After an accidental puppy bite in his ear, last year's summer sled/bike/gravel incident and last night's shenanigans, I'm certain Finn will likely entertain us each year with some bizarre injury. Here's the scoop:
There were nine children in my basement, seven of whom were female. I was carrying a laundry basket upstairs when the most shrill, intolerable screaming began underfoot. As I flew down the stairs, I was literally terrified about what I would see when we met at the basement door.
What I encountered was louder screams and the most blood this parent has ever seen.
It was pouring down the back of Finn's head and down his back. It was all over my shirt, shorts and in the nooks and crannies of my watch. I grabbed towel after towel to clean it up so I could actually see the injury, which was endlessly evasive. After cleaning it like crazy, the bleeding abruptly stopped and I got the story while we iced the lump on his head.
Finn was climbing an old punching bag that was propped next to a refrigerator. There were two 5-pound hand weights on the fridge. When he jostled the punching bag, he rattled the fridge and the weights fell off onto his head. (What?) All nine children are sticking by this story.
Of course, my brother, his wife and my nieces were on their way over for a night of swimming. Finn was distraught that he'd miss the event. Since the bleeding stopped, I asked him to wash off in a bath and we'd see if it started back up. It didn't, so I acted like the seasoned mom of three that I am, and I let him go to the pool.
But when he hit the chlorinated water, that thing freshened up and started bleeding again. A lot. A vicious fight ensued, but Finn lost and Mike took him to urgent care.
In the end it turned out to be a deep puncture wound (from a hand weight?) that did not need stitches. It was good that they went though; we needed their help getting it clean. Mike called to tell me what happened and we all decided to meet at Oberweis for a treat.
When I got there, I was shocked to see blood pouring down the back of Finn's head again. "They left it like that?" I asked. "I thought they had it all cleaned up!"
"They did," Mike grimaced. "I ran into (our friends) Brent and Johanna and when I went to shake Brent's hand, I accidentally punched Finn in the back of the head with my fist! Don't tell him!"
Seriously, this first week off of summer sports could not be any more relaxing!
Showing posts with label mike. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mike. Show all posts
Thursday, July 26, 2012
Sunday, June 17, 2012
you
This post is for YOU. YOU know who you are. You're the YOU of all you's, my one and only and most importantly, the greatest father on earth. On Father's Day, more than any other day, I revel in the fact that, of all things, I am certain of one: I chose right.
It is such a pleasure, honor and thrill to help you raise our three amazing little beings, to see you pass along your patience, your good-to-the-core nature, your tireless work ethic and endless generosity. You are the epitome of what "father" means and I will never tire of watching you in action. You never cease to amaze me.
What a perfect Father's Day this year - we got to witness your Nascar Riding Experience with your Dad and Mary. I'm sure the Driving Experience is next!
For all that you do, for everything that you are, for the dream you have for our family, I thank you and I wish you the happiest Father's Day. In my humble opinion, no one deserves it more than YOU.
You're the very best, so deeply loved and forever appreciated.
It is such a pleasure, honor and thrill to help you raise our three amazing little beings, to see you pass along your patience, your good-to-the-core nature, your tireless work ethic and endless generosity. You are the epitome of what "father" means and I will never tire of watching you in action. You never cease to amaze me.
What a perfect Father's Day this year - we got to witness your Nascar Riding Experience with your Dad and Mary. I'm sure the Driving Experience is next!
For all that you do, for everything that you are, for the dream you have for our family, I thank you and I wish you the happiest Father's Day. In my humble opinion, no one deserves it more than YOU.
You're the very best, so deeply loved and forever appreciated.
Friday, May 25, 2012
go get scared
"Do one thing every day that scares you." - Eleanor Roosevelt
I love a good quote. In days that I can barely remember my own name in the midst of a merciless schedule, a good quote sticks, moves me and keeps me focused. I'm sure that has something to do with how important the written word is in my life; when I see a few strung together in a particularly striking way, they have an affect, period. The one above is a personal favorite.
Let's face it, in average days of carpooling, schedule maintenance, appointment remembering, home management and for many of us, work life, there are too few opportunities to really challenge our limits. Days melt together, with sore butts from bleacher seating and lots of mind-wracking to get us and our loved ones to the right places at the right times. There's little time to stand on the proverbial edge and freak ourselves out.
But last Sunday, we did. Well, Mike actually loved every minute; I'm not sure this qualifies as a "scare" for him. I, on the other hand, screamed and swore like a truck driver for nearly two straight hours as we rode the Tail of the Dragon through the Smoky Mountains. Top down and flying at high speed, we experienced what I can only describe as the longest, most thrilling roller coaster ride imaginable. Only eleven miles in length, the lead up and tail end made it feel much longer. I was white-knuckled from beginning to end, wondering what I might look like in the professional photographs being taken all along the 11-mile stretch and if the actual explicative I was emitting would be visible on camera.
This is the same stretch of road that my father-in-law, an expert motorcyclist, drove a few years ago. He had an accident and miraculously only broke ribs and some pieces off his Harley. So we knew it was dangerous territory that lied ahead. We saw crazy wrecks, took corners at top speeds with absolutely no vision of what existed beyond the bend. We turned 318 times, abruptly. We flew through the most beautiful mountain forests. We stopped three times at scenic overlooks to let a terrified minivan driver get further out in front of us, so that we could obtain the FULL EXPERIENCE. And although it might be the most irresponsible thing we could do as parents, we are considering driving home this way from North Carolina in August. Our youth-filled, fearless kids would probably think the Tail of the Dragon is the coolest thing ever.
Imagine this at 50 mph!
Once we hit rock bottom, the metaphor of the whole experience hit home. I was thrilled that we survived. (Mike was just thrilled!) I placed total trust in my Mario Andretti husband and he delivered (as if there were any doubt.) We accomplished something totally amazing and out-of-the-box and had an experience like never before. Even though thoroughly freaked out, we emerged victorious.
(Thanks to www.killboy.com for this awesome image!)
We must remember this feeling. This free, we-can-do-anything-and-create-our-own-experience-in-this-life-of-ours feeling. No one else is responsible for what we do, how we grow and what we take away. Scaring ourselves, catapulting ourselves forward in every way, surviving our fears and then thriving? We all need just a little bit of that. Every day.
Monday, May 7, 2012
boys will be boys
Just days away from his 6th birthday, Finn continues to provide constant comic relief for us all. Last weekend, he had a friend over and they were all playing in the "ditch". No, it's not really a ditch, but a ravine that runs perpendicular to our street just one house away. They of course call it a ditch though, to anyone who'll listen, and I'm continually concerned that people think I let my child play in a murky mud puddle alongside a busy road. However, I digress.
So, Finn and his buddies, two from the street and one from the other side of the neighborhood, were playing in the ditch. It's like their own little world of forest. Over the years, the boys have built a fort in there, and to be honest, I've never gone to see it. They've never borrowed wood or tools, so I'm assuming it's just a natural structure built from whatever they could find in the ravine. After a day full of ditch-loving fun, it was time to take his buddy home, who lives several blocks away.
As we got in the car, Finn's pal said, "There's pee on my sweatshirt."
"There's what on your sweatshirt?" I asked. "Why?"
"Well, [insert another child's name] peed on it."
"He peed on it? Like on purpose?"
I receive two blank stares.
"What happened? Did you two pee in the ditch?"
"No, just he did," answers Finn (the liar.)
Fast forward to our arrival at my friend's house. I return her son, tell her what happened and to wash the sweatshirt. Thank God she's a good friend.
Finn gets a lecture about ditch-playing and peeing outdoors on the way home, as he continues to steadfastly deny his involvement. I am grossed out that my child is playing where people are peeing.
Fast forward a few days and we're at a school function with the friends who own the peed-on sweatshirt. They inform me that their honest son immediately cracked under the pressure and said all four of the boys peed in the ditch, not just the one. I can't wait to get Finn home.
And when I do, I learn that the ingenious little tikes have built a fort that actually has a bathroom in it. And they all use it. Regularly.
-------
One more of the road.
Last night Finn says, "You know what my friend says? He says, "Ball-SSSS" and then, "Get it?"" He chuckles.
And I say, "What do you mean? What does he mean by that?"
And he says, "Why don't YOU know, Mom?" He appears shocked by my ignorance.
I sit like a deer in headlights and Mike laughs hysterically, making a joke that involves the word "nuts". Yes, this is helpful.
Boys will be boys.
So, Finn and his buddies, two from the street and one from the other side of the neighborhood, were playing in the ditch. It's like their own little world of forest. Over the years, the boys have built a fort in there, and to be honest, I've never gone to see it. They've never borrowed wood or tools, so I'm assuming it's just a natural structure built from whatever they could find in the ravine. After a day full of ditch-loving fun, it was time to take his buddy home, who lives several blocks away.
As we got in the car, Finn's pal said, "There's pee on my sweatshirt."
"There's what on your sweatshirt?" I asked. "Why?"
"Well, [insert another child's name] peed on it."
"He peed on it? Like on purpose?"
I receive two blank stares.
"What happened? Did you two pee in the ditch?"
"No, just he did," answers Finn (the liar.)
Fast forward to our arrival at my friend's house. I return her son, tell her what happened and to wash the sweatshirt. Thank God she's a good friend.
Finn gets a lecture about ditch-playing and peeing outdoors on the way home, as he continues to steadfastly deny his involvement. I am grossed out that my child is playing where people are peeing.
Fast forward a few days and we're at a school function with the friends who own the peed-on sweatshirt. They inform me that their honest son immediately cracked under the pressure and said all four of the boys peed in the ditch, not just the one. I can't wait to get Finn home.
And when I do, I learn that the ingenious little tikes have built a fort that actually has a bathroom in it. And they all use it. Regularly.
-------
One more of the road.
Last night Finn says, "You know what my friend says? He says, "Ball-SSSS" and then, "Get it?"" He chuckles.
And I say, "What do you mean? What does he mean by that?"
And he says, "Why don't YOU know, Mom?" He appears shocked by my ignorance.
I sit like a deer in headlights and Mike laughs hysterically, making a joke that involves the word "nuts". Yes, this is helpful.
Boys will be boys.
Friday, May 4, 2012
the last bowl
I've been dreading its demise for weeks as I washed it and noticed the cracks becoming more and more apparent. Just as the bowl's heyday moves further and further away in the rear view mirror, its existence has been threatening to do the same. When I removed it from the dishwasher (what was I thinking?) this morning, I noticed that a few bits of food remained post-washing. While cleaning it by hand, I saw the death-crack. Not another chink in the armor, but a life-ending, through-and-through crack from one end to the center of the bowl. Crud.
You see, this bowl is the last of its kind from another lifetime, a million years ago, when everything was different and all that's happened was only a dream yet to unfold. It once belonged to a set of four Pottery Barn bowls that seems almost silly to be obsessing over, but it is so significant as a constant reminder of that special point in time.
The beautiful blonde that we met on a hot and steamy Tampa day, wearing grassy heels and cut off shorts became a partner for endless fun, our mother figure far from home and a cherished friend. We talk to her far too seldom and have seen her even less in the last 12 years, but she's on our mind often. Miss Debbie Carter gave us our bowls and at the time, I think they were the nicest thing Mike and I owned. We ate nearly every meal from them and they made us feel cool, you know, Pottery Barn classy, even in our much-loved $350 per month rental house, where we barely made ends meet.
Three of our bowls were gone about four years ago; dropped or knocked off the table's edge by a playful toddler or an excited dog's tail. But this last one, it hung on. Until now, I've used it daily to house my giant lunch salad - it sits perfectly in my hand as I catch up on emails. To learn it had served its purpose for the last time brought tears to my eyes. As one of the few remaining talismans from such a memorable time in our lives, it will surely be missed.
I know it must seem ridiculous. But isn't it really the little things that make us who we are? I'd never miss a piece of our china, which has been used only once in 15 years. This bowl is a sign of where we once were, where we hoped to go, who we hoped to be and how far we've come.
It represents THIS time in our lives, which sometimes seems so long ago and at other times: just like yesterday.
It's the definition of memorabilia and even though I'm not a saver, you can bet this chipped and pitted remnant will be placed in a box somewhere, only to be uncovered by my children or grandchildren someday.
"Why in the world would she save this?" they'll ask.
And if I'm not around to tell them, maybe my blog will.
You see, this bowl is the last of its kind from another lifetime, a million years ago, when everything was different and all that's happened was only a dream yet to unfold. It once belonged to a set of four Pottery Barn bowls that seems almost silly to be obsessing over, but it is so significant as a constant reminder of that special point in time.
The beautiful blonde that we met on a hot and steamy Tampa day, wearing grassy heels and cut off shorts became a partner for endless fun, our mother figure far from home and a cherished friend. We talk to her far too seldom and have seen her even less in the last 12 years, but she's on our mind often. Miss Debbie Carter gave us our bowls and at the time, I think they were the nicest thing Mike and I owned. We ate nearly every meal from them and they made us feel cool, you know, Pottery Barn classy, even in our much-loved $350 per month rental house, where we barely made ends meet.
Three of our bowls were gone about four years ago; dropped or knocked off the table's edge by a playful toddler or an excited dog's tail. But this last one, it hung on. Until now, I've used it daily to house my giant lunch salad - it sits perfectly in my hand as I catch up on emails. To learn it had served its purpose for the last time brought tears to my eyes. As one of the few remaining talismans from such a memorable time in our lives, it will surely be missed.
I know it must seem ridiculous. But isn't it really the little things that make us who we are? I'd never miss a piece of our china, which has been used only once in 15 years. This bowl is a sign of where we once were, where we hoped to go, who we hoped to be and how far we've come.
It represents THIS time in our lives, which sometimes seems so long ago and at other times: just like yesterday.
It's the definition of memorabilia and even though I'm not a saver, you can bet this chipped and pitted remnant will be placed in a box somewhere, only to be uncovered by my children or grandchildren someday.
"Why in the world would she save this?" they'll ask.
And if I'm not around to tell them, maybe my blog will.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
...fourteen...
How time flies! It was a slightly less rainy day 14 years ago when this lucky girl married Superman at the Little White Church on the County Line with everyone we love squeezed in tightly around us. It's unimaginable that it could possibly be 14 years later, but it is, and we've got the three kids, three houses, four dogs, numerous vehicles, multiple careers, umpteen trials and tribulations and countless blessings to prove it. Happy, happy anniversary to the man of my dreams.
By the way, that's same man who signed his last name in the card he gave me this morning! (Just in case I didn't know....) Oh, how I love him so!!
By the way, that's same man who signed his last name in the card he gave me this morning! (Just in case I didn't know....) Oh, how I love him so!!
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Joyride
It’s true that all good things must come to an end. This weekend, we said goodbye a symbol of a time in life that has surely passed us by. I was not surprised at how sad I was to see Mike’s Mustang go on Friday afternoon. I am sure that I have no idea how upset Mike really is about it. Right now, his little white convertible is making its way across the country to be put on a ship and will find its new home across the ocean. It will arrive somewhere in the Czech Republic of all places; a far cry from Oswego. And it’s a good thing. Mike did not need to pass it in the neighborhood on the way to soccer practice in his seatbelt-equipped vehicle of necessity.
We actually sold the car back in early February, but the purchaser was not able to arrange transportation until now. So we waited and grimaced as the weather grew warmer and more convertible-worthy. Of course we said farewell on the first perfect top-down day of 2009. So it goes.
We made sure we savored our last moments with Mike’s baby and loaded up the kids for a joyride around the hood. This was the first and last time we’d all been in it together and the kids were crazy excited. There is nothing like the rush of adrenaline and freedom felt in a convertible classic car, sans seatbelts, music blaring. We hit the road for a hell of a ride.
In those moments I looked around and saw fifteen plus years had gone by in a flash. There is more gray on the head of the man next to me, and I now call him a man instead of a guy. (His muscles are the same size though.) In the back are three people that didn’t even exist when I first rode in this gem, first was allowed to drive this beautiful vehicle or wash it - one towel for “big water”, another for the rest. (I remember once being afraid to tell Mike I had used fabric softener on the drying rags for fear it might affect the Mustang’s paint!) We brought our first Christmas tree home with the top down, furnished our first home with garage sale finds toted home in the Mustang and rode along Florida coastline not nearly enough times in this car. I am sad to see it go.
And as we left it on a car trailer in the Wal-Mart parking lot, Mike just said, “Let’s go, let’s go!” He couldn’t stand to look. But I had to. I cried as I watched it sit among Infinities and Volvos, all going across the sea and wondered what adventures might be ahead for Mike’s Mustang and what might lie ahead for us, too. What a ride it's been already.
We actually sold the car back in early February, but the purchaser was not able to arrange transportation until now. So we waited and grimaced as the weather grew warmer and more convertible-worthy. Of course we said farewell on the first perfect top-down day of 2009. So it goes.
We made sure we savored our last moments with Mike’s baby and loaded up the kids for a joyride around the hood. This was the first and last time we’d all been in it together and the kids were crazy excited. There is nothing like the rush of adrenaline and freedom felt in a convertible classic car, sans seatbelts, music blaring. We hit the road for a hell of a ride.
In those moments I looked around and saw fifteen plus years had gone by in a flash. There is more gray on the head of the man next to me, and I now call him a man instead of a guy. (His muscles are the same size though.) In the back are three people that didn’t even exist when I first rode in this gem, first was allowed to drive this beautiful vehicle or wash it - one towel for “big water”, another for the rest. (I remember once being afraid to tell Mike I had used fabric softener on the drying rags for fear it might affect the Mustang’s paint!) We brought our first Christmas tree home with the top down, furnished our first home with garage sale finds toted home in the Mustang and rode along Florida coastline not nearly enough times in this car. I am sad to see it go.
And as we left it on a car trailer in the Wal-Mart parking lot, Mike just said, “Let’s go, let’s go!” He couldn’t stand to look. But I had to. I cried as I watched it sit among Infinities and Volvos, all going across the sea and wondered what adventures might be ahead for Mike’s Mustang and what might lie ahead for us, too. What a ride it's been already.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
What If?
So I’m a few days late, but I couldn’t let the event go by without mention. Eleven years seems so long ago and so short at the same time; so full of the life with which we’ve packed it. When Mike asked me on Saturday night what my favorite year of our marriage was, I thought for a moment. I could only say “this year!” On the surface, that’s a crazy notion; this has not been an easy year and we are facing more challenges, to say the least. But we are making progress in other areas of our lives that will change things forever. Never before in our time together have we been more in tune with our family’s future, hopeful about what lies ahead and sure about what we each can bring to the table. We are far from perfect, but our years together are leaving us smarter about each other and with the knowledge that we can pretty much handle anything that comes our way.
Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I wouldn’t have looked over that high school auditorium balcony at fifteen. What would have happened if I didn’t notice him down there? What if we didn’t have Mr. Bradley’s English class together or become good friends that kept in touch through college? What if that seemingly silly school girl crush on a messy-haired, jeep-driving, shredded clothes-wearing young man with the most insane blue eyes I’d ever seen hadn’t festered for all those years? What if we wouldn’t have met again at (of all places) Tracy’s Tavern and known that things were different? What if we would have given up on our long distance romance instead of taking the plunge and moving to Florida on a whim? The thought of what “would be” (or maybe what “wouldn’t be”) is enough to drive me mad.
When I look at the faces of the two people in this photo from a million years ago – thanks to Finn who ransacked a box in my office last week – I see so much that we just didn’t know. (You can tell how old this picture is if you note the HUGE "scrunchi" on my wrist!) But in good times or bad, I’d take my partner time and time again. There is no other person I’d rather ride off into the sunset with, detours and all.
Happy 11th anniversary to the man I love.
Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I wouldn’t have looked over that high school auditorium balcony at fifteen. What would have happened if I didn’t notice him down there? What if we didn’t have Mr. Bradley’s English class together or become good friends that kept in touch through college? What if that seemingly silly school girl crush on a messy-haired, jeep-driving, shredded clothes-wearing young man with the most insane blue eyes I’d ever seen hadn’t festered for all those years? What if we wouldn’t have met again at (of all places) Tracy’s Tavern and known that things were different? What if we would have given up on our long distance romance instead of taking the plunge and moving to Florida on a whim? The thought of what “would be” (or maybe what “wouldn’t be”) is enough to drive me mad.
When I look at the faces of the two people in this photo from a million years ago – thanks to Finn who ransacked a box in my office last week – I see so much that we just didn’t know. (You can tell how old this picture is if you note the HUGE "scrunchi" on my wrist!) But in good times or bad, I’d take my partner time and time again. There is no other person I’d rather ride off into the sunset with, detours and all.
Happy 11th anniversary to the man I love.
Saturday, June 14, 2008
His Hands
The other day I looked at Mike’s hands and noticed that they are pretty weathered from all the hard work he does on a daily basis. “Who needs gloves?” he jests when I mention that he consider them for things like yard work or WINTER! He just isn’t so-inclined and that has left his well-used hands showing a year or two, that’s for sure. But as I looked at all those deepening nooks and crannies that give his handy hands so much character, I also had another thought…These hands, were the first so full of love, to touch our children. Sure, some doctor or nurse edged them out in the middle of surgery, but those hands didn’t love our kids, or anxiously await their arrival or wonder what it would be like to hold them, boy or girl, in their arms. Their daddy’s hands did. They waited patiently, never feeling a kick or shuffle from the inside to let them know just what was really around the corner. They opened wide at each arrival of our three beautiful gifts and brought them right to their mommy (who finally got the good drugs once the babe was out) to say a drowsy first “hello.” What a good daddy.
There really is no way I could have dreamed anything bigger or better or more boundless than the love I know Mike has for our kids. He works tirelessly to give us everything we need and bring us to better places in life. He operates with the much needed patience of a saint when mine is tapped out. He knows when to laugh to break the tension. He is good to the core, never thinking a bad thought about another human being unless they really (and I mean really) deserve it. I have always wanted to be more like him, this man of true blue character and I still feel that way so many years later. He is just plain good. And our kids feel it and emulate it, thanks to him.
As a stay-at-home-mom, I miss out on the opportunity to walk in the door at the end of a long day and have the room erupt in cheers and excitement. I rarely experience my children jump and almost fly to me as I walk in the door, but Mike does. Even Finn searches out his truck from a family room window each night at dinner time and announces “Daddy’s home! Daddy’s home!” well before the girls, the dog and I have a clue. It’s unanimous; he’s just so great to have around. His absence is discussed as soon as the kids wake, “Is Daddy at work or the gym?” and felt greatly when it extends anything beyond the norm. His arrival home is always cause for celebration; there is just no better Daddy for us.
The four of us are blessed beyond belief to have this wonderful man and his weathered hands at the helm of our ship. Happy Father’s Day, Mike. Thanks for steering and for the wonderful father you are!
Friday, May 23, 2008
Hurry Up and Come Back
Every once in awhile you read a story about a couple that has spent little or no time apart during their married years. I remember one in particular that slept in the same bed, no matter what, for something like 40 years. I’m not sure that’s even remotely possible in today’s busy world, but I guess it would be pretty cool to get to the end of the line and be able to say you did it.
Last night, Mike left for several days at the Indy 500 with his dad and uncle. They have insider tickets to the most exclusive events, a gift from beyond from his wonderful Grandfather who passed away last August – his sixty year long Firestone career resulted in this incredible gift for the family. I’m excited for him to have a break and travel with his dad who he just loves spending time with. Whenever they’re together, they end up working on house projects instead of just having fun, so this will be great for both of them.
It’s funny though, all day yesterday, I was a little uneasy or off, and not sure why. I am definitely not used to him being gone; there’s no travel in his work life and he doesn’t usually go places with “the guys” or anything. Thinking about it now, I guess my uneasiness was just me adjusting to the idea that he’d be gone. I can’t imagine how my good friend, Tiffany, has felt over the last year while her husband has been deployed to Iraq. This is nothing, a trip for fun – just plain old living life and because of its rarity; it’s leaving me feeling funny. My friend is one strong woman for facing all those months alone with four young kids and the great unknown of the desert looming. By the grace of God, her husband is back home again and safe. I couldn’t be more thrilled for them.
While preparing for our family to arrive and Mike to leave (my mother-in-law will stay with us while the guys go), it never even dawned on me that this little trip might be effecting the kids. When it was time for him to go, it became clear. The second Mike walked out the door, Logan was in tears and nearly inconsolable for several minutes. Riley soon picked up on it all and her eyes bubbled with tears as well; both of them left confused about Daddy on his way – away. They’ve experienced us head out for a night or two once or twice, but never really just one of us for more than one night. And Logan is older now, probably just starting to get an understanding that other factors and unpleasant possibilities exist in her world – just yesterday she asked me what cancer was. Those are some big thoughts swimming around in a little mind. I can only imagine what was causing her such distress as he left and was so glad when she felt better.
Once again, my mind brought me back to my friend’s family and how her children, with their dad so far way, felt as they matured during his absence and learned more and more about the world around us. How brave they were to make it through this like they did; remaining calm, holding it all together and knowing in their hearts that their Daddy would return. What a remarkable family they are.
I have no aspirations to be the couple that never spends a night apart; past work travel, little trips here and there and the thought of sleeping on the fold out bed at the hospital by the time Finn came around did us in anyway. We’re out of the running. But I’m grateful for the fact that we’ve been blessed with most of our time together, good days and bad. I hope Mike has a great burned-rubber filled weekend; he works hard and deserves it for sure. And it feels good to miss him; maybe we all need a little of that now and then. His fan club can’t wait for him to come home!
Last night, Mike left for several days at the Indy 500 with his dad and uncle. They have insider tickets to the most exclusive events, a gift from beyond from his wonderful Grandfather who passed away last August – his sixty year long Firestone career resulted in this incredible gift for the family. I’m excited for him to have a break and travel with his dad who he just loves spending time with. Whenever they’re together, they end up working on house projects instead of just having fun, so this will be great for both of them.
It’s funny though, all day yesterday, I was a little uneasy or off, and not sure why. I am definitely not used to him being gone; there’s no travel in his work life and he doesn’t usually go places with “the guys” or anything. Thinking about it now, I guess my uneasiness was just me adjusting to the idea that he’d be gone. I can’t imagine how my good friend, Tiffany, has felt over the last year while her husband has been deployed to Iraq. This is nothing, a trip for fun – just plain old living life and because of its rarity; it’s leaving me feeling funny. My friend is one strong woman for facing all those months alone with four young kids and the great unknown of the desert looming. By the grace of God, her husband is back home again and safe. I couldn’t be more thrilled for them.
While preparing for our family to arrive and Mike to leave (my mother-in-law will stay with us while the guys go), it never even dawned on me that this little trip might be effecting the kids. When it was time for him to go, it became clear. The second Mike walked out the door, Logan was in tears and nearly inconsolable for several minutes. Riley soon picked up on it all and her eyes bubbled with tears as well; both of them left confused about Daddy on his way – away. They’ve experienced us head out for a night or two once or twice, but never really just one of us for more than one night. And Logan is older now, probably just starting to get an understanding that other factors and unpleasant possibilities exist in her world – just yesterday she asked me what cancer was. Those are some big thoughts swimming around in a little mind. I can only imagine what was causing her such distress as he left and was so glad when she felt better.
Once again, my mind brought me back to my friend’s family and how her children, with their dad so far way, felt as they matured during his absence and learned more and more about the world around us. How brave they were to make it through this like they did; remaining calm, holding it all together and knowing in their hearts that their Daddy would return. What a remarkable family they are.
I have no aspirations to be the couple that never spends a night apart; past work travel, little trips here and there and the thought of sleeping on the fold out bed at the hospital by the time Finn came around did us in anyway. We’re out of the running. But I’m grateful for the fact that we’ve been blessed with most of our time together, good days and bad. I hope Mike has a great burned-rubber filled weekend; he works hard and deserves it for sure. And it feels good to miss him; maybe we all need a little of that now and then. His fan club can’t wait for him to come home!
Monday, February 25, 2008
The Spatula
I have a large stoneware crock sitting on my kitchen counter that houses all of my kitchen utensils. I bought it almost ten years ago at an outdoor antique fair – so happy to find it after seeing the great idea in Monica’s, from Friends, apartment. I hate fishing through drawers looking for what I want, and loved the idea of having everything right there, where I could see it, next to the stove. I’ve heard a few sarcastic remarks over time, like “You got enough utensils?” I don’t care, I love my crock and the fast ability to easily grab and use anything in it.
The other night I was browning ground turkey for tacos and I mindlessly reached over and pulled out a spatula. The funny thing was that I pulled out one I haven’t seen in years, literally. I always loved the way that this extra small, well-used version had fit so comfortably in my hand, making using it a breeze. (For whatever reason, I have always hated browning ground meat – and this spatula made that more pleasant, too.) Anyway, after seeing this old kitchen pal, I was immediately taken back to a different place and time – really it was strange – but all of a sudden I was back to 1996 in our tiny, rented, turn-of-the-century Florida bungalow’s kitchen.
It’s amazing that, coming from those humble beginnings, that I can cook anything at all. Our kitchen was really a retrofitted old porch, with no insulation and six huge windows that pulled into the room and latched to the ceiling to provide some ventilation. We had two cabinets besides those under the sink, so our washer and dryer acted as both counters and shelves since they sat smack in the middle of the kitchen. We were engaged and then married while living in that house, and the smallness of it prevented us from unpacking our wedding gifts for the two remaining years that we stayed. With these interesting living arrangements, and it really was wonderful – we knew even then that we would look back on that house and that time with nothing but fondness – we were young and free and having fun with big dreams for our future. If you ask me, it was a pretty good place to be!
When we lived there, this was the only spatula we had or needed, and we used it to make all the things we ate on a regular basis. Even then, without an ounce of space or modern amenity, we were adventurous with our love for cooking, making grilled turkey for Thanksgiving, leg of lamb for Easter or a standing rib roast with Yorkshire pudding for the holidays. We made up things like grilled vegetable slaw with feta and found ways to bake our favorite childhood cookies; it just worked one way or another. In our mid-twenties, we cherished our wonderful friends that were there to enjoy every get together and BBQ and came with their own creations in tow. We had so many friends around so much of the time that people used to tell us that other people thought “Mike & Molly’s” was a cool new pub or something, not someone’s house. We loved it.
It’s amazing that an item so small and insignificant as a spatula held the power to take me back to all those wonderful memories, leave me longing for a different time in life and feeling so grateful for all that’s happened since then. It’s mind boggling to ponder all that has happened; I feel so blessed by everything and everyone now and I feel the same for our life back then. I browned that turkey with a smile on my face, remembering all our good Florida times.
After Mike had arrived home, dinner had been eaten and the kids needed us for ten other things, we began to clean the kitchen. All of a sudden I heard Mike say, “Oh my gosh – I haven’t seen this spatula in years!! Man does this thing remind me of Florida!”
“I know!” I said, loving the fact that we both share the same feelings and connection over those meager beginnings and treasured memories that seem like a lifetime ago.
The other night I was browning ground turkey for tacos and I mindlessly reached over and pulled out a spatula. The funny thing was that I pulled out one I haven’t seen in years, literally. I always loved the way that this extra small, well-used version had fit so comfortably in my hand, making using it a breeze. (For whatever reason, I have always hated browning ground meat – and this spatula made that more pleasant, too.) Anyway, after seeing this old kitchen pal, I was immediately taken back to a different place and time – really it was strange – but all of a sudden I was back to 1996 in our tiny, rented, turn-of-the-century Florida bungalow’s kitchen.
It’s amazing that, coming from those humble beginnings, that I can cook anything at all. Our kitchen was really a retrofitted old porch, with no insulation and six huge windows that pulled into the room and latched to the ceiling to provide some ventilation. We had two cabinets besides those under the sink, so our washer and dryer acted as both counters and shelves since they sat smack in the middle of the kitchen. We were engaged and then married while living in that house, and the smallness of it prevented us from unpacking our wedding gifts for the two remaining years that we stayed. With these interesting living arrangements, and it really was wonderful – we knew even then that we would look back on that house and that time with nothing but fondness – we were young and free and having fun with big dreams for our future. If you ask me, it was a pretty good place to be!
When we lived there, this was the only spatula we had or needed, and we used it to make all the things we ate on a regular basis. Even then, without an ounce of space or modern amenity, we were adventurous with our love for cooking, making grilled turkey for Thanksgiving, leg of lamb for Easter or a standing rib roast with Yorkshire pudding for the holidays. We made up things like grilled vegetable slaw with feta and found ways to bake our favorite childhood cookies; it just worked one way or another. In our mid-twenties, we cherished our wonderful friends that were there to enjoy every get together and BBQ and came with their own creations in tow. We had so many friends around so much of the time that people used to tell us that other people thought “Mike & Molly’s” was a cool new pub or something, not someone’s house. We loved it.
It’s amazing that an item so small and insignificant as a spatula held the power to take me back to all those wonderful memories, leave me longing for a different time in life and feeling so grateful for all that’s happened since then. It’s mind boggling to ponder all that has happened; I feel so blessed by everything and everyone now and I feel the same for our life back then. I browned that turkey with a smile on my face, remembering all our good Florida times.
After Mike had arrived home, dinner had been eaten and the kids needed us for ten other things, we began to clean the kitchen. All of a sudden I heard Mike say, “Oh my gosh – I haven’t seen this spatula in years!! Man does this thing remind me of Florida!”
“I know!” I said, loving the fact that we both share the same feelings and connection over those meager beginnings and treasured memories that seem like a lifetime ago.
Thursday, November 8, 2007
10 YEARS!
Ten years ago today was quite a day.
In a tiny church in Oak Brook I married my soul mate. That little church was packed from door-to-altar with loved ones from all walks of our lives, from near and far. I still remember standing in the doorway to the church, right before the ceremony, with so many tears in my eyes that I couldn’t see a thing. I was terrified to blink because, coming from someone who rarely cries, either the flood gates would open and/or I’d end up looking like Tammy Faye Baker. I didn’t blink.
Soon the tears subsided, my focus came back and I saw only one thing: Mike at the end of the aisle, waiting. There was nothing less than everything I wanted and needed in that very moment, in his look, and I’ll never forget either. The details of that day were lost almost instantly amidst the exciting frenzy of all that had to be done. The constant hum of the love between us and of those that surrounded us, along with the anticipation of all that lied ahead is a feeling that will never go away.
Our decade together has brought us down many paths. There have been major challenges and tiny ones, scary times and the normal struggles that we all face. But mostly there have been triumphs, accomplishments, joy and three particular miracles that have joined Mike and me in a way that we can never share with any other soul. Three amazing little beings have been placed in our care, loans from above that have opened our hearts to depths unimaginable.
We are better people than we were ten years ago, that’s for sure. We have had more life and experience than we wanted at times, but we are making it. We have a little rust and a few dings to prove our mileage. But we are strong. And with each passing day, we are meeting our challenges, striving for more and living a great life together. We are chosen partners in a life full of possibility.
I am a lucky woman, there is just no doubt. More importantly, I am a grateful woman. This wonderful man took me for better or worse and he has proven it on both accounts. I love him more than I could ever hope to put into words.
On the back page of our wedding program, in tiny print on the bottom of the page, these words were written:
“One sweet dream came true today…”
And it did. Ten years ago today.
In a tiny church in Oak Brook I married my soul mate. That little church was packed from door-to-altar with loved ones from all walks of our lives, from near and far. I still remember standing in the doorway to the church, right before the ceremony, with so many tears in my eyes that I couldn’t see a thing. I was terrified to blink because, coming from someone who rarely cries, either the flood gates would open and/or I’d end up looking like Tammy Faye Baker. I didn’t blink.
Soon the tears subsided, my focus came back and I saw only one thing: Mike at the end of the aisle, waiting. There was nothing less than everything I wanted and needed in that very moment, in his look, and I’ll never forget either. The details of that day were lost almost instantly amidst the exciting frenzy of all that had to be done. The constant hum of the love between us and of those that surrounded us, along with the anticipation of all that lied ahead is a feeling that will never go away.
Our decade together has brought us down many paths. There have been major challenges and tiny ones, scary times and the normal struggles that we all face. But mostly there have been triumphs, accomplishments, joy and three particular miracles that have joined Mike and me in a way that we can never share with any other soul. Three amazing little beings have been placed in our care, loans from above that have opened our hearts to depths unimaginable.
We are better people than we were ten years ago, that’s for sure. We have had more life and experience than we wanted at times, but we are making it. We have a little rust and a few dings to prove our mileage. But we are strong. And with each passing day, we are meeting our challenges, striving for more and living a great life together. We are chosen partners in a life full of possibility.
I am a lucky woman, there is just no doubt. More importantly, I am a grateful woman. This wonderful man took me for better or worse and he has proven it on both accounts. I love him more than I could ever hope to put into words.
On the back page of our wedding program, in tiny print on the bottom of the page, these words were written:
“One sweet dream came true today…”
And it did. Ten years ago today.
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