State of the Union

When I asked Eric and the kids to choose a picture that could be characterized as the best representation of our family, they chose this one.

Although it was taken nearly five years ago, the action and emotion are "totally us." We were at Kings Island, outside of Cincinnati. It was the first year that Andrew was tall enough to ride all the big roller coasters and Adrienne was old enough to hang with us all day. The coaster we are on was called The Scooby-Doo when I was a kid. But updated with Nickelodeon themes, it's now the Fairly Odd Parents. It's a good starter coaster because in it's wooden track, it's bumpy and fast, and produces a decent adrenaline rush. But best of all, the camera for the "memory photos" is totally visible. And as you can see, we all take full advantage of the chance to show off our personality when having fun.

We rode this coaster close to 25 times (yes, in one day) and I think we bought 11 of the pictures. Each time we spent $9 on a photo, we knew it was ridiculously expensive and probably a waste of money, but it was just so fun!! I mean, really fun!! I guess that tells a lot about who we are as a family. If we're all in it together, with the same investment... well, we go with it. We are definitely an "All for one and one for all!" kind of musketeer-type family.

That was us then, but it's still us now. Adrienne is 9. She's finishing 3rd grade. Andrew is 11 and just about done with his time at St. Paul Catholic School. He'll switch to the public middle school in August which right now, is front and center in our lives. We're all waiting on pins and needles for the word about whether or not he qualified for the honors tract. He took a math and english test a few weeks back, but I think his results were mediocre. I'm sure I'll talk more about it later because there are so many schools of thought about how much to push kids in these early years and how much its best to just leave them to find their own way. So for now, I'm leaving it up to the 6th grade team of teachers to make the decision.

Like most families, the kids' activities dictate most of our lives. Adrienne plays piano and does gymnastics. Andrew runs cross country and track and plays basketball. Both kids also do Kumon, an after-school math and reading program.

As far as any other backstory? I'm not sure... Eric and I are still lovebirds. His practice has grown--which is good for the retirement account but sometimes not so good for cortisol levels (the stress hormone). He has a love/hate relationship with it. I love my job teaching on most days. My only frustrations are when students don't read or they don't engage in class discussions. I like doing both of those things and so of course, I want all the kids in my class to do the same thing!

As I find my voice and my story, I don't know if those things will be relevant or necessary to know or not. I guess we'll see...

In the meantime, I'm glad to be here on this page and I'm glad to be back in contact with you. I plan to post on Tuesday, Thursday, and Sunday. So, until next time...

An Invitation

Dear Robin,
Hi. It’s me. I know it’s been years ...
The idea of writing to you again has been floating around in my head for nearly a year. But between track practice, gymnastics, basketball, and piano, or laundry and dinner, or reading and planning for class, the idea that “I’ll get to it tomorrow” turns into next week or next month when track season is over or my student portfolios are graded. But when I get to tomorrow or next week or next month, there’s always a new set of things waiting for me, leaving the idea of “letters to Robin” tucked away for “some day.”

But lately, “writing letters to Robin” has been so prevalent and immediate that I do it in my head each morning. In that brief moment when I’m just awake, but not yet ready to get out of bed, I compose letters to you about what we’ve been doing in the Hein House. Sometimes I tell you why I loved my students (or hated my students), about Andrew’s “girlfriend,” or what Adrienne said when we had to have one of our cats put down.

I don’t know why, while lying in my bed, I get such a clear vision of you at your mailbox followed by fragments of story. For whatever reason, you seem to be a muse of some sort. Or maybe the whole thing is logical and it’s just the universe showing me the way. Here’s what I mean:

A few months ago Eric challenged me to finally write the book I’ve talked about writing for years. He’s tired of me complaining about wanting to be a writer, but never writing. And he’s tired of me whining about bloggers that get book contracts and how I always say, “someday…I’ll get to it someday.” He says I’m all excuses and no action and that if I took action magic surely would happen.

In the past when he’s said this to me, I’ve tried to explain to him that although I’ve always talked about writing a book, I don’t really have a clear idea of what that book would be about.

His response has been “just start writing and I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

My response to that has been, “It doesn’t work that way! Writers usually know the story they want to tell before they start writing the story. Duh! ”

But lately I’ve had to admit to myself that I’ve been trying to figure out my story for about twenty years now. And that is just pitiful. So Eric is right…
And actually, what Eric has been telling me is what I tell my own students. In the composition course I teach at Valparaiso University, I tell my class, “Just get started with something and keep writing, the bigger picture will eventually emerge. Trust the process.”

After a two year hiatus from writing (in favor of teaching and reading student writing), I need my own place to get started, a place where the bigger picture will eventually emerge. And you’re the only person I could think of who might care to read my ramblings. Or better yet, might get a kick out of them. And in some strange way, your showing up in my foggy morning brain at some fictitious mailbox convinces me that you’re part of the plan. So I’ll be here once a week with a story of some sort, a thought, a memory, a rant, or a rave. I don’t know what will happen, but I do know it’s time to get started. I hope you’re in.

Gummy Bears: a memory

It felt like Christmas Eve last night as I was sneaking around in the dark, after everyone else was sleeping, in order to set up the Valentine gifts to surprise and delight at breakfast this morning.

I bought Eric this big, beautiful plant that was no easy task to hide for a week, while still providing it enough water and sunlight to survive. I felt relieved to finally lug it up to the kitchen last night.

I got the kids a card and a box of Lindor milk chocolate Truffles--their favorite. I also got them gummy bears--a whole, huge bag that doesn't have to be shared. It's what I would have wanted when I was a kid. And isn't that what parents do when they become parents and arn't kids anymore? Do for the children what they remember wanting most?

It's the thought that I went to bed with last night: my own bag of gummy bears. Soft, sweet, squishy, gummy bears.

I learned of gummy bears sometime around 1978 or maybe 1980. My parents used to frequent a German bakery, not so near our house, but in the town where I grew up. I remember driving out to this place that looked odd and patched together on the outside, but magical and delicious on the inside. As we entered Heidelberg Haus, the smell of freshly baked bread hit the senses immediately while the confections in the bakery display case tempted the eyes and rattled the hunger response and the salivary glands. Everywhere you looked Cuckoo clocks cluttered the wall space, beer steins lined the shelves. Hummel figurines had their place next to the Steiff brand teddy bears behind the cash register while postcards and other random German knick knacks fell into in organized chaos. It was like stumbling into a well-kept attic. In the days before eBay or craigslist, an attic of treasures was not uncommon yet still serendipidous.


But nothing in the store, bakery, or cafe trumped the candy corner where there seemed to be a never-ending supply of small tins of hard candies, chocolate bars in all sizes and shapes. And of course, the Haribo Gold Bears, in the gold bag.

It was the one thing my brother and I were allowed to buy. Soft, sweet, and squishy. There never seemed to be enough to satisfy both of us. I always wanted just a few more--or better yet, a bag of my own.

Heidelberg Haus is still in business today and now it seems, is famous. Their website boasts being featured on The Food Networks' Food Finds more than once.

On Valentine's day my parents always gave my brother and I a box of chocolates, a card, sometimes money and depending on the year, more elaborate gifts like expensive clothing or a unique piece of jewelry. My mom's birthday is on the 15th so my dad tended to roll the holiday and the birthday into a big deal for the family. I'm sure I have lots of memories of Valentine's Day to choose from

But this year, while standing at the counter making breakfast and talking about Adrienne's birthday (also tomorrow on the 15th), I couldn't think of a single story of elaborate gifts or unique jewelry. All I could think about was the soft, sweet, squishy gummy bear.

Feel the Love

As I've been diligently crossing off days on the calendar in anticipation of our family trip to Mexico (just 20 days away), Adrienne has been watching me and taking note with disapproval. It's not that she isn't just as anxious and excited to get to Mexico as I am, it's that she feels there are more pressing issues, more important events that will happen BEFORE Mexico, and therefore, the calendar cross-off and the "number of days till..." countdown should be dedicated to those things first. And for my oversight and terrible insensitivity to these things, she's been giving me the evil eye.

February 15th is Adrienne's birthday. February 14th is, of course, Valentine's Day, but to Adrienne that would be considered "birthday minus one" and is officially the "pre-party" to her "official day" festivities. I agree, why not claim the holiday closest to your birthday as your own--especially when the holiday is merely one day before AND is known for balloons, candy, flowers, stuffed animals and all things cute (which she likes in the first place!) February 12th is Adrienne's first sleep-over to honor her birthday on the 15th. Febraury 10th is the Valparaiso University Dance Ensemble (that I took her to last year in honor of her birthday AND that we have tickets to this year because, well, it's a "tradition").

In an attempt to make ammends this morning before school, I said, "Adrienne, there are only three more days until your birthday celebration begins. I've made a note in my calendar if you'd like to see it."

She gave me a satisfied grin and then responded, "I'm glad you are with the program...finally! I was wondering when I would feel the love."

I love that girl of mine!!! Three days and counting...

Counting down to a different view...

I couldn't resist posting my long-winded, harrowing week from 2009 last Sunday. It seems as if THAT WEEK of every year is a challenging one for me--no matter the age of my children or the weather outside--the stars are never aligned for me. I struggle with the end of January. Thank god I have just one more day.

And with January soon behind me, I have less than 25 days until we take a family trip to Mexico. That is something to celebrate before I go to bed tonight--a short countdown to a different view of the world.

A Calendar of Unfortunate Events --A look back at this week in 2009

Sunday, January 25, 2009—drove to Chicago, brunched at the Peninsula Hotel (bargain price for our party of four broke $300!), shopped at American Girl (since Adrienne got all A’s on her report card she appropriately used her $20 reward to buy roller skates for her doll), then went to see Xanadu (Yes, the Tony-award nominated Broadway musical where the Greek muses help a surfer dude from 1980 create Xanadu with a roller disco—cute and funny, but definitely gender bending, therefore not for the homophobic). Unfortunate part: not a recession-proof day.

Monday, January 26, 2009—Adrienne spikes a high fever and is forced to stay home from school which forces me to ditch my writing and reading plans for the day. Unfortunate part: forced to watch the Disney channel until her fever broke six hours into a marathon of The Suite Life of Zac and Cody.

Tuesday, January 27, 2009—Horoscope says: “If someone is soliciting advice, try to clam up. The likelihood of having to furiously backpedal (once you’ve already made your opinion known) is high. Unfortunate part: Date to meet with writing friend to offer my opinion on her work—despite horoscope, went anyway—not sure if we’re still friends.

Wednesday, January 28, 2009—Orthodontist appointment. Yes, I have braces—clear brackets on the bottom. It’s a long story about how my husband (the dentist) found my front two teeth loose. Unfortunate part #1: without braces Eric was sure I would lose my two front teeth! Unfortunate part #2: I’ve had the braces since September and since I haven’t been compliant with my retainer (for the top teeth) my front two teeth are still in danger. Kind of like Groundhog Day for me—at least six more weeks of braces!

Thursday, January 29, 2009— Drive to Ace Hardware in my pajamas just after a.m. car line to obtain Cub Scout uniform shirt for Andrew’s meeting TONIGHT. BTW, he is the only scout in the den (i.e. WHOLE SCHOOL!) without appropriate shirt (Totally ironic when you read what happens tomorrow!). Unfortunate part: I spend twenty minutes in the store looking at patches and wondering why I can’t find the number 9 for his den—927. Reason? 9 and 6 are the same! With stuff in hand, I come home to find out that the patches are not iron-on patches! Those darn scouts make everything DIY and I’m not a DIY kind of chick. I tried hot glue (FYI, it peels right off when dry!) then used “stitch witchery” with minor success. (After the fact footnote: cub shirt is at the alterations store being sewn by a true professional).

Friday, January 30, 2009—Family Mass day at school. Unfortunate part #1: forced to “have it out” with Andrew’s teacher for telling him his attire was not appropriate which made him cry (BTW, he, of course, wore jeans—reference Christmas Letter on “denaoutloud” for further information on jeans, third grade, and the importance thereof). Unfortunate part #2: forced to “call out” teacher on not wearing any panty hose (reference Pretty Woman, movie from 1990 with Julia Roberts and Richard Gere where panty hose, or lack thereof, is specifically defined). Took kids roller skating to make us all feel better about such a negative day. Unfortunate part #3: roller rink was littered with middle school kids skating very fast and very recklessly. Result? Adrienne and I got “taken out of the action” causing me to limp along singing, “This old gray mare just ain’t what she used to be,” and causing Andrew to stand (in fear) at the wall for the rest of the 30 minutes Adrienne and I tried to make a go of it. Finally left after the DJ played the Cha Cha Slide for the third time. We did “three hops this time” right out the door.

Saturday, January 31, 2009—Super Soccer Saturday! Tried to go to the grocery store before the game—got caught up looking for edamade and missed Andrew score his first goal. Unfortunate part for Andrew: he allowed three goals to be scored on him as a goalie. I told him, "It's okay, you can't save every one of them." Later that night, Andrew vomited five times. His comment: “Didn’t I get a flu shot? And I still got this?” I told him that doctors and medicine are a lot like soccer goalies--you can't save every one. Its better they all learn that young don’t you think? Life can be unfortunate.

Sunday, February 1, 2009—Stayed in my pajamas all day. Unfortunate part: spent the entire day doing laundry (YET AGAIN!) and bombing the house with Lysol—hoping that no one else gets the upchuck fever. Oh—and also, I spent the day rotating windows—opening one on the main level for thirty minutes then closing it and opening one upstairs for thirty minutes and so on. The stench of regurged Tombstone pizza and Sugar-Free Tropical Punch Kool-Aid is a b**** to get out of the house—even with the help of Lysol!

Monday, February 2, 2009—The worst of all and the culmination to my calendar of unfortunate events: My Nordstrom Fashion Reward status was downgraded. I just didn’t spend enough money this year to maintain my spot at the top. No longer will I get my free lunches at the café and no longer will I get the “all-access” pass to beauty and fashion events in NY and LA. Not the I ever went, but its the thought of being invited! I still have $300 of free alterations, so I showed Nordstrom! I went to Target then hit a HUGE sale at Kohl’s (I’m talking shirts for $1.20 and jeans for $9). I spent $32 total and plan on taking every last piece to Nordstrom for free alterations! I realize the revenge is small. And, I realize that if I just bought more stuff I wouldn’t be in this predicament in the first place, but I’m doing an experiment in 2009 called “Life doesn’t need so much stuff or at least expensive stuff from Nordstrom every other week.” I actually kicked it off a few months ago. And I think it was that commitment to “less is more” that booted me down a notch on the Nordstrom list. Oh well. Most unfortunate thing: probably just lost chance of ever meeting Justin Timberlake. Drat!

Tuesday, February 3, 2009—had a recurring dream last night about the old sitcom “Cheers” and kept hearing in my head, “You wanna be where everybody knows your name and they’re always glad you came...” At noon today it hit me what my subsconscience was trying to tell me so I called Nick at Nordstrom in Salon Shoes just to see what would happen. We chatted about the economy and how things are going in shoes. I admitted to him that I did, in fact, return five of the seven pairs of shoes I bought at the Anniversary Sale. I told him how sorry I was and that I promised never to be so over-indulgent again. I explained by 2009 experiment (FYI-dead silence at the other end for a good five seconds) and he laughed a fake kind of laugh, so I assured him I’d call him again if I needed anything. Unfortunate thing: came to the realization that I don’t need anything. Or is that the best thing about the whole week?

A winter view...

I am not normally a fan of winter weather. It’s the bitter cold that first gets to me, followed by the mess of grey snow, accumulated everywhere that makes me feel claustrophobic. But on occassion, I look out the window that faces the woods behind the house and I see perfection in nature, white and pure and I think, “That’s beautiful.” I will hold on to the stillness and peace of this image until spring… :-)