Stay Tuned

Busy weekend folks, filled with work and visiting family and of course before visiting family comes trying to clean the house (in fact, I do believe that's what I'm going to discuss next because I find the pre-company-cleaning-frenzy to be quite amusing...)

So for now, I'll leave you with this.

Pictures to show future boyfriends.

My Kind of Family

Given how I grew up, I feel like I have a rather strange picture of what a family should be.  It was less than ideal, the life I had, but it made me and so in a bittersweet sort of way I love what it was.

I have sisters and brothers related to me by circumstance, not by blood.  I have a dad, and an extra few too.  I had several moms.  I have a few brothers genetically my own who made me tough.  Aunts, uncles and cousins by the dozen.

Sometimes I saw it as dysfunctional.  But as I got older I understood how much stronger it made me.

I guess I always saw family as a kind of patchwork quilt.

There's a base, something you're given to build on, to expand.  Mine wasn't too great.  Weak spots and rather bare.

Holes are torn, holes remain unless you find a suitable thread and strong patch to cover it.  So many holes.  Some torn, patched and torn again.  Some covered more than ten times.  Some left open to serve as a reminder.  Some left open because I grew accustomed to a bit of a drafty spot.

All sorts of prints and patterns, different types of fabric, thrown together to mix and mingle with you and each other until this beautiful practically-piece-of-art is the result.  Something you can be proud of or hide away.  I used to be ashamed, but then realized how perfectly lovely I could make it, if I chose to.  And I did.

I've added and stitched and trimmed and perfected my absolutely imperfect quilt and here in my mid-20s it's still a work in progress.  I hope to set an example for my daughters, show them how what you start with isn't what you have to end up with.  Show them how amazing you can make whatever you happen to be given.  I held on tightly to some pieces even if it meant repairing the bond again and again.  I find sometimes looking back at those pieces of my quilt can be the most precious.

And sometimes something even more rare and extraordinary is introduced that happens  to fit just right.

I've given my daughters the strongest piece of fabric to start with that I could possibly offer, but I look forward to seeing what they create on their own throughout life.  I hope they'll learn from the eclectic jumble of what I've crafted and feel free to incorporate all those important people that will come along in their life and not be afraid to call those who leave their mark "family" just as I am their family, just as their dad is their family.  I hope that we five stay strong and so in love that we build upon each other's quilts for the rest of our lives.  I'll teach them how to reinforce those stitches that heal all the rips and as they grow they'll keep adding pieces of who they become to add vibrance and richness to mine.

(www.jessicakruegerphotography.com)

My family, my gorgeous family, all of them, spread across the country, the state, the city.  Something I can be proud of.  Something I worked to make so wonderful, so resilient and so strong.  Stories woven into an intricate tapestry, a wordless epic tale of who I was, who I am and who I have yet to be, as defined by all the people I've been blessed to know.

It's Happening.

Slowly and subtly, it has come.  You don't notice the little things that make the big difference, you only catch the bits everyone told you to expect.

You're getting old.

Can't stay up late and get up early, drink a cup of coffee to offset the deficit.  Your joints may ache just a bit more than you remember from a year ago.  Running after the kids leaves you winded, and recovery involves sitting on your possibly expanding region of fat over your glutes (due to your metabolism slowing, "thirty years of life, you ought to know to stay away from an extra fry, fatty" says your body).  You knew this was going to happen; it's remarked upon in hundreds of comedy shows and movies you'll run across on popular tv networks.

One of many I could name...

But what about the sneaky, unassuming and pervasive changes that you only discover one night sitting at the kitchen table, engaged in your yearly life reflection (in my case, weekly.  But I'm an anxiety-ridden spazz)?  If you look real hard, you'll see it just like I did.

A piece of pie partnered with a cup of coffee.

Shoot, any pastry placed in front of you makes you consider throwing back another cup of caffeine laced tar goodness.

I'm salivating just looking at this picture.  I might need to go out before I finish this post...

You're reading more than just the comic section of the paper.  In fact, it doesn't even take a headline anymore to grab your attention.  It's open to the "Metro" section and the sidebar text stops you in the middle of whatever other exciting endeavor you may've been engaged in.

It's easy to pick something up and put it "in the right place".  In fact, you now contain the "proper place" vision your parents always spoke of, but which completely eluded you until around the age of 26.

Just because you can now visualize it doesn't mean you have it.  What you have is kids.

You can talk at lengths about the weather.  With anyone.  Because it's relevant.

The speed limit, or five miles over, is fast enough thank you very much.  And anyone who passes you? "I'm going blah blah blah and the speed limit is only blah blah and they're still passing me!"  Sound familiar?  Yeah, your dad said it and now so are you.

Landing on the news at 6 am is not an accident (or in my case, waiting on edge for the time of morning when the news programs will finally start).

"Why see it in the theaters when we can just rent it?"

Thinking to yourself and/or saying aloud how different prices were when YOU were a kid.  And you aren't saying it ironically.  That stuff comes out before you even realize what you're saying.

If this were right now I'd be filling BARRELS.

Or how about the fact that politicians and children used to be much more respectful?

As each year passes you grow more and more familiar with what a particular food does to your digestive tract and what pill or powder will offset the negative effects.

And throwing caution to the wind means ingesting whatever ill-advised food it is without your pills or powder nearby.

You have every intention of getting drunk but fall asleep after the first shot/cocktail.  Probably in front of the television.

All of these, and probably more, are the more sinister signs that you're growing old, because they catch you off guard, unsuspecting.  They creep in and before you know it you're monitoring your stroke and heart disease risk and taking anti-coagulents while waiting for reruns of The Price is Right.  Our main concern is raising our babies and trying to enjoy the time our own parents have left during these fleeting mid-years, we don't notice what's happening to us.  We may lament wasting so many opportunities from our childhood, early adulthood;  we may be thankful that we made it through with our bodies and our minds intact.

This is my reminder to myself, and if it resonates with you too, all the better:  Live, now.  In the quiet moments, in between baseball games and ballet recitals and conferences and ER runs and considering your estate; live.  Wake up an hour early or stay up an hour later than the rest of the house and take that chance to remember what it's like to tend only to you.  You need that just as much as your children and your parents need the same attention.

Life in your late 20's-30's.  These moments are the best.

While making sure everyone else in your life is living the best life they can, make sure you do too.

Prayers For the Boys...

...who are foolish enough to try and date my daughters.  A lot of parents talk about needing a shotgun to drive away the boys from their pretty girls.  I don't think we'll be needing such drastic measures.  I'm fairly certain our girls will be fully capable of driving away the unworthy all on their own.

I'll show the future boyfriends this to lull them into a false sense of security.
 (Photo courtesty of Jessica Krueger Photography, http://www.jessicakruegerphotography.com)

A?  She's going to be the most high-maintenance female once she hits- wait, she already is.  It's going to take a special man, one willing to listen to her as long as she wants to talk (and that will be quite a lot), one who can deal with a barrage of emotions and someone with stock in the kleenex industry because those tears come at least twice a day.

She's all rhinestones and glitter and pink and pixie.  Good luck.

On the topic of talking?  Two words.  Unlimited minutes.

"Shut up shut up omg it's him!"

She's already getting notes from the boys, one apologizing profusely for the mixup with a birthday party invite, he insists he will convince his mother to allow him 7 guests instead of just 6.

A has this way of tricking the boys into doing work for her; whoever he is, he better be prepared for her royal highness to lay around poolside while he tends to both the yard work and the cleaning.  If she DOES do chores, she appreciates something in return, so I hope his credit card has a high limit; every time she does dishes she'll probably want to reward herself with a new purse.  And yes, boys, she's one of THOSE girls.  She already owns over twenty purses and is daily asking for more.

Be ready to build her a bathroom of her very own, because her makeup and her bath goodies and her towels and her bathrobes already at the tender age of seven are taking over ours.

Calmly discussing relationship issues?  Forget it.  You're getting a girl who's going to stomp away, yelling and flailing her arms around in a fit of rage (somewhat similar to her mother...).  She might be willing to re-approach the topic during a less emotionally charged time, but more than likely she will gloss over it as if nothing had happened until you dare to bring it up again.  I can speak here from first-hand experience.

Yeah.  Good luck.

N?  She's crazy stuffed in a crazy basket sitting on a crazy shelf just daring you to tamper with her.  She is rough and tough and she needs no one.  Any boy that thinks he can get her to hang on his every word and look up at him all lovingly and adoringly, I can't even finish a sentence discussing this possibility because there is no way it's ever going to happen.  She doesn't even look at her dad that way.  N is self-sufficient and she is happy.

I hope you're a doctor or a lawyer; not so you can afford N, but so that you can keep up with her.  She'll be buying her own toys, thank you very much.  And they'll probably be expensive electronics; she has very rich tastes.

If you're looking for intimacy and closeness, keep moving.  She'll cuddle for a minute but she's far too busy to mess with such trivial, mortal needs.  She has a world to take over and only one lifetime with which to do it.  At two, she's already making the most of every minute she has.  She won't slow down for her parents, she probably won't slow down for you either.

She'll tell you how she feels.  No running away here, no tearful outbursts that require you chase her to a door that slams in your face.  You'll know what she thinks right when she thinks it.  Unlike the stereotype of the female who hopes you'll read her mind, N doesn't have time or patience for guessing games.  The only way to get what she wants is to tell you, loudly and clearly, which she already has down to a science.  Imagine how she'll be by the time we allow her to date.


Ha, allow her.  A) We might have to coax her into a relationship, since I can see her being so focused on her own pursuits that she'll forgo social activities.  B) There's no "allowing" her to do anything, when she wants to she will.

"I do as I please."

We don't yet know much about W, to offer you any warnings about her.  But we've told you enough about A and N that you can probably guess how easy they'll make it to get to their baby sister.  I always kind of hoped I'd have a boy first to protect my baby girls... but now I realize that N and A will take down any threat to their sister swiftly and with poise and freakin' grace.

That look is N daring you to come in between them.

They'll kick your ass and still look pretty afterwards.

If all of that still doesn't work... Papa does have guns and he taught their mom how to shoot.  They're sweet and trusting, smart and absolutely wonderful.  If any of my girls DO give you the time of day and you go and screw it up, remember that I've watched a lot of crime shows.  I've seen how to dispose of bodies and tamper with evidence, you'll never be found.

Minnesota Manners

Regarding the phrase, "Minnesota Nice"?  It's dying.  Slowly, the decay started somewhere in the Twin Cities and is spreading outward, destroying the chipper atmosphere of small towns and big cities alike in its wake.  Ok, maybe a bit melodrmatic, but no one can deny that Minnesota NIce has been gasping for air, a fist around its neck, for quite some time now.

Minnesota-actually-pretty-freaking-rude

I'm lucky: living "south of the river" but working north of it, has given me time to prepare for its immenent arrival to my small town.  But still...

Signs of its decimation are popping up everywhere.

Silence in response to a friendly, "Hey how are ya?"

Friend, I am finishing that conversation in my head if you don't say a word, and trust me when I say you sound uneducated and rude.

No hand raised when I allow you to pass in front of my car despite no cross-walk?

This is more enraging than being cut off in heavy traffic.  I'm bigger than you.  I hold the power in this transaction.  Don't you find it unwise to offend me?  It's very simple and very common, I won't be offended or think you're making some other gesture.  Just raise the hand, palm facing any direction you prefer, best at a level slightly above or at the head, but if the temperature is below 20F I may forgive the quick and jerky lift of the arm as long as I see the flat hand that says "Thanks for allowing me the opportunity to cross the busy roadway in front of your automobile."  I've even got my A trained to do this one.

It's this easy.

No more holding doors for people?

OK, I'm not a frail elderly lady, nor am I any longer a pregnant woman of planetary proportions, but didn't this use to be common decency?  I hold the doors for grown men, children and cane-wielding ladies alike.  Because I can.  Because letting the door slam when you're two inches away is just plain rude.  Even if you're fifteen feet behind me and holding it is the awkward "make you feel rushed" thing to do, I will smile and apologize for being an idiot but inwardly still feel pleased with myself.

I'll confess to doing this.  No shame.

Cutting in front of me whilst walking in a mall?

Cinnabon is still going to be there, why the rush?  Mostly this is Mall of America rage, so I opt to avoid said location instead of crossing my fingers that I'll find polite people perusing the shops on any given day.  But on the occasions that I'm forced to pay a visit to the world's rudest largest mall, I come back out an angry, fuming, swearing beast of a human being with no hope left for humanity.  

Hell on Earth.

No you're welcome?

Ok, it could be that I overdo my please's and thank you's, but they're important.  Once we begin speaking as babies, it's the next most important thing to hi, mom and dad.  You're welcome is just as vital; an indicator that you've noticed my being polite to you and are grateful that people still say thank you in this world.  Flex that manner muscle and follow up with a you're welcome.  Please?

Seeing people struggling with a task and walking away?

Especially when eye contact is made, don't you think you could spare a moment to come to someone's rescue?  Even just ask, so you don't get barked at if they insist on being stubborn independent.

I'm sure if we refocus our efforts towards the revival of Minnesota Nice, we'll be able to slow it's demise and perhaps even see it's return in some places.  This will require commitment to the cause, dedication to educating our kids on the history and the hopeful future of all that is Minnesota Nice.  I'm afraid there's areas where it's just never going to grow back, so for now the plan is to just avoid them like my life depends on it (because it probably does, stress and heart disease: inextricably linked).  As for my family... be careful.  My daughters are much more outspoken and less passive aggressive than myself.

Annoy them with poor manners and you're going to hear about it.

Meanest Mom in Minnesota...

...a title bestowed upon me, today, by my oldest.  I have so many people I want to thank for this honor; the adults in my life who never let me get away with all the crap I pulled, all the adults in my life who did and showed me what happens when spoiled naughty kids get their way.  (I was a spoiled naughty kid, the truth is out.)

Sometimes I wonder if I'm "too" mean.  But then I get compliments on A's manners and intellect and I remember why I do the things I do with regards to disciplining her.  Of course, different discipline methods resonate in different ways with different kids; I don't even approach N the same as I do A, and they're both my own.  She's her own personal brand of naughty that requires discipline tailor-made to fit her.  Every day I worry that N won't garner the same compliments from teachers and strangers in public places on her adequate use of please's and thank you's and self-control, but I do the best I can.

Such poise.  So proper.  So cerebral.

For A, she's so sensitive that it doesn't take much to make me "the meanest mom ever".  As a baby, if she grabbed for something hot or sharp, I'd tap the back of her hand which would send her into hysterics.  The first time my dad ("Papa") ever said the word no to her, she was eleven months old and you would've thought he had ran over her puppy and made her watch, by the way she reacted.  Sending her to her room is akin to saying, "A, as the wicked queen of the house I hereby banish you to your tower, only to return to the lower levels of the castle upon successful eradication of all traces of your first grade social life."  I take away dolls, I make her eat the food I give her (careful to remember what she refuses to eat so I try not to serve it again, veggies notwithstanding; the "eat it or starve" fight gets old fast), I've threatened to keep her home from parties if she was unsuccessful in completing her chores for the week, I've emptied out her entire playroom in one big sweep after nagging her for a week to clean it, and every time thereafter that I've requested a room get cleaned it is followed by "Or I'll be happy to clean it for you".  I count and at the end of counting I do not allow another count, instead swiftly doling out the consequences through protests and stomping and tears, and any physical outbursts on her part are dealt with fairly seriously.  Oh, and once, I took away every single dress she owned for two weeks.  Effective.  One and done was her norm; I didn't often need to repeat myself, she learned the first time.  I'm lucky, with this one.  Schoolwork is done immediately upon arriving home, after which if her backpack isn't picked up from the floor it is mine the following day and she brings her stuff to school in a plastic bag.  She hasn't left that bag on the floor ever since.

Sweet and sassy, but at least her room is clean.

N is different.  Saying "No!" doesn't stop her, it accelerates her speed towards the naughty.  Redirecting is impossible, as N never forgets.  This doesn't mean I don't try.  It just means that instead of satisfaction in the form of a child that cooperates, I have to sit on the floor with her in a quiet space and wait for her to stop screaming.  I still take things away and place them up high, even if it means she will panic for several hours after.  For N I put up gates and barriers and try to be as consistent as humanly possible.  I suppose the main difference is that I never tapped her hand, nothing physical ever, because she's such a strong-willed and emotionally volatile child I'm afraid any introduction to physical violence will incite her to be violent as well.

I'm sure pausing to take a picture of the naughty doesn't help her take us very seriously.

The astounding difference between the two kids has shown me how very individually each child should be dealt with.  They learn academics differently and so that they will learn how to behave differently should naturally follow.

I've learned that I can't be their friend, I have to be their mother first.  Even though A is still pushing boundaries for me at home, she is a model student, a wonderful friend to others, happy and well adjusted.  I try not to gauge how well I'm doing as a parent by the way she behaves at home, but rather by the way society is perceiving her as she sets out every day on her own path through the world.  We write notes to each other in a notebook and hide them under each other's pillows; just yesterday she was saying that I'm the nicest mommy ever.  I'm reassured that today's outcry against her punishment will pass and she will love me again in the morning.  Somedays I even appreciate N's resolve and strength of will; she's going to get what she wants in life, every time.

You'll no doubt be fooled by her sweet exterior.  This is why she is called the Trickster.

I've learned that one will resent the other every single time, since they perceive the difference in treatment as favoritism towards their sibling and discrimination towards them.  I try to explain this to A since she's older and can nearly understand; but in the moment?  She's glaring at her sister with jealousy and anger, and I can't blame her for the emotional reaction.

All I can do is the best I can do, as I always have tried.

So I'd like to raise a toast to my fellow mean moms.  I won the title this time, but with enough patience and commitment, I'm sure you'll earn your own mean mom stripes soon!

God is Science

(Written here are my personal beliefs; I respect all people of all religions and seek no debate for I don't believe religion is debatable.  As long as what you hold true brings you peace, allow others the same peace.)

I believe in "God".  Not God as defined by any one religious doctrine in particular, but a general, powerful presence that watches and is probably delighted by the social ineptitude he bestowed upon me, coupled with the social butterfly tendencies of my eldest progeny.  But I'll save that for another day.

I believe in destiny, no coincidences, meant to be.

At the same time, I am a lover of science.  Apparently, the way I'm told, this is an extreme juxtaposition of thoughts/ideas and is impossible.

I disagree.

How can one listen to the story of the big bang, something created from nothing, a universe of majestic proportions from what was in the beginning the size of an atom, and not see God?

Oops.  Wrong Big Bang.  But then, how could a godless world come up with such an awesome show?

How can one learn about the delicate checks and balances that keep the human body running at optimal levels, the intricate and minute details without which we would never survive, and not see God?

How can one understand that the creation of gravity in the absolute perfect amount was integral in holding together the elements and molecules and stars and galaxies, and not see God?

How could a mother look at her children, consider the one in a million chance to be granted with that particular being in front of her, the process involved with bringing said child into the world, and not see God?

How can we love someone so deeply and completely, be so wrapped up in the well being of another person, so grateful to have been given that person, to have met him or her, so scared of death that will part us, and not see God?

How can one understand the fragile balances between the ecosystems and humanity, the effect we have on the world around us and the effect of the world on us individually and as a whole, and not see God?

That out of all the statistical improbabilities of the ability for human life to evolve on a rock that somehow garnered just the right conditions to sustain it, here you are, and here are your children, your spouse, your love, your parents, siblings and friends, staring back at the miraculously perfect world, and not know that God is there?

If you only glance at the surface, it's easy to miss.

God is quantum mechanics.
God is gestation.
God is recreating broken pathways in a damaged brain.
God is physics at work in every tissue of your body.
God is macrocosm.
And microcosm.
God is covalent bonds.
And ionic bonds.
And the entire periodic table.
I'm convinced E=MC^2 has implications in the possibility of a soul.
God is the breathlessness you feel when you try to take it all in.

God is in the details.
"God" is science.  Science is "God".