At my cousin’s shower a few weeks ago, someone rendered the bride a wise piece of advice…

“Remember, the more you do… the more you have to do!”

So true.

Oh how I wish someone would have tapped me on the shoulder many moons ago and told me to put down the paint brush and back away from the tool box.  Little did I know my ability to be handy was going to eventually bite me in my old lady ass.  Over the past two decades of marriage I have painted, wallpapered, stripped, refinished, and repaired my way into superstar handy man status.  In my earlier years, I was proud of my mechanical abilities.   I must have been smoking some sort of epoxy-crack as I think I may have thought that I looked cute in a tool belt.

I guess at 26 it was cute.

Problem is…at 44 it sucks.

Odd thing is it’s a bit of two prong problem.  First, Sean thinks I can do anything.  Like that one time after we had a new patio put in (Um…no.  I don’t do poured concrete!) and we needed a retaining wall.  Sean thought it would be stellar if, instead of hiring a masonry person to build the wall which would be uber-expensive, I would build the wall  (because I must look like I can haul retaining wall bricks the size boulders around the yard).

A wall?

Which leads me to the second part of the problem.  After years of doing home improvement projects myself, I’ve grown cocky.  Meaning, there’s a giant part of me that is still like, “Yeah.  I can do that.”  Then about fifteen minutes into the job, after I’ve been to Lowes and spent a few hundred dollars getting all the stuff I need, I realize that I’m a total asshole because I have no business building a retaining wall.   For starters, you’d think by now I’d be well aware of my limitations one of which is measuring.  I suck at measuring.  I’m more of an ‘eyeball it’ type of gal, and when building a wall that has to…you know…retain things…turns out measuring is kind of important.  In addition, I need to consistently remind myself of my age.  I’m 44.  I’m tired, and I have five kids who generate mountains of laundry and require annoying things like three meals a day.  Doing everything they need while building a wall is a bit of juggle and something has to give.  Usually it’s the laundry and that’s never good.

So why am I spouting off about all of this today?

Have a looksie below…

Isabella photo-bomb

Everything from my kitchen counters is in my dining room.

That, folks, is the current state of my kitchen.

Now let me explain.  Sean and I realize that there are some things that I cannot do…like tile.  (That was actually a difficult sentence for me to write because that part of my brain is whispering to me, ‘You could do it, Carolyn. You just can’t because of your schedule.  Oh… and you don’t have one of those fancy drippy water saw thingys.‘  Note to self-  Research existence of twelve step program for people who have delusions about mechanical abilities.)  So, I recently hired a real handy man to tile two bathroom floors and install a tile backsplash in our kitchen.  I thought the work would be starting in April, but due to some unforeseen delays it only started a week ago. “No big deal, ” I told myself.  ”Drew’s graduation party isn’t until Memorial Day weekend.  It’s only a back splash and a few floors.”

Unless it isn’t.

Because as I’ve learned the hard way but can never seem to remember, one thing always leads to another in home improvement projects.  Meaning, you make one part of a room look great, it’s going to make all other parts of the room look like hell and next thing you know you’re standing in your kitchen having just impulsively ripped all the wall paper down with no plan as to what you are going to do with your now bare and heavily damaged walls.  Oh…and you have two weeks until a huge ass party and your yard isn’t even done nor is any of the party prep not to mention your family of seven who needs clean clothes and food on the table.

Home improvement hell.

I tell you all of this not to solicit your pity, but instead to warn you of my impending absence over the next two weeks.  You’ll have to pardon this mama on the fly for a bit.  I have a party to plan, a yard to plant, and sadly…and scarily…dry wall to repair.

See that gray stuff on the wall next to the door. Apparently, that is VERY BAD.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to start googling some process called skim coating.

God help me.

New backsplash that started all of this.

Every Wednesday I appear on 101.5 The River with Rick and Mary Beth to discuss a parenting related topic.  This week we are talking Mother’s Day gift giving dos and don’ts.  Not local?  Catch my appearance on I Heart Radio!   beginning at 7:20 am!  

*****

This time last year I was tired.

In fact, the adjective “tired” doesn’t even seem to capture the level of fatigue I was living with during May 2012.  Looking back on it, I realize that I was trying, at the time, to manage the resurrection of this blog, navigate motherhood with five children, two of whom didn’t regularly sleep through the night, and do all the other stuff I’ve always done during spring.  I distinctly remember falling asleep in my clothes one evening.  I’m guessing when Sean found me in our bed still wearing my shoes, he thought perhaps I could use a little relaxation for Mother’s Day.  Hence, he went above and beyond buying me a spa day at a local fancy pants salon.

When I opened the gift I was actually dumbfounded.  It seemed too extravagant both financially and time-wise.  I bit my tongue, however, as my mother smartly advised me years ago to never question a gift from my husband.  ”Just say thank you and be grateful he thought of you.”

Wise advice.

The morning of my day-of-pampering, Sean warned me as I started to do my hair.  ”No need for that.  You’re going to get wet.”  Apparently he’d signed me up for a treatment called a vichy shower.  I had no idea what that was, nor did I have time to research it, so away I went hoping I wasn’t about to get sprayed off like an elephant at the circus.

Little did I know what I was in for.

When the spa girl came to get me she explained that I needed to remove all my clothes before the treatment.  Great.  Seeing as how modesty left the building somewhere during my first labor and delivery, I shrugged it off as just another opportunity for some stranger to be exposed to my nether-regions.

Now, in case you’ve never seen a vichy shower room, let me set the scene.  It looks a little like a a mid-evil torture chamber of some sort.  Dimly lit with tiled walls, in the middle of the room is a treatment bed (and I use the term ‘bed’ loosely.  Honestly, it looked more like an embalming table.  In fact, I am damn positive that embalming tables and vichy shower beds are manufactured  in the same factory and are simply smacked with different labels when shipped out for sales.)  Spa girl told me to disrobe, lie on the ‘bed’, and cover myself with the two washcloths.  Once laid out and barely covered, spa girl rubbed me down with some body scrub.  Apparently I was being “buffed”.  It felt more like I was being sanded.

After the rub down, I was asked if I am claustrophobic.  I hate that question.  I always say no, but truth be told …it depends.  MRI machine?  I can handle it.  A minivan with three kids for more than a few hours?  Hell yes.  I am claustrophobic.  Deciding that this experience was going to be more MRI and less minivan ride from hell, I said no.

This was my first mistake as she proceeded to basically cocoon me in a bunch of towels in order to let the sanding…I mean buffing sink in.  Once she had secured me in what felt like a straight jacket, I made a mental note to profusely apologize to all five of my kids for swaddling them.  Until that moment, I was under the impression that swaddling was comforting.  Little did I know that my babies were silent while swaddled simply because they were quietly plotting their revenge…which apparently was coming to me in the form of vichy shower.

Let me just clarify…this is not me. But this lady is getting her back side pressure washed, too. Except…she seems quite pleased with the treatment. Me…not so much!

Of course, not wanting to look like a crazy woman, I said nothing.  How much worse could it get?

That’s when spa girl swung the longest shower arm I’ve ever seen over my body.  It hung horizontally with the table and had no less than six shower heads.  Before I could say anything, she turned it on and I was doused with water.  Now, apparently many people find this relaxing.  Unfortunately, for me, all I could envision was being water boarded.

Making it worse, when I get nervous I get the giggles.  So there I lay,  in my straight jacket while being water boarded, laughing.  I cannot begin to imagine what a nutcase spa girl thought I was.

Eventually the cocoon was removed, I was flipped, and my backside was pressure washed for what seemed like an eternity.  In fact, of the four spa treatments I received during the day, the vichy shower was the longest.  By the time it was over, I was mentally exhausted.  I’ve never been so happy to exit a spa room in my life.

Since my experience, I’ve talked to many, many women who find vichy showers very relaxing.  I’m just not one of those gals.

******

Which leads to my list of Do’s and Don’ts  for Mother’s Day gift giving.  

Spa Related…

Do          Consider gifting a spa treatment/day for the mother in your life.  It’s a gift that most women won’t give to themselves.

Don’t      Pick out the treatments for her.  Let her decide what treatment would be most enjoyable!

Jewelry Related…

Do          Consider gifting jewelry for the mother in your life.  It doesn’t have to be expensive.  In fact, many a bracelet has come and gone in my life, but the treasures I’ve held onto are always picked out or sometimes made by my kids.  Nothing is sweeter than having a little boy pick out a necklace of cheap beads for his mom.  I love that kind of stuff.   (For a great idea for a homemade Mother’s Day bracelet visit Mary Vogel’s blog here.  She has a darling idea!)

Don’t       Buy some random piece of jewelry.  Put some thought into it!  The sentiment behind the gift means more than the gift.  Trust me on this!

Flower Related…

Do            Consider gifting flowers for the mother in your life.  Hanging baskets are in full bloom at every nursery in the country right now.  In addition, consider making a live floral arrangement.  Homemade cut flower arrangements can be made inexpensively from grocery store bouquets.  Learn how at this link.

Don’t         bring home a bouquet from the grocery store and leave it on the kitchen counter.  Nothing says “last minute thought” more than a bouquet of flowers from Kroger.

*****

For me, Mother’s Day isn’t about the gift.  It’s about showing the ladies in my life who are mother figures to me and my children that what they do day after day is appreciated.  Sometimes a handwritten note  expressing gratitude for their efforts is the very best gift to give…and receive.

Happy Mother’s Day!

Having you ever been looking forward to something and dreading it at the same time?  Have you ever wanted to attend an event but not wanted to go at the same time?

I have…on both counts.

Last Thursday night held one of those events for me.  The “to do”was called A Senior Mom’s Reflection.  Held at Drew’s high school, the purpose of the evening was to set the tone for a prayerful goodbye to our sons.  I knew it would be a lovely evening full of anecdotes and images of my son and his classmates navigating the halls of his high school. And I am eager to celebrate this whole graduation milestone for my first born.  I’m excited for him.

But…

I’m dreading Drew leaving.  I mean really…really  dreading it.  I never thought I’d be that mom.

I’ll never forget the day my parents dropped me off at college.  I was so excited and not at all devastated when they left.  Sure, I’d miss them, but I couldn’t wait to exercise my independence in my new world with new people.  I don’t even remember our goodbye scene.  It all must have been very blase’.  That’s why I was so stunned when later that evening  I watched my roommate and her family tearfully say goodbye.  Not only was Amy crying, but her parents and younger brothers were crying.  At the time I was baffled.  This entire moving to college thing seemed so natural to me.  How could this be giving my roommate’s family so much trouble?

Fast forward to Drew.

I am so over-the-moon excited for his future.  Everything about Ohio University is a great fit for him.  He’s running cross country so he’ll have instant friends that share a common interest (obsession).  He’s going to study journalism which I know is exactly what he should do.  (Drew is a natural born newsie who starts at least half of his sentences with the words, “Did you hear?“).  Hell, he’s even met his roommate and I’ve met his roommate’s parents and all of them seem like first class good folk.  I couldn’t be happier for him.

Drew’s senior picture that he gave me two minutes to take.

But, I’m sad, too.

Reagan and Isabella are just starting to say his name and Mary Kate adores him .  Then there’s Ryan.  I have flashbacks to when Drew headed off to kindergarten and Ry stood at the front door waiting for the school bus to bring his best friend home.  The two of them are extremely close.  They never fight.  They hang out all the time.  I know Drew leaving may open up a side of Ryan we’ve never seen before which could be a great thing, but I also know they will miss one another.  Deeply.

Running buddies.

Ryan handing off to Drew in a track meet.

Of course, then there’s me.  It’s hard to put into words how much I’m going to miss Drew.  He’s been such a pleasure to parent.  In some ways, I think God tricked us by sending Drew and Ryan first.  The two of them have truly been the easiest kids to raise.  I’m so proud of the people they’ve grown up to be.  I can’t imagine our day-to-day lives without either one of them.

When I mentioned the Senior Reflection to Drew he said, “Oh yeah.  I had to write a letter to you.  You’ll get it there.”  That news brought me even more angst.

Now I have to worry about blubbering with an audience.  I prefer to cry in private.

So, yes.  I wanted to go, but I didn’t want to go.

I went anyways.

When I walked through the door for the reflection I was surprised to see my friend, Cindy Hoeflinger.  I didn’t expect for her to be there.  Her son, and Drew’s friend since kindergarten, died in a car accident three months ago.  Suddenly I felt like an ass.  Talk about someone who has probably been to countless events over the past twelve weeks that she didn’t want to go to, but went anyways because she knew she needed to.  I was so glad to see her.

We sat together during the program.  We chatted about stuff moms shouldn’t have to chat about.  She misses her son so much.  There is anger and anguish.  There is grief that could swallow a mother whole, but somehow she’s keeping it at bay.  I remember thinking to myself that I had no idea how she was finding the strength to move forward.  Then she shared this…

“I’m trying not to focus on why Brian died.  I’ll never know why.  Instead, I’m trying to concentrate on why Brian lived.  What was his life supposed to teach me?”

Wow.

When it was time to read our letters I was delighted to see that some of the boys had written Cindy letters, too.  We all laughed at the funny stuff our sons wrote.  We teared up at their gratitude.  It was special.  Very, very special.

When I arrived home that evening I thought about what Cindy had said.  In the midst of her grief, she’s trying like hell to direct her focus in a productive direction.  If she can do that when struggling through the death of her child, surely I can put my big girl panties on when thinking about Drew leaving us for college.  Yes, things will change with him being away, but the experience of parenting a child in college will teach me if I concentrate on the lessons at hand.

Big smiles after Drew PR’d this weekend in the mile at 4:29.2. (That’s his rival…a very talented runner.)

I’m still dreading Drew leaving for college and with all the upcoming graduation festivities his exit from our lives is weighing heavily on my mind.  However, that event that I didn’t want to attend, but went to anyways held gifts of wisdom, inspiration and perspective for me.

Thank goodness I went.

What a gift.

*****

I humbly ask that all of you continue to keep Brian and Cindy Hoeflinger, their three surviving children, and all of Brian Jr.’s family and friends in your prayers.  Cindy tells me the prayers are helping.  Thank you.

Sean is a vegetable freak.

What I mean is that he is a tad obsessed with making sure our kids get their daily recommended servings of fruit and vegetables.  I know that should translate to me being grateful for what a caring and involved father he is.  Because he is.  But let’s be realistic, folks. I’m a 44 year old peri-menopausal mother with five kids (three of whom exhaust me) which I’m sad to say causes me to hover around a five on the continuum of crabbiness.  Inquiries from Sean about what I’ve fed the children translate, in my brain, to inferences that I’m inept at feeding my kids and ultimately push me to about an eight on the richter scale of bitchy.

I’m working on that.

I am trying not to take Sean’s parenting suggestions as insinuations that I’m not good at being a mom.  He’s entitled to a say.  For the life of me I don’t understand why his involvement in my kitchen pisses me off so much.  So, I’ve been trying to temper my annoyance with deep breaths and kind responses.

This is hard work, people.

Especially when my choice to follow his menu requests back fire because of his lack of ability to identify certain vegetables.

Confused?  Well get this…

On Wednesday morning I got this text…

It arrived at 7:58 in the morning.  Breakfast wasn’t even cleaned up, and I was instantly annoyed that he was already onto dinner when I had a lot of in-between-now-and-then to navigate.  Seeing as how I am trying to temper my bitchy impulses, I refrained from responding with the first text that popped into my mind.  (It involved the words ‘sprouts’, ‘shove’ and ‘ass’).  Now before you send me a private message about managing my anger via mood stabilizers, let me explain something.  I’ve never served brussels sprouts to my family; I’ve never seen Sean eat a brussels sprout; And, I don’t know how to prepare brussels sprouts and wasn’t keen on learning.  So, yes.  I was annoyed.

But I’m working on this, right?

So, I squelched my inner bitch and channeled June Cleaver.   Maybe they’ll love them.  Maybe I can add a new recipe to my rotation.  Trying new things is good.  And off to the market I went for a pound a half of brussels sprouts.

An hour before dinner I drizzled those mini heads of cabbage with olive oil, generously sprinkled them with kosher salt, cracked pepper and garlic, and roasted them for 30 minutes at 400 degrees.  When I put them on the plate with the steak and pasta they looked just like the picture from allrecipes.com.  I was proud.  Not only had I controlled my inner witch, but I was about to successfully add a new veggie to our palate.  Sean was going to be so pleased.  Right?

Not so much.

I first sensed something was wrong when I placed the plate on the table.

Sean      What are those?

Me         Um…brussels sprouts.  You asked for them.

Looking confused, Sean put one in his mouth, promptly gagged, and spit it back out on the plate.

Sean       What did you do to them?  I’ve never seen them look like that.

I could feel the bitchy richter scale tipping in an unfortunate direction as I willed myself some self-control.

Me           I’ve never made them before and YOU ASKED FOR THEM.

Sean        [bewildered] You make them every week.  You know…those long, green, stalky things that we all like.

And that was it.  The straw that broke the bitchy camel’s back.  I grabbed the plate, stomped into the kitchen, and threw those bitter, nasty tasting brussels sprouts in the disposal  Then I spun on my heals, and said…

“That’s asparagus.  A-S-P-A-R-A-G-U-S!!!”

(Oh…and I may have muttered the word ‘moron‘ in my response as well.)

*****

At my cousin’s bridal shower this past weekend we were to write a piece of marital advice on a pretty little card and attach it to our gift.  My Aunt Judy started her’s with this sentence…

“For sure, there are times when you’ll want to trip him.”

We all burst out laughing because it was such a true statement.

She went on to advise Jessica to make a point to hold hands with her husband.  ”Holding hands rekindles the bond that caused the two of you to fall in love with one another.”

So true.

*****

Sean and I laughed about the sprouts incident later.  I told him I’m trying to be nicer so I refrained from questioning his request.  He told me I should’ve inquired.  Then I told him that it was honestly better that I didn’t because the words ‘shove’, ‘sprouts’, and ‘ass’ were involved.  I then warned him that future veggie requests were most likely going to be ignored.

He’s good with that.

We both have things to work on.  Communication is at the top of the list.

MK has an American Girl doll.

She received it for her 5th birthday as a gift from her grandmas and she’s been smitten ever since.  Kit Kittredge has accompanied our family on a number of outings including the park, church, the grocery store, ballet class, swimming lessons and most recently on our trip to Chicago.  Seeing as how Kit has become such an integral part of our family, it seemed fitting that we take time to visit “her people” at the  American Girl store on Michigan Avenue.

Mary Kate met Kit Kittredge, American Girl, on her 5th birthday compliments of Grandma Kate, Grandma Linda and Papa. They are inseparable.

I know, I know…twist my arm.  A day on Michigan Avenue.  It’s a tough life.

Anyways, if you are a regular reader her, you know I’m a down-to-Earth kind of mom.  It’s not that I don’t love the finer things in life, but extravagances, to me, taste sweeter when experienced as the result of a “deal”.  Show me a Pottery Barn inspired nursery, I’ll knock off something just as cute but purchased from a second-hand store.  I’m practical like that.  Plus…I’m married to a financial planner.  I know the value of the dollar.

That being said, I as I entered the AG store I thought I’d armored myself with a good dose of synicism and healthy shot of self control.  What I didn’t know was that the American Girl marketing people saw me coming from a mile away.  As a result, somewhere between the front door and the coat check, I was sucked into the  vortex of American Girl doll insanity.

What was the first sign of trouble?  I’m not exactly sure but I think I knew I was in deep when I found myself making an appointment for Kit at the AG doll salon.  Yes, folks.  There’s a salon.  Complete with spa treatments for your doll, including but not limited to up-doos, body scrubs (for your doll, people.  Stick with me here), and doll enhancement procedures.  Kit now has her ears pierced and owns six sets of earrings.

Um…I don’t even own six pairs of earrings.  Like I said…I was in over my head.

Kit at the salon.

I draw the line here. Ain’t nobody getting a body scrub but me.

Kit getting pampered.

Honestly I think it’s quite possible the AG people slipped me a ‘mickey’ at the enchanted luncheon in the American Girl doll restaurant.  I’m not sure if it was in the $22 a head four course luncheon, or the ala-carte $8 Mimosa that seemed to delicious to pass up.   Somewhere during that meal, I lost what was left of my mind.  Next thing you know Mary Kate and I were grabbing doll outfits and accessories that suddenly became ‘must-haves’.  Even my own mother got caught up in the madness.  As a result, Kit now owns a ballet outfit that costs more than the get-up Mary Kate actually wears to real-live-little-girl ballet class.

They bring high chairs to the table for each doll. Love it.

Mary Kate with her Aunt Jenny at the American Girl lunch.

Dessert! Adorable.

The funny thing was while this craziness was playing out, little lucid moments of “Holy crap! Get the hell out of here before your husband divorces you for spending your daughter’s college fund in a doll store” were happening.  It was then that I’d whisper to my mom, “we are going straight to hell for this” .  Unfortunately, the part of my brain that understood how sinful it was to spend $30 on an outfit for a doll couldn’t seem to connect with the temporarily more dominant part of my brain that was enthusiastically justifying the splurge.  I think I may or may not have actually had a conversation with a complete and utter stranger about how  “you just can’t beat the quality of the AG clothes“.  It was another mom who was glazed over with the same look of insanity.  She was in as deep as I was.  It was oddly comforting to know I wasn’t alone in my mania.

Mary Kate and her second cousin, Eden in the Bitty Baby part of the store.

MK with Grandma Linda at the AG store in front of the VW bug convertible.  See below for price tag!

Eventually, I did get a hold of myself when I inquired about the car.  A convertible Volkswagon Bug could be Kit’s for a cool $350.  “That’s insane” I mumbled  as I balanced the plethora of crap MK had piled into my shopping bag.  It was then that we re-evaluated our needs and many things were redistributed back to their shelves.  MK was happy to choose two items, and the rest was put on her mental wish list for future occasions.  I was actually proud of my little girl for being so reasonable.

That’s when it hit me.

As expensive as the American Girl merchandise is, the tone of their message has definitely resonated with my girl. You see, Kit came with a book about her life.  Ironically she lived in 1934, and her family had to make many sacrifices as a result of the Great Depression.  I’d been reading Kit’s story to Mary Kate each night before bed.  The lessons of selflessness, frugalness and creative ways to make ends meet were making a mark on my impressionable young daughter.  As I’ve researched the entire concept of American Girl, I’m realizing what a gift their brand is for girls.  Their products are wholesome.  They promote reading and teach about kindness.  There’s no provocatively dressed dolls peddling hoochie-mama innuendos at American Girl.  Instead there’s a celebration of diversity sandwiched in between a message about female empowerment.

I love that.

Reflecting on our day in the American Girl store, I realize that what I didn’t understand prior to our visit is that the AG store is an experience.  It’s about browsing through the dolls.  Learning their stories. Peaking the interest of young minds about the historical periods.  Yes, we left with a few treats, and that was definitely a splurge, but what the AG store really provided for me was an opportunity to partake in a special afternoon with my daughter.

That is something I treasure.

I can’t wait to go back.

*****

Since our trip and my reconnection with my practical-self, I’ve looked into some more affordable options regarding American Girl products.  Below you’ll find some tips about the best ways to find previously loved AG dolls and accessories.  I also found some valuable tutorials about refurbishing AG dolls that have been loved a little too much.  In addition, there are some links below as to where you can buy replicas of American Girl type-dolls that are more affordable along with some links to online crafters who make beautiful but less expensive AG doll clothes.

Enjoy!

1.  For some tips as to how best to purchase a used AG doll read this article here.

2.  For some great video tutorials on how to care for AG doll hair click here and here and here.

3.  Here’s a great forum discussion on which AG replica dolls are of the best quality.

4.  A great article on some wonderful online homemade doll clothes for AG type dolls is here.  

5.  Of course, AG-type doll clothes can be purchased at Target, Michaels, Hobby Lobby, Toys-R-Us, Avon and Costco.

*****

It looks like American Girl is becoming a more accessible for us Ohioans.  They are opening a store at Easton Town Center  in Columbus on June 22, 2013.  In honor of their opening and everything American Girl stands for Mamaonthefly.com is giving away a $50 gift card to American Girl.  To qualify, you must leave a comment about your favorite American girl doll and why her story is so special.  One comment will be chosen on Wednesday, May 8th for the gift card giveaway!  Happy commenting!

Instead of cheese we say, “cousins“.   Not always because that wouldn’t make sense, but this past weekend “cousins” was the word of the day.

When I was a kid my parents were conscientious about nurturing a strong relationship with our extended family.  Aunts, uncles, cousins:  They were valued members of our circle.  Their presence for birthdays, holidays and milestones was usually a given.  It was quite a feat considering none of us lived in the same state.  Spread out across the country, herculean efforts were always made when it came to our family getting together.  Sometimes schedules and finances stood in the way, but most of the time everyone sacrificed a little bit of something in order to be present.

The senior members of my clan seemed to understand how special us cousins should be to one another.  I guess that’s why they often threw us in the basement with our sleeping bags and pillows.  That’s where the magic happened.  Weddings were meticulously planned (we’d all be each other’s bridesmaids);  pranks were played on the boys;  hair was endlessly braided; and  Barbies were played into the wee hours of the night.  We’d eavesdrop on our parents who’d laugh and laugh as they’d relived their wilder days over boxes of wine and bottles of beer.  Clearly the elders in the group had an affinity for one another.  They enjoyed one another’s company and wanted us to love being around each other as much as they did.

Their efforts have paid off…in spades.

This past weekend marked a milestone for our youngest cousin.  She’s tying the knot in August, and this was her shower weekend.  The destination was a bonus.  Chicago is my favorite town.  Knowing that none of us could  come to Chicago without seeing some sites, we made a three day weekend of it by arriving early Friday…little girl second-cousins in tow.  Now that our relationship is cemented, it’s our turn to endear these little ones to one another.  A day on Michigan Avenue was the perfect opportunity!

Eliza, Eden, Mary Kate and Kate

When they smiled for this pictured they yelled, “cousins“!  Of course, they are second-cousins, but that little formality was lost in the moment.

Destination? The American Girl store, Water Tower Place. More on the American Girl racket in tomorrow’s post.

The weekend only got better from there.  Friday afternoon we picked up  our Aunt Angie from the airport (You must know her name is pronounced “Ayngie”.  She grew up in Kentucky, y’all).  Aunt Angie is our maternal grandmother’s younger sister.  She’s eighty-six years young and has a spunk in her step that gives us forty and thirty-something cousins hope.  We can only pray her good health and high spirits are genetic.  Aunt Angie flew in for the  shower and  utilized the wheel chair service in the airport because she thought she should.  However, she forgot to play the part when she scampered into the bathroom right before boarding.  Her quick pace resulted in a scolding from her daughter  for not “selling the little old lady bit” more convincingly.

Let me tell you…there’s nothing “little-old-lady” about Aunt Angie’s spirit.

Aunt Angie “working it” in the airport. Notice the smirk.

Aunt Angie and her nieces.

My cousins. Aunt Angie’s great nieces and nephews.

Saturday night Aunt Angie told stories.  Stories about her parents and grand parents that I’d never heard.  She referred to people that are “my people” using names  of distant relatives I recognized but really don’t know much about.  Honestly, she could have held court because my generation was captivated by hearing our history.  There’s something so magical about learning our ancestry. To hear that I look like my grandma or my aunt laughs like her aunt.  It unearths a connection in us to the past and makes me wonder.  What would my great grandmother think of me now?  I hope she’d be proud of all of us and the people we’ve grown up to be.  Most importantly, I bet she’d be proud that our family is so tight.  I know that’s what I want for my great-great grandchildren–to cherish their family–my family.

Mary Kate with her great-great Aunt Angie. Priceless.

Of course, Saturday brought us to shower day.  Jessica, my baby cousin, is getting married in August.  Mary Kate is the flower girl so this marked her first shower experience.  MK couldn’t have been more excited.

FYI…my mom (aka Martha Stewart) wrapped that gift to look like a tiered wedding cake. It was awesome…and oddly out of character.

Jessica was unexpectedly giddy about receiving a melon baller. Apparently, she’s always wanted one. Us cousins have an over-under on how long before she sells it in a garage sale…along with the very coveted but overrated salad spinner.

Mary Kate could hardly contain herself (in fact…there were times where she didn’t contain herself. Let’s just say that by the end of the shower everyone knew what her underpants looked like. We’ll be practicing lady like sitting before the wedding festivities.)

The bride and her flower girl.

Cousins!

Aunts!

As I drove home on Sunday I couldn’t help but feel sad the weekend was over.  That’s how it always is when I’ve been looking forward to something for so long.  When it’s over, there’s a buzzkill involved.  That being said, I also reflected on how lucky I am.  I have such a great family.  We all enjoy one another so much.  Sure…we have our “that family” moments.  All families do. But when push comes to shove my family–the aunts, uncles and cousins–the great aunts, second cousins, and in laws–are always a sure thing to one another.

And “sure things” are always a blessing.

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Just a little well-wish to my very loyal reader, Debbie Schaff.  Debbie, I know you were the mother of the groom this past weekend.  I want you to know I thought of you on your special day.  From what I’ve seen on FB, it looks like you had a wonderful weekend with your “sure thing” family.  I’m so happy for you and Chris.  Just wanted you to know!  XOXO

Now if you’ll pardon me while I climb up here and get my balance…

Thank you.

I actually love being up being up here.  The view is a little better and I’m guessing you can’t see the bags under my eyes from the angle below.  Don’t worry.  I won’t be up here long. Just a minute or two while I share a little about something near and dear to my heart.

Infertility.

This week is National Infertility Awareness Week.  I know, I know.  You didn’t know they had a week dedicated to learning about fertility challenges.  I honestly had never heard of it either until a year or so ago. That being said I couldn’t be happier to write about a medical challenge that I struggled with for the  better part of my 20s, 30s, and yes…the beginning of my 40s.    Of course, I’m not a doctor so it’s not my place to share medical information about infertility.  There’ll be plenty of links below to sites that can provide those kind of resources.

Instead I’m writing this post for those of you who care about someone experiencing infertility.  There is a way you can help.  From experience I know loved ones often struggle to find supportive words for a man, woman or couple experiencing infertility.  Sometimes we think we are saying something helpful, when indeed we are not.  The fear of saying the wrong thing can often cripples us.  Below I’ve given some tips to  those of you wanting to offer support to a friend experiencing infertility.  My tips aren’t too specific regarding what to say.  They are very specific with regards to what not to say.

Please pay attention.  I promise you you’ll be more supportive if you heed my advice.

What Not To Say to Someone Experiencing Infertility

1.  “Why don’t you just adopt?”  

Adoption is a wonderful way to build a family.  I have many friends who are adoptive parents, and their families are beautiful.  That being said, adoption isn’t for everyone.  Rest assured, if a person is experiencing difficulties conceiving, they HAVE considered adoption.  Also, any adoptive parent or adoptee will tell you the words “just” and “adopt” should never be used in the same sentence.  There’s nothing “just” about adopting.

2.  “Just relax and it will happen.”

If I had a nickel for every time I heard this I’d be a rich woman with 120 kids.  I promise you if a person/couple is wrestling with infertility treatments relaxing isn’t going to fix it.  Infertility is a medical condition that affects one in eight people.  I’ve never heard a physician prescribe “relaxing” to treat any serious medical ailment.  Why?  Because that would be absurd.

3.  “Perhaps this [infertility] is part of God’s plan for you.”

If you’ve read Inconceivable you know I have serious issues with the “God’s plan” theology.  In a nutshell, I don’t believe God causes us to suffer.  I certainly don’t believe God decides that certain people shouldn’t be parents.  (Can I just say, there’s part of me that wishes God  would render some people infertile.  Then I wouldn’t have had to sit through the news story today about the sentencing of a man who murdered his newborn baby by placing the infant in the freezer.  If God was involved in people’s fertility I think that man wouldn’t have any swimmers.)

Insinuating that a painful medical challenge is something God wants in somebody’s  life is insensitive.

4.  “Try to be grateful for the children you already have.”

Secondary infertility (i.e. difficulty getting pregnant after one easily conceived pregnancy) accounts for 60% of all patients seeking fertility treatments.  Sean and I were a ‘secondary’ case and I can assure you that we were incredibly grateful for Drew and Ryan.  Our desire to have a third child had nothing to do with being ungrateful.  Hell, Drew and Ryan were so great they made us want more kids.  I understand the sentiment of the statement, but it’s insulting.  Please refrain.

So…What should you say?

I can’t give you a magic bullet, but I can tell you that sometimes kindness is the very best policy.  For me that might look like, “I don’t know what to say to help, but I want you to know that I’m here for you.  I’m willing to listen.  I’ll cry with you over the failures and when and if the time comes, I’ll celebrate your success.  Whatever you need…whenever you need it…just say the word.”  

Trust me when I say that no one needs their friends and family more than a person struggling with infertility.

*****

Okay…stepping down now.

Onward.

*****

To learn more about National Infertility Awareness Week go here.

A website and forum that ultimately got me my miracle is IVF Connections.  Visit it here.

You can visit two of my favorite infertility bloggers here and here.

If I can help, email me at the “Contact Carolyn and Sean” button on the home page of this site.  I promise.  I’ll get back to you!

Last week was quite a week for all of us.

I don’t know about you, but by the time I turned the television off Friday night I felt like waving a white flag.  Of course, I was relieved that the perpetrators of the atrocity in Boston had been apprehended, but my thoughts continued to stay with the victims.  Sometime over the weekend I heard Krystle Campbell’s mother call the death of her daughter, “a complete waste“.  I couldn’t agree more.  My heart aches for her.

What a waste.

I talked about the victims with a wonderful group of readers on Saturday in New Philadelphia, Ohio.  I was there at the invitation of their local library to take part in the first installment of their author’s series.  When I opened my talk, I reflected on how Inconceivable is a book about “getting through”, and although my life’s challenges pale in comparison to the difficult road that lies in front of the victims, I can’t help but think about the journey to recovery that all of them are beginning.  They need our support.  Both the victims in Boston and Texas have a lot of “getting through” in front of them.  I will be praying that they find the strength to persevere through their darker moments, chase resilience, and some day find a way to once again experience joy in their lives.

I hope you’ll join me in that prayer.

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If you are a regular reader here you know that I often take Monday mornings to reflect on the blessings that crossed my path the week before.  Honestly, last week was such a roller coaster ride I wondered if it was even appropriate to write about my moments of personal joy.  Experiencing joy  amidst tragedy conjures feelings of guilt in me.  I also don’t want to be disrespectful.

Here’s the thing…

I think it’s the little smiles that sustain us through our tougher days.  Without these simple moments that remind us of how lucky we are, tragic events like those of last week might be able to darken our thoughts to a point of serious detriment.  I’m guessing that is not what Krystle Campbell…or Martin Richard…or Lu Lingzi…or Sean Collier would want.  From what I’ve read about them, they were all joy-filled people.

My smiles, this week, are dedicated to them.

First Smile –  A Track Meet in January…I Mean April

The boys had a track meet on Saturday.  When I dragged myself out of bed at 6 a.m., I looked at the weather and dusted off my winter gear which is somewhat of a sacrilege to me.  You see, I have this unspoken rule that all boots, turtlenecks, and down coats must be retired as of April 1st.  I’m ready for spring, dammit.  Apparently mother nature didn’t get my memo.

As I stood watching the boys run their 4×1600 race, it was snowing…sideways.  Please note their attire.  Apparently I’ve passed on  my ridiculous spring dressing expectations to them.

Ryan taking the baton.

Ry was the 3rd leg of the relay.

Drew was the anchor leg.

Ryan handing off to Drew. Both of them freezing!

Hey…I have to take solace in the little sense their hats show.

Coming across the finish.

And they won the race…but couldn’t feel their hands.

Second Smile –  A Book Signing and Talk

Every once in awhile I’m invited to speak about our experience with Logan.  This opportunity was a delight because it was an author’s talk in the quaint little town of New Philadelphia, Ohio.  About three hours southeast of my home, New Philadelphia has quite an advantage over Toledo.  It’s warm.  Warmer than the track meet I had come from and warmer than the frozen baby bunnies in my yard.  I had no idea what to expect in terms of a crowd which is why I was surprised with the standing room only turnout.

Apparently people in New Philadelphia read.

I  love having the opportunity to talk about the lessons I’ve learned from our journey with Logan.  By doing so I hope that I’m properly honoring the positive impact his life has had on my life and the lives of my family.  I’m a stronger, more empathetic, and more grateful person because of him.  When I share my story I focus on the gifts we were given as a result of what is commonly characterized as a mistake.  I hope that those that read our story, or hear me speak are inspired to fight like hell through their darkest moments because they have hope for joy on the other side.

I tend to talk with my hands…

I think it’s a habit I developed during my teacher years!

Can I tell you how nerve racking signing books is? My penmanship isn’t the best…

…and I’m always scared I’m going to misspell someone’s name and screw up their book! I should have paid better attention in 3rd grade handwriting class.

Third Smile –  The Master Dipper

Reagan has discovered the art of dipping.  She mastered the task of dipping during our spring break.  I think one too many servings of chicken fingers and fries encouraged her to seek out other food groups even if it meant resorting to ketchup-eating.  Ever since she wants ketchup on everything.  I mean everything…

Allow me to clarify…I didn’t serve her a plate full of ketchup!

This is the end of her meal during which Reagan polished off a grilled chicken breast and green beans…all dipped in ketchup.

I think it’s safe to assume that Reese (our cat that begs for food like a dog) was mighty disappointed that the only scrap she was getting off of this little one’s plate was a finger full of ketchup.

Now…go forth and cherish the smiles.

Have a blessed week!

Every Wednesday morning I appear with my friends Mary Beth and Rick on 101.5 The River to chat.  This week’s topic adhered to our unfortunate current events and how it relates to parenting.  Tune in Wednesday at 7:20 am to listen in.  If you aren’t local, no worries.  Catch my appearance on I Heart Radio!  

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“Resilience is that ineffable quality that allows some people to be knocked down by life and come back stronger than ever.”  Psychology Today

Right now we are all bouncing back.

The ability to bounce back is something that never ceases to amaze me.  That resilient side of our souls that shines brighter on the rebound is a quality that I’ve tried to nurture in my children.  It’s important that our children are resilient.  Resilience is what drives us to move forward after adversity.

I don’t know about you, but I had a ‘moment’ when I arrived home Monday afternoon and flipped on what I thought would be our 5:00 local news. That moment is becoming familiar to me.  In fact, more familiar than I care to admit.  It was a moment of confusion…Why am I hearing Scott Pelley’s voice instead of my local girl, Chrys Petersen?  What is this?  

Then reality quickly crept in as I the pieces started to fall into place.

Boston.  Boston Marathon.  Finish line.  Bomb.  Two bombs.  Oh no.

Attack. Spectators.  Victims.  Innocents.  Terrorism.  Not again.

Who?  Why?

Damn.

I’d say the entire ‘moment’ lasted less than a minute.  Less than a minute it took for me to string together what had happened and fall into tears.

The rest of the evening unfolded as expected.  Discussions with our boys about the first terrorist attack since 9/11.  Prayers were said for all of the victims and gratitude was expressed for those that ran to help.  It’s a drill that we are becoming familiar with.

This makes me sad.

Even sadder?  Watching my teenage boys come to grips with what terrorism truly is in our world.  They are too young to remember September 11th.  The Oklahoma City bombing happened when Drew was only seven months old.  This was their first brush with an act of terrorism and as I watched them put the puzzle pieces together a small chunk of my heart broke.  They’re damn near adults now and with that comes some cold, harsh realities.  My ability to protect them is pretty much gone.  That’s a helpless feeling.

Cue resilience.

Resilience is what keeps all of us ticking.  It’s the “keep on” in “keepin’ on”.  Without it we’d all be hiding under our covers afraid to leave the safety of our homes. Some of us seem to find it more quickly than others.  Some never seem to find it at all, and that’s what I don’t want for my children.  I want them to know what resilience is.  To be able to identify it by how it feels so they’ll recognize it when it’s needed, and chase it …tirelessly…when it’s elusive.

I admit that I’m tired of needing resilience.  Didn’t Sandy Hook , Aurora and Tucson just happen?   Regardless of how tired I am of chasing resilience I know I must.  We all need to move forward.  For ourselves, our families, the victims, and our country. We must be resilient.

After all, without it they win.

Right?

******

For some helpful tips on how to talk with children about the Boston terrorist attack please visit here.

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For the victims we are praying…please know this.

Every once in a while a thought flits through my brain that gives me pause.  Not great pause.  Just a brief pondering (WTF?) pause.  I’ve decided to share a few of my recent random thoughts because, frankly, after a weekend of cyber problem-solving, child chasing, and husband pleasing this Monday morning finds me unable to string together anything of significant  coherence.

I promise more depth tomorrow.

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Random Thought #1 –  That F*c%ing Valet KeySomething’s been perplexing me ever since the great lockout.  After 90 minutes of trying to locate my car keys that fateful afternoon, I finally gave up and called my mom for help.  (The Toyota Siena we were driving that week belonged to her.  She was gracious enough to lend us her minivan while we rented her a Camry for the week.  FYI – Renting a Camry during Easter week in Florida is a hell of a lot cheaper than renting a mini-van.)

Going out on a limb here, but I’m guessing that bird feeder doesn’t get a lot of action. Even birds have instincts.