What I Learned About My Head at Church

Truth be told, we don't drag our three ring circus to church all that often, especially in the summer. But when we do, it's always memorable. Take this last Sunday, when we learned that we have (once again) cast bad luck on our semi-new church's call for a new pastor. Would it be superstitious to note that when we attend a new church, the pastor leaves and finding a new one is prolonged and difficult? When we've tired of the interim pastor, we move to a new church and cause the same catastrophe. We're like a clandestine congregation seeking missile. The rulers of ancient Rome probably would have worshiped us, but I'm not proud of that. It's obviously not intentional, and I really don't think we do anything tangible to cause it. But there it is, and not a secret anymore.

So I learned a couple things this Sunday from the Worship Pastor's sermon (since there is no senior pastor -- and if you're reading this Jason, you did a great job). The first thing I learned during the sermon was that my head may or may not be too large for a cutesy bob haircut. No, the sermon didn't cover topics directly related to my hair, but my husband and I had a discussion that went like this during the service:


Me:  "Are you sleeping?"
H:  "No, I can listen with my eyes closed."
Me:  "Uh huh." (eye roll) "I like her haircut", (pointing at a cute girl a row ahead of us) "do you think I'd look okay with a haircut that short?"
H: (in deep thought for a few seconds)  "Her face isn't like yours."
Me:  "Right, but lots of people have a haircut like hers and they don't all have her face."
H:  "But her face is shorter than yours, you have to have the right proportions for a haircut."
Me:  "Which proportions aren't right?"
H:  "I don't know. For example, someone with a big head wouldn't look good with that haircut."
Me:  "So now I have a big head?"
H:  "No, that's not what I said." (frustrated sigh)
Me:  "Never mind. You better just start praying."

What Would You Do?

You know those incidents when a kid makes such a scene that you are appalled at their behavior? Whether they are being spoiled, rude, or ungrateful--it’s pretty common, and truth be told sometimes it's my kid. But what about the times when the parent’s method of dealing with the kid is even more appalling? I’m talking about the times when we bystanders are dying for the parent to take that bull (kid) by the horns and show them who’s boss. With calm and controlled actions, of course. But there are times when parents are pushovers, and it’s the kids who are running the show.

Take this weekend, when I brought two of my boys to an ice cream parlor. We were waiting in line behind another mom with two boys. The mom ordered cones for her boys, and when she inquired about sampling another flavor, the teenage server offered to give the mom a small sample scoop on top of her son’s ice cream cone. A couple bites of decadence for free! The mom graciously accepted the offer. When she picked up the boys’ ice cream cones, she quickly devoured the sample off the top. (It looked delicious.) But one of her boys was not happy with the sharing. He immediately started screaming about her flagrant misdeed—she had eaten some of his ice cream! Well, that kid wouldn’t take the ice cream cone now. I was trying not to gawk, but I'm almost certain I saw the boy attempt to toss the cone on the floor and his mom caught it out of midair. She pleaded with him and tried to explain that she hadn’t eaten any of his ice cream, but he was having none of it. I stepped away from the counter with my kids to browse the candy selection, and my 3 year old picked out a tootsie pop while I pretended not to notice the embarrassing situation. The mom finally brought her screaming demon-boy outside, but damn if that kid still wasn’t taking that tainted ice cream cone.

I may be too heavily affected by my surroundings, or maybe I was just in a pissy mood to begin with. But at that moment I decided I had to set some unusual ground rules for this ice cream purchase. Bear in mind, we had already eaten some ice cream at home earlier that day, and my plan was simply to have an enjoyable outing in 90 degree heat, and share a simple sundae between the three of us. So, I told my 5 year old there were four flavors of ice cream he could choose from, and they happened to be flavors I wanted. Is anyone any bit surprised that he didn’t like the choices? He wanted cotton candy flavor, I wanted double chocolate fudge. No deal. He wanted bubble gum flavor, I wanted caramel toffee swirl. Not happening. (By the way, those flavors he wanted? Those are candy, not ice cream. Why do they try to turn ice cream into candy? Come on.) So, we were at a stalemate. In the meantime, that mom with the demon-boy, she had come back in and pretended to wait in line to get little Damien a new cone. I must have lost my appetite, because I really didn’t care if we got ice cream or not anymore. If my 5 year old and I couldn’t come to an agreement, no ice cream for us! So we grabbed another tootsie pop, and on the way out I resisted a really strong urge to grab the ice cream cone from Damien and eat it myself.

I'd like to think that I always handle every tough situation perfectly, but of course I don't. I'd probably go back and change something about every day of the week if I could. Too bad we don't always get a chance to stop and think about our options before we act, because I hope if Damien's mom had stopped to think, she would have eaten the whole ice cream cone herself, while he watched in shock. It’s tough to watch when parents don’t have control, maybe even tougher than being that parent.

Top 5 Things I Hate/Love About Summer

Up here in the North, we savor every bite of our precious morsel of summer. It’s not that I don’t love summer – because I do. It’s just that there are a few things I could do without.

Swimsuits. It is impossibly difficult for me to find a swimsuit that fits. If I'm lucky and search high and low all summer, I find that magical suit every few years. So I’m either stuck wearing a suit that is worn out, or I’m wearing a suit that doesn’t fit. There should be a custom swimsuit maker who comes over to my house and privately fashions a swimsuit to fit, flatter and cover every little imperfection perfectly. She would bring wine and chocolates, and look like a combination of Mary Poppins and Eva Longoria. She’d have never-ending fabric samples and magical sewing skills. And she’d do this with expertise and speed, out of the goodness of her heart, so the perfectly fitted swimsuit wouldn’t cost a fortune.

Shaving. I hate to admit this, but during our 6 months of winter, I rarely shave. If ever. So when summer finally makes a brief appearance, I often forget to shave, and then I do it in a hasty, nick of time rush. (Pun intended there.) I hate the rashy skin I get, and the inconvenience of shaving. I have this friend who actually had laser hair removal to resolve this ugly nonsense. She had it done on her legs, her pits, bikini – the whole shebang. I know - unbelievable and unfair. Believe me, I brush my stubbly unshaven legs against her every chance I get.

Popsicles. The kids love ‘em, but they are the bane of my summer. How is it that one tiny little popsicle can melt down a child’s arms and legs and pool into a blue puddle at their feet? And why is it that popsicles are made of food dye more permanent than markers? How is that a single popsicle can cause stickiness to spread on every door handle, faucet handle, chair, countertop and square foot of floor that a child touches? If I could proliferate money like popsicles proliferate stickiness, I’d never have to work again. As it is, I’m washing every surface, and scrubbing blue drips off my 3 year old. Again. (And I'm still looking for that illusive job, by the way.)

Sunblock. It’s greasy, it smells bad, and I have to slather it all over myself, my 4 moving targets, and my husband. This has to happen every two hours – which basically leaves no time for anything else. On a good day, the stuff doesn’t make my skin break out, but good days are few and far between.

Social Coordinator & Chauffeur. Summer is the fleeting time period when we cram all of our crazy vacations and family related travel into a few weeks. I drive my boys to practices, games, camps, the beach, friends’ houses, and to the store a zillion times a week. If our schedule isn’t full, they just fight, so we have to keep moving. But it's tiring to keep moving all summer, and there are days I wish to sit and read a whole book.

Weeding the Garden. Is it just me, or do weeds grow ten times faster than perennials? I had this grand plan for my garden to grow and crowd out the weeds, which would have worked perfectly if the weeds didn’t grow like mutant beanstalks. I’m so tired of pulling, whacking and spraying weeds that I give up on more and more of my “garden” every year. I scream obscenities at the deer eating my lilies, and praise the rabbits for munching in the right areas. It’s total lunacy.

Yeah, I just noticed that's 6 things I hate. Sure, I complain too much about what I'm supposed to be enjoying - but I do have a few loves of summer too.

Picnics and BBQs. Isn’t picnic food divine? Maybe I belong down South, but there is nothing better than a plate of BBQ ribs and sweet corn from the grill, potato salad, beans, watermelon, and pie. Throw in some hard lemonade and I am in heaven. Of course, the best part of picnicking with kids is the elimination of all clean-up duties, and just letting them get messy to their little hearts' content.

Bike Rides. We line up like the Sturgis bike rally and go as far as the kids can stand it. Surprisingly, biking is one activity my kids will enjoy without complaint. No video games, no snacks, we just ride. We often ride the entire two mile trek to Dairy Queen! Yes, we are hardcore.

The Lake. I didn’t grow up with the benefit of 10,000 lakes, and I have to say this is my favorite part of Minnesota. (Ahem, aside from the every so nice Scandinavians.) Going to the lake is a fun time for the whole family, whether we are building sand castles or fishing or boating.

Road Trips & Classic Rock Music. There’s something about listening to classic rock in the car, in the summer, with the windows down. Just yesterday I heard Fleetwood Mac followed by The Rolling Stones, and I had to drive past my house just to keep driving until the song was over. I wouldn't listen to that radio station in any other setting, but wow. Road trips for us are a max of 3 hours - with a video - but we're working on expanding our horizons. The kids are training now for an 11 hour trip in a few weeks. My training may involve Valium. Oh wait, I'm not complaining here, these are my "loves". Oops.

Baseball. Sure, it can be a hassle going to all those baseball games, but the truth is I’ve never loved baseball more than I do when I get to watch my kids play. I’m not one to attend more than one Major League game a year, but watching Junior Minor League? I’m all in. Give me sunflower seeds and a camp chair and I’m as happy as when I'm watching trashy TV and sipping a glass of wine. Okay, almost as happy.

I better get moving now - summer's almost over!

This Kid Has Gone Fem-Loco

Truth be told, I’ve been getting a little smug about having all boys. Not because it hasn’t been challenging; I’ve had way more than my fair share of dirty looks when I take my boy-circus out in public. But this year when I got my last little monkey potty trained, I started seeing flickers of light at the end of the tunnel. Then I easily slid into thoughts of how fantastic it was going to be to skip all of that girly teen drama I hear about. Sure, boys are typically harder when they are younger, but that rowdiness and bad language pales in comparison to the hazards surrounding a rebellious teenage girl, right? (I should know. I shudder to think of the torture if I had to raise my teenage self.) Some day down the road, I’m thinking I’ll finally get my fair reward for surviving this life of boy-monkey-madness. Someday.


And then - Collin turned 3. Yes, Collin is my 4^th boy, and he was obviously supposed to be a girl. He was supposed to be Colleen. (No, I wouldn’t really have named my daughter Colleen, not that there’s anything wrong with it.) Anyhow, I still call him Colleen at times, especially lately, because he's started up with some unusual girlish behavior. I don’t know how else to describe it – it’s a combination of OCD and a costume fetish. He’s crazy obsessed with his clothes, costumes, uniforms, and all the matching accessories. I mean every last sock, hat, glove and shoelace has to be correct. It's nuts. And it’s exactly what I imagined it would be like to have a high-strung little girl. And this is one of those parenting headaches I thought I would never ever have to deal with, because I don't have girls!

It started with baseball season, when my oldest two boys got their baseball uniforms. Collin saw them in uniform and his little mind went haywire. He had to wear those uniforms. Even though the uniforms are 5 sizes too big for him, so it looks as if he’s wearing a baseball dress with clown pants and clown shoes. Not only did he try the uniforms on, he wanted to live in them. You name it, he’s doing it in the clown-size baseball cleats, a baseball jersey dress, hat, and giant batting gloves. I admit it’s so adorable it makes everyone who sees him smile. But stay out of his way, because he doesn’t quite have control over those clown cleats, and they hurt like the dickens when your toes get under them. And the batting gloves, he screams about them because he needs help putting them on, plus they are so big that he can’t use his hands effectively. Just locating the correct matching accessories for each outfit could drive me to drink more wine than I should. But he doesn't give in, he still wants to wear it all, everywhere, and all the time.

It’s cute, right? So let it go, right? That’s exactly what I thought. Until he started changing uniforms every few minutes, and he added a couple Halloween costumes to the mix. Now, changing clothes 87 times throughout the day would be bearable if he wasn’t whining at me constantly because they don’t fit properly, are impossible for him to take off and put on, and he can't find a missing sock or something. Not to mention that these uniforms are hot, so he's getting sweaty and stomping those clown cleats on my bare toes with abandon. And then there's the exhausting fact that Collin’s clothes fetish is relentless from sunup to sundown. Bedtime is no cakewalk, because he's got rules about his pajamas. In the morning, he stands at my side of the bed mere moments after he awakes, demanding that I help him out of his pajamas and into a baseball uniform. Have you ever awoken at dawn to a 3 year old standing next to your head with giant baseball cleats in his hands, demanding that you put them on him? And then screaming at you because his belt is the wrong color? Something had to be done.

So what does a mom of four do to destroy her child’s crazy fetish? If she has a Target nearby – she heads right over there and buys her 3 year old a pair of his very own baseball cleats and socks. Yep, that’s what I did, believe it. I really just wanted to make our lives a little more pleasant; I thought at least if his shoes fit we could move about more easily and have less whining. So much for that plan. Of course he's still changing and complaining and whining and it’s still driving me nuts. Even the babysitter was at her wits’ end after spending an hour with this little clothes-changing devil. I do take credits for saddling the sitter with this kid for a while – that’s what every seasoned mom does, right?

I know I’m not the only mom who has seen this type of behavior, and I’m in desperate need of consolation. Please tell me this is just a phase, because I'm beyond ready to go back to being smug about not having any girls. And not having any boys that act like girls. Not that there’s anything wrong with it.

Yin and Yang of Being 40 (Almost)

Truth be told, this aging nonsense is getting me down. There’s this constant Yin and Yang battle waging, and lately the Yin is getting the better of me.¹ Luckily the Yang is pulling ahead as I approach 40 - I'm accepting who I am and feeling fairly content and confident with it. But it’s competing with the Yin -the realization that I can’t do many of the things I used to do anymore. Times they are a-changin'.

Woe is me, the list of things I can’t do anymore is long. I can’t drink wine followed by a cocktail, or I feel like I have PMS, a migraine, and heart disease the next day. I can’t listen to my kids’ radio station without complaining that the music is so bad it hurts my brain. I can’t read small print without holding it at arm’s reach. I can't go to a concert anymore without feeling like I'm everyone's mom. I have to restrain myself from telling teenagers, "Don't do that, you could get hurt, or get a disease, or you could get pregnant!" I really could live with all of those minor annoyances of aging just fine– the Yang was winning - until I decided to try water skiing again.

Just last week, I strapped on the water skis and stared Yin down with fierce determination. Sure, I haven’t water skied in over 10 years, but it wasn’t very tough back then. And I actually thought, I’m probably in better shape now than 10 years ago. Surely, I thought, I have the ability to conquer the water on skis. I was determined, and I was naively excited. I had a few daydreaming visions of myself flying along behind the speedboat, zipping across the wake, maybe even getting some air. Don't I look ready?

Sure, that's me. In my imaginary head.

After the first crack at it, which lasted all of 10 seconds, I felt even more tenacious. I was going to hold onto that rope and do some kick ass water skiing! And, did I ever hold onto the rope. I held onto it even when I should have let go, and I ended up twisting my legs in a painful crash that probably resembled a pretzel doing the splits. The skis flew off, my leg was in agony, and I hadn’t skied for more than 30 seconds. What a huge let down – and score 1 for Yin.

This one probably looks exactly right. But I'm not sure why she's wearing a jacket and pants, waterskiing in the snow. Looks like a dare she should have ran from.

Damn Yin, reminding me that my body is getting older no matter what I do to fight it. Hell, in another 10 years I won’t be able to water ski anymore at all. I suppose that should encourage me to do it as much as I can now. But as I sit here icing my leg, I’m wondering whether it’s worth it. That Yin is a mean force to reckon with. Perhaps I should open my mind to cross-stitch, scrapbooking and crossword puzzles. That’s exactly what my sprained hamstring is lobbying for.

On the upside, the day after my waterskiing crash I did manage to drive the speedboat for my husband to wakeboard. After a few days of trying, he was happy I finally figured out how to control the speed of the boat perfectly. Good times for him – he loved it. (He’s a tad older than me, and didn’t get injured at all in his endeavor, but I'm not bitter.) Hey, at least I can still drive. Perhaps I can squeeze in some of my new cross-stitch hobby between stints of driving the boat. Here’s hoping I still have a little time before I get bifocals and have to be driven like Miss Daisy.

Look at how happy and perfect these two buff bods are. Aaaaackk. Get over yourselves.
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¹ I am vaguely aware that the philosophy of Yin and Yang isn’t good and bad opposing forces, but complementary opposites, that interact within a greater whole. Or something like that. I just like the symbolism for my little story.

Top 10 Reasons I Have Mom Guilt

Truth be told, I get mom-guilt several times a day, every day. Sometimes it's because I take everything too seriously, and other times it's because I’m lazy. I admit it; I get lazy in the summer. It’s partly because I have more kids home and more work to do in the summer, but it’s also because I miss sunbathing on the beach, while reading a book in total peace. I miss those lazy Sundays when I had nothing but the summer sun to worry about. There are instances when I shirk my mom duties and wish to relish just a moment in my younger, childfree skin. Hence the guilt. Because it's impossible for me to neglect my job for more than 5 minutes without something falling apart in my absence. In the summer, I can't even go in the bathroom without a strategy for my escape. Such is the life in a house full of little kids.

So, here are the top 10 reasons I have suffered from mom-guilt lately:

10.   My kids are covered with mosquito bites. Why does this always happen the night before we need the rascals to look their best? It doesn’t matter whether I use repellent or not – they’ll have bites glaring on their faces when they smile for that photo with Grandma.

9.       I let my kids dip anything in ranch dressing because they’ll eat it. It started with vegetables, but then I just got creatively lazy.

8.       I diluted the juice with half water and let the kids drink as much juice as they wanted.

7.       I let the kids eat hot dogs for dinner on game days during baseball season. With two kids in baseball, that's a load of hot dogs.

6.       I encouraged the kids to eat leftover pizza for breakfast and then cereal for dinner.

5.    One of my kids is using a big cardboard box as a nightstand. (How old does a kid have to be to get a real nightstand? I’m thinking 16.)

4.       I noticed peanut butter all over the face of my 3 year old, more than an hour after we finished PB&Js for lunch. (He's getting quite skilled at pretending to clean himself up, and I'm getting frightfully forgetful.)

3.       My 5 year old said, “Look how much I’ve grown!”, because he noticed his pants are about 5 inches too short. That’s when I realized I haven’t measured him on the growth chart in over a year.

2.       We skipped baths because we went swimming. For an entire week.

1.       I let them watch TV for an hour and a half so I could squeeze in a workout and waste time on the computer. At least they were watching PBS.