Think Spring....

Time for a little decompression. The kids are downstairs playing video games with their Daddy. I can hear how much fun they're having from here. I should go down and tell the girls it's time for Hooked on Phonics. I should. But I'm not going to. I'm going to save that for tomorrow night.

Tonight, I'm going to enjoy the fire and the quiet family room. I'm going to listen to myself think, which is a luxury when everyone else is home. It's been a long couple of days. Taylor has had the flu. And, unlike her 7 year-old brother, she has yet to master the art of making it to the toilet when she feels the need to vomit. So, therefore, I've spent a lot of time on my hands and knees scrubbing and sanitizing the carpet, the bathroom, the couch, and our bed. This is definitely not a perk of motherhood.

The sun was beaming today and it was a warm 40 degrees, which of course is a rarity these days in Michigan, and I could not go out and play. Instead I was cooped up with a sick little girl who wanted to paint fingernails, play Candyland, paint with glitter-glue, and watch cartoons. And while we had a great day, I could not help but wish we could be having fun together outside!

On several occasions, because I knew it was above freezing, I found myself chanting, "Melt, melt, melt!!" to the snow. I need Spring. I need consistent sunshine. I need fresh air that doesn't hurt. I need to go outside and play! I need rejuvenated.

I feel like a kid who has had her recess taken away. I look at my screened-in paradise of a porch and long to be out there, enjoying the sounds of nature. I can almost smell the freshness of the air as it blows my hair across my face. I love everything about Spring. I love the reassurance of knowing that Summer and Fall are still to follow. I love the fresh buds on the trees, the new daffodils and tulips that magically pop from the ground to say hello, the tremendous high I get the first time I drive with the windows down, the smell of the grass being cut for the first time...oh, that's my favorite.

It's coming...I know this. There are signs everywhere. Like tonight when I pulled into our drive-way at 6:15 and the sun was just starting to set. And today, when out of the blue, Taylor wished we could go on a bike-ride because she, too, can sense Spring's nearness. At pick-up, I saw several parents in sweatshirts instead of coats, willing it along. I see the girls' Easter sundresses hanging in their closets and choose to ignore the little matching sweaters that we bought for "just in case..."

And even though these harbingers of Spring should be comforting, they instead make me anxious. I have to work not to be irritable. I have to take more deep breaths than usual. I have to make it one more month. The amazing part is that March never gets any easier. It is this hard each and every year. You would think I would get used to it, but I don't. It gets me every time.

Winter is always fun, but it is a month too long. The kids and I have already officially wished for no more snow. We are over it. We'll save the hot chocolate for next December and be fine with it. Go away snow and let the sun come out to play! We promise to make good use of it!!

Dear Spartans,

So here's the deal, Coach Izzo: You offended a lot of people with your passion yesterday. While I think you meant well and what you were trying to say may have been valid, I fear that a number of people are not hearing your true meaning.

How do you think Mateen Cleaves or Morris Peterson felt when they learned that they had no identity as Michigan State University National Basketball Champions? How do you think Chris Schaller, a former Michigan State University Lacrosse Player, felt when you claimed that his identity as a Spartan never existed, even prior to his sport being yanked out from beneath him as a result of Title IX? How do you think I felt, a former NCAA National Qualifying Spartan Gymnast who endured four shoulder surgeries in an effort to continue to compete for her school?

No matter what logo we had on our shirts, we knew who we were and what school we were representing. We never questioned our identity as Spartans. In some cases, we were more Spartans than we were people. We gave our heart and soul to Michigan State University. So, please, don't shame us.

When I went home to my small town and wore my Block S Varsity letter jacket, I can promise you that everyone there knew I was a Spartan. Never once did I have to explain where I went to school. I was a Spartan, a Big Ten Athlete, and people were impressed with the reverence of the jacket.

I can promise you that when my husband, a former Spartan Soccer Player, and I write our annual donation check to Michigan State University, there is no confusion as to which school we are sending it to because of lack of identity.

I know this is not how you meant it. But, the fact of the matter is this is how it is being heard. This is why people are upset. At Michigan State University, we were taught to be winners. We were taught to preservere and endure. We were taught to take pride in ourselves, our teammates and in our school. We were Big Ten Spartan Student-Athletes because we were committed and coachable.

And right now we need to be coached. We need to be led. Inspire us to jump on board with the logo. Don't bully us. Remind us that a logo doesn't define us as Spartans. It is your heart that makes you a Spartan. It is your winning attitude that makes you a Spartan. It is your ability to overcome difficult obstacles gracefully that makes you a Spartan. It is your willingness to look past your own opinions in an effort to stand strong, united, and proud that makes you a Spartan. It is leading by example with strong, moral character no matter what the given scoreboard may read that makes you a Spartan. It is what is inside of you that determines whether or not you deserve to be identified as a Spartan, not the picture on the front of your shirt.

I am a Spartan. You could paint my shirt red and adopt a puppy as the new mascot. I would still be a Spartan. No one can take that away from me.

Hmmmm...A Ha!

The house is clean. The kids are in school. The dogs are sleeping. It is so quiet that I can hear the hum of the refrigerator. I actually have time to sit and write. I'm sure that if I thought, even for a second, that I could come up with something that needs to be done (like return the kids' shoes to Nordstrom,) but instead I am opting to take some "me" time. Why is it that when you become a mother, you can't do this without feeling guilty? Is it a good thing or a bad thing? I can't quite decide.

I love it that I no longer crave a mid-day nap. Yet, that used to be my favorite indulgence. I appreciate that my house tends to be very tidy. Yet, I used to take pride in the fact that I could let myself relax even if it wasn't. Now I can only unwind if everything is put away and order is restored. We used to eat out, pick up or order in all the time. Now that seems like chaos and, instead, cooking (and cleaning up after) seems easier. I used to wish the evenings away so that we could put the kids to bed. Now, I glance at the clock and wonder where the night went? With all the extra-curriculars and homework, it seems like the kids always go to bed late in exchange for some quality time together as a family.

I used to pray that one day our girls would learn how to talk. Now I find myself wondering if they're ever going to stop? I used to want to keep every piece of artwork that the kids ever made. Now, I carefully pick and choose the masterpieces worth keeping and am forever sneaking the rest into the trash, b/c I would rather have less clutter. I used to complain that Craig didn't talk enough. Now, I am impatient with his rambling and tell him to get to the point.

I used to wear high-heels whenever possible. Now, I wear flats whenever possible. Up until this year, I could down an entire bag of chips and dip and think I deserved it. Now I only eat a small amount at a time and have to suffer the lingering guilt. I used to kill every plant that ever got near me. Now, I have a green enough thumb that even my step-dad trusts me to babysit his plants for the winter.

I used to smother Tucker with attention and be frustrated that he wasn't a lap-dog. Now, he is ignored most of the time and is by my side every moment of the day. My favorite past-time used to be mindless T.V. shows because I could turn my brain off and not have to think while I watched them. Now, those same T.V. shows make me restless. Instead, I prefer the sound of a quiet house and my computer because I like to hear myself think.

When I grew up, I hated living in a small town. Now, I sometimes find myself longing for the simplicity of little, old Edon. I used to avoid eating fish at all costs. I hated it. Now, I am training myself to tolerate it because I know it's good for me. I used to be the loudest one at the party. Now, I prefer to sit back and let someone else wear that hat. I used to want to stand out. Now I like to blend in.

I used to like to argue. Really...I did. Because I knew I could win, and winning felt good. Words are a dangerous weapon of mine, and I don't always use them fairly. But, now, arguing gives me a headache. I am much more willing to bite my tounge because I see no point in the battle. Even when it's a battle worth fighting, I don't usually feel proud of my victory because chances are: it wasn't pretty.

It's funny, isn't it? How we change? How we grow? I had no idea where I was going with this blog when I started writing it. But now I get it. Just yesterday, I said to Craig: "You have lived with me for 9+ years now. How can you not know this about me?"

I can't remember why I said it. It could have been for a number of reasons. Maybe he put his bowl on the top rack of the dishwasher, instead of the bottom rack like I prefer. Maybe he didn't give Tucker fresh water when he fed him, like I prefer. Maybe he was joyfully singing at the top of his lungs in the morning, instead of being quiet and near-grumpy, like I prefer. Maybe he left only one pillow on the bed for me, instead of leaving me two, like I prefer.

Whatever the case, I am constantly evolving and changing. So, maybe I need to be more patient with him for "not knowing me" when it's pretty obvious that I'm still figuring myself out, too.

Princess Pinocchio

My little Taylor has a great personality. She is the entertainer of the family. When Taylor wants to be funny (which is often), she can make anyone laugh. She has a fantastic sense of humor, great comedic timing and hysterical delivery. And, while she is the funniest of the three...she also has the potential to be the naughtiest! So there are many times when she depends on her sense of humor to get her out of trouble. And, believe me, there are times when I have to be very disciplined not to crack a smile. Or, at the very least, I have to walk out of the room until I can resume her punishment with a straight face.

And while she possesses the ability to be funny on command, she is her funniest when she's not trying to be. A large part of this has to do with the fact that she is every bit as gullible as her Momma.

For example, she truly believes that if you lie, your nose will grow. After watching Pinocchio many times, Taylor started to become paranoid about this unsightly side-effect of lying. The paranoia started with several, repeated conversations with me as to "why" your nose grows when you lie? And, as any good parent would do, I told her the truth:

"That's just what happens when you lie. That's why you should never, ever lie."

About a week later, the girls got into a fight. Sydney ran downstairs crying and complained that Taylor had hit her.

"Taylor...Did you hit your sister??" I asked, in my stern parenting voice.

"Noooooooo......" Taylor replied from the top of the stairs with a crooked, naughty grin.

"Taylor...Did you hit your sister??" I asked again, only this time there was the obvious sound of threat in my voice.

"No..." She answered in a much higher voice, this time with no smile.

I attributed the change in voice and attitude to the fear of her lie being discovered. I thought she was worried about being in trouble. Or maybe she was starting to feel a little guilty for hitting her sister?

As I contemplated as to how I was going to get her to confess, I noticed her lip starting to pucker and a true tear form in the corner of her eye.

"Mommy?" she asked, while she fought back the tears.

"Yeeessss?" I asked, relieved. I was feeling proud of her for letting her guilty conscience get the best of her. Or so I thought...

As the tears started to flow, she managed to fearfully ask, "Is my nose growing???"

Of course, I explained to her that her nose was absolutely growing. In fact, I convinced her it was getting bigger and bigger by the second. But, I reassured her by telling her that as long as she told the truth, it would go back to normal.

"I did! I did hit Sydney!" She blurted out. "Is it small yet??" She demanded, while stomping her feet in a fit of panic.

I pretended to examine her nose.

"I don't think it's going to get small again until you tell your sister that you're sorry and give her a hug," I lied while fighting to keep a straight face.

Taylor sprinted down the stairs at once, sobbing the entire way. She flew into the kitchen at a dead sprint, practically tackling her sister with a desperate apology and a bear-hug. Sydney had by now forgotten that she was ever wronged in the first place and was, instead, in awe with the sense of urgency that concerned Taylor's nose.

Upon releasing Sydney from the hug, Taylor reached for her own nose and pinched it over and over again.

"Is it small yet???" she sobbed.

I leaned down to inspect her nose. I stood up, shook my head from side to side, and shrugged my shoulders.

"It looks like you were lucky this time. But, you better not lie anymore, Taylor. Do you understand me?" I threatened her.

She shook her head up and down and ran to me for a good cry and a tight hug. Again, I fought back the laughter. The whole scene was hilarious, but since I had just made a lying break-through, I couldn't let her in on the secret!

I'll bet for a whole month after that, Taylor didn't even dream about lying. When presented with the opportunity to lie, time would stand still and her whole face would turn white. And, even though she knew the truth would earn her a lecture or punishment, she certainly preferred that outcome as opposed to the dreadful thought of her nose growing again!

As time when on, she started to wisen up to the fact that maybe her nose wouldn't actually grow if she told a lie. She had to work hard to figure this out, though. If she told a joke, she would ask me if her nose was growing. If she wanted to play a trick on Daddy (like hiding from him so she could scare him) she would first verify with me that it wasn't going to make her nose grow. If she witnessed someone else lying, she would ask why their nose didn't get bigger. If I told her to pretend in any shape, form or fashion, I would have to convince her that it wouldn't cause her nose to grow.

As the panic of her nose growing started to fade, it caused Taylor to develop a "tell" for lying. Now, I can always tell when she isn't being honest with me, because she automatically pinches and rubs her nose when she's trying to get away with a lie. I usually give her a couple of chances to come clean, but if I want the truth, I merely have to look at her nose funny or ask if it's starting to feel bigger, and she can't help but tell the truth....just in case!

The other day, the kids were playing school in the family room while I was eavesdropping from the kitchen. Taylor was the teacher and she was reading a book to her students, Sydney and Gabriel. Because she can't yet read, she was making up the story as she went according to the illustrations. Fully aware that she was making up her own story, she would end every page with the phrase "just pretend." Growing frustrated with the repetition, Gabe couldn't take it anymore.

"Taylor," he said annoyed, "you don't have to say 'just pretend' at the end of every page. We know you're pretending."

"Yes, I do," she said, without ever dropping her teacher-voice.

"No, you don't!" he argued back.

Without skipping a beat, Taylor matter-of-factly chirped back, "Yes, I do so my nose don't grow. Now, listen up, class! (just pretend)"

So, whenever she even considers pretending, no matter what it may be (dress-up, house, school, etc.) she is sure to clarify her non-lying actions to the nose-growing gods to be sure they won't mistakenly cause her nose to grow.

It makes me chuckle every time. My favorite nickname for her when she is being silly is now "Princess Pinocchio." Every time I call her that, she stops, puts her hands on her hips, puckers her lips, and asks with an annoyed tone, "Why did you just call me that?"

I always respond with, "Because I think you are a funny girl."

And, because she likes to be funny, she concedes to a nickname that doesn't necessarily sit well with her.

So...I'm trying this blog thing.

So...I'm trying this blog thing. For several reasons, I guess:

1. Writing is how I think and process. I'm innately a reflector. I constantly replay confusing situations back in my head and wonder: What could I have done differently? How did I add to the problem? How can I make sure it doesn't happen the next time? Why in the hell would he/she say or do that? Basically...How can I make sense of what just happened?
2. I love to write. I love the structure of the sentence. I love grammar. I love the sound of the keys when I'm on a roll. I feel gratification from putting something down in print and liking how it sounds when I read it back. I like the attention I get when someone else actually agrees that the content was worth reading.
3. I'm honest. And lots of times you simply can't speak the truth without getting yourself into trouble.
4. The older I get, the less I am interested in TV. So...I have to find a new way to spend my quiet time at night (other than Facebooking! well...in addition to, anyway...)
5. I don't want to forget the things that are worth writing down...whether they are good or bad. If they are moments that are worth writing about, then they are certainly worth remembering.
6. I think one day my kids will take interest in what I have to say, even if they don't right now!
7. Because I am a realist, I think I have a lot of perspective to offer.
8. If Shumlas blogs, it must be cool. :)

So there you have it. That's why. So, if you care to get inside my head...here's your chance. If not...At some point, I'll probably end up telling you what I think anyway (if I haven't already!)