Missed Opportumity

The counter was clean.

Completely clean.  

For nine full hours.  

For the first time in a month.  

It was still clean when I left the kitchen twenty minutes ago to take a shower.

I should have snapped a photo.  

Because now it looks like this:

And I'm trying desperately not to cry.  Or hunt for the vodka.

What I Did for Love

I remember when my "littles" were actually little.

Parents of teens would tell me to enjoy it.

If I had a dime for every time some well-meaning mother of teenager said, "When they're little, their problems are little,"  we'd be hiring someone to re-do this never-ending monstrosity of a kitchen instead of doing it ourselves (No.  Still not done.).

Now I have three teenagers and a 'tween who is just two short months from the big one-three.

Those mothers were right.  Kind of.

Anyone who has a toddler or a preschooler knows that their problems aren't little.  Not to them.  And when they're in a full-blown, Katy-bar-the-door kind of work up about them, not for you either.  Or for the five people behind you in the Target checkout line, or for the neighbor and her toddler during the playdate, or the well-meaning grandparent who is being snubbed, or...

But the thing I remember about my little people and their problems is this:  They put it all out there. I knew they were upset.  And I ususally knew why.  They'd cry. They'd scream. They'd throw a tantrum. They'd push things away.

But they'd always look to us (Better Half and me) to fix it.  Lots of times we could.  And lots of times we couldn't.

But we KNEW.  We wiped tears, hugged frustrated little bodies, tried to explain taking turns, cut sandwiches in triangles instead of rectangles, applied Band-Aids, and when we had to, waited out the tantrum that ensued because chocolate chip cookies just aren't an appropriate breakfast choice.  They let us KNOW what the issue was and that they expected us to solve it.

To a middle-aged adult, those are pea-sized problems.  But hey.  Toddlers are pea-sized.  And their tantrums and frustrations that result aren't pea-sized at all.

I don't miss trying to explain to a three year-old that he can't have his best friend's Buzz Lightyear just because he likes it better than his own.  Nor do I miss having to cutting the playdate short, trying to wrestle a thirty pound, wiggling, tantrum-throwing child into a five point harness carseat and listening to him scream bloody murder all the way home.  Six blocks can seem like a continent away, let.me.tell.you.

But I so miss that three year-old's natural instinct to share his frustration with me and expect me to fix it.

I'm blessed.  I feel like I have a pretty good relationship with my kids.  The tell me things.  We laugh, We joke.  I hope they feel free to disagree with me (even if they are wrong.  :) )  And they do tell me their problems.  Eventually.  Sometimes.

But it isn't instinctive for them anymore.  They're changing from children to adults.  They're starting to process hurts, disappointments, and difficulties internally first and then decide if they need/want to discuss it or help solving it.

And as painful as it is to help a toddler manage her frustration over something that you have no power to fix,

It breaks my heart just as much to see the hurt/anger/frustration on my young people's faces and have absolutely no idea what is causing it, let alone how to make it better.

I'm not a patient person by nature.  But I'm trying to find more patience.  More grace.  I'm trying to listen more and give advice less.  I'm trying to let my kids know--as much as I can, whenever I can--that they are strong, bright, capapble people.  That humility and forgiveness go a long way.  That no one is perfect.  That there will be bad moments, days, weeks.  That Better Half and I are always here to listen if they want.

And sometimes...

It's something we can actually make better.

Do you remember getting to school and realizing that you'd left something at home?

Something big.  Like the project worth twenty percent of your nine-week grade.  Or the check your dad wrote to put money on your lunch ticket.  Or the permission slip for the field trip that leaves at 9:30 sharp.

That missing thing had the power to transform what could have been a good--or even a great--day into a "Terrible, Horrible, No-good, Very Bad Day."

That thing got left at our house this morning.

So today, I braved "one school for a city of over 30,000" traffic twice.

And I hate traffic.  Like, my dentist is starting to get concerned about the enamel on my back molars from teeth-clenching, HATE traffic.

I also hate school office red tape.  I understand it, but I hate it.  Nothing gets fear going in the pit of my stomach quite like being told by a well-meaning, just following the rules, can-you-imagine-the-chaos-if-we-let-everyone..., office manager that I cannot just run said item to my child (school hadn't even started yet) to make sure it was received.  I don't like being told by ANYONE that I'm not allowed to get to my kid.  I don't care what the reason is.

I hate the looks I get.  Like the "Helicopter Parent" radar just went off somewhere and I am well on my way to creating an entitled adult who will live at home until age 35 and never hold a job.

I've read the books.  I'm a "logical consequences" parent a lot of the time.  I've charged my kids for gas or for my time for this kind of thing.  I've told them that it's a bummer when we accidentally leave things at home, and I hope it works out for them.

Because logical consequences are part of real life.

But guess what?

So is grace.

So is helping out a friend or a loved one even when it isn't convenient just because you can.

By the way, my child did not even ask me to bring up the item.

I did it for me.

The me that knows that even though I can't and shouldn't always try to solve their problems or even know what they are, I'm always going to want to.

The me that wanted to be the hero just one more time, because my time to hold that role is finite, and now I share it with a host of other people that I'm grateful for, but secretly?

Kind of jealous of.

I did it for love.

Mother-love.  Imperfect, sometimes selfish, sometimes enabling, sometimes just exactly what is needed, mother-love.

I Don't Know What You're Doing Tonight, But...

Here at Pozo de Dinero, we're gonna party like it's 1985!!

Congratulations, Kansas City Royals!!!  We love you guys!

On a very "make me feel older than rope" note--I was in seventh grade in 1985.  The exact same age my youngest daughter is now.  

We wore skinny jeans back then, too.  And crop tops.

Holy frights.

Photo Dump

I got a new phone last month.

The old one is still sitting next to my computer with hundreds of photos that need to be downloaded.

You know, the really super-important ones.

Pictures of a dinner I actually cooked myself.  Twenty selfies of my daughter (a reminder that I really should take thirty seconds and change my phone password).  That weird blurry one that I think might be the lining of my purse--taken totally by accident.

So I decided with this phone, I'd try to stay on top of the camera roll.  

And what better place to keep them than here?  Especially since I haven't put a picture in a scrapbook or photo album in at least ten years.

I guess a driver's license isn't good enough for The College Board.  Now if you want to take the S.A.T., you have to submit a mug shot.

My attempt at Paleo "sushi."

Let's come back here for prom dress shopping in a few years, 'Kay?

Back to school mani/pedi.  So much better with a BFF.

Fabulous fifteen!!  Birthday waffles and chocolate-caramel cheesecake.

Road instructions, "Yoda-style."

Family demolition day.

The bruise I got from "Family Demolition Day."

Twenty years!!!  

And it still fits!!!

The "cookbook" section at the middle school book fair.  I have no words.  And yes.  Those are board books.

The lining of my purse...I think.

A little bit of Kansas here in California.

Raindrops!!  And a wet street!  Best three minutes of the day!

I'm augmenting my trophy wife gig with a little substitute teaching on the side.

I updated to iOS 8.  Seriously creeped out by its new "capabilities."  I suspect NSA involvement.

Home What the HECK?

I'm a teacher by trade.

So I sort of get homework.

Sort of.

I get assigning math fact flashcard practice.

Reading minutes.

Outside book report reading.

Revising/editing papers.

I even understand--though I totally hate that due to time constraints and budget cuts, it's necessary--assigning certain "projects" for homework.  Things like dioramas, science fair projects, PowerPoint presentations.

And of course I totally get the homework that happens because the kid screwed around in class and now gets the logical consequence of "You can do it now, or you can do it later.  Your choice."


I do not, however, understand assigning a seventy-nine term word search in the shape of a Parthenon where the unused letters (in order) spell out the name of the creature that was engraved on Athena's shield (according to myth).

In addition to your "Cretes" and "mythologies" and "Poseidons" this thing has words like Down.  East. Farm. Plots.

I want to scratch my eyes out just looking at it.  And I like letters.  And words.  And Ancient Greece.

This is the sort of activity that you have in a file folder on the back table for those kids who always finish whatever you've planned for a fifty-five minute class in three seconds flat.

Or what you keep in your bottom drawer for the substitute to pull out on the day that your kid develops a 102 degree fever ten minutes before you're headed out the door and detailed lesson plans just "aren't gonna happen."

It shouldn't EVER be homework.

It isn't even a good extra credit assignment.

So I'm off to help my kid with a Google search on Athena's shield.

There's more than one way to skin a cat.

A Facebook Fad (or A Welcome Diversion from Holding a Paintbrush)

My father's wife recently tagged me in a new Facebook fad.

Actually, I'm not certain how recently I was tagged.  My adventures as Casey the Carpenter are seriously cutting into my Facebook-lurking time.  I could have been tagged weeks ago.

I'm also not sure how new the activity is.  I think I did it before--a few years ago.  So if this is a repeat, I apologize.

Anyway--the activity is this:

List 10 books that have stuck with/had an impact on me.

I've seen several of these go around--some say prose only--no poetry, graphic novels, or sacred scriptures.  All say not to over-think it.

The first part I can totally handle.  Except I fudged on #10.  But I snuck in two on #4.  So maybe I'll get partial credit.

Not so much the second.  I'm completely over-thinking it.

But in case you didn't know, I like books.  Just a little bit.  So I thought, "Sure.  I'll play."  and I also thought...

BLOG POST!!!

Unfortunately, this particular book does not come anywhere near making the cut.

Maybe if it had, I would not still be living in complete chaos, surrounded by sand paper, paint brushes, and a shop-vac--feeding my children convenience foods from Trader Joe's.  As long as the Pop-Tart is organic, it's totally healthy, right?

So here goes:

1.  Richard Scarry's Best Storybook Ever.  My earliest memories are of my mom and/or dad reading this to me before naps and bedtime.  I owe my love of reading--and writing-- largely in part to this daily ritual of which they were so faithful.

2.  The Foot Book by Dr. Seuss.  This is the first book that I read independently in its entirety.  My poor mother.  I followed her around the house for the better part of three days reading this out loud and asking her to tell me words I didn't know.  There are few demonstrations of unconditional love  or exercises in patience like listening to an emerging reader "share" his/her newly discovered skills with you.  It is also one of the most beautiful experiences in which to be a part.  So hug a kindergarten/first grade, teacher, para, or parent of a kindergarten/first grader.  They need it.  Especially with homework assignments like "Read out loud to someone in your family for 10 minutes every day."

3. The Phantom Tollbooth by Norton Juster.  My dad read this aloud to me when I was in elementary school. And can I just say that my dad just might have the best read-aloud voice ever?  This is kid lit classic that's even more enjoyable when you re-read it as an adult.

4.  A Little Princess and The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett.  My mom's childhood friend recommended these to me--even loaned me her beloved copies.  To this day, I still treasure book recommendations from this lady.

5.  To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee.  If you haven't yet read this, obtain a copy.  Today.

6.  The Chosen by Chaim Potok.  Same with this one.

8.  How Children Succeed:  Grit, Curiosity, and the Hidden Power of Character by Paul Tough

9.  Pastrix:  The Cranky, Beautiful Faith of a Sinner & Saint by Nadia Bolz-Weber.  I had never even heard of this lady until a few months ago, when my mom and I watched an interview she gave at the Wild Goose Festival.  If I lived in Denver, I would go to the church she pastors.  I would stalk this lady and do everything in my power to make her my friend.  This is the kind of lover of Jesus I want to be.  Without all of the tattoos.  Because I just can't do prolonged needles.  And no matter how much I work out, I'm never going to have her guns, so all of that beautiful art would be a total waste.

10.  The Book of Common Prayer and Administration of the Sacraments and Other Rites and Ceremonies of the Church

I think I hear a paintbrush calling my name.  Sigh.

Mission Impossible

Your mission, should you chose to accept it:

Turn this

Into this.  Ish.

I have average intelligence.  Not only should I never have touched this one with a ten-foot pole, but I should have run from it, screaming, with all the life left in me.

But there's this little phenomenon called the Do It Yourself blog post, where perky people assure you that these kinds of transformations can occur in roughly a week--all while working around your busy toddler's erratic nap schedule.  

And I'm kind of a tight-wad.  Living in a place where I know very few people and trust even less of them.  And where I'm 2,000ish miles from Nelson Construction--the only people I would ever consider paying to accomplish this.

So in desperation, I Google searched.  And spent an hour on Pinterest.  After reading just a couple of these DIY entries plus a trip to Home Depot and the Benjamin Moore paint store, I was fully armed with the tools and  most importantly, the ego necessary to begin.  

That was four days ago.  

My kitchen now looks like this.

And there's still all of this that hasn't even been TOUCHED yet.

I swear those cabinet doors are having babies over in that corner.  Every.single.time. I walk by, there are more of them.

I am nowhere near finished.  At this rate, I'm shooting for a completion date around Eldest Bro's high school graduation reception.  June-ish of 2016.

So even though "Carpenter Casey" has a nice, albeit Sesame Street-y ring to it, I'm pretty certain it is not ever going to be a thing.  Ever.

And the Do It Yourself blog is very possibly the spawn of Satan.

And So It Begins Again

Well, that was the world's shortest summer ever.

I had such grandiose plans.  We were going to get so much accomplished.

Instead, we finally cleaned out our garage and we didn't kill each other.

And now it's back to the grind.  

Don't they look excited?

    Way to represent, Kiddo! Go Royals!!

This kid will likely get to add "homework" to his list of birthday presents.  He is so unbelievably lucky.

        My baby.  Middle school.  Sigh.

What a Difference a Year Makes

.

One year ago today, in the wee hours of the morning--so early as to still be considered the previous day by most, I tearfully hugged amazing friends who spent the better part of a school night helping me with last-minute packing and cleaning.

One year ago today, my oldest daughter and I walked to the nearby convenience store to grab a quart of milk for breakfast.  The fridge was essentially empty and the car already on its way.  I don't remember what we talked about on the way or the way back, but I remember knowing that I sure was going to miss getting to hang with this beautiful girl/woman whenever I wanted.  And I remember worrying about being 1000+ miles away from her.

One year ago today, my three younger children checked and double-checked their bags, weighing them one last time just to make sure they were under the plane's 50 lb weight limit.

One year ago today, our dear friends Chad and Sarah, let their sweet daughter skip school just to see my sweet daughter off.  AND they loaned us their car, because we had too many people, and too much stuff, to load into one.

One year ago today, I read Alexander, Who Is Not (Do You Hear Me, I Mean It!) Going to Move to my kids.  And I cried.

One year ago today, my best friend took the day off of work, loaded up her car as well, and took us to the airport.

One year ago today, my mother drove four hours to surprise us at said airport for one last goodbye.

One year ago today, I ugly-cried harder than I maybe ever have in my life.  So did my youngest.  I'm surprised the TSA let us board the airplane without some serious proof that I was indeed her mother and not, in fact, a crazy kidnapper/suicide bomber.

One year ago today, we met Better Half in at an airport in a new city where we knew absolutely no one.  He was so excited to see us and I was so, well, not excited to be there.

One year ago today, I could hardly see the scenery around me through the blur of tears threatening to fall, let alone appreciate it.

One year ago today, I walked through the house that would be my new home.  I couldn't for one second imagine making a life in it.  It was so different from the house I had loved and left and of which I had so many memories.

One year ago today, I worried that my children would hate school.  That they wouldn't make friends.  That they'd be miserable.

One year ago today, I worried that I wouldn't make friends.  I worried even more that I'd never want to.  And that I'd be miserable.

One year ago today, I cried myself to sleep in a strange, small apartment where I had just seen a roach.




Today I woke up in my bedroom, surrounded by my things that work just as well in this house as they did in the old one.  I got a cup of coffee from my kitchen that sports a five-people-live-here kind of clutter.

Today I kissed my husband "good morning" with a smile on my face instead of tears in my eyes.  And I noticed yet again how great he looks.  He is challenged and valued at his work.  He's thriving in this climate--with mountains and the ocean practically in our backyard.

Today I was reminded that he lived my dream for eighteen years, and it's an honor to be living his.

Today, my daughter woke up excited about 7th grade orientation, her California Bestie spending the day with us, and a youth group party tonight.

Today, I dropped forms off in the school office and was greeted by name and with a smile by a fellow parent.

Today, my boys headed to the nearby gym for a workout--excited for the upcoming fall baseball season.  They have plans today with friends and with teammates.

Today, I noticed how beautiful the mountains look.

Today, my kids may not be looking forward to school starting (or they aren't admitting it), but I know that they'll see familiar faces in class and they'll have friends to sit with at lunch.

Today, we still miss our friends back "home" very much.  But if we were to leave here, there would be people we would miss just as much.

Today, I still wish that I could grab my oldest daughter--now truly an adult, but always my child--and take her for a cup of coffee or have her stop by for a chat whenever we want, but I am so incredibly proud of how she's making her own way in the world.




The sun has amazing and healing powers.

Especially the ones that come simply because planet Earth faithfully makes a complete trek around it, over and over and over again.

What a difference a year makes.

My, How Time Flies!

I could swear it happened yesterday.

It certainly feels like it did.  I remember it with that much clarity.

The day that they put him into my arms and I officially "met" him for the first time.  

I was terrified.  

I didn't know if I would have enough love for two.  

I'm a book-reading, introverted, not-at-all-athletic, well...girl.  

The child I had managed to keep alive for the two years prior to that point?  Girl.

I had serious doubts about my abilities to talk Hot Wheels or Transformers, play catch, or (let's just be real, here) sit through a sporting event of any kind.  

But as I held him that evening so long ago and looked at his sweet face, I realized there was more than enough love.   

I realized that whatever it was, if he loved it and was interested in it, I would love it and be interested in it too.

So now I know all about stuff like NASCAR.  

I can hold my own in a conversation about Orka whales.  Or I could when he was four.

I can still recite the entire dialogue of Toy Story and sing most of the Veggie Tales songs.

I now know that you can laugh so hard that you cry about things like farts and burps and underpants.  Not because you yourself think these things are funny, but because your child's belly laugh is so incredibly infectious.

I finally know the difference between a double and a double play.  

As well as the fact that an official is a "Ref" in football and an "Ump" or "Blue" in baseball.  

I know the indescribable joy coupled with the agonizing heartbreak of watching a tiny baby morph into a little boy and again into a young man before my very eyes.  

And again.  I can hardly believe it.  

Because when I think about this person who completely changed my life seventeen years ago, this is who I kind of still expect to see.

But I'll admit.  This is pretty great, too.

So many happy returns of the day, Kiddo!  

I absolutely love being your mom.

Heart Healthy

“There is no exercise better for the heart than reaching down and lifting people up.” 
― John Holmes

So today, my son and I stopped at a convenience store on the way to his baseball practice.  He wanted to pick up a Gatorade.

We pulled into a parking space and he immediately got out of the car and started to head toward the door.

And because I'm, well, me, it took me a few seconds longer.  

Two people were sitting at a table outside the front door.  They had bags next to them that appeared to hold all of their posessions.  

It's no shocker to anyone that this is a frequent occurrence in Southern California.  

As I  closed the door to the car and hurried to join my son, the woman said something to him.

I couldn't hear her words.  

But I saw my son. 

Without hesitation, he pulled his wallet from his back pocket, opened it, extracted some bills, and handed them to the woman.  

Summer jobs are hard to come by for teenagers in SoCal.  My kid has been earning money by helping his friend's dad with landscaping.  He's been getting up early, spending hours in the hot sun, digging trenches, picking rock, and planting flowers.  It's hard, dirty, exhausting manual labor.   

I heard her say, "God bless you."  

I heard the man with her ask him a question about his baseball uniform.  My son chatted briefly with the man about baseball and then said goodbye. I smiled at the couple, and he and I entered the store

I have never been more in awe of or inspired by the man this kid is turning out to be than I was in that moment.  

Because in that moment I realized that if he never rinses out his cereal bowl or takes out the trash without being reminded, or always keeps his clothes jumbled up in a laundry basket on the floor in his bedroom, it won't matter.

He's got a well-exercised, healthy heart that will serve humanity for a long time.

The Difference Between Boys and Girls

Running has become somewhat of a family affair at my house.  And lest I doubt whether or not there is an innate difference between boys and girls...



What running with my daughter looks like.

What running with my son looks like.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And while we're on the subject of kids and differences--

Nelly and I stopped at a convenience store for a drink after a baseball game the other day.  

"Insane thirst" and "urgent need to find a restroom" are introducing me to all sorts of areas I might not otherwise see here in LaLa Land.

Let's just say that this particular location upon which we stumbled is probably best frequented during daylight hours. 

Anyway, while we were inside, this man kept hovering around us.  He wasn't threatening, or rude exactly, but he just felt a little "close."  

And I noticed that I kept positioning myself in such a way that my 5' 9", "completely ripped" sixteen-going-on-seventeen, son was between me and the hovering man.

Hello?!?!

When did THAT happen?  

I swear that if  we had entered that convenience store just yesterday, I would have scooped up my little red-headed four-year-old in my arms--physically placing myself between my son and the stranger.

And before everyone  the three of you who read this get crazy thinking that I'm a horrible person, please know that had that guy pulled a knife or a gun, you wouldn't believe the mad Ninja skills I'd summon to get between him and my kid.  

It's just gone by too. stinking. fast.  Them being little and stuff.

I love them.  My teenagers and adult children.  They are the coolest people on the planet.  And I feel blessed every day to get to be their mom.

But sometimes I really miss the kids that they were.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In completely unrelated news--

I think our kitty might have been bitten by a radioactive spider.

The Truth About Cats and Dogs

I am not a dog person.

I am neither comfortable with this truth, nor am I one-hundred percent resigned to it.

The "me" that lives in my mind has an adorable, perfectly behaved chocolate colored "doodle" of some kind curled up sweetly at my feet as I write this.  She was also free, completely house trained at six weeks,  doesn't chew, never gets on the furniture, only needs to go to the bathroom once a day, and she never smells like dog.  

See.  It totally makes sense why this scenario only exists in my mind.

We've owned dogs in the past.  And we're bad at it.

I'm the kind of person who still--even after over nineteen years of parenting--thinks that potty training was one of the top 10 ... 5 ... 3 worst things I've ever had to deal with as a mother.   

I did manage to hang in there with it for my four sweet little people who called me "Mommy" and gave me hugs and kisses and told me they'd never grow up and always love me best.

But I cannot hang in there with it for a dog.  I just can't.  So eventually I give up, send the dog outside to live, and periodically send the children out to put bricks in the holes under the fence where it digs to escape.

And their smell.  I just can't do it.  When I pick up a pet, I want it to smell good. Every time.  Not just within the first 30 seconds of having it groomed.  

But despite  these things, I still think I should be a dog person.  I see people's dogs and I want them.  I've convinced myself that if I just find the PERFECT dog, I'll become a dog person.

So I spend a significant amount of time on places like Petfinder and Craigslist and Doodle breeder sites.  And I drive Better Half to drink by emailing and texting him links to potential perfect dog candidates all day long.  

He's so awesome about it, though.  He says we'll discuss it.  He lovingly shows me our backyard--beautifully landscaped without an inch of grass anywhere.  And the pool.  And he reminds me that I think it's gross when people's dogs swim in their pools.  And that our pool guy might not find us so wonderful to work for if he has to clean dog hair out of a pool filter all the time.  He reminds me that it's not fun to HAVE to be outside with a dog at 6 am, even if the median temperature where we live is 70 degrees.  He sweetly reminds me that we spend hours.  HOURS.  away on weekends for baseball games, swim meets, and the like.  He wonders aloud what the cost of boarding an dog would be in SoCal for two weeks when we "vacation" to Kansas.  (Probably close to what it cost for he and I to go to London for 7 days a few years ago.)  He declares emphatically that if we get a dog, he's not taking care of it.

So this Father's Day, I gave him the best gift ever.

I waved the white flag of surrender.  I promised him that I would stay off of Petfinder, Craigslist, and the like, and I would stop asking for a dog.  I even wrote this down in his Father's Day card and signed my name to it and everything.

I am not a dog person.  There.  I said it.

But in the interest of being true to myself...

I AM a cat person.

Cats fit my personality.  I admire their independence. It doesn't creep me out to see them curled up on a couch or a bed.  I love that you just have to show them where the litter box is and you're done. I love that the SkyMall catalog advertises a system by which you can teach your cat to use your toilet to go to the bathroom.  I also think that there are very few things that would be more disgusting than walking in the bathroom and finding cat poo in your toilet, but I still think it's wicked-awesome that you can even teach a cat to use the toilet.  Dogs just don't have the necessary skills.

Anyhow... Better Half was just so happy that the Craigslist link that showed up in his email a week ago Saturday wasn't a dog (or a huge wrought-iron chandelier for him to install in the dining room with no directions), that he said "Yes...as long as I never have to scoop the litter box."  to her:

Of course this kitty had a catch.

 I had to pay someone a $20 "re-homing fee" for her.  I'm certain that my Kansas friends are laughing and groaning as they read this.  Specifically my Kansas friend who has a litter or two of kittens every year at her house that she gives away For. FREE.

And it gets better.  It's not like I paid someone twenty bucks because some mama kitty chose to have her babies on her owner's $250 leather coat and that poor lady needs some cash for the dry-cleaner's.  Or because she had to be bottle-fed, or because she's already had her her first set of shots, is de-wormed, and her current owners just want to recoup a little bit of the cash they put into her..   Nope.  Apparently she was a stray who followed someone home.  And that person thought she'd make an easy $20--SoCal-style.  With a "re-homing" fee.

I don't care.  Too much.  She's darling.  And I love her.

I don't have to walk her at 6am.

When I bury my nose in her fur she smells delicious.

She "devours" books.

She matches the furniture.

She has great "taste."  

Her favorite hangout--on top of my stack of Eating Well magazines.

This is her favorite toy.  And I'm happy to spend hours reading books while holding the end of the stick playing with her.

And the kids like her.  

We named her Calypso.  

And I'm happy.  As a cat person.

Dear MapMyRun:

I'm breaking up with you.

I know.  We've been together for four years.  During that time we've logged a decent amount of miles and burned a fair number of calories.

Our relationship has helped keep me sane during the ups and downs of my self-diagnosed life as a Drama Queen and part-time Narcissist.  Together we have tackled things I never thought were possible.  Like half-marathons, raising teenagers, midlife, marriage, and  moving to an entirely new state.

And I take total responsibility for my part in our demise.

I know that you were hurt when the Hal Higgdon Training App and I worked on that project last winter.  But I told you it was just business.  And I apologized for neglecting you.  Multiple times.  And I ended it with Hal and committed to putting you first.

I've even sat by patiently through several of your beyond frustrating "updates"--which I can only guess are the iPhone App equivalent of a bad dye job and a red sports car.

I swear, I look at you and I don't even see the same app that I fell in love with four years ago.

But I was willing to keep trying for the sake of all we've had together.

And then today happened.

The ultimate betrayal.

How could you cheat me out of an entire mile (up HILL, I might add) during our run this morning?  And try to cover it up by telling me it took me 18 minutes to run my first one?

To play on my insecurities like that--that my workout is never going to end...I'm getting nowhere...I'm never going to run a mile in under 8 minutes and 30 seconds...well.

It was the sign I needed to realize that it just isn't going to work between us any more.  We want different things.

I will always remember you fondly.  And I wish you all the best.

I have high hopes of someday finding an app that I can spend the rest of my life with.

Until then...

I noticed that Better Half's snazzy Garmin Running Watch has been gathering dust on the dresser for months.

Perhaps I'll see if it wants to join me for an easy two-miler.

Just as friends.

XOXO,

Casey

The Summer Scene

So the offspring have been on summer break for eleven days.  And I've yet to hear that dreaded phrase that so often accompanies summer vacation--"I'm bored."  This is, without a doubt, a personal record for my crew.

It may even be Guinness worthy.

The pool is getting a lot of use.  Like every day.  Which is a huge relief for me.  For several reasons.  #1--I was the one that pushed for the pool in the first place.  Better Half really didn't want one (which he reminded me of when we were fighting about discussing the $$ involved in maintaining it the other day.  Whatever.  :o)  They say a picture is worth a thousand words.  And the screensaver on his phone isn't a picture of me...or one of the kids...or one of our gorgeous mountain view.  It's a picture of the pool.  Not even kidding.).  #2--I'm too cheap to heat it.  And since the temperature actually drops into the sixties and seventies after the sun goes down around here, I was afraid that the water would never get warm enough to enjoy without a wet suit.  #3--I'm too cheap to turn on the central air in the house.  I figure we can run the pool pump, or we can run the AC.  I'd like to keep my 283 day streak of au naturale climate control going.  I'm shooting for an entire calendar year.  #4--I just didn't want it to be like the trampoline, the swing set, the "Dance Dance Revolution" mats for the PlayStation.  You know...used faithfully for a month, and then pretty much abandoned.

My mom's been here for the past week.  And That. Has. Been. Awesome.  I don't think I'm going to let her go back home.  You know that sign that gets posted in communal dorm bathrooms?  "Attention:  Your Mother Doesn't Live Here!"  Yeah, well, my mom is here, so when I set my coffee cup and cereal bowl on the kitchen counter, leave, and come back, they're rinsed and put in the dishwasher.   It's better than magic!  My kitchen has been clean every single day she's been here.  And not just SRS-probably-won't-take-my-kids-away-if-they-walked-through-here, but CLEAN.  With swept floors and everything. Which is probably another record.    And that's just the icing on the cake of chats on the patio over coffee, watching great and inspiring people give talks on YouTube,  or laughing every time we have an opportunity to remember the Polish proverb--"Not my circus.  Not my monkeys."  Which seems to be often.

So I kind of made this commitment not to buy any books from Amazon this summer.  Not kind of.  Actually.  Like--I even wrote it down and signed my name to it.  I didn't include any other specific bookstores in the agreement, but I think they're implied in the spirit of the thing.  So that's been kind of a bummer a great exercise in self-discipline for me.  Instead, I'm using the Los Angeles County Public Library.  Which seems like it would be really easy.  Not so much.  Our little branch has next to nothing.  EVERYTHING has to be requested.  The requesting part is easy.  It's the waiting for it to arrive that stinks.  I hope that when the books finally arrive, I still want to read them.

Speaking of reading--I just finished A Tale for the Time Being by Ruth Ozeki.  It was fantastic.  My sweet sister sent it.  I enjoyed it almost as much as the handwritten note she tucked inside.  I'm working on Falling Upward:  A Spirituality for the Two Halves of Life by Richard Rohr, which was a gift from my brother.  If it wasn't for the fact that the volume I have is a signed copy from the author, I would totally have the thing marked up with yellow highlighter and notes in the margins.  And Finding Yourself in Transition:  Using Life's Changes for Spiritual Awakening by Robert Brumet (a gift from my mother) is sitting on my nightstand.  Can I just say how much I love my book-loving family? Okay.  Fine.  Maybe I should be able to wait a few days for the library.

I'm attempting to cook a cast-iron skillet into submission.  All of my Google searches on the subject indicate that the secret is a good quality skillet (check) and  time.  Well, since I'm such a patient person by nature, you can guess how much fun I'm having with this particular adventure.

Better Half has been in Arizona for the past ten days with Nelly for a baseball tournament.  TEN. I cannot even imagine what that baseball uniform now looks like after ten days of hotel laundry facilities. They'll come home on Friday and then turn right back around and head back for another week with Corb. I guess we had so much fun living apart last year, we thought we'd try it again this summer.   I am quite possibly the only person ever to live in Southern California who is considering summer real estate in Arizona--where, according to Better Half, the temperatures were still hanging in the hundreds at 9pm a few nights ago.

I've been watching more TV than usual.  I'm not at all proud of this fact.  And I'm totally blaming it on the Amazon book ordering freeze.   But what I have discovered is that nothing highlights First World problems quite like every program on HGTV.

Except for possibly this blog.  :)









 

 

In The Event of an Emergency

Back in September a directive came home from J's school:

"Please pack a gallon Zip-Lok bag with a couple of juice boxes, a couple of non-perishable snacks, and anything that might help your child to feel calmer in the event of a disaster or emergency.  Please label the bag with your child's name, teacher, and room number, and turn it in to the school office."

I remember it like it was yesterday.  And I remember the flood of thoughts in my head:

I was NEVER asked to do ANYTHING like this in Kansas!  What kind of place IS this?

My kid won't even leave the house if there are clouds in the sky.  What on earth do you people possibly think I could put in this bag that might even remotely help her to feel calmer?

And this one.  The big one.

There could be a disaster at my daughter's school and she would be in the hands of total and complete strangers.  People I don't know--who don't know me and who don't know her.  People for whom she's just another one of the 500+ kids that the State of California requires this place to educate and protect in the event of an emergency.

See, here at this school, her principal isn't the wife of her T-Ball coach from kindergarten.  Her best friend's mom isn't the Early Childhood teacher just a wing away.  Her former teachers aren't here.  Neither is my friend from college, or the mother of one of the girls from our dance studio, or my friend whose son also plays baseball with my boys, or our wonderful friend from church who has known my kids since they were in diapers.

Those people care about my daughter.  I know with every fiber of my being that they would put the safety and security of my daughter on the same level of priority as that of their own children.

So with a horrible, awful, pit in my stomach, I packed the bag and dropped it off at school.

Today, when I was straightening up the kitchen, my eyes fell on this:

The school had sent home the bag, with all of the contents still inside (minus a juice box, which I strongly suspect was part of yesterday's after-school snack).

And I thought back to September and what I didn't know back then:

That even though J's principal wasn't the wife of her T-ball coach from kindergarten, she would take time out of her busy day  multiple times to visit with my daughter about her concerns and get to know us personally.

That the office staff would graciously allow me to sit for an entire morning in their small space so that I could be "on the premises" on a day that my daughter was particularly nervous.  And that these two ladies had the perfect mix of empathy and "You'll be fine. Go back to class."  that my daughter needed to overcome that nervousness.

That Thursdays would become my daughter's favorite days of the week because of 'Miss Michelle.'

That there's a second-grade teacher at this school who is so amazingly wonderful, I almost wish I could have another child, just so he or she could be in her class.  Almost.

That all three sixth-grade teachers would, in just a short year's time, get to know my girl as an individual.  They would provide her with opportunities to use her gifts and abilities, encourage her to stretch and grow, and improve her areas of weakness.  They would also provide classroom environments where she could easily and safely make friends.

That these friends would welcome us into things like their mother-daughter book club.

That Robert, the crossing guard, grew up in Manhattan, Kansas.  And nearly every day we'd talk about K-State, the Chiefs, or the Royals.

That all of these people would make my daughter's safety and security their top priority.  Not just because she was another one of 500.  But because she matters to each of them.

That my daughter has girlfriends with mothers who, if they got there before I could, would step right in and take care of mine like she was their own.

That I would hug every one of these people today with grateful tears in my eyes as I said goodbye and told them thanks for all they've done.  

And that even though I can see why it's nice to have families put together "disaster" bags for their kids, it isn't really necessary.

 Although I am so thankful that we never. ever.  had to test it, I am certain that what my child was going to truly need to make her--and me--feel more comfortable in the event of an emergency was the support of these amazing people. And that system was already in place.

Framily Ties

Framily.

I first heard this word used back in March.  Sprint apparently launched some kind of new cell phone plan.

I didn't pay any attention at all to the plan, but I snatched the word.

It's the portmanteau that I've been looking for to describe this beautiful thing that I have.

So here's the definition according to Casey:

fram / i / ly (noun)  A combination of traditional relatives and dear close friends who behave like relatives that assist in making this crazy, harried, wonderful life saner, calmer, and even more wonderful.

And my prayer for you, Dear Reader, is that you have one of these that is as great as mine is.

Because I've got framily in spades.  Not EVEN kidding.

I could write an entire BOOK on my framily.  A chapter for each person.  Or for each life event where they've swooped in to help, encourage, support, or celebrate.  And it would rival War and Peace for length.

And since we're wrapping up our first school year in a brand-new state, it seems appropriate to give a special shout-out to these amazing people who've helped me to get through it.

These people:

Spent countless hours and elbow grease to help us get our house ready to sell.

Stayed at my house until midnight the night before I left cleaning out my fridge and helping me get two weeks' worth of clothing into a carry-on suitcase.

Took days off of work to drive us to the airport AND to drive 3 1/2 hours ONE WAY to see us off at said airport AND let their daughter skip school to ride along and wave "bon voyage" to mine.

Sent me text messages, Facebook posts, and made phone calls--telling me how much I was missed and how stupid California is.

Sent email messages telling me how great California is and that I should be glad I get to live here.

Rearrange their entire lives and open their homes when I decide that I need to come back "home."  Even if it's at the most hectic time of year.  They make time for coffee dates in the freezing cold on their much-earned and needed vacations.  They arrange schedules to meet for dinner or drinks when I come into town.

Patiently answerd my medical questions even though after nine months, we really should have a local doctor.

And the visitors!!!  Oh, my stars!  The VISITORS!!

See, when you say you're moving to a place like California, everyone says they'll come visit.  Of course they do.  Beaches, Disneyland, The Hollywood Stars Tour :)...

But life happens.  And let's face it.  Plane tickets to Los Angeles aren't cheap.

And yet...we've had visits from:

This guy back in September.  Okay. Fine.  Technically, he was here for work.  But he asked ME to be his "and guest" for the Netflix After Emmy Party!!  Seriously.  I'm still swooning nine months later.  My beautiful sister-in-law was unable to attend, so she sent her shoes instead. :)  I did my best to physically and metaphorically fill them, and we had loads of fun hanging out with Nathan and a few of his "buddies from the office."

These special ladies in October.  They arrived just in time to celebrate our first Halloween California-style and stayed for an entire week--which went by way too fast!  I have no words to describe what these two mean to me.  Because when I try to think of some, my eyes fill up with tears and I can't see the computer screen.  The pain of missing them has caused me to have to pull over in parking lots and ugly cry.  Not once, but on multiple occasions.  Their visit made California not only bearable, but fun for me--even if just for seven days.  

This crew--who trekked out to gather around our dining room table and help us celebrate our first Thanksgiving far away from "home."  It was a wonderful weekend!  

My sweet sis--who, incidentally, was the first person to carve out vacation and book tickets to see us in a house we didn't yet own in a state where we didn't yet technically live. :)  Tickets were purchased last July, and it was really hard to wait until January!  But so worth it!!  What a lovely week we had!  Everyone should have a sister like mine and an "Aunt Mac" like my kids have.  I'm totally scoping out the job situation, and it's my new mission to get her to relocate.  Which my mother will, I am certain, kill me for.  :)

Some of our favorite couples ever!!  Neither had very long to stay, but they both made a point of stopping in and staying for a bit.  It meant the world to get to share our new little corner of the world with them!

My dad and his wife--who win the "love those wings" award--for flying in and out of the closest and most convenient airport to my house.  :)  We totally repaid the favor by treating them to a beautiful view of California desert and an afternoon of geeking out at the Nixon Library.  Okay.  Fine.  We repaid my dad.  We still owe Sue.

This. Girl.  Yeah.  She's amazing.  She used HER birthday gift of round-trip tickets to California to surprise ME for my birthday.  I couldn't ask for a better oldest daughter.  When she's here, our home is complete.  When she's not, it just isn't.  And the selfies are way better!  

These four ladies--who made the impossible happen.  They cleared busy schedules, spent money that I'm certain the family budgets could have used other places, so we could all be together for the same weekend. A quick blurb about these women:  I met all of them in my early 20s.  We were in the "young married" small group at church. These ladies watched me "grow up" as a "grownup."  They've seen the good, the bad, the crazy, the ugly.  And they love me anyway.  Unconditionally.  They're the friends that I can go months without seeing or talking to, and yet when we get together, it's like no time has passed. They ask questions, voice opinions, and share stories--and listening to and chatting about all of those things make me a better person.  

So that brings us to the here and now.

But wait!

There's more!

My amazing mommy arrives in six days!! And she's staying for two weeks!! TWO!  She'll be here for her birthday!!  And J's dance recital.

I just got an email from my college roommate.  She just started this delicious new job with UNICEF (because she's really amazing like that) and even with no vacation to speak of, she's planning to fly out here and spend the 4th of July weekend with us!

My dear, sweet, amazing, strong, inspiring friend, Jen from Kansas City (who truly knows EVERYTHING about me and still wants to hang out--SMH) is bringing her kids out for a visit mid-July.  My kids + her kids = a wonderful friendship.

And I just got a Facebook message from one of Better Half's cousins.  He's bringing HIS crew out for a few days at the end of July!!  It is going to be so fun to share this place with people who have our same last name!  We haven't gotten to do that, yet.

Truly.  I have the most perfect framily for me.  I love each and every one of you.  

So take a moment if you will, Dear Reader--if you've managed to hang with me for all of this--and offer up thanks for the people in your life who belong to this amazing group.  

They make this beautiful life so much better.