yesterday and zac was sitting on his stomach driving a vehicle on his chest. it was really hot, so he didnt have his shirt on (usually he is meticulous about that, but they were alone). then he noticed what zac was doing...the vehicle was a miniature john deere lawn mower, and zac was cutting the "grass"...driving the rider in careful rows up and down brian's chest!
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benj is about to turn 7 and becoming more introspective and a little withdrawn. my guide to 7 year olds tells me that's normal for the age, but it's concerning because it is an exacerbation of his already quiet personality. but, he's still darling. he sat in the backseat of the denali and KNITTED all the way to valleyfair! he finished a latch hook project and is working on another, im not sure if he is still planning on making me a new carpet like he originally planned. he spent his allowance yesterday on hot tamales and a slushie thing at valleyfair so didnt have any left to get a whoopie cushion when elijah did at the souvenir shop (i was not happy but he can do what he wants with his allowance....he'll learn.) Ben was mad but got over it.

so then today, he says..."Someday, when we have a lot of money, like ALOT of money, can you buy me a whoopie cushion?"

I think I can accommodate that.

there is much more to catch up on, but that's enough for now. babe winkelman junior is still wearing his lifejacket although he is now watching tv in the viking room. now ive been summoned to go shine for night crawlers. yay.

just some more pictures

the curly picture

Hi Linda---the kid with the curls below is actually me :) it does look like Wil, doesn't it?

Bridget

We have some new people at our house. Four of the, actually. Ana has hermit crabs, one is named Bridget (I just love it--perfect name) and there was one named Rocket, who came out of his shell, spent a few hours nude, and died; he has since been replaced by another guy who doesn't yet have a name. I keep suggesting names but Ana hasn't like any of them yet. My favorite is "Warren". So these guys are really cool. A couple days ago I was cleaning out the tank (yes, Ana's job, but I think they are fun to play with and didn't mind....she is really doing a nice job taking care of them) and I put the crabs in a bowl on the counter. OK, actually in a coffee filter. Bad idea. Washed the tank and left it out to dry. Awhile later I went back and couldn't find Bridget. Lij helped me look and we found her out on porch going for a stroll. Seriously very funny for a cephalopod! She was just walking around like she had a place to go. She is really friendly, too; when you hold her she'll come out of her shell and walk up and down your arm.

The other two new people are fire belly toads. Elijah had a few years ago and they got out and died (they need water--hermits don't); they were replaced at that time by Dumpy, his cool huge green tree frog. Dumpy died of old age (he lived something like 3 or 4 years) and there have been no frogs since. So these two are his first frogs in awhile (he is a big frog fan). He named them EJ and DJ. That's Elijah Junior and Dumpy Junior. Best of all, EJ is a girl.

Wils is talking about getting a pet some day and right now he is wanting a pet mouse and he wants a female (he uses that term) and he wants to name her "Isabella". I jsut love it, and I'm all for it. He turns 5 in a few weeks and we'll see. The problem is that mice aren't recommended for kids that young; rats are, because they are bigger. The rats at petsmart are pretty cool too though. We'll see. I had been planning on a Nintendo DS for him for his 5th birthday and will probably stick to that. Somehow I doubt gramma will do the rat. He definately needs some new pants--he refuses to wear anything but the size 4 jeans he has worn for the last year, and they won't snap any more. He says, about this, that "THESE PANTS ARE FREAKING ME OUT!"

Zac has two new babies in his life. Mimi, the first, is really not new; he just rediscovered her. She is a raggedy old baby doll that belonged to Ana when she was a baby, and Zac took to her and made her his. He even named her. I have no idea where he got the idea to call her Mimi, but it fits. He dresses her, he kisses her, he feeds her, he puts her to bed, he slams her against the wall by the ankles, all those fatherly things. He and Mimi also have a pet pound puppy from Toys R Us. He has quite the family for such a little guy. He also has quite the mouth...he calls me "mother"! I'm uploading a picture of him and Mimi (among a few other pictures).

We went to the Richmond parade last night and he must have said "Yeah, parade coming" about 20 times...............even when it was actually "going". He waved at everyone that went by and was pretty much as entertaining as anything that was actually IN the parade. Ana was in it, with her Tae Kwon Do group; she had a good time and looked like quite the big girl. Ben found a friend from school to be silly with--he is a true middle child. Elijah sat and attracted dirt to his face and clothes.

I think my favorite part was the antique car part, an old guy went by in a restored 19 something something, and he had his Rolator beside in in the front seat. What exactly was the antique here.....him?

A quick shout out---to my friend Carla from BBC---can you email me? gillerschurman@clearwire.net

OK, Linda!

I got an email from my friend Linda that reminded me of how remiss I've been in updating my blog. She's right, and I'm even starting to feel guilty about it! It's just summer, you know. Stuff going on. Minimal time on the computer.

There are some good stories, though. I'll begin with my favorite Wil quote to date. He ran into the Viking room, ran back out, put his hands huffily on his hips, and announced "There's a fart in there, from Leo!". And indeed there was.

If not for wanting to say hi to Linda, the title of this post would have been titled something like "dead kitty" or "Blue blues". Don't worry, she isn't really. Here's the story:

Brian texted me when I was on my way home from work one night to say that he had found our cat, Blue, dead on the road while running. Crap. Another pet lost. It wasn't as bad as losing Minnie, but still sad. Blue is probably the least attached of our pets as she is very independent and does not like to be petted. However, she is very pretty, fun to watch, and we've had her for 5 years, so she is part of our family.

The next morning Brian took Ariana to see the dead cat by the road. Ana confirmed that it was, indeed, Blue. (We questioned it just because Brian can be a bonehead that way). Later, I drove over there (it was a mile away) and took a look myself. Yep. No mistaking it. It was blue. Just to be sure, I took a picture with my cell phone and we went home and compared it to pictures we had of her on the computer. A perfect match. So sad....no more Blue.

I was sad for Ben because Blue is technically his kitty. He, however, did not act sad. I was concerned, because he does not talk about how he feels, and I still suspect a touch of Aspergers. I invited him to sleep with me that night, which he did.

But first, we went to pick up the body. I took a plastic bag and when we got there I started to gather the body into it.

And then I saw the balls.

The dead cat had balls.

Blue was a spayed female.

?????????????????????????????

But it was so so obviously her! Her markings are quite distinctive, there just couldn't be two cats out there that look exactly like that, with goofy spots at the butt and a grey head and white body.

So I fiddled with the little appendage causing the confusion, and honestly, I just couldn't think that it was anything but balls. I wondered if something got pushed out when she got run over. I briefly considered calling the vet to ask if maybe...maybe...could she have GROWN some? (That, I am glad I didn't do. Like an RN I work with said when I told him that story, "Hi, I'm a nurse at the VA, and I was wondering...").

I left the dead kitty with balls beside the road for the time being and went home to think. And think. And think. Honestly I must have thought about cat balls for 24 hours. Then I decided that we would never know how Blue grew whatever it was, but that we would bring her home and bury her next to Minnie.

And then she daintily sashayed into the driveway, quite clearly not dead.

The Blue resurrection!

We were very excited to tell Ben the news, but his affect, in response, was characteristically flat. "I knew that wasn't Blue." he said evenly.

"Why didn't you say something?" I asked him. "Didn't want to." he said.

OK....................

I still haven't figured out how on earth she could be missing for 3 days and we can find her twin dead by the road and then she can come home (she never leaves for days at a time...never)................'twill always be a mystery, I suppose. In the meantime, I'm enjoying watching her in the evenings as she carouses with her sister, Jamie, and chases the dog.

Joy to the world

THE TOOTH HAS COME!

June 5th 1972

That's when I got born, so happy birthday to me. And indeed it has been. The weather has been beautiful and I've been having fun outside with 4 very good and independent big kids and 1 very crabby and clingy little kid. The good news on that one is that I believe there is only one more tooth to go and we'll be done with that teething business for awhile.........however as far as the other two problems go, there are still 10 months of him being 2 and I suspect we are destined for a lifetime of him being spoiled.

I got some great presents, too. Mom sent me cash and I went and bought myself some Keens! I've wanted for a long time for work, everyone here has them--they are ideal "nurse" shoes. They're dark blue and soooo comfy. Then, Brian gave me a clothesline. I couldn't be happier. I've wanted one forever and he always ignored me (he doesn't say no--he is passive aggressive so he has to ignore instead) because he is snobby and thinks they are tacky. As he gets older he cares less what other people think and that's all good for me.

Then, Fedex arrived with my laptop. ON my birthday, I'm not kidding. I"ve been waiting weeks for it. I'm required to have one for fall for school as I"ll be traveling some for clinicals (just to Fargo for a few long weekends through the year but still I have to have one) plus we really have been needing a 2nd computer, what with 6 computer users in the house (and one more on the up and up). It's shiny red--just deliciously electronic looking. I took it out of the box and of course had a million people crowded around me looking at it and reaching out grimy fingers. "Oh, no," I said, "No child will touch this!".

To which Wil responded.................."Look, a child is touching it.........." and reached out his dirty little finger while horns grew out of his head and a tail swished visibly behind him. That guy..............

The kids brought home their report cards and everyone did well. Ana got SIX "O"s!!! Ana, I know you read this, so I want you to know how proud we are of you! You worked very hard for your grades! Ben got five O's, which is also great. Lij brought home a neat paper that they made on the last day of school, they passed around papers on which everyone was supposed to write one nice thing about that person, and his was interesting. "you are so funny" "you are funnyer than i exepted" "You are so cool" "you are an awesome friend" "you are so funny" "you are so funny" "you are so funny" "you are so funny" "you are so funny"

I take it we have a class clown on our hands.

Meow

Oh, great. I have another kitty. The inside kind. The kind that is 24 pounds, very short, and has new eyeteeth. Can anyone tell me why my children think they are animals? And why cats, in particular? He used to bark once in awhile, but now it's all meow. I had him and Wils in the bakery twice this week and he (the NEW kitty) was meowing up a storm. The OLD kitty, Wils, wasn't meowing at all. So I get one over it and the next one in line morphs.

The three oldest kids were all in a spring concert this week. Elijah did not permit us to watch his part, so we left the gym for awhile. Ben did great, he has always participated well. This time he didn't really do the arm motion stuff ("Mr. Sun, Mr. Sun, please shine down on me!") but I noticed a lot of the boys didn't. Ana had her very first up front solo and she did awesome, her voice was so strong and clear. And then....this kitty caught sight of his beloved sister up there and decided he was going up there too! He headed for the hills. I intercepted him and let me tell you, it was a long, long, long, long, walk to the back of that big, crowded, hot, gym, wearing high heels, holding a screaming toddler who thought he was going to do a duet with his sister.

She also had some very exciting news in that she get a great spartan award. That's an academic award that students get for various reasons. Ben got one in the fall for penmanship. Hers is for the top reading score in her grade on the standardized testing they do every spring.

Today Ana had her babysitting course through community ed. The content sounded excellent and it was taught by a retired nursing instructor that I have met before. Ana is very excited to put her new skills to use on someone other than her usual clients. I think she is about the right age for a "parent's helper" type job so I'll start poking around for opportunities for her. Elijah figures that now that she's in the real job market, he should get all the cash gigs at home. The thing is, he IS a great babysitter--nobody insists on rules being followed like that guy. The thing is, I can't afford him. Just watch, he'll join a union or something.

Wil was so cute all day. Well, he always is. But he's been into telling these long, long, long, involved stories and they take FOREVER and he talks like a CODA (child of deaf adults). He stops talking the minute you break eye contact and HE STARTS OVER AT THE BEGINNING. Oh, man. And he uses these big hand gestures. So he was telling me about this truck and trailer he is going to buy when he is a grown up (big hand gesture showing how grown up he'll be) and he won't need a booster seat when he drives it (hands show booster seat) and he will have a snogobile and a 4 wheeler on his trailer (hands show driving these items) and he will be a grown up (big hand gesture showing how tall) and he won't need his booster seat (hands show booster seat) AND...the best part.....Ariana can ride in the trailer. He'll be driving (because he'll be grown up.....hand gesture showing just how much.)

Grandma Mary

I wrote this essay some time ago and decided to go ahead and post it in honor of Mother's Day, in memory of my Grandma Mary.

A handful of powdery grey ash in a plastic baggie tied with a rose-colored ribbon. Eighty-one years of living and three weeks of dying, packaged neatly like a bag of jelly beans. I keep it in my glove compartment, this incomprehensible statement of finality. It’s as good a place as any. Maybe, someday, I’ll come upon the World’s Best Garage Sale, and scatter her there. She’ll have finally reached her nirvana.

It was snowing, that day I saw her last. I brought the children in to see her individually. They kissed Great Grandma goodbye, protected by their innocence. The immensity of the moment stole my voice, my words. Would they remember this? Would this image be burned into their memories, indelible, defining? Would they remember her at all?

I looked at her hands to avoid her eyes. Farm girl hands, she had. Big, useful, used, crepe paper wrinkles and prominent veins. A mother's ring with three square rocks. Her mouth spoke simple words but the intensity in her eyes spoke forgiveness and something else, something I couldn't name, something that stabbed my soul. Her old-lady perfume was there, somehow, in the air around her deathbed.

We didn’t say goodbye. I walked out of that room, my heart in my throat, lead in my gut, down the long hallway to the door and out into the cold February day. We drove away in the silent falling snow, me and my family. The lead in my gut would stay and nearly drown me.

Her dying was brutally fast and torturously slow. Brothers, cousins, aunts, uncles, nieces, nephews, in and out, saying goodbye, listening to her death rattle, smelling the cancer overtake her. I didn't go. I couldn't go there. The dreaded emotions would overtake me. Instead, I paced, 150 miles away, trying to prepare for what I knew I wasn’t ready to handle.

It came on a Sunday night. Your Grandma died at about 7 pm tonight, the email said. Tidy black words on the luminescent screen.

The euphemistic "celebration of her life" was held a week later. No casket, no urn, just flowers and a framed photograph, the one she hated. A minister was there, someone who didn't know her because she hadn't worried a bit about getting her ticket punched. He did his thing, a eulogy-in-a-can. She didn't think many people would come to her funeral. I wish I could tell her she’d been wrong. She'd laugh. Oh, you rotten little kid, she’d say.

Then it was my turn to publicly say what I privately couldn't even comprehend. I stood before the crowded room, note cards in my hands. The sea of expectant faces numbed me. Somehow I knew this was my penance, how I could apologize to her again for missing her last months.

I told her story in her own words, gleaned from old letters, saved emails, in her rambling, disjointed style that always made me laugh. Linda took me to Wayne’s Star Market for groceries today and I waited in the car. It makes me so angry when people leave their shopping carts in the parking lot instead of putting them away! I had a hotdog and bun for lunch, it was very good.

Emails from her Mailstation in her little apartment, the Mailstation I was so proud of her using. Thank you for the bakery stuff, it was delicious. Myrtle doesn’t like divinity, you know, so I ate hers.


Her goofy songs. Nothing could be finer than to be in Carolina in the mooorrrrnniiiinnnng.

I tried to explain how contradictory her character was. Severe in expression, often caustic in her words. So very patient, content to sit for hours working on her “crossword puzzle books”. Deep inside, a buried softness and overwhelming shyness, forced into a nearly unbearably social life by her marriage to an extrovert. The original queen of denial. Her cancer had been diagnosed ten years before, well advanced, already eating through the skin. Impossible to ignore, but she had.

Every bonus year after her diagnosis, she threw herself a birthday party. It was my job to bring her the cake—or two, if a lot of people were expected. I’d ask her what she wanted on her cake. Well, she said, happy birthday Mary, I suppose!

Somehow, somewhere, I forgot that they were bonus years. I let a family disagreement come between us. Her last Christmas, I didn’t see her. I stayed away with my pride to keep me company. A few weeks later she was in the hospital, and a week after that, transferred to the dreaded nursing home to await her death. So little time to make things right.

Today, I hold in my hand an index card. At one time this card was in her living hands. Hilda’s Chocolate Cake, it says across the top in her strong cursive. I picture her in her favorite chair in front of her TV, Wheel of Fortune blaring, absentmindedly working on her recipe for me between vowels and consonants. We must have been in her thoughts, Hilda and I. Hilda, big sister, gone for 50 years already, and me.

Stuff

I'm way behind again. School is finished for the semester and there were quite a few big projects due last week so that's where my mind has been. The semester ended up pretty good. I start summer school already in 2 weeks. I don't mind, I'd rather just keep plugging away. It'll be a heavy courseload but it gets me that much closer to being able to add "RN, BSN" after my name!

Psych unit story. Old guy with schizophrenia, chronic psych patient. A nurse walked into the bathroom and saw what he thought was this patient urinating in the sink. Oh, but appearances can be decieving. One must never assume. The patient was actually, to quote "washing my balls"

I went through some of the kid's school stuff from the year and found a cute paper Ben did. He was supposed to finish the sentence "If I had 100 __________ I would ____________". When Ana was in first grade her answer was "If I had 100 dogs, I would love them all.". That was so cute. Elijah's was "If I had 100 dollars, I would get 100 legos" that was so Elijah. And Ben? "If I had 100 dollars I would buy a motercicle and drive it to my Grammas"

Leo seems to be getting the hang of this only dog stuff. I noticed something really interesting--he and Minnie always barked their heads off at Mr Grundman, also known as "Crabby Neighbor". With Minnie gone, Leo is no longer doing this. Maybe it was all for show!

Thomas, our donkey, has some big news. He has been asked to serve as a stud. A less likely stud you will not find, trust me. Apparently the guy wants to cross him with his female pony to make a miniature mule. Now THAT I can't wait to see. Would it be a ponkey, or a dony? Thomas really is a funny little guy and if we had acreage I'd have more donkeys--or maybe a ponkey too.

I have prepared the summer schedules for the kids, for the most part. Ana talked her brothers into joining her at the crafty week at the school. So they are going to spend a week of summer school doing latchhook, perler beading, knifty knitting, etc. What a visual. Other than that they will do swimming lessons and Ana will do a theater camp (and babysitting course).

Running is getting really fun all of a sudden. I've been able to increase my mileage AND my speed, and my endurance feels much stronger. It must be true what they say about female runners peaking in the 30s. I decided not to sign up for the Twin Cities Marathon after all; I would love to, but I won't know my schedule for clinicals until fall and if I pay 100 bucks for the marathon and have to be in Fargo for clinical instead, I will not care for that. So I'll just stick to some local shorter runs.

Here's the thing though. I'm mad. I can run 6 miles a day for weeks at a time AND I STILL HAVE A GUT. Granted, that gut has contained a total of 45 pounds of humanity over the last decade, so i suppose I could cut it some slack. I still hate the damn thing though. It's a POOCH. A POOCHY thing. I want to get my belly ring back but it would look stupid on a POOCH. Maybe I'll have to pierce something else.

Brian and I are playing kickball on the VA league this summer. I'm excited that it's kickball--I suck at softball. I should be able to kick a ball--should. It's not a giant endeavor, only about 12 games total, always Monday or Tuesday at 5 or 6 PM so that works really well for our schedules. The kids can come watch if I can have a sitter with--but as one potential sitter pointed out--if Zac is there he is going to expect Brian to play while carrying him. A major case of spoiled going on there.

Funny conversation with Elijah...he was saying that he and Ana are not little kids, that's what some certain activity was for (I can't remember what it was). Well, I said, what are you then? He got his "jokin' ya" expression and said "I'm an adult, mother." Keep in mind this guy is 8. "I'm an adult, mother."

boys boys boys

Nothing huge to report....just some funny comments.

Last night the boys were running around in swimming trunks and I commented on how Ben's body is exactly like Brian's (and it is!). Wil was sitting there and he said "My body is exactly like yours" (he is too little to understand that isn't something to aspire to). I told him that yes, he is a Giller--his body is like a Giller male. He said "yeah!" then he thought....................and thought.....................and said "Actually, my name is William"

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I took Ben on a date because he is so quiet it takes a special effort to get inside his head. One of the things he wanted to do was go to the bakery, into Lynn's office, to the box of giant rubber bands she has, so he could get another like the one he got a few weeks ago, because "a guy at school wants one".
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Elijah was pestering me last night to get his fishing pole out. I didn't want to. i said no. He said yes. I said no. He said yes. You know how it goes with Elijah. Eventually he got distracted and went to play down on the beach with his brothers. Then a few minutes later I see him climbing back up over the rocks. Ben said "come back down here and play!" and Elijah said 'No, I have to get back to my whining"

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Zaccy has had a nasty bout of the flu. He's been throwing up and has had diarrhea for about 3 days. Very sick puppy. Tonight he is doing quite a bit better. Poor guy has been so lethargic--and actually wants to go to his bed. I think he is going to get eye teeth out of this too.

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And finally, I've been trying to talk the boys into doing some summer school stuff. Nope, they said. We're fishin'!

Somehow, their sister convinced them to join her in the week of Kollege for Kids at Cold Spring Elementary.................taking perler beading, scrapbooking, latchhooking, etc etc.

Huh?????????????????

Life Goes On

As they say. We are adjusting to our new normal without our little girl pug. For a tiny being her absence sure leaves a big hole. We all miss her very much.

William's response is SO four years old. He keeps talking about her very innocently and loudly. Poor Ana. For example, we were leaving to go for a bike ride and William found it necessary to announce "BUT MINNIE CANT COME BECAUSE SHE'S DEAD, RIGHT?"

Ok, bad, but still...............with Wil you have to laugh.

So then we got to Lynn's house to see Thomas and Dawn, Lynn's yellow lab, was there running around as usual. She was playing around with the kids and Wil kept referring to her as "he". I told him that Dawn is a girl. He argued with me. Finally I made the dog lie down and I rolled her over on her back and showed him. "See" I said "No penis". Wil crossed his little arms, closed his eyes, and airly said "OK, fine, a bagina."

Update on Ana's blog--difficulty commenting?

If you saw Ana's blog and tried to post but couldn't--please go back and try again as I helped her change some settings that were causing that problem. She'd love comments. Her email is mywildanarose@yahoo.com if you want to email her privately. Thanks for keeping her in your thoughts. Tracy

Update on Ana's blog--difficulty commenting?

Several people have said they are unable to post comments for Ana. I went in and saw she had some settings that were preventing that so I made some changes and now anyone should be able to. Please do if you can, it would make her very happy. Her email is mywildanarose@yahoo.com if you want to email her directly. Thanks for keeping her in your thoughts. She is being a very brave girl but is so very sad.

Sad, sad news

I cannot believe the irony of having my most recent post be the one below.

We lost our sweet Minnie yesterday. She was run over by a car and died in Ana's arms 30 minutes later. Poor Ana is devastated. Brian saw everything happen and is so sad for his girl as well as sad for our Minnie (they have napped together daily for 5 years--since we got our little black pup). Elijah lost his frog Dumpy last year and had some very good insights for Ana. Ben and Wil and Zac don't quite "get it".

As sad as Ana is, I have to say I'm impressed with her coping skills. She went right to the computer and started writing about her dog. She has been alternating writing with laying on the couch and sobbing.

She is having her first real experience with grief and it is going to be a long, hard, road for her. Please keep her in your thoughts and prayers. The rest of us could use them too but she just went through something that she will never completely get over.

We will have a funeral for our little black pug this evening some time. Daddy will make a coffin today, Ana has asked that there be a little pillow in it. She likes the idea that we will plant a tree over the spot we bury her and we will always have Minnie's tree to sit by and think of her. She got my joke when I asked if it should be a dogwood--and she also told me she is going to need to pet Leo extra and would I please not charge her 50 cents like I usually do. Leo is doing a nice job being where he might be needed at just the right time.

Ana has started a blog:
www. minniethedog.blogspot.com

Warning: it'll tear your heart out. If you will, please read it and post a comment to her. There have only been a few but those few have brightened her day immensely.

Jennie and Bob

Small and crooked, the only thing Dalmation about Jennie was her spots. Blind in one eye and lame in one hip, she was the imperfect remnant of a litter of sleek Dalmations. Bob was a rakish tomcat with a beautiful white coat, blue eyes, and torn ears, proud battle scars from run-ins with neighborhood adversaries.

Jennie preceded me into the world in early 1972, saved from euthanasia by a chance meeting and brought home in Dad's coat pocket. She fast became the constant companion of my older brother, Gary, an independent boy with adventure and wanderlust in his soul. Bob came later, scrawny and mewing, his pink skin showing through his thin white kitten coat. Bob was mine. Boxy photographs from the early seventies depict a wide-eyed kitten dangling from the grasp of a determined toddler.

We grew together, the four of us, in that little house in Lewis. Gary went off to kindergarten, and I grew into a strong willed, spring-haired preschooler. Every afternoon I stood at the screen door and impatiently awaited the return of my mercurial brother. Bob became a breathtakingly beautiful tomcat with a penchant for the ladies and an ever-growing spawn of tiny white offspring. Jennie grew from that small and crooked pup to a small and crooked dog with a joyful wiggle to her misshapen hips and a toothy, snorting, grin.

Gary was one of the “Lewis boys”, a ragtag band of sandlot boys who climbed trees and tool sheds in search of adventure. Bob was the Lewis Lothario. He staggered home early in the morning, ears bleeding, coat dirty, hungry and triumphant after a night of kitty conquests. In one last feat of derring-do before retiring for the day, he used a nearby oak to deliver him to roof of the house, where he could curve his head and body around the eaves to peer, upside down, into my bedroom. Jennie was a logging dog, accompanying Dad to the woods and making herself useful spotting squirrel and chipmunk nests in downed trees. As for me, I found much to do within the confines of my sandbox, in which Bob occasionally joined me.

One hazy summer, Jennie was romanced by the standard poodle across the street. She summarily delivered a litter of "doodles", culturally confused little beings with a Poodle for a father and a disabled Dalmation for a mother. The doodles provided hours of fun, following me from adventure to adventure. Old Kodaks show a tiny girl with wild dandelion hair, grown-up sized purse dangling from her arm, marching resolutely forward in the grass with a row of doodles in pursuit.

Like all good things eventually do, the idyllic Lewis days came to an end. We moved to Frederic, I went to kindergarten, and a baby brother came along. Bob was fast to conquer his new neighborhood, but Jennie became a homebody, content with our company, keeping a wary eye on the much busier street in the much bigger town.

Before long, now accompanied by baby Hans, we moved again. To Luck, Big Butternut Lake, and the rest of my childhood. The upheaval of moving was dulled by the constant presence of good-natured Jennie and soft, brooding, Bob. Bob, newly stripped of his virility, was content to lounge in the dusty sunbeams, paws tucked under him bread loaf style. Every so often he'd indulge in a luxurious stretch, making tiny chef's hats of his snowy feet.

The winter of 1981 brought the inevitable and unwelcome experience of grief to my young life. My indestructible Bob got sick one day, curling into himself in a white ball of pain, eyes wide and frightened. A trip to the vet revealed bladder stones, a treatable affliction; I worried obsessively, in my 7 year old way, and awaited his return home. Alas, one dark day my parents appeared in the door of my 2nd grade classroom, somber eyes fixed on me. I returned their gaze with dread, knowing in my heart that they had news that would shatter my little world. Bob had died unexpectedly in the weathered hands of the old veterinarian. There'd be no charges, he said, because he shouldn't have been handling the cat; his bladder had burst from the pressure.

We buried Bob across the street in a place we came to call Bobland. I hid in my closet, clutching a tattered photograph of my beloved kitty, lipstick on his face, his nose delicately poking a whiskey bottle. The picture wrinkled and wore until it was criss-crossed with fuzzy white lines.

The years after Bob's death passed in a shadowy blur, bringing with them the advent of my own disability, my own imperfection, and the upheaval of my world. Jennie remained, steadfast and loyal, lying beside the fireplace in the winter, watching us swim in the summer. She shepherded our pet ducklings, keeping them safe in our yard, occasionally taking just the tiniest taste. She buried pancakes in the garden and pouted in her dog house, tail thumping against the wood, if she felt wrongly reprimanded. She had many adventures left, including one curious trip aboard a slab of ice on the shattering lake, from our shore to the other, where she was rescued.

The winter we were 14, Jennie’s turn came. Incontinent and completely blind, she had lost the pep in her wag and the spring in her step. Her days were filled with pain instead of adventure, and it was time for her to go. We said good bye to her in the garage, lying beside her on her tattered blanket, stroking her soft white head. Mom and Gary gently carried her off to her peaceful death.

Today a portrait hangs in the basement of my parents house. The portrait is of a proud little Dalmation, lying in her familiar curled pose, head raised in inquiry. One eye is brown, one eye is white. Once in awhile she catches my gaze, and I reach across the years to touch her soft head.

It's Been Awhile

Sorry, I know it's been too long since I've updated. No good excuse, either, and I've probably forgotten every good story I should have.

Well, not all, I guess! We do have some news. Ben was asked to be in his Godmother Brittney's wedding next January. He will be a junior groomsman. Brittney said that they don't have a junior bridesmaid so Ben will be with the big guys. I'm not sure what that means, if he'll have a special job or escort a big girl. Either way he will be darling in his tux. I told him I will kiss all the freckles off his face. He is already wiping them off.

We have a new puppy. Zac. You know how Wils pretends he's a kitty? Zac is the puppy. The puppy chases the kitty and vice versa. They lick each other too. So far I've kept them away from each other's butts.

Zac is showing imagination in more ways than one. When we were at gramma's house a few weeks ago he got a 4 wheeler ride (very slowly), sitting in front of my on the 4 wheeler with my arm around his tummy. Gramma gave him his own personal 4 wheeler (no motor, little feeties have to do it) for his birthday. Well, he has been giving his dolls and teddy bear rides on his 4 wheeler just like we do on the big one. I don't remember the others pretending quite so well at that age, so we seem to have a good imagination at work.

Today I left Ana and Wil alone for a bit while Brian slept. On my way out I told Wil that Ana would be babysitting him. "Oh good," he said "we can play house!"

Dog story. I had to videotape myself giving a presentation for school. I was all dressed up to look professional and miraculously kid free. So I set up the videocamera with the living room behind me and taped 20 minutes of presentation. Later I went back to review it (good thing I did) and lo and behold, there is a dog dragging his ass on the carpet behind me. For a good 5 minutes. With an expression of bliss on his face.

Marilyn's Tribute

This is the eulogy I wrote for Marilyn. Figured I'd post it here as long as I'm being brave about posting my writing. Besides, she was cool; the world should know about her!

Memories of Marilyn

It wasn't until I read Marilyn's obituary that I learned she had a formal education as a teacher. As I read, a light bulb went on. No wonder I feel like most of the things I need to know, I learned from Marilyn—BEFORE kindergarten!

With the right personality, you can make friends with anyone, even a rock.
I can always find Marilyn by going deep into the recesses of my memory, to the foggy rooms of the 1970s. Gary and Jeri were 4 months apart, and Jon and I were 3 weeks apart, so we were ideal playmates and together all the time out at their farm. We helped in the barn, taking care to avoid Alice, the crabby cow who only liked Marilyn. Our special job was to feed the calves. We went for walks in the woods to find wild strawberries, and if we got itchy from the weeds Marilyn would help us put mud on our legs. Who cared what it looked like, or the mess it would make. It worked, and it was fun! We could pick gigantic wood ticks off Nelson and pop them on the sidewalk to see how much blood would squirt out, and Marilyn would admire our handiwork.

One day, Marilyn took us to the field and had us each pick out a rock, telling us that we would put the rock by our beds and in the morning when we woke we would have a surprise. And so we did. We each chose a rock and went to bed, filled with anticipation. In the morning, those rocks had hair and eyes and teeth! It wasn't until years later when we were snooping in the basement that Jeri showed me Marilyn's little workshop and told me she had made our pet rocks. I honestly didn't have a clue. That was Marilyn's magic.

Kids care a lot less about dust and laundry than they do about fun time with an adult who really enjoys them. Everyone should have a babysitter—or better yet, an aunt--like Marilyn. After a busy morning on the farm, she would have Jon and I lay down for a nap. Jon was usually asleep in about 2 minutes and I'd be nearing death from boredom. Marilyn would come in and ask me if I wanted to come out and be with her. She had my corn chips ready for me in a little bowl and we would sit and visit about all sorts of important things while Jon slept. I didn't realize until I became a parent myself how many other things she could have been doing besides talking to a 3 year old. Years later, the 4 luckiest kids in the world got to have Marilyn as a Grandma. The Russians could be invading, tarantulas could be building webs in the corner, dishes could be stacked like little skyscrapers, a cow could be peeking in the window, but nurturing the little minds of children was always more important. That was Marilyn's magic.

Everybody is special. I admit to a little jealousy. I thought I was special. As I think back to what I know of Marilyn, I realize that there are hundreds of people out there who think the same thing—that they were a special kid and that sparkle in her big brown eyes was just for them. Last time I saw her was 10 days before she died. I hadn't seen her since her diagnosis and when I walked into her room I wasn't even sure it was her, her physical being had changed so much. She looked up and saw me and flashed that big open-mouthed smile and said "Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii, Teeeeeeeeeee!". Here she was, in the final weeks of her life, making ME feel special.

You can find humor in most situations. On that same visit, Marilyn had a stack of unopened mail at her bedside. She agreed that I could open them and read them to her. Included was a card from one of her brothers and sister in law. In that card was a very dirty joke that made me blush. Here she was, so full of pain medication she could barely talk, and she laughed out loud, the breathless little laugh like a car engine turning over in the cold, her eyes twinkled, and she said, half asking/half stating "That was from Joel?" That was Marilyn's magic.

It's the little adventures that make up life. When Jon and I were young, before they moved to Idaho, we were at Grandma and Grandpa's one day and decided we wanted to walk on the back roads, probably about a mile, to Gary and Marilyn's house. We were probably only 8 at the time, and Grandma thought both of us, if not her would have strokes if we did, but Marilyn said she'd go with us. So we set out that hot summer day, Jon, Marilyn, and I, to walk down the dusty country road just because, with Marilyn sharing her little wisdoms along the way. "Did you know" she said, "a dog's mouth is cleaner than a person's mouth". To me, that's a good example of the type of thing kids are interested in learning that nobody would think to tell them—except Marilyn.

The birds and the bees. Marilyn was our personal Dear Abby, our own private "Ask Marilyn". Anything parents didn't want to answer, which in my case meant most of my questions, met with "Go ask your aunt Marilyn". Her answers were what nowadays would be called "too much information". One day we were playing around the farm and the vet came and put a plastic bag on his arm and proceeded to insert his arm into the wrong end of the cow. Naturally, I was curious and I asked Marilyn what he was doing. I remember her stopping her chores to talk to me. She had a pitcher of raw milk in her hand, that red bandana on her head over her dark hair up in a bun with a stick through it, big honkin' barn boots on her feet, a skimpy little tube top, and cut offs. That day I learned about artificial insemination. I also learned why the bull was in a separate pen, and where that baby brother had just come from. Some things you just don't forget.

Fun is good, but respect is required. On one of my visits out to Idaho when I was probably about 12, Marilyn took Jon, Jeri, and I to see an Eddie Murphy movie. I don't remember which one, but I do remember on the way back Jon and I were in the back seat and Jon was still laughing about Eddie's filthy mouth. I looked up and saw Marilyn's steely glare in the rear view mirror just as she said, "Jon, if I ever hear you talk like that, I'll take your tongue out and stick it in your ear!"

Most of all, love and acceptance are unconditional. Marilyn was fiercely protective and loyal. She was always, always, able to see beyond our imperfections. She was unbelievably tolerant. She saw the good in all of us, and bright potential in every child. Now, we've lost our gentle brown eyed lady much too soon. In her honor, our job now is to cherish and nourish the children, feed their imaginations, and teach them things they need to know but that their parents are embarrassed to explain. We need to make pet rocks! We need to be tolerant of each other, forgiving of each other, and perhaps most of us, remember to find humor and adventure in every day we have the gift of living.

...............................................................

My Writer In Training

Ana and Ben both love to write, and it's very gratifying for me to see that. And fun! They are much better writers than I was at their ages.

Tonight, Ana emailed me at work to say she had called her friend Paije and that went well so she thought she was ready to try calling me at work. So I gave her the number and told her who would answer (this was a practice call) and told her what to expect. She did just great! Ray, the RN who answers the phone because he hogs that computer, said her voice was clear and strong (I asked, because she is so shy and quiet sometimes).

That emboldened her, and she and Elijah decided to call their friend Allie (really, Elijah's bestest, but her and Ana and Ben are pals too). Elijah has never called a friend before so this was a big moment.

Then I get this email from Ana. What did she do after the big moment? Captured it with a story! Here it is, cut and pasted from Ana's email:

lijah's call

"okay lij i'll dial"
"okay"
"when it rings say ' hi can I talk to Allie'." Ana explained
The phone was ringing.
"wait.....I thought you were going to call her!"
He held the phone down, not hanging up.
................................................................
"LIJ! pick it up, pick it up!" wispered Ana
not relizing the person was already on the phone, probley saying 'Hello, Hello, HELLO?'
"umm... Allie?" Lij said nervously.
Then his face turned from worried to happy...Allie picked up.
"...Hi!" said Lij
"...okay,..."
AND THE REST IS HISTORY. THE END

This I Believe

I recently did an assignment for school, an essay supposed to be in the style of NPR's "This I Believe". It was fun to write and I think it's fun to read, so I thought I would post it here. Let me know what you think because it is the first time I've done this type of writing and I had a ball.

This I Believe

The dream was sparked in childhood, seated at the knee of my grandmother, the lastborn of 14 children. Certainly, life was hard. Their mother died young, leaving the younger ones to be raised by the older ones as the Great Depression blanketed America like a heavy black cloud.

But still. Nine older sisters to dote on her. Four older brothers to look out for her. Never lonely, although certainly never alone, either.

The years passed by and the children grew, married and had families. Adulthood turned to middle age. Grandchildren of the older siblings played alongside the children of the later-born ones. Sunday gatherings varied in location, but always included loud, raucous laughter, card games, joke-telling, arguing. Sitting at an endlessly long rectangular table. Reveling in each other's company. Little ones, including my brothers and me, kept busy doing what children do. We played. We watched the grownups .

I marveled at their togetherness, at how much they looked and talked alike. I noticed how they aged alike, tight grey perms on the older ladies, polyester pants, and "card-playing glasses." I saw the affectionate teasing, the comments that secretly screamed the unspoken. Most of all, I heard the stories: of childhood adventures, of family tragedies shared and survived, of accomplishments and triumphs and endless hard work. Hushed stories, whispers of long ago feuds.

Attics, spare rooms, and basements held treasure troves of shared history. Group pictures, the siblings dressed in their finest and standing stiffly and formally behind their father's casket. Other pictures, lighter times; laughing and horsing around in the lake, wearing vintage swimming suits and carefree smiles. Fascinating, yellowed letters from war-torn Europe, sent by great uncle Ernie to his baby sister, letting her know he was OK and would be back.

I knew of other families with many siblings, and noticed the same cohesiveness, the shared experiences that bind only those who've lived it together. The knowledge that there was always someone to be with, to talk with, to conspire with and get in trouble with. My dad was one of five, and it was a rare day when one of his siblings didn't stop by just to visit and laugh out loud over things that nobody understood but them.

Slowly, my dream took root: a large family.

Well before I reached adulthood and childbearing years, large families were a thing of the past. Grandparents came from large families, parents did too, maybe, but the newer generation of adults – my generation – were from small families. Large families seemed to only be found in fundamentalist religious communities. The expectations of society had become clear: large families were no longer acceptable in the mainstream.

But still—I believed. I believed that children growing up in large families were given a priceless gift. I believed that they would learn to share, to communicate, to teach and care for others. I believed they grow into special individuals with integrity and confidence. I believed that rather than resenting having to share their parents with many others, children could instead revel in having so many more people to know them inside and out and love them fiercely anyway. I believed that sharing their lives with so many built-in playmates would encourage creativity and teamwork. I believed that large families did not have to be expensive, that children from large families could wear nice and stylish clothes and have good toys and plenty of fun.

And so I married a man who shared that dream. Today, I am a proud mom of five kids, with a span of seven years from the oldest to the youngest. I'm told I don't look the part--whatever that means. I'm working on my fourth college degree; I have a full-time job with the federal government that provides excellent health care for my family. My husband and I work opposite shifts to avoid daycare, and while it’s tough at times, it works for us.

Our children thrive.

They are best friends—and sometimes enemies, but I believe that teaches children how to handle conflict. The only girl, the firstborn, loves to write plays and direct performances by her brothers, her willing pawns. The boys build forts and drive little cars with wild abandon on the hardwood of the kitchen floor. Two love to write and draft stories together and hope to someday write a book. The children celebrate each other's triumphs, welcome each other home from adventures, nurture each other when they are sick.

A hard drive full of pictures attests to all this. A five-gallon pail on the floor in front of a sick-looking boy on the couch has "barf bucket, do not touch" scrawled on the side – made by a big sister doting on her baby brother. A triumphant four-year-old arriving home after a preschool open house to announce "Guys, I'm back!" and being greeted by a stampede of feet and flurry of questions. A sweet newborn baby turning his head when he first hears the voices of his siblings, voices he remembers from in-utero. A fiercely protective older brother, all of six years old, demanding that visitors wash their hands before they touch “his” baby. That same big brother, two years later, sneaking a peek into another little brother's classroom "to be sure he's not in trouble." That other little brother, now six years old himself, a grade ahead and excelling at academics, skipping to the front of a crowded auditorium to receive an award, basking in the proud cheers of his older brother and sister. That newborn baby now nearing two years old and more adored and spoiled than any only child could be. Every last one of them, except that spoiled baby, wishing there were more of them!

Gramma is gone now, as are 12 of her siblings. One hardy soul lives on, 93 years old, stoically going about her life that is now so different from years ago. She misses her siblings. Good and bad, they filled her life from start to finish.

And I most definitely still believe.

movies

im going to try to upload two videos. ana got her orange belt in tae kwon do today, and then she came home and taught zac how to do the kick. hysterically funny. let's see if this works...then ill add some stories.

Where to start, where to start? I thought it had only been a week, but it's been almost 10 days since I've posted. My muse abandoned me and I'm not sure it has yet returned. Most of my schoolwork this semester consists of writing so I guess I am getting my outlet that way.

This week Ariana took a big step and made a phone call to a friend herself and invited her over for the night (this was with my approval). This is a big step for her because she is very shy and has in the past refused to make phone calls. She was asking if Lexi could stay overnight and I thought about it and realized that I don't mind the friend over--I just don't want to be making those phone calls for her. So I told her she could have her friend over if she made the call herself, and she did. Friday night, then, Lexi's mom dropped her off around 8 pm (after a basketball game at which lexi had some cheerleading thing going on). While the girls took off to play (followed by a phalanx of boys), I stood and visited for awhile with Lexi's mom. Lexi has a little sister named Sarah, who is a couple weeks older than William. According to Lexi's mom, Melissa, young Sarah has recently revealed in interesting misconclusion. She figured that the thing she saw on a daycare boy that she does not see on herself is an extra toe. Can't say I've heard that one before, but now that I think about it, I can see the resemblance!

Elijah was very pissy that Ariana had a friend overnight. Not because he wanted HIS friend over, but because he thought he should be able to be in there with them, gossiping and doing sleepover stuff and ultimately sleeping with them. I ended up having to have he and Ben both in my bed because Ben rooms with Ana and Lexi was using his bed. The laugh of the day came in the morning when we located one Mr. Wils slumbering amongst the girls.

Ariana finally summoning the courage to make that phone call has opened the floodgates and I am now officially the Ernestine of my own switchboard. Ben wants to call Maggie and DJ, Elijah wants to call Allie and Noah, and here's my favorite--Wil wants to call Kooper, Tyler, and "Gabin". We figure Zac also wants to call Grace.

Yesterday on my way home from work I called home to see if there was anything I needed to pick up at Target (by the way--never ask Elijah that question). I thought it was Ariana who answered the phone--I can't tell them apart. So i said, "Is this Ana?" And I heard back "No, Mother, it is I." That was Elijah being a dork. No, Mother, it is I.

So, anyway, having revealed that it was he, I asked what they were doing. We are playing doctor, he said. My ears perked up. Everyone knows that "playing doctor" is kid talk for doing bad things. How so? I asked. Well, he said, we are being that kind where if you have a problem the doctor tells you what to do. Ben hired me, he said, but I'm doing it for free this time. Tell me more, I asked him. Well, he said again, I'm working on Wil right now, and his problem is that he gets mad too easy, so that's what I'm talking to him about....................

Wils saw some snowmobiles for sale-I dont' know how he knew what the sign said--but he asked if we could go back and get his wallet. Seems like his fiscal intelligence has now reached the level of his father's.

To close, I thought I'd share an anecdote from work. We had a patient this week who was diagnosed with a paraphilia, which is new psychobabble for being a pervert. His fetish? Carnal relations with his vacuum cleaner. I wonder if he needs viagra.

That note leads me to a bit of sad news, and I'll explain the connection in a minute. My aunt Marilyn died this Thursday at age 61 of a very aggressive form of kidney cancer. She was diagnosed in August but by then it was widely systemic and breaking her bones. Horribly painful way for her to spend her last months. Hans and I did get up to see her about 10 days before she died, so that was good. Anyway, how that last paragraph made me think of her....she would have thought that was hilarious. I'm working on a tribute for her funeral right now and when I'm done I'll post it (it will be a few days--as I said, my muse is missing).

I need to call home and tell them to give the cats and dogs water--when I left for work this morning, Blue was in the heated dish, so I believe I am safe in assuming there is no water in there :)