Will You Marry Me?

In light of all the focus on the legal recognition of same-sex marriages, I felt the need to spew a few of my own opinions.  Frankly, I don't understand why this argument has been going on so long in the first place.  I haven't heard a single argument against it that holds water.  As I see it, people who oppose gay marriage aren't protecting anything.  Opposers are not upholding the sacred pillars of morality in our society.  They're simply justifying their own fears of something that is different from the norm in the name of the greater good.  Hogwash.    

First of all, being gay is not a choice that people are making in order to make a statement.  It's not like dressing like a Goth, or covering your body in tattoos (not that I see anything wrong with those things either).  It's not like choosing to break the law, mug someone, commit murder.  They aren't criminals.  It's not a deliberate selection of evil over good.  In fact, there's nothing evil about it.  There isn't even any hate involved.  It's about love, and being able to choose who you love.  Being gay is no more of a choice than having blue eyes or brown hair.  It's part of your genetic make up.  You can wear colored contacts and bleach your hair, but ultimately, your roots are your roots.  My roots are heterosexual.  My good friends, Amy and Danielle have homosexual roots.  My love for Greg is no stronger than Danielle's love for Amy.  My marriage to Greg should have no more validity than Danielle's marriage to Amy.   If Amy died, Danielle would be just as devastated as I would be if Greg died.  Love is love, without preference of gender.

I'm pretty certain that recognizing gay marriage will not destroy the fabric of marriage in the United States. Aside from the fact that I love Danielle and Amy, because they are my good friends, and I only want what is best for them, their marriage and what happens in it, has no effect on me or my marriage, just as my marriage has no effect on them.  My sister's marriage has no effect on my parent's marriage.  My boss's marriage has no effect on my cousin's marriage.  Get it?  If your gay neighbors get married it's going to change their lives, not yours.  If they have a happy marriage and have a family, well then, good for them. They're not asking you to provide for their children or pay their mortgage.  They're not asking for anything except a little respect, and the same legal rights that you have.  If they get divorced, you don't get divorced. If they are swingers, it doesn't mean you have to join in.  What goes on behind closed doors is no one's business except that couple's...unless, of course, they aren't straight.

Gay marriage is not going corrupt our society.  Looking back now, does anyone truly believe that the Jews were trying to destroy the fabric of German society?  What about African Americans?  Is there anyone who still thinks that a person with dark skin should drink from his own water fountain, or stand on the bus?  I'm pretty sure the number of people who still agree with the Nazis is fairly small, and those who do believe it are pretty much deemed as crazy, right?  I'm betting that in a few decades we are going to reflect on this time in our history and shake our heads at how ignorant and intolerant we were.  Really, how are gays going to destroy our society?  I'll tell you how - just like the Jews and the blacks.  They won't.  The destruction comes from those who are so vehemently intolerant and unyielding. Homosexuals don't want to destroy anything. They want to create something ~ the recognition of their right to have a spouse.  

I've also heard that it's just about money.  Well, in part it is, but don't all marriages take money into account?  It's about being given the same financial stability as every other married couple.   It's about giving homosexuals the choice to have one partner stay home with the children and still have medical insurance. It's about having access to their spouse's 401K, disability and life insurance.  It's about all those things that involve money when a couple gets married - any couple, gay or straight.  It's not about your money.  It's about their money, so why should you care about that?

While we're at it, let's talk about parenting, because I know many people oppose gays having children.  Dear God, why?  Again, being gay doesn't make you a bad person.  It doesn't mean you are going to molest children or pollute them in any way.  We're talking about decent human beings here.  Human beings who should be given equal rights to child rearing, and should the marriage fail, they should be given equal rights to custody.  If Amy and Danielle have a baby, but Amy carries the child, Danielle isn't any less of a parent than any other adoptive mother or father.  The baby will still be hers, cared for with loving and guiding arms from birth.  If Danielle is the primary breadwinner in their household, she should be able to carry their child on her health insurance.  If Amy and Danielle get divorced, (Heaven forbid!), she should be allowed to seek shared custody of her child and have a legal leg to stand on.  

It's also about medical rights - being able to stay with the person you have devoted your entire life to, when they are in the hospital on their death bed, being able to make decisions for that person, being respected and treated with the same compassion as any other person who has just lost a spouse.  It's about extending the same common courtesies, respect and rights to every person, period.  Do you sense a common theme in this blog?

I understand that a large part of the opposition of gay marriage is in relation to religion.  You can believe whatever you want to believe from a religious standpoint.  No one is telling you to renounce your faith. Recognizing gay marriage as a government has nothing to do with your church, or my church, or any other church for that matter.  It's about legal rights, not religious affirmation.  I'm Catholic.  I was never confirmed. My first marriage was done at a country club, and ended in divorced.  My second marriage was done by a justice of the peace outside of the Catholic church as well.  (Gasp!)  Greg was confirmed and his first marriage was done in a Catholic church, but he never had it annulled, so technically, our marriage is not recognized by our church, and our children are considered illegitimate.  (That's so awesome, isn't it?  You didn't know I was such a rebel, did you?)  That's the stance the church takes, and that's fine.  The church has its rules, but those rules don't keep me from being on Greg's health insurance.  They don't keep us from visiting each other in the hospital.  They don't take away my right to his life or disability insurance should something terrible happen to him.  No one is hollering or picketing because they feel that Greg and I are immoral, living in sin, and passing skewed ideals on to our children.   In fact, I think many people would say that we are pretty good citizens, trying our best to make the right decisions and pass those values to our kids.   Guess what?  Amy and Danielle are good citizens too.  They make their life decisions based on faith and benevolence, and they will pass their high standards on to their children too.  This isn't about religion. Again, I stand my ground.  It's about discrimination, plain and simple.  

It's really quite a simple concept.  I just don't understand what there is to debate.  We are supposed to stand up against bullying, against discrimination, against inequality.  Pass the damned legislation, already.  We're so much better than this.

Dear God, Please Stop The Snow!

As I child, I can remember being filled with glee when we had a snow delay or, better yet, a cancellation.  My opinion, however, has significantly changed over the last few years.  I hate to say it, but I now hate snow days.  It wouldn't be quite so bad if we had only had one cancellation or one delay this year.  I'm sure a few weather related snags would actually have been appreciated, but it seems like the last two months have been an endless string of delays and cancellations.  I hate missing work, knowing that I now only have 3 days to get done what usually takes me 5.  Plus, (surprise, surprise) it grates on my last nerve being cooped up with these boys all day.  I'm quite sure I grate on their nerves as well.  My house is full of noise ~ screaming (sometimes joyous screaming, sometimes fighting), thumping, banging, disgusting bodily function sounds, strange sound effects, stomping feet, you get the picture.  If there's one fact that I know to be true, it's that boys are disgusting.  My world is constant, guaranteed nervous system overload, usually before the sun rises.  At least during the week, we all get to go somewhere - Greg and I go to work, and the boys go to school - so that we are refreshed and ready to deal with the mayhem when we reunite in the late afternoon.  Not on snow days, though.  No sirree!  Greg got to go to work, but the boys and I have been side by side, in all it's cacophonous glory since the pre-dawn hours.  We tried to make the best of today.  I tried my hardest to come up with lots of stuff for the kids to do, but it seems like my ideas take up so little time!  Well before lunch, they had blasted through my arsenal for the day!

By 7:15, we had the play dough out:

Jake was trying to catch a few more zzz's under a salty eye-cover.  

When I opened a new container of play dough, Andrew exclaimed, "Mom!  You made a trash can!"  Oh yeah.  Little known fact - I'm really talented with play dough! 

Andrew's snake

Jake made a play dough snowman.  

By 9, the boys were fighting, eh, I mean, playing in the snow while I shoveled.  

Jake told Andrew that if he planted a rock under a pile of snow, a rock tree twice the size of the house would grow.  Andrew bought the story, hook, line and sinker, and together they planted the rock in the snow! 

When I finished shoveling, we started working on our snowman.  Andrew insisted that he should taste the snow first, to make sure it was just right.  Um...OK.  Whatever floats your boat, kid.  

Piling on the layers

Jake added the eyes

The finished product.  Does any other Hollidaysburg graduate think that our snowman looks a little like our 9th grade biology teacher?  

Around 10, the boys had enough cold play, and requested hot chocolate to warm them up.  

I even had marshmallows on hand! 

Don't mind my table cloth - it's a drop cloth I put down for the play dough, and left there, because I knew that we would later be coloring Easter eggs for the second time in a week's span ~ like I said...I'm desperate!

And... here they are with the eggs.  

Andrew took his time painting nice designs.

Jake preferred the old fashioned dip and dunk method.  

Adding a few finishing touches

"Hey, Mom!  This one looks like a dinosaur egg!"  I agreed, it did look like a dinosaur egg.  Then he insisted on cracking it open to see if a baby T-Rex was inside...kind of a let down.  You know what, eventually every kid has to learn that life doesn't always meet our expectations.  This was a pretty easy lesson, in my opinion.  

Posing with their favorite eggs.

Eggs apparently make kids silly.

Well, eggs make Andrew silly.  

Jacob, on the other hand, finds eggs slightly terrifying.  

In case you doubted that Andrew could pull just about anything out of his butt, here's photographic proof.   Apparently, my 5 year old can lay eggs.   Like me, however, Jacob was rather unimpressed with his brother's latest trick! 

So, now it's 3:30.  What to do?  What to do?  Andrew and I did take a little nap after lunch.  I think that Jake's karate class is still on for tonight, but for the next 2 hours, we have nothing to do.  There's a good book calling my name...too bad I can't even hear my own thoughts over the noise!  Ah...well...maybe another day! 

Easter Clippings

Andrew: "Mom, I got you something for Easter."  

Me: "Oh?  What is it?"

Andrew: "Come and see!"

Me: "Wow!  What's all this?"

Andrew: "It's.... 

• A Happy Easter plate
• some water
• Peeps, cause they're your favorite
• an arm
• 50 and 750 bucks
• purple make-up
• chocolate kisses and a chocolate bunny
• a man
• a baby and 
• a triangle!" 

Me: "That's awesome! Just what I always wanted!  Thank you!"

Andrew: "You're welcome."

Yes indeed, just what I always wanted - an extra arm, a male torso, a daughter, and enough sugar to get me through the day!  (Oh, and perhaps a trip to Disney?)

Misadventures at the Logan Valley Mall

Just for grins and giggles, I decided to take the boys to the mall to see the Easter Bunny and eat a superbly unhealthy dinner at the food court yesterday.  To me, that sounds like a kid's dream evening.  Meet the Easter Bunny and eat at McDonald's?  Really, Mom?  Wow!  OK, maybe they weren't that excited, but they seemed willing enough when I mentioned the idea.  This little trip was a big deal for me, though, for several reasons:

• 1. I abhor the mall.  I mean I loathe it.  I don't like going anywhere that forces a large number of people to breathe the same recycled air.  On top of that, there are kids everywhere, and everyone knows that kids, as lovely as they are, are miniature germ vessels.  They touch their noses, their mouths, their unmentionables, and then they touch everything and everyone they encounter.  Ew!   I don't know why the mall is particularly repulsive to me.  I can go to Target without these mini-panic attacks, but never to the mall.  As soon as I enter the doors, I feel highly agitated and overstimulated...and completely grossed out!  
• 2.  I have always disliked any kind of character in costume.  I'm sorry if you like them, but I think they are downright creepy.  There's something inherently unnatural and freakishly unnerving about a person whose face you can't see, whose voice you don't hear, dressed in a giant plush costume, attempting to charm little children.  This isn't a new opinion for me.  I've felt this way since I was small.  One time in Junior High, a giant bagel tried to pull me down 12th Avenue during a parade in Altoona.  Being nearly bagel-napped sealed the deal for me.  I avoid them these creatures all costs, including the beloved Easter Bunny.
• 3.  McDonald's.  Enough said.  If you're reading this blog, you already know how I feel about fast food.  Gag.  

So, being the selfless mother that I am, I decided to put my own feelings aside for the sake of my two beautiful boys, and take them for their annual visit to see E.B.  On our way to the mall, all of the aforementioned thoughts raced through my head, along with, "I wonder if the Easter Bunny can harbor lice? Boys, when we get there, please don't snuggle the bunny!"  On the way in, Jacob said, "Mom, why does a bunny bring us eggs?"  Anyone know the answer to that?  The more I think about the commercialism of Easter, the freakier it seems!  

So, we arrived at the mall and headed straight to E.B's chair.  While waiting in line, Jacob asked if he could go to Game Stop while we visited with said rabbit.  "Don't you want to tell the bunny what you want for Easter?"  He hesitated, then said, "Nah.  I think I'll just pray for what I want."  Um....OK.    Then Andrew said, "I don't want to sit on the bunny's lap either."  Seriously?  Wasn't the point of this trip for them to talk to the doggone bunny?  Given my paranoia of costume characters, and recent fear of lice, I didn't push the issue.  I gave them one second chance to change their minds.  They didn't, which was really fine with me.  They wanted to shop instead, so that's what we did.  

First we went to a video game store, where Jake found nothing to his liking.  Then we went to Bath and Body Works so I could get some lotion and hand soap.  Jake likes scented things.  Yankee Candle is one of his favorite stores, so I told the boys they could pick out their own hand sanitizer (no ulterior motive there, none at all, I swear).  That kept them busy for about 25 seconds, at which point they started to dart between display cases, and pretend to shoot various lotions at one another.  Keep in mind, it was a Saturday night at a mall in a town that has little to offer besides retail.  It was crowded.  Darting boys with projectile lotion isn't nearly as fun as it sounds, at least not for the mother.  I managed to wrangle them into some semblance of obedience when a very sweet sales lady came over to see how I was doing.  She greeted Andrew and asked if he liked the smell of a lotion he was holding.  He replied, "It smells like poop."  Just wait, it gets better.  She didn't hear him the first time, so she asked him to repeat himself, to which he loudly responded, "This lotion smells like poop!"  I couldn't believe he said that!  What a little snot!  To my relief, she had a sense of humor and responded, "Well, if your poop smells like that lotion, then you're really lucky!"  I grabbed a few bottles of hand soap, barely smelling them first, paid my bill and left.  Moral of the story - don't expect to do your own shopping with two young boys in tow.  I should know better. 

After I got my lotion, Andrew asked if there was a toy store in the mall.  What a shame that our toy store and the Disney store both closed (like, eons ago)!  There really isn't much for kids in the mall at all.  But Jake reminded me that there was a dollar store on the second floor, so that's where we went.  Dollar stores can be useful.  There's one by work that I shop at from time to time to grab some cleaning supplies or a quick snack.  There's also one not too far from my house that I sometimes take the  boys to, so that they can buy something novel and cheap to play with on a rainy day.  I have nothing against dollar stores.  The dollar store at our mall, however, is in a category all of its own.  That place was full of junk.  There was absolutely nothing of value inside.  It reeked of cheap factory glue and outsourced child labor.  I looked at a plastic baby doll, whose eyes were painted just short of the sockets, and I swear I could almost hear it cry, "Run away! My creation destroyed the environment, your economy and the life of the little boy who made me!"  I had to get out of there.  I asked the boys if they wanted to spend their money at Toys R Us instead.  Not surprisingly, they agreed.  

We headed to the food court.  Dinner was relatively uneventful.  I once read an article about how food courts don't wash the trays, they only rinse them, so of course I felt a little skeevey about that.  As we were sitting there, I remembered a mall trip from when Jake was about 3.    We were walking along and all of a sudden, I noticed him chewing gum.  I said, "Where did you get gum?"  He said, "I got it off of that post over there."    I almost vomited right then and there.  The mall has not been our friend for a very long time! 

At dinner, the boys talked about what they were going to buy.  Andrew only had $5, and I was explaining to him that he was going to have to buy something pretty small.  Jake was part of the conversation too, and he said, "It's really too bad we don't have one of those Secret Santa Shops."  I said, "You mean like the ones at school at Christmas time?"  "Yeah.  That's really the only place that you can get quality goods for only five bucks. " 

After our thrilling dinner conversation, we headed out.  Jake wanted to stop at Gardener's for some dessert, to which I obliged.  Of course, they fought while they were picking out their chocolate, because naturally deciding between a chocolate cat's face or a soccer ball is very stressful.  As we were paying, I decided to grab myself a peanut butter meltaway egg.  Gardener's makes the best ever peanut butter meltaways.  I rarely eat them, but after the evening I had, I thought a little treat for myself was in order.  Unfortunately, when we got in the car, and I opened my meltaway, I realized that I bought a white chocolate egg instead of a milk chocolate one.  I was so disappointed.  I took a bite of it, just to see if it was any good.  I don't really know what white chocolate is.  It must be some kind of mixture of vanilla and wax, because it tastes like a candle and leaves a film in your mouth.  I have never tasted white chocolate that I liked.  Big time bummer on the meltaway egg.  Oh well, my fat behind was better off without it.  

Our trip to Toys R Us was easy, thank God.  The boys looked around, we got our stuff and left.  Apparently, there's a big shoe store in the same plaza that was having their grand opening yesterday.  I didn't even know they had reconstructed those buildings!   Like I said, I don't shop much.  I go to Target once a month and Kohl's twice a year.  Other than that, my shopping is pretty much limited to Giant Eagle.  The store had a DJ with a loudspeaker out front.  It was a big hoopla.  As we were walking to the car, Jake looked at me and said, "I don't get it.  What's the big deal?  It's a shoe store."  I said, "Some people really like to buy shoes."  "Yeah, well, to me shoes are just something that we buy every 6-8 months because we have to."  Spoken like a true boy, the allure of shoes was lost on him.  And with that, we headed home.

Overall, today has been much better.  We made it through Mass without any major brawls or bawling.  Afterwards, we had a very uneventful 30 minutes at the donut shop, followed by a nice walk on the Rails for Trails.  It's much more my speed to be somewhere where the boys can run and yell and be loud without offending anyone, and the fresh air, although chilly, was a nice alternative to the cooped up activities we have been doing.  Now, it's time for a nap ~ my definition of a perfect afternoon!

What is it with boys and sticks?  

Race ya to the car!  Last one there is a rotten (Easter) egg! 

Walking on Sunshine

This weekend was beyond beautiful! After a very wet and dreary winter, being able to spend time outside in warm, fresh air and sunshine was a tremendous gift.  Andrew and I walked to the local elementary school twice, once to play on the playground, and once to ride his bike.  The boys played in the yard quite a bit too, and subsequently in the mud, but hey, I'll take the dirt if it means fresh air too!  I almost felt like opening my windows, but I thought it was just a tad too soon for that.  We enjoyed the fresh air as much as we could, and we are looking forward to more days of sunshine ahead.  In my opinion, the spring is just a teaser for the real prize - summer.  Summer is when we can sit on the boat and on the beach, soaking up sun and water, reading books, drinking fruity drinks, being lazy and carefree. Summer is the ultimate lazy, sun-worshipers dream season.  It's coming, and it's coming soon!  While spring isn't my all-time favorite season (Actually neither is summer.  Fall is my favorite, but summer is a close second), I'm happy for the teaser of warmth and sun that it brings.   I'm beyond grateful for the fresh air this weekend.  It was needed on so many levels. I feel refreshed and ready to deal with life's hurdles a little more constructively.  It's amazing what a little sunshine can do for your mood!  

"Look at me, Mom!"

"I can climb high!"

"Here too!"

"Whoa!  This balancing thing is harder than it looks!"

Andrew became quite the model, asking for all of these photos to be taken so I could send them to Greg. I think he just liked posing in this little tree sculpture.  It is pretty cool! 

This poor kid needed to have the seat on his bike raised.  I didn't know where the tools were, and he's grown several inches over the winter.  Just look at his flood pants! His mother must be too lazy to dig out pants that are the next size up.  Don't judge.  It'll be summer soon and he'll be wearing shorts.  Besides, this way, I don't have to worry about them getting wet in the numerous puddles that spring showers can bring!  I'm saving time and laundry! 

We even caught sight of these little gems - proof that life is working its way through the frost and back into our world!  I noticed some daffodils starting to sprout in my yard too!  It's official: we are on the brink of spring.  We may get a few more trivial bouts of the nasty white stuff, but the end is in sight.  The sun is shining.  The air is warming.  Those doggone birds that I typically despise are singing their praise, and I'm so thrilled about spring that I don't even mind! They are right!  Praise be, the wicked old winter's dead!  

Another Notch In My Belt

As we do almost every morning, after Andrew woke up today, I snuggled him under a bunch of covers to watch cartoons until he was fully awake.  After he was settled, I went into the laundry room to fold clothes.  I sensed someone watching me.  I looked to my left, and (no, this isn't a ghost story!) there was Andrew.  He had silently crept up on me, as only a 4 year old can!   He looked at me very meekly (which is rather uncharacteristic of him), smiled and said, "Happy birthday, Mom."  I was shocked that he remembered on his own that today is my birthday.  That's a first in this house!  My own mother called me at 8 a.m. to ask a question about Jake and didn't say a darned thing about my birthday! Ha!  But Greg did call from work and have his crew sing to me over the phone.  (Head shaking) Dear Lord!  (Don't think my mom forgot my birthday.  We have plans later.  It's all good.) 

My mom took the boys shopping for a gift for me on Monday, and Andrew has mentioned my birthday at least once (usually more) every day since.  We've had a number of conversations about my birthday, his birthday and birthdays in general.  I always find a child's perspective on age amusing.  He thinks that I am turning 15 today.  In his opinion, 15 is about as old as it gets.  One day this week, he asked me how old I was going to be.  The conversation went something like this:

Andrew: "Mom, how old will you be on your birthday?
"Me: "How old do you think I will be?"
Andrew: "15"
Me: "You think I'm going to be 15 on my birthday?"
Andrew: "Yeah. 15. How old are you now? 14?"
Me: "Yes. Yes, I am 14."
Andrew: "Dad, Mom's birthday is in 4 days and she is going to be 15!"

That would have made me 10 when Andrew was born, and 5 when Jake was born.  I'm pretty sure that's illegal (and biologically impossible), but hey, who's arguing?  I don't really want to be 15 again, but I wouldn't mind having that 15 year old body back!  I'm pretty sure I'm not getting a skinny ass and a lot of money today, though.  I mean, there's always hope that I'll get my only wishes, but based on the talks I've been having with Andrew, I think the chances are slim.  On Monday, he told me that he bought me a gift, but he would not budge on what it was.  He wouldn't even give me a clue!  Of course, I really didn't press him for information, but I was still very impressed with his resolve.  It's hard for a 4 year old to keep a secret!  In the past, I've practically had to plug my ears and sing, "lalalalalalala" to keep from hearing what my presents were.  We did, however, have this conversation on Thursday: 

Me: "Andrew, what did you buy me for my birthday?"
Andrew: "I'm not telling you until your birthday!"
Me: "Is it a skinny ass?"
Andrew: "No. And it's not a lot of money either."

See?  No skinny ass or truck-load of money.  Boo hoo.  But, as Jagger so aptly belts, "You can't always get what you want."  My mom will probably make me a white cake with white icing, because that's her favorite combination, instead of my favorite chocolate with cream cheese icing (take note, in case you ever want to surprise me with a cake).  Andrew asked me if I wanted a princess cake.  Honestly, I don't care.  Cake is fattening, and I have little self-control.  I'd probably be happiest with a batch of black-bean brownies with candles.  OK, maybe 'happy' isn't the right word, but I'm certain that I'd feel justifiably unrepentant about a black bean brownie cake as opposed to ass-increasing, chocolate decadence.  

Not too long after he wished me a happy birthday in the laundry room, Andrew said, "It's your birthday now, so I can tell you what I got you!"  Before I could stop him, he excitedly blurted out, "It's a neck-a-lace" (that's how he says necklace) "with a star on it!"  He had a big smile.  I told him that I was sure I would love it, and then he continued, "I was going to get you an Angry Bird Easter Bunny, but Jacob said that wasn't a good birthday present."  Aw.  Andrew is way more excited about my birthday than I am.  

I think it's safe to say that the majority of us remember the excitement of childhood birthdays.  I can remember being thrilled to hit the double digits, being hyped-up for sleep-over birthday parties (my poor mom), and making lists of gifts that I just had to have.  I think it's very interesting to compare how my perspective changes as I age.  You don't realize how much you have transformed until you make a point of comparison.  My mind still thinks I'm 20.  20 doesn't seem like that long ago.  (If you haven't already, read my previous blog entry about Allegheny  to see more examples.  You know you want to!)   It's like the quote that's been going around on Facebook, "I still feel like I'm 20, until I hang out with a bunch of 20 year olds and then I realize that, no, I'm 40."  I feel mostly the same, but when I reflect on my thoughts and behaviors, it is clear that I am not the same.  I'm older and wiser (don't laugh!  I am wise ~ much like the Great Oz! Go ahead and ask me for advice.  I promise I won't steer you in the wrong direction.  Just don't look behind the curtain!)  But seriously, the evolution of my opinion about birthdays has been pretty predictable.  I used to be exhilarated.  Now, it's really just another day.  I'm neither excited nor depressed.  I may or may not feel down about birthdays as I get older...time will tell, and I am intrigued to witness the change (or perhaps lack thereof) in my mindset.  

I'm sure I will love the neck-a-lace with the star on it.  I would have loved the Angry Birds Easter Bunny too.   A white cake with white icing is fine (I'll eat less of it anyway), and I'm not all that upset about not getting a skinny ass or a lot of money.  I'm happy to be blessed with the love of my friends and family, not just today, but everyday.  As for my birthday, well, it's really just another day, and I've got cleaning to do!  

Somebody Hand Me The Calgon, ASAP!

I am a good mother in some ways.  My children's immunizations are up to date and they have never missed a well check.  I take them to the doctor when they are sick, and to the dentist every 6 months.  I make sure they are well fed, clean, and dressed appropriately.  I get them to school on time every day, and I know when to keep them home if they are ill.  I take them to extracurricular activities and birthday parties, and I stay to watch and/or supervise when necessary.  I'm not overly involved in the school, but I help with homework, go to school functions and parent teacher conferences.  I don't leave them unsupervised for inappropriate amounts of time.  I have photos of them all over my walls (both virtually and literally).  We do things together.  We go bowling, swimming, hiking.  We have family game nights and "science experiment" days.

As a social worker, if I were to peek in on my family from the outside, I would see tons of strengths.  As a parent, peering out from the inside, I see many deficits.  All those things I said in the first paragraph are great.  I'm not downplaying the importance of hygiene and health, but there's more to life than clean laundry and eating your vegetables.  The biggest shortfall, in my opinion, is my lack of patience with the boys when they are arguing.  I can't stand bickering.  It immediately irritates me.  I don't understand how these kids can behave so ridiculously when they are being raised in a home with two parents who hardly ever argue.  Sure, Greg and I have our spats, and we don't always keep them hidden from the kids, but in reality (and especially compared to other couples I know) we don't fight much.  We're both pretty reasonable people a majority of the time.  If you look at my interactions with Greg, or our interactions with the boys individually, I think we set a pretty good example.  The trouble commences in the interactions between the two boys, and likewise in my (and Greg's ~ sorry, hon. You're just as bad as I am in dealing with the fights) reactions to their quarreling.

The problem is two fold.  First of all, how do I help these kids to get along?  My sister and I squabbled, but we never fought like my boys do.  Maybe it's the difference between boys and girls.  I'm sure that gender is at least partially to blame, but it can't be the sole basis.  I am not exaggerating when I tell you that these boys fight from the instant that they are together.  It doesn't matter if it is first thing in the morning, as we are walking in the door in the afternoon, or just before bed.  If they are together, they are fighting.  I'm not just talking about arguing.  They physically fight.  What an outsider may think is a friendly game - something that starts out with laughter and some horseplay - will always, always turn into screaming and tears.  Just this morning they went outside to play in the snow together.  Within minutes of leaving the house (and after nearly half an hour of messing with snow pants, boots, gloves, hats, scarves, etc.) I heard screaming outside.  In they came - one through the front door, and one through the back door, because they hit each other with snow shovels.  Not only were they fighting and getting snow all through my house, but I then had to stomp through the snow myself to recover my shovels, because God forbid one of them should put their damn boots back on and get the shovels!   Usually, Andrew is the instigator.  He's a practical joker, and he likes to get under people's skin.  It's a game to him, but Jacob, who is my serious, rule following child, who takes everything as a direct insult, has no patience for Andrew's tomfoolery.  Andrew pokes, Jake gets mad and all hell breaks loose.  Shovels fly, snow gets hurled, and the next thing I know, there are two red-faced, soaking wet, wailing children in my parlor.

This is where the second part of the problem arises.  I have tried many, many tactics to help them get along.  I have tried helping them talk it out.  I have tried to ignore them and let them work it out on their own.  I have tried explaining when it's appropriate and inappropriate to argue over something.  I have redirected them away from one another.  I have made them sit hand-in-hand together.  I have taken things away from them as punishment, and given things to them as rewards for cooperation.  I have carved out time for them individually, and asked them to spend time together to "fill each other's attention banks" with good interactions.  I'm sure there are plenty of other things I have done that right now are simply slipping my mind.  The problem is that none of those things work for any length of time.  I then find myself feeling so drained by this constant negativity that I frequently snap at them, which doesn't help at all.  In fact, I just add to the tension by dumping my own frustrations right into the already brimming pot.

To say I'm tired of this is a huge understatement.  I'm exhausted.  I can't stand it.  I didn't grow up in a home full of screaming.  I don't choose to live my life with constant drama and fighting, and I just can't take it in my own house every single day anymore.  I'm sick of them fighting, and I'm sick of fighting with them.   What do I do?  I need some serious suggestions.  Something has to give.  If I can't change them, and I have to let them get it out of their systems and let boys be boys, then I need some good, realistic suggestions on how to deal with myself.  Keep in mind that I can't just leave.  I don't have a husband who works regular days or hours.  It's not possible for me to "get more me time."  It's not possible for me to give anything that is on my plate to Greg, because he's not here to do it.  It's not that Greg doesn't help me, or doesn't want to help me.  He helps when he can, but when it comes to the kids, the house, the schedules and the stress that abounds with all of that, it's 90% mine, and mine alone.  

Please don't tell me this is normal and that they will outgrow it.  When?  When will they outgrow it?  They're only 10 and 5.  Grown is a hell of a long time away.  I won't make it.  Before long, you'll find me huddled against the shed in my yard, rocking back and forth, hugging one of my recently retrieved snow shovels, singing hymns to myself.  No one wants to see that.  Help a girl avoid such a terrible fate!  Somebody, throw me a line!

Ideally, I would like to temper my reactions and help them to get along better.  I hear stories about siblings who take care of one another, who cuddle on the couch and fall asleep together, who are best friends.  Not mine!  Hell, I don't trust them not trip each other down the stairs if left unsupervised.  My sister and I never cuddled.  We weren't best buddies, staying up until all hours of the night sharing our most intimate thoughts with one another, but we didn't want to hurt each other either.  If I could just get my boys to the point of civil coexistence, I would be elated.  Civil co-existence.  That's not too much to ask, is it?  I think I'm going to make a billboard for my kitchen and every time they start a dispute, I'm going to remain silent and just point at the billboard.  Yeah, sure.  That'll work out great.

In the meantime, is it ill-advised to lock myself in the bathroom for extended periods of time?  Where is that damn bottle of Calgon anyway?

Allegheny Reunion

I was blessed with the opportunity to visit with some of the most important women in my life last weekend - my college girl friends.  A big thanks goes out to Shelly for hosting our (mostly) annual spring mini-reunion.  She was a gracious hostess, as always, catering to our every need and providing as much alcohol as we wanted.  We drank quite a bit, but sadly, I'm certain that our college selves would be disappointed in every single one of us!  On the flip side, I think that our current selves were all glad not to be hungover on Sunday!  

I can't believe that it has been nearly 18 years since our freshman year at Allegheny.  It honestly feels like graduation was just last year.  I am so comfortable in my life right now.  Aside from a few typical bumps here and there, life is good.  I am used to my routine, my home, my car, and all the things that come with being a working adult and a mother.  I can't imagine my life any differently, and I really don't want it to be any different.  Sometimes I think back to my college days and the ideas that crossed my mind back then.  I remember the young and naive me, living in a dorm, eating at the dining hall, green behind the ears, yearning for the independence of adulthood, wondering how it would feel to have a real job, my own home, to be my own person.  I remember envisioning 30 as some kind of magic age.   30 was when I believed that I would be taken seriously by others, no longer the "baby" of the company, but still young enough to be vibrant.  Silly, 20-year-old Koelle!  I don't feel vibrant at all, and I don't know that anyone takes me all that seriously either!  But lack of vibrancy and seriousness aside, I still think 30 (or, OK, 36) is kind of magical! 

I love this age.  It's a good time in many respects.  We are young and healthy.  Our kids are still small enough to need us, small enough to keep safely tucked under our wings, but also big enough not to require that exhausting constant supervision.  We're secure and happy, surrounded by friends, blessed in so many ways.  Still, when I think about my time at Allegheny, and my dear Allegheny girls, it doesn't seem possible that 18 years have elapsed.  Where did that time go?  I'm pretty sure it was just last week that I watched in tears as my parents left me on the steps of Brooks Hall, simultaneously terrified and exhilarated to start a fresh chapter in my life.  I can still feel my mom's hasty whisper against my ear as she hugged me goodbye and said, "I left something under your pillow."  It was my grandmother's sapphire ring, the one that I always adored.  I put it on that moment and have worn it nearly every day since.   

Wasn't it just yesterday that we were fleeing from the German house, wholly inebriated, because we somehow set off the fire alarm and were afraid we'd be arrested?  Wasn't it just a few weeks ago that our biggest worries were surviving our senior compositions and scraping up enough money to go to the Cheese Garden to celebrate afterwards?  Wasn't it just a few months ago that I was traveling around Europe on a train with a backpack and a bunch of obnoxious Americans?  I was certain that it was only a month ago that we hid the cord to Shelly's karaoke machine to save us all from her drunken serenades.  It couldn't have been 18 years ago.  1995 was 18 years ago?  Yes.  As much as I can't believe it, the math can't be argued.   But my oh my, how the time has flown!  

I forget my youthful conjectures and escapades most of the time.  Those thoughts and behaviors don't fit into my life anymore, but when I am with my Allegheny girls, they always come fondly back to me.  I have changed, but I had a damn good time way back when!   I look at us, all of us well-established, all of us with our own homes and cars and jobs, most of us with children, and it feels a little strange.  Good, but strange.  We're bona fide adults now, and as an adult, with a better mind for reason (most of the time), and a truer grasp of what it means to be grateful,  I can say without a doubt, that I love these women.  We don't see each other often enough, but when we are together, time is magically erased.  The topics of discussion and the quality of our venues have evolved, but the bonds we have are as strong as ever.  I loved my time at Allegheny.  I loved my time in Europe, and more than anything, I love the friends I made along the way.  

Jello shots.  We tried to mimic our old selves, but no one did more than two shots!  :)  

Gimp One and Gimp Two, or "The Boot Buddies," as they called themselves.  

Shan and Shel

Two brave husbands endured the night!  Ah, well, Pete (on the right) is a husband, but he practically went to school with us, at least on the weekends!  

Damn-it!  I thought we hid the karaoke cord!  We didn't do a very good job!  

Danielle, Molly and Michelle 

Boot Buddy duet.  All I can say is, thank God we had some alcohol to numb the pain.  This little number isn't going to be a hit with the young-ins any time soon!  

I Was Always An Avid Swimmer Anyway

This is one of my favorite clips from one of my favorite movies, something I always think of when times get tough.  It helps me through, and it makes me smile.  What more could a person ask for?

We moved my parents out of their house last Friday.  The move went as smoothly as a move could go.  I thought we were all fairly swift in attending to all of the details.  By Friday night, we were hanging pictures on the walls of the new house, and on Saturday morning, I emptied out the few remaining items on Spruce Street and cleaned the house from attic to basement for the new owners.  Oh yeah, did I mention that they accepted an offer on the house on Friday too?  A younger couple with a little one will be calling 507 their own very soon.  I am so grateful that the sale of the house was fast.  There are a lot of other stresses going on for my parents, and although life is not going to get easier any time soon, at least it won't be compounded by a stagnant home sale.  It's one less thing to worry about, and it's a big thing at that.

It was so busy that weekend, that there wasn't much time for sadness or reminiscing.  Yes, I had some times while I was going through the house on Spruce Street when I had to choke back some tears.  Yes, I had lots and lots of memories go through my mind, but we had a monumental task to complete, and there was no time for sentimentality.  Besides, that's not really how we operate.  Sometimes I think that my blog entries paint a picture of me as a super sensitive, tender and emotional woman.  I'm not.  Well, that's not entirely true.  I am compassionate and loving inside my head, but not always outwardly, at least not in a conventional manner.  Nurturing definitely isn't my strong point (a great trait for a mother to lack, huh?).  It's not that I don't care.  I absolutely do.  I care profusely about a lot of things.  In fact, I have this very unproductive tendency to ruminate about a wide range of emotional subjects, but that rumination is mostly silent, kept inside my own mind, save for the few thoughts that make it onto the blog.  For the purpose of day to day life, by and large, those thoughts don't leave my lips.  There are  three major reasons for that: 

• People don't want to hear about my problems over and over.  People have enough shit of their own to deal with.  
• I don't really want people to see me crying like a blubbery mess, and if I talk, that's what will happen (Sorry, Brittany for the glimpse of mess that you happened upon.  I think it caught us both off guard!) I don't want anyone with that picture of me in their head.  Teary happens.  Teary is not great, but I'm OK with teary.  Sobbing, gasping for breath, snot everywhere - that's the stuff of nightmares.  I don't want to be responsible for causing anyone else to lose sleep due to flashes of my meltdown.  I'll keep that private,  for the sake of the greater good! 
• Navigating life as that blubbery mess mentioned in reason #2 is damn near impossible.  I have so much stuff to do.  The laundry needs to be done.  The kids need dinner.  The cat box needs to be scooped.  There's work at work.  Stuff needs to be planned and organized.  I can't function if I'm caught up in sadness.  On the contrary, I can function with a to-do list.  I can handle a routine.  Those things are actually comforting to me.  

So that's the background on how I operate, and pretty much how my whole family operates.  We're all depressed right now.  We're all thinking about the past, and worrying about the future.  But for the day to day, it's business as usual.  I take comfort in small blessings and try to make the best of what I have.  There is still a lot in life that is good, and who knows what's down the road?  I pray every morning when I get up, every night before I go to bed, and sometimes in the middle of the day, just because I need grounding.  I thank God for the good in my life, present and past, and ask for His guidance, His assistance and His comfort in the days ahead, not just for myself, but for all of us.  

My good friend, Jackie, has a son who is almost exactly one year younger than Andrew.  This works out perfectly for both of us, because I have been able to dump all of my outgrown child items, mostly clothing at this point, on her.  Not only does it feed my need to purge, but she can also actually use the stuff.  Baby and kid necessities are expensive, and the amount of time the kids use said items is disproportionately small.  It's so much better when you can get second-hand supplies.  Most of the things that I give to Jackie are pretty well-loved.  Almost everything belonged to Jacob first, and then went through Andrew.  Even though I absolutely love giving my things away to someone who is always grateful, I still feel a twinge of nostalgia when I see little Sean wearing something that belonged to my boys.  Don't get me wrong.  I don't want the stuff back.  When I say I am happy to get rid of it, I mean that I am elated to get the stuff out of my house!  I love Jackie like a sister, and Sean just as much as his mother.  Still, I can't help but flash back to some sweet memories when I see a cute coat that both of the boys wore, or their Easter outfit, or a sweet pair of Halloween pajamas.  I don't want the clothes back, and I don't even necessarily yearn for that time back.  I just acknowledge the growth that is happening in our family, and look fondly on an earlier stage in our lives.

If seeing Sean in a pair of Jacob's old Halloween pajamas evokes emotion, then how will it feel when I see another family living in my parents' house, in our house, in my house? There's no sadness when I give Jackie a box of Andrew's clothes.  I truly don't feel attached to those items.  I'm happy to get rid of them, yet somehow, I feel a pang when I see them on another child.  How then, will I be able to handle the transfer of a home that was in our family for 70 years to another family?  How will it feel to see another child playing on Jake's play set, to see someone else sitting on our front porch?  How on earth will I reconcile those feelings?  I won't be able to avoid it.  I only live three blocks away.  We have family who live on that same street.  Jake's school is only one block away.  How will I keep from staring at this new family as they start out their lives in our home?  How will I keep the emotions that scream, "Invaders!  Mine!" at bay?  How do I keep from becoming that blubbery, snotty mess in front of people I don't even know?  

I imagine my "business-as-usual, feed-the-cat, bathe-the-kids" coping mechanism will come in handy at that time.  I read recently that people tend to underestimate their emotional resilience, that our anticipation of grief is often times worse than the actuality.  I imagine that is true.  The situation we are dealing with is not unique to us.  Parents get older.  People move.  Life changes, and life changes us.  Nonetheless, it's hard.  I don't like the anticipation of grief, and I certainly don't like the actuality of it either.  I pray that someday that "business-as-usual, feed-the-cat, bathe-the-kids" mentality doesn't cause all of my unresolved emotions to detonate into a full-blown nervous breakdown.  Right now, I'm OK.  I'm taking it day by day, minute by minute - swimming, swimming, swimming.