Tyranny in the suburbs

New tyrannical rule has taken our otherwise peaceful suburban home. . . this ridiculous notion called "character" and its all too ugly friend "integrity" nevermind the abhorred "gratitude" and "moderation". You can imagine the terror in which we live when nightmares such as these break loose in our home.

Alright enough with the drama of it all. I'm destined to be accused of being "soooo dramatic" by the 10yr old.

So I put a spending freeze on toys. At least a freeze on my wallet. I've set up a system by which Jordan can do daily tasks and even some extra chores in order to earn a small wage that he can then save for the purchase of toys - aka plastic joy. There was a seething greed and ungratefulness settling in our house and I'd just finally had enough.
There never seemed to be enough stuff. Each new toy only made the next new toy more necessary and urgent and any denial of this inalienable right to more stuff was met with outrage, deep sighs, and rolled eyes.

Enough was finally enough.

I can only hope that somewhere in here a little boy will learn the value of hard work, the importance of setting a goal and working towards it, and maybe even that "new" and "stuff" are ever elusive lovers. A fickle pair. Stuff will never be enough. And new lasts but a few minutes. Can you imagine really learning that at age 10? Well, no, neither can I, but imagine that one could .. . how much heartache would be spared? How much clamoring over senseless possessions, attention, and status could be sidestepped?

Jordan, on the other hand, is sure that I've lost my mind. After all, EVERYONE else already has a cell phone and their parents buy them WHATEVER they want.

It is a miserable little life he is forced to lead.

What I want to be. . .

In talking about savings and futures Jordan share some of his thoughts on how his savings should and shouldn't be spent.

Jordan: But I don't even want to go to college so why do we have to save for it?

Mom: I never said that you had to go to college, but remember when we talked last time about keeping an open mind and looking for all kinds of different opportunities. Maybe you'll use the money for another kind of training, maybe it will be for a car, or your first apartment. . .

Jordan: But I dont want to go to college. Then I won't have to be a policeman or a doctor or even a drug dealer. I mean ... then I won't have to . . .

Mom (a bit perplexed): No one said that you had to be any of those things. Since you seem to have a pretty good idea of what you do not want to be - any thoughts on what you would like to do?

Jordan: Yeah. I want to be a hotel man. You know, give people their keys and stuff.

Mom: Okay, so like at the front desk?

Jordan: Yeah. . . . . . .okay I'm just joking. I mean, really, that's not what I want to be.

And around and around we went. But at least now that he isn't going to college he won't have to be a drug dealer. And here I never even knew that a college degree was required for official drug dealing. I have so much to learn. Thank goodness Jordan is kind enough to teach me.

Happy Birthday to me . . .

Today is my birthday! With just under two hours remaining, I thought I'd share my day with you all.

Check out what Jeremy made for me . . .
Jana's Birthday

I received a nicely frosted donut at my Discovery Church staff meeting this morning, a fantastic Chinese buffet from even more fantastic coworkers, and a beautiful evening at the pool with the kids. See?



Its been a good day.
I'm pretty glad that I was born.

and on to tomorrow . . .

No excuses

There is no excuse for this seemingly permanent absence and so while "update blog" has sat so comfortably on my to-do list for nearly 8 months . . yes 8 months . . . I've decided to just jump in where we are. I was so overwhelmed by the enormity of trying to catch you all up that I was too often defeated before I even signed in.

That being said. . . don't get your hopes up. Subscribing might be your best bet here. I'll try to get back into the swing of things (all the easier with my new laptop - Thank you CtS!!).

And so I'll leave you (or maybe it is a long awaited greeting?) with our last 8 months in photos and I'll wish you all a happy Fourth of July! Here's hoping your's wasn't as damp as ours was.

Caterpillars and Peppers

For a kid who doesn't take too kindly to bugs these days, Sedona sure was smitten with some grubs and caterpillars that we plucked from community garden broccoli this morning. She rescued them from certain doom and carried them in a water bottle the rest of the day. Enjoyed a few tasty green peppers along the way as well. I have to say that it hadn't occurred to me until today to bite into a pepper as if it were an apple. Small are the greatest innovators of our time.

We are in the early stages of creating a community garden on our church lot that will benefit OASIS food pantry. Sedona and I volunteer there every week and dig through boxes of sludgy produce, searching for salvageable items. Our community garden will provide the pantry with fresh, organic produce from early spring through fall next year and boy oh boy are we excited. Be assured - there will be plenty of pictures to share.



Adelaide and Sedona enjoy a little pepper break on a nearby doorstep.

Yeehaw!

Sedona has, as of late, taken a particular interest in all things cowgirl. What started as an impromptu bib over messy mac and cheese quickly became an obsession.

The boy loves him some trees. . .

Can't find Jordan? Check the middle to top of the nearest tree - even if it appears impossible for humans to climb. This is where the boy spent an ever increasing amount of time this summer and now, into fall he is only more determined to commission a tree fort for next summer. I am so with him. I want a tree fort. A lot.

I had another picture where he was actually smiling and loving life but a branch obscured the rest of his face and well, I make no claim to be a photographer. So here is a slightly over exposed and under focused shot instead. But hey, you get the idea, right?

Alright, Alright!

So I get it. . . I totally suck at this blogging thing now. So much for my grand future as a mighty internet presence, mocking trends, establish chic, displaying my dazzling intellect for all the world to see.

Alright, so clearly I was never getting there anyway, but a girl can dream can't she? Well, I say she can if and especially if she has been cooped up with sick kids for what is nearing 173 hours. Yes, 173 hours. Translated into sanity, let's see, if you carry the one and subtract five, multiply by 2, yes that sounds about right. . . . you get COMPLETELY AND TOTALLY LOSING IT.

I yelled at a sick kid a little while ago, sent him to bed, even harassed him a ways down the hall. Yes, I'm very proud. I will say only this. . . every woman has her breaking point. Mine happened to be somewhere during hour 14 of screaming and wailing hysterics about a headache. Now to some it might seem like the child was in severe pain and I am a wretched excuse for a mother. Some might be right. But I'd like to add that the screaming increased whenever I ventured past the doorway. Coincidence? Instructions and gentle meditation to help ease him to sleep with a hunch that sleep is just about the only thing left that might help . . . . flailing, wailing, screeching. It has been heck of day.

Sedona started this little adventure last Sunday with fever, headache and the eventual vomitting. Jordan took a sympathy day on Monday and pretended to be sick with her all day. All the high maintenance without any of the actual ailing symptoms of a real sick person. And so it has gone back and forth all week. I even managed to get in on the fun and spent all of Thursday in bed. Hoo-hah!

Alright, clearly I've lost my mind. But maybe someone out there who has sick sick kids who refuse to take the necessary steps toward healing (e.g. sleeping, being quiet, closing your eyes when suffering from a headache) might know the crazy little place where I'm standing.

I remember a time when a little boy was my only responsibility. He'd get sick, I'd sit and hold him, rock him, cuddle him back to health. We doted. He healed. Life moved on. Ahhh if only there weren't 7,000 other things happening in and around this house and a screeching 9 yr old that doesn't quite fit completely in these achy arms of mine so that I might sit and cuddle for days. But there's that other kid who requires feeding and washing and hugging and loving too. Hmmm.. .. that's a little bit more complicated isn't it?

Ah well. . . I suppose my self absorbed ranting should draw to close at some point. So here's to a good night's sleep and a tomorrow.

New digs?

After a measly 6 months, yes 6 months, the rabbit who remains nameless finally has new digs.
Well, I think so anyway. Are the "digs" the clothes or the shelter? He surely does not have new clothes as we simply do not ascribe to the dressing of pets, well particularly rodent type pets, in clothes but never you mind that - new shelter is what he does have.

Sedona still calls him "baby rabbit" and Jordan occasionally calls him "Carrot". Oddly enough, we learned that rabbits don't actually eat much by way of carrots. Rather, ours prefers lettuce and apples. A perfectly respectable choice.

I know you've all been dying to know the latest in the rabbit world.

Where ya goin?

There are only two answers to this question in our house. . .
1. upstairs to take a bath (please note: we do not have an upstairs)
2. crazy.

In hopes that we might help you better understand answer #2, you can share in a minute or two of our craziness. This is on the way to Naperville a few weeks ago. You can't really see the little buggers, but you'll hear plenty. Keep in mind also that Sedona apparently watched part of Bring It On (much loved cheerleading movie) just the day before. . . . explains a little bit about her tone.




And on the way home:
"If you don't quit horsing around, somebody is going to get hurt!"

Bloodied but still darn funny. Guess which one has the actual bloody nose and which one is "just helping make it better and to remember what to do"?

Rainy day pink

While baking has always been a rainy/snowy day favorite around here, Sedona added a little extra flare to our hurricane induced 12 hours of non-stop rain (thank you, Gustav) today with pink food coloring in the chocolate chip cookies. I can't say that once they were cooked they actually looked pink, I also can't say that judging when they were done was easy, but boy oh boy that pink batter was fun!

A father writes a sappy, selfish end-of-summer benediction

May you remember the summer and learn to appreciate the strength that lies in young energy and imagination.

May you never sweat the details, but understand that it is the little things that mean so much.

May you never settle for a life in which you are not challenged.

May you learn to appreciate the cosmically powerful forces behind the phrase: What the fuck?

May you never ashamed of your shortcomings, but understand that those are signs of your strengths.

May you have enough wisdom to reject those damned e-mail forwards with presentations to download and empty promises. Those are for people who don’t have enough to do. If you find yourself participating in these…find a hobby.

May you fall in love with the part of you that is God. May it become larger due to this love and attention.

May you continue pissing people off…they need to be shaken up a bit.

May you be willing to accept others’ weaknesses.

Wrestle and struggle against an idea as long as you need to…you’ll fully learn it that way.

See the power that words can have, and yet understand how useless 26 characters, 10 numbers and a handful of punctuation can be in comparison to daily action.

May you understand that there is no human-made political party that can hold a monopoly on God, His agenda or His ideas. Despite conventional wisdom, this is true even during an election year. If He fit into a party, then He would not be God. Believe instead in a kingdom outside of politics that is yet to be fully understood.

Understand that your parents are doing the best they can, and that, in the end, they too are broken people on the same crooked path. We happen to be on it a few years longer, but experience is not always the best indicator of wisdom.

May you fall in love with God's sense of humor.

May you never be afraid to cry during A Christmas Story or laugh in the middle of your parents’ funerals.

Don’t apologize so much, but continue on to make amends.

May you always seek what makes you similar to your fellow Earth travelers and not look for difference.

May you never fall victim to a fear filled existence.

May you struggle with your concept of God. May you nag Him with questions and sometimes forget the answers.

May you reject the media and artificial wisdom and focus on guiding axioms.

May you seek to understand others instead of judge them.

Allow this life to be full experience.

May you be patient with yourself and your abilities. You were made for a certain purpose. Stop searching for it and just be. If you figure this out, please let me know how you did it.

Try to understand that most of the things that others tell you and that you tell yourself are lies learned through repetition and redundancy and repetition. Don’t assume anything to be an absolute truth until you have struggled against it, and it has won.

May you always keep track of good friends and see yourself in their struggles.

May you pray ceaselessly for the wisdom of when to speak and when to shut your mouth.

May you always find what is fulfilling for your soul and pursue it tirelessly.

May you not get hung up on “the why” behind what you do, but jump in and trust God won’t drop you on your head.

May you always use the left lane for passing, and the right lane for being old.

May you find the strength to forgive yourself when you know you are the perpetrator of wrongs.
May you get to know old farts. Especially ones with a lot of scars. Ask them lots of questions. Scars are the indication of wisdom. They have much of it to impart.

Never be ashamed to be called any of the following: radical, unpatriotic, irreverent, smart-ass, asshole, jerk, obsessed, nauseating, inappropriate or late for a meeting. Working for others’ satisfaction will only tire you.

May you never be true to yourself, but only to God in the way you understand Him.

May you learn to love others for the parts of them that are yet to unfold. You don’t even know everything about yourself anyway.

May you learn to forgive your parents for their insistence upon imparting you with knowledge, for kissing you on the head in front of your friends, for growing impatient with you, for documenting parts of your life for all to read and for crying at your preschool graduation. They are loving you the only way they know how.

Guess who?

See that fine, bald gentleman in the second row, far left? (you might need to click the image to get an enlarged and clearer view).

"Well, umm. . . does he have ear puffs?", Sedona asks when trying to guess who I am.

I love a good boardish game in the morning.

Journals from the end

or beginnning, depending on where you stand. We are two weeks back into school routines and structured days and I'm weary already this morning, missing our wide open summer days. And so I reminisce (yes from only two weeks ago). Here are some notes that closed out this sweet summer.

"monkeys again. in cool unusual end of summer air. the crushing stillness of bugs and birds, air rattling leaves. somehwere a motor runs, whacking back nature grown over.

cheeto smears on mosquito bitten cheeks. a good summer sign. sign of time outside. sign of carefree messy snacks. (and questionable hygiene). a good summer sign.

I don't want to go back home! to tvs and computers. I want nothing to do with software or plastic, brochures or email blasts. I just want the breeze. even the occassional menacing insect I welcome. I want imaginations laughing and running unconifend by furniture or carpet or walls. I want space.

the sudden crescendo of crickets and tree frogs that rises up all around. then fades slowly only to swell again. creature sounds carried on the wind.

it isn't an attic fan or the whir of the washing machine. the electricity that brings o house to life tires the soul. there's a new electricity out here. rather, an life unconfined by time and flesh, One that simply is.

crunching through end of summer grass, dried and weary beneath our feet, we stalk butterflies.

moments to etch on backs of eyelids:
-Sedona squeals as she dives onto the swing, belly flops, arms and legs flailing as gravity yanks her out of the sky.
-Jordan remembering the differences between dragon and damsel flies. Slow and quiet enough to make not of which it is on the purple flowers and which tend toward the yellow petals.
-the feeling that we could have (should have?) spent all summer on trails and swings.
-orphaned spider monkeys in snow"

Once bitten, twice shy - okay maybe a dozen times bitten, forever outraged.

I hear Jeremy in the other room announcing to his grandparents that his "yankee wife got herself into some chiggers".

Well yes I suppose I did. I couldn't tell you how I did seeing as the extent of my outdoorsy activities as of late has been dinner on the deck of some friends. I didn't venture out into the trees to climb with Jordan and I didn't climb under, around or next to the deck. Just sat unsuspecting at the table while I was silently assaulted.

I know nothing of this chigger beast. I am indeed a yankee wife. Imagine my surprise.

I have a dozen little nightmares on my ankle that have kept me up long into the night. I tried vinegar, After Bite, hydrocortisone, Benadryl, alcohol, nail polish,wearing socks, not wearing socks, sheer knuckle whitening will power but to no avail. . . .

I thought earlier today that I'd post a picture of my poor little ankle, afraid that somehow the horror would be lessened by the limitations of the written word. So I took a few pictures (all of which made my heel look 4 times it's actual size, oddly enough) and thought maybe tonight I'd detail my struggle here for you.

Then I googled "chigger bites" and discovered how repulsive the sight of someone else's welted, burning, itchy, swollen foot and/or leg was and decided I'd spare you. I am not a person uncomfortable with feet. I like feet just fine. No weird phobias or neurosis here - at least not when it comes to feet and ankles. But, well, eww.

Think you have a pretty strong stomach? Try a google image search and let me know how you hold up. The combination of badly scarring flesh and the magnified image of the menacing little mite that caused the damage is just a little too much for me.

So all of that is to say. Dammit man, I met a chigger or two or three and I do so hope our paths never cross again.

You can thank me for sparing you the photos later. And for those of you who are oddly and grossly intrigued. . .. google images should more than satisfy.

Naked City, USA

Well, so, we overslept a bit this morning and in the somewhat hurried mess of getting children fed and washed (or least making it appear that they had been washed) Sedona refused to get with the program. She was happy enough about her resistance, still silly and playing but not wearing any pants.

I was collecting my lists for the day, phone, purse etc and still, she is not wearing pants. We got in late last night from some friends' and she'd fallen asleep in the car, so I simply pulled her jeans off of her and left her to sleep in her tank top. It was this very tank top that she felt was a complete outfit come morning.

I said, "Well, I'm about ready to go. C'mon Sedona, get ready. It is time to leave."

"I am ready." still with no pants.

"Well, I don't where you think you're going with no pants on."

without hesitation, slings her weight back on one hip and says, "I'm going to Naked City. You don't need pants there."

The trouble with imaginary friends

It is just all fun and games in the imaginary world until someone gets nail polish in their eye.

Yes, our darling ER maven struck again. This time we avoided the actual hospital but calls to medical professionals were made while the child was half drowned in the sink.

As it turns out, Sedona's imaginary friend (whose name she will not disclose) thought that a pale pink (yes, sparkly) nail polish might make dazzling eye make up. She then proceeded to apply said nail polish to lids and lashes which of course resulted in blood curdling screams, seering pain and a very red eyeball.

As soon as I identified the problem (through the tears and falling over) I dragged her to the sink and flushed her eye out which procured more screams and flailing.

Seriously.

So she's okay now. The vision intact and a little bit of an added sparkle to her right eye for a few days until the nail polish wears off.

Is everyone's life this exciting? Cause I'm gettin tired and I might be running low on adrenaline.

Our last hoorah

Living in Saint Louis, you are often told that the City Museum is lovely. I believed them, but didn't understood just how lovely a museum could be. I knew it wasn't the cheapest place around and so decided that we'd make it the last hoorah. Our final summer event. One last blast before school and bedtimes, alarm clocks and homework set in again.

So Friday night we picked Jeremy up from work a bit early and headed downtown to the City Museum.

I can't tell you how much we enjoyed it. Well, I can try and I can show too many pictures but you still won't get it. So you'll just have to come visit and see for yourselves.

City Museum says it is "where the imagination runs wild" and boy do they mean it. From grand pianos out in the open for banging and playing and composing, to Art City, trains that go through glow in the dark tunnels and well, more slides than I dare to count. We explored cold, dark caves in the bowels of the building and got lost in a giant bird's nest in a tree. They even have a vintage clothing boutique, circus and skateless skate park. Everything is designed with the imagination first.

The World Aquarium is just the way an imaginative aquarium should be. You can pet a shark (amongst other things), see giant catfish fed and yes, climb through more tunnels and slides. What initially looked half-baked, turned out to be just what the creative mind needed. The aquarium is an additional admission fee so I was a little bit suprised to find hundreds of individual aquarium tanks set up with separate lights and filters etc like you'd find in many a child's bedroom, hand written signs and encyclopedia pages (literally) of info Scotch taped to the glass. Instead of being substandard though, I've decided it was more of an adventure, more like exploring to wander through what could easily be a scientist/biologist's basement. And it wasn't just fish. Alligators, snakes, tarantulas, guinea pigs, and macaws loose in the air.

Oh but Art City. I stood in awe of the heaps and mountains of collage fodder, more tempera paint than you can shake a brush at, mounds of clay ready to be shaped. . . all free for the using. Big fishbowls full of water for used paint brushes and to discourage "dirty double dipping". Sedona is guilty of this dirty little deed and instead of surrendering her brushes, she made her way to a splatter booth/box to create messier, more active art. Everything about this room screamed "spill your creativity here!" I looked at Jeremy and said, this is like my dream come true. . .he looked worried and replied only"you're going to go tear the hell out of the kitchen now aren't you?" He knows me too well. I imagine concrete floors stripped of crummy vinyl tile and splattered instead with paintings spilled over. Mis-matched chairs no longer mis-matching as they all find a home in the paint smearing hands of the kids. Walls strung with anything and everything that inspires. Whether it be our own masterpieces or chunks of fabric and photo that make us think, or least breath for a moment longer. . . . .ah yes. Art City. And again, the pictures can't possibly do it justice.

But here I'll go trying anyway. . .

Sedona's ER portfolio

Head injuries or not. . .the girl still hams it up for the camera.

What limited sense of self preservation and pride that I still have intact prevents me from posting the pictures of Mommy and Daddy making funny faces for the camera wielding patient during our 4 hour stay in the ER. But know this . . . we are not beautiful people when eyes go crossed, lips curl, and nostrils flare.

A call for helmets and oven mitts

The following post is told in flashbacks, so if you have sustained any brain injuries or have trouble with the space-time continuum, then discontinue reading now.

The Latest Incident
I got the call yesterday at work.
"Sedona hit her head and it is like swelling faster than like...it is swelling really fast. What should I do?"
This call does not surprise me. Why? Because head injuries are what we do best in the Nulik house.

The Previous Incident
Just ten days previous to this Sedona and I were at the park having a nice time on the swings.
"I'm going to do a new trick, Daddy," she says.
"No...no tricks today," I say.
However, this warning was too late. She had already released the chains and commenced her attempt to fly. This attempt culminated in a dive that would have made Olympic judges proud.
Several hours and a few puking bathroom visits later, we had found ourselves in the warm confines of the Lake Saint Louis Emergency Room. CAT scans proved what we already knew...no concussions...just mild stupidity.

The Walking Through Doors Incident
However...not even this episode surprised me...why? Because only several weeks previous on a trip to Chicago, Jana thought she would try to be like Patrick Swayze in Ghost and go through a glass backdoor.
After failing to shape shift around the door, we ended up in exotic Central DuPage Hospital. No brain scan necessary here. After an ER fee, they told us to "Be careful." Apparently, I listen to doctors like I listened to my parents in high school.

The Original Incident?
Since the phone call yesterday, I have done some serious soul-searching..."Gully, Jeremy...that is 3 head injuries in 1 month. What is going on here?" Then, the memory of my childhood came to mind. Wow, I hit my head a lot. If my fallible memory serves me incorrectly, then I come up with at least 3 good sized concussions. This does not count the time I fell out of the tree house or when I jumped off my friend Steve's bike pegs. I can't imagine the worry that this caused my parents.
I am reminded of this phrase, "The sins of the father are visited upon the son." Apparently this applies to daughters and wives as well. God is not gender specific with the whole son thing.

Update On the Most Recent Head Injury
Sedona is fine. After another set of brain scans we have found the same thing. She has a mild case of being related to her parents.


Watch for more updates and, if possible, please send some helmets and oven mits. As head of the household, I would like to protect the other heads in the household by instituting a "Helmets must be worn at all times" policy. The oven mits are just a precaution. I wouldn't want anyone's eyes to get poked out. All helmets are welcomed, but ones that include a face mask are preferred.

- Jeremy