Kalahari in pictures

Coen and Lucy taking the red slide in tandem. Lucy's first year going on slides all by herself!

Bottom of the slide. Lucy's so proud of herself.

I got an award at my conference!  The Distinguished Adult Service Provider award!  Wow.

These three played in the water park all day while I conferenced.

Crazy kids in the water park.

 

 

 

Kalahari here we come

Tomorrow we go to Wisconsin Dells for the Wisconsin Statewide Transition Conference at the Kalahari, which I go to every year and bring my family.  The kids have been counting down the days since about thirty days ago and were so happy this morning at the breakfast table when they could say "TOMORROW we go to the Kalahari". 

Last year when we went, I wrote this particular blog post after I felt like my kids were taking it a bit for granted the super fun thing they get to do.  Coen assured me this morning after spooning a big bite of grapefruit in his mouth, "Mom, this year, I'll be pretty much happy the whole time, I think."  They both speculated on which slides they'd go down and with whom and I started thinking about how we've been going on this February trip since 2007. 



Coen checking out the game room on his first trip to the Kalahari




Lucy, in her very first swimming suit February 2007

 I think it's lovely that we've been doing this for as long as we have.  We always spend most of our time in the water park and then dry off in our room in front of the fireplace.  I think, despite the fact that I'll be working much of the time, I'm looking forward to it almost as much as they are.

I'll likely not write until our return.  I'll let you know how it went.  And which slides we went down.

Frickin' Valentines

Don't worry. He's not flipping you off. He's flipping February 14th off.

This will not be my only anti-Valentine's post. Just let me warn you that, right off the bat.  First of all, I have never liked Valentines day. It's a day of "supposed to's" You're supposed to be in a romantic relationship with someone. And if you're not, you're left out of Valentine's Day  If you're in a relationship, you're supposed to give flowers, cards, chocolate....  Which means you're supposed to spend money on things you don't need.  To let the person you're with KNOW that you love and feel romantically about them. Why do we need a day for that? Can't we surprise our loved ones with spontaneous gestures, "I love you's" and the like all throughout the year? Why just on this one day?  So, I call it Schmalentines Day, as in Valentine's Schmalentines.  And I make Schmalentine's which are anti-valentine-sentiment-ed cards.  I love them.

Do you want a Schmalentine?  Okay!  The first five people to comment on this post ON the blog website, will get a Schmalentine.  Don't worry, my feelings won't be hurt if you don't want one. You might just get one anyway.

The other reason I don't like Valentine's is that my kids need Valentines to take to school.  I don't like to buy the licensed character ones.  So this means for the past many years I have taken great pains to MAKE my kids' Valentines to bring to school.  As Coen has gotten older, and now Lucy too, it means the excruciating task of trying to get them to sign their names on 30 little cards, or worse yet MAKE thirty little cards. They don't want to do this. I don't want to make them do this! But every year,for some insane reason, I want to be one of the moms who's kids have handmade Valentines.  WHY?  Because I'm an artist, of sorts.  I like to make things. My kids like to make things (well, okay they like to make one thing. At a time. In the span of an hour, usually. They're not really mass producers.)

On Sunday, I hauled out lace hearts and craft supplies and crayons and markers.  I said to Coen and Lucy, "Who wants to make Valentines?!!"  Both of them said "ME!!!"
Coen made one.  One! And then went  back to his post on the couch, reading his Pokemon book.
"Coen" I said, "You have thirty friends in your class.  Do you want to have Valentines to bring or not?"
"Mom." He said. "Valentines Day isn't even until next week.
But it's not like he's going to take this task up himself.  I suppose I should just not worry about whether he has Valentines to take to school or not.  He knows it's next week. He knows where the art supplies are.  If he has nothing to bring, he has nothing to bring.  Why do I care?!

Lucy made four.  But one was for me.  Very sweet, yes, I know, but she also has thirty classmates.
"I'm tired of making these." She said, holding one up. "I don't like this one." She ripped it.
I wanted to cry.  It was really cute and it took her at least thirty minutes to make.

Later on I came out of the bedroom with some construction paper and saw Coen. I opened my mouth to speak.
"Please don't talk about Valentines Mom." Coen said.
I tried to get Tad to commiserate.
"You're the maker of Schmalentines." He said, not commiserating. "Why do you care about this so much?"

I really don't know.  I suppose that I shall help my younger child as she is four and can't be expected to sit and make 30 cards.  And when she, as her brother is, in 2nd grade, I shall place the proverbial box of chocolates in her court.  Or in her heart-shaped-box.  As it were.

Hurricanes, skipping stones and seagulls

Today we had a winter beach excursion. 
Last weekend, as we drove past Bradford Beach and saw all the frozen piles of snow and ice at the shore, Coen declared that he wanted to go down there and pretend we were in the middle of a frozen hurricane.  So we promised we would do so and do so we did, this morning. 
The snow and ice had melted away in the sixty degree weather of last week, but Coen and Lucy, clad in snow pants and boots anyway, did not care. 
Coen climbed rocks, skipped stones and watched the waves with his daddy. 
Lucy and I ran down the beach, yelling to the seagulls, who flew away nervously and wrote letters and drew pictures in the sand.
 It was funny to me...my two boys were content to stay relatively in one spot, spending most of their time introspective and wave watching.
The two of us girls, really never stopped moving: running around, playing in the sand, and screaming at seagulls. 
Fascinating.

Cycling with the moon...

For a long long time, I have cycled with the moon.  It makes me feel powerful.  Like my own body can be in tune with the pull of gravity from moon to earth.  How lovely.  I am alive and strong and connected to all living things.

Except when I'm not.

I am pre-menstrual.  Yep. I'm just putting it out there.  And I know you can handle it readers, because either you are women or you intimately know women, most of you. 

I am in turns, depressed, weepy, pissed off, irritable, feeling like there's just nothing to look forward to, crabby, snapping, needing a hug, and then not wanting to be touched at all.  My body is puffy. I wake in the night drenched with sweat.  I shed layers and lay there, disgusting and freezing.  WTF, hormones?!!!! 

 I have just finished eating four squares of a chocolate caramel bar.  I want more coffee.  Lucinda Williams is making me cry my face off.  This morning I barely spoke to Tad, now I desperately miss him.  I look in the mirror and imagine myself probably three times larger than I really am.  I am not saying such pleasant things to my reflection.  Then, Gosh, Alie, Lay off!  Then I laugh. I'm talking to myself in the mirror. How silly.  Holy cow, I'm a maniac!

And eventually, as the full moon draws near, I will suddenly come back to myself again. I'll feel like a fog has lifted. I'll feel light and happy and remember how wonderful my life is.  And then I'll bleed. My body and mind will be my own again.

What a strange, wonderful, difficult thing it is to be female. 

A not so subtle entrance, or exit.

I am not a slick, sly or subtle person in the least.  The slier, slicker or subtler I try to be, the louder, bumpier and more obnoxious I get.

Just ask my husband, at five thirty in the morning when I'm trying to get my running gear on and I'm dropping shoes, bumping into the wall and opening the creaky closet door for the fifth time.

Just ask my kids, pre-wake-up on Saturday when I'm trying to "surprise" everyone with pancakes.  Meanwhile I'm dropping pans, opening overfilled cupboards, cups and Tupperware falling loudly to the floor.

Just ask anyone who's ever lived with me.

Quiet and calm, I am not.

The other day, I went to a meeting. I was non-committal about it from the start. I only went because I have a problem with saying 'no' and thought I'd just see what it was about and perhaps then say no later.   I sat down as quietly as I could on my chair.  I gingerly pulled my paper tablet out of my purse.  Apparently a stack of my business cards were hooked onto the pen that hooked on to the tablet and the cards flew out all over myself and my neighbor.  Sort of Alice in Wonderland-ish... Like a card trick gone wrong.


I could not suppress my giggles, try but I might.  Then after picking up all the fallen cards and re-situating myself, I sat quietly (really!) as the meeting started. I even contributed like a real professional.
I went to take a drink of my water and spilled it on my shirt.  As I pulled the dripping bottle away from my face, a small tidal wave seemed to have gone on inside of it and it splashed out, across the table, leaving little water drips on table and floor alike.
An hour in, I had to leave.  Leaving was not too bad; I had pre-written a note to her about what help I could lend.  After writing it, I changed my mind and put it back in my bag.  Then when the woman facilitating looked at me as I passed her, I knelt down and apologized for my early departure. And on second thought gave her my note.  When I left the building I went through a wrong door and almost through an alarmed one before I was stopped by a staff member who guided me out the right way.

It really wasn't that bad. Nor out of the ordinary for my usual exits and entrances.  I'm just glad I'm not a secret agent.  Or a Librarian.

I did it!

So, yesterday I challenged myself to be patient with the kids this morning.  I know I am not alone when I say that getting children up, dressed, fed, and out of the house on weekdays is perhaps one of the least pleasant aspects of parenting.  But I know that, like all things, my attitude can shape the way things feel, however unpleasant things can be. 

And I did it.  I went into this morning promising myself (and you) not to become irately impatient when getting Coen and Lucy out the door. And I did not.  Yay!

And it was not without its challenges.  Lucy took her time getting out of bed, laying there and telling me all of her dreams and claiming that she was "much too tired to get up yet".  Coen too was taking his time.
I went in his room and rubbed his head and said, "Why don't you get dressed and go on down stairs and see what Daddy's doing." 
To my surprise, Coen was up and dressed in the time it takes him on the weekend when we're going sledding. I was impressed. 
"Wow!" I said, "You were such a good listener." 
"What's Daddy doing?" Coen said with excitement.
Then I realized, he thought that I was sending him down to see Tad doing something out of the ordinary.
"Oh..." I said.  "He's just getting breakfast ready.  I thought you'd like to go down there."
"Awwwww" Coen groaned.  "I thought Daddy was doing something exciting."
"Well..." I said, "It is February. You could watch him change the calendar!"
Groan.
Meanwhile, Lucy was now out of one layer of pajamas but still had more to go and dragged her half undressed self into the hallway by Coen.
"Wanna hear about my dreams?"
"Lucy..." I said, "Why don't you finish getting dressed and we'll tell him about it at breakfast.

Finally we were downstairs and the kids ate surprisingly fast. 

Then it was time to go.

Coen first put on his boots and coat and then I reminded him about his snow pants and he took everything off and then suddenly was sitting on the floor, reading a book, making no attempt to get his stuff on again.
Lucy hid under couch cushions until I found her, then hid under the art easel until I found her and then finally began the arduous process of getting her snow pants on.  After they were on, she went in the playroom and began drawing.
"Lucy, it's time to go, honey. Come on." (I say a similar phrase each morning, but today I said it with kindness in my voice)
She brought a doll with her and said, "Can I kiss my baby goodbye?"
"Yes" I said, "But get your coat on first.
She did put her coat on and then proceeded to sit on the stairs with her baby, giving her a long and drawn out series of kisses and hugs.
Meanwhile, Coen, now in his snow pants and boots, had found a book on the china cabinet and was reading it.
"Coen.  It's time to get going."
"Mommy?"  Lucy piped in.  "Can you find the crown for my baby?"
I sighed. "I will look in one spot for the crown, but you need to get your hat and mittens on while I do."
I found it and she crowned her baby, gave her some more goodbye love and placed her on the steps.  "Can I bring a stuffed animal for school today?"
Coen came in, all dressed and ready to go.  "Oh! And I need a book!"
Sigh
Both of them tromped upstairs, snow pants swishing and boots clomping.  I waited. And breathed. Deeply.

Finally they came down. We got in the car.  I looked at the clock. It had been exactly twenty minutes since I uttered the phrase, "Okay guys, it's time to go."

In the car I said, "Well this is exciting! Now I know that it takes exactly twenty minutes for you guys to get in the car! And now I know that every day I take you, I have to tell you that its time to go twenty minutes before its actually time to go. Isn't that exciting?"
I looked at them in the rear view mirror. They looked at each other and said in unison, "No."

Ah, but we made it.