I Will Survive

Yes, yes. Hold the applause please.

If I were Lindsay Lohan, y’alled be thrilled to have me back from re-hab. Again.

If I were Barbara Streisand, you’d be paying a pretty penny.

And

If I were the Beatles reunion tour, you’d be in some quasi-half-heaven-half-earth arena and probably the age of my parents.

But lucky for all of you I am not stoned, not a diva and decidedly not dead. Or even quasi-dead. Though sometimes the bags under my eyes speak otherwise.

But I am back.

Believe it or look the other way, but I have been working on this post off and on for weeks. It was sorta like staring at the box or computer files of un-scrapbooked and unprinted photos of all my children since Hannah was born.

A bit of overwhelment and wishing I could just start from today.

But I persevered, and unlike my children’s scrapbooks, here is…

My advice on how to travel

Solo.

For thousands of miles.

For a month.

With four children under the age of 10.

One who screams and specializes in loud opinions.

One who needs a wheelchair and a bib.

One who thinks she does everything and gets nothing in return.

And one who is sure every object or digit can be turned into a gun.

I’m positive this type of travel is not recommended by AAA or even my mother and has never been articulated in a travel magazine, but out of necessity it was our best option to get us from Point A (Montana) to Point B (North Carolina) via point Q, F, W, and K. With a short jaunt on the south side of sanity.

I would forewarn you to not attempt a trip like this if you:

• look at children breathing and you feel completely stressed out
• don’t enjoy hearing children’s music/movies/books for 10 hours a day
• don’t like viewing agriculture whiz by at 75 mph or if seeing a truck loaded with pathetic turkeys growing more nekkid by the minute makes you want to gag or go vegan
• think your children are even slightly inflexible about where they sleep, who they slobber next to or if they even get a bed.
• really think if you pray hard enough, God will miraculously pick you up car, junk food and all and transport you 500 miles to your next destination.  It probably won’t happen. I’ve tried. And I’ve had faith to move vans before.

So, before you even go and you’ve decided you don’t meet any of the above criteria, here are the Good Ideas:

1. Check the seats. Seriously. Have you looked at the measly 1/4” cushion some of these car seats and boosters have? It’s pathetic. And if I wanted to NOT hear “my bottom hurts” 5 gagillion times, it was well worth the pesos to go to JoAnn’s and get some foam, cut it into rudimentary cushion inserts and stuff ‘em in there. I know, I know—it’s a V-8 moment for all of us.
2. Pack like a pro. Like my friend Deborah who learned me how to pack by days and not by child.
   1. Step 1: go to Dollar Store and buy ziploc bags large enough to hold a yak.
   2. Step 2: Wash all the clothes and don’t let them wear anything cute for a  week.
   3. Step 3: Pack clothes on one bag for everything you will need in a day: PJs, day clothes, underwear for you and the children.  This was especially helpful when I would roll into a hotel at 9pm and I’d grab the rolling suitcase encasing one yak-sized Ziploc bag with toiletries and be done.
3. Bring your own laundry detergent especially if you have kids with allergies/eczema like we do.
4. If you have room, pack a baby potty for those inopportune moments when the toddler just fell asleep or you are on a mountain switchback with no facilities within a state line. I also line it with a plastic store sack to ease the clean up. (I must interject here that the south and mid-west had rest stops exactly every two hours. And for some reason Hannah had to use them every. single. time.)You laugh, but one day you will leave me millions. Don’t forget—leave me millions. And not millions of potties—dollars people. Dollars, and lots of them.
5. If you know you will be travelling through toll country get a roll or quarters and don’t let your kids by candy with it because somewhere down the line there my a be an instance when you will be 50c short and it will be for the grace of all things good that the toll lady lets you hand in your last penny and gum wrapper and kindly tells you to stop soon to get more change because there’s another toll gate ahead. I seriously wanted to kiss her forehead and bless her womb. Or something.

Bad Ideas

1. Flarp. Good for 7 and up. Bad for little people who leave it on seats, clothing or just plain old whatever is on the top layer.
2. Felt board or magnetic board kits—great until the kid drops it or loses whatever pieces everyone else wants.
3. Telling your children all about the crappy hotel you bid for on Priceline by accident and that you will be staying in. Your 10 year old may be terrified to sleep and clings to you all. night. long because someone at any time could break in and murder us all.
4. Not remembering exactly how many hours were between each stop, running late in Colorado and thinking it was a 4-6 hour drive to Wichita, KS. Think more like 10 and we arrived at 2am. Fun. Times.
5. Thinking that the Worlds Largest Aquarium in Atlanta, GA would not be busy on a Tuesday. When you hear “World’s Largest” think “The whole world will be there.” Because they will.

Next time,  I will tell all the juicy details of my relationship with Jane, my GPS. I’ll tell you everything she is great at, everything that annoyed me and all the times I wanted to run over her with my Montana-sized tires.

I will also reveal my two favorite city names we drove through, the shmanciest rest stop you’ve ever peed at and links, photos and reviews of all the places we visited across 20 states.

Thanks for hanging in there and if you’d like for volunteer to scrapbook my children’s lives, please contact my agent.

Really

I really want to write a post tonight.

Really, I do.

I also really need to fold laundry, do some PTA emails and try to sew buttons on bibs.

I really would love if this season in my life had ample time for blogging and writing, but it just seems like it doesn’t.

I think I’ve written this twice before that I’m slowing down on blogging down to the point that it’s every Wednesday, but it seems be morphing into something a little more sporadic.

So, feel free to subscribe via email (see right) so you’ll get the full 411 (I’m so 90’s hip) or check back however often you fancy.

I’d really love to say I’m sorry but I’m not. I do the best I can when I can and right now I need to not be stressed.

I know you all have lives and I know I’m not destined to be a famous blogger, so thanks for taking me and liking me even if I’m a tad flaky and unpredictable.

Just call me a biscuit from a can.

And thanks.

Really, thanks for reading. I promise it won’t last forever and know I appreciate all your comments and encouragement.

Really.

Digits

Yes, Elvis is back!

(Sha-pung)

***sound of spotlight***, duh.

Except I have no flashy jumpsuit and I don’t look bloated and haven’t had anyone throw their underwear at me…

uh…this is getting weird.

But, hey—thanks for hanging in there and checking back when I faltered to return to bloggy-land on time.

I won’t bore you with all my life goings-on like making new bib/shirts for Katie, prepping kids for school and deciding I was spending way to much time checking email and removed myself from at least 15 blog and business email subscriptions--

Oops…I think I just bored you with the details.

I will, however, share nitty gritty stories, hilarious photos and goofy insights on America and travelling next week, but here is our trip by the numbers:

• 5 million bugs were killed on the windshield, hood and grill of our van—I’m pretty sure gnats are on the endangered insect list now
• 5,803 miles driven (give or take a couple hundred)
• 621 photos taken
• # of states driven through: 20  MT, UT, ID, CO, KS, OK, AR, TN, KY, MS, AL, GA, SC, NC MO, IL, IA, NE, SD, WY if you were wondering. And all you IA-ites we drove on the far western edge of the state, but wish, wish, wish we could have headed east!
• 43 lbs. of snacks spilled
• 100 (including children) people visited or bonded with (Thanks to all who laughed at all my lame jokes!)
• 12 beds slept in (thank you to all our hosts!)
• re-packed van/bags 5 times
• 4 kids (ages 9 1/2, 7, 5, and almost 3)
• 2 pages of scribbled notes taken while driving
• 1 me with now slightly more grey hair.

All in all with all jokes aside (hey, that’s 3 “alls” in 7 words!—now 4!) it really was a wonderful and memorable trip.

The kids did really well and I actually, shockingly returned home rested and refreshed. In all honesty there were a few times when I saw the merit in spanking children but I refrained. There were also a few times when I wished I hired a nanny, a masseuse and had a zip-line installed on the ceiling.

Join me next week for some tips on travelling with young children and my thoughts on America (or the almost half that I drove through).

Oh, and pictures—lots of pictures!

And funny stories—lots of funny stories!

And door prizes—lots of…wha?

See you next Wednesday!

Trying

I’ve tried. I really have. To plan. To prepare. To make everyone happy.

But I can’t.

So, let me give you the truth.

I’m leaving.

Just for a while. Call it a sabbatical if you will.

The children and I are travelling through 19 states and will be gone from Montana soil for exactly one month.

It will be an adventure.

Or suicide-by-road trip, one or the other.

We have many things planned, many people to see and many miles to drive.

And before I can leave I have to pack the commodities of the free world, make one years worth of bib-kerchiefs, trim hair, teach Mary Greek and be emotionally healthy for the days ahead.

All this, plus the fact that I don’t have a laptop, means you won’t be hearing from me until late-ish August.

I know it’s not really a big deal—it’s not like I make money off my blog or have the hugest following, but I enjoy it and I know a few of you enjoy chuckling and crying along with me and I love that.  It still is surreal knowing that someone else reads what gushes out of my little noggin.

So, have a wonderful summer. Spend less time online or with your nose glued to some electronic device. Get outside. Get messy. Enjoy your family.

Plan your own adventures.

And pray for mine.

Bon voyage!

P.S. It’s my 35th Birthday in August. Sometime between now and then will you just leave a teensy comment about what you like about my blog, any suggestions or thoughts about what you’d like to see more of?

If you haven’t commented before, I’d love it if you did!

And if you’re lucky, I’ll do a little gift basket from our trip!

Thanks!

Elizabeth

High School

Ever watched the “Behind the Scenes” under the subheading “Extras” in High School Musical Tres?

Of course, you haven’t. 

If you have, you must have been looking through our living room window a few weeks ago and you are a low-life creep. Get some help, why doncha? And don’t tell anyone what I look like with nappy hair, popcorn peppering my shirt and children laying on my every appendage like the papasan section at Ikea.

For the rest of you non-delinquents, it went a little something like this:

Fade into closing shot with the six very rich teen stars jumping in the air with their graduation gowns.

Fade out.

Cue crying.

Cue hugging.

Cue sappy expressions sobbed into shoulders like, “I can’t believe it’s over! We’re really growing up! It’s been so amazing!”

Interview each cast member about how much they will miss this crew, this cast, this, well, everything.

And that’s pretty much all I can remember because it so did not affect my life.

However, it did give me pause to remember my own feelings when I graduated from High School um…somewhere along the lines of…um…sdlfjsdfjsdkaf17sdlfjasdfjaskd years ago.

Actually graduation wasn’t that emotional. But my last choir concert made me feel like I’d just been ejected from a plane and landed on my tippy-toes teetering on the lip of an active volcano.

The active volcano was named “Life After High School” which is really an unusual name, but scientists are kind of weird that way.

While I found myself staring into this strangely named fireball/ science project gone wrong, I was swamped with questions: What would college be like? Can I do it? Will I ever learn to open a box of macaroni? Will I ever meet awesome friends again? Will I ever have a date for crying out loud? What does the future hold?

And other such blatherings…

And so, here you have my letter from me (at the age of sadfjsdklfjasdf34djfasdfa;sdf) to me at the age of almost 18.

Dear Elizabeth,

Wow! You are so young. I mean, you are just SO YOUNG! Just look at you! No pizza dough tummy, muffin top or jiggle. Wow—you are insanely YOUNG!

Sorry. That probably comes across a tad condescending. You really are a great almost woman person.

You’ve been through a lot and have a good head on your shoulders. You know what’s important and how you want to live your life.

However.

HOWEVER.

There are a few things that might prove useful to know and tuck away in your teal luggage that your Mom bought you at JC Penney.

In bullet form since I like bullets, but not guns:

• Ok, B.N.F. (Bad News First): acne doesn’t go away. I’m sorry to break it to ya. It comes and goes depending on hormones, hygiene and sweltering places you live. I’m really sorry, it really is terrible……..I’ll give you a minute to grieve.

• Ok, better now? Did you wipe your nose with a noncomedogenic tissue? Kidding. You don’t even know what that means, do you? And that’s ok because I can’t even pronounce it. And neither can the rest of you out there, right? If you can, say it 10 times fast. See? We’re all weird and a smidgen pathetic, so don’t feel bad!
• Those people you’re hugging and crying over? The friends you hung out in hallways with during musical rehearsals, travelled to NYC and vocal competitions with? They are wonderful people but a large majority of them (like 90%) you will barely have contact with until the invention of Facebook 16 years down the road. But that comes after the life-altering World Wide Web and and email. Don’t ask—even now, I still don’t really understand how it works. But believe you me you have been blessed with great friends and you will continue to be bonded with awesome folk.
• You will shockingly graduate from your dream school (after attending two others) and you will have an inordinate amount of fun. Like gobs. On top of gobs. You don’t even ever lower your standards—it’s all sober and clean! You will make so many friends and laugh so much that you will 15 years later have permanent laugh lines.
• Did I say permanent, because I really mean Per. Ma. Nent.
• Also too, you will have a perma-wrinkle because you are forever losing your sunglasses. Buy stock. Buy many. If nothing else, remember this. BEWARE THE PERMA-WRINKLE!
• Student loans are real. You will be paying them back for years and years and years to come.
• You’ll never be a guy-magnet dating phenom—it’s just not in the cards. You’re cute, but not that cute. You’re funny, but not that funny. You’re smart, but not that smart. And you are among the lowest ranks of flirters. You are quite abysmal at it. If you were in a locked room with 20 eligible bachelors for an hour, you would make them feel like they were hanging out with their little sister and as they exit, you would be passing out your friends' phone numbers that would be perfect for each of them.
• You will only kiss two more men in your life—the last being your husband. But don’t worry, you will have many guy friends. You probably would have had more kissers if you’d met your fashion-adept roommate earlier and she had been able to school you on the faux pas of combining flannel and sweats with the floppy pony-tail bun. But it did keep you in the single queue long enough to meet your husband.
• No, he won’t be tall and blond. Or speak fluent girl-eze. But he is handsome and very kind. And he thinks you are hysterical. (Right, Jeremy? Right?)He will be a great Dad and he’s perfect for you.
• Oh, and all those crazy names you’ve concocted over the last few years for your future children like Dannon Yoplait and Escondido Ballentine are a no-go. Thankfully you got married at 24 instead of 19 and your future children were spared the embarrassment of not fitting their name into the 7 squares provided for standardized tests (you’d think you’d know better, Elizabe) and were given very sensible names that wouldn’t get them shoved in a locker in 6th grade.
• Don’t worry so much about money, which guy is “the one” or what people think about you.
• Lastly, you know how you gained much fame and had much revelry showing everyone in High School your dolphin, weasel and car alarm impressions? Stop. Please stop. It really is unattractive and not as funny as you think.

Maybe I shouldn’t even tell you all this. You do pretty well despite the poor choice in clothing, the acne, the lack of flirt-ability and the car alarm side show.

Despite all that, life’s turned out pretty well. So far.

Not perfect. Not painless. But good. Great, even. I have the peace in knowing that God loves me. I have the knowledge that He has a plan for me. And I am surrounded by wonderful people who put up with my antics, my drama and my still-in-learning-mode-ness.

So, maybe forget all that lecturing, get as many laugh and sun-wrinkles as you want. Play pranks, goof off, work hard, serve others, make people laugh, and just have fun.

I know you will.

Love,

Elizabeth

How ‘bout y’all? What would you tell yourself on your High School Graduation day?

 

It’s comin’…

Hey, y’all.

I’m working on a letter to myself on my High School Graduation Day. It’s deep and weepy and highly educational which is more than you can say for most entertainment these days. So, just hold your horses and I’ll have it up next week.

Thanks for being patient (as if you have a choice) while I enjoy my children (and their fighting) being home this summer.

While you’re waiting read

• my letter to myself on my wedding day (part 1 and part 2)
• my letter to my best friend that ditched me when I needed her most
• my letter to the mean lady who tried to shame my sweet sister-in-law
• how a few lines of a letter from E.B. White changed my life

That’s enough lettering for now.

Over and out.

A little review

You know when you watch a movie and a main character dies unexpectedly and later while sorting through the effects, the family finds personalized letters to each of them?

And even the new godparents of the orphaned children have letters telling them all they need to know to raise the bereaved brood? The emotions swell as the family realizes just how wise and all-knowing their loved one was.

I wonder though, if the letters were found a week previous to the death—how weird and uncomfortable that moment would be. Thoughts of possible chemical imbalance may come into play.

And because I am a worrier and a sometimes planner-aheader, I often have that urge to leave heartfelt messages and counsel to my children in case I die trying to save them from a house fire. Or flopping on the floor of my dentist’s office.

But then I think of Jeremy’s facial expression when he finds the papers while I am alive and well making dinner in the kitchen and I decide push it off until I’m 80 or diagnosed with a terminal illness.

Which really, if you think about it, could happen at any moment.

Ergo my attempt at leaving my children advice and thoughts on adulthood and motherhood on this blog without my intentions being too transparent.

But just in case I kick the bucket before I get my real letters written, please print this off with your edits and additions, send it in the mail—and make sure to say a nice little comment about me.

Even if it is a lie.

I find ABC books annoying and predictable. Almost as bad as reading Green Eggs and Ham. Dr. Seuss was a great writer but if I saw him on the street, I think I’d have to fight the urge to kick him in the shins. I mean seriously, the rhymes, the repetition, the 38 letter words, the book with the same 6 words repeated over and over in different combinations--you’d think marijuana was legal a while ago.

But authors of ABC books do get kudos for simplicity and straightforward distribution of basic information, which is why I am blathering on and not telling you what I want to tell you yet.

So, for my children and all 6 of you:

The ABC’s of Motherhood/Parenthood/Life

A-G Edition

A is for All Done which you will never have.

Accept. I repeat: Accept.

You will never have:

• all the laundry washed, folded, put away
• every room in the house clean
• every child fed
• all projects completed
• every bill paid in full
• your home decorated just the way you like
• your car(s) spotless
• every desired skill mastered
• the bucket list marked-off.

You may be lucky enough to have some all at once, but unless you are insanely rich {to pay someone to do all of it for you}, critically poor {you can only sweep a dirt floor so much}, fundamentally lazy {the two reoccurring items on your to-do list are 1) buy Cheetos and 2) sit on the couch}, or taking your last breath—you will NEVER (and I do mean NE-VER) be able to coast and be D.O.N.E. So, be happy anyway and find a way to be at peace with the incompleteness of it all!

B is for Brownie Mix. In fact any packaging that is a pouch with a little flappy strip on the back is misleading. It looks so simple to hold and pull, but mark my words, resist the urge. I repeat: resist—don’t pull. Grab a pair of scissors. And if you ignore my counsel, go ahead and buy two boxes.

C is for Cement which is what granola, oatmeal and grape nuts turn into when not rinsed or washed from a bowl immediately after scraping the bottom. Again, you can ignore my warnings, but I hope you trust me well enough to know that this nugget is worth a keepin’.

D is for Dumb Toys: there’s a lot of it marketed towards kids and their parents and 3/4 of it falls into this category. If it has a screwed door for batteries or makes you want to repeatedly rock in a corner, then it may require a gift receipt. Not all, but most. Everyone has their opinions, druthers, tastes, whatever, but I’m all for kids playing in cardboard boxes, mud puddles and abandoned mines. Not that I don’t use a TV babysitter, have a DVD player for long trips, or an overflowing toy room, but there’s stuff that makes you smarter and there’s stuff that makes you dumber. I’m all for the first one.

E is for Enjoy. I hear from a lot of grandma’s that children grow up so fast. I think that is a BIG FAT LIE but I’ll give them the benefit of old age. Whether it seems to take an eternity or each day flies by like a first kiss, I hope you enjoy your time with your children. Or whatever stage of life you’re in. I wasted too much time in college wondering if this guy or that guy was the one. I wasted too much time (and still do occasionally) wishing everyone could feed, bathe, and read to themselves. I wish I could take back every time I told my children to find something to do because “Mommy has to get stuff done.” I think it bodes well for everyone when I give a specific ending moment/time and THEN we can do whatever it is WITH the child. I hope the moments my children remember from their childhood is the daily ins and outs, chores, errands, walks, talks that were done together and with my {mostly} complete attention.

F is for feed the masses, love the one. ]

Not feed the one, love the masses.

I’m talking about picky eaters here, y’all. I’ve read many magazine articles and parenting books and my theory is: choice—not force. I try to make healthy meal choices and it is their choice to eat or choose to be hungry. I channel my inner Dept. of Motor Vehicle agent and remain loving yet powerless to change the situation.

One of my fav. parenting books has a great line that I use when the hungry rage and wail, “I feel that way when I get hungry too. I’ll be sure to make you a great breakfast in the morning. Love ya!” It’s great—no counting bites, no bribing, no cajoling…just offer and allow the empty stomach to teach the lesson. I understand there are kids with sensory needs and other exceptions, but in our home, you have to at least try it {“You may just like it!” is my cheer} and if you don’t you can spit it out. It might just come down to my not having the energy, patience or willingness to fight at the end of the day. Here is dinner. Your friend, Drama, is not invited. Period.

G is for Grandparents. I love them. I love how they interact and love my children in a completely different way then I do. I love how they get them things I can’t afford and more attention than I can afford. But, sometimes I wish their was a filter on phone to screen out these real live examples that I’ve heard the girls tell various grandparents:

• We lost Hannah at the pool today! *pause* Uh-huh. *pause* Yeah, she was in the bathroom. *pause* She was naked with a twisted bathing suit. *pause* No, Mommy didn’t know.
• Ben ate this dirty, hairy bouncy ball that he found under the oven today. *pause* No he didn’t swallow it. *pause* Yes, Mommy got it out.
• Mom left us in the car alone while she ran back inside Katie’s therapy to go potty.
• My shoes have holes in them.
• We had cereal for dinner.
• Mommy left a poopy diaper on a vent and the whole house smelled like diarrhea.

Luckily, my parents and in-laws will be my witnesses in court if my losing the Mother of the Year ever comes into question.

Yes, this is a re-post.

Yes, I will write a letter from myself now to myself as a High School Senior. Makey sensey?

And yes, I will be doing a new and improved ABC’s of Motherhood vewy, vewy soon.