It's not that I haven't been blogging...

Forgive me, dear blogger. I have been absent...and cheating on you.

My blogging continues, but on wordpress. I didn't mean to cut our relationship short and run out on you, unannounced.

Believe me...it's not you. It's me.

My Choosing to Grow blog can be found at: http://meaganfrank.wordpress.com/

and my For the Sport of It blog address is: http://justforthesportofit.wordpress.com/

Information about my current book project can be found at my website: www.meaganfrank.com

I do hope we can still be friends!

Yours truly,

Meagan Frank

Killing Cookie Monster...A Necessary Murder

"Cookie Monster is going to be called Veggie Monster from now on."

"No!" I protest.  "They can't change my beloved childhood memory.  Those letter cookies are like comfort food to me."

I guess that's the point though.  Those cookies are too much anymore.  We've all held on to those cookies, devouring them because we can, sharing the sugary sweetness with smiles and laughter. Things need to change because the scales have tipped...literally.

So, I had accepted Cookie Monster's fate, and headed to Sesame Street Live yesterday with Little Sprout curious about how they'd change things. 

The title of the show:  Elmo's Healthy Heroes and in true Sesame Street fashion, the writing was witty, the songs were entertaining, and the message was positive. Eat well, rest often, exercise regularly and stay up on hygiene.  Cookie Monster even conceded that having an occasional cookie is okay, but that eating the colors of the vegetables and fruits was even better.  Balance, discipline and good choices. 

"Awesome message!" I thought.

And then...it happened.

The intermission that changed everything for me.

Fifteen minutes before the end of the show, the lights came up, the curtains closed and an announcement was made that there would be a short break.

Bunches of helium-filled Elmo heads made their way to the floor of the arena and the food carts emerged.  Children were heard begging their parents for something, and that is exactly what the producers intended.  What I could not believe was the rate with which the parents shelled out money for food and snacks, hungry to consume, but oblivious to the fact that they were discounting everything that had just been said.

The snacks offered:  blue and pink cotton candy, bags of greasy mini-donuts, colored slushies and enormous glasses of sugary lemonade.  Had I gone up to the concourse I could have gotten a large bag of salty popcorn, or processed nachos or a concession pretzel. Candy and cookies were up there too.

I was dumbfounded.  My pissed off five-year-old didn't understand why I stood there in personal protest refusing to buy any treat.  I eventually broke down because my daughter reminded me I had promised her something. I got an $8 lemonade and was immediately relieved it was more watered down than sugary.

I'm still fired up, and unsure about what to do.  I am fired up to eat better, to move more, to rest often, but I think the overall options need to change.  People will continue to eat what's in front of them, so what's presented to them needs to be different. 

Who is going to step up to make the message meaningful?  When is cutting down the size of people's bottoms going to mean more than the bottom line?

Just like everyone else, I want to resist changing Cookie Monster to Veggie Monster, because change is uncomfortable.  But a nationwide epidemic of obesity is terrifying, and we should all start making changes...one celery stick at a time.

Paper Words

It starts with the words. When people say them and then how they cutely misuse them. I’ve tried to write many of them down: the words my kids claimed when they could first form the letters with their mouths. This week has been about paper words. Those book words. The power behind them, the strength within them, and access to as many of them as we can handle.


Book words for our five year old are still the mysterious cryptic combinations of letters on a page. She sees us reading them, hears us creating story and intrigue from them, and she has decided she wants in. She is done with being satisfied with the pictures. Maybe she knows the picture clues are not the whole story. Yes, a picture is worth a thousand words, but the story that can form around that picture starts and ends with the words.

Something happened in her brain this week. The neurons responsible for connecting letters to sounds to words began firing at a ridiculous pace. She fought me for more access, and wore herself out in the process.

“Now I can read like everyone else!” she ecstatically proclaimed.

I am thrilled for her. She has been left out for, well, as long as she can remember. Big Sprout and Middle Sprout have been reading for as long as she has memory. They sit and tell us the stories that have unfolded while they turned pages of their books. Little Sprout: a quiet audience member. She wants to tell those stories too, and I can hardly wait to hear how those words change her.

That’s what reading is, you know. If we let the words pore over us and in us and then we open ourselves up to their transformative power, they shape us. After words, we are something different than we were before we started.

Little Sprout is not the only one being shaped by words this week.

“This is Middle Sprouts’ teacher,” the message started on my phone. “I just wanted to let you know that she has checked out the book Are You There God, It’s Me Margaret. The librarian was not sure you knew she was taking this book home, and we just wanted to make sure you were aware of it.”

Thankfully, I was the one who had encouraged her to get the book…after she explained to me she had heard it was an interesting title. She knows it is a collection of words that is going to open up her awareness about some of those taboo topics

Big Sprout has battled this week with the information that someone wants to change the words in a book he is reading…and loving. He is confused about the movement to change the language in Huckleberry Finn, and I can’t blame him.

“I know not to use the “n” word mom, and I know that it is really disrespectful. But it was a part of life then.”

They are studying the Civil War and reading period pieces as part of the unit. Even he, our ten-year-old, understands why people would want to change the words, but he feels more strongly about defending those words.

“Just because I read them, doesn’t mean I am going to use them,” he argues.

I have to think he feels that way because of the other words that have worked to shape him so far. If it were the only book he ever read, he wouldn’t read it the same way. Thankfully there are hundreds of thousands of words that have found their way into his brain, via books, and the pathways to awareness are as varied as the phrases he has read.

It has been a week about words for my kids…and when I woke up this morning, I had so many of those words swimming in my own head. If I leave them in there, I can hardly function, so I had to get them down on paper…and that changes ME too.

The Thrill...of Defeat

It was like watching an emotionally charged movie....the kind that brings out the elation of laughter and then later the belly-aching sadness of tears.  The thing about our movie..it happened in less than five seconds.  It should have been accompanied by dramatic piano instead of the cha-chinging clang and bell- ringing of the surrounding games.

As the ridiculously large claw dragged the pink dolphin out of its resting place, then moved it, in slow motion, across the clear box, I was completely unsure how to feel about it.  One of my children, the birthday girl, was willing the dolphin to the hole, standing on the stool with unbridled joy in her eyes.  Her little sister, the one who had been trying longer, stood dumb-founded and increasingly slumped with the movement of the claw.  Then it fell right into the hole.  From my left...enthusiastic jubilation.  From my right...agonizing disappointment.

So there we were.  Ecstatic birthday girl hugs heroic daddy and traumatized sister finds little consolation from mom.  We tried the big claw again...and then it stopped working.  Ingenuity took over and I took the happy one, and my husband took the sad one.  I talked with my mature middle kid and we discussed how she would have felt if they had stood on opposite sides of that moving claw.  She agreed to work with us to support her sister overcome the sadness. Dad took Little Sprout to a smaller claw game.

We found them, just as Little Sprout found her cheering legs.  I could not be happier that I married a talented claw-driver.  The small claw latched  too, and out came the newest member of our stuffed animal family.

Delayed gratification did its work, and both girls were generally pleased with how events unfolded.  We don't go to places like this much, and I am glad our kids are not desensitized.  I'm glad they felt joy and angst.  I am glad they are not among the mindless game-players who sit for hours in the same place acquiring a pile of tickets that gets to be shin high.  I am glad that while watching each other, they feel something still.  The littlest will learn to cheer for the success of those around her, but what happened to her yesterday was part of the learning process.  I hope someday I'll capture her in a photo like the one below...genuinely excited for the achievements... that are not her own.

Thank You Summer!!

For the festival and fairies and time enough outside. For dirt that covers Little Sprout and siblings side by side.

For four generations together... at church and on a hill

Tranquil, peaceful setting... except for Little Sprout's will.

 

 For Colorado swimming...some time spent on the side

It is what I remember from my summers spent outside.

 

For hail storms to run through... and helmets for the boys

For girls who scream...excited...no need for store-bought toys.

For slip n' slide and barbecue, for playing in the sun

There is nothing quite as joyful as simple, summer fun.

For random fruit to climb upon, and walls too steep for some

For swings that are the joy of youth... for never-ending sun.

 

For all of this I'm grateful... for all of this I smile

Summer... I am glad you're here, and I hope you'll stay a while.

No Soup For You!

I realized I was in for a fight, right about the time the bright orange stuffed animal flew past my head and collided with the inside of the passenger-side windshield.

"I know you need to eat, but you'll have to put your seat-belt back on before I drive you anywhere," I calmly explained to my irate four-year-old.

"I WANT TO EAT IN OLIVE GARDEN!!!" She screamed at me.

In annoyingly calm mommy voice, "I'm sorry sweetheart.  You are screaming too loudly to be able to go in the restaurant today."

The hysterical crying started to wane and she sat herself down on the floor in front of her booster seat.  In silent protest to my parenting, she crossed her arms and hid down beneath the seat in front of her.  We were in a stand-off.

It all started in church a few hours before.  Wriggling with frustration, Little Sprout and I made one exit to get her calmed down, but it was a struggle for her to contain the welling emotions.  I knew they were coming, I just wished she hadn't needed to blow her cork that day.

We had gone with my mom and my grandma to the Mother Cabrini Shrine, just west of Denver.  It was a trip my grandmother had been hoping to take to celebrate the 60th anniversary of her engagement.  Perfect time for Little Sprout's emotional release!

We made it through mass.  With some of her pent up energy, she sprinted up the 375 steps to the statue of Jesus.  I am sure she reflectively pondered the stations of the cross and prayed appropriately at the places for meditation.  I just didn't see her because she was miles ahead of me.

We slowed to a jog on the way down, and I did catch her following her brother's lead to kneel at one of the crosses.

They all dipped their hands in the natural spring, and you would think with all the peace and tranquility, at least some of it would rub off on Little Sprout.

By the time we got back to the gift shop, she had lost her ability to maintain composure.  The volcanic activity commenced.

Our sweet, precious Little Sprout has incredibly physical tantrums.  She was like a bull in a china shop as she gave way to the Tasmanian Devil tendencies.  Nothing seems quite as inappropriate as watching a path of destruction in the Mother Cabrini Shrine gift shop.  She started her second time-out on the bench just outside the shop and then came screaming and running into the store.

I carried her screaming, kicking and swinging at me to the car to get to lunch.  Our ride down the mountain was full of:

"I'M NEVER GOING TO STOP SCREAMING...NEVER....NEVER...NEVER!!  I DON'T CARE IF I CAN'T EAT LUNCH AT THE RESTAURANT.!" and so on...

I explained to my grandmother that she was going to be going in to lunch with my older two and my mom, but that Little Sprout and I were going to have to stay in the car.  Trying to communicate that calmly, over the continuous screaming out of the back, was tricky.

Little Sprout had calmed a bit by the time we arrived at the restaurant, but the consequence had been set.  As everyone else climbed out to go in to the restaurant, I told her she was going with me to get something else to eat and we would be eating in the car.  She took off her seat-belt, made a beeline for the door, and I caught her by her arm just as my mom was able to get the door closed.

So there we were, in our stand-off in the Olive Garden parking lot.  My mom brought out my salad and breadsticks while I waited...twenty-five minutes...before Little Sprout finally climbed back into her booster and clicked her belt.

What I learned about Little Sprout that day:  She needs lots of sleep! She misses her dad.  She is angry she isn't able to see him as much as she had expected before we came.  She holds in emotion well, but eventually can no longer contain those ugly feelings.  She has patience and stamina (something I am sure will challenge me through the years) and, she's got a good arm (she threw that stuffed animal from the third row in my car).  Thank goodness she cannot aim all that well yet.

Bra Blog

It has been months since my last girly-girl transformation update.  I have moved too little on the scale to report much.  That is...until now.

For my loyal and committed readers (mom) you may remember my conversion from tomboy to-do-list. 

Number two on the list was to buy more feminine clothes and number three on the list was to buy a fitted bra.  Just adopting an "I am not repulsed by a trip to the mall" attitude has been a challenge. I still get annoyed by some parts of shopping, like in-your-face marketing, and the feeling of inadequacy that overwhelms me when I realize I don't even look the part of a legitimate shopper.  I do enjoy time with my girls, though, and I am sure that mall trips will be a part of our time together as they get older. The quest to transform continues...

So, we did it.  I loaded up the girls for a day at the mall.  I knew in my head, the short list of items I needed for a feminine outfit, and it started with the acquisition of a good bra.  My girls are only seven and four, so I did what I could to prepare them.

"Now girls, I have some things I need to buy, and one of the stores we will go in, I am going to get a bra."

Cue giggles and twitters. 

"Are you guys going to be able to handle that?"

"Oh, mom, I'll be fine," my seven-year-old said calming herself.

"Yeah, me too!" Little Sprout followed suit.

We started the mall trip with a stop at the girls' favorite doll store.  If you have daughters, you know exactly which one I mean.  They spent some of their allowance on accessories and we moved to store two.  I bought an outfit, with expert and enthusiastic advice from the girls.  After lunch and some rambling through the cool parts of the mall, we had one stop left.  We all knew what I needed (it helped that the girls reminded me every other minute or two that I needed a bra)

The pleasant-smelling pink store was the destination.

Little Sprout kicked things off by saying, "This store is inappropriate mom!"

"Honey, it's not inappropriate.  All ladies need bras and underwear.  You'll need one someday too, and this is a nice store to get them."

"I like this store mom!" Middle Sprout encouraged.

The girls stayed relatively composed, that is, until the attendant had to measure me for my bra.  I spent all my energy trying to seem completely comfortable.  Their laughter could not be contained, and comfort was out the window for all of us.

I changed the subject (kindof).  "Hey, should I get an animal print bra or a fun pink one?"

"Leopard skin?  That's funny!"  As we filed through the exotic drawer.  If I was going to spend the money on a nice bra, I wanted it to be fun.  I tried on a few.  Some that changed my shape so much I thought I was going to poke holes in the wall, and the giddy laughter from my stall was entertaining in and of itself.  I moved past discomfort and relished the fun we were all having. It REALLY was fun.  I hope when it is time to take my girls shopping for their first bras they will be able to tap in to the sort of enjoyment we had that day.

I chose a light pink bra with black polka-dots.  It fits well and puts things back in the places they were before kids sucked the life out of them.  I have told Middle Sprout, the one who remains most interested in this fascinating womanly adventure, that we can have a code word, and she'll know I have it on.  She walks past me in the morning and simply says (with shifting eyes), "Polka dot?" and I confirm with a nod, if she's right.

Next stop on the list...make-up.  I am sure the girls will enjoy that too, but likely with much less laughter.

How to Mark Growth Through Hiking

Every summer, the sprouts and I hike a local rock.  It's an annual tradition that has become more than just a little something we do.  It is the first hike we take every summer and the last one we do before we leave.  It is a really easy climb that quickly takes us high enough to see the front range including all the way down to Pike's Peak.

We started to do this hike when Little Sprout was less than a year old.  She rode in my hiking backpack and I struggled with the weight of her while trying to help navigate the path of the other two.  There are a couple steep parts (especially for small legs) but overall it is a really friendly family climb. 

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Little Sprout made it the entire way this time, even joking about the tantrum she threw last year.  When she was three, she screamed the entire way down.  This year, I had to tell her to stop running.  There is definitely no hiking backpack for her anymore!  What used to be the pinnacle of our hiking adventures is truly just a warm-up now.  It helps to get us acclimated to the altitude, and it is the first in a series of hikes that  Big Sprout will take, this year, in preparation for his first 14,000 foot climb.

Similar to the door jam in a house, this rock marks the growth of our children.  The lizards, chipmunks and rabbits still evoke excitement, but the discussion then moves to the importance of the ecosystem.  They no longer hesitate when playing around the bottom of the rock, they climb higher and higher every year.

Castle Rock is important to us.  It is the grounding spot that gives the kids comfort.  We may float from one living arrangement to another every summer, but Castle Rock remains.  It is the tangible reminder that summer in Colorado has started.  It also marks the passing of yet another year.  The seemingly immovable rocks of Colorado change only minimally from year to year, but the bodies that climb them are grown and different.  I love that we can mark their growth this way.

As you can see in the two photos below, the path is similar, but the kids are moving. It is appropriate that the first photo, the 2009 descent, has the kids in the closer foreground.  In the 2010 version, they had made it quite a ways down the path before I was able to get out my camera to capture it. They are moving quicker, and I just have to remain on solid ground as I watch them go.

I know we won't be able to do the Castle Rock hikes as a group forever, so I'll enjoy them while they last. It's the growth I must mark in myself, with each passing year.

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What the Blog? You Want a Weinie?

I shouldn't be writing right now, but it is the zen in my chaos.  I should be waking the children, getting their little bodies bathed and battening down the hatches before we head out of town, but instead I hide in the solace of my keyboard and procrastinate.

What the Blog? Little Sprout (our beautiful 4-year-old girl) tells the big sprouts that she wants a weinie?

The big sprouts came in howling from the garage yesterday (obviously focused on speeding up our packing)

"Mom!!  Mom!!! Little Sprout said that she wants a weinie."

"Oh really?!" My carpet comment for most of the things my kids say.

In walks Little Sprout, most obviously beyond exhaustion (usually the state we get the best humor and stories from her).

"Hey, Little Sprout, tell mom what you were saying!!"  The big sprouts were jumping they were so excited.

"I want a weinie!"  She smiled looking at the reaction she garnered from her big brother and sister.

"Why?"  I asked, immediately regretting giving her a reason to keep going with this line of thinking.

She cupped her hands near her danger zone, started waving them back and forth and replied, "Because it goes jingle jangle!"

They all ran howling back into the garage to do some of their own procrastinating.  She then asked later that night (while watching old home videos), "Where am I?"

"Oh, you weren't born yet."

"Was I in your tummy?" she asked.

"No, not yet."  I replied.

"How did I get in your tummy anyway?"

I told her I would save that story for another night.  We were all too tired for that one!

I am confident that this summer will be one of discovery...at least for Little Sprout...she may not be focused on chores to pack, but she is definitely focused on something.  This should be fun!

I Love You More Than Most.....I Win!

There are moments in our day when the big sprouts forget that they are supposed to hate each other.  They are siblings, after all, and they have the same rivalry as any other set of brother and sister.  It is the smallest sprout, these days, who offers the balanced reminder that there can be fun in getting along.

I can hardly believe that we nearly decided against bringing that third voice to the table. We had thought about whether the first two sprouts were enough...and believe me, at times they are more than enough...but I am forever grateful that God blessed us with the third wheel to our tricycle.  She keeps all of us young, playing those games that the older two would likely have already abandoned.  Running through the sprinklers with her still, they become the younger version of themselves...the brother and sister who used to like each other and play endlessly together.

It is Little Sprout's game. 
The one that starts, "I love you!"
To which you are to respond, "I love you too!". 
Her line is then, "I love you more!"
Your reply, "I love you most!"
and she finishes the dialogue with, "I love you more than most!  I win!"

I am not surprised that her game has an element of competition...something she has learned well living in this house.  But the important key to winning her game is that you have to be the one to start.  You have to say, "I love you" first, or you don't win.  The bigger sprouts could learn a lot from the wisdom of the littlest.
 

Watch Out Tooth Fairy!!! I Think It's a Setup!

I have to write this quickly, because I fear I may be discovered.  I wanted to get out a warning to you, Tooth Fairy, about an insidious plan. 

You may know my seven-year-old...you visit her often.  You came to see her twice this week, in fact.  Anyway, she has been saving that third tooth the dentist pulled so she can put it under her pillow at  her upcoming slumber party.  I KNOW!!  It has to be a trap.  It is the only feasible explanation. I wanted to get the word out to you, and since I don't have a fairy hotline to call...I thought I would try the internet.  You're online, right?!? 

Anyway,  heads up! You WILL be called to our house next week.  The girls will be on the lookout for you, and you'll have more bodies and pillows to navigate.  Put on extra fairy dust so you can remain undetected.

Oh yeah, one more thing.  You thought that last tooth you hauled out of here was big...this one is a monster.  It is likely the BIGGEST baby tooth I have ever seen.  You may need to bring in some help.

Good luck tooth fairy!  I'll be pulling for you!

What's the Matter? Wednesday

At the end of a long day on the Magnificent Mile, Littlest Sprout wanted nothing to do with our photo shoot in front of the Hershey sign.  She shares with all of you her unbridled emotions.  Enjoy!

Confessions of a Cat Fight

Littlest Sprout proudly walked up to me yesterday saying, "Mom, Big Sprout slapped Middle Sprout on the bus."

"WHAT?!?" I stopped passing the soccer ball with Big Sprout.  "You hit her on the bus?"

"Yeah, like five times," Middle Sprout reported from behind me.

I spun, "WHAT?" turning back, "What does she mean you slapped her five times on the bus? Why?"

"She hit me first! And then she grabbed my face with her fingers and squeezed."  A frustrated move that I too have witnessed.

"Hold on a second...both of you inside, NOW!  We have to settle this!" I authoritatively demanded.

I took all three sprouts in and sat them on the couch.

Littlest Sprout delightedly asked, "Me too!" 

"If you want to, but you don't have to, you're not in trouble." I explained.

They never confessed the motivation behind the cat fight, but I could only picture them sitting on the bus waving their hands at each other occasionally landing slap blows. 

"Didn't the bus driver stop you?" I asked concerned.

"She couldn't see us," Middle Sprout reported.

My internal picture of this scene almost made me laugh out loud.  I know it wasn't a knock-down-drag-out fight, and I can only imagine what it might have looked like to a driver passing by who caught a glimpse of Frank Fighting 2010.  A couple hesitant arms flailing at each other with only the tops of very young heads barely visible.

"Did any one see you?"

They admitted that one of Big Sprout's friends was the only witness. 

Just then, the phone rang, and the kids thought they had been saved by the bell.

It was their father, and they each spoke to him, not about the incident, but about the other news of the day. Big Sprout answered the phone, so while he was talking to his dad, I asked Little Sprout what she thought a fair punishment would be for Big Sprout. 

"He should lose his iPod," she offered. 

As he spoke to Middle Sprout I asked Big Sprout what he thought a fair punishment would be, and he thought grounding from electronics for two days would be fair.

The phone was eventually passed to me, and as I reported the ongoing trial, Middle Sprout dove in under a blanket and Big Sprout did not move.

"Big Sprout thinks they should be grounded for two days," I explained.

"Two days?" he chuckled, "I was thinking one.  Siblings fight, and it couldn't have been that bad," he assessed.

"I agree," I said, shifting to code-talking mode, "but they know the severity, and this is a self-reported crime.  I'm going to defer to their self-punishment."

"True," he agreed.  "They represent this family, and they can't be cat-fighting...at least not in public."

Sentence determined.

So, I went from having absolutely no inkling that anything bad had happened, and in less than ten minutes both big sprouts were grounded from electronics for two days.  I didn't have to deal with the actual fight, they each took responsibility for their involvement in the altercation, and they accepted the punishment willingly.  Maybe parenting is actually happening in this house!

Technology...The New Gated Community

"We live in a gated community," the up-and-coming couple reports.

"Congratulations!" I say,  reacting the only way I know how.

Living by stereotypes...I know what this means.  They have arrived. They have accumulated the resources to live in an expensive house with at least a gate for a guard at the entrance of the neighborhood.  I suppose I could be wrong, and the gate could be surrounding the local mobile-home park, but I doubt it.  The gated communities that I know have large houses, plush yards, evidence of workers (i.e. gardeners and housekeepers) and name-brand cars rolling in and out of the garages.  It's a lovely place to call home.  There is a sense of security with that gate, keeping in all that is precious and keeping out all that is unwanted.

My husband and I are slowly accumulating resources... (children seem to suck out faster than we can put in) but I don't know that we'll ever be in the tax-bracket that would allow us to live in one of those gated communities.  That's okay.  We'll find a way to live comfortably and we'll continue to provide what opportunities we can for our children.  I am anxious, though.  There is another gated community being built.  It's a community to which  I sense my children need to belong, and I don't want to be on the outside looking in.

The pace with which technology is exploding is mind-boggling.  I grew up playing PONG on Atari, and my oldest just saved up his money to buy himself an Ipod touch.  The capabilities of his new hand-held device far outweigh the things our first desktop computer could do.  The advances in smart technology are overwhelming at times.

We spent last Saturday roaming around downtown Chicago and we wandered in to the Apple Store.  It was an experience worth having.  The store itself is beautiful, and the access to their machines is impressive.  There were nearly 100 Ipads laying around on tables so that people could experiment with them and see what they could do.  I instantly wanted one.  They are beyond cool.

When we left the store and continued down the Michigan Avenue sidewalks, it struck me, as I avoided eye contact with the begging homeless,  that except for the access available in that store, there is a segment of the population who will never own something like an Ipad.  The percentage of people around the world who will never know what it is to touch a screen and watch it pop to life is too small to fathom. Technology-savvy people are starting to have their own sub-culture and language and life experiences.  Some people in the world will never know any of that.

I recognize the blessings I have been afforded simply because I was born in a country that has the opportunities we do.  I have worked hard to be admitted into the technology gated community, and barring any disaster, I plan to stay there, but I can't help thinking about the faces on the other side of the gate...the longing faces who want nothing more than a chance to come inside.

How to care for a baby...Sprout Style

Out of the blue tonight, Big Sprout piped up from the backseat.

"You know, mom, I think every family should have a baby that stays a baby.  You know, like, it never grows up, and it just stays cute."

Chuckling through my response, "Oh really, you think so.  You do know, honey, that babies are a lot of work."

"Oh, I know that, but I know the baby basics," he smugly replies.

"I see.  That's interesting," I drive on.  "I am curious though...what do you think the baby basics are?"

"Oh, you know.  You have to feed them and then you have to decide the right time to put them to sleep..."

"Wait, wait, you need to write these down for me," I say as I frantically search for a piece of paper. (I wish I didn't feel like I was always frantically searching for a piece of paper) "I want a copy of this," still rummaging,  "but I'm driving."  I hand back a folded piece of paper and a pen.  The following is the scribbled list of "How to Care for a Baby" by Big Sprout. (I am transcribing exactly the way he has it written)

1. feed
2. right time to sleep
3. help them burp
4. Ki says if you play hockey with the baby you have to take it easy
5. change diper
6. stress
7. play
8. LOVE!!!

I guess he does indeed have the basics....at least on paper.

Life is Messy

My house is messy.  My children struggle to get all the food that sits on the end of an eating utensil actually into their mouths.  We don't have a dog, so what falls off the fork, falls to the floor and stays there until someone sweeps it up.  They create dishes and dirty clothes.  They accumulate stuff and conspire with each other to make sure that each room has some random article haphazardly thrown on the floor. 

We get it cleaned up.  They help me, and with the three of them at an age where they can competently, I mean effectively...well, they get it cleaned up, it is only as bad as I let myself think it is.  When our oldest was the only baby in the house, I would follow him around and literally put the toys back in the toy box as soon as he dropped it and crawled on.  With the addition of each kid, I realized that I was trying to hold back water equivalent to a tsunami.  I gave up the perfectly clean house idea.

Similarly, I didn't fight the sparrows this year.  Every summer that we have lived in this house I have waged a backyard war against the sparrows who like to build nests under our deck.  They would carry in mud, I would smack it down, they would carry in more mud, I would smack it down.  I would walk through the back yard with my smacking stick and they would dive bomb me to let me know that I sucked.  I would win, and the birds would abandon our deck...all in the name of keeping it clean.  I'm not sure why I'm going soft, but I let the birds in this year.

There is one sparrow's nest and two other nests that likely belong to some of the robins who hang around.  It's messy.  They aren't always accurate in the nest building, and I did have to sweep some of the mud off of the patio. What I had unknowingly prevented in previous years, though, was an aerial show that not only captivates Little Sprout, but I too find myself sitting under the deck, fascinated by the comings and goings of our new house guests.  Little Sprout is the one who took these pictures, and because she was using my camera, I couldn't capture the way she tiptoed around the patio, startled each time a bird would poke out of the nest and then swoop down past her.  She was so excited.


There are other messy things outside. Planting flowers and collecting what they and the trees shed is messy business.  I've concluded anything that has life leaves behind a mess to be cleaned.  Don't get me wrong, I look forward to the days when I can confidently update our house, paint the walls and outfit the floor because I know that the children are less careless as they carry their things through the hall.  I know my house will be clean and beautiful again some day.  I'll be sad that it is no longer messy.  I may just keep a box of random things and occasionally spread them out on the floor, because I know when it looks like that, our house is full of life.  I'll miss that when it's gone.

A Little Fishy Tale

It reminded me of a tale I know...with an old man and the sea

A young boy cast his fishing line to see what he could be.

From the dock he threw a cast, determined to reel one in.

He felt a tug of the smallest sort, and that's where our story begins.

He felt that pull and he pulled back, and in the bobber came.

He pulled his catch up to his hands...he had won the fishy game.

It was much smaller than he had hoped, but, hey, his hook had set.

Plus then his cousin reminded him, "That fish can be your pet!"

All Blocked Up

Seriously?...out of words?  How is that even possible?  There were so many all day today, and now...nothing? I suppose it could be this stifling pressure that is simply sitting on these bones below my eyes.  See...I couldn't even think to say cheekbone, or eye sockets or skull.  Really?!? "bones below my eyes?" That's terrible.

You shouldn't be subjected to this.  The ramblings of a writer who promised herself that she would write every day and now she is hopelessly wordless. 

I know...it's 'cause I'm coming down from the high of completing yet another chapter draft.  No, no, that's not it...It's gotta' be because Pappa Sprout is coming home to see us tomorrow.  That's what it is, I am hopelessly  distracted by the return of my love...

Excuse me...I was laughing too hard to continue, plus when I read those couple of sentences over I saw one of my pet peeves.  I pride myself in not using the same word in the same paragraph, much less the same sentence.  Damn, I did it again!

This is like drunk driving.  Writing while in this frame of mind is downright irresponsible.  Someone could get hurt.

This block is because I am plain wiped out. 

So, instead of using my words to finish out this profound and life-changing blog post, I will use my favorite quotes from the Sprouts this week.

I think I'll start with Middle Sprout because she is usually, um, in the middle.  Anyway, her quote of the week is actually a phone conversation I overheard.  Talking on the phone with a friend is new to her, but I am sure the start of a probable lifelong habit.  Middle Sprout, "Oh, okay, you want me to tell you the movies we have in our cabinet?  OK, we have Bug's Life and Incredibles and Toy Story and..." she continued until she had listed EVERY SINGLE movie we own.  No doubt, she will change the world someday.

Little Sprout blessed me with her quote yesterday on the way to her last day of school at this particular preschool.  I said, "You know, honey, we are going to be a little early because you wouldn't stop asking when we were going to go."  "Oh, that's okay mom, I just love school...and I am not a good patient." It's probably a good thing we have another year of preschool to prep for Kindergarten.

And finally...the coup de gras...Big Sprout was looking over my shoulder at my college yearbook as I flipped through. (No...I don't do that often...I never even bought one...long story, long a new friend of mine happened to be a yearbook distributor in the city where I went to college the year I was a senior, and she just happened to have a copy, so she gave it to me, and I was looking at the pictures) Geesh...you're so nosy.  Anyway, he noticed a rather seedy-looking fellow who was lounging on a couch at what appeared to be a college party.  He looked as if he had been there a while.  I laughed and said, too loudly, under my breath, "Wonder what he was smoking."  Big Sprout laughed too and said, "I bet he was smoking weeds."

So with that, I leave the keyboard for the night.  I fear I would be useless in my editing and I would have to scrap any draft-writing that I did tonight anyway, so instead I am going to take my stuffy little nose and go to bed.  Hopefully in the morning all the blockages that plague me tonight will be gone.

What are you Waiting For?

Last Friday I think I hit my waiting threshold.  I waited patiently for a few minutes until I realized that our scheduled babysitter was not coming, and then I loaded up Little Sprout and prepared for a trip to work with her as an unscheduled guest.  I waited for my computer to logon...and eventually realized that it was helplessly broken.  I waited for the computer techie people to come save my laptop...this waiting included occupying Little Sprout with the few gadgets I have in my office, and we waited, and waited and waited for three hours until it was time to leave to meet the other sprouts coming home from school, and I simply closed up my laptop and took it home broken.  I dusted off our desktop and realized that I had not waited that long for a computer to boot in years.  I spent the weekend waiting for webpages to load and the letters that I typed to slowly appear on the screen.  I am done waiting.  It is truly wasted energy.

I'm ready to let this one go.  Waiting makes me angry.  It is an act that I do when I am not happy to be where I am doing what I am, and I am impatient to get to somewhere else. In past years, I have spent the days during my husbands' absence waiting for him to come home.  I haven't really done that this year.  I have chosen living over waiting, and you know what...time goes by much faster!  So please call me on it, if you hear that I have waited for anything.

Instead of waiting for the techies to come save me...I pushed Little Sprout in a rolling office chair and she and I pretended we were traveling to the moon.

Instead of waiting for the computer to fire up, I made coffee or wrote notes or refereed squabbling children.

So, being the incessant planner that I am, I have decided to come up with a plan for all the times that I will likely have to wait...

Waiting in traffic will become...rocking out with chair dancing and concert-style singing.  If there isn't any good music on I'll just pump my fist to get truckers to honk or make up stories about the people in the cars around me.

Waiting in line at the post office or the grocery store will be devoted to conversations with my fellow waiters and if they don't want to talk, I'll just make up stories about the plans they have based on the packages they carry or the food they are planning to buy.

Waiting in the waiting room or in lines at the airport or for luggage to arrive need to be about more than waiting.  It takes energy to be creative in these settings, and it is easy to be sucked into the "waiting" malaise, but I want to make the conscience choice to do more than just wait.

It is not mind-blowing advice to suggest that we should choose a different activity instead of waiting, but that is indeed what I plan to do.  Waiting is inactive, living is active, and Lord knows I don't like to sit still. So my questions for the week are:  What are you waiting for? and how can you live instead?

Marking a Decade

Ten years ago today I was waddling around the high school where I taught, scooping up good-bye cards and well wishes. I felt more energized than I had in weeks and I was looking forward to the few days before Big Sprout was due to arrive. I was relieved I had not had a water-breaking incident in front of a class of sophomores...I would have been mortified, but I am fairly certain it would have been more traumatizing for them. Early the next morning...7:30 am...I got up to go to the bathroom, and as I stood up out of bed I thanked God for the puddle that had waited to pool at my feet until I was in my own home.

Baby bag...check.  Overnight bag...check. Towels...check.  Husband...check. Off to the hospital. The delivery was a story all unto itself, but we survived.  I finally got to hold him, I mean really hold him, two hours after he was born and after I was all stapled back together.  I'll never forget how that felt and how overwhelmed my heart was.  I had no idea, that it would only continue to swell over the next ten years.

That's right!  Our firstborn turns ten tomorrow, and this is by far the hardest birthday I have been a part of in my life.  It is always those birthdays that end in zero that are supposed to give us pause.  I remember my monumental 10th birthday, I looked around briefly when I turned 20 because that is just about how much time I had to look, and when I turned 30, I was pregnant with our third and I definitely knew I was at a monumental year, but I didn't have a lot of energy for birthday introspection.  Maybe I'll give it a whirl when I turn 40...but for now, it is the big guy's zero-ending birthday that has brought me to tears all week.

I can't help but to go over in my head how he has changed in the last ten years, but what really gets to me is when I calculate the ways I've changed.

Ten years ago:
I didn't know how to file a baby's fingernails...
I didn't know how scary it would be to have a sick kid...
I didn't know how to change an explosion diaper on the front seat of a truck...
I didn't know how hard it would be to let a baby cry it out when he was old enough...
I didn't know how happy I could be when a toddler's hand rubbed my belly feeling for a new baby to kick...
I didn't know that I could smile that big watching him fish with his dad...
I didn't know there could be a kinder and gentler big brother in the entire world.
and I didn't know that I could love someone this much.

I also didn't know that I would get to his tenth birthday and start grieving what is going to happen in the next decade.  I have spent a lot of energy and time, these past ten years,  learning how to let him grow.  Making sure he started to gain weight, teaching him to apologize when he did something wrong, letting him talk out his conflicts with other kids, letting him fall: on his skates, off his bike, sliding into home. Letting him face real consequences for bad decisions. Although I am not perfect, I do think I have learned pretty well how to best  let him grow...but the next decade I will have to learn how it is that I can best let him go.  That just makes me cry.  By the time we celebrate his next zero-ending birthday he will have had his first date, his first kiss, his first solo drive in a car, his high school diploma, and he'll have college squarely on his mind.  That and so many other experiences that I can not yet predict will be how life goes in the next decade.  As we trudge through the coming years, more and more, the life that he leads will be away from me, and that is what makes me sad.

It is the way it should be, and standing here in the middle of the see-saw looking at how perfectly balanced I feel between what he has already done and what he is poised to do, I hope the walk down that other side  is slow enough that I can enjoy it, just a little.  He is a light in our lives and a presence I can hardly imagine being without.  I suppose I'll feel more ready when we actually are at that next zero-ending birthday, but if not...it's gonna' hurt like hell.  I'm so proud of this decade's worth of work, and I am steeling myself for the even harder years to come.

Happy Tenth Birthday Big Sprout!!