Normal.

Today is just a day. Nothing seriously enlightening about it. I like normal days. They let me pretend I am normal, and for anyone who knows me, that's quite a stretch! I have normal house-cleaning to do. Normal sick kids to take care of. Normal bills to pay. Normal weight to lose. It's a good, boring day. I can use those once in awhile.

Sun

Sometimes it seems like a joke, or part of a black comedy. That God would give me talent, real and true talent. And then make me me. Why would he do that? It seems to me like a waste of resources. But I'm not one to think God wastes resources. So where does that leave the mess of me? The talent wrapped in crazy-paper? Driving down the road, at 8 in the morning, that's where. Feeling the sun warm my skin in the way that only the sun can. Staring at the mountains. Thinking of all I have. All I have been given. And my mom taught me to be polite, so I must say thank you for the gift, and use it well. Even if I'm not sure what that means.

Today

Today was Sunday. April Fool's Day 2012. A perfect day to realize I am not the person I should have been. I am like a tamed fruit tree; stunted, pruned and molded to fit someone's tiny backyard garden. I produce the same fruit I was meant to, but it's bitter, smaller, and sometimes misshapen. A product of my environment. Of those who pruned me, purposefully cropping my outstretched branches to bend me to their will, to keep my in their tiny garden. I am nearly 34 years old and I am so used to being kept, held in line, clipped, cropped, watched, I find ways to inflict it upon myself, because I know no other way. I know there is another way, I know it exists, but I don't know how to get there. The effects of a tumultuous childhood. Linger. The residue of degrading words, unjust punishments, assumed guilt for only innocence. I try to roll the grimy residue off my skin, try to put the pruning shears down. I can't. My hindered muscles have atrophied at my sides. When I let them stretch out to the sun, I feel a thwarting pain. A pain that, if held long enough will subside, but when one feels depleted, one does not choose more pain, does not choose to overcome. The comfort becomes the known, even if the known is despised. Today I choose to stretch. To reach. To put down the shears. To grow. To bear sweet fruit. To heal. I owe this to myself. I long to wipe the steam from the mirror and see the true lines of my face.

photo from flickr

Today will not be productive.

This is what 2/3 of our household looks like today. Sick. Sick. Sick. I see chicken soup in our future, and LOTS of movies. To top it all off, it's freezing out today! For Central Arizona, 28 degrees is like the Yukon.

Back to Blogging.

Now that I have a point and shoot camera again, I am back to blogging. Between not having a point and shoot, kidney surgery, and a battery of fall illnesses in our house, I had NO time to blog, let alone do anything else. I really missed sharing here in this place, and what better time of year to hop back on the bandwagon, than right before Christmas baking!! I think I love blogging about food and crafts as much as I like making them.

On an "impoverished" note, we are trying to avoid a second car payment and lower our gas bill, therefore, I walk the two younger kids to school every day, morning and night. It's about 4 miles total for me each day, and two for them, since they only go one way. Normally I really enjoy our walks, but the past few days have been FREEZING here in the desert (literally) and I have been an ice cube each morning when I get back home. On the bright side, I think I'm burning more calories, right? Today I took one for the team and walked to and from school one extra time in the middle of the day to have lunch with Stella and Ty, and as you can see below, it was effort well spent. :)

Dinner with the children and other amazing tales of survival

There are two kinds of parents when it comes to dining out with children.

The first kind of parents say "Children can be a handful at unexpected times and I choose to put certain aspects of my life on hiatus until said child grows older and becomes more predictable."

The second kind of parents say "Public tantrums and embarrassing charades be damned, I will not sacrifice my freedom merely because I have children. They will learn to behave in public or I will die trying to teach them to."

We are the latter kind of parent. Both styles of parenting have their pros and cons. We chose to parent in the latter style regarding restaurant dining in particular because we grew tired of hearing our friends with kids tell us they couldn't go out to dinner with their offspring because said offspring "won't let us, they just don't listen when we are out in public."

Lamont and I would look at each other, knowing full well who wore the pants in that family. We were determined to be just as social and active as before we had our kids. Sure we endured the occasional tantrum or glass of spilled milk, but for the most part the kids knew what was expected of them and we prided ourselves on their behavior in public. We were frequently told how wonderfully behaved the kids were when we dined out and yes, I gloated a bit. Then Ty was born.

I'm not sure if it's because he's the baby and has been coddled a bit more than his siblings or if it's just his borderline insane (but awesome nevertheless) personality, but he is the one child who has made us look like fools in public time and time again. He's the one who would lay down in a puddle of tears on the Target floor and wail over something ridiculous. When I would bend down to pick him up, his body would immediately go limp in that quintessential child defense mechanism that we like to call "jello body." If I did manage to pick him up he would flail and grab at my clothes (once baring my entire chest to the homegoods section of TJ Maxx). He knew better than to hit or kick, but tried his best to deter my intervention through a flurry of movement that even a cat in a sink full of water could not replicate. We have managed to tame the beast somewhat over the years, and at the age of five, he is predictable in public settings at least 80% of the time. Last night was the other 20% of the time.

We took the family out to an "upscale" burger joint in the Biltmore District of Phoenix. That was our first mistake. We assumed that we could handle the Yelp described "hipster hangout" with ease. The kids all got the standard run down before entering, and off we went, our best intentions laid out. We were seated on the (still very cramped and hipster-filled) patio and set the kids at the table. 30 seconds in and I hear one of the very stylish gentlemen seated behind me exclaim "Uh-oh." I turn instinctively toward Ty only to see my son with a large ball of flames in his hand and a mixture of fear and thrill on his face. I grab whatever is the source of the flame and put it out with my bare hands. Yes, it hurt. Once the fire was under control, I realized that in less than a minute Ty had managed to peel off and set fire to his kindergarten reward sticker proclaiming him "terrific!" as well as part of his napkin. Fail number two. Mommy forgot to move the decorative table votive out of reach. Time for the first beer. We have now been labeled by fellow diners as "that family"

A little while into the dinner and the littles decide they need a potty break. The normally well mannered Ty shouts out "I'll go with you mommy, I REALLY have to PEE!!" Okay, thanks for that announcement, you may now come with me. It's dark on the patio, so I take Ty and Stella by the hand without much notice. As we walk through the restaurant (which is substantially more illuminated) I see the hipster crowd looking at my little Ty and smirking. I guess they just think he's cute, right? Only then do I realize he had taken off both socks and shoes and was walking through this posh little bar with a ketchup smeared face and hillbilly bare feet. I am mortified, pick him up, and carry he and his sister into the bathroom. Moments after closing the door, my oldest son begins loudly knocking on the bathroom door while equally loudly saying "open up, I have Ty's shoes. Lamont said that being barefoot in a public bathroom is wrong on many levels." Really?? Thanks Cal, I was unaware of that fact, but now, not only am I informed of it, so is the rest of the restaurant.

Back to the table. Order another beer. All I want to do now is LEAVE. Then I am suddenly seized by uncontrollable laughter. The humor of it all hits me. Us and our ridiculous expectations, and the judgmental crowd observing. It really is amusing. I look around at the tattooed, high-heeled, overly tanned, surgically altered crowd, all of whom are clearly annoyed by the presence of (God forbid) children and I realize just how funny it all is. I love my life, I love my kids... arson and all. Take that hipsters!

Sunday bloody Sunday.

Sometimes I just feel like blogging. I have nothing of any great importance to say, but rather I grab on to a few of the whirlwind thoughts spinning through my brain and put them out there. For who, I don't know, myself I guess. Today is one of "those" blogging days. This post will have no cohesive rhythm. I actually advise against even reading it as I assure you it will be boring. I went to church today. I have never really enjoyed church, and if I am honest, I basically dread it. My husband wanted to go and so I obliged because I knew it was important to him. What is it about church that makes me standoffish? I guess several things. I don't like hugs from people I do not know. I don't like putting on a happy face when life is anything but, and that is what's expected at the churches I have been to in the past. I am somewhat uncomfortable with emotion (mine and others', just being honest here) and have a great deal of unresolved "issues". I have baggage, what can I say? My upbringing alternated between viscous Atheism and cram-down-your-throat-Christianity. It was profoundly confusing and this confusion has carried over into adulthood. I have also been disappointed by many professed Christians who have come into my life, but maybe I expected too much of them. So, that sums up my church-o-phobia. Today I decided to buck up and go. I lived. Barely. I was slightly overdressed and I went on a 5 minute inner monologue/tangent when the pastor cracked a blond joke, and, oh yeah, I did get momentarily (and repeatedly) distracted by a church band bass player who was rocking out hard core yet looked just like Ray Romano. Kind of like soccer dad meets sitcom dad meets Gene Simmons. He was great and I couldn't help but be distracted. In the end, I still felt awkward and out of place, but it had less to do with the church itself and more to do with the Freudian luggage I carry around.

Public School begins...

As I type this I have just delivered Stella and Ty to their third days of first grade and kindergarten, respectively. Stella is a very social child and is adjusting pretty well despite knowing almost nobody in her class this year. It is somewhat irritating to me that each year Stella and my older kids move up a grade, they have a totally new group of classmates. The school's idea of keeping the kids together "somewhat" involves keeping one or two kids from the same class together the following year at best. One of the reasons I chose public school way back at the beginning is because the kids would create some lasting friendships. It seems somewhat counter-productive to friendship to constantly split apart the classmates. It also creates unnecessary anxiety about starting school each year. Javen and Max are not as socially inclined as Stella and constantly being thrust into a new group of classmates was very stressful and upsetting to them. The kids even have to sit with their new classmates at lunch, so the old friendships cannot even be maintained through lunch and recess commeraderie. It's kind of like starting a new school each year, which I see very little benefit to.

Ty is doing okay in kindergarten. He has already moved past the tears for the most part and now just gives me a somewhat resigned-yet-icy stare after I hug him and tell him goodbye in the morning. He has said he enjoys the company of some of his new class mates, but by the end of day two, he was already talking about how the day was "too long" and "takes forever" and "drags on" and "is boring." I take these comments with a grain of salt, but coming from Ty it is a tad worrisome because he LOVES learning and is a very precocious little guy. In my opinion, the first week of school should be MORE engaging than the rest of the year, not less. It should be filled with stories, coloring, circle time, songs, games, etc, all while slowing acclimating the kids to the processes and rules. Our school had a huge spike in kindergarten enrollment this year, so last minute an extra teacher was hired. This is Ty's teacher. She was at the open house so thankfully Ty has met her, but she will not be officially starting until September because of prior commitments. That means that Ty's class has a substitute for the first month of school. So basically, as soon as they fall into the groove of their routine, they will have a new teacher. In kindergarten. Poor planning? I think so.

Stella was told that starting in September she will have DAILY homework that will include 30 minutes of reading (no problem with that, we do that anyway) 10 minutes of writing about said reading (a great way to get kids to loathe their reading at this young of an age IMO), AND 1-2 math worksheets. Every day. In first grade. After 6+ hours of school. That does not sit well with me. The mainly worksheet based curriculum is what crippled Javen so much last year. I thought it was pretty acceptable to have homework in 3rd grade, a few days a week, but an hour or more every day?? That's too much and I am bothered that it's starting in first grade.

Homeschooling will not begin until September so I have nothing to report on that front. Right now I am simply working on getting the boys acclimated to their new schedule. I have them wake up a little earlier each day, and do some reading and drawing. One thing I HAVE noticed, is that when I ask them to choose reading material off our huge bookshelf, they automatically pick books that are educational first. Javen picked a huge book on dinosaurs yesterday, and Max picked books on desert life and inventors. When they were done reading they were happy to chat me up about what they had read, whereas last year they always HATED writing paragraphs about their required reading. It seems to happen much more organically when they are making some choices for themselves.

I will do my best to approach this coming year from an unbiased perspective. It will be a challenge for me as my prior public school experiences with the kids have not been great and I have no established foundation for homeschool yet, but I will do my best to remain open-minded about both forms of schooling.

I also plan to be as involved in the public school as I am in homeschooling (to whatever level I am capable of), as I think that ANY successful school experience relies heavily on parental interaction.

Of we go!

A Tomato Sprouts in Phoenix

Well, technically in Litchfield Park, a West suburb of Phoenix. Regardless it was an extremely exciting occurrence. My tomato growing adventure went something like this:

I bought some heirloom tomato seeds from Seeds of Change. I planted them in organic potting soil, watered them, and waited. And waited. And waited. And, yeah, nothing happened. Really? Germination isn't a highly technical procedure right? You just water the soil and kind of leave them sit. So I tried again. You would think that I'd do some research after the first batch but no, not me! I just decided fate did not want that batch to germinate and set out on the same fruitless path again. Yeah, nothing happened. Again. So I finally got the hint. I was doing something wrong. I know, hard to believe. So I read up on germinating tomato seeds. Kind of obsessively if I am truthful. Turns out they do not need sun to germinate and the intense Arizona sun was even worse. I also, ahem, overshot the depth at which the seeds should be sewn by, well, a lot. Then I learned that the composition of my potting soil, however awesome and organic it may have been, was not holding water and was not appropriate for the arid climate.

I took my new found knowledge and sprung into action. I Sterilized my pots, mixed new soil containing some clay, planted the seeds at 1/4" depth, placed them on a warm, but not too hot windowsill, and kept the soil moist. You will never guess what happened. They frickin germinated!!! To say I was ecstatic was an understatement. A severe, severe understatement. I immediately screamed and texted my husband (who happens to be stationed 4 hours away on an Army base) "911 call me." Apparently far wiser than me, my 9 year old son looked at me and said "Mommy, that's not really 911." Oh crap, he's right, it is NOT a 911 text. Resend "Not 911, but important." Then my husband calls. "What's wrong?! What happened?!" I proceeded to tell him with great joy that my seeds finally germinated. Silence. Then "Amy...really??...911?!" Uh yeah, guess that whole 911 bit was a tad over-exuberant.

So yeah, my husband did not share my immediate joy over the seedlings, rather he was just relieved no one had died.

Here they are, showing off their first true leaves. My beautiful little seedlings. I have already transplanted some of them to other containers, and I read directions first.