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

Lonely Goats Tour 2008

It is a funny thing to find your children so very much unlike the other 30 running around screaming and chasing goats. Both of mine, separately, took up an adoption and compassion cause. After visitng with and brushing every goat she could find sitting alone near the fence, Sedona took to one particular goat, and there she sat for more than 30 minutes. Talk about dedication.

Jordan in the meantime traveled around looking for the loneliest, smallest goats and offered them additional milk (yes, we are crazy city folk feeding fenced goats from bottles for sport).

While the other children scrambled amidst the frenzied goats all fighting each other for the bottles of milk, mine were repeatedly found as far from the action as you could get. While somehow sweetly satisfying and encouraging it was also, I'm afraid, exhausting. I simply wasn't as taken with the goats as they were and, not wanting to leave their bleeding hearts alone, had to kind of loiter around the goat pen for a great deal longer than I'd ever intended or desired.

So I'm having all these swell thoughts about the kids kind hearts, and great compassion, their slow and steady approach to serving these underling goats, right? Ah yes, we've recently applied for 501c3 status, don't worry. . . .
And then Jordan, sweet Jordan, helped me snap out of it.

He'd been fending off other goats and humans in service of a particular goat (you'll see him below in the slides) for quite some time. Any other kids who tried to feed him were quickly turned away. Afterall, "this is MY goat." He looked at me and introduced me to his goat, was silent for a minute then peered deep into the goat's eyes and announced, "This goat doesn't like me anymore I need to find a new goat."

I still laugh good and hard when I replay it in my head (or on my screen as the case may be). I might be alone in seeing the irony here. Just as I'm thinking how devoted to this goat he is, how seemingly unselfish, he reveals that it had little to do with that particular goat. Rather, he wanted to be needed, to be adored. Ahh yes, human afterall.

Other highlights from our trip to Grant's Farm:

-A kangaroo that didn't do so much as flutter an eyelash (do they have eyelashes?) in the hour we were near its pen. Very creepy.

- Jordan got to feed an apple to an elephant!! I thought his face would cracked he was smiling so hard for what seemed like hours afterward.

- Displeased that the brochure showed a young horse alongside one of the full grown Clydesdale Budweiser horses when there wasn't a baby to found anywhere in the stables. . .Sedona announced that the babies were all hiding under the hay. I can't tell you how put out she was though. She's not down with false advertising.

- Ducks mating just a few feet away from the crowd. Always a good conversation piece for both 4 year olds and 9 year olds alike.

- Camels. Really, there isn't much about camels that isn't bizarre and interesting and somehow a little bit gross. They seem just great in movies and on safari home decor but up close and personal . . . yeah, I dunno.

Of humidity and gas prices.. . .

I realized just this week that we are down to 2 little weeks of long and winding summer days. 10 days to be exact. But as tends to happen in Saint Louis this time of year, the humidity has steadily climbed through the roof, sending my fibromyalgia into a little temper tantrum and slowing our outdoor adventures. And while Saint Louis has gobs of free attractions, they are all 20-35 miles away from home sweet home, which in my sad, old Blazer translates roughly into at least $20 in gas alone per trip. Not exactly free.

And so. . . .this past week found us at the pool, a mere mile from our home and at $10 admission I figure we saved $10 and we bargain away. We swam, we sunned. Tuesday was a good day.

Wednesday brought more rain (and its subsequent sticky, slimy air) and we made our way to the front yard to bask in it. It was a delicious summer rain, no lightening, no thunder, just a warm, steady rain.

Thursday, I don't care to mention as it was . . . well one of those days. Only a small percentage of residents made their way out of pajamas, movies were watched, boys were driven to silly gestures of boredom, snacks were scattered, imaginations were put to work (see Professor Jordan below, complete with costumes). And we move on . . . .

By Friday morning, the humidity reached such absurd heights that the toilet paper began to sag off the roll, paperback book covers rolled and curled up, edges of papers waffled in the moisture. Ahh yes. let's settle here near all the rivers and swamps. Delightful.

And then I found myself in Dallas!! I got to travel, on my very own, to Dallas for the My Shopping Genie Launch and it was terrif. Time spent with my mom, time spent without whining of incessant requests (besides my own), and the new technology was amazing. I'm really excited about this business as it might just be the way I get to stay home with the kids this school year. In fact, I'm sure that it is the way.

Shameless plug ----->www.myshoppinggenie.com/nulikjana It is a free download, totally free software. When the newest version goes public later this week I truly believe it will be the greatest shopping tool on the internet. It helps you compare prices and shop smart. Try it out and let me know what you think. I hope you love it.

End of shameless plug.

And now for the proof.

So that's what's been happening here. Stay tuned. . .next week we go to see Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers and to the City Museum. I'm looking forward to it.

I did it!

I painted my hair!!

Okay that part was really an unfortunate, though amusing, side effect of the long time coming painting of the kitchen.

Celery green went cerulean and cream tile went Jalepeno while cabinets turned chalkboards. Big fun.

Sedona, for one, had a blast squeezing her roller with her hands. She went to wash off the paint and returned with carefully remaining blue finger nails - had scrubbed the rest off, strategically leaving behind those little fingernails. It is a lovely color.

A rather warm, but magic nevertheless, house

Monday we found ourselves at The Magic House with friends. It is a children's museum of sorts, full of simply fabulous exhibits, experiments, tunnels and most famously - Children's Town, complete with victorian house, grocery store, pizzaria, library and more. It is fabulous - if somewhat of a mad house. There aren't any pictures of the hour we spent in a mock grocery store because I was employed restocking plastic produce while Jordan manned the register and deligated, ever so diplomatically, other (lesser, he might say) duties to pretty much every other kid in the joint.

I overheard Sedona asking for a turn at the register and Jordan, very much in store manager character, replied with, " I actually have an even more important job that needs to be done. But its big. Do you think you can do it? It will make you second in command and that is really important. Can you handle it? Okay, I need you to be in charge of arranging all these detergent bottles and other things behind me."

Notice he didn't simply say no. Nope, he's a smooth one. And she was thrilled to be second in command.

Other highlights included the giant bubble, electromagnetic orbs and of course. . .climbing.

Back to the beach!

What else is there to do on a 95 degree day Saturday but swim (and build sand castles with your dad)? You'll notice no pictures of Jordan as I wasn't able to shoot fast enough in the split seconds he'd emerge from the murky depths.

How old are you?

Somewhere along the way, the kids have moved out of diapers and out of strollers, past the need for binkies and sippy cups. . . and somewhere along the way, become actual people. But have I managed to move out of thinking that they NEED me for every little thing? This part of the equation is much tougher.

Every one of the last 4 summers here has held with it various reasons why we couldn't simply live at the pool. Most often it was because my two little hands simply were no match for 3 kids under 3 plus Jordan near large bodies of water. I thought it foolish and unrealistic to imagine hauling all the kids I babysat plus my two to the pool. So we never did. We became sprinkler experts, cheap inflatable pool proficient but never did we dare venture into the wonderful community pool just down the street from our house.

We'd even watch from the playground next to the pool as what seemed like billions of people sweat and burned and yelled and played and, presumably, had a blast. But as I watched I could only think "Ugh, what a nightmare. Chasing children, using pool bathrooms, sooo crowded. No thanks."

I couldn't have been more wrong!! And boy were we missing out.

Friday I shocked Jordan and myself when I granted a request to take him and a friend(Natalie) to Alligator's Creek (the pool down the street). We were there almost 4 hours and couldn't have had a better time.

Granted, there was some confusion at the outset. We approached the window to pay our admission fee and I said, "Two kids and myself". (Natalie has a season's pass).
But then I didn't understand what the woman behind the glass was asking me. And so I repeat. . .

"Just two children and myself."

And she said, "And how old are you?"

"I'm sorry?" I was already confused and we weren't even inside the pool yet!!

"How old are you?"

"Me?"

"Yes. How old are you?"

"27."

"Oh! I'm so sorry!!! Well, i guess you can be flattered . . . i wasn't sure. . . " and so on as she attempted to recover from her mistake.

And then I realized that she hadn't thought that I was 18 and a valid guardian for the minors I had in tow.

Oh man.

So here is the moral of my long and winding story -
Jordan is not 4 and Sedona is not 2 (well, and I'm not 16). I learned a valuable lesson Friday as I sat on the edge of the splash pool watching Sedona befriend any number of kids, help a girl smaller than herself reach the fountain and team up with 2 older boys in a silly game. Meanwhile, Jordan swam to his heart's content in the big pool, making new friends, running into old ones and learning all kinds of new tricks. He didn't need me to micromanage his swimming adventure and neither did she.

The sign outside the entrance said that kids under 9 need to have an adult with them. Is that to suggest that by next summer. . . I won't even need to be there with Jordan?! The reality of how much they've grown is slow to set in. 9 is 9, not 15 and 4 is still very much 4. . . but seeing them as people I get to hang out with instead of little ones to manage has changed the way we interact so much and I gotta tell ya . . . we're having a blast.

Seeing Red?

So the slideshows have gone berserk, simultaneously turning red!

I don't know why. But bear with me. . . I promise to fix it somehow.

Any suggestions as to what the problem might be? Temporary? Photobucket? My computer?

Oh me oh my.

Burn, baby, burn

I'm like the What-Not-To-Do poster girl for the American Cancer Association. Where there is sun. . . there is pink Jana despite any and all efforts at sunscreen. I am going to have to get a gargantuan hat, one that promises to cover me and 6 neighboring sun-seekers, err, sun-hiders.

I'm demanding a common sense warning label on all spray-on sunscreens. Just as coffee now says "CAUTION - HOT!" and cigarettes promise cancer, and alcohol warns trouble for pregnant women . . . I want spray-on sunscreen to warn idiots like me that the effectiveness of the spray may be related to the velocity and direction of the wind when applied.

In other words. . . don't spray it on outside!!! I'm a lobster!!! Listen to me, people!!

Yes, this is common sense and yes, I am a relatively intelligent adult and yes, I am burned to a crisp. So take heed. CAUTION- DO NOT APPLY UNDER WINDY CONDITIONS

Burning aside, we had a fabulous day at the "beach" Tuesday. I use scare quotes because I wonder what really constitutes a beach. Is it the presence of sand? The combination of sand and water? Must there be waves? I really don't know.

Nevertheless, we went to Cuivre River State Park and found a lovely little "beach" complete with sand and sun, oh and plenty of water.

To the Zoo!

Back in St Louis again, we made our way to the zoo Monday after the food pantry. Sedona has been desperate to see th snakes and lizards but the last 2 times we were there, the reptile house was closed. So we tried again and this time met with great success.

Sedona's favorite was the pig-nosed turtle, while Jordan opted for a shedding lizard. We even saw what we think must have been lunch trying to stay as far away from the dining snake as possible - about 8 feet up on the glass! We came out just in time to see the sea lions being fed. Jordan did a rousing imitation, startling nearby adults and children alike.

The Dinoroarus exhibit was nice but for the dino expert we have here it was a little bit old hat. But again, great pleasure was found in over- acting and posing for pictures.

Morton Arboretum - Lisle, IL

We were able to make a trip up to Naperville last weekend and managed a little bit of time for exploring the Arboretum on Saturday.

Sedona slept through the first half of the trip but once she was awake she was going full speed. There were giant bugs (which Jordan loved shrieking and posing with), gardens and tree houses, rivers to walk through and even a souvenir watering can and bug goggles (Thank you, Grandma Marianne!).

A wonderful time was had by all but Sedona's flip flops. While climbing we left her shoes down on a bench, in the time it took us to navigate the tree house, someone took the shoes to the lost and found. Oops. The only bad thing was that it took us another 20 minutes to find out that they were in the lost and found and hadn't just been misplaced by us.

Monday, Monday, Monday (Yes, I know that it is Wednesday!)

So Monday means Food Pantry. We volunteer at OASIS Food Pantry every week to help unload, sort and stock all of the perishable items that are donated by local grocery stores. This means lots and lots of icky gooey slimy things piled into a single box that might, if we're lucky, have some stellar produce in it somewhere. Not a job for the squeamish. Fortunately, we are not. Sedona, in particular, is an excellant sport and works hard to help break down boxes and fill the refrigerators with fruits and veggies. Jordan excels in the bread and bakery departments.

We pack lunches and set out to see what kind of trouble we can find once the work is done. Sometimes we find ourselves in the city, others, just downt the road near the riverwalk/old town Saint Charles. This week, though, we decided to try out a new park we stumbled across. It was a bit short-lived as injury and an incurable case of I'm-sweaty-whining set in, but we had fun while we were there.

See?

Desperately Seeking Sunflowers

We went in search of sunflowers today. There is rumored a field full of sunflowers, stretching across a valley near the Missouri River. We saw them. But they were held too far off for us to touch them and flop down and play in them. The stood there, waving, I imagine, at those of us bound by gates and silly orange signs.

Nevermind those silly sunflowers.

Today we found the mud. The streaked and dried, river just receded, still dripping just below surface, riverbank mud. We wallowed. Well, they wallowed. Each making a mark in the sand before sending sticks to challenge river's edge currents. We watched as wood of different sizes and shapes fared so oddly in the currents and whirlpools of the Missouri River.

I can see the moon from bed tonight. Only as the wind blows heavy branches aside and there it sits. And I'm thinking . . . somewhere, everywhere, the river flows in the darkness, sticks still struggling in its course. Rocks, thrown by excited little hands, heavy, still the bottom. Such insignificant changes for a mighty river, it seems.

But somehow, the grit in the bathroom sink, and the shoes not yet reclaimed signal greater change. The passing of 9 year old summer days, crawling in bed with mud still behind his ears.

Pink Bats and Independance Day Fun

The boy is fighting with the neighbor kid in the front yard. I am slow to intervene. While I've never allowed fighting or weapons, something is different today.

Both boys are smiling. They are in character - last time I was out there it was dragons, though it could just as easily now be Wolverine and Magneto. Regardless, my favorite part is the weapons they have chosen for their battle. One has a large pink wiffle ball bat, the other, a single red boxing glove (thank you Aunt Michelle). Neither, I might add, has any detectable skill in this field.

Meanwhile, Sedona fevers on the couch and I clean the office. I may have finally decided on a color for the kitchen, my short attention span and painting whimsy forcing a potentially radical change. We'll see. Swatches are taped up and I think I'm narrowing in on a plan. I am also plotting bright obnoxious flowers for the bathroom, maybe a few in the corner trailing up to the ceiling, maybe the whole of the ceiling above the tub. You never can tell what I'll do when I get my hands on a bucket of paint.

So that's our 4th. Hope yours is lovely.

You, the people . . .

will hereby receive the slideshow format you desire.

So, umm, vote.

Which is easiest and/or most enjoyabe to view? I am ever so indecisive.

Frontier Park and Foundry Art Center

Last Tuesday we ventured out to the Missouri River in Old Towne Saint Charles for some picnicking, reading, running and exploring.

My favorite moments:

1. blowing bubbles that float and bounce across our blanket, coming to rest atop sweet clover blooms without popping.

2. kids playing what looks like slow-motion tag. skipping and flopping across the empty grandstand stage. Each issuing so many time-outs, they are both barely moving, time-outs only to stop and strategize as it seems the other might be gaining an advantage.

3. the sound of flip-flops mixed with too long, untied shoelaces slapping on the cement.

4. cottonwood floating thick in the air. reminding me of home so long ago.

5. laying, faces to the sky, reading The Phantom Tollbooth, nibbling Cheez-its.

Once finished at the park, storm clouds looming, we made our way to the Foundry Art Center. A fascinating old, well, foundry, that made tanks in WW2 and later railroad cars. The building preserved, now hold artists' studios (who are happy to share what they are working on with curious little eyes) and traveling exhibits. It also features an exhibit of local school kids' work. Very cool. Mine loved it all.

What would you do for a Klondike Park?

So here's the plan. . . .in the interest of not falling even further behind, we'll jump in where we're at and then go back to fill in the gaps.

Today has been a rather lovely day. We went to see the Free Summer Kids Movie at the local theater like we do every Wednesday morning but with the addition of 3, yes 3, buses of preschoolers out to see the Veggie Tales feature today, there were no seats.
We were nonplussed. Ever the innovators though, we took our packed lunch and headed out to Defiance where an old glass quarry serves as one of our nations fine parks.

Our finest moments include, but are not limited to:
1. Jordan determines that it is just so beautiful and relaxing that he wants to live out here when he grows up, just in the country, build his own house etc. And Sedona adds that "we should better come here every single day". I think it was a hit.

2. A long since drowned tree reaches, algae covered, out of the water near a bridge we were crossing and Jordan sees "a mythical creature being eaten by an alligator." Also note that the fish near this particular bridge followed us back and forth from one end to another, disappointed I imagine, that we weren't offering them any food.

3. Purple flowers set lovingly in sweaty hair.

4. Headed towards the Phoenix Composting Toilet (a marvel, I might add) surrounded by silica sparkling sand, Sedona yells "Wait! The bathroom is in the snow!". The sand was very white.

5. Sedona hopping and stalking a small yellow butterfly.

6. Sedona singin, "C'mon strong legs! Take me to the water fountain!" A variation on our usual tune that remedies the hiking & whining blues.

7. Unbearable gratitude as our time there came to an end. Both kids and mom saying thank you thank you thank you. Such beauty.

And now a few photos.

Adventurin'

Stay tuned for an obscenely detailed chronicling of our summer adventures thus far. We're determined not to let the summer slip by while we sleep and couch and laze about. We're out and about and journaling and photographing and well, basically annoying everyone who doesn't join in on the adventure with our incessant recapturing. Audiences here are tiring of us, I'm afraid. So you're next. I'll get some of the highlights up in the next few days (I think. I hope. I dare not promise.)

A Recent Explosion

Yesterday was a long day. Just one of those really long days.

And if that wasn't enough. Then there was an explosion.

The kids were parked and pizza-ed at tiny tables in the living room while I readied my own plate in the kitchen. And then something exploded. It sounded like a gun went off in the living room.

I ran around the corner and screamed, because I'm calm and super-mom like that, "WHAT IS GOING ON IN HERE?!!!!!" (remember that part about it being a really long day?). But staring back at me were not the guilty eyes of my usually guilty children. They were terror stricken and I knew immediately that they had had nothing to do with whatever the mystery bomb was.

And then I saw the slime. Dripping down the living room wall. And as my eyes scanned the dripping, they came to rest on what can only be likened to brain matter and more slime on the floor (hey, I watch Grey's Anatomy, I might know what brain matter looks like).

Panic.

Confusion.

Drive-by?

South Central?

Aliens falling through the ceilings and bursting through the walls?

WHERE DID THIS STUFF COME FROM?!

I won't tell you how many baffled moments passed before I thought to look in a bin of donated items that was sitting in the living room. I should mention here that we've become a clearing house of sorts for items intended for those less fortunate. Which is really, a fabulous thing. People generously giving. Sadly, they are all giving to me to give to someone else who, without fail, disappears or is in transition or yet to be disclosed, and the stuff piles innocently around our house until it finds its way to those in need.

And so, I finally look inside the bin of donated household items, a few books, a pie plate, picture frames etc. . . . . .and discover the alien gang members who'd recently assaulted both living room and unsuspecting children. . . . . refrigerator cinnamon rolls.. . . .with frosting.


It was a lovely thought to donate such a yummy treat. I will, however, need to be informed in the future if there are any perishable or otherwise unstable items in the boxes, bags and bins that I collect seeing as they've been in my living room for 3 weeks.

So the slime turned frosting was scrubbed from carpet and walls and the children don't seem to be suffering from post-traumatic stress syndrome just yet, but we'll be sure to keep an eye on it.

Did I mention that it was a really long day?

Drive-thru Challenged

Anyone familiar with my eating habits knows that I am no stranger to the drive-thru. However, in recent months drive-thrus have become more challenging than I ever dreamed they could be.

Not since the days of 2-3 year old Bayley (who would ever so insistently request, loudly, a biscuit. Her little mouth however did not form the word biScuit but rather BigTi - well you can figure the rest)have I suffered such confusion at the drive-thru window.

We discuss the order to placed as we wait to speak into the frustrating little speaker box and we are all agreed on the plan, confident that each will be provided for. But somehow the minute I start talking Sedona panics and is sure that her order will be forgotten! So she chimes in, loudly, repeating things I've already listed. The poor soul on the other end of the speaker box doesn't stand a chance at accurately entering the orders. So we add and subtract and clarify and subtract an item again and then put on back on with no pickles and around and around we go.

Only to then realize after we've pulled to the window and handed over our money that in all the hubbub we removed one too many child-sized drinks. Arg.

Now, I have experience in this field. Not only is my own order often obnoxious in its specifity, but I also deal with it much more frequently than Jeremy, who is already drive-thru averse. If it can't be ordered entirely with numbers, ("I'll take a #2, #4 and 2 #5's please. All with Dr. Pepper. Yes that's all.") then it is already more trouble than it is worth to him. But this recent added confusion might just be enough to send him over the edge. Stay tuned.

**** A special note: This post was actually written umm, yeah close to a year ago, and somehow never posted. But I am happy to report that all have survived and grown more accustomed to the ways of the drive-thru window. Little ones have calmed and learned to trust that they probably won't starve and probably won't be served sheep's head. Plus, in an effort to become better people we don't see the drive-thru nearly as often as some of us might like to. ******

Imagining Invisible Friends

While the boy always had an affinity for tiny invisible friends, ones that would sit on the tip of your finger or be inadvertently (however routinely) squished by unsuspectig family members, Sedona's invisible world is not so invisible.

Sedona's imaginary friend looks remarkably like Sedona. Her name is "Sedona-seeka-lolla" which I imagine has some significance in Sedona-ese. A little blond girl wanders in and asks "Have you seen Sedona? I am her friend from school, Sedona-seeka-lolla." And I, of course, play along. Sedona-seeka-lolla and I talk for awhile about what kind of girl Sedona is, about tiny pink cats (a favorite in these parts of imaginaryland) and eventually she excuses herself to some other more important engagement. Moments later Sedona comes back into the room and says something like, "Hey, Mama. Have there been any girls here looking for me? What did they say? Where did they go?". There are also many many phone calls from long since disconnected and repurposed cellphones in which I am left to sort out whether it is Sedona calling me, her mother, or Sedona-seeka-lolla calling for Sedona. It is ever so confusing.

It is great fun and fortunately for me, not to the complete exclusion of tiny invisible creatures (with which I have some experience). She still carries a tiny pink cat in her hand every now and then. Not to mention the adventures of Sedona-ese.

She loves to draw and at the just-now 4 year mark, doesn't always capture the world in an easily recognizable fashion. So I say something encouraging and very nurturing like "That is lovely, Sedona (assuming it is, in fact, Sedona I am speaking with at that moment). I like all the different colors you used. What is it?"

The answer?
"smicka googa lolla seeka loo".

Ahh yes. How could I not have known?
Maybe we've been reading too much Dr. Suess. She always has enjoyed "On Beyond Zebra" which explores a few dozen invented letters and sounds that are used to describe much more interesting things than our sorry ol' 26 ever could.

Coolest kids ever?

The sketch solicited for Mother's Day. . . .
I can't not share. . .

Mama-mania

On the eve of Mother's Day I am presented with THE perfect Mother's Day present. Well, presents. Jeremy and the kids ventured to U City today and did some walking and some shopping and some eating of giant burritos. What their little adventure yielded though is a greater inspiration than they might have guessed.

In addition to an incredible caricature sketch of the kids, some rockin cds, and a lovely new windchime (for the wind took my earlier chimes away, tearing the strings, leaving silver tubes scattered across the yard), I got a book. Mamaphonic.

It is a collection of essays that insist that creativity does not die with the onset of mothering, but rather can truly begin. They are essays (the 4 I've already devoured anyway) that tell tales of creativity and perseverance with little ones. Scatter brained toddler years that put some artistic pursuits on hold while often birthing new ones. All the while the mind and heart of a writer, poet, artist, critic, dancer, lives on and grows into a newer, usually better, writer, poet, artist, critic, dancer.

Anyone who has spent time caring for young children knows how quickly the mind seems to go soft. How quickly the possibility of intelligent, coherent conversations with adults become impossible. How quickly the ability to form witty, or even intelligible, sentences seems to leave you.

I know this place. I know the lurking, stinking suspicion that the artist/writer/dreamer/thinker that once filled this skin has been replaced by a somewhat poorly kept, slightly larger, slightly sleepier, slightly stupider version of her former self.

I know the silly girl dreaming of greatness, sure that she was marked for something grand - just never sure quite what. And sometimes too sure that it wasn't this.

And then I stumble on moments that fall into places I didn't know had been left empty, gaping and without purpose or sweetness. I find wonderment again. I find an imagination again. I find out that this greatness is so much more.

I find the time somehow just before bed to go rambling on here. I find that my scattered brain may have just straightened itself out a bit - or at least scattered itself into something more adventuresome. I find a beginning.

And with this one silly book, I find a dream I had long since abandonned. A dream I had threatened to loose. A dream of being a mom who thinks, a mom who is still a whole person and not the barren rind of a cantalope, all its juicy sweetness sucked out, a shriveled empty remnant of what was, for a moment, something wonderful. A dream of being a mom who creates or at least basks in, if nothing else, wonder and excitement.

Happy Mother's Day to all the moms who do just that in their very own ways. happy Mother's Day to one mom who believed I could too.

I CAN be taught!

So I went back into the previous post and with patient guidance from dearest husband, I learned to embed links.

Here, have another one:

Our other blog, (while sporadically tended), can be found at Sentralized Nuliks.

It chronicles a bit of our spiritual adventures and the details of our work with/on SENTralized this past year. There will also be a new SENTralized blog up shortly that is a public forum for all those interested in or involved with SENTralized, giving equal voice to any who can find their way to the keyboard as opposed to my voice telling the stories all the time. Should be welcome addition to our bloghappy bunch.

Help yourself, too, to the SENTralized site.

Enjoy!

Is my insanity showing?

For those of you who might have followed the afore mentioned directive from Mr. CEO* . . Here is a short list of favorite posts to keep you busy and give just a brief glimpse of what kinds of shenanigans we are typically up to around here. And yes, I am buying time to write something new. And no, I do not know how to embed links so you'll have to kick it old school on these.

Huge Butt

It isn't funny . . .

Who knew?

"Just kinda makes me, like, . ."

Ummm, well you see, I . . .

"I'll just, you know, protect the world from bad people."



Read on, brave ones!
More soon,
Jana

Busted. . .

I've fallen away.
Terribly, embarassingly, away. . . .
from this blog anyway. Though life here has hurried on.

While I figured you all (careful there - not ya'll) had long since abandonned hope. Then just this morning I notice on Jeremy's new blog a directive sending folks here!

You can imagine not only my surprise but certainly the frenzied writing that must ensue.

Rather than substance though you are left here with me talking about talking. Ah such beautiful meta-narratives.

So what has been happening here?
In bullets with promises to elaborate in the near (yes NEAR) future:
-The boy scouts.
-The girl lip synchs and dares us to consider submission to America's Funniest Videos
-Jana sunburns then blisters then sunburns then blisters. . . .
-Jeremy writes and sends Jana into a frenzy.

But really, things are good - in that "goooood" with a sigh kind of way. Life marches on and the kids are bigger and the days seem busier but really, we are having fun.

At a wedding recently, we commented to the Father of the Bride that he looked like he was a really good dad after seeing the slieshows showing him being, well, what looked like a really good dad (attentive, silly, thrilled with said daughter. present. . .)to which he smiled and replied, "I had a lot of fun."

And we just keep thinking today and tomorrow - don't miss the fun. This is the fun stuff. Slow down or run faster - doesn't matter. Enjoy one another.

And so we do.