Celebrating a Milestone

I love my birthday. Have I said this before?

Well, this year is a super special one for me, because my age ends with a "zero" again.

How does one usher in the fourth decade of their life?

With a party, of course.

Does this look like the over 40 crowd?

I didn't think so, either.

Afterwards we go home and sleep...until we are awoken at 7:00 in the morning by the sound of the tree service truck. 

We cook ourselves a good, hearty breakfast.  

We take the kids to the neighborhood festival to spend time with friends.

Where they decide that climbing trees sounds like a lot of fun. 

 (It was.)

We return home in time to buy ice cream from the ice cream truck.

The family takes an afternoon nap...

...and then a game of Monopoly ensues.

 

What a wonderful way to celebrate. I am so blessed.

Wordless Wednesday: Minnesota Mountains

A snow mountain left in a parking lot near work. Note the size of the tree next to it.

Any takers on the estimated date of when it will finally disappear?

I Can't Read It. But I Can't Look Away

I get so angry. Sad. Frustrated.

I want to pick her up lifeless body and hug her, let her know that someone somewhere cared for her, would have loved her, would have treated her differently.

I read about children who were abused, chained to beds or beaten with sticks and I want to put my arms around them all. All ages, all colors, all backgrounds.

I do not understand how people can be cruel to a child. I look in my children's innocent, trusting eyes and I cannot imagine someone choosing to break that trust, to destroy that innocence.

My use of social media makes it difficult for me to avoid these stories. They pop up in my newsfeed, they land on my homepage of my personal email, they are hard to ignore.

I feel so helpless.

So I will channel that helplessness into extra hugs, extra kisses, extra time spent with my kids. If I cannot save them all, at least I can let two little girls know how much they are loved.

Spring Thunderstorm

From the storm on Wednesday, May 11, 2011. It was incredible to watch the thunderhead grow as it blew our way. It dropped some small hail in our neighborhood, but much larger hail elsewhere and one tornado was created from this weather system.

You know that if you hit 85 degrees and 70 humidity in May, you're in trouble. A 50-degree breeze came in behind this system.

Explaining Osama

This is this past week's Newsweek cover.

Wayne and I were discussing the latest development when the girls began asking some questions about what happened.

Where do we begin?

How much do we explain? Can they ever understand? 

9/11 is my generation's Pearl Harbor. I will always remember where I was, the feeling of loss and helplessness, the understanding that the world had suddenly changed forever, and no one knew what would happen next.

Our daughters weren't even born when it happened.

We began talking about what Osama Bin Laden had done and that our country had killed him to stop him from killing more Americans. They seemed to grasp it, and the next night Marissa asked us about the "evil man" we talked about the previous night. She wanted to know if he had lived in Minnesota and if we were in danger. We got out the globe and talked about where he had been when he attacked the U.S. Suddenly Minnesota wasn't far enough away to be safe until we reassured her that he was dead.

This is one of the things I struggle with as a parent: How much do we explain of some of the world's issues and at what ages? Did we tell them too much? Too little? How do we put it into terms they will understand?

There are some pieces of history that are more than just a collection of names, dates, skirmishes and battles. The events of 9/11 are one such event, a day that changed the world forever. They do not belong filed away in their heads with the Battle of the Bulge, Watergate or the Bay of Pigs. All important events -- I don't mean to diminish them -- but their importance was unveiled with time as they unfolded. They became historic as they became history.

9/11 belongs filed away with Pearl Harbor, with the days Hiroshima and Nagasaki were bombed, with the day JFK was assassinated.

Within a single day, most people in the world knew of those events, of their importance or that their lives would take a turn they hadn't expected or wanted.

Do we explain this?

I would rather that my children know not to answer the door to strangers, to never approach an adult in a car asking for directions, and to look both ways before crossing the street.

But at some point they will learn of the greater dangers in the world, and I want them to learn them from their parents' perspective.

Teaching Friendship

This past weekend Lindsey had a birthday slumber party. After last year's birthday shenanigans, we decided to tone things down a bit, keep it to just a few close friends and have a slumber party, instead of a party with lots and LOTS of friends.

I insisted that she keep it to three guests for a total of four girls. That way if they ended up pairing off in activities or games, there would be an even number. And there was no way I was dealing with six girls, four was quite enough, thank you.

She had a hard time deciding which three of her friends would be her guests.

After weeks of debating and discussing, she made the decision and excluded a very close friend of hers whom she sees five days a week at her before and after school program, as well as in the classroom. Her reasoning was that she sees this friend all the time, and the party was an opportunity to spend time with other friends who either aren't in her class or don't go to Minneapolis KIDS (the before/after school program).

I asked Lindsey a day after this decision was made if that was who she wanted at her party, and to make sure she did not want this one very close friend. Yep, she was sure. So I emailed the moms of the invitees to make sure that weekend was set aside, and a week later Lindsey brought invitations in for her three friends.

Her dear friend who hadn't been invited was crushed. Right after handing out invitations after arriving at school Lindsey came up to me and whispered, "Can I change who I ask?" No you can't, your other friends have already been asked. "Can I invite one more?" she whispers. No you can't, that is the rule.

She felt really bad for her friend who had been excluded. And then she came upon a different solution.

"Can I have a sleepover just with her one time to celebrate my birthday?" Yes, absolutely, we can have a sleepover with just this one friend, some other weekend.

That seemed to satisfy her.

During the past week Lindsey tried not to talk about her sleepover in front of her one friend, knowing that it made her feel bad, and kept reassuring her that some other weekend they would have a sleepover to celebrate. I'm glad she was thinking of her friend and caring for her feelings.

Overall the sleepover was a big hit. Everyone had a great time and no one seemed to get excluded from activities. But it was also an interesting lesson in friendship for Lindsey.

Blog Rewind: March of Dimes walk

First, a huge thank you to everyone who donated to my walk for March of Dimes. Last year I raised nearly $1,000, but it had been a stretch last year and I didn't think I could reach it again, so I lowered my goal to $750.

Once again, I was humbled by people's charity. Bit by bit, dollar by dollar, I raised $822 for my walk. Just 24 hours before the walk I was still $200 short of my goal. I made a last-minute plea on my Facebook page, and was surprised and honored by:

• The jr. high friend who donated, even though we haven't seen each other in 30 years. (She moved from my hometown before graduation.)
• A former co-worker of mine who works in another city who donated, even though I no longer work for the company and we hadn't met in person. Ever.
• The relative who donated for the first time.
• Three former neighbors, two of whom moved to other states years ago, who donated.

Of these, only one would have been possible if it hadn't been for a social media network that kept us connected. A huge thank you to everyone who gave to my walk, especially my sister and mother-in-law, both of whom give so generously every year. I couldn't have done it without you.

This year I hadn't planned to actually walk: I thought I would be in sunny California, cheering my husband on as he ran the Big Sur Marathon. But alas, that trip was not to be, so I was able to continue my volunteer committee duties by showing up on the day of the walk to do whatever the staff told me to do.

Despite having been moved back a week to the first Sunday in May, walk day managed to be cold and miserable. It was 34 degrees when I left the house with a sustained 16 mph wind. I deeply regret not going back in right away to get my snowpants. I found out later that meterologists were actually using the term "windchill" for that day because of the effect of the gusting wind, which also managed to blow over one of our tents. I froze until I was numb, at which point I didn't mind the cold because I couldn't feel my ass. Happy May Day.

The volunteer committee showed up at 6:30 a.m. for an 11 a.m. walk. It seemed a little ridiculous to me, especially considering we'd had an event company come out the day before and put up the tents. Really, what could we do that would take up five and a half hours? But I dutifully showed up, fully expecting to spend long minutes in my car, keeping warm.

The first time I got to look at my watch it was nearly 9:00, at which point I did have to go to my car to log on to the laptop, write some tweets and a Facebook status update, then respond or retweet any Twitter mentions. (Greek, right?) I warmed up some, which I deeply regretted the minute I stepped back out to continue with set up, because the cold seemed even more bitter. Finally I called Wayne and asked him to come down and bring my snowpants, which I finally got around 11 o'clock. It wasn't until I had those on that I finally warmed up. Seriously, people.

Families began arriving around 10 o'clock, and I became truly amazed at these family's committment. They came in droves, pushing strollers, pulling wagons, with little ones bundled to the tip tops of their heads. Despite the miserable weather, we had close to the 4,000 expected walkers show up, and raised the $1 million the chapter was hoping to raise.

Many were families personally touched by the mission, wearing t-shirts in memory of their babies born prematurely who hadn't survived, or with pre-schoolers who wouldn't be here if it hadn't been for extraordinary care that they received after being born too soon. It was so touching to see their dedication and see their little ones, walking right along their moms and dads for the cause.

I have no pictures of my own from the day - I was too busy to take any, and my fingers too frozen to operate the camera, anyway. But it was great to experience the walk as a volunteer. I plan to be back again next year to volunteer.

Days of the Week Feet

We bought day-of-the-week socks for Marissa last weekend. As of this morning there were only two pairs left: Thursday and Friday.

"Mommy," she called from her bedroom, "What day is it?"

"Thursday," I call back.

"Does that start with an 'f'?" she asks.

"No, it starts with a 't,'" I say.

"But you said Furzday," she calls, coming in to my bedroom, holding her Friday socks in her hands and emphasizing the "f" in the word as only Marissa can.

"No, it's Thursday, th- th-. It starts with a 't,'" I say, trying not to laugh.

"Okay," she says, and dutifully comes back with the Thursday socks.

What a kid.

Halfway to 16

I have a running joke with my dad, who I usually see about once a year, maybe every 18 months. I love him dearly, he just lives too damn far away to see much more often than that.

When he first met Lindsey as a six-week old, he held her in his big bear hands, looked at her and said, "Gee, 18 more visits like this and I'll be attending a high school graduation."

Now every year he counts down the number of visits left before that high school graduation. Right now that count is 10. And we're halfway to driver's license age.

That's just wrong.

So I will just focus on today, and on how special she felt on her 8th birthday. She awoke at 6 a.m, thanks to an alarm that was left on after an early morning run (ahem hem, dear husband...). And she patiently waited around for over an hour until everyone was ready to be a part of the gift unwrapping.

At age 8, she is just as excited by an iTunes gift card as she is by clothes for her Barbies.

iTunes card!!



Barbie clothes! (Ignore the gray half-way loaded photo. I'm too tired to fix it.)

She was greeted with birthday wishes when she got to school, got to bring treats to her class and was sung to at her after-school program.

When we arrived home a bouquet of flowers were delivered -- her first flowers that she can remember that she's gotten, compliments of Grandpa Tom & Meme Terry. (She got some from her daddy on her first birthday, but she doesn't remember that.)

We then went out to dinner at her choice, Benihana, a hibatchi restaurant.

And of course, they sang to her there, too.

We got home just as the phone was ringing. It was Aunt Kristi, calling to wish her a happy birthday, and a voice mail from the Lau grandparents, singing to her (again).

We got both the girls to bed a little late, and she was asleep immediately, a smile on her face.

Now that's a good birthday.

Ten more to go.

The silver lining to chemotherapy

It exists and is proven to fight cancer.

My dad was diagnosed with colon cancer 4 years ago. He went through a bowel re-section surgery and has had a long and difficult recovery. Thankfully the doctors had determined that the cancer had not spread and did not recommend chemotherapy or radiation treatment at the time. The whole family was relieved that he did not need to go through further treatment.

Fast forward four years.

A colonoscopy determined that the cancer has returned. It was caught early and thankfully, once again, is localized to a single site. But this time, they are recommending chemotherapy and radiation, followed by another surgery to remove the tumor. They hope that the treatment will stop the cancer from recurring.

My dad couldn't be more relieved. He is so glad there are treatment options. He and his wife were reassured in speaking to the surgeon about the road ahead; people have been down this road before, and the doctors know what to do based on those patient's outcomes.

So while I at first was dismayed at his having to go through chemo and radiation, he was happy to have that option, to keep the cancer at bay. So yes, there is a silver lining to chemotherapy.

Four years ago he kept a log of his health and the long road to recovery. He's found through the years that it's helped other people who have had similar surgery, and he's continued to get comments and emails from people who find his blog, looking for information on recovering from a bowel re-section. I like to think it's an early draft of a book titled "What Doctors Don't Tell You About Your Pooper." If you can tolerate reading all the details of the rumblings and workings of a GI system, follow his blog at http://bowelresectionhomerecover.blogspot.com/

I believe his blog will have a happy ending. But positive thoughts and prayers never hurt.

The Music These Kids Listen To...Harumph!

True story: This is a joke that the principal told over the loudspeaker at Lindsey's school. Please note that her school is for kids in grades kindergarten through 2nd grade.

Q: How do you wake up Lady Gaga?

A: Poke her face.

Get it?

You wouldn't if you didn't know that one of Lady Gaga's top hits is the song "Poker Face."

Everyone in Lindsey's class laughed. They ALL got it. Second graders.

Have you seen Lady Gaga?

And I have to admit: I have purchased some Lady Gaga songs for Lindsey. I've listened to them and paid attention to the words, and deemed them if not exactly appropriate, at least not offensive. And I have to say I love the message of her song "Born This Way," for people to accept themselves the way they are.

I also love P!nk. She embodies all the things I love: she's a strong woman with an amazing voice, rebellious, who laughs at herself and is soft on the inside. And like Lady Gaga, I let Lindsey listen to a few of her songs.

But I didn't intend for the entire album to get downloaded to the iPod she listens to.

It's not like I purchased the P!nk album for her. I bought it for me. Which means that I bought the "explicit" version. And there are some clearly audible words that she absolutely should not be hearing.

So the other night I hear the song "Funhouse" start up on her iPod in her room, and I immediately have her turn it. I let her know that there are words and songs that she shouldn't have on there, and that I am going to re-sync her iPod. That's when she informs me that she listened to the entire thing on the drive to Tracy last weekend.

Crap. Or something a bit stronger.

Turns out the last time I synced her iPod I had the settings from syncing mine, so she got all of my songs. I've rectified that now, and have also added a few songs that I think she might like, to try to replace the ones she liked that I've now taken off her iPod.

It's time she get exposed to The Beatles. No hidden messages in "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds," right?

I joke, but I love sharing music with Lindsey. She's at an age when she wants to discover new music, and I love sharing with her. Music was an integral part of my growing up years. I remember hearing Pink Floyd's "Wish You Were Here" on my new stereo and getting completely absorbed in the opening guitar solo.

I wonder if she listens to Lady Gaga and P!nk now, what will she be listening to when she gets older? Only time will tell -- all that she wants right now is a really good beat and a catchy chorus.

Baby World

We spent this past weekend in my husband's hometown, spending Easter with all his family and wishing his mom a happy 81st birthday. We had the privilege of meeting three new members of the family, all born in the last few months, and visiting with the recent one-year-old and a new big sister to twin girls.

Throughout Saturday as people arrived at the house got noisier, busier and messier. At one point Wayne's niece Chelsea, who is visiting from California, walked into the living room, looked around at the chaos and said, "It's Baby World!"

Aubrey, age 13 months.

Baby James, age 3 months.



Great-Uncle Mark and Great-Aunt Donna holding the twins, Paige and Hailey.



Aubrey is uncertain of her cousin MacKenzie's affections.



Grandkids and great-grandkids (minus Nicole's three girls.)

And there are more and more photos of all the shenanigans. Our girls' toys were a big hit with all the little ones who came through the door, despite Marissa's attempts to keep them out of the reach of "the toddlers."

The kids were especially entertaining, and when we got tired of watching them we found a deck of cards and entertained ourselves. It was good to watch the new generation of cousins playing together.

Playing a game of "Up and Down the River."

A good time was had by all.

WW: My Girls

The Family That Runs Together

This past weekend our family took part in the Minneapolis Recycle Run. The girls ran with their friends in the Kids Fun Run (1K) and I and my friend ran in the 5K. Her husband decided that morning to join in the fun and, of course, put the two of us to shame with his time. Wayne stayed off his ankle which he is still nursing from a case of tendonitis, and watched the kids while the rest of us ran.

My friend Julie and I. It was 37 degrees at the start. Yes, this is spring in Minnesota.

Lindsey was super speedy in the kid's run. Wayne may have found his running buddy.

Marissa put the burners on to catch her friend Greta. She didn't quite catch Greta, but she did lap the guy pushing the stroller next to her.

After the race we all went to the local Dunn Bros. coffee joint for snacks and a play area for the kids, coffee and conversation for the adults.

What a great way to spend a Sunday - an inexpensive activity that promotes a healthy activity. I think about the example we're setting for our girls and it makes me willing to sign up for more of these where we can involve them, despite my really not liking running. At all.

We've already got the family signed up for Time To Fly benefiting Children's Cancer Research Fund. Perhaps our friends will decide to join us for that one, too. Hopefully the weather will be better by then, it is at the end of June, after all!

Why Bookstores Cost Less Than Libraries (at least for us)

This past Saturday I took the girls to the library. We spent over an hour there, browsing books, snuggled up in chairs and reading together. Marissa picked out some perfectly suited phonics books and Lindsey picked out a couple of books as well. After a relaxing time, we decided it was time to go home to continue our collective reading.

I went to use the self-check out system and it said I needed to see a staff member. Okay...

Turns out that we had a book still checked out that we had never returned. I remember the book, I don't remember the last time we saw it in our house. We owed the replacement cost on the book of $20, along with late fees on the other books that HAD been returned, though obviously long past when they were due.

All of this had taken place over a year ago. Our total bill? About $35.

I pulled out what cash I had, and the staff member confided in me that as long as my balance was under $10 they would let me check out more books.

We checked out our books, got home, and two days later we do not know where the books are that Lindsey checked out, and we're missing one of the ones Marissa had checked out.

I guess it really is less expensive for us to go to the bookstore. At least when we lose books we just lose books, we don't owe anybody money for them.



"Progress" in the Neighborhood

Part of the charm of our neighborhood are the older homes that line the streets. From two-story English tudors like ours to welcoming bungalows, the styles and sizes are unique, with something for everyone.

But I get concerned when I see cute little homes like this one get sold.

While a 1500 square foot home was once considered large enough for a family of four, the average square foot of a family home today is 2200 square feet. And typically homes of this size that are sold look like this next.

And then like this.

Sure, the city guidelines say that a home has to be at least 10 feet from the lot line. The new homes going up are 10 feet from each lot line, on both sides. (The white picket fence you see here belongs to the home next door to this one.) It appears that this one is also 10 feet away from the back lot line, too.  And while I'm sure this one falls within the guidelines for elevation, it is going to tower above the homes around it.

I'm glad that the economy is turning around, happy for the construction company who got this job and I'm sure it will be a lovely home for a nice family. But it saddens me to see the history and architecture of the last century be destroyed. Having toured some of these new homes in the neighborhood, I can tell you that they lack the charm and special touches of older homes like ours.

At least, that's the way I see it.

I. Am. Five.

I can write my first and last name.

I can count to 119.

I can write "no" and "on" because really they are the same word, just backwards.

I like to draw pictures and love my mom and dad a lot, which I write on my drawings. I use all the colors I can when I draw, and I like to make patterns.

I can also count to 100 by 5s.

And most importantly, I dress myself.

My mommy is so proud of me that she can't wait for me to show my friends how I dress myself.

I'm proud, too.

Da Dove Veniamo? (Where Are We From?)

Lindsey's recent 2nd grade project was a cultural heritage project. She brought home a cut-out figure with instructions to research her cultural heritage, create national flags for the countries she's from and dress the figure in traditional dress from those countries.

This brought me to the following question: Do I tell the truth?

See, while growing up we were told that we were of Italian heritage. My mom made spaghetti sauce from scratch; no jars at our house. My dad taught us from a young age how to swirl spaghetti on a fork and that it was considered bad manners to cut noodles to eat them. For Christmas Eve dinner we had lasagna for dinner, partly because December 24th is my dad's birthday and he always picked lasagna as his birthday meal, but also because he told us it was their family tradition growing up, being Italian and all.

When people asked my heritage and I replied "Italian," it was often met with nods and smiles. "You look it with your dark hair," people would say. Never mind the fair skin, that must be my mother's Croatian side.

Then, about 7 or 8 years ago, my sister became interested in our family heritage and a great devastating truth was discovered: we are not Italian. It turns out that many generations ago there was a "philanderer" in our ancestral past. This particular predecessor married and then abandoned two families before finally settling down with his third wife, each time changing his last name to cover his tracks. The final iteration of his name is my last name, Floria. The version before that was Florey, and the original last name was Fleury. Yes, that would be French.

Upon uncovering this truth, my dad remembered that his mother always insisted that they had been French. But no one really believed her, thinking that she said this because at the time it was not popular to be of Italian descent.

This revelation truly startled me. I mulled on it for several weeks, in disbelief that so much of my cultural upbringing had been rooted in the wrong soil.

I don't even LIKE French cuisine.

Our friends from New York, who are proud Irish-Americans, found this tale completely hilarious. Love their support, thanks guys.

Now I was left with this question: Mommy, where are we from? Do I perpetuate the lie, or do I tell the truth?

And so she and I did our research. We looked up the customs and clothing of Croatia, land of my grandfather who immigrated here as a boy. And we researched England, where my husband's ancestors on both sides hail from...we think.

And then we researched France, the land of my father's family.






Someday I will tell her the story, and she can embrace whichever heritage she so chooses. Considering her love of pasta, I have a feeling I know where her heart lies.

Drive Time Entertainment

During our drive to Wisconsin we ended up in traffic that came to a dead stop on I-94 for approximately 20 minutes. There had been an accident with two semi-trailer trucks and the interstate was completely blocked. We and all the other vehicles around us put it in park and turned off our vehicles until there were signs of movement ahead. (I'm explaining this so you don't think I shot a nearly one-minute video while hurtling down the highway at 70 mph.)

Lindsey took this opportunity to grace us with her rendition of Katy Perry's "Firework" song while Marissa played with her happy meal toy from our recent lunch stop.



Proof positive that people don't sound as good outside of the headphones as they do in their own heads when they are wearing them. It reminds me of a certain audio recording of a sibling of mine singing the theme song to the hit TV show "Great American Hero" with noise-canceling headphones on. "Believe it or not, I'm walking on air I never thought I could feel so freeeeeee...."

Wordless Wednesday: Nothin' Like a Good Mud Fight

These Moments

I recently read a blog post in which a mom re-counted a sweet moment with her daughter. A moment. That's all we have, really, is life lived in moments. As humans we can't possibly drink in every detail of minutes or hours, we simply couldn't process all of that. So we live in moments.

Babyhood is filled with those sweet moments, those times of quiet repose with a baby gazing with wonder into your eyes. They become fewer and farther between as they grow into toddlerhood and beyond.

Yet I was recently reminded of those days as my youngest has struggled with the somewhat recent time change and a vacation which threw her schedule off kilter. She would sleep in if I could let her, but as two working parents, we have to cajole and urge our children out of bed so we can get to work.

"Carry me," she says, holding her arms up like a toddler to be picked up. She refuses to get out of bed but agrees to get up if I carry her down the stairs and into a kitchen chair to eat her breakfast.

And so I oblige her, picking up my big kindergartener, who wraps her legs around my waist, lays her head on my shoulder and holds on tight. Suddenly she is 1 again.

I hug her tightly, kissing her hair and carefully treading down the stairs. She is heavy and ungangly with her long legs and her torso which is slipping further and further down my body. She smells of shampoo and sleep.

We arrive in the kitchen and I set her in her chair.

"Thank you, mama," she says, and give me a peck on my cheek. Upon sitting in her chair she suddenly becomes a 5-year-old again, insistent on pouring her own milk and giggling with her sister over a burp.

But for a moment, a sweet, brief moment, she was my baby again.

We Are Family

Since we don't get together with my family over the holidays, we all get together in March to visit and spend time together. We look forward to it every year.

Ready for the pool.

The pool. The cousins. The Easter egg hunt. This year did not disappoint.

And for the first year, no tantrums, meltdowns, or fights. Who are these children?

It was fun watching Marissa and Paulie, who are all of 3 weeks apart in age, as they were quickly re-acquainted and ran off together to various shenanigans. Little Maddie trailed along doggedly, refusing to be left out of any of the fun. And Lindsey either joined in or enlisted an adult to play a game with her, games that she couldn't play at home because her little sister wasn't old enough and you had to have four people to play.

Unfortunately Wayne was suffering from a sinus infection and spent much of the weekend napping in our room. But that was okay, everyone else could help with the kids and he could be left alone to rest.

We went to a hibachi restaurant on Saturday night, which was both entertaining and delicious.

The best part? Marissa wore her jammies the entire day on Friday. We all wore our comfies most of the days, and socks or slippers were all the rage. If someone got tired and decided to take a nap, s/he could, no questions asked.

If the kids wanted to hit the pool, we could. If Lindsey wanted to play Monopoly in the common room, no problem. If they wanted to watch TV, they could....to a point.

There's nothing like family.



Grandma and Grandpa with the grandkids.