Blizzard of 2013!

We interrupt our regularly scheduled three-part mini-series on Casey's trip to SoCal to bring you a special winter weather report:

Early last week, the weather predictions started rolling in.  The kind of stuff that makes school-aged kids almost as excited as they get about Christmas.

A snowstorm was on the way.  Estimated accumulation of 9-15 inches.

On Tuesday, my teenaged offspring were already trolling Weather.com to assess the value of their "homework poker hand."

To do...or not to do?

Fortunately for them, they played conservatively.  :o)  Wednesday morning we awoke to nary a flake on the ground.  Three grumbling teenagers and a pre-teen shuffled out the door--bookbags and lunches in hand.

At 9am...true to the weather reports, the first flakes started to fall.

And I have to admit.  I was as giddy as my kids.  We haven't had a "good, old-fashioned snow day" here in a couple of years.  I was out of town last weekend, in Lawrence on Monday for teachers' meetings, so I was missing hanging out with them. And our "snow days"?  Well, they're numbered.  I was really looking forward to a lazy day at home in jammies, watching TV, drinking coffee, sleeping in.

By late afternoon, our backyard looked like this:

By 4:30pm, the "powers that be" at the school district called it.  No school for Thursday.  The "snow day happy dance" began in earnest. 

Teens and pre-teens hastily made late night TV and Playstation preparations.  

True to the predictions, it dumped snow all night long and was continuing to fall with gusto Thursday morning.

Thursday morning, "Snow Day Reality" hit.

~ I don't like winter.  And I really don't like snow very much.  I had forgotten this little piece of information.  

My dear friend and cousin by marriage, Stephanie, put it so very eloquently on Facebook:

I think I would like snow more if it were warmer.
And made out of sand.
And next to the ocean.

I suppose that's what "snow" is like in SoCal.

~ My 13 year-old son, who conned me into letting him spend the night at a friend's house on Wednesday night, is the owner of one psychotic, ill-behaved, Golden Retriever.  Because that dog will jump the fence and take off at any chance he gets, he has to be leashed and taken out to go to the bathroom. 

 Training him to relieve himself in his dog run seemed like such an awesome idea back in the summer.  On Thursday morning?  Not so much.

That's a long walk to make several times a day with a psychotic dog who just wants to get away from you and bound around in the snow...all over the neighborhood.  And a lot of snow to wipe up of off the kitchen floor.

~ Although my idea of the perfect snow day is staying in my jammies, drinking coffee, and reading a great book under a warm blanket on my couch as I watch the picturesque "Currier and Ives" view from my living room window, my 11 year-old daughter's idea of the perfect snow day is to suit up and Get. Out. In. It.  And she's not content to be out there alone.  She wants company.  Me.  

I know that there will come a day where I won't be her first choice of people to hang out with and that I'm on borrowed time, but still.  I stalled her for as long as possible.

With snow ice cream:

And a sewing project (photo unavailable).

And then I caved.  She would not be put off any longer.  We suited up.  And Got. Out. In. It.

Over the next couple of days (Snow Day Friday, as well), we made snow angels, chased each other in 15 inches of snow, had a snowball fight, shoveled a driveway,

Went sledding:

Made two snowmen:

Harriett

And Harriett's friend.

Drank countless cups of hot cocoa and coffee, and made memories that will hopefully last us a lifetime.  

Memories that we can reminisce about in SoCal, where our "winters" better consist of walking barefoot on the beach in February.

So...How Was It?--Day One

Well, I'm back from sunny SoCal.  I survived.  The kids survived.  Probably most importantly, my saint of a mother who stayed with 3 teenagers and a pre-teen while I was gone survived.

And people keep asking how the trip was.  So here's a recap:

2.14.13--Day One
Left my house at 4:30 am to catch a 6:30 am flight.  Didn't sleep at all the evening before (too afraid I'd oversleep and miss the plane.  And I still had stuff to do.  Like pack.  And clear a space in my office for my mom to work).  I now know why they say that driving while exhausted is as dangerous as driving under the influence.  Lesson learned.  I'm too old for that kind of thing.

Slept intermittently on the plane to Denver.  Made my connecting flight to John Wayne just fine.  Slept intermittently on that flight.  Did fine.  No problems.

Until we started our descent into LA.  I had a window seat.  As I looked out over the foreign landscape--mountains--and miles and miles and miles of houses, I started to cry.  Completely full flight, so I tried to cry without making any noise. (This always makes my nose run like a faucet.  SO attractive).  It hit me like a Mac truck that those miles and miles of houses contain people.  But even with all of those people in all of those houses, there aren't any that care about my kids.  My family.  Me.

And we have lots of people who care about us here.  

And then a small voice said to me, "Better Half is in one of those buildings.  And he cares about all of you very much."  Fine.  Point taken.  But that didn't stop the crying.

Due to the timing of a meeting, Better Half was able to pick me up about 30 minutes after I landed.  Which was the PERFECT amount of time for me to get my emotions under control, touch up my makeup, and be genuinely excited to see him, even if I was less than excited about moving to California.

Better Half is a very wise man.  Our first stop in Sunny CA was Laguna Beach.  We had a lovely little lunch and then walked to the ocean.  How do you truly hate a place that has an ocean?

You don't.

So after we walked along the beach, we meandered around the shops and restaurants nearby.  And we found this:

Of course, I had to go in.  Sadly, they were sold out of cupcakes by the time we got there.  But they had all kinds of merchandise with their logo.  Since it seemed mildly inappropriate to purchase and wear a T-Shirt with "Casey's Cupcakes" screen-printed across the chest, I left with a coffee mug.

After our lovely afternoon in Laguna, we headed back to Better Half's apartment.  My ability to draw drama like a magnet reared its ugly head in the middle of rush hour traffic on the LA interstate.  Alarms started going off in Better Half's car.  And messages like, "Electrical Failure" popped up on screens. (More on this adventure later) Fortunately, the car managed to get us to his apartment with nothing more than annoying alarms every 10 minutes.

Better Half has a darling little apartment with a beautiful balcony view and these waiting for me on the table when I got there :o)

We went to a fantastic sushi place for dinner and, party girl that I am, I was in bed and snoring by 10pm Central time.  8pm in California. 

  

Are You Excited?

I live in a small hamlet. Between that and social media, I only had to physically tell a few people about Better Half's new job and our impending move and post one status update on facebook, and now everyone knows.

This is totally fine with me. In fact, it's how I wanted it to happen. Much easier for me.

Except that now, I get to have the "Oh, you're moving" conversation with everyone I encounter. And it goes something like this:

Friendly Acquaintance: I hear you guys are moving!

Me (trying to smile): Yep, that's what I hear, too.

Friendly Acquaintance: Wow! California! Are you so excited??

This is where my response has changed over the past couple of months. In the beginning I could answer truthfully, "Actually, right now I'm in shock. It's a lot to take in."

And then later, when the shock had worn off, and my "good chit-chat etiquette" filter was still in place, I would respond with smiles and vague comments about looking forward to the weather there and increased opportunities for my kids.

The "good chit-chat etiquette" filter is now gone. I think I left it by the ice machine at Wal Mart after I had exchanged the above dialog with the upteenth person that day. Either that or it just completely wore through.

Now I just tell the truth. So the conversation goes something like this:

Friendly Acquaintance: I hear you guys are moving!

Me (still trying to smile): Yes. To California. Sometime in July.

Friendly Acquaintance: Wow!! Are you so excited?

Me: Nope. Our families live here. Many of our dearest friends live here. We're taking our kids away from everything they know. It's really hard for me to get excited about all of that. I hope I can eventually get there.

Please understand. I know that people are not trying to be insensitive when they strike up a conversation about moving. I know they are actually doing it because they care about us. I also know that they don't mean to be insensitive when they ask if I'm excited.

But it is an odd question. Are you excited? I think people ask it because they don't really know what to say. I want to ask them if they would be excited to pack up the life they've always known and move it somewhere else.

And I realize that people do that sort of thing all the time. We just never have.

When I discussed how I felt about all of this with Better Half, he said he's experiencing a similar phenomenon in the Golden State.

As soon as people meet him they say, "Wow. I bet you're glad to be getting out of Kansas."
And his response is, "Well, since my entire family is there, most of my friends are there, I lived there my entire life...not really."

This makes me feel a little bit better. Because he's usually so much more diplomatic than I am.

The hands-down, best conversation we've had so far with anyone about the move was with Oldest Son's baseball coach when Better Half was home for Christmas.

Coach to Better Half: So how's the job in California. Do you like it?
Better Half: You know, I do. I think it's going to be a really good job for me.
Coach: That SUCKS!

Yesitdoes. Thankyouverymuch.

But now it has been three months. It's starting to sink in. And right now I'm sitting in an airport, waiting to board the airplane that will take me to this place. This place I've really never been. This place where my husband is living his life.

And because that's where he's living his life, I realize it's also my home. And I'm curious about it. I'm looking forward to Better Half showing me around his city--his life.

So this feeling building in my chest?? Maybe it could be classified somewhere on the "excitement" spectrum.

Progress Reports--CrossFit Style!

I started CrossFit up again about a month ago.

And for as bad as I am at it, I'm surprised at how much it has taken over my life.

I now watch YouTube videos of Olympic lifts in my "spare" time (Okay, fine. Right before I head to class so I don't look like a complete idiot when they tell us that today we're going to work on_______________.) But still...it's weird how much of my browsing history is YouTube videos of weightlifting.

I find myself trying to perfect my squat form while doing things like unloading the dishwasher and picking up laundry from the basement floor.

My friend and I were even trying to "hang out below parallel" with her 1 year-old yesterday. She with much more success than I.

Now it's creeping into my work environment.

It's the end of Trimester 2 at our school, and time to send out progress reports. My "super spreadsheet" is loaded with all of the info that will give parents a (hopefully) fabulous picture of the second 1/3 of their child's school year.

But that's just the beginning. Now comes the real work. The stuff that's Gonna. Take. Forever.

That's exactly what I think every time I look at the CrossFit WOD (Workout Of the Day). Gonna. Take. Forever.

But it never really takes forever. In fact, sometimes I'm amazed at how fast they're done.

So maybe progress reports will go a little bit better a la CrossFit!


Trimester 2 Progress Report WOD

Merge Spreadsheet to Progress Report Document.

Then

"Paperwork Gone Bad"

3 Rounds of:
5 progress reports mail merged to individual PDFs
5 progress reports KMailed to parents/learning coaches
5 progress reports uploaded to TotalView Notes
*3 minute rest between each round to wander aimlessly around the kitchen, opening cabinets to see where the Diet Coke and Dove Chocolate "reward system" for getting this far used to be but, alas, is no longer--thanks to things like "Paleo" and "Whole30" and "wanting to be able to wear a bathing suit this summer."

Post time to comments.

Cash Out:
Save all progress reports to .zip file. Email file to principal and assistant principal.

Let Them Eat Cake

If I had a nickel for every article or advice column I read in a parenting magazine about how to get children to eat healthy foods...well...my offspring wouldn't need to worry about how they are going to pay for college.

Last week, something amazing happened in my house. My 11 year-old dug into a bowl of very healthy stew (we're talking coconut milk, sweet potatoes, and cabbage, here, people) and RAVED about it. Believe me. This is not her typical response.

And I realized that I had done it. I had inadvertently stumbled across the mother load. I had figured out how to get children to not only eat healthy, but to LIKE it.

I know, I know...you're supposed to get them doing it from the cradle. As soon as you can stick something semi-solid in a kid's mouth, you're supposed to start pureeing all kinds of healthy stuff...zucchini, beans, Brussels sprouts, avocados, the works, and begin feeding it to your baby.

Sure. That's what people do now.

But I had babies, toddlers, and preschoolers during Y2K. Back then, we were way more worried about the Millennium Bug and making sure we had an adequate drinking water supply stocked up in our laundry rooms than making sure our little ones were exposed to edamame and kale.

I will truthfully admit that my children, at a very tender age, consumed copious amounts of Kraft Macaroni and Cheese, chicken nuggets in the shape of dinosaurs, and non-caffeinated soda. They ate McDonald's French fries before they spoke their first sentences. I'm not proud of this fact, but there it is.

I'm smarter now. I want to eat healthy, and frankly, I only want to cook one entree for dinner, so I also want my kids to eat healthy. :o)

They, naturally, have been balking. Until now.

So here's how you do it...get picky, carb-addicted, empty-calorie-loving teens and 'tweens to eat healthy:
(Warning...this takes some time. And it will get worse before it gets better.)

1. Pick some sort of activity that is going to tie you up and keep you unavailable for several days/weeks in the evenings during dinner time. Chauffeuring said kids to all of their evening practices/activities/etc. is perfect for this. If this won't work, find something that will capture your attention for several hours. It works best if it something that they can't do with you. If you need a suggestion, I'd start with watching the fabulous new series, "House of Cards" on Netflix (because it's a really good show, and also because my brother is in it). Trolling Facebook and Pinterest are also very viable options. In a pinch, if none of the above suggestions work for you, you could always start watching all nine seasons of "Grey's Anatomy."

2. Make sure you are smack in the middle of said activity at dinner time. When your children start to knock on your door or tap your shoulder and ask when dinner is, tell them "Soon" in your most distracted voice. Do this for a couple of hours.

3. Once it is well past dinnertime and the kids are famished and cranky, run out to the nearest fast food joint and get them dinner. Yes. You read that correctly. Trust me.

4. Wash. Rinse. Repeat. Until the children start whining about how they really don't want McDonald's again tonight and can they please have something else for dinner.

5. Head to the store. Stock up on a HUGE economy-sized bag of one kind of nutrient-void breakfast cereal and several gallons of milk. Also get enough supplies to make turkey sandwiches for three months.

6. Now, instead of getting your children McDonald's at 8pm every evening, you are going to tell them that it is "fend for yourself" night. They can have whatever they can find. At first, they'll love it. That's okay. Don't get discouraged. Keep the faith.

7. Continue "fend for yourself" night until you break down your child(ren)'s resistance. You'll know you've reached that point when you see real tears when "fend for yourself" night is announced.

8. Do not stop for anything other than real tears. Don't be swayed by whining ("Sandwiches again??") pleading ("We have NOTHING in this house to eat, can we PLEASE get Taco Bell tonight?"), or fake crying. Nothing but real tears will do here.

9. Real tears is your signal. Now you're going to go all out. The sky is the limit. Whatever healthy foods you want those kids eating...now's the time to include them in your dinner recipe. Kale? Liver? Brussels sprouts? Salmon? Spinach? How about something with coconut milk? Spaghetti squash instead of starchy, nutrient-free pasta? Dream big. This is your moment.

10. Serve your masterpiece at 5:30 or 6pm to your children with everyone sitting around a beautifully set dining room table (in our house, this means I've cleared all of my work junk off of it and removed the dirty breakfast dishes), and wait for the praise.

They will tell you how good dinner is. They will tell you to make it again. They will ask for seconds. They will tell you that they love it when you cook.

The will not, however, offer to help clean up the kitchen.

So pour yourself a glass of wine, bask in your accomplishment, and start loading that dishwasher.

You'll need that food processor and those measuring spoons again tomorrow.

Sorry I Haven't Written...

But I've been following the old adage that all moms give..

"If you can't say (or in this case, write) anything nice, don't say (or in this case, write) anything at all."

I was talking to a friend of mine a few days ago.  Her son, who isn't all that much older than my oldest daughter, is in the Marines.  He just deployed to Afghanistan.

I asked how she was doing.  She said, "I'm not suffering whiners lightly."

And for good reason.  His living conditions are primitive. And uncomfortable. And dangerous.  And he's protecting our freedoms.

I don't think she was specifically talking about me, but her comment stopped me cold.

I've been doing a LOT of whining.  So to those of you who have the bad luck to have your numbers in my phone or to be friends with me on Facebook, or worse, to be friends with me in person...I apologize.

And then I saw this on Pinterest the other day.  I'm making it my new motto: