Concur!

This is one of those stories that I've been meaning to write about for awhile. Back before Christmas Jake was trying to plug in his laptop but unfortunately the outlet is between the wall and the couch. It's sort of a pain to get to.

Jake: Whose idea was it to put the couch here!

Me: Probably mine.

Jake: Well, you shouldn't have done it!

Me: It may have been my idea but Daddy concurred.

Jake: Well don't ever concur with Mommy again!

Me: Oh yeah? If Daddy didn't concur with Mommy we wouldn't have this house. We wouldn't have....

Link: ....You.

Me: That's right.

Jake: Well don't do it anymore!

Me: So Jake, if Mommy were to go to Daddy and say "I think we should take the kids back to Niagara Falls." what should Daddy say?

Jake: Concur! Concur!!!

Career Day

Jake: Guess what I want to be when I grow up?

Me: What?

Jake: I want to work in a bank.

Hannah: Are you going to be a bank teller?

(pause)

Link: Or a bank robber?

Aunt Lorraine

I don't know where to start.

I know it has been a seriously long time since I've blogged.

Until tonight it has also been a really long time since I talked to my parents or my sister Debbie.

I don't know where I am mentally.

On one hand I feel better than I've felt in a long, long time. I feel like me. I feel happy and confident and not depressed.

You would think that's a good thing.

But the days that I feel the best....I feel the worst.

Doesn't make sense, does it?

Christmas was great. For Christmas I planned a series of trips for the family. Link got a trip to Dublin with me in January. Hannah got a trip to Paris and London with me in February. Jake got a trip with the whole family to Niagara Falls in April.

I was happy. I was excited for our travels. I had actually paid for almost all of Christmas with the debit card and not the credit card.

And yet.

I cut.

I cut myself on Christmas. Two long slashes along my arm.

Why?

I don't know.

It had been one of the happiest days I've had in a long time.

But I did.

And then a few days later I was curled up in the fetal position afraid to take care of my kids while Link was at work.

Then New Years Eve came along.

Once again, it was a good day. We had Lincoln's brother and sister-in-law over. There was good food, a few drinks, and a fun time playing cards.

But the night ended in tears, a lot of cutting, and me in the treehouse by myself praying to a God I don't necessarily believe in.

I think about this blog all the time.

I have notes all over my desk about funny conversations that I've had with the kids. About things that are happening at work or at home.

And yet, I don't care.

I don't want to blog.

For a long time this blog was very enjoyable for me. I loved the fact that it's a diary of my kids' childhood.

And maybe that's why right now I don't want to record what is happening.

I'm happy and yet apparently I'm miserable. Maybe subconsciously I don't want to record what is happening in my life right now.

If I have learned nothing else over the past year, I've learned that depression is not something you can control or even understand.

And apparently it's not something I can conquer.

At least not yet. But I'm going to keep trying.

So, what does this have to do with Aunt Lorraine?

I don't know.

I was reading a book tonight and it made me think of her. How she lives in a very, very, VERY small town in Iowa and lives a fairly simple life with Uncle Bob. She is always warm and welcoming and even if you drop by without a moment's notice she'll lay out a spread of food like she has been expecting your visit for months.

She symbolizes home. And comfort. And family.

And whatever it was that I was reading earlier that triggered my memories of her got me to blog tonight about my problems.

I guess, in that way, she still symbolizes home, and comfort, and family.

And that's what I need to hold onto.

Presidential power

Tonight we were having a fairly casual dinner. Jake was making his hot dogs, Hannah was eating what she had made, and Link and I were eating fondue. Because everyone kept coming and going I was reading my book while we were at the table.

Hannah: I thought you said we're not allowed to read at the table.

Me: You're right, I did. But I'm the mommy so I can break the rules sometimes. When you're a mommy you can do the same thing.

(pause)

Hannah: Well what about Daddy? Doesn't he have any say?

(I look at Lincoln)

Link (laughing): Not really.

Me: Daddy is sort of like the Vice President. He has a title but no real power.

So proud

Jake can't go into a single store - or watch a single commercial - without wanting to buy something for himself. He wants everything. The other day I had a $50 credit at a local nursery that I knew was going to expire at the end of the year. I didn't want to let time get away from me and then realize that I had lost that $50 so I decided to let Jake spend it. At first Hannah was a little jealous but then I explained that she and I get to do all sorts of Mommy/Daughter things and I thought this would be a good Mommy/Son thing since Jake loves to garden.

But do you know what?

The little bugger surprised me.

He bought more stuff for Hannah than he did for himself. She recently decided she wanted to decorate her room with a "nature" theme so he bought her a plant, a stuffed owl, and a small fake Christmas tree. Then we went to another store and he bought her a frog doing a yoga move on a rock (she's into yoga lately because her teacher has the class do it at school).

What a softie.

Good things CAN come in shirt size boxes

(Unwrapping a birthday present the size of a shirt box.)

Jake: Mommy, why do you get to choose all of my clothes? They're too small for you anyway.

Link: Jake! How do you know that is clothes? You haven't even opened it yet.

(To me, under his breath.)

Link: Is it clothes?

Me: Yep.

(Upon discovering they're dinosaur pajamas.)

Jake: Wow! Thanks! (big hug for Mommy)

Bruce, Leo & Riley

Aren't they adorable?

The youngest child's Christmas lament

Yesterday we put our Christmas tree up. As we do every year, the kids put up the ornaments while I string the popcorn. Lincoln supervises the kids and hangs the popcorn garlands as I finish them. Of course this year our jobs overlapped as the kids wanted to help me string the popcorn and hang it too. I'm thinking in a year or two Link and I can just sit back and let the kids do all the work.

The one and only thing I put on the tree is a red elf that I had when I was a kid. They still sell these in the stores but what I remember about the elf was it was the "special" thing we put on the tree each year.

Jake: Can I put this on the tree? (holding up the elf)

Hannah: No! That's Mommy's. Mommy hangs that every year.

Jake: Why?

Mommy: Because every year when Mommy and her sisters were decorating the tree we fought over who got to put the elf on the tree and because Mommy was the youngest - something you're familiar with Jake - I never won. So now I get to put it on the tree every year.

Jake: That's not fair!

Mommy: Don't worry. One of you will inherit it when I'm dead.

Auntie Rachie's owl collection to the rescue

Hannah: What is Hooter's?

Me: It's a restaurant with a lot of owls in it.

Hannah: I think Auntie Rachie would really like that place.

Aunt Debbie: I think Uncle Kevin would probably like it more.

This girl is too smart for me

This week the kids and I are down in Arizona visiting my parents. For some reason while we were riding in the car today Jake brought up the topic of their first words. This is a conversation that we've had many times before but today it ended a lot differently.

Jake: Do you know what my first word was?

Me: Yep, ball.

Jake: And what was Hannah's first word?

Me: Boom.

Hannah: Yeah, but is that really a word or just an onomatopoeia*?

(Both Mom and I whip our heads around to Hannah....)

Me/Mom: What!?!

Hannah: The spelling of something the way it sounds.

(silence)

And for those of you playing along at home, Webster's defines onomatopoeia as "the naming of a thing or action by the vocal imitation of the sound associated with it (as buzz, hiss)"

I have no idea what her second word was so if we're not classifying boom as an official word anymore we're in trouble.

Radio Silence

I don't know where to start.

I have lots of things to say. I drive around every day and think of things I want to talk about on my blog but for some reason when I get to an actual computer I have nothing to say.

And my mother must be seriously freaking out by now. When I was in college if I didn't call every 3-4 days she would call me to make sure I was alive. That has continued well into my 30's and yet I haven't talked to her more than two or three times in the past three weeks or so.

When I don't talk to my mom on a regular basis my dad calls under the pretense of "you should call your mother" however, in this day and age of email, he sometimes just emails me and says "are you alive?"

I am alive.

And I'm fine....usually.

I'm certainly not having the trouble I was having when I was in the Nut Hut but I still have days that are worse than others.

And yet over all most days are good.

But I still don't call my mother.

Or blog.

I don't know what it is. It's like a mental block. I think about doing both but I just don't do them.

Why?

Who the hell knows.

This entire process has been a learning experience for me and everyone around me. I don't know what the fuck is going on. I don't know what the fuck to expect. But I do appreciate those around me giving me the chance to figure it out.

One of these days all the pent up blog postings in my head will come pouring out and you guys will be saying "Enough already!!!"

Until then, thank you for letting me deal with this on my own.

I love you all.

My very stylish kids

Aren't they adorable?

A five year olds view of his father

In my continued quest to catch up on things I've neglected over the past few months, I am finally posting the Father's Day story that Jake made at daycare for Lincoln. It is similar to the one that he made for me on Mother's Day.

The story is pre-written but Jake supplied the answers to fill in the blanks. His answers are in bold in the story below.

My Dad
by Jacob Snow

My Dad is the best Dad on the planet. His name is Lincoln. He is as strong as a pig. He is 38 years old. He weighs 100 pounds and is 5' tall. His eyes are black and his hair is black. My Dad's favorite sport is football. His favorite things to do is take naps. My favorite thing to do with my Dad is play the Wii. Dad makes me laugh when he tells me jokes. But when he gets angry he sends me to my room. I love my Dad more than spaghetti.

Happy Father's Day, Dad!

Love, Jacob

A lesson in joint checking

Jake: Mommy, since it's Daddy's birthday today YOU have to buy lunch.

Me: Okay.

(later)

Hannah: When it's my birthday I'm going to have Mommy buy lunch.

Jake: When it's my birthday I'm going to have Mommy buy lunch too.

Me: What you guys don't realize is that Mommy and Daddy share the same account.

Jake: Wait, what?

Me: Basically we both put all our money in the same piggy bank and either one of us can take money out to spend on things.

Jake: But what if you and Daddy don't agree on what to buy at the store?

Me: Then we talk it out like two grown-ups......and then Mommy wins.

A young Lincoln in training

On Friday night my friend Tracy and I went to a 40th birthday for our friend Tanya. It was a late night out and Tracy crashed in the Treehouse afterwards. The next morning Tracy, Hannah, and I were chilling up in the Treehouse while the boys fed us breakfast. Jake loves nothing better than to serve us in situations like this. At one point, when I had to go down to show him where something was, he got so mad and made me go right back upstairs once I had pointed it out because it was HIS duty to do this and I couldn't help him. Not only did he serve us breakfast upstairs but according to Lincoln he poured, flipped, and plated the pancakes all by himself.

Talk about a little Link in training.

This morning was Link's birthday and I was preparing Link's breakfast in bed. Since this is a rather unusual occurrence in our house Jake naturally asked why it was happening.

Jake: Why do you get breakfast in bed every weekend and Daddy only gets breakfast in bed on his birthday?

Me: Because Daddy spoils me rotten just like you're going to do to your wife someday, right?

It's never to early to start training them.

Jealousy...not depression

I realize I haven't posted since Wednesday but that's not because I've been in another downhill slide. In fact, I haven't felt this good in a long time. It has just been a crazy week.

Thursday night I went to a concert with my friend Tracy and my little sis Shani. We had a fantastic time but it was definitely a late night.

Friday I attended a 40th birthday party for Tanya (a wonderful woman who I met through Tracy) which was also a late night.

Saturday we had Link's family over for a birthday dinner. His mother's birthday is on the 20th so we usually celebrate the two of them together. That, again, was a late night although not nearly as late as Thursday and Friday.

Today was Link's actual birthday so I got up early to put in the egg bake that I had made last night and then the kids and I served Lincoln breakfast in bed. The best part of that was Jake asking why Mommy got breakfast in bed every weekend and Daddy only got breakfast in bed on his birthday. I'm sure you're wondering why Link doesn't get breakfast in bed on Father's Day but that's because we're usually down on the Vineyard with a bunch of other families that weekend.

Now to the jealousy part.

One of my favorite shows of all time is the Amazing Race. It is currently in its 17th season and I have watched every single one of them. As much as I would love, love, LOVE to be on the Amazing Race at any point in time, there are only two times that have been absolutely green with envy over what they get to do on the show.

The first was when they got to go on an African safari and feed raw meat to the lions. That is an absolute dream of mine. As in, if I get a terminal diagnosis tomorrow we are maxing out every credit card we have and going to Africa so that I can feed raw meat to the lions.

The second time was tonight. The teams had to go to Sweden and race a pack of sled dogs. I would love to do that. They seemed like they were having so much fun. I could pass on the time they had to run a mile or so in their underwear in Russia, I could pass on eating the live octopus that stuck it's tentacles to their tongue as they tried to swallow, but man oh man, I would give anything to have done those two challenges.

So, the moral of the story is.....

Not depressed, just busy and enjoying life again (thank God, Buddha, Allah & Vishnu!)

And I'm very, very, very jealous of feeding raw meat to wild lions and forcing sled dogs to drag me through the Swedish country side.

I seem to have misplaced my handbook

I've now been at my job for 8 years as of 10/30/10. In those eight years my co-workers have mostly consisted of married men, with or without children, one married woman with a grown daughter, one married woman with no kids, many single men and women, and any number of gays and lesbians. Very few of my female co-workers have been married much less have children. That has changed a bit over the years as a few of them have gotten married and started having families but they're all "newer" moms than me.

Why am I writing about the demographic of my co-workers?

Because it cracks me up when they call me up or pop in my office to ask me a question that "a mom would know" such as "how can I tell if this is still fresh?" or "do you have static guard (or a sewing kit) in your purse?" This is often followed up with "I figured you would know (or possess the item) since you're a Mom". One person - who later became a mom herself - once said to me, "Isn't that just something all Moms know?"

I laughed and said that I obviously never received the Mom Handbook.

The funny this is, I still call my mom for advice on how to know if something is still fresh or how long something should be cooked or when should I go to the doctor. You get the idea.

It's true that Mom always seems to have the answer but I personally seem to have misplaced my handbook. Or maybe I never received one.

I should ask Mom about that.

Lost in translation

I realize the last half dozen postings or so have been about Jake. It's not that Hannah isn't doing anything funny or exciting, it's just that Jake never shuts up so of course he gives me endless amounts of material.

Like this one.

Sunday the four of us went shopping at Kohl's. I needed to pick up a silver chain necklace and Hannah loves to try out all the different perfumes. She found one that was really nice smelling and she sprayed it on me. It smelled wonderful which was a good thing because, while I wouldn't have had any problem saying no if I didn't like it, it made it easier for me to sort of buy my daughter a bottle of perfume named "Provocative Interlude". I like it too so I bought it for myself but she can borrow it. This way it's actually my perfume but she can borrow it without saying that she personally owns a bottle of Provocative Interlude.

Because, as Link said, that just seems wrong.

(Okay, so some of this story actually was about Hannah.)

But we're not talking about bad parenting choices, we're talking about things that Jake says. While Hannah was trying out all the different perfumes he wanted to do it too. Of course we were trying to tell him that men wear cologne and women wear perfume.

But this is what he took away from the conversation.

(As we're pulling out of the parking lot.)

Jake: When do I get to wear man-fume?

OMG....This kid NEVER shuts up

Jake talks.

A lot.

And I mean a LOT.

The other day he fell asleep in the car on the way to Kristen's soccer game. When he first woke up he started babbling incoherent sentences. I wasn't even sure he was speaking English. All we knew was that he was awake and therefore he had to be making noise.

Have I mentioned he talks a lot?

Since I walked in the door about an hour ago Jake hasn't been quiet for more than about 10 seconds at a time. He's either talking about school or Dinosaur Train or orange water (OJ mixed with water) or balloons. Seriously, he just talks.

And talks.

Jake: Today, on the bus ride home, it was REALLY quiet today.

Me: Oh yeah?

Link: Why, were you asleep?

(laughter from me, Link, and Hannah)

Hannah: I know! Let's play the quiet game!

(Lincoln, Hannah and I immediately stop talking.)

Jake: HOLD ON! HOLD ON! HOLD ON! Ready? Uno, dos, tres....

(silence for approximately 20 seconds)

Jake: (as he bites into his taco and starts chewing) Num, num, num, num

(The 3 of us burst into laughter again.)

Hannah: You should blog about that. I might blog about that. That is definitely blogworthy.

The key to getting Jake to snuggle

Jake hates to snuggle. His idea of snuggling is a quick, half-hearted hug before he races off to the next thing. I told him yesterday while I was cleaning up the house that as long as he sat in my lap and snuggled with me he wouldn't have to help me clean.

I don't think he has sat in my lap that long since he learned how to crawl. I'm happy to trade a dirty house for some snuggle time.