Story of my life...

It seems as if I'm always doing this--standing in the kitchen, looking through a cookbook, trying to figure out what's for dinner.

My mom tells a similar story about the stress of the infamous question, "What's for dinner?" In some ways her telling of it is a boast that she not only worked 8-4, five days a week, but that she also cooked a full, homemade meal, worthy of sitting down at the dining room table, following every one of those long days at the office.

I think it was 1976 when she "went back to work"--the year that both my brother and I were in school all day, the family was low on cash, and my dad had a flexible enough schedule as a professor at a university that she could work full time even though we only had one car.

She rode with a friend who lived nearby. Each day, she was picked up at 7:30 am and dropped off at 4:30 pm. And according to my mom, each day, just as her high-heeled foot would extend from the open car door and touch the curb, my brother, sitting patiently on the cement front steps, would say, "Mom, what's for dinner?" She claims he looked pitiful and forlorn as if he hadn't eaten all day. He claims he hated broccoli and kidney beans and was merely ensuring he'd have a stress-free meal.

Which ever is true is no longer the point of the story. For me, as a working mom with school-aged kids, the story is more about how one woman "did it all". How she, exhausted after a full day of work outside the home, kicked off her heels, and went to work again in her own kitchen. It's about how one woman, despite the shifting cultural paradigms from the role of the stay-at-home/housewife to that of the working mom with the latchkey kids, successfully merged the two sets of values-- making it look easy and making it look as if every other mom was doing this, too.

There are times when I'm tired or when I just don't feel like cooking. There are times when I contemplate calling out for pizza, but because of my mom and all those hot meals, served promptly at 5:45pm, I think better of it and keep flipping the pages of my cookbook until I find the perfect thing for tonight.

My House Beautiful

I love Sundays. It's the only day of the week when I sleep in.

When I finally decide to roll out of bed, I make French Toast or Pancakes for Eric and the kids. Then...I spend the rest of the day preparing for the week: doing laundry, planning out meals, grocery shopping, putting away coats, toys, shoes...or whatever didn't get put back in its proper spot due to the busyness of the last six days.

When it's all done, I guess you could say, Sunday is my day to hit the re-set button.

As I type: Dinner's done. Laundry's done. Kitchen's clean. Backpacks are organized. And even my own preparation for class is complete. I'm ready to start a new week.

But best of all, the last of the new family room furniture arrived yesterday. We're still waiting for speakers to complete the upgrade on the TV (which will require installation), but the room, in terms of furniture is finally complete.

It's the most awesome feeling at the end of a long day of organizing, cleaning and cooking, to have a comfortable AND BEAUTIFUL place to sit down and prop my feet up.

High Five for Five Days of Awesome

Middle School Blues Officially Busted!

If I had to pick a headline for the state of the union at the Hein House regarding middle school, that's the headline I'd choose.

Andrew had a birthday party today at Zao Island (our local mini golf, go cart, arcade, pizza place). He invited nine boys and actually got five to come despite soccer, football, other parties, family commitments, and the competition of the MOST BEAUTIFUL SATURDAY we've had in a long time.

The boys were polite and good natured. Despite just having met each other a little over a month ago, they all felt like they'd known each other much longer...they laughed a lot, teased each other a bit, and couldn't get enough of the go-karts.

Andrew had fun (and Adrienne even got to join in on a few activities without much squak from the boys). And me? I can close the door on the "adjustment period" to middle school... AWESOME!

Four days in a row... Awesome!

It's the wet and the dry--keeping them separate, folding one into the other... baking has never been something I'd say I'm good at. The "science" of baking doesn't mesh with the "creative" of cooking that I enjoy and so more often than not, my cookies turn out too hard or my cakes too dry.

And so isn't it Eric--the chemistry major and the guy with the most patience of anyone I know, who usually does the baking in the house? Yes, it is.

BUT... Today, I had it in my mind that I wanted to make banana bread or pumpking bread or spice bread... some kind of bread that I could gift to a family that just moved into the neighborhood. They'd invited us over for pizza and although I was already planning to take bakery purchased cut-out cookies as dessert, I wanted to take a home-made housewarming gift.

Maybe it was my sheer determination or maybe it was the care that I took in following the directions to the letter... My pumpkin bread turned out awesome, perfect, and delicious!

I made three mini-loaves--two for the new neighbors and one for Eric and me to taste BEFORE we gifted a home-made, never before made recipe to the neighbors.

Nervously, I cut a small piece from the small loaf. Then I wanted to jump for joy. The "look" of the inside of the bread was as dense as its suppossed to be without being too dry. And then, when the bread hit my tongue...SLAM DUNK. My bread had just the right amount of sweet to bread flavor and just the right amount of pumpkin goodness. I was overjoyed and even more proud when Eric, the household baker, thought I'd done a good job,too.

I wrapped the other two loaves in aluminum foil, tied a yellow ribbon around each package and felt proud to take a home-made, fall-flavored bread to my new friends. AWESOME!

This recipe came from the America's Test Kitchen Healthy Family Cookbook. Here it is:
Pumpkin Bread

1 15oz can of pumpkin (unsweetened)
1 cup sugar
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1/2 teaspoon ground ginger
1 1/3 cup all purpose flour
2/3 cup whole wheat flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon baking powder
4 tablespoons (1/2 stick) unsalted butter, melted and cooled
2 large eggs
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

1. Cook the pumpkin, sugar, cinnamon, salt, nutmeg, and ginger together in a medium saucepan over medium-high heat, stirring constantly, until thick and shiny, 5-7 minutes. Set aside to cool.

2. Adjust an oven rack to the middle position and heat oven to 350 degrees. Lightly coat an 8 1/2 by 4 1/2 inch loaf pan with vegetable oil spray.

3. Whisk the all-purpose flour, whole-wheat flour, baking soda, and baking powder together in a large bowl. In a separate bowl, whisk the cooled pumpkin mixture, melted butter, eggs, and vanilla together.

4. Gently fold the pumpkin mixture into the flour mixture with a rubber spatula until just combined (do not overmix). The batter will be very thick.

5. Scrape the batter into the prepared pan and smooth the top. Bake until golden brown and a toothpick is inserted into the center of the loaf comes out with just a few crumbs attached, 45-55 minutes, rotating hte pan halfway through baking.

**For my little loaf pans, cook time was 25 minutes.

In the land of mommy anxiety

Dear Robin,
Tonight, as usual, I asked Andrew how he’s doing at his new school. For the past five weeks, since Andrew’s first day as a “new kid” that’s been a loaded question—a sensitive issue. The kind of sensitive that brought tears for Andrew and long-winded explanations of the sociology of social interaction for me. Sometimes Andrew would get emotional on the way to school or sometimes on the way home. But mostly, it was before bed that I explained how it takes time to get to know people and it takes time to learn your locker combination and your class schedule and the people you want to sit with at lunch. Sometimes I ended up saying, “You know Andrew, experts say it takes 21 days to adjust to a new habit, so just give this the same time.”

I felt desperate on many nights to find the right words to comfort him until I finally realized that no words at all were best and I’d let him cry if he wanted to or I’d watch him toss up his mini basketball into the mini hoop until my head pounded from the jarring vibration of the hoop every time he hit the rim. Then there was the repetition of Kanye West’s Golddigger blaring from his iHome that didn’t help the heartbeat between my eyes or the dull ache in the back of my head.

I’d leave Andrew’s room only to stare at the ceiling all night in my own room.

Teaching the next day for me was difficult. I made mistakes on my syllabus and never seemed to copy the right amount of handouts. Or when I did, the collation process was funky and some students would get a handout without page 3 and they’d all look at me feeling disappointed that they signed up for the lunatic teacher who won’t stop mumbling about “not being herself lately.”

Here’s the thing: I DO UNDERSTAND that kids have to make their own path and they have to solve these school issues and social issues on their own. I support that idea and I’ve been letting that happen. But it hasn’t stopped me from worrying about Andrew and praying that TODAY will be the day that things turn around, that Andrew will tell me that he feels comfortable in his schedule, with his locker, with a friend—whatever it takes to get him back to being the kid I dropped off at that school five weeks ago.

And so that’s where I’ve been… in that land of mommy-anxiety where I was suspended in the world of “waiting for everything to be okay.”

Then tonight…

I asked Andrew how he feels about “everything” now that we’re in the middle of week five…

His response?

“I’m only friends with half of the sixth grade.”

At Andrew’s school that’s about 100 kids.

I look over at Andrew to see he’s got that deviant smile that I knew so well this summer—that look that tells me he’s okay now and that he’s making a joke to show me he’s okay now.

I smiled back and said, “Good.” I wanted to ask more but for tonight, I let it go at that.

In my own bed, I exhaled a deep yoga kind of breath and felt my own anxiety about middle school release.

Maybe I can get back to my regular life now, if there is such a thing.

A Long Story about an Old Boyfriend

So y’all knew the time would come that I’d find the occasion to write about an old boyfriend…

And over the weekend, while at the Brew Fest in Indianapolis (with Eric), and while complaining that I NEVER SEE ANYONE I KNOW while visiting Indianapolis, some random guy yells at me, “It’s Dena Riggs!”

Initially, I had NO CLUE who the guy was—sunglasses, baseball hat, some extra pounds and twenty five odd years later. Who could blame me for bombing the recognition? But I’m an excellent conversationalist, I recovered quickly. And although, “catching up” with an old boyfriend and your current husband can be AWKWARD (!!!), I was happy to have FINALLY run into an old friend.

I’m not sure I would have even thought to share this story if Eric and I had walked away and the story ended there. But it didn’t….

It was 90+ degrees outside and Eric had been drinking samples of micro brews (i.e. IPA’s with higher alcohol content) for close to three hours. And although his speech wasn’t affected, he was walking fine, and not acting the least bit loopy by the beer, he got a little jealous—that kind of jealous that can only be alcohol-induced. And the next few hours, which included dinner with our kids and my parents, his behavior towards me (and everyone) was very stilted and weird—to the point where Andrew wondered “what’s up Daddy’s butt?” when Eric excused himself from the table for his third trip to the bathroom AND my mom asked about 30 times, “Is he okay?” (when she probably really meant, “Is he drunk?”).

My mom would have been surprised to know that Eric’s panties were twisted in a knot over running into a high school boyfriend—especially if I put Eric up next to this guy for a side by side physical comparison.
So, I mentioned the extra pounds on the old boyfriend, right? Well, it wasn’t excessive, but this guy hasn’t aged nearly as well as Eric and he certainly doesn’t hit the gym the way Eric does—i.e. nothing to worry about here. Add in our 15 years together and the state of marital bliss and you’d have thought Eric had been drinking for much longer.

But, a little beer and a little sun and all Eric focused on was this statement I made: “He was the senior class president when I was sophomore and he was so hot and quite literally the coolest guy in school.”
Now, in retrospect… Yes, that kind of description is not a good idea. Especially on a hideously hot day where lots of beer is involved.
By later in the evening, when we met up with our close friends Lisa and Adam, it was all water under the bridge, just another “Dena Story” as Eric likes to call these incidents when old boyfriends pop up out of the woodwork.

I know this post is getting long, but my whole point is to tell you the story of my history with this guy. I want to tell it mostly because I’m going deep into the archives on this one—1984!!! But I also want to tell it to prove the point (mostly to Robin!!) that even as a married chick, these old dating stories can still come out to play.

To begin, I should clarify that my use of “old boyfriend” is a term that I use very loosely AND liberally in this post because I’m not only going all the way back to 1984 when I sophomore in high school before I really could say I had a “BOYFRIEND”, but I’m also ONLY talking about a few rides home after school, one official date, and one other incident of a drunken visit to the Brown House that included a conversation with my dad and an empty beer can on my dad’s brand new purple 7-series pimp daddy BMW.
Brett Alan Thomas… it’s all about you, baby.

Can I do this? Mention his name directly without changing it?

I know in publishing I’d have to change his name. But here?

Well the name is significant because Brett’s initials obviously spell BAT and the black car that Brett drove to and from school was aptly and affectionately called “The Batmobile.”

Do I EVEN NEED TO TELL YOU that I was totally smitten?

As luck would have it, we had just received computers at our school (it was 1984, remember?) and so everyone—from seniors down to freshman—were in the same boat when it came to eligibility for computer class. I’m not quite sure how the lottery system worked, but I hit the jackpot because I had computer class with Brett Thomas in the LAST PERIOD of the day!!! Computer class would end, we went to our lockers, we went home. Well, Brett drove his friends in the Batmobile and I walked with mine.

However, just a few weeks into the semester I got invited to ride home in the Batmobile.

At the time, I remember, it felt like a carefully planned coup to position myself at the right place and right time to get Brett’s attention outside of computer class, but so many years later… I’m not sure all that matters. I got the ride.

I’m pretty sure I must have ditched my friends, but it’s hard for me to remember. But how could I not have ditched my friends when I ditched out on babysitting for our neighbors (my parents best friends at the time) to go on a date with Brett in his new car, a HONDA CRX (the first year these came out).

I remember that I walked over to the neighbor’s house and told them the truth: Senior class president with a new car asking ME (little sophomore girl) to go out on a date and how I just couldn’t miss this very important OPPORTUNITY in my career as social person in high school AND as a consolation (and a token of my good will) I’ve got a substitute babysitter for you that is almost as good as me--just a little punk rock, but very nice.

They were pissed and never asked me to babysit again (rightfully so).
If I was that flaky with the neighbors, I’m sure I was equally flaky to my friends over this month or two of Brett Thomas infatuation. I was totally off the deep end! I kept rationalizing it with this:

It WAS Brett asking ME on a DATE and it WAS the CRX….

That’s how I was back then—all about the pretty boy in the nice car. I was just a sophomore—and a young one at that. At the time of this date, I was only 15. And by the time the date was over, I’d re-thought my “pretty boy, nice car” obsession, anyway.

In my diary I wrote this about the date: “If the rest of my life is going to be like my date with Brett where I feel like it’s going to awesome and it ends up just being mediocre, then just shoot me now and get it over with. I can’t stand the disappointment.”

I think we went to a football game, but maybe it was basketball season because I have a vague memory of wearing boots with my jeans. But whatever…

I remember being parked somewhere in that little CRX for about an hour before it was time for me to go home ( I had an 11pm curfew). Mostly we talked. And then there was kissing. I remember feeling awkward—like the car was too small and the gear shift was always in the way. I remember thinking about moving over to his side, but that would have put me on top of him which was not the message I was trying to send, despite his cool car and his senior class president status. So awkwardly, I stayed on my side of the car, left feeling like a new puppy licked to death by its overly excited mother. There just seemed to be a lot of saliva.

Maybe that was my fault. I was the one with braces. He had a perfect smile. I was also the one new to making out in cars. He was, afterall, the senior class president with the cool car. I might have been the first in the CRX but I wasn’t going to be the last.

So, maybe I’m to blame for the bad date. Maybe I was just inexperienced and… not sure…

When I got home, I remember feeling let down, like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz when she saw behind the curtain and the Great Oz wasn’t so great… just a regular guy.

Brett liked our date, as evidenced by the attention I kept getting from him in school. OR—now that I’m grown up with a fuller view of the world, I wonder if he felt his lack of “bases” with me in the CRX constituted a higher level of interest and energy. Whatever it was, he kept offering to take me home in the Batmobile and just as I was wondering how I was going to get out from under my association with him (so I could of course pursue someone else) there was Hank the Tank’s party—one of the biggest and craziest parties to take place that year.

Brett asked me to go with him and I said yes, even though I wasn’t that into it. But then an important business dinner out with my parents derailed Brett’s initial plans to drive me, as his date, to the party in the CRX. Instead, I planned to meet him there. That meant that my dad would have to drop me off after dinner. And by the time we rolled down the street where Hank the Tank lived, the party was in full swing and there were already people passed out on the lawn.

My dad refused to let me out of the car.

At home, alone in my bedroom, I cried that my dad didn’t trust me enough to be a good girl at a really bad party.

A few hours later, just after 11pm, the doorbell rang.

It was Brett Thomas…

BOLDLY asking my dad if it would be okay, despite the time, to sit on the porch and talk to me.

My dad was furious but in some ways at a loss for words to this kid who showed up at such a late hour hoping to have a conversation with his daughter (“Did I hear right? You want to talk to my daughter in the middle of the night, after you’ve been drinking? And what could you possibly want that can’t wait for a decent hour?”).

In the morning, my dad found a crushed Budweiser can sitting on the bumper of his new BMW—the big 7-series with a deep blue paint job that made it look like millionaire-purple in the sunlight. This car was off the hook for 1984 (which is why I’m sure my dad had parked it on the street and not in the garage). He loved that car.

But a beer can on the bumper, combined with a late night request for me, and forget about it!

There was no way I’d be able to officially go out with Brett Thomas again. And so I was saved…and on to others…

Brett came up again in college and I think he may have even married one of my sorority sisters. From our conversation outside the Brew Fest, I learned that he has no children and for some reason I think he’s divorced.
Don’t get me wrong about outing him on the extra pounds. He still looked great and really, he couldn’t have been nicer. My dad thought it was ironic (because of the can) that I would run into Brett all these years later at a Brew Fest. Me? I was excited to finally see someone I know.
I told him that I tell stories about him to my kids. How he had the batmobile and the CRX and that he was one of the coolest guys in school. Brett smiled and that made me happy.

It’s not yet time to tell the kids the other parts of the Brett Thomas story—about making out in the CRX or the incident after Hank the Tank’s party. But someday….

And then someday after that , I’ll add on the part about their daddy getting jealous while feeling a little buzzed on a hot afternoon. And for them , that will probably be the best part. In a sense, it was for me. I knew it was a long road for me to find a “lifetime boyfriend” but this story makes me think I was looking for longer than I thought.

Just can't stop thinking about...

I spent the holiday weekend with my husband and kids at the country club pool and at several neighborhood parties. It was really fun to see friends that I don't spend much time with during the school year (for all the usual reasons: sports, homework, my own work, etc.). And as everyone's children have gotten older, our "catch-up" conversations were not the typical small talk of parties of the past.

I've already posted my woes and concerns about Andrew's up and coming entry into middle school here. It seems I'm not the only one with a bone to pick with today's adolescent culture. Facebook, texting, joing clubs, quitting clubs, joining sports, getting cut from sports, failing classes, becoming over-achievers, driving cars, crashing cars... there was so much to share.

One friend told a story about a friend of her neice (in Indianapolis)--straight A student, captain of the volleyball team, aged 17--caught in a 5-some at a drunken party. Another friend wasn't surprised and said even "around here" (meaning Valpo schools)it's rumored that 8th grade girls are giving blow jobs as a favor to be allowed into the high school parties. And apparently, drugs in the middle school and high school are a rising issue for families and school administrators. It's not only the usual suspects of alcohol and marijuana, but also over the counter concoctions, as well.

On Sunday, at a picnic, on what has been arguably the most beautiful day of the year so far, I sat in a folding chair with my mouth open. I felt dizzy thinking about my future with my kids.

I like to think I'm not easily shocked. I tend to be more open minded than most when it comes to talking to my kids about their bodies and sex and the culture around that. Back in the day, I worked at Planned Parenthood where I lugged a huge display case of birth control devices around to public speaking engagements. I passed out condoms at the Indiana State Fair in the early 1990's when the AIDS epidemic was still considered a gay man's cancer. I've put myself out there and have never been afraid to talk about sex.

And so maybe I should clarify: it's not that I'm shocked at the behaviors, per se...my issue is more with the kids that are making the choices. It's my idea of "good" versus "bad" behavior that is being challenged here.

In some ways, despite my experiences with the condoms at the Indiana State Fair, my morals and values are more conservative. I always believed in keeping my knees together, whether in a skirt or a tight pair of cut off jean shorts. I honored my body. My mother taught me that. My grandmother concurred. I never questioned it.

I wasn't a perfect kid nor did I probably deserve to wear a white dress on my wedding day (in the traditional sense if you know what I mean), but...

This is the thing that all of us moms were grappling with at the party-- the culture of being a girl has changed. Just look at the movies now. Female characters kick ass, take names, have sex on their own terms, love and leave just like the male characters have been doing for years.

We all agreed in our picnic conversation that seeing more options for girls is great, but as modern-day mothers, how do we handle the cultural shift? How do we support our daughters in being independent and strong, yet at the same time, set the boundry for what is acceptable (and NOT) in our families?

My mom weighs in on this beatifully... she says she felt confronted with the SAME issues when I was a teenager. She says it happens to every generation--that we think things are SO DIFFERENT, but since when does that change the core message of RESPECT YOURSELF?

According to her wisdom, the lessons you teach to your kids is the same from generation to generation, its the vocabulary (like texting and Facebook) that gets the update. And you repeat your expectations--on the big picture things and the little picture things--like a broken record. You say it and say it until they roll their eyes, until they mock you, and until they finally just sigh and walk off.

Ultimately, according to my mom, you (as the parent) should listen to what others claim is happening in the community. You should educate yourself on internet programs that monitor texting, emails and other cyber stuff. And then talk to your kids--both in a relaxed and fun way AND with the broken record stuff.

I wrote it all here because I want to clear the worry from my mind. Summer has been so fun and relaxing. I don't want to start sleepless nights before school starts. Writing records the emotion for me but clears it from my immediate attention.

And in some ways, I also want it in writing that I'm trying to do everything I can to raise good, respectful, and productive human beings.

President Barack Obama slept here

We spent the day at the pool, under the shade of a pool cabana, with nice, attentive service from a cabana waitress (Leela). Over the course of delivering lots of iced tea for me, Corona Light for Eric, and a barrage of junky stuff for the kids, Leela told us that President Obama stayed here two summers ago when he took his family to the Grand Canyon, and guess what? He stayed in our room--the jumbo suite with five TVs, three bathrooms, a fireplace, a grand piano...

Well, you know what I'm talking about because I posted it already.

We've spent most of day alternating between patting ourselves on the back or marveling over our luck at getting the biggest, most luxurious room in the hotel. And once we got tired of that, we started the game, "Did Obama Do That?"

It's pretty easy: I take a shower and then when I get out someone asks, "Do you think Obama used this shower when he was here?" Or, I make a phone call from our room to the front desk and someone will say, "I wonder if Obama used this phone?" Did Obama sit here? How about the First Lady? What about the girls? Did they sleep in the same bed where Andrew and Adrienne are sleeping?

This morning we found a kitchen behind a door we thought was a closet. That goes to show how big this place is.. And of course, the question came up: "Do you think the Obamas used this refrigerator?" Did they go to restaurants or did they have hotel staff (or secret service?) bring them food?

We've had several discussions about how cool it would be to be the president or a celebrity who has access to this kind of luxury all the time. But ultimately we all conceded that the loss of privacy-- the ability to sit in a pool cabana all day without a care from any other hotel guests about we are doing far outweighs constant access to luxury. And then Andrew noted that the responsibility of war is a huge price to pay for a 3000 square foot hotel suite that you might get anyway, if you're lucky--like us.

Into the great wide open

I'm posting from my iPad so I won't be able to add pictures. Although later in the week I might have figured out a way to email from my phone to upload from there. But for now, I want to make sure I document as I go with text.

We left for Arizona this morning. Eric didn't want me to post that on the Internet even though we have someone physically staying at our house. He's paranoid of theft at all times, even when we're home, so I'm opening my big mouth anyway.

Our hotel, The Phoenician, is AWESOME!!!! AND... You wouldn't believe our luck... They upgraded us to The Presidential Suite which is about 3000 square feet. We have two bedrooms, a steam shower, a fireplace, a piano, three sitting rooms, five flat screen TVs, three bathrooms, a dining room with seating for 8, and a deck that stretches across the side of the building. It is the most incredible thing!

Here are two funny things about the upgrade:
1. On Wednesday, we'll be sleeping in a hole in the wall hotel on Route 66 followed by three nights in a small tent (more than likely Eric with Andrew in one tent and me with Adrienne in another) with our last night at a Courtyard at Marriott. And it's that way because that's the camping part of the trip. So, we definitely are in the lap of luxury right now.

2. Luxury upgrades don't happen to me everyday, but this has happened to me before. Yes, it's true. When I was pregnant with Adrienne it happened at the Four Seasons in Las Vegas. Eric and I were away for a weekend alone and the hotel was full. We'd been in the heat for hours even if we were by the pool. The front desk clerk felt sorry for my wilted hair and my pallid complexion combined with my baby bump. Maybe to rid us from the air-conditioned lobby or maybe she just felt sorry for us-- she put us in the Presidental Suite on the top floor with a full view of the strip, china service for 12, and a load of other luxurious amenities. Mostly, Eric and is at in the room listening to Harry Potter #4 taking full advantage if the Dolby surround sound. It was so wonderful.

So, here we are again in the lap of luxury. I am counting my blessings and feeling TOTALLY lucky!

One last thing about my birthday...

In preparation for the two and half days I’ll be lounging by the pool at a beautiful resort (see The Phoenecian), I got my nails done: fingers and toes!!

A mani/pedi combo defines luxury for me. And even though the color and perfection of my nails will be do me no good this time next week (remember the hiking/camping portion of the trip?), I went for it. Plus, I had a birthday gift certificate from a very generous friend.

While I was relaxing with my feet in the bubbly pool of warm water, thanking my friend for knowing THIS was just what I needed AND thanking the universe for giving me a FRIEND who knows THIS is just what I needed, I realized that I wouldn’t be able to let my birthday go just yet.

Besides posting my toes, there are a few special things I want to pass along—acts of kindness towards me on my birthday that deserve a little shout out.

I want to remember Adrienne’s gifts: how she went around the house and collected things that I already own and wrapped them up. She said, “Sometimes it’s fun to see your old stuff as new stuff.” I like that she is so effortlessly profound about a bar of soap from Pier One circa 2007, a mini notebook (already noted on several pages), a painted frame she gave me last year for Mother’s Day AND my 42nd birthday, and a Ziploc of gummi bears.

But then there was the note that she gave me that reminded me how she’s also effortlessly kind. She wrote me a happy birthday greeting and then had HER WHOLE 3rd GRADE CLASS sign too.

I want to remember the “Adopt-a-Pilot” assignment that Andrew did earlier in the year that just happened, on my birthday, to show up in his school “mail” (his homework and other class assignments from the previous week). Andrew was asked to identify a person in his life that reminds him of airline pilot and why. He wrote about ME!! Yes, me, his mom. Why? He said I’m fearless. (Really? Me?) At first, I thought my 11 year old was plugging easy information into a boring and random question but his answer made me cry and feel proud of him (and me!).

Andrew wrote that I am fearless because of the small things that I do in my everyday life that make other people nervous—like talking in front of a class every day. He said that even though I am old (HA!!!) that I try things like rock climbing and canoeing even if I know that I won’t be good at them.

But he really got me when he wrote this: “She cried at a public reading of one of her essays. She cried in front of all these people and I thought she would be embarrassed. At bedtime she told me she was embarrassed but got over it because her crying was a true feeling. She told me that telling the truth is important. She always tells the truth and so most of all, that makes my mom fearless.”

I’m crying right now trying to finish this post. Isn’t that the most beautiful gift a mom could ever get? But there was more…

I want to remember that Robin called me—actually rang me up on my home phone (!!!) to say happy birthday. I sat in the living room talking and laughing like a teenager with a best friend. It was priceless and thoughtful and serendipitous all in one!

I want to remember that I got over 100 well wishes on Facebook. And I know that happens to lots of people of their birthdays too. But I especially loved the way my wall of messages listed out the names of friends past and present, from my childhood friends to students I had in class last semester. There’s a THIS IS YOUR LIFE feeling to seeing so many names and corresponding little pics, popping up in no particular order to say “Happy Birthday.” It made me feel popular and loved and more a part of the world than I feel on a regular old day.

A huge HUG and a huge THANK YOU to the entire universe for making the first day of my 43rd year SO AWESOME!!

And now, I promise, my birthday is over and I’ll move on.

As long as there's cake...

I grew up with this mantra: "As long as there's cake, it's still your birthday."

Since I got a cake AND a pie this year, I thought for sure I'd celebrate all week long. But, despite the fact that the cake (Lemon Chiffon) was not as decorative or elaborate as what Eric usually makes

Or despite the fact that blueberry pie is not traditional birthday fare,

both are now officially gone--eaten, mowed, scarffed down, shop vac-ed--making my 43rd celebration officially over. Drat.

Eric asked me today why I think I love being the birthday girl so much. "I can't get over how much you like having a birthday" were his exact words.

And it is true that it's something I look forward to all year. But I think it's not for the reasons that some might think. Although I like the dinner out and the gifts the kids get or make, and I like cake and the singing, I'm not crazy about the superficial part of birthdays. It's more than that.

A June birthday means the end of school is near and the beginning of summer is here. My birthday marks the beginning of lazy days in a lawn chair reading a book or sipping ice tea at the pool. It means staying up late into the night, listening to the bugs, sometimes playing flashlight tag. It means I don't have to get up early to pack lunches for a few months and I don't have to deal with homework and book reports and state projects. It means I can wear flip flops, have my windows down when I drive with the music loud. It means a vacation to a sandy spot is probably just around the corner. My birthday is the start of all the stuff that I love most in life.

So the cake AND the pie are gone, but the summer is just beginning...finally!! And that can be celebrated lots more days to come!

Angst and Anxiety

One week from today we leave for our summer trip. Here's the first stop:

It's The Phoenecian in Scottsdale, Arizona. We front loaded the trip with a few days of rest and relaxation because the last five days will be spent here:

We'll depart the Phoenix area with our group--guides and other families signed up through the Austin Lehmam Adventure Travel Company--arrive in Sedona later in the day then take off again to our final destination (in the van, anyway), somewhere around Flagstaff. We'll be hiking each day (sometimes up to 10 miles per trip)and camping outside under the stars amidst red rock and natural waterfalls.

I am very excited to go, but also full of angst and anxiety. I worry that the hiking part of the trip will be too hot or maybe too rigorous for the kids. I worry about what to pack, despite the fact that Austin Lehman has provided a list. I just generally worry. It's my curse.

Deep down I know the trip will be an absolute blast, but the unknowns always haunt me in the middle of the night. I don't want to be without something I need or have too much stuff to carry. It's that balancing act that I've been working on today and will fine tune as the week goes by.

For now, here's the stuff all laid out just waiting for the bags and the final check.

Just six days to go.

Ammended Swag, Awesome Cookies

I had to ammend the swag bags for the teachers. Although I worked tirelessly for a few days in Microsoft Publisher on a little summer booklet, I didn't get the chance to print or assemble. Instead, I had to make cookies. Not for the bags. For the bake sale. The last 5th grade service project of the year.

Evidently the notice of the bake sale/service project came home over a week ago, but Andrew has already entered the middle school twilight zone and isn't so great about passing along important school information anymore. This notice made it clear that the 5th grader should make the bake sale item,supervised, but on his own, and was due in school on Thursday morning.

I love to cook and am pretty good at it most of the time. But baking? I'd say I'm more hit than miss. I'm just not good with the details and the specifics of a cake or cookie recipe. I'm fine with a box mix, but even those final products tend to suck when compared to something that Eric does with flour and sugar and a rolling pin. He's the baker in this house, FOR SURE!! Let me just offer up this photo of the cake Eric made for Adrienne's 5th birthday and then his follow up for the 6th.

Wednesday morning at breakfast when Andrew finally remembers the bake sale and remembers to pass along the information and requirements, I immediately think this task is perfect to pawn off on Daddy. Afterall, he is the baker. Let him do a school project for once.

I love Eric. He's a great dad and very involved, but let's face it: most (strike that--ALL) school projects always fall on me. I'm the one filling pop bottles with rice and spray painting the syrofoam ball/head to create an Abraham Lincoln. Or I'm the one who searches all over town for a rubber guinea pig that JUST HAS to go in Andrew's book report diorama. The things we've done this year with shoe boxes, tri-fold posterboards, and artist's pastels is mind boggling to me.

For a non-crafty person its very stressful to have to rise to such achievement with rubber cement and construction paper. But don't get me wrong, I am happy doing it. It's part of the mommy gig. But given the chance to be off the hook for one thing? I'll take it.

Then I remembered that Eric works most evenings. He sees patients from 2pm -7pm which pretty much rules out any baking in the evening. And since Andrew really gave no advance notice on this thing, I've got to be the one. As usual, it's me--all me.

My plan was to have Andrew do the majority of the baking. I'd just supervise and maybe with that arrangement we'd actually end up with an edible baked good. But then Andrew arrived home from school on Wednesday with a soar throat and a weird rash on his chest. He was in bed by 7pm and I was left to my own devices with the cookies.

I would have been much more comfortable assembling the summer booklets for the teacher appreciation swag bags. Actually, I was feeling a bit more than bitter that Eric was working, Andrew had gone to bed and I was left with a baking project when I'd rather be working on a paper project of my own creation. And in sulking about that, I decided to make labels for our cookie bags first. I named us THE HOUSE OF HEIN BAKERY and gave us this cute little house logo.

When finished with the printed labels for my cookie bags, I had primed the creative pump and was ready to bake. I decided on sugar cookies because not only did they appear to be the quickest cookie to bake, but the ingredient list and instructions were also the shortest.

I channelled my "patience is a virtue" gene and took my time--assembling wet ingredients in one bowl, dry in the other, then merging only when advised by the recipe. I beat the batter for exactly the right amount of time and followed every instruction to the letter, including cookie size and bake time.

The end result actually turned out pretty good. I thought my cookies were very tasty--not too sweet, but with the perfect "not too soft not too hard" texture. I won't be baking at Christmas side by side with Eric the baker-extroadinaire, but these sugar cookies I whipped up were perfect for the bake sale.

On Thursday morning, Andrew was pleased with the packaging and seemed moderately impressed with the cookie itself. He liked the texture, although he commented that he would have liked to taste the cookie right out of the oven to be sure he liked them. I did feel a bit stung by that comment, but it's baking we're talking about. I took it in stride.

Yesterday after school, the kids told me that THE HOUSE OF HEIN BAKERY sugar cookies were the first to go. I did package three cookies to a bag for 50 cents to ensure value, but I also thought a high quantity to low price ratio would ensure sales and give my cookies a perceived popularity that I might not have other obtained in a taste test.

This week has been busy, but chock full of success. And for my self-evaluation of this weeks' tasks? I'd have to say, "She shoots, she scores!" Enjoy your holiday weekend!

Nothing like a little swag...

One of my favorite things to do, buy, and put together is a gift bag.

When my kids were in preschool, you should have seen the treat bags I did for holiday parties at school or for birthday parties here at home. It is a shame that I never took a picture or even saved one of my creations to show here. I guess you'll just have to trust me when I say that I really missed my calling as a SWAG BAG GODDESS.

This year's recipients of the ultimate swag from the Hein's are the teachers at the kids' school. Since we are jumping ship and heading towards public education in the fall, I wanted to give something fun and special to the women who spend seven hours a day dedicated to making my kids smarter, more productive, better citizens.

As a teacher myself, I love summer vacation and I'm an expert chilling out. I love a good book, an occassional ice cream cone, a big glass of iced tea, and a funky tote of HUGE proportions to carry everything I need to take off on an adventure at a moment's notice. So that was the inspiration for these cute little generic tote bags I DIY'd and filled with summer stuff.

First, I have good IDEAS, but I am not CRAFTY. That usually handicaps me when I have these projects in mind, but it also gets my mind working for ways around sewing, drawing, and other such skills I don't possess.

If I was Oprah, I would have bought really cool Lands End totes with names embroidered on them, but I am not Oprah so my budget limited me to Michael's. The bags were $4.99 and the iron-on decal was $3.99. I chose GREEN messages for the totes which meant the ink was soy ink (as oppossed to what? I have no idea other than the fact that the ink must be chemical). I had a terrible time getting the decal onto the bag. I used the iron at the wool setting as advised AND I used the cotton press cloth, as advised. It took about 20 minutes to finally get the image on the tote. That was difficult, but in the end, cute, cute, cute!!

Inside the bag, I added these items:

A travel-sized sun screen and bug spray along with a to-go tumbler (bpa free, dishwasher safe, and no sweat exterior!) and a box of individual servings of lemonade. I included a book (depending on the teacher) and a $10 gift certificate to Dairy Queen.

The Happy Book is a worth a look if you are not familiar with it. It is a great gift for almost any occassion. I like to give it for 40th birthdays (there are ton of those going on around here) wrapped up in a box with a boat-load of Smarties candies or a jar full of gummy bears. That will make anyone feel special and young at heart.

But if The Happy Book isn't appropriate for your teachers (and it certainly didn't fit everyone on my list), I also did Puzzle books like this one:

And even one of random acts of kindness like this one:

If I were Oprah, my teacher swag bag would also include a monogrammed beach towel, a cool pair of Marc Jacobs sunglasses, and a gift certificate for a pedicure. But again... I'm not Oprah. And lucky for me, these teachers are not me. Unlike me, they don't care about Marc Jacobs sunglasses. They are grateful and humble and awesome human beings who will definitely appreciate the bug spray when the total bug-o-rama begins in the heat of July.

And I'm sure these teachers that spent the school year assigning DIY state reports and book reports will LOVE and appreciate the "summer booklet" I made in Microsoft Publisher which includes directions on how to play Flashlight tag, words to two jump rope songs, and a recipe for barbeque chicken and homemade ice cream (post photo here).

Gift giving makes me so happy and I am super excited to end Teacher Appreciation Week on Friday with these gifts for the teachers and staff at my kids' school.

A little green with envy...

“Start a blog” is on my MONDO BEYONDO list.

One of my friends wrote me over the weekend, suggesting I cross this creation off the list and feel happy that I’ve accomplished something here—on the road to making my dreams come true. I agreed in my return email, but feel that I need to clarify “Start a blog” for all of you. My wish or goal with starting a blog is a bit more loaded than just starting.
Let me begin with a little back-story…

There are several blogs that I read on a regular basis (Superhero Journal, Jen Lemon, What Kate Did Next, tam.me, Orangette, and Ali Edwards)

But there is ONE in particular that I LOVE: Planting Dandelions.

Formerly known as “Notes to Self.” I found this blog about five years ago, evidently when the writer, Kyran Pittman, had just gotten it off the ground. From her home in Little Rock, Arkansas, Kyran wrote about her daily thoughts on marriage, children, financial insecurity, family, writing, laundry—you name it. If it was on her mind, she wrote it down eloquently and with humor and optimism. I was in the same boat with marriage, children, and laundry. I read her experiences with a nod of the head as if they were my own because quite honestly I was living almost the same life behind another computer. It felt reassuring.

I was especially tickled when Kyran got picked up by Good Housekeeping magazine. In her first assignment, she wrote a feature about how realistic (or NOT!) it is to wear expensive, designer clothes when you are a mom in a little town on a shoestring budget. GH flew Kyran to New York where she was fitted with a pair of Manolo Blahnik shoes, a Burberry raincoat, a pair of Prada pants, and a big ass Louis Vuitton bag. At home in Little Rock, she test drove the couture and wrote a charming article about her experience with it. I got such a kick out of her perspective and her writing that I bought 12 copies of the magazine and distributed them to my friends, telling all of them the story of finding her on-line and then seeing her in the pages of a magazine that I love, writing about something I could totally relate to.

I was in grad school at the time and struggling with my creative voice. And although I was writing every day, Kyran was living the writing life I wanted. Exhausted by my memoir project in class, feeling too spent to let my hair down on a blog, I often times let Kyran’s writing speak for me by sending HER posts to friends and family with emails that just said, “DITTO!”

At one point, I got the chance to meet Kyran at a blogging conference in Houston (February 2009) where she talked about scoring a regular spot with Good Housekeeping AND landing a book deal(Planting Dandelions). She was just as nice in person as she is on the screen.

I thought meeting her might turn me into a "fan" but I have to admit that I don’t read her as often as I used to. And eventhough I have her book, I’ve put it at the bottom of my pile.

I decided to out myself on this one. I have to admit that I am fighting a bit of jealousy. Pure and simple. It has been difficult for me to look at Kyran’s journey over the last five years, to see her successful results, and not think, “why didn’t I do that?”

It is also on my MONDO BEYONDO list to write a book. But more than being on the list, that dream is part of my soul. That desire invades my dreams, wakes me up at night, waits for me at times when I have nothing to do or when I’m exceedingly busy. No matter the day, time, or circumstance, I want to express myself in words, tell my stories, more than I allow myself that opportunity. It’s hard to face someone like Kyran who put the excuses aside and found the time and the voice to make it happen.

In one of Kyran’s posts, shortly after the 2009 conference when all her news was hitting her blog, lots of readers wrote to her and asked for her “secret to success”—how did this happen to you and not to my friend or etc… people actually wrote things like that to her. I remember her response was that every person gets “there” (wherever that is) on their own time. She recalled stories of spending plenty of time camped out in Barnes and Noble feeling jealous and envious of authors and wondering if it would ever happen to her. Her advice? Be true to your voice. Make time for your craft every day. Believe in yourself. When you roll all those things together, something will surely happen.

I am trying to keep her words in mind this week when I have to choose between blogging and working on my memoir project and dinner or laundry or parenting stuff or even wifely duties.

Another thing I shouldn’t dismiss is this: When I “discovered” Kyran’s blog I was on my own path to completing my master’s degree and becoming a professor. It has been a HUGE accomplishment and a journey more than worthy of celebrating. It’s just that I’m not yet willing to mark off “Start a blog” from my MONDO BEYONDO list just because I’m here more regularly than I’ve ever been before. I feel as if there are greater things for me to discover here and maybe even a chance to merge my kids and my writing together.
 

Mondo Beyondo List: updated from my previously lame bucket list post

Ok, ok, ok…
The responses to my bucket list post have been overwhelming. Mostly friends and family are disappointed in my list telling me, “You can do better than that.” Assaults on my imagination have been plentiful.

As I’ve been defending myself with lame excuses (the most popular one being that I wrote the post quickly), I’ve realized that not digging deep into myself comes across as inauthentic and shallow. I’m grateful for the lesson about my own writing that I’m getting today from all of you.

You are all right: I can do better. Recently I completed the Mondo Beyondo class about dreaming big, designed by Jen Lemen and Andrea Scher . The main goal of the class to learn how to identify what you want in life then learn to see the path that connects you to those things. From the very beginning, we work with a bucket list. Not a wimpy bucket list of resolutions that anyone could write, but a MONDO BEYONDO list—stuff that is “off the charts” if you live your life within limits and with rules, but that is otherwise (if you believe in magic and karma and mojo and whatever else describes the collective energy of the universe) totally possible if you just "put it out there."

One of the steps in creating the list, after you have finally broken rules and truly created a MONDO BEYONDO, is to put it away for a few days and forget about it. But ultimately, the list is supposed to be posted, publicized, and shared. How else do really cool things happen to you if nobody knows what you want except you?

It will surprise none of you (the five that I know read this) that I was happy to put my MONDO BEYONDO list in an envelope and hide it away. I did get it back it out when asked by the workshop to do so, but I didn’t post it or share it with anyone.

I have this weird hang up/guilt about asking for anything from this world. I feel blessed by what I have and don’t feel that I’ve adequately thanked the right people and done all the work that I can do to give back for what I have. My therapist friend thinks I need to make an appointment with her (or more professionally correct, to make an appointment with someone else in her field) to GET OVER IT!!! She claims my outlook is a way of blocking myself from truly living. Not to mention that saying, “I’ve got enough, thanks!” is lame and is basically admitting to the world that I am not worthy of good things happening to me.

I have to admit that it does make me a bit uncomfortable to expose my wishes, dreams, and goals for this stage of my life. I don’t know why. When I read the postings of several others in the class at the same time, the idea of feeling nervous about making wishes known consistently showed up on everyone else’s blog. Wherever that angst comes from, for now, I’ll throw it to the wind and share my MONDO BEYONDO list, anyway. Here goes…
--Write a book
--Own a house on the beach
--Give a TED talk
--Meet Ellen Degeneres and become her friend
--Travel with my husband and kids to: Egypt, Galapagos Islands, Italy, Greece, and Spain
--Take a road trip in an RV
--Spend the spring in Hilton Head
--Find a best friend
--Create a really cool blog
--Create a cool blog with my kids that includes video and photography
--Learn video and photography skills for the internet
--Make it to my 100th birthday
--Win the lottery
--Learn to speak Spanish or French
--Learn to speak and write the truth
--Learn to trust my intuition
--Continue practicing yoga (and practicing and practicing!)
--Create time in my schedule for a few moments of contemplative meditation
--Meet some of my favorite writers: Barbara Kingsolver, Ann Patchett, Joan Dideon
--Meet some of my favorite authors: Maya Angelou, Jane Yolen,
--Meet Jen Lemen and Andrea Sher of Mondo Beyondo
--Work with a writing mentor (Hey, Abigail Thomas!)
--Go to a movie premier
--Spend a week at Miraval spa
--Go on a writing retreat (one with other writers and one all alone)
--Spend more time writing and creating
--Keep the flow of inspiration coming
--Take a dance lesson (or two) with Wade Robson
--Take cooking lessons
--Stay true to my sense of adventure
--Document my life
--Become my healthiest self
--Smile and laugh daily
--Stop fighting with time each day, month, year: “being” in the moment is just fine.
--Believe in myself

That’s it for now. As always, send me your thoughts either through facebook or my home email. You all know how to get me. If anyone else randomly found me and wants to comment, send your thoughts to heindena(at) gmail(dot) com. Thanks.

Reduce, Reuse, Recycle, but with a shopping twist

Dear Robin,
Today I've been thinking about money and I've been feeling guilty about wasting it. I don't mean that I throw money out the window of my car when I'm driving, but maybe metaphorically that's what I'm talking about. When given the choice, I spend over save. And even more disappointing to me today is the realization that I buy stuff over experience.

It was another cloudy and cold day in Chicagoland (of course!) and maybe that is part of what had me pacing around the house, finding faulty with everything and beating myself up over as many things as I could think up. Or maybe it was the five trash bags heaped in a pile in the middle of my bedroom floor.

A few days ago I cleaned out my closet. When I was done, I had this HUGE pile of shirts/tops/sweaters I never wear, purses that have lost their gusto and jeans that no longer fit. There were belts and scarves, shoes and dresses, coats and bathing suits, yoga pants, and even underwear and bras. TOO MUCH STUFF!!

When most people clean out their closets or their homes, it seems reasonable that their stuff would be old or overly used, breaking down, perhaps. However, my pile only contained a small percentage of items that could be classified as old or overly used. Most of my stuff is still in good condition.
A small portion of the pile is not my size right now. My little booty is a little bigger, which for the most part, is a good thing, but has left me with a pile of expensive designer jeans that I can't do anything with but feel guilty about getting rid of. In short fits of mania I look at those expensive jeans and feel happy that some other 4'11" person might be out there shopping at Goodwill and feel more than elated at finding 15 pairs of jeans all in a size 25 and all hemmed to the perfect 4'11" person length, but then feeling guilty again that I could have bought my family a trip to Mexico with that kind of investment.

I just feel as if my priorities are out of whack. It was fine when I was 25 years old, single, and working crazy hours to own outfits for all occasions. But now in my forties, with kids and a very limited social calendar, I just can’t justify 15 pairs of jeans and 9 “special occasion” sparkly tops.

I was going to write that I’m not wreckless about shopping but after reading this I wonder if I am.

I should add this to my bucket list. What should I call it? “Stop the Madness”? “Curb the fabric consumption”? Or “Right the Wrongs of my Spending Ways”? Maybe the tried and true “Reduce, Reuse, Recycle”?

Whatever I call it, it needs to start soon because this is one of those things that creeps into my dreams at night and giving me a headache during the day. I’d say there’s no bigger sign from the universe than invading anxiety to make one recognize an “issue.” OK—I get it. I need to cut back on the Seven jeans and the trips to Nordstrom. No more shoes, no more dresses, just because.

What I need is a good spanking from Suze Orman or a good talking to by a financial guru. I’d much rather have experiences than a new pair of shoes. And so today it begins…

Bucket List

I went to a party last night at the neighbor’s (very fun, btw) and my friend Chris told a story about zip lining in Montana with her high school friends on a girls’ weekend trip. She was hilarious about this story because she was so petrified of the height of the line and the safety (or her perceived lack thereof) in the “checks” on the equipment that was nonchalantly and quickly performed by college guys who seemed a little too blasé about the whole thing.

Most of us standing around listening were envious of the experience, but she said she would have been much happier sitting at the bottom of the run in an Adirondak chair sipping a cold beer, cheering on the others. “The only good thing about doing it,” she said, “is that I’ve done it now. Check.” “It wasn’t on my bucket list, but now it’s checked off my life list, nonetheless.”

I’m retelling this now because I confessed to the crowd that I don’t have a bucket list. One friend said, “Why would you? You don’t need a bucket list when you get everything you want and do everything you want to do.” Everyone laughed, including me. But in my rebuttal, feeling a little stung by the comment, I said, “I’ve never been to the pyramids. I’ve never been to Greece. I’ve never seen Buckingham Palace. I’d like to do all those things. AND for the things that I have done, I’d now like to do them over with my kids.”

Today, I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about a bucket list—what it is and what it means to have one or not have one and what mine should include.
In case you don’t know the definition or origin of a bucket list, it’s a list of goals or achievements that you hope/plan to do before you die. The idea being that if you have a plan, your life has purpose. Without a bucket list, it’s easy to get caught up in the mundane or the flurry of daily activity—always concentrating on the minutia and never seeing the big picture—a compass on the journey of life.

I haven’t come up with my lifetime bucket list (I only started seriously thinking about today), but I did come up with a few things that I had on a “resolutions” list from the start of this year. It’s not as comprehensive as I think a bucket list should be, but it’s a start. I posted it below. If you want help on coming up with one of your own try this site or think about Mondo Beyondo, a six week on-line discussion of life goals and achieving your dreams, no matter how crazy they might be.

This year, I hope to:
Begin a blog (again)
Write regularly on said blog
Enter the Midsummer Writing Contest again
Win Midsummer Writing Contest again
Continue my memoir project
Sleep at least 7 hours a night
Exercise each day
Meditate in the morning
Give up M&Ms
Be a better friend
Have a party
Ride a roller coaster or two
Have lunch out more often
Do yoga more often
Visit Robin
Take a cool trip with my family
Get back to Hilton Head
Learn to be more patient
Forgive a little more than I do

A New Week

“And, oh what a week!”

That was the repetitive phrase Father Joe used during his homily at the communion mass. He was talking about religious events of the ancient nature, of course. But he was also talking to the kids and the families in the church about going from Easter to communion, “And, oh what a week!”
I have to bring it up because I second that, “And, oh what a week!” It’s been a wild ride this May, so far.

We started it (as you know) with communion on the 1st. On the 3rd I ended my semester with a breakfast for my students in the atrium of the library on campus. I collected 41 portfolios of composition work that had to be graded ASAP. On the 4th I packed Andrew off to a sleep-over camp with his 5th grade class. They ventured up to the Lakeshore and spent three days and two nights exploring the sites and hiking. On the 5th I took Adrienne to the public school for a meeting with her new principal then took her back to St. Paul so I could go give a final exam. On the 6th I went to 8 am Mass to see Adrienne in her communion garb one more time. After the May crowning and the student/parent breakfast, I high-tailed it back over to campus to give another final exam. In the afternoon, I picked up Andrew and headed to Indianapolis for a funeral (Eric’s Aunt died after a 15 year battle with Parkinson’s Disease). On the 7th we spent all day mourning the loss and consoling family. On the 8th, I got to celebrate with my mom and family and then drove back to Valparaiso. On the 9th I gave a make-up exam, finished grading my other exams, then posted final grades.

But on the 10th day, the ripples in the pond of my life grew still. And, the weather even took a break from the dreary, opening sunny skies and releasing warm winds. Today, I looked backwards and said to myself, “And, oh what a week.”

Then I looked forward into the blue sky of the first day of my summer vacation.

A Different Royal Dress

Okay, so we're not the Royal Family and we're not into a wedding just yet, but Adrienne does have her first communion on Sunday. And that certainly had the two of us a little white dress crazy for ahwile. What she picked is beautiful. However, I should admit up front that the dress is more "mini-bride" than "first communicant."

I wasn't raised Catholic, so this shouldn't matter to me, but for some reason, I'm fretting (which is not something I normally do) over the merits of a traditional dress versus one that is not.

Adrienne is no Kate Middleton in age or circumstance, but I used the Royal Extravaganca this morning to make one last ditch effort at expressing my opinion about the importance of the appropriateness of dress. I said to Adrienne: "Isn't Princess Kate understated yet, elegant?" Adrienne stuck her tongue out at me and made a face, with no clue of my inner struggles.

Although there are plenty of age-appropriate options in stores and online, there are just enough dresses with that “new,” “more adult” look that little girls feel tempted away from "old school" and totally enticed by a red carpet worthy option.

Do I need to tell you that everything available for third grade girls is styled above their age range, to begin with. I didn’t have a prayer getting Adrienne to wear a tea length with cap sleeves and a round neck (i.e. TRADITIONAL COMMUNION DRESS!!! Exhibit A).

Adrienne and her sense of style comes to her honestly (see last blog post where I say it's better to look like you know what you’re doing than to actually know, and I think you'll agree that type of person would surely birth an offspring with the same world view). She sees what she likes and that's it, there's no changing her mind. I should have expected she would want a communion dress that would be more modern and especially would want one with a little Hollywood flair.

But with all that said, I present to you Exhibit B—the white flower girl ensemble that Adrienne wanted. And forgive me Father, but Exhibit B is what I bought (despite my misgivings) and what Adrienne will be wearing.

In all fairness, it’s not that I don’t agree with her dress. There will be other girls in long, less traditional frocks. And the school and church will take care of keeping the traditions of the ceremony to the traditions of the ceremony. It’s not like choosing a more modern dress makes her communion any different…

It’s just that I’m struggling with family traditions right now--how to make them memorable for my kids. And let's be honest, my irrational concerns over the appropriateness of the dress are really more about the stress of the day.

My parents will travel from Indianapolis, but my dad more than likely won’t go to the church (he didn’t go to Andrew’s two years ago; he watched baseball in the living room). When services are over, he and my mom will bolt out the door like the house is on fire, more than likely passing on the meal that I planned and shopped for this morning. So, left will be Eric’s mom , and sister (along with sister’s child that seems to have a multitude of developmental delays that make him prone to wrecking the kids’ LEGO town painstakingly built and displayed in the basement; In the last week the LEGO town was just restored to the glory it enjoyed before his last visit of destruction at Christmas).

It’s not that we have issues with Eric’s mom, sister and sister’s child, it’s just that we have a very superficial relationship based on two or three visits a year where conversation is just as superficial. There is no depth, only duty.

So, when Adrienne asked for a big party for her communion, “like all the other girls,” I got a headache thinking about what a “party” at our house might be like--especially compared to the huge gatherings and extended family celebrations that her classmates will have.

It is for this reason I let Adrienne get the mini bride dress and the clear “high heels” and the crown for the “up-do” I’ll create out of her hair.

But the lesson that I've learned from this is one that I teach my students: "We only know what we know." That might seem a little rudimentary and simplistic, but it's actually based off of Plato (the ancienty Greek philosopher) who tells us that we are easily shielded from seeing everything in the world. We have to try to make sense of it all.

So here's what I know, on Sunday, Adrienne won’t care if it’s raining or only 46 degrees. She won’t care if the skies are gray or if Poppa stays home to watch baseball. She won’t recognize the superficial conversations or the headache I will surely have. She won't miss my parents at the dinner following the services. The only thing she will know and acknowledge is that her mommy bought her the dress she wanted. She’ll feel good about herself and THAT is what tradition is made of, and THAT is what she will remember.

When I frame it that way, traditional dress versus non traditional dress makes no difference. Adrienne as happy girl... priceless.