We’ve got El Derecho stuff!

Har. Har. Har. I crack myself up.

That’s about as clean as the humor gets around here.

Me: In your BUTT.

Mike: In your MOM’S butt.

Mike cracks himself up. He’s constantly making YOUR MOM references.

Which is why he had double the fun when my sister was here yesterday. It was a two-fer. Because we have the SAME MOM. (He had to spell it out for us, apparently.)

Stephie came up to tolerate Mike’s crude sense of humor and obvious butt-crack, coin slot jokes in order to help clean up the neighborhood after our Derecho on Monday morning before the butt-crack of dawn.

There’s no more relaxing way to wake up than at 5AM to Mike throwing his body up out of bed with a LOREN! Get the kids in the basement… NOW, then jolting upright only to hear what seemed like our house being sucked into the World’s Largest WetVac.

Mike – the lookyloo of the lookiest – was right there with us, huddled under the stairs. He didn’t dare go near a window. In fact, I was the one furthest from safety, perched on the edge of our “safe spot,” while Mike asked me from his prime spot: What IS that SOUND??? Can you see anything out the windows? No honor amongst spouses.

Instead of being tucked away, I sat and held on to a board that we’d – only a year earlier – bolted into the concrete floor for just such an occasion. It only ran to the upstairs banister, yet I could feel it shaking and snapping like our house was dancing around it.

Mike and I gave each other a look that said we knew we’d be lucky to have a house to go upstairs to.

Then came the sirens. Although we weren’t sure at first with all the noise of the rain and wind.

And a continuing bangbangbangbangbangbang like a crazed gaggle of woodpeckers which we later figured out was our Radon pipe that ran from below our house out to the top of the roof. Our house was twisting and popping against it.

There was so much rain and debris that we could only see alternating white and black smears out the window, depending how often the lightning flashed.

We sat down there for 45 minutes, thinking the entire time: Is this what it sounds like to be in a tornado? Or will it get louder? Why isn’t our house flying away yet? When should I dive into the corner on top of the kids?

I tried to call my parents but we had no signal.

I tried to get radar but we had no internet.

I tried to get our weather radio signal, but it was splotchy at best.

The winds died down to a dull roar at around 6, and we went up to assess the storm and damage.

I first noticed the neighbors had a flap of shingles missing. Then the girls pointed out that our mailbox was gone. Along with the horrified: How will we ever get our mail?!?

Mike peeked out the girls’ window and laughed.

Um… my bumper is off.

What do you mean?

It’s OFF MY CAR. IN THE STREET. OFF.

Sure enough. Mike’s car got hit by a roof. The new neighbors across the street had lost a chunk of their garage, and Mike’s car and our driveway FOUND it.

(Remember that the next time you complain about hail damage.)

We took a flashlight and found out we were missing part of our fence and had debris from dozens of houses on our lawn. On the way back in the house, I noticed that my hanging basket was also missing the mommy and baby birds that have been our “pets” for the last month or two.

I was devastated.

I’d heard the basket swinging and smacking the porch as we’d headed to the basement, but I was hoping they’d flown off in anticipation of the storm.

The weren’t the only fowl casualties.

The adorable ceramic chicken planter that Stephie had given me for working at her open house was in several pieces on my lawn. I took this then considered sending her a ransom note.

I heard the neighbor yelling for a dog, unusual since he doesn’t OWN a dog. Then I saw why. Only a house away, our other neighbors had lost their entire roof.

I jogged up the street and asked if they needed help, but it turned out a couple firemen had helped them out of the basement already and they were in a neighbor’s house.

We found fun trinkets all morning. This OSB came with a side of 2”x6”x12’ that scooted right up to the house. I am incredibly grateful it didn’t IMPALE anything.

Thanks to starting at 6AM and the help of a random (unknown) neighbor who happened by with his daughters and a wheel barrow, we had all of the shingles, siding, plywood and plastic out of our yard within two hours. We also found his decorative pillow.

I couldn’t figure out how my newly planted tree could snap off at the base then fly over our house but end up pushed underneath our deck. Or how our bricks had thrown themselves OVER our fence and broken in half with just straight line winds and not a tornado, but that’s what the news kept reporting.

I finally understood this morning when they reported that the Derecho had had sustained winds of 110-130 mph. The storm lasted for NINE HOURS in totality. Holy hell.

No wonder.

Mike spent most of the day at the neighbor’s house, and Stephie and I helped a little in between fetching him ice to salvage his groceries and making phone calls to our insurance.

The only positive side to this whole story (other than no people being injured) is that I noticed the mommy dove had come back to her nest. I was so sad for her. There was no way those babies survived.

Then I wondered… and I started searching.

I finally found them, huddled underneath our downspout, 20 feet away.

I scooped the fluffy babies up, one at a time, and plopped them carefully into the nest.

I’ve never seen such a happy bird in my life.

She immediately cleaned them up then sat on their heads.

Another neighbor and I found three of her baby Robins on the ground, but there wasn’t a mother bird in sight. We put them back in the nest and hoped she’d show up.

She finally did this morning.

(I’m an intervener, if you haven’t noticed.)

Watch the price of corn this year. Acres and acres and acres of corn were snapped off at the base, all across Iowa. This crop is TOAST. Even if it stands upright again, once the corn grows and puts weight on it, it’ll blow over in the first wind.

Luckily we like our neighbors, so while yesterday was extremely tiring, we’d spent the day with people we enjoy.

We finished it off with some time at the neighbor’s house, grilling out and discussing insurance deductibles and the Beastie Boys.

At least this happened on a Monday. Tuesday is garbage day, and I'm betting they'll have a few truck fulls.

I have seen the future... we're gonna burn

I looked at the radar last night and saw - what appeared to be - the end of the world.

Then I remembered that Michele Bachmann was announcing her bid for the presidency today in Waterloo, Iowa.

Which explains a lot.

Hell, even in her opening prayer in the Legislature, she's convinced the End Times are upon us...

Lord, the day is at hand. We are in the last days.... We know that the times are in Your hands... The blossom on the fig tree is opening, the day is at hand, Lord, when Your return will come nigh. Nothing is more important than bringing more sheep into the fold... Lord, this is all about replacement. You tell us in Your Word to go and make disciples... I thank You, oh God, that You are literally, right now, by faith, You are lighting a fire, a fire of the Gospel, that would sweep this city, that even moreso, that it would sweep Minnesota, and that Minnesota would just become [whispering] a burning incense, a sweet-smelling incense of praise and sacrifice, into Your kingdom.

If there's anything we need more of, it's uber-Christian, loud-mouthed women in politics. When did it become popular or normal to wear your crazy on your sleeve? Remember back in the day when old conservative men would say something racist and we'd all be "They're just senile... bless his heart," but now they've got tits and hair stylists so it's okay to systematically discriminate against people who aren't straight white Christians, not only in personal lives but legally?

I have two words: Go, Mitt!

Anyway.

Steph's Farmer's Market went fairly well this past weekend. I sold one set of jewelry and spent most of my time trying to pronounce kohlrabi. That's a real thing. And people evidently love them.

Steph had so much lettuce, we were giving them away as parting gifts. Oh, you bought 5 tomatoes and some kohlrabi? Here's your free head of lettuce.

The little old ladies liked the jewelry, but weren't as amused (as I was) at my magnets.

It was fun. I added yet another layer to my sunburn, and my children are just now starting to turn chocolate brown. Thank Jeebus they got Mike's skin.

Since everyone's thinking about sunburns and sun protection, I thought I'd post this picture I found from an Australian research group.

It shows the extra skin cancer cases that are projected over the next 50 years due to the increased UV radiation caused by - you guessed it - the depleted ozone. Radiation. The sun isn't just sending heat... it's radiation. You think global warming is a myth? That's fine. Thanks for stopping by. Enjoy your complimentary melanoma.

And on a final note:

For people who say that the Japanese nuclear crisis could never happen here? I live in very close proximity to an active nuclear power plant. There very well could be a day the sirens would go off and I would have to throw my kids in the car and never come back to my home. Don't believe me: ask the people in two Nebraska towns how confident they are about their power plants' abilities to avoid a more severe flood in the future.

Mother Nature is more powerful than we are. Just a thought!

(You never heard of a broken windmill forcing a regional low-level emergency... or worse.)

It could be worse

After the "raccoon incident," which I'm certain Mike will argue is not technically a car accident but more of a furry speedbump, we took our car to the shop.

Specifically Quality Auto in Marion.

This was a week ago Sunday.

We waited. I called. They put me on hold. A lot. They promised to call back. They did... the next day. I waited some more. They had no idea what kind of timeline we were looking at. They didn't know if the car was finished.

They finally put me on hold for the last time this morning to fetch someone who might know anything about Mike's car. It's kind of convenient to be able to drive your car to work, after all.

It's just being washed up now and should be ready at noon.

Fantastic! Phew. Mike picked it up and put me on speakerphone while we chatted about the pizza he'd just collected.

Then he got silent.

A bad silence.

His car had overheated and quit running. He limped it into Target's parking lot, and I threw on some jeans and packed my grubby-looking children into our Suburban. We shopped for groceries and I told Mike: It could be worse. You could've been on the Interstate.

As we left, he checked the coolant and noticed it had dropped considerably.

He put aside his feelings of frustration and drove out of the parking lot, down the block...

and back into the parking lot.

The godforsaken thing had started overheating AGAIN.

I told him: It could be worse. We could've gotten it all the way home before realizing it wasn't fixed right. At least now it's still in town, and maybe I can convince them to reimburse you some gas money for your trouble.

We went home, tired from the stress (and tired from the 4 hours of sleep I'd gotten last night).

I couldn't wait to put all the days' events behind me and deal with it in the morning. I really believe it could've been much worse than paying our $100 deductible for a new bumper, radiator, condenser... etc. It could've been worse.

I readied myself for bed around midnight tonight and noticed....

It just got worse.
Guess who'll be sleeping on the couch in full-out clothes in case a mad dash to the basement with children tucked in a football hold is required in the next one to two hours?
It could be worse.
I could be with my parents in their camper in the midst of storm warnings in Missouri.

People without children, AKA: Politeness*

Regardless of how this post might be taken by people trying to conceive, this was NOT meant to bash my children or gloss over the fact that I love them and realize every day how lucky we are to have them.

That said...

Every. single. bloody. day I have revelations about the odd predicaments Mike and I get in because we have small people in our house.

Here we go.

People without children:

• might wonder Where did that stain come from? on their favorite blouse, carpet, wall... But I never do. I know where it came from.


• might actually own a blouse. That still fits. And isn't just a hopeful reminder of how agreeable your boobs used to be.


• might plant a garden to eat food. Not me. I plant a garden so I have a place to send my children when they ask Can I have a SNACK? the 1000th time that day.


• enroll in college to get an education or get a promotion. I enroll in college so I have an excuse to lock myself away in a quiet room while napping perusing Failbook doing "homework."


• never have to wonder: What's getting destroyed in the house right now? as they mow their lawn.


• rarely have to keep tabs on where bathrooms are at all times. Unless you're 80. Or have eaten questionable burritos in the last 12 hours.


• probably haven't imagined yelling Will everyone just shut the f*** up and pay attention! while playing a board game.


• can poop in peace.


• don't keep a stockpile of ear plugs, Advil and alcohol as "emergency supplies."


• have never turned to your spouse and said: That one's yours.


• don't set bowls of dry cereal out the night before and pre-set the TV to the cartoon channel so they can sleep in until 8 on the weekends.


• have never told someone that blood is just paint and to nevermind that movie why aren't you playing in your room?


• have never analyzed why Caillou doesn't have hair or why Max & Ruby don't have parents.


• don't spend 20 minutes before making supper convincing people that they might like eggplant if they'd just TRY it.


• rarely find turd submarines in their toilets, and certainly not several times a day.


• don't flip out at the sound of water running for more than 20 seconds.


• might ask: Who's Sandra Boynton?


• think Leapsters and other handheld games are contributing to the demise of society.


• never sort their laundry according to which items most likely have fecal residue on them.


• have never had a conversation to reassure someone that they're not bleeding to death, and that tampons are just like "toilet paper for mommies" now get out of the bathroom!


• don't have to share their popcorn lest someone cries.


• can have a phone conversation without locking yourself in a bathroom/bedroom/basement.


• can make it through the grocery store without having a dozen conversations with strangers about your plans to have/not have more children and how they feel about the issue. Okay, that one might be just for multiples.


• - speaking of sex - will never have that horrifying moment after Nighttime Activities when you open the door to see two silent silhouettes of blanket-covered children, posting guard just outside your door because they're afraid of "funderstorms."


• won't giggle the accompanying conversation with your spouse: "I wonder how long they were standing there." "At least they were polite enough to wait."

People without BLOGS have also never had their spouse say after such an incident: Politeness, the topic of today's blog post...

And since he *named the post, I'm taking that as permission.

We're not in freakin' Kansas

I wonder why my kids are afraid of everything.

See those flags and lines in the yard? They tell me where the utilities are buried. They're so Mommy doesn't get e lec tro cu ted. Okay? So don't move the flags or Mommy will die.

I promise to start a therapy trust fund as soon as possible.

I had had bright bright hopes of going to Menard's to buy lumber and brackets to build the girls a swingset that they most desperately need.

Because if Mommy doesn't get that sonofabitchingodawful thing built to give the kids a reason to go outside, they'll be on me like glue all summer.

Here's Kristin from Tuesday's trip to the Aquatic Center. She spent 40 minutes in the pool and about 15 minutes with Mommy on the loungers before she realized I wasn't going to entertain her.

She's just happy as can be.

So when I discovered that they would end my life if it meant they could play on a swingset - a recent development - I went all HELLS YEAH and started shopping around for a really cool playhouse-slash-slide-slash-swing contraption.

Until I saw the dollar signs. $1800 for some of them at the cheapest.

Eff that stuff.

I'm building them a 3-seater swingset with braun and sweat, and it surely won't cost me any $1800.

Mike told me to "buy a kit," not to build it.

I explained that the kit IS essentially what I'm buying. That the swingset doesn't magically appear on our lawn and set itself. I still have to build it.

All this work in the 90+ degree ACTUAL temps (I say ACTUAL because of the heat advisories with humidity... holy hell. Literally.) should help me lose a few poundage.
At the pool, I noticed that a lot of women were cuties, but most of them were wearing mumus and weird see-through tarps. I figured if they can show off their bulgy parts, I might just have to whip out "the girls" for public display.

She's hard to see, but there's one fine specimen on the far, far left side. And I totally give her props for puttin' herself out there.
I was outside again today in the blazing heat, playing in the garden, when Mike texted me from the golf course:

How you feel about taking the pork chops and kids to Delmar's

Of course I thought bitterly back to our recent Date Night - a once-in-a-lifetime-year happening - which turned into watching UFC fights at Delmar's house instead of our romantic night at home, but then I remembered that I probably had more fun with Delmar's wife than I would have with my husband passed out asleep on the couch.

Okay, sounds fun!

We ended up at another coworker's house instead, and they hijacked the neighbor's blow up waterslide. The kids had a blast.
Unfortunately, I forgot to change out of my gardening clothes, so I'm sure we all looked like a ragamuffin band once the kids were drenched, Mike was slightly drunk and sunburned, and I looked like a Proactiv "Before" picture.
I have three phone numbers from women who pounced on me at t-ball to get the kids together with them sometime, and several coworkers who I'd love to spend time with their wives, and neighbors and family and bears, oh my! Is this what life is like for people with older children? I want to do everything and nothing all at once.

At least we're starting to get more fun people in our lives. It's hard going from 0 to 3 kids in 60 seconds flat at age 24/23. So this is a nice change... GAINING a few friendships.

One of the couple's children - a 3-year-old boy - kept calling Mike Jesus because of his hair. I told Mike to be on his best behavior lest he scare the child religiously for the rest of his life.

We had fun, and stayed longer than we'd anticipated because the tornado sirens started up. We weren't too worried until we headed for our cars and saw the black, lowering clouds and hail.

Whoops.

That's about the time my sister frantically texted me to give her updates.
I sent her this photo collection.
SE:
NE:

I hope it helped.
We got home at 8-30-kinda-ish and the kids insisted on popcorn. I told them they could have popcorn before bed if they did FOUR math worksheets.
They did eight. Gladly.
These kids love learning software, learning worksheets, learning exercises...
Which makes me wonder... If my three kids can get through eight 1st grade worksheets in less than an hour, why does it take a class of 20 all day long to do just TWO Kindergarten worksheets?
Is it the class size and the lack of one-on-one attention?
Is it the inability to keep kids focused on the task at hand?
Because - going to a Catholic school - as a kid, I was scared that if I didn't do my homework or pay attention, I was going to hell.
I also thought I was going to hell for any one of the following: kissing a girl, being mean to my sister, wearing pants to church, getting the communion wafer stuck to the top of my mouth, not showering in gym class, or thinking about naughty bits. As well as failing to recognize a prepositional phrase.
So maybe we need to lower class sizes after all.
Or let God back in the classroom and scare the shit outta kids again.
I'm thinking some one-on-one attention would work for MY kids, but I'm not above using the latter. Maybe I can convince them Mike really IS Jesus.
Fear worked for the yard flags... I see endless possibilities in its application.

Biopsies: Add to my list of Things I Wish I Could Do Myself

My sister texted me last night. Or should I say: this morning. At 3:30.

Omg there's a bat in my house

I locked myself in the bedroom and am letting the kitties have at it!

I can't hear them running around anymore so maybe they got it!

I told her they were probably winded - they're fat cats - and sitting to watch it fly around her house.

To which she replied a calm AHHHHhhHhhh

Mike asked me why my phone was going off over and over and over again. Is your phone updating?

Yep, honey... updates. Go back to sleep, sweetie (as I chuckle at the thought of my sister hiding from a flying rodent)...

I had nightmares for the rest of the morning that her cats became infected with Rabies.

To add to the excitement, I found a 1" lump in my neck before bed.

I'm about to school y'all, so hold on to your britches.

See the region marked "sub-maxillary"? And the one next to it with the number 5 ("sub-mental")? At the anterior (toward the chin) of those sections and on my left side is where the lump is. And it's not hiding. It's a hard, round BULGE.

Anything larger than 1.5 cm is treated suspiciously and quickly. From palpating, mine seems to be about 2-2.5 cm.

So there's that little problem that I have to deal with now, on top of my rotting flesh (I had a bad makeup reaction that looks suspiciously like lepresy).

I really, really, really hate the idea of a needle going into my neck. Almost as bad as the thought of someone slicing their Achilles tendon. Necks and stretchy things should be left alone at all costs. I'm contemplating letting it marinate a while to see if it grows or goes away.

My favorite moment of the day? When the receptionist at the doctor's office told me I needed two appointments: ONE to make sure that there's a lump in my neck at all. Because I might not know what a lump is. TWO to do the biopsy to find out if it's an enlarged lymph node (and WHY it's enlarged) or a foreign growth.

I don't know about you, but I'd love to spend my afternoons driving 60 miles in a Suburban needlessly at $3.80/gallon.

If this is any indication how my summer is gonna be, I want to go back to Winter.

Since that's not possible, I need to get my ass outside and finish those shelves.

Titillating Tuesday: I don't get paid enough for this gig

Today was our first day of "Summer School."

Thankfully, I've seen the teachers in action and picked up a few of their tricks to getting kids focused.

It was still fairly chaotic. Is it too late to buy the girls' teachers a present for everything they've done? Or a vacation? Or a yacht? They've earned it.

Mom? What color does this need to be?

I put the wrong shape here so I crossed it out. Is that okay?

She didn't put her name on her page.

She didn't color in the lines.

She's doing the next page.

Mom.

MOM.

MOM!!!

---

In case anyone cares what we're doing, I bought this Math workbook times three:

Three hundred pages of telling time, counting money, patterns, measurements, math equations, counting... it's totally worth the $12 I spent on it. They love it. They did five pages this morning and I could've doubled that with no complaints.

Then they took turns reading for 5-10 minutes in front of each other.

And spent literally 60 seconds learning where Middle C is on the piano (it's a start).

I'm going to do weather journals with them before lunch, give them a quick geography lesson, then toss them outside to the wolves wind.

Alison was struggling with her reading, mostly because she was looking at the pictures and not the words, but five minutes later she was whipping along. They shock me with how fast they pick things up. Mostly I look at Kristin and wonder: Was I EVER that smart???

I was a pretty bright student, but she could surpass anything I've ever accomplished. And I'm saying this realizing that yes, she is only six years old and socially stunted. (She wore her bike helmet backwards last night then left it on while she played on the neighbors' swingset. It was super special, but at least Cami and I had a laugh.)

Smarty pants. Emma isn't far behind, and Alison is SO artistic. She definitely has a different kind of smart that involves people and entertainment and viewing the world through an artistic lens.

Yet when they took a break to watch How to Train Your Dragon - while I sit here blogging before my shower - all they want to talk about are turds.

You're a turd!

*giggles*

How to Train Your TURD.

*more laughter*

You smell like a kitty turd.

*hysterics*

Sigh...

---

It's not just academics they're learning.

They're learning the valuable lessons of life.

And death.

Kristin is obsessed with my Grandpa Reuben and talking about his death.

Did Grappuh Reuben DIE, Mom?

Yes, honey.

But WHY? Why did he die?

I don't know, honey. He had cancer, and it made him very sick. Remember that we talked about this?

But what IS cancer?

Hmmm... Okay, well, your body is made up of little tiny itty bitty pieces called 'cells.' And they're everywhere. In your blood and bones and skin and hair... they're usually really good.

Cells?

Yep. And every once in a while those cells don't form right. Like how we get weeds in the garden and we have to get rid of them so they don't hurt our pretty flowers? Cancer is like a weed in our body, except it's not a plant. It's a bunch of cells that grow and grow until it takes over the good cells, like the weeds can take over the flowers. And we use medicine to help people like Grandpa, but he was too sick and the medicine didn't help him. That's why we need to take care of ourselves, so our bodies are nice and strong. Okay?

Mmmhmm. (long pause) But what COLOR is the cancer?

It never ends. The worst part is she understands most of it and launches into even more questions. She's worried because she knows that grandma (my mom) had cancer and that smoking causes cancer, and my dad's a smoker.

In fact, they keep telling me that "Grandpa needs to stop doing his 'smokers'" so we don't have to go to Church and turn him into dirt.

(I spared the kids the details of cremation and went with the dirt analogy for Grandpa Reuben's funeral. Plus it's so much nicer to think of someone turning into dirt... the material to grow the Earth's plants and trees and flowers.)

Questions. Questions. Questions.

We never had a "Why?" Phase with the kids, and I told Mike this is my punishment. I have a sinking feeling this summer will be long and arduous.

Maybe I should cave in and buy that swingset so they'll leave me alone.

If Kristin starts asking about AstroPhysics, I'm going to tell her it's above my pay grade.

---

We have another - possibly TWO - T-ball games tonight. I wish I could say this made me happy, but this severely cuts into my construction and drinking time. I'm thinking they might frown on it if I rolled up to the field with an open bottle.

I guess I could sacrifice for the kids, just this once. Happy Tuesday, everyone!!!

Where have I been?

If someone could message me with the start date for the CPU school year of 2011-2012, I'd greatly appreciate it. I'm starting a countdown survival calendar.

Emma: Mommmm!!! Alison pulled off a heart on my new princess bike!

Alison: There's still one left...

Me: It's not your bike, why are you breaking things off of it?!?

Alison: But there's STILL ONE LEFT.

Me: I don't care if there are FIVE left, it's not your bike, LEAVEITALONE!

That was on Day #5 of summer vacation.

There's no way we'll all come out the other end unscathed or without severe psychological trauma.

Just one day into vacation, I was yelling at the kids, Keep your hands to yourselves or I'm gonnapulloverthisgoddamnedcarandbreakthemOFF.

Then I started laughing.

And the kids started laughing.

Okay, so there's a chance we'll make it through, but we might all need therapy come August.

If not from the constant fighting and breaking it up, from the storms. Oh, the storms. I love having a random Tornado Warnings roll up on us.

In between "fire drills" to the basement, I've spent my time in Perpetual ProjectLand.

I'm determined to wrap up some long-awaited jobs. Like painting the fairies on the girls' bedroom wall that I started to do 100-kajillion decades ago and never finished.

I can only get that stuff done with the kids preoccupied, so Mike is in charge of them. Which means Movie Time or Computer Time. Here's Kristin staring patiently at the microwave timer:

When the weather's nice, I've been using my power tools and getting picked on relentlessly by the passing neighbors. (One of whom told me that I'm "the hardest working person" she's ever seen. I offered her $10 to repeat that to my husband.)

And up went the storage unit...

I have to rip the OSB out of the basement - since we're now doing an acid wash directly on the concrete floor instead of carpeting - and cut them to make the shelves. That's for another day...

Right after that picture, we had to drag the kids off to their T-ball game. It should have been their fourth, but it's been so crappy and stormy that it was only their second.

We got there.

The other team got there.

No one else from our team showed up, not even the coaches.

Mike ran back to the house to grab my phone (I'd forgotten it in the mad dash) and I called the coach 20 minutes after the game "started."

He said that there had been a change in location and it was now at the other town, 10 minutes away, and that the other team and my family should pack up and high-tail it to meet the 4 kids over there so we could play for 20 minutes in the ensuing rainstorm.

(The T-ball season has been a scheduling NIGHTMARE. With all the makeups and this being the organizer's first year of being responsible for it, it's been all over the place. There was no apparent reason for the location change since our field was free. I had checked the details on the league site before leaving the house and made sure which field was listed, so it's not like I didn't CHECK.)

We said SCREW IT.

We stayed put and played Adults vs. 6-year-olds. (We lost.)

Mike had decided to come with at the last minute, and I'm sure he's glad he did. He had a lot of fun trying to outrun small children.

We took a "team picture" of all the kids since they'd had such a blast. In fact, we were playing so hard we didn't realize we'd played for 90 minutes in the rain. (There are 2 sets of triplets in this picture... the boys on the ends and the girl 3rd from the left. All of those kids are adorable!)

They asked us to play with them again on Tuesday if we're able to make it. We're trying to figure out our schedule because the girls would love to.

Other than all that craziness, I've been spending most of my time at my sister's hoop house, Bloom. It was CRAZY this weekend for her open house. I know nothing about flowers, so I spent most of my time chasing my sister down with questions or flat out guessing how big plants would get. Of course I explained they should take it with a grain of salt since I have a black thumb.

We had a lot of visitors, mostly human. Some? Not as much.

I told Stephie they were there to flirt with my chicken.

The kids spent some time with my parents while camping this weekend. They'd been begging to go with them, so I finally caved in.

Of course this meant that a couple huge storms rolled through and scared the bejeezus out of them.

Dad told me: I went out for a cigarette and it wasn't even windy, then I went in to make a pot of coffee and Mom was yelling, Scott, the awning is lifting straight up!!! We went to pull it in and the girls - Alison and Kristin - were at the door screaming and screaming and trying to get out. Things were blowing everywhere and a couple branches landed on campers and tents, and we were yelling at them to stay put.

Mom: We put pillows around the kids and had them sitting by the couch, so they were kinda protected, but the wind was so strong the camper was rocking and I thought for SURE we were gonna flip over.

Emma asked me later if we'd had a bad storm at our house, too. I told her we did. She said, It was scary. Mom, you should have come and got us. When the storm came, you should've drove over and GOT US. Maybe next time, dear.

Elder care

I watch a lot of late night infomercials.

More accurately: they're absorbed into my too-tired subconscious as I lay comatose on the couch. It's the bane of my insomniatic condition.

I am fascinated by Hoveround commercials... the one with the old ladies shouting into the Grand Canyon, especially. I can't help but wonder what would happen if her Hoveround shorted out and sent her catapulting over the edge. Weeeee...

Anyway, elder care is something we don't hear much about aside from AARP commercials.

Unfortunately, this is something that SO MANY FAMILIES are dealing with. How exactly do you choose what path is right for your parents once they've lost the capacity to do for themselves?

My grandmother - or mother's mother - has lost substantial parts of each foot due to Diabetes. Like half of each. She usually sits in a wheelchair and has to be driven around her house and yard and anywhere else she might go that requires standing for more than 10 seconds. She also needs medications, insulin, and a healthy balanced meal.

She needs help.

Which makes it especially difficult since my grandfather - her husband - passed away last week. Grandma has been ill for decades, and cancer swooped in and took Grandpa in just a few short years.

Luckily, my uncle lives at their farmhouse with Grandma.

It worries me, though, that she might decline quickly if she's left to shuffle herself, step by painful step, around her house during the day. I asked Mom if she might be able to get a Hoveround. Hell, those things practically sell themselves!

She could cruise around like a teenager.

That's when Mom reminded me that Grandma can't see. And she can't hear.

What on Earth do you do???

She lives over five hours away, so it's not like I can zip over and visit every day.

And then there's my other grandmother, Grandma C.

Grandma C is a sassy little thing. She's been a widow since 6 months before I was born and is stubborn as hell.

There's been some debate in the family over what to do with her driver's license.

It started a year ago-ish (I'm not 100% sure on that). She went to City Hall, and as she was leaving, she jumped the sidewalk and rammed her car into the side of the brick building.

A cop saw the whole thing, but since there wasn't any damage to the building, and being a small town and all, he let her go without taking a report.

My first thought: What if a small child or elderly person or ANY LIVING CREATURE had been walking on the sidewalk? Remember the old woman who killed a guy in the Cedar Rapids Wal-Mart parking lot by parking her car on him?

So maybe it was a one-time thing. Shit happens.

But then Grandma fessed up to an aunt that she'd had some work done on her car after backing into a pole in a parking lot.

And another aunt - on the other side of the family - was cut off on a busy main street by Grandma C. Even though Grandma claims she never would have done that because she would have seen a car coming.

And she got lost on her way to buy 30 cent bread (since she drives 20 miles to get it).

What's the responsible thing to do here?

The woman is 92 years old and had her license extended a few years ago for another 8 years. EIGHT! She's a cute, fragile little cotton top, but behind the wheel she's a killing machine.

Mom and Dad spoke to her doctor, then wrote a letter to the DMV.

The DMV contacted her that she was going to need to retest for her license.

It didn't go well. She had to call a friend to pick her up from the DMV.

Grandma refuses to ride the beautiful city buses that will pick her up and drop her off wherever she likes because "it's not [her] style." And she doesn't want to ask someone to pick her up because, well... she just doesn't.

I love her, but she's no Spring Chicken anymore.

And her memory is going something terrible. Normally, I would laugh and say that it must be genetic since I can hardly remember what day of the week it is, but we stayed with Grandma and I'm not sure how much longer she can live on her own.

My parents leave their dog with her when they're in town because she seems to like the company. She spends most of her time shuttling that poor dog from room to room and sending her outside.

Last Saturday, I picked up some pizza at *ahem* 10 at night (it was Queenie & Ron's... it's excusable). As I walked in the door, I let the dog out to potty.

A few minutes later I dragged the dog back in and told Grandma, I let the dog out so she should be good for the night. She responded and I walked in the next room.

Grandma headed to bed, then turned around and started dragging the dog by the collar out to the back door. The dog was doing everything in her power to resist.

I asked what she was doing, and Grandma said she was sending her out to potty.

Of course, I was surprised, but told her that it had just been done. Grandma was confused, then let go of the dog who went right back into her bedroom.

No more than 20 seconds later did Grandma turn around and ask, Did someone let the dog out to go potty? Stephie looked at me in disbelief and nodded Yes.

Then there was the funeral for Grandpa... she kept asking what time the services started. 1:00. 1:00. 1:00, Grandma. 1:00.

She absolutely has the right to live in her house and die in her house. I'm just sad that she's declined so much and is so angry with my parents for getting her license revoked (something that she seems to think can be given back to her with a signature from my parents or her doctor, even though she'd never pass a driving test). It's not that I'm afraid she'll hurt herself - she's lived a long life - but that she'll hurt someone else. I could never forgive myself if she gets on the highway going the wrong way and kills someone, or pulls out in front of a car and causes an accident, or hops another sidewalk and hits a child.

It's times like this I wish we lived in a tribe or some kind of primitive community that keeps everyone close by. And both of my grandmas are not the type of women who would move out of their homes. This is one conundrum that cannot be fixed via Hoveround or AARP membership.

I told my mom that if the time ever comes to lose her license, I'd better not get any guff from her.

She said, It's okay... I'll be glad to not have to go anywhere.

Touche'.

The legacy

When my family met Mike for the first time, my Aunt Janeen couldn't remember his name to save her soul.

Speaking of saving souls, so much for that Rapture on Saturday. Girls, take note that when you're older, people will try to scare you into a lot of stuff with fear of hell, and it probably won't come true. Although, I was in Wal-Mart at the time that I realized 6PM had passed, so maybe by being in some kind of double hell it kept me safe?

Anywho, Janeen - and everyone else shortly after - began calling Mike Bill about 12 years ago, which he loves, of course.

They still call him Bill to this day.

Well... until this past weekend, when they saw his long locks and began calling him Jesus.

Bring on the Turn water into wine jokes.

As you may know already, we were in Wisconsin because my grandfather on my mom's side passed away from cancer and the complications of fighting a long, grueling battle with an injured ticker.

He was conscious when he passed and had his wife by his side.

The entire family gathered at the Hunting Shack the first night we were together and at the Maple Syrup Shack the second. The maple syrup woods are just up the road from their Wisconsin farm. We made that trek many, many, MANY times as kids (and even further where Great Grandma Maria's house was - the adorable woman for whom Kristin Marie is named who fed us cheese slices and dry wine at every visit).

Needless to say, this land brings back a lot of good memories. I even glanced over to see if any of my forts had held up over the past two decades.

The girls were in heaven. They picked flowers... ahem. These may or may not be legal to pick.

We reminisced. I heard stories about people getting run over by the Stump Jumper and drinking so much as to almost drown in a 3"-deep puddle. Good times.

Pictures surfaced. I think Uncle Jeff - on the left - looks a bit like Harrison Ford here.

At the end of it all, we were happy, sad, and a bit exhausted. The girls didn't want to leave. Mike only left (regretfully) because he was afraid of finding another wood tick on his body.

We were all there, where Grandpa would have wanted us all to gather, singing and laughing and telling stories. This is what our family has always been about.

My grandfather left a legacy of respect and family. He had 9 children, 6 children-in-law, 17 grandkids (not including grandchildren-in-law), and 10 great-grandchildren so far - one being born on Wednesday, just two days after Grandpa passed away.

My aunts and uncles even led one last prost in his honor, with most of us gathered around inside the Maple Syrup Shack:

For everything Dad has built, how hard he worked, the man he was, and what he left behind… for the memory of him, raise your glass in a moment of silence. Take a drink and let everyone know he’s in a better place and how much he is loved. Here you go, Dad. We’ll miss you, we love you very much, and we will always remember you.

I can only hope to be loved that much in my lifetime.

Rest in peace, Grandpa.

Titillating Tuesday: A certain level of understanding

People die and animals die, but we shouldn't play with dead squirrels. They're stinky.

Not everyone feels that way, Kristin.

---

Mom! There was a loud BANG! And then we saw FIRE! And the lights went out!

I walked up to their house to check on the kids after dropping off a few things at Stephie's place. The girls were really excited, and my first thought was that my father had knocked out the power with some kind of home "improvement" project.

Auntie Stephie walked in behind me, and Alison explained:

I saw a fire, and it was a circle, and it looked like a TRANSFORMER.

Questions raced through my mind. Are we having a battle? Am I an Autobot or a Decepticon??? Can someone please help me find a place for these groceries?

Turns out a transformer exploded on a nearby utility pole, sending out a ball of fire with a bang.

Reason #9278 that children should not be allowed to testify in a court of law.

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Dad, can I have a strawberry?

Oh, honey... look at the container, they have mold on them. Loren? All of these strawberries - the whole container is covered in mold. I'm sorry, peanut. They're yucky.

Guess what I found sitting on the counter this morning, NOT in the garbage? You guessed it: molding strawberries. The garbage can is exactly three feet away.

It never fails to amuse me.

---

Happy Tuesday, everyone!!!

Birth, death, and a little bit in between

My mother's father, Grandpa Reuben, passed away from cancer today.

Mom got the call as we stood in front of over 100 Kindergarteners in a lunchroom. It just so happened that Mom had her 3-month cancer check-up today, and she'd taken the day off to spend the morning relaxing. Of course this meant that she wanted to visit the girls' school before the year was over.

We'd had track 'n' field day (Mike opted to stay home - he's been in their classroom only long enough for PTCs and one Readathon). The girls ran.

And ran.
And jumped.
And tried to stay warm in the cold.

And switched classrooms just to be by Grandma. And no, I would NOT like to sit on your lap, Mommy... I'd rather sit on the hard cold metal of the bleachers if it meant snuggling with Grandma.

I knew when the call came in it wasn't good news. Grandpa Reuben had been sick for a few years now, but over the last few weeks, his health had rapidly declined. Mom had gone back to Wisconsin several weekends over that time, each trip wondering how long he had left.

Last night, my cousin asked when the next time was we'd be back. I hesitated to say that I thought it would be for a funeral.

I told Mom she was more than welcome to leave school if she needed to, but she decided she'd rather eat lunch (hotdog buns toasted with cheese) next to the girls than go home.

Before leaving, we toured the classrooms and saw a flock of chickens, newly hatched. There was one little guy in there, shivering and hiding from his bigger, meaner brothers.

I know I'm all over the place today, but I've got a lot on my mind.

I just had the How Chickens Are Made and Why the Eggs on My Plate Are Different from the Ones in the Incubator conversation with Kristin.

And today we had the Everybody Dies conversation with the girls.

Kristin kept asking Why? She looked concerned.

So I took it to a level they'd understand.

We'd found a dead rabbit in our garden before we filled it with dirt. I told them how everything dies, but then it becomes something else. Like the rabbit. It will turn into dirt, and feed the carrots, and we'll eat the carrots, and when we die we'll become something else, too. Just like Grandpa Reuben.

Kristin seemed content with that explanation. She told me she'd like to grow into an apple tree.

And Alison chimed in, I want to be a LEMON tree!

Emma decided she'd like to become a carrot.

I think I'd like to become a flowering plant in my mom's garden.

Or maybe some poison ivy... just for fun.