Hey Teacher, Decode This!

Wow - September is flying by!  Soccer season has started and I have 2 glorious days of peace and quiet every week where both kids are in school at the same time!  Of course a good mom would never publicly call those days "glorious."  Instead, she would wear a huge smile while she recounted how quickly her kids are growing up and how long those hours of separation seem.  Lucky for you, I'm not a good mom...I'm a real mom! 

Now I would be lying if I said that Emery starting kindergarten didn't hit me like a ton of bricks! You see, I've been dropping him off at preschool for over two years and I naively thought that it prepared me to leave him at his new school and never look back! What I didn't count on was just how small a kindergartner looks walking into a school next to 5th graders. I'm now totally one of those moms who breaks stringent car-line rules and parks until I see that Emery has safely made it the whole way into the building. Trust me that in "suburban mom land" the only thing that would make me look more rebellious to my peers is two full tattoo sleeves and a Hot Topic outfit. When the school car-line patrol (that could easily rival air traffic control at PDX) notices me, I can see their uneasy looks at each other while they use covert baseball signals and reach for their walkie talkies.  I'm not kidding when I say that one of their bullet-pointed rules is, "You have 10 seconds to get out!"  But I can honestly appreciate that if they run a car-line in that controlled of a manner, then there is probably a whole lot of learning getting done in those classrooms.

The other major thing I was unprepared for was getting used to a new teacher who reminds me of a 26 year old version of myself. While she was talking 100 miles an hour and proudly proclaiming her credentials which happened to include my alma mater, I literally had visions of her smuggling peppermint schnapps and hot chocolate into a football game at 11:00 am after a week of skipping classes.  Seriously, the coffee on her desk was starting to look a little suspect.  I'm not judging that though - it takes a brave soul to face twenty 5 and 6 years olds all day! Even if her coffee were "special", I wouldn't blame her!

Of course while I was listening to her spiel on her personal educational philosophy on parents night, I was thinking what every parent thinks; "I wonder if she knows how special my kid is? I mean, I wonder if she knows that he's not regular special like the other kids....he's advanced special"  I wanted to raise my hand and ask but another bullet-pointed rule the school made clear was "no child-specific questions on parent's night."  Lucky for me, Emery's teacher had given each parent a questionnaire to fill out about their child where we could all brag explain why our kid is advanced special. Do not be fooled people, this is not a questionnaire....it's a test!  This is how a teacher decodes it:

First to turn yours in = Type A parent.
Not enough description = Under involved parent
Too much description = Over involved parent.
Last to turn yours in = Disorganized parent.

And since I was so sure his teacher had CIA level decoding skills, I decided to give her my own little test!  We were asked to write down 5 words that best describes our kid. 

What I wrote: Sensitive
Decoded: This actually served more as a warning than a descriptive characteristic of Emery.  He's sensitive in that if you ask him to do something he should be doing anyway (ie - picking up his own mess), he will turn on the tears and use some sort of backwards voodoo logic that makes you feel like you stifled his creative process and prohibited him from freely growing in an environment without limitations. Trust me Mrs. Teacher, you will be cleaning up Emery's mess while you apologize to him that your people oppressed his in the 15th century.

What I wrote: Social
Decoded: Good luck getting him to shut his mouth....ever. The kids talks. A lot. Always. And if you happen to get a word in edgewise where you can politely ask him to be quiet he will say, "Okay, I'm being quiet now.  Do you hear me being quiet? Do I get a prize?"

What I wrote: Analytical
Decoded:  Get ready  to answer a whole lot of "Why?" questions! Why does red mean stop? Why does green mean go? Why is the sky blue? Why is the grass green? Why does mommy drink so much?

What I wrote: Caring
Decoded:  As in "He cares about his video games." But since this questionnaire is a test, I can't tell you that I let him play video games! I can assure you, however, that when it comes to Skylanders Emery cares a great deal!

What I wrote: Focused
Decoded:  He will not hear you when you tell him it's time to do something different than what he is already doing.  And if he does hear you, he won't look at you.  And if he does look at you, he will pretend he is deaf and furrow his eyebrows into a question like you are speaking a lost language. And if you give his 5 more minutes, he will hear 20. And if you figure out how to stop this cycle - please let me know!

Honestly, Emery is a great kid!  But like every kid, he's complex.  And I know that right when his teacher figures him out, he'll be on to first grade with a new teacher!  Am I in for this same process every year for the next 12 years?  All of you more experienced moms are probably laughing at me right now!  That's okay, my turn will come....

Looking sharp next to the ladies!

New Rules for Pinterest & Instagram

There really is no natural way to segue back into a blog that I've been ignoring for almost a year, is there? Every great once in awhile (and I'm using "once in awhile" as a hyperbole here), I get asked why I don't blog as much.  And of course my response is always, "Well mom....I'm busy raising your grandkids!" I may have explained this before, but when I started writing this whole thing years ago I had this vision of a virtual scrapbook to share our life with the world as so many other moms do.  Every picture of our daily outings would be perfectly staged highlighting all of the amazing fun our family has when we're not even trying! We'd look adorably candid in our matching outfits while we walked hand in hand through wheat fields, on railroad tracks, and in front of rustic barns, all while we drank from mason jars with striped straws. Eventually, I was going to have it all printed into a book so that I could give it to my children as they left for college to remind them how wonderful their childhood had been!

Then, one day, I realized with a giant sense of freedom that our life isn't Pinterest or Etsy....and that's okay. For every picture I post of Emery smiling with a new Karate belt, I could post another 20 of me pulling him off his game of Skylanders while he screams, "I don't want to go there today! I want to play video gaaaaaaaammmmmmees!" And realistically, the chance of the kids and I having coordinating outfits is slim to none unless princess Belle clothes come in adult size or I decide to start sporting Crocs on a daily basis. I don't even own mason jars! So instead, my blog took a left turn where I started writing about how crazy my kids are and about how they live in a world where up is down, left is right, and my prayers start with a simple plea for sanity. And that, after all, doesn't make a very good "off to college" present now, does it?!

Speaking of Pinterest, if I owned that website (and it's been stated before that Satan does to which I totally concur) I would require that every craft had a difficulty rating and a picture of the mess that will be left behind in it's wake.  Then I could more realistically decide if digging out a Micheal's coupon and dragging two kids through a store where they get distracted by Christmas decorations in July and start screaming out their list to Santa while I'm rummaging through ribbon bins to decorate some cake stand in hopes of getting one good Instagram shot might be worth it or not. And speaking on Instagram, if owned that site I would require that the 45 shots everyone takes before they finally get one that's post-worthy would have to be displayed as a full succession.  Then, I think, we would all feel more like we are on the same chaotic page in life!?  Here...let me be the first to be a little more honest:

Anyway, I think I've reached a place where I can accept that maybe if I put more work back into this blog,  an eventual bound copy may not be the best gift for Emery and Lulu's twenties.  But do you know what?  It might be a good gift for their thirties when they have a family of their own.  I know I had that moment when it dawned on me exactly what I had put my parents through for 18 years.  At least my kids would know that I laughed (sometimes) while I waded through 2 feet of toys in a messy play room and (eventually) smiled when they drew on our walls in pink highlighter.  So here's to school starting and finally having some time to write down and laugh at imperfection once again!  Until then...I'll be hunting down obscure school supplies (Retractable dry erase markers?  Are caps really that hard to put back on?) and counting down the days until I have a three hour window to clean the house without a new mess following 2 feet behind me.

Have a great week!

Jenny

Everyone Gets a Trophy!

Thank the Good Lord above that the election is over!  Let's just say that I spent last night drinking and I won't mention whether it was in celebration or to drown my sorrows.  Who knows, maybe it's just because I like to drink! I'm sure you'll stay up all night wondering? In any case, I love a good a white-knuckle battle! I love the back and forth and I can humbly appreciate a close outcome no matter which side of the line I end up on.  By their very nature, "close call" elections mildly comfort the defeated by displaying their not-to-be forgotten force and humble the victors to keep from getting too comfortable.  Landslide issues rarely create new passion or evoke a sense of personal responsibility to become educated in your stance. So I'll take a good 49%/50% battle any day of the week!  And after spending the last 3 months watching Emery's soccer team (henceforth referred to as "The Lightning Storm!") be defeated with final scores like 20 to 1, 13 to 0, and 15 to -1, it's been awhile since I've sat on the edge of my seat. 

Ahhh....youth soccer; an American rite of passage!  (Honestly, I never played but it sounded like a good opening statement.) This was Emery's very first year of outdoor soccer and it seemed like an awesome idea back in June when we eagerly signed him up. Of course back in June the sun was still shining and I had no idea the commitment I was making to drag camping chairs, umbrellas, team snacks, water bottles, and Lulu with her 20 baby dolls through the mud, in the rain, at 8:00 AM on a Saturday morning. No wonder they have you pay up front! But fear not, all of my effort wasn't in vain.  While I never got to give Emery a high five for making a goal, I did see a tremendous amount of growth in his skills. I mean, at the beginning of the season he could barely make a shadow puppet that resembled a bird while standing oblivious to the game-play around him. In contrast, by the end of the season he could act out entire shadow plays!  Progress is progress, right?! Kidding aside, I spent the whole season waiting for the concept of soccer to "click" for him. Of course, it didn't happen until the very last game where I actually saw some hustle in his step and fire in his eyes!  I kept getting little thumbs-up from the field and huge smiles letting me know that he was really having fun!  Melt my mom-heart. Finally, when he ran to the sidelines for a water break the cheerleader in me bursted out as I screamed, "Emery!!! THAT. WAS. AWESOME!" to which he replied, "MOM!  Did you see that bird?!"  Huh?  It's true - there had been a seagull circling the game and apparently the "hustle in his step" was only an attempt to keep up with his winged friend. (***Side note - I do not know what it is with Schultz boys and birds!  Has anyone else ever had their husband say, "I just love birds of prey! They're so awesome!"  Is that normal?  I think I should put it out there now that if I ever get into a car wreck, you can put money down that Luke was driving, "thought he saw a hawk" and was straining his neck to see it. ***) Emery later told me that the seagull gave him magical soccer powers.  I'm now looking into hiring someone in costume for next season to bring these powers back. Is anyone looking for a job?  Small caveat, I need you to provide your own seagull costume.

The great thing about kindergarten soccer is that it doesn't matter if you make 50 goals or none.  It doesn't matter if our Lightning Storm team ever beats the Lightning Bolts team (neither of which have ever beat the Lightning Strikes team). And it doesn't matter if you spend half the game making shadow puppets or half the game shooting at the wrong goal. What does matter is that if you show up.....you get a trophy. If you bring cool goody bags on your snack week.....you make friends. And if you can corner the coach's wife at the after-season party, you can assure your son's spot on next year's team regardless of his performance. Simple rules, simple rewards, everyone wins. Could you imagine if life stayed that easy? Instead of bickering and gloating on facebook and twitter, we could just hand out participation awards and hug it out over a rainbow snow-cone. We'd know there's always a "next game" and that if we lose that one too....at least we got to enjoy some refreshing orange slices, right?!

I don't know who said it first, but I truly believe the saying, "Nothing is ever as good or bad as it seems." So I offer my congratulations to you blue folks out there, and my best wishes to you red folks! But remember we're all purple folks!  ( Wait, is that what you get when you mix red and blue? You get my point....)

Have a great week!

Stats: Goals: None. Assists: Not Sure. Shadow Puppets: 35

Twenty-One Questions

Seriously.....I haven't blogged since February?? And even then it was about the neighbor's cats.  That, my friends, is what you call a downward spiral.  A real life hang up your downtown dancing shoes, move to the suburbs, have two kids, celebrate birthdays at Red Robin, dress in hoodies for preschool drop-off, blog about your neighbors cats downward spiral. At this point, I'm surprised my daily planner even offers me the option of scheduling events past 8:00pm without throwing up an, "Are you sure about that?" verification page. It's definitely a far cry from where I was 10 years ago. I mean, I used to have the instinct to high-five someone if we scored free drinks, now I have the instinct to high-five someone if Emery makes it into the "no cavity" club every six months. It's just as cool, right?

But it goes without saying, it's all worth it and every parent knows it.  As quickly as I've come to accept that often enough a Saturday night may feel like a Tuesday night in my house, I've also come to appreciate that a five year old's one liners can make me laugh infinitely harder than any of the mischief I could have found in my twenties. I submit to you a challenge; and it's not to tell me whether I should have used a colon or a semicolon there of which I am not really sure.  It is instead to have a five year old say, "We don't talk about fight club!" without it being significantly more hilarious than if an adult said it!  It's just a fact, it will be funnier.  It's like seeing a baby animal picture on Facebook....you know your heart presses "like" even though your finger refuses to press the button wisely saving you from the associated social stigma. These three things are true: I need to relearn the rules regarding semicolon vs. colon, baby animals are cute, and kids are funnier than adults. 

I love the way kids boil everything down to truth.....no sugarcoating, no making excuses, no wondering what people will think.  It's a rare day when Emery doesn't say something that makes me smile. And I don't mean in the, "Ahh shucks, isn't my kid super smart" way.  I mean in the, "Did he just school me using complete nonsense and I can't think of a comeback?" way!  Watching him grow has been like reliving life through someone else's perspective. But it's a crap shoot as to what he is willing to enlighten me with on any given day.  Naturally, looking for some insight into how his mind works, I combat this the same way any mom does....21 questions. "What did you do at school? What did you have for snack? Did you sing any songs? What did you paint? Did you wear your coat at recess? Who did you play with?"

Let me re-live that real life conversation for you:

Me: What did you do at school today?
Emery: I don't know. 
Me: What did you have for snack?
Emery: Cheese or popcorn. I don't remember.
Me: Did you sing any songs?
Emery: I don't think so.
Me: What did you paint?
Emery: I wanted to build something but Mrs. Jones said no lightsabers. 
Me: Did you wear your coat at recess?
Emery: Brian* didn't bring a coat today.
Me: Okay, Ummm.....who did you play with?
Emery: Brian, Cody, and Mark.
Me: Do you ever play with any girls?
Emery: Girls aren't cool.
Me: But girls are pretty.
Emery: What's cool about being pretty? Do you know what's cool mom?  Brian had a Ninjago shirt on, that's cool!"

I love those moments when he catches me off-guard and I realize he's living in his own world, and not mine.  So, while I'm imagining that he's building vital social skills at the monkey bars that will launch him into some sort of successful career, all he's really thinking is, "cool shirt Brian." I need to re-simplify my life like that.  Then, when some adult tragedy occurs, instead of freaking out I can just say, "Red Robin is good." And luckily because we moved the suburbs, there's one close by. Problem solved.

Have a great week friends!

* names changed to protect those not cool enough to own a Ninjago shirt.

That Last Hour....

CAT UPDATE:  They're alive! I finally sunk to the extreme low of taking pictures of random cats throughout the neighborhood and emailing "Cary" a lineup asking that she identify which were hers.   When I eventually got confirmation, I properly introduced myself to "Hancock" and "Chica" (who had indeed been outside) and allowed them back into their much warmer house.  And how do they repay me for all of my hard work?  One guess?  Anyone? The little started throwing up....everywhere.

Other than that, we're settling into our tax season lull where Luke and I spend every night arguing over whether it's worse to be working away from the kids 80 hours a week or worse to be alone with them for that same amount of time.  We usually agree it's a draw. I'll tell you, it does not matter if I am MADLY in love with my children 79 of those hours and feel Heaven's blessing pouring down on me while experiencing extreme gratitude that God would let me be with them for all of their daily milestones!  That last hour.....that last hour... you know what I'm talking about, right?  That last hour where you are sure your neighbors are going to call CPS and you're going to be left explaining to some social worker why your child is half naked in timeout with finger paint in their hair screaming, "I'll never love you again mommy....NEVER!!!!!!!" in a house where the clean laundry pile looks much like the dirty laundry pile and you're zoned out watching some questionable show on ID Discovery. Been there?  Or is that just me?

Anyway, in an effort to divert my attention away from how awful this time of year is for us, I've been planning a vacation to act as my light at the end of the tunnel! The only problem with this is that I'm a woman and we plan vacations like they're weddings!  We have checklists of details that only get more complicated the more time we have to plan.  Given the months I have, I'm not just pricing the big things like airfare and hotel....I have full-on found myself looking at images of food available at restaurants in the vicinity thinking, "I should write down that I want to try that!" I'm not talking about steak dinners here, I'm talking about things like Churros and Carmel Apples because this is the year we're going to Disneyland! Do you know that there are entire websites of people who post pictures of Disneyland food?  Is it weirder that they take and post pictures or weirder that I somehow found that site, browsed it, and am openly admitting it to you now?  I'd say that's another draw....

The biggest dilemma in planning a Disney vacation is that Emery has no idea what Disneyland is!  We did take him to Disneyworld when he was 20 months old, but other than a few pictures of him in his obligatory Mickey ears in front of the castle, it's nothing he really remembers.  So now I need to figure out how to get him completely pumped about going while simultaneously breaking his heart and making him think we're not going so I don't have to listen to two months of, "Is it time yet?"  Talk about a roller coaster!  For example, up until now, he's been begging to go to the Great Wolf Lodge (it's the only kid oriented place he really remembers so it's the default winner) and I asked him how he would feel if we went to Disneyland instead?  He cried. I mean CRIED!!  That was one of those hours.

To combat this I bought him the Disneyland Kinect Adventures game to introduce him to the concept of Disneyland. (If you have a Kinect, this game is awesome!  It's a very accurate virtual Disneyland game).  It worked!!  Now he doesn't want to go anywhere except Disneyland!  Unfortunately, in the meantime I grew even more determined to make the trip somewhat of a surprise so when he asked if we could go to Disneyland I said, "Maybe this year we'll do the Great Wolf Lodge instead." He cried. I mean CRIED!

Yeah, I did this to myself! Why not make 80 hours/week of primary parenting just a little more frustrating to get through?  Pray for me people.....I'm my own worst enemy for sure.

Have a great Tuesday!

PS: If you think that because I admitted we're going to be out of town that I'm opening up my house to being robbed, then I offer this advice:

1. Bring an allen wrench because I'm not replacing our old Ikea furniture until my kids stop pouring milk on our couch.  Trust me, it will cost you more in gas to get here than you'll make in the craigslist market selling our Scandinavian space saving shelves!
2. "Cary" owes me a favor or two and I fully expect that their new family of four will take shifts camping out at my front door watching for suspicious activity.  In fact, asking her to do this is the next item on my checklist...

Do you think he'd had enough?  Poor kid is in a happiest-place-on-earth coma!

At Least Invisible Cats Make Cheap Pets!

I feel like I need to preface this entry by telling you that I adore my neighbors!!  But I am losing my mind this week!  You see, I am "cat-sitting" while they are out of town and this has been the biggest fail of my life!  Where do I even start??

When Luke and I moved to Sherwood, the thing I was most excited about was living on a cute little suburban street with other young families where Emery and Luelle could ride bikes on the sidewalks and play in the front yard.  They say you return to what you know, and that is how I grew up so naturally, it's how I wanted to raise my own children. Well we hit the neighbor jackpot over here and we've been very happy!  In particular, we have a wonderful single mom with two older children living directly next door. To protect her privacy, we'll call her "Cary."  For real, I'm thinking about having Cary raise my kids because she did an amazing job with hers!  Her high school aged son mows the lawn, takes out the garbage, and has incredible manners!  Her middle school aged daughter steals my heart every time we talk.  Maybe that's because whenever we talk she is dropping off some treat she baked and reminding me that she's almost old enough to babysit! And I loved her even more when she was going on a trip to see "America's Got Talent" and stopped by to show me her glitter, "I Love You Nick Cannon!" sign.

Anyway, "Cary" went on a Hawaiian trip about this time last year and came home sporting a rather large diamond on her ring finger. As you can imagine, her 2011 Valentine's Day proposal turned into a 2012 Valentine's Day wedding!  Aside from being very happy for her, what this means to me is that I am now tasked with watching her two cats for an entire week while she and her family are away celebrating in Mexico.  Are you still following me?  Here's the thing....I live next door, we practically share a back yard, and I have never even seen her cats and have no idea what they look like! When asked, she explained that to me by saying they were strictly indoor cats.  Then she asked me to stop by twice a day and give them each a scoop of food. Easy enough, right? The only other instructions I received were that if the little one started to throw up I need to cover the food.  People....this is why I don't own cats!!  No instructions should ever begin with, "If the little one starts throwing up...."

So here is how my week has gone thus far:

Day 1.  Not gonna lie....I forgot to feed the cats.
Day 2.  Morning- fed the cats, Evening - they didn't eat any of the morning food so I didn't have to do anything.
Day 3. Morning - cats still hadn't eaten. Evening - They still hadn't eaten.

And this is where I started to panic!  It slowly dawned on me that I had never actually seen these cats anywhere!  So this is what I am working with:
1. Don't know that cats names.
2. Don't know what the cats look like.
3. Haven't seen the cats in days....or (more accurately) ever.
4. Cats haven't eaten.
5. These are indoor cats that should never be let outside!

What am I supposed to do? Clearly I don't want to be going through people's personal spaces but of course I started an all out search in a cold, dark, empty house going, "here kitty kitty kitty...." only to scream bloody murder when I saw the shadow of what was mostly likely a serial killer lunging at me from behind a closed door.  In a spit second I knew it had to be the same thing that probably killed the invisible cats! Thank the good Lord above, it just turns out that nothing completes the room decor for a 12 year old girl like a life-size Justin Beiber cutout lurking amongst a sea of stuffed animals. (Sidenote: Hey!  We have the same taste in music!)

As you can guess....I still haven't found those cats and am starting to think I am either completely nuts....or my neighbor is!  And I just had to send probably the most awkwardly worded email of my entire life that went a little something like this:

"Hey Cary! Sorry to bother you on your wedding day, but are you sure there are real cats inside your house?  Is there any chance you let them out on accident and can you describe them in detail to me?  I don't want you to stress...I'm sure they'll turn up, I just want to make sure that they get their food.  Again, please don't spend your wedding day worried about this....but is there any chance someone took your cats and didn't tell you? Congratulations!!!"

I bet you thought this story would have a more satisfying end?  Nope! At this point I'm contemplating adopting two strays, leaving them inside and then being all like, "Wait....those ones aren't yours?! How was Mexico?"  Anyone have a better plan? 

Happy Valentine's Day!

Go Shorty.....It's Your Birthday.....

Okay, in order to even write this entry I need to come clean to all of you about a secret of mine. It's completely personal. It's something I try to hide. It's also something my husband would rather keep under wraps and bad enough that he distances himself from me whenever I slip and display this side of my personality.  But today I will come clean.  Are you ready?  Here it is:

My name is Jenny, and I have the musical taste of a 12 year old girl.

Whew, that felt good!  There is freedom in the truth!  I'm not saying that I kinda like Taylor Swift's top 40 hits. I'm more saying that I know most words to all of her albums!  And I only started with Taylor Swift to ease you into my confession.  I listen to Bruno Mars on YouTube, I think the musical choices on Glee are genius, and worst of all.....I think that Beiber kid can sing. Admit it, it's catchy stuff!  Am I going to buy concert tickets anytime soon?  Ummmm.....no!  But if a boy-band slips into Pandora que once in awhile I might give them a quick thumbs up.

Anyway, I had to be honest about that because this morning I was listening to a little Boy band mix that included the Beiber. I only have permission to do this while my husband isn't home and it's a Friday, so why not?  What's difficult about listening to his music in particular, is that it creates internal conflict. I think the songs are innocent, cute, and idealistic but......he doesn't even look old enough to sneak into an 8th grade dance, so I'm not sure why he's singing about lifelong love in the first place?  I bet my mom thought the same thing about the members and songs of N'Sync back when they were my (at the time "age appropriate") idols. I mean, truly....if that kid wasn't a pop star, he'd be stuffed in a Senior's locker....guaranteed! I've lost perspective over time though, do they all start that young? It's kind of like when you watch a movie you haven't watched for 10 years and all of a sudden everyone that used to be older than you in it is younger than you, and also you finally get all the jokes that used to go over your head.  Have you done that?  Yes people...we're old now!   But I digress....

You see, we've had a Beiber backfire that I am going to have to explain to my husband as soon as he gets home and I'm not looking forward to it!  It all started when I had a few songs playing in the background on my computer.

Emery: "Mommy....what's a "Shorty?"
Me: "Ummm.....sometimes boys calls girls "Shorty."  (Sidenote - this is  a weird one for me because that was a derogatory term that I was VERY familiar with growing up and now it's a term of affection?  I was born 20 years too early!!)
Emery: "Does dad call you shorty?"
Me: "No, daddy's not a thug."
Emery: "Can I call Lulu Shorty?"
Me: "Sure, kid....sure. "

But it didn't stop at his sister Lulu.  Emery is now fully believes he has permission to call every female he encounters "Shorty."  I don't know if it's going to be a long phase, or  a short one, but the timing could not be worse!  You see, he's finally making the jump from size 3T to size 4T. If you're a parent of a toddler boy then you know this; when you move into a new size your little angel looks like he takes fashion directives from X-games all stars who have enough room in their sagging pants to keep an extra skateboard or two.  This is also made worse by the fact that my favorite shoes for Emery are white on white Nike Air Force 1's because they match everything! Does it get more pop-cliche than that? So while daddy isn't a thug, I'm now the proud mom to a sagging 4T wearing,  pop culture shoe sporting, "Shorty" calling,  mini wanna-be player.  He'd have mad game except the girls in his class are a solid 6 inches taller and don't want to play lightsaber.  What can you do?  You have to have common interests, right?

In any case, there are worse things he could be calling his little sister so I will mark today a victory by default!

Have a great weekend!

Cheap Fixes and Crafty Solutions...

I'm getting an early start this morning!

But before I begin wasting your time with what has become my virtual dumping ground for all things that should remain private to those who posses common sense, I just want to stop and say thank you for all of your very kind comments about my blog.  I am in no way a writer! That was established in the 8th grade when I spent 5th period writing (using the term loosely here) for the school newspaper and was only ever trusted to be the editor of the "song dedication" section.  Can you guess how hard it was to be in charge of the "song dedication" section? Well let's just say it's about as difficult as playing the outfield in T-Ball. (And I know this because I spent two years there making daisy chains unaware that pint-sizes game were even going on!) I mean, all that was required for my writing assignment was that I checked the song dedication box kept in the school library, screen submissions for profanity, and type them accurately before the deadline. And seeing as we only had 4 issues a year...well, you get the picture. In any case, you are all very sweet and I admire your dedication to procrastination by means of reading my blog as much as I detest my dedication to procrastination by means of writing my blog.

So..... It's almost Thanksgiving!! This is a special holiday for me in that I am not usually invited to participate in the food preparation for reasons that can be easily assumed if you've ever read the very literal title on the top of this page.  It's like an entire day dedicated to giving me a break!  And for that....I am thankful.  I'm also thankful that it means my husband will be home for a long weekend!  I bet you think it's because I love him and miss him and value our time together?  Well I could say that, but then I would be giving into the very human instinct to disguise my real reasons with obligatory statements that might somehow make me feel like I am confirming to you that my marriage is still amazing! So I will instead just skip straight to honesty and tell you that before we start building holiday memories by holding hands around the Thanksgiving table, I need him to do some serious work around the house! Well that, and I love him, and miss him, and value our time together. (Can't fight instinct!)

More specifically, I need him to fix our kitchen window.  Sometime during the monsoon in the last few days our window started leaking.  Normally when these things happen I just ignore it like it's a "man problem" that doesn't concern me the same way he would ignore if I had autumn scented hand soap out during spring time. Men and women...different worlds, different priorities!  But seeing as I thought that he had already attempted to fix the window (he hadn't) and it was still leaking I started to get a little more concerned than usual. I do want to clarify that Luke is incredibly handy!  He works on our own cars, he can do minor remodels, and every picture frame in this house is hung to my exact standards.  He's also crafty with ideas and solutions!  This one time when I took him to meet some old college friends, he even successfully helped devise a system to inflate a kiddie pool with a leaf blower, duct tape, and a straw! (Side note - I probably shouldn't brag about any project that ends with your host saying, "I need to clean up this garage before my father-in-law sees how we did this.") In fact, because of Luke's proven skills, when things go wrong with his handy work, I get a little worried. I even had to corner him about fixing the window a full day before the long weekend started!

So last night, just barely out of his work clothes, he was outside in the downpour double checking the seals and waterproofing our window once again.  I felt so bad as I stared at him from a very warm and very dry kitchen while he worked for nearly 45 minutes to remedy the leak.  When he finally came in he told me that he was pretty sure he fixed it. I was trying to be supportive when I replied by telling him that I was sorry he had to be outside for so long!  Then he says, "It wouldn't have taken that long except my first idea to use duct tape didn't work the way I had hoped!" Ummm.......what???????!  Duct tape?  That was his original solution?  In all fairness when Luke gets home from work I thrust the entire weight of the household on him demanding that he watch the kids and give me a half hour to regain my sanity. And I have a hard time breaking this pattern even if Luke has additional responsibilities that require him to be outside in heavy rain, the man is a Saint...trust me! Anyway, our conversation when a little like this:

Me: Duct tape?
Him: Yeah....it was pretty smart, I built a ledge so the water would travel over the window.
Me: Duct tape?
Him:  Jenny, it's not a big deal!
Me: Duct tape?
Him: Jenny!  It was never intended to be a permanent solution.....unless it worked.

I'm kind of being an awful wife right now because I am writing about the 1% of the time where I really question his judgment while I never take the opportunity write about the 99% of the time he successfully fixes problems that are mostly created by me. Someday I'll give him a guest pass to take over my blog and he can tell you all of my shortfalls and begin to even the score out.  I'm guessing he could start with the day that I closed the garage door on myself breaking the car antennae off while he very sweetly acted as though it could happen to anyone!  That's actually the least of my offenses.....

Until that day, I hope you all have a wonderful wonderful Thanksgiving!

"Guess My Weight" and Other Bad Party Games...

Is it me, or is November flying by?  I truly did not even realize that Thanksgiving was next week until I stopped by a harvest-decorated Safeway this morning for an energy drink, a bag of chips, and some turkey-jerky.  Now I'm not denying that there may have been a time in my life that this could have been my breakfast of choice (dorm room memories come flashing back), but that was long ago when my metabolism was a little faster, my good-judgment was a little slower, and I could buy anything with a student-ID card at a campus store.  10 years later, my  body doesn't forgive me in quite the same manner for eating meals made out of a hot-pot. So just in case you're curious, the chips are for a monthly dinner club where I am only ever trusted to bring the one appetizer I have managed to master (chicken dip with chips), and the turkey-jerky is for Emery's preschool Harvest Party where my tardiness in dropping him off left me the last option on the contribution sign-up list. Apparently you have to be early if you want to bring apple slices or crackers, who knew?

The energy drink actually was for me!  I don't drink them very often, but in preparation for all the holiday-eating heading my way, I've amped up my workout program and needed a little artificial kick-start to get in gear.  Of course, it's not hard to "amp up" your program when your normal routine consists of waiting for the perfect time of day to break out your Jillian Michael's DVD knowing full well that (between kids and cleaning) that time only comes at 10:30 pm which is also conveniently when I deserve to get some much needed rest.   I mean....power walking to the mailbox would be "amping up" my workouts!  Okay, it's not that bad, but really I do need to rearrange my priorities and get fitness back in front of fraternizing.   And this week presented the rare chance to do just that! It was a perfect storm of motivation, opportunity and willpower!

Motivation:  Truth be told, it isn't the holiday eating that brought me back to marathon elliptical sessions. It was something far worse!  If you've been a reader of my blog for a while, you know I'm not particularly fond of personal trainers {read about it here}. So when my friend (name withheld) told me she was now dating a personal trainer (name also withheld), I should have been far more leery than I was! Instead I jumped at the chance to meet him over dinner where after two glasses of wine and 2 hours of asking for fitness & diet tips, he told me he can guess anyone's weight within 5 pounds.  Sober Jenny would know that that statement has red flags all over it!  Buzzed Jenny says, "No way!  Guess me! Guess me!"  So he guessed......14 pounds heavier than I really am!  Keep in mind for someone 5 feet tall, 14 pounds can get into double digits for % of body weight. Translation: I can't blame it on a bulky shirt!  A lesson for all of us: "Guess my weight" is NOT a good party game!  Now I have 14 imaginary pounds to loose on top of all of the "real" weight and toning work that I was already dreading!

Opportunity: I'm probably one of the few people in the world that truly adores their in-laws! For real, I won the "in-law" lottery!  So much in fact, that I was giddy at the prospect of moving mere blocks away from mine.  There are some bonuses to this set up. Close babysitter? Check. Old fashioned home cooked meals? Check.  Free basement gym loaded with toys and already baby proofed? Check!  So while I was sad that they have been out of town for a couple of weeks, I jumped at the chance of claiming my rights to the most private athletic club in town where I can work out to my heart’s content while the kids watch Rio.  Another lesson for all of us: 45 minutes on an elliptical is a long time.  45 minutes on an elliptical watching Rio (again) is a much muuuuuuuuch longer time.

Willpower: This is where the energy drink comes in! I don't have a lot of willpower that isn't spent on making sure my kids are safe and fed, my design work is done, and my house is clean. I'm not too proud to admit I need a little help sometimes.  And in this case, my help comes in a 16 ounce double strength can.  I completely forgot how much energy a RockStar can give you!  The last time I drank these was in my early radio days (RIP KUFO) when they sponsored our station and we had cases and cases laying in the sales department to grab anytime we felt the urge. Truth be told, my manager actually excluded me from those allowed to drink them whenever they wanted. He (not so subtly) told me it was for the sanity of all of those in my department. I was only allowed, unfortunately, to take them home for consumption.

Regardless, I finally got my old stride back!  I'm hoping it doesn't fail me anytime soon because the only back up plan I have is personal conviction and I try not to go there if I don't have to. But here is a wonderful quote that I plan on reading in case of a lack-of-motivation emergency:

I am your constant companion. I am your greatest helper or your heaviest burden. I will push you onwards or drag you down to failure. I am completely at your command. Half the things you do, you might as well turn over to me and I'll do them quickly and correctly. I am easily managed but you must be firm with me. Show me exactly how you want something done and after a few lessons I'll do it automatically. I'm the servant of all great men and, alas, of all failures as well. Those who are great, I have made great. Those who are failures, I have made failures. You can run me for profit or run me for ruin; it makes no difference to me. Take me, train me, be firm with me and I will put the world at your feet. Be easy with me and I'll destroy you! Who am I?

I am HABIT...

 

I'm Going to Need More Ziplocs...

I have a riddle for you:  What's three and a half feet tall and can mentally change seasons quicker than the aisles at Target can have a life-size Santa glowing alongside deeply discounted Halloween goods on November 1st?   Yup.....it's Emery!  And I'm assuming every other post-toddler on the planet?  Or did I just unknowingly over emphasize seasonally driven consumerism in mine?  I mean, this kid was asking about Christmas before he even had the goggles of his aviator costume off after a night spent collecting candy in the most labor intensive way possible; going door to door for one piece at a time.  The same candy that is now safely stashed far above his line-of-sight where my husband and I can eat mini Kit-Kats to our heart's content (so long as we are willing to move some furniture to get at them.)

In any case, it's becoming a tradition in our house to spend November 1st gearing up for the,"What Christmas is really about" speech that needs to be prepped, revised, and solidified for that moment when Emery first lays eyes on the "Big Toy Book" that is bound to be in our mailbox daily from now until December 26th.   Thank you Toys R' Us for that published bundle of joy!  Emery takes better care of that catalog than he does his precious train collection. So as far as the hierarchy of his child-world goes, I'm guessing even Buzz Lightyear would be jealous of the instant rise to the #1 spot in his heart that this catalog commands. I would take it away from him, but this is America and that is his own little version of being sold a slice of hope. I think there might be a good lesson in watching him circle things that "Santa" intends to run out of before he ever lays foot in the Schultz household if he knows what's good for him.  For instance, more than 4 batteries? Not getting it.  20+ pieces?  Not getting it. Makes noise and doesn't have on "off" switch?  Not getting it. Requires me to transform it? Definitely not getting it!

So naturally, you can imagine my surprise that while our house currently remains toy catalog free and a safe zone from the Christmas "I wants" for the time being, Emery still proudly announced the following statement yesterday:

"Mom.....I know the first thing I am going to ask Santa for this year!"

I was just waiting for him to drop the Lego bomb! I've been dreading that for so long because I am way too type A to comfortably make it through 4 years of collecting Legos.  As it stands now, the 6 sets we already have are each separated in Ziploc bags, labeled, and stored with their appropriate instruction manual. I cannot sustain this system  if we start collecting Star-Wars sets and I am required to know the difference between a Clone and a Droid.  It's never going to happen!  But what came out of his mouth was not "Legos" (crisis averted for now!) Instead it was.....

"I'm going to ask for a piccolo!"

Whaaaaaaaaaatttttttt????!!!!!?  A piccolo?  Like a mini-flute?  That's it, Little Einsteins is now banned from my house!  I'll buy every Star Wars Lego set known to man and invite Qui-Gon Jinn to dinner before I buy Emery a piccolo! For a moment I forgot he was 4 and wanted to shake him and say,

"Emery......5th grade band is not cool! I know you think it is because you get to miss half of geography and your friend "Amber" wants to play the flute next to you. But you haven't met the teacher!  He's kind of weird, ranks you by making you sit in certain spots, checks to see if you practiced, and ultimately will ask you (after 4 months) if you can even read music or if you are just pretending? Then your parents will find out that you quit without telling them and will be livid because they spent all of this money on your piccolo and never even got to see you perform at an assembly! If you want to be in music, wait until high school where you can join choir, follow the kid next to you, take extra field trips during the year, and get an A for doing it! Work smarter, not harder kid."

Of course, none of that comes from personal experience....

In any case, I kind of feel like the season has officially begun!  I obviously need to dust off my, "Jesus is the reason for the Season" speech and try and squeeze in Thanksgiving, but I'd be lying if I didn't say that this is easily my favorite time of the year!

Have a great weekend!!

This is the only picture I have them from Halloween Night.  He's not looking and she's cramming a hot dog in her face.  It's a framer!

Vente Triple Shot, Two Pump Sugar Free Vanilla, Nonfat Nonsense...

I think today is one of those days where my brain won't wake up.  Even coffee didn't help!  For those of you who are close to me, I bet you were thrown off by that because everyone knows I don't drink coffee!! For real, I don't.  It hasn't been the easiest thing in the world to resist a habit that brands you a true North-Westerner (along with an active REI membership and "Coexist" bumper sticker on your hybrid coupe) but I have staved it off for years nonetheless.  From a 3 year stint as a Barista in college to enduring countless business meetings in Starbucks, I have never given in to this $5/day drug! 

You hard-core coffee drinkers are an interesting bunch...flashing your "Gold Cards" (and free flavored syrup privileges) almost as though God himself should have sanctioned you to be a part of the interview process for anyone who dares to stand at the helm of your favorite monster espresso machine.  You bicker back and forth about whether Starbucks has gone too corporate or if it's better to be in the Dutch Mafia, and you turn giddy when you get a free birthday drink like you just found $10 in the dryer.  You abbreviate the words "whipped cream" to "whip" (this bothers me so much for no particular reason...you're really not saving that much time.) You speak a nonsense language that would go so far over my head if I hadn't paid off part of my education by enduring collegiate late-night studiers screaming orders at me like their final grade depended on my propensity to get exactly 2 pumps of vanilla in their 110 degree latte. And worst of all, you coffee lovers push your drug on people like myself swearing up and down that the next Pumpkin Latte I try is going to BLOW MY MIND like the 5 I've had before (once a year for the last 5 years) never did.

But no one has ever gotten to me.  My kitchen counter has remained Keurig free and I've never once waited in line to redeem a Starbucks Treat Receipt.  So getting off my high horse.....and onto a confession, I should be honest and sat I actually have a faaaaaaaar worse habit.  It's a little something called "Diet Coke."  I LOVE Diet Coke!  I love it in the morning, I love it in the evening, I love it in a can, I love it in a bottle, I love it in mixed drinks, I love it!!!  If I could pre-write my obituary, I'm sure it would say:  Jenny died happily of aspartame poisoning.  For those of you worried about my health, I drink a lot of water to compensate and do limit myself to a certain amount a day.  But I just can't shake the silver can habit no matter how many times someone tells me that my drink of choice can literally take the rust of a nail or shine up an old penny.  I just shut my ears and scream "lalalalalalalalalalala!"  So, continuing in the spirit of honesty, my husband and I (who has the same horrible habit) have been trying to quit drinking soda for the last 5 years at least once every 3 months.  He usually leads the charge, I always cheat, and we never succeed.

But three weeks ago, for whatever reason, Luke decided to buckle down and get serious about changing his ways.  I didn't notice at first.  But after a few days of some incredibly chipper morning check-in calls, I couldn't figure out why Luke was SO happy.  I mean....did he get his hands on some uppers?  He works at an accounting firm so unless it's "wear a Hawaiian shirt day" I couldn't imagine that anything spectacular was happening at the office. (No offense accountants....it takes all types to make the world go round!)  Then he came clean.  "Jenny, I switched to coffee and it's AWESOME. It tastes like crap (direct quote) but it's AWESOME." So being the ever supportive wife that I am, after he proved his dedication to living Coke-free for two whole weeks, I bought our home it's very first coffee maker. (I'll get him the Keurig if he makes it a year).  So anyway, he's been using it....and I've been staring at it wondering if it really is the key to getting off the brown syrup? 

I hadn't really been motivated to try it until today though and it's only because I had one of those nights. The kind where you wake up to a 3 foot shadow by your bed whispering, "I have to go potty!"  Being the great mom I am I said half-awake, "So go."  

Emery: I already did.
Me: So go back to bed.
Emery: I want to sleep with you.
Me: No, go back to bed.
Emery: I need to change my pants, they're kind of wet.
Me: Did you pee them?
Emery: No! ..................................a little.
Me: Okay, I'll get you some new pajamas.
Emery (After changing): Will you lay with me?
Me: (half asleep) For a few seconds.

So if you're a parent you know how this ends.  I spent all night in bed with my toddler who was clinging onto me like a baby monkey in a grip Houdini himself couldn't escape, on a horribly uncomfortable mattress with cheap pillows, with only a Cars blanket to keep me warm, while the worlds brightest night light rotated ocean fish around the room and left me with what can only be described as the worst night of sleep the universe has ever offered.  If ever there were a time to try that coffee maker....it was this morning!!

So I did!  My final verdict is that I am not sure that coffee is great.  But my mug of creamer and sugar was fantastic! I think some caffeine snuck in there though, because my heart is pounding and I'm not even sure this blog makes sense?!  Forgive me for the time you wasted reading it!

Happy Thursday

Powder Blue, Brass & Glass

I love the Home Depot for 2 very specific reasons:

1. They have those genius carts that look like a car with the double steering wheels that my kids adore! This means I can shop with my children buckled in, and entertained, and not touching things, or asking questions, or begging for candy, or touching each other.  If ever a Peace-Prize could be awarded to an inanimate object, I think this would be our clear winner.  (Are you taking notes Trader Joes?  Love your store....but your cart situation needs some attention!)

2.  It a store of possibility!  It's a place where you can spend hours discussing what your brand new Kelly Ripa inspired kitchen is going to look like when you finally have the time and the money (30 years from now) even when you're just stopping in for some potting soil.  At the Home depot I can imagine all my door knobs matching, that brass and glass foyer light I've always hated gone, and the Bold Look of Kohler.  It's candy for a grown-ups soul, really it is.

So unless you have a really bad understanding of the concept of foreshadowing, I bet you can guess that I went to Home Depot this weekend? Specifically, I went for paint which in itself is a huge deal because as much as I want to shine our little house up, I am just DONE painting.  It's not that our current house doesn't a need a color re-do (what were the previous owners thinking? Was powder blue on clearance?) It's more that our first home before this was one that required "possibility and potential goggles" while signing the closing papers.  We spent the first 3 years of our marriage painting every wall in every room including the exterior until I didn't even need to read the sharpie names on the orange aprons at the paint counter anymore.  They knew us, and we knew them.  And naturally, as you can imagine, once all of my door knobs matched in that house and the last wall was painted.....we decided to move.

So anyway my extreme disdain for powder blue restrooms has been silenced my extreme fatigue of painting and I haven't been to that section of Home Depot for a while. But then this weekend, my husband made one small fatal error.  He decided to deep clean around a faucet. And being the extra prudent fellow that he is, he pulled the faucet off to do it....and I caught him.

Me:  "Hey, since you have that off, I want to run to Home Depot and pick out a new one!" (The old faucet was obviously picked out by the lovers of powder-blue.  I wish I could find them to give it back!  I have no doubt they are eating Pop Rocks while listening to Sinead O'Connor right about now...)

Luke: Well can you get a new towel holder too? I don't like this one and since we're changing things....

Me:  Well if you're going to pull the towel holder off, we should paint too!

And so on and so forth.....

Remember when I said my husband made one fatal mistake this last weekend?  Make that 2.  The second, of course,  being that he sent me to Home Depot by myself thinking I wouldn't meander down a few extra aisles when I was done selecting paint. Speaking of paint,  I love that there is a huge sign on the counter that says, "Men selecting paint colors will need written permission from their wives." I wish I had thought of that!  But I did think of another sign for them.  It goes like this:

"Men sending their wives to Home Depot alone for paint shall not hold us liable when she returns with new chandeliers as well"

Too specific? Not in our case!  So Luke spent the rest of night plumbing, painting, and hanging lights and I spent the rest of the night at happy hour with my dearest friends.  And they say marriage gets hard after 7 years?  Nah!  I say it runs more like a well-oiled machine where my husband understands that his best chance of peace is to send me out and shut himself in a closed bathroom.  He's not a pushover, he's a genius.  And that's why I love him!

Have a great week friends! 

PS....Anyone want a heinous light fixture?  Or should I save it for our community garage sale where inexplicably people will buy anything as long as you act like you're not ready to let it go?

Crayola Markers in Preschool.....Crayola Markers in College.

So yesterday was Emery's 4th day of preschool which loosely translates into my 4th day of freedom!  Although it's funny how my definition of "freedom" has changed over the years.  At age 8 it meant I could ride my bike to 7-11 for a Slurpee. At age 13 it meant that I could stray from my mom for an hour at the mall and shop for a new Esprit bag without someone asking, "Why is that bag $20 cooler than this one?"  At age 21 it meant that I could stop toting around Crayola markers in an attempt to mimic bar stamps so that I could enjoy my God-given right to sing a little Karaoke!  (Side note:  Don't judge!  I lived in a university town, was the youngest of my friends, and it was a time honored tradition that had been passed down by those who shared the same 20-something brain-lapse that I fear for my own children!  Did I mention Luelle isn't going to college away from home?  Ever.)  Regardless, at age 32 "freedom" means I can tote a 19 month old around for 3 hours while running errands at sonic speed, all the while thinking, "How did I not realize how easy life was when I only had one!?"  (I'm sure those of you with 3+ are laughing at me right about now....)

So back to yesterday, I somehow got it in my mind that with my 3 precious hours I was going to go to Winco and do some grocery shopping.  Now I'm not much of a Winco shopper.  It's not that I don't appreciate a good reduced-price can of Ranch-Style beans, it's more that it's just way too far away and I can't take the intense pressure of speed bagging groceries while the checker holds up the next order snickering at my inability to keep up the pace. Seriously, I loathe bagging my own groceries there; it speeds up my heart rate. The plastic bags never come apart easily and the paper bags only hold a few things each unless you happen to have a level of puzzle solving skills that warrants your acceptance onto CBS's Survivor.  So while I completely understand people's love of Winco's low price selections, I have to say I would rather save money by stretching out my (denied) hair coloring treatments than shop there on a regular basis.  To each his own, right?

But yesterday I needed to restock on things like salad dressing and canned basics and I simply cannot deny that Winco's prices are significantly better on mega-trips than my little town's Safeway where if you shop wrong, ketchup is going to cost you a good portion of your child's college savings. So I braved the crowds and stuck little LuLu in the cart determined not to get caught in the aisle gridlock that my husband (not so) affectionately refers to as the "Winco Shuffle" ("Which way you going?  Whatcha trying to get at? Am I in your way?  Can you hand me that?")  I believe with my whole heart that at the end of any Winco trip I have, by nature, bonded with my fellow shoppers more than I could have ever bonded with the girls who taught me the marker bar-stamp trick!  So it's only natural to size these people up as soon as I enter those double doors.  I mean, we're going to spend the next hour together analyzing each other carts, talking about whether Santias chips are better than Juanita's, you get it.

But do you know what I discovered?  Winco in practically empty at 8:00 in the morning! For the most part I didn't even have to engage in conversation!  I did happen upon another shopper by the cilantro but I didn't talk to her because she was too busy touching every single bunch of it and selectivity smelling some for freshness.  Are you supposed to smell cilantro?  I've never done that.  It was kind of gross and made me rethink my desire to make pico de gallo in the first place.  That's probably something that needed to be rethought anyway because I've never actually made it and I could just stop by Baja Fresh instead and eat mini-cup after mini-cup from the salsa bar to my heart's content for the price of a side of chips!   This leads way to my PSA for this week: always remember to wash your produce people!

For as empty as that store was it still took me forever to get out of there.  It reaffirmed my belief that it may just not be the store for me.  I have a low patience level, short time frame, and the money saved by shopping there is eaten by commute when gas is $4 a gallon!  In fact, I was so tired when I was done that instead of making a special trip to get a fall scented candle (one of my yearly traditions when the weather changes) I just bought one from the dog food aisle.  I did smile that it was only $7 instead the $25 Yankee candles that I desperately try to justify to myself every year.  I don't care who you are or how much money you have, there had better be gold flakes in $25 candles! And they better be made in a world of rainbows by magical unicorns where kittens cry when less superior candles are burnt!  Thank the good Lord above for Bed, Bath, and Beyond 20% off coupons, because I don't feel the same way about $19.99 candles...

Hope you all had a great week!

And So It Begins...

Okay, I've been taking an extended hiatus from my blog...I know.  Somehow I decided that I deserved a "Summer Vacation" from self promoting and decided that I would come back to my little project in the fall.  (Side note: did you know you shouldn't capitalize seasons? I had to Google that.)  If you're like me, fall is a second chance at conquering your New Year's resolutions. It's a time to give it your all (for a week) again!  So I'm going to see if I can start squeezing in a few blogs while Emery is hard at work conquering his grueling 3 hour schedule at a place where a good day means you didn't need your "emergency clothing" conveniently kept near the pint-sized restrooms. 

Ahhhh......preschool.  You've been a long time coming, my friend!  Maybe not every parent anxiously awaited for the momentousness "first day" to arrive with the same anticipation as myself.  But I bet those are the same parents that have a well-used craft bin at home with pipe cleaners, glue sticks, and other little dollar store finds that can be made into toddler projects whenever inspiration strikes (yep...I'm talking to you Pamela Susan!)  Notice I said a well-used bin.  Don't get me wrong, I have all of those things.  I'm not sure where they are and they definitely aren't opened, but I have them.  In any case, as a work-at-home mom with two toddler schedules to juggle, I have to be honest and say I'm not breaking out the glue gun that often. But I digress....

What I was trying to get at is that although I'm not winning any awards for a strongly structured home pre-preschool curriculum, I've always known that when the day arrived for Emery to start school, I wanted to be one of the parents who make it a priority to be involved.  This was heavily foreshadowed by my own childhood tendencies where I did things like begging to stay after recess to help the aides pick up balls so my "go home slip" would have a gold star instead of just a check.  And that was only first grade!  Fast forward to afternoons where I was up to my elbows in tempera* paint making student council posters and it's not shocking that my kids might develop a strategy to hide parent volunteer forms from me. Speaking of tempera paint, I bought some for Emery's classroom (even though it was the optional supplies list) just because the smell brought back fond elementary school memories the same way the sight of Elmer's Glue still makes me think of that kid (name withheld) who used to spread it on his hand until it dried and peel it off like it was dead skin.  I bet if he has his own kids, he taught them this nifty little trick in an effort to pass the legacy on!  I base that assumption on the fact that even though my over-involvement is embarrassing to admit, I can't shake it from my DNA 15 years later!

As you can imagine, when I got an email saying the very first PTO meeting was taking place in the church basement I cleared my schedule to make an appearance.  But seeing as the preschool is connected to a private school with children who've been attending for up to 7 years, I knew I would be low man on the totem pole and tricked my husband into coming with me.  "It's a parent's meeting Luke, everyone will be there!"  Ha!  Everyone was not there.  Am I the only one who got the letter? Or the only one that cared?  In all fairness they only gave us 2 days warning so I'm imagining very few people had the same flexibility to attend. But regardless I had just walked into a private meeting with the principle, two other moms, and the office administrator.  So I sat there and very awkwardly kept my mouth shut in a meeting where the seasoned pros went back and forth with inside jokes that I'm assuming might be funny to me if I had a 5th grader who took art literacy last year.  It was a very narrow audience they were appealing to if you catch my drift. They were very nice women, but I couldn't have jumped in there with an ice breaker if I tried!  We did finally have a chance to contribute to the meeting though.  When conversation worked its way to volunteerism, it was suggested that parents could offer their natural skill to help out.   

PTO Mom:  "So if someone likes to cold call, they can volunteer to cold call for us!"

Luke: "Yeah....good luck finding a cold caller. Solid idea"

Needless to say that if we weren't on the radar two weeks ago, we are now.

(*Edited because tempura is a batter and tempera is a paint!  You failed me spellcheck!)

Here are some pictures of Emery on his first day.  Joking aside, We really do love his new school and everyone there has been amazing!

He kept doing this!

So proud of his "big boy" backpack!

"Leave already mom!"

The Death Road

How was your Memorial Weekend?!

I wish I were going to follow up that question with a drawn out recap of how amazing my Memorial Weekend was, but there are a few things in the way of that happening:

1. I live in Oregon so Memorial Day weekend is generally an indoor activity.
2. I have kids.

Okay, okay! I realize that I am blessed to have kids and in theory that increases the importance of family time during these rare three day weekends.  In theory, however, family time doesn't include chasing a 15 month old in non "baby-proofed" environments thus eliminating any chance of actually having a conversation with another human being that doesn't involve the phrases, "No No!" and "Icky Icky!"  So instead of hopping in our car (after taking out a second mortgage to fill er' up) and creating memories at the beach or on a camping trip like the rest of America, we chose to spend most of the weekend in the good old Schultz house.   It's so relaxing to be in our own little bubble where every light socket is plugged and you can't go into a room without disarming a baby gate that rivals MIT in the level of intelligence required to be granted entrance. (Sidenote:  Do they use these baby gates in wartime strategies?  They should!  A retina scan security point would be easier to fake your way through than trying to figure out where to press one of those gates to unlock it!)

Anyway, because I was home (and my husband was here to help with the bath times and potty emergencies) I kind of went into this trance of laziness that my parental responsibilities wouldn't normally allow for.  This would be better explained if I just came clean and told you that I watched 6 hours of Netflix and made a frozen pizza for lunch.  I bet you're wondering what I could possibly watch for 6 hours?  You probably think it was Lifetime movies or The Real Housewives of Bankruptcy?  Nope....not even close!  It was Ice Road Truckers.   More Specifically....."Ice Road Truckers - World's Deadliest Roads." You see, besides "jean hoarding", another secret of mine is obsessive internet research.  For example, that is how I became "crazy tsunami lady" and scared myself into taking my kids to wave pools for all of life instead of the Oregon Coast. All it took was 12 hours of scientific article reading, youtube vidoes, and wikipedia. It was cheaper than another college degree and I probably retained 3 times as much information because I wasn't preoccupied with what I was planning on wearing to "Taco Tuesday" that night.

But waaaaaaaaay before tsunamis, I went through a phase where I couldn't learn enough about the deadliest roads in the world. I have no idea why this fascinates me considering the fact that if there is so much as "chain advisory" while going over the Government Camp Pass, I want to turn back and enjoy a nice afternoon in Sandy where we can admire Mt. Hood from afar.  Regardless, the one road I was particularly amazed by is this road in Bolivia nicknamed, "The Death Road." Have any of you heard of this road?  It's like a one lane gravel road with an unsecured cliff on one side and oh......just a mere 3000-6000 foot drop off on the other side with no guard rail.  Can you even imagine?!?!  And people drive down that thing every day! It's insane.  ABSOLUTELY INSANE!! So I was beyond captivated watching 6 hours of North American truckers driving on very similar roads in the Indian Himalayas in trucks that look like they were made out of toothpicks.  At least Indians have a sense of style and decorate their toothpick trucks with a whole bunch of metallic streamers that look like they belong adorning the handles of banana seat bikes. Hey, If you're going die, I say why not do it flamboyantly!?  We could all learn something from their stylistic optimism!

I, for one, felt guilty wasting so much time on a wonder of the world that I have NO intention of ever visiting.  But I think God was giving me a pass on my laziness this time because as luck would have it, Luke had some relatives in town this weekend that he hadn't seen forever.  And wouldn't you know it, they lived in Bolivia of all places!  So before I could finish introducing myself as Luke's wife I was screaming over a crowd of in-laws, "Hey...have you ever been on the Death Road?"  And not only had they been on it, it was their road to work!  I could have listened attentively to hours of stories about this subject. If Terry (our esteemed Death Road driver) had ever wanted a captive audience - he had one now.  I was both sad and relieved that he said the danger is kind of sensationalized for television documentaries. But I bet he is just conditioned to say that so his wife didn't spend her every waking hour in prayer for his safety!

I'm not sure where I'm going with this.  But if you're bored....it's a topic you can google or something.

Hope you had a great weekend!

Ummm....if this is my way to work, I'll starve thanks!

PS, a very sincere "Thank You" to all of our Nation's Armed Forces past and present!  I'm incredibly passionate about respecting these people, their families, and all they risk to protect our nation!  Even something as simple as writing this blog today is possible because of your tireless work to keep this a nation of freedom. Thank you, thank you, thank you!!

And......We're Back!

So it's been awhile since my last post.  I've been thinking about writing for some time but the problem was that I didn't know where to start!  I have so many "this is what we did" stories and pictures, but after a month of no updates I wasn't sure which qualified as crossing that line into interesting and worthwhile reading.  But then again, not much I write about is ground breaking journalism to begin with. That is unless, you too, understand why finding a missing Spider-Man head can be the dividing line between a great day or one that makes you question your past birth control choices.

So....hmmmmm....let me see. I guess I'll do a mini-update!  Tsunamis:  I conquered my fear and went back to the beach!  Let me be extra clear that this was only because it was Luke's company trip and because there was a free massage involved.  So with heavy relaxation in mind, we left the kids behind and headed to Salishan Resort where I would have one very peaceful nights sleep that wouldn't end with Handy Manny at 5:30 in the morning. Bliss!  Except.....

I'm not someone who thinks that an hour long massage is Heaven on Earth.  Beyond the awkward touching between strangers, it's actually the environment I have an issue with. I mean, think about it!  Dark room....stranger....candles....new age music....people pay for stuff like this?!  Other people (like me) file police reports for stuff like this!  In any case, during a typical hour long massage it usually takes me about 30 minutes to stop the conversation in my head that I use as a distraction from my #1 enemy....silence.  If you know me, you know that silence isn't my strong point.  I can find a way and a story to fill even 2 minutes of dead air with anyone from my kids to a stranger in a lobby.  Yeah....I'm "that" person in front of you in the grocery store line asking the checker if they've ever tried Chocolate Cheerios while it's obvious that all they care about is that their state mandated 15 minute break is running late and desperately needed after an influx of novice "extreme couponers."  But worse than the silence, and worse than the fact that this massage was at sea level (can I survive 3 days in a spa robe until help arrives provided I even find high ground??) was the fact that I had my very first male massage therapist.  Ummm.....aren't there just some professions that are best left to one gender or the other?  A male therapist massaging a female in a closed room = awkward.  A male therapist massaging a male in a closed room = really awkward. No offense to my masseuse Greg (or whatever his name was) but unless you are 25, a Cross-Fit® trainer on the side, and my husband totally approves*, I NEVER want to tell you what I think feels good! NEVER.

Other than that, our main adventure in the last month was a family trip to the Great Wolf Lodge.  I eagerly booked two nights as soon as I saw the following magic words on their website : "84 degrees every day!"  SOLD.

Our trip can best be summed up by a list of souvenirs -

•  MagiQuest Wand
•  Set of Wolf Ears
•  Case of Pink Eye  (No extra charge for that!)

On a totally unrelated note, does anyone know where I can buy a black onsie?  For Luelle....not me (although that would have been a smashing addition to my bodysuit collection in Junior High!)  I am not a fashonista but I live by one apparel rule: never buy black cotton!  Black cotton items are like land-mines in your wardrobe that explode at the exact moment you need a sharp dark tone only to find it's now a faded heather grey after one careful wash and line dry! Of course, there is no shortage of black cotton at retailers across the city until you actually need it! And I need a black onsie so I can take some pictures of LuLu that should have been done forever ago!  I've been procrastinating on this task for entirely too long and after helping a friend with pictures of her little girl this weekend, I realized that I am way behind the eight-ball on properly documenting my daughter's life.  It was motivation I desperately needed!!  And I hope she doesn't mind me sharing.....but how freaking cute is this little princess Ellie???!

* Side note:  For those of you wondering.....Luke didn't approve even when it was a man more likely to go shopping with me than to hit on me in a bar.

Ding Ding Ding....It All Makes Sense!

Just so you know, you all let me down.....hard!  I thought that writing about my earthquake fear would be therapeutic and that I would get email after email from friends telling me that I am embarrassing myself in a public forum with complete and utter nonsense!  Instead I got emails, phone calls, texts, and posts offering me Xanax from secret stashes and countless people admitting that they too had cleared out some garage shelves for drinking water and flashlights.  But you all couldn't leave it there...could you?  No, No, No....you just couldn't! You had to take it one step farther with little quips like this:

"I'm not scared of earthquakes, but.....
  (a) I'm afraid of biological terrorist attacks on our drinking water"
  (b) I'm afraid of nuclear waste leaking into the Pacific Ocean"
  (c) I'm afraid of domestic shootings and bank robberies"
  (d) I'm afraid of Grey's Anatomy doing another Musical Episode"

Okay, I made that last one up.  It is actually a true fear though!  (Side note: Really?  Eight melancholy songs with an upbeat "make-out" melody tossed in the middle? That made it past focus groups and ABC executives???)  Regardless, I did learn a few things from this whole mini-anxiety attack.  You might want to write these down:

1. At the beach? Feel an earthquake?  High ground people.....get to high ground!! Why isn't this paired with "Stop, Drop, and Roll" as a child for us coastal state residents?  I could have died playing Fascination in Seaside trying to win a key chain up until this point in my life when Channel 8 decided to cram fear down our throats for 2 straight week post Japanese tragedy!

2. You all now need to think twice before leaving your purses and/or bags unguarded in my presence.  I wasn't aware that most of you are in possession of such fine mood enhancers!  I've always bragged that I surround myself with happy, positive, and uplifting individuals!  Ding, Ding, Ding...it all makes sense now!

3. Do NOT under ANY circumstance watch the show "It Could Happen Tomorrow" unless you have a drug toting friend who really is dumb enough to leave their purse unguarded in your presence. Don't think you won't sink that low after this mega-depressor!  After watching this show for 2 hours straight I developed my own conspiracy theory that the head producer is actually a commissioned anxiety drug salesman. Job well done, sir! You've been promoted....

In any case, I didn't mean for this blog to be about earthquakes, but I thought I should at least give a mini-update as to my sanity level. (Insert your obligatory joke about how I was never sane in the first place...good one!)  I actually meant for this blog to be about another issue I have encountered in my daily life: jean hoarding!

I discovered this horrific personal trait while cleaning out my closet yesterday. Important to note - I didn't say "jean addict," I said "jean hoarding."  You see, a jean addict is someone who spends a little too much time doing retail therapy at The Buckle.  A jean hoarder is someone who never throws away any jeans on the very slight off chance that some day (a) I might be that thin again (b) I might be that heavy again (c) high-waisted denim might come back into style (almost there!!) or (d) I will use a pair as "painting pants".  I am so embarrassed that I found about 15 pairs of random old jeans tucked in the back of my closet!  Seriously, if I ever lost all the photos of my twenties I could have pulled those things out for an equally reminiscent jaunt down memory lane.  After trying every pair on (some too tight - boo!, some too loose - yey, but all equally heinous and time warped) I finally found the courage to put most of them in a Goodwill bag.  Even that felt wrong though! Part of me wondered if it should be federally mandated that I burn them in the same way that they require that expired car seats be destroyed!? I cringe at the thought of another 5 footer picking a pair of these up for $5.99 while all I get is a tiny tax write off and a lost opportunity to compare my current body to my college body.  Shut up...you know you do it too! :) Right?!?!  C'mon.....right?!  Just me?!   

***Not my actual jeans, but it felt more official with a picture***