Quotes of the year

N:

"Daddy, do you and Mommy need some Mommy and Daddy time?"

"My favorite part of the day is that you were here the whole time" (hmm, will he say that in 10 years?)

"Where are you dropping us off NOW?" (ah the life of a theater kid)

"But, I didn't get to vote for Obama" (the morning after the election)

"Lucy, I like having you for a sister" (first time they walked hand and hand)

"Well, I'm not really interested in sleeping" (when asked why he was out of bed one evening)

Lulu:

"Bish kiss!" (when she wants a fish kiss)

"Self! No, Self" (she's an independent girl)

"chup-chup" (ketchup)

"noah, carseat now!"

ho ho ho

Happy Holidays from our house to yours!

Dear Santa:

Dear Santa,

I would like:

*a bike light for my trike so I can ride my trike at night

*my own keys for the front door (I will only unlock it , never lock it)

*an ambulance with 2 doors

*a police hat (because I want to be a police officer. They help people after they have been run over by the bad guys)***

I think Lucy would like:

*a Thomas the tank engine.

Love, N

(As dictated to Mommy, who tried valiantly not to laugh out loud at the preciseness of her son's desires)

***I have no idea where he came up with this definition of police officers

Television and my kids

I envy stay at home moms, the ones who seem to really enjoy staying at home EVERY day with their kids. I must confess I would not make a good stay at home mom. By the end of my 4 days home with the kids I am very ready to go to work. I think this goes without say, but I'll repeat it anyway, I LOVE MY KIDS. But, boy oh boy, are they active and busy. At these particular stages in their lives they need almost constant attention. Not necessarily constant stimulation, but they need our presence, just the same.

I think the television is a blessing and a curse. There are days when we don't watch a single minute of tv. The sun comes up and we run out the door to play in the sunshine and warm air. These are the days that walking to the park or to see the neighborhood chickens rule. These are the days that hanging out on the yard looking at library books (or in L's case leading mom in grand chase down the walk) is better then even Bob the Builder. On these day I know that the tv is nothing more than an unnecessary distraction from real life and I scoff at it.

Then there are the days of endless rains or runny noses. The days that drag on for hours because every activity I offer is met with a resounding "no". There are days when I simply must get some work done, or just need 30 minutes to do something other then read, "Maisy's Bedtime" AGAIN. These are the days that I am liable to turn the tv on for a hour in the morning, and maybe even pop in a video in the afternoon.

I used to beat myself up every time I let the kids watch tv, whether it was a 1/2 an hour or 2 hours. I was a harsh mistress. But one day I stopped and looked at my kids; a three year old who is reading at a 1st or 2nd grade level, who has a great imagination and good manner; and a 22 month old who is counting to 10 and singing her abc's who also loves life and can charm the pants off the grumpiest of people. And I realize that what little they watch has not adversely harmed them.

We watch PBSkids and videos. I think the only time N has seen commercials was during the Olympics, when he got turned onto swimming, diving and the hurdles. I credit the awesomeness of the divers and Michael Phelps with N's willingness to take swimming lessons this summer. And Lola Jones inspired us to create an obstacle course in the backyard this summer, complete with mini trampoline jumping and stick jumping.

And, to be honest, I like tv. There are days when I dream about a television-free household, and I wonder who would have the harder time, me or the kids? I bet it would be me. Because the tv saves my sanity from time to time, whether it's a rainy afternoon and I pop in a video or it's the end of a long day and I settle into the couch to watch Dr. McDreamy and Merideth spare once again. Yep, I think I'll find something new to beat myself up about, tv is not the enemy in this house.

"inappropriate books"

There's a lot of hoopla going around Portland about a book called, "Suicide Bunny". If I have my information correct, and in this day of instant misinformation, it's possible I have a couple things wrong, there is a woman who wants the book pulled from her child's school library. In fact she is so against this book that she has the book checked out and is refusing to return it. And if the book appears on the shelves again she'll have someone else check that copy out and keep that one as well. Now, I have not read this book, but I have looked at some of the drawings on-line. Okay, it may not be 'appropriate' for some kids, but I'm so tired of other people deciding what's appropriate and what is not appropriate for everyone in the world.

I was an early reader, and like many early readers I ended up reading books that perhaps were not really suited for my age. I remember one clear example was Judy Blume's "Wifey". Judy Blume was the author for middle schoolers in my day. I read everything from "Are you there God, It's Me Margaret?" to "Deenie" and on to "Forever". Then one day I was searching the card catalog (I'm assuming my readers all know what that is), to see what else she might have written and there was a new book called"Wifey". It wasn't in the juvenile section, but in the adult books. No problem there, I had been reading non-fiction books and Agatha Christie mysteries from the adult sections without parental complain for quite some time. I found the book without trouble and settled in my favorite corner of the library to read it. Whoa, before the end of the first page I knew this was new territory. First page and I'm 'exposed' to a flasher wearing a stars and stripes motorcylce helmet. This would be an adventure.

I knew this was a book I should not read at home, and yet I was going to try (going with the theory it was by Judy Blume, and had been reading her for years so....) The high school girl at the check out counter tried to tell me I couldn't read the book, but Ms. Williams (my favorite librarian) overruled the girl and told me I could take it home, with the caveat that I had to tell my mom I had it ("oh sure," I lied) and if I had any questions about what I read I should ask her(I'm sure she meant ask my mom, but I took it to mean ask her)

Now, I know there are many who would be appalled that a librarian would allow a young girl to take such a racy book home (and if memory serves, it got racier still). But I say hooray for her. She understood that I was going to read the book one way or another. She understood that I was going to keep reading books above my comfort and perhaps comprehension level for a few more years until life caught up with my brain. I think she also wanted to foster a level of open dialogues. Now, it wasn't really going to happen in my household, but I am grateful she tried.

I think kids should be allowed to take home any book they want from the library. Do I think they should be able to read any book? Today I say yes, as my children age I may find that I might change my mind, I hope not. I think books and the multitude of ideas are too important to start keeping them from kids because you don't like the content. Instead of banning the books, read them along side your kid and then discuss what about it bothers you. Take a chance that they'll ask you questions (like when I asked my Mom what "69"while reading "Forever", she didn't know the answer but my older sister told us both...)

My mom freaked about my reading choices all the time. When I was in my Stephen King phase she was sure I was going to get into Satan worship (never even occured to me) and when I was "secretly" reading Harlequin romances at the library (forgive me I was a kid) she thought I was going to go down some wrong path (that included some sinful self pleasuring). But despite all her fears I cannot remember a time she told me I couldn't read something. (of course I hid a lot from her!) And for that I give her big thanks and major kudos. You'll just have to trust me when I say this was a big deal for her.

So to the woman who wants to ban "Bunny Suicide" I say, 'stay out of my library' You have every right to choose what comes into your home, but not what comes into my home. Take the book back and talk to your kids about books and freedoms, and not the tv cameras about your view of right and wrong.

And now I think I'll head out for our weekly trip to the library and see if I can't find some old friends to share with my kids.

Economics 101 by "N"

N was flipping thru an "educational" toy catalog last night. The catalog came home w/Patrick one day, seems it's for a new store that is aiming to get teachers in the door. And this is the conversation that ensued:

"I want to go to Daddy's school," N says

"What would you do at Daddy's school," I ask, thinking he'll say something about reading or hanging out with Daddy.

"So I could get these toys"

"Oh honey, those toys aren't at Daddy's school. You have to buy them"

"Okay, I want to buy them"

"Do you have any money?"

"No. could you buy them for me?"

"No, I don't have any extra money right now"

N ponders for a moment and then the light bulb goes off and he has a brilliant idea:

"I'll go the the Little Fred Meyer and they can give me money!" He declares.

"Why would they give you money?" I ask (trying not to giggle too much)

"well, if they want me to buy the toys the will give me money"

Ta-da. So, that's what I think, too. If the retailers of America want us to spend money this holiday season, they should start giving out cash.

oh happy day.

This is L after a day running around at Oregon Heritage Farms.

This photo is N after same day.

I am confident both had a great day. However, if you asked N at the end of the day if he had a good time, his answer was a resounding No! No amount of reminding him of all the fun things we did could pursuade him otherwise. A few months ago this would have been a great source of frustration to me. Luckily, someone wiser, and with much more mommy experience, reminded me that kids live in the moment. So, when you are leaving somewhere fun or making the child stop their favorite activity, all they can react to is the immediate moment. So, of course they are having no fun. It can be exasperating and disheartening. Particularly because it seems as if we fight the kids to go and then we fight them to leave. But, for that glorious in between it's a grand time.

So you live for the moments.

It was just my imagination

I always think I want to be one of 'those' moms You know, the ones who seem to be able to whip up a homemade costume, that actually looks like what it's supposed to be (not a sock on a string) . Or they always seem to have time to make the cupcakes with the fancy decorations, and dye the Easter eggs in perfect pastel colors.

But, every time I try to be one of 'those' moms no one has any fun. Because, all that stuff seems to be too precious and perfect for me to accomplish. And at some point I had to decide whether we were going to have fun or perfection. So, far I am trying to opt for fun. Thus we have elephant costumes that are made out of an old headband, construction paper and and a ratty old sock.

When it comes to Green Eggs and Ham for breakfast do I slave over adding spinach or kale at the precise measurements for a nutritious and color balance? No way, I just add a couple of drops of food coloring and chop up whatever lunch meat I have on had and call it ham (today it was smoked turkey). And if the green is more minty then grassy, well that's okay too.

Now, I'll be the first to admit that there are days when I wake up possessed by the urge to be one of 'those' moms. It seems to occur mostly around the holidays. My own mother went nuts around the holidays. We had heart shaped cookies for valentines day, homemade costumes and jack-o-lanterns for Halloween, and Christmas came with a tree, a nativity scene and jingle bells on the door. While I have fond memories of all this stuff, I don't really have any memories of these things bringing my mother joy. I remember that she made the cookies late at night after we went to bed, and I think she felt she had to do it. While I want to pass on some of these wonderful memories to my own children, I am striving to let go of the stress part. (I am not always successful) I am hoping to include the kids in the process, and if we don't have perfect heart shaped cookies - oh well.

I am so blessed to have kids with their own wonderful imaginations. So, in a way they are helping me save myself from me. I mean when you have a 3 year old who puts his clothes on backwards, because he can, it's easy to dream up "backwards day" and the fun just creates itself. No magazines or Assembly required.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v8nVVffZRck

okay, really you just have to click this and watch. Happy October.

Singing in the Rain

There was no rain and no dancing. But there's an umbrella, a little singing and plenty of reasons to smile.

the lazy days of August are here...

Holy crap, an entire summer seems to have flown by and I haven’t written a thing. Well, I’ve written grocery lists, I’ve written in my journal, I’ve written the kid’s names on about a hundred art projects that I somehow manage to recycle once a week (even if N says we need to save them all). But, I haven’t written here.

I have a bunch of excuses 1. It was summer, 2. I’ve got two kids to chase around the house 3. I had out of town guests 4. It was summer 5. I had emergency surgery and 6. Yep, you guessed it, it was summer. Let’s face it, this time of year is not meant for mining the depths of one’s brain and now it’s the lazy days of August and it’s even harder, but I figured I owed it to my 6 readers and maybe even myself to try and get something out there. Just so we’d all know I was still here.

Summer with a 3 year old and an under two year old can be joyous and frustrating. It can be rewarding and exasperating. In other words summer is no different then the rest of the year, it’s just that during the summer we can all go outside and feel like we have a little space to move and fly.

N loves to take off running down the sidewalk at a neck breaking speed these days. While I secretly love the fact that he is so fast and so brave it also makes me nutty. He often forgets to tell us where he is going. And that’s just not cool, because he’s three and one wrong turn around the corner and who knows what could happen. I’m not talking crazy boogie man get the boy kind of stuff (although I do think about that too) no, just your generic getting lost, or falling down and really getting hurt. So, there’s been a lot of tears and timeouts while N tries to reconcile the world of personal freedom and the rules of Mom and Dad.

When N is sitting in said timeout L will often pat him on the back and say, “ahhh”. Then the other day I saw her sitting in the timeout spot sort of fake crying, and I couldn’t figure out what was wrong. So, I called her over and gave her a hug, she seemed happy and we moved on. But, then it happened again and again. It dawned on me, she was doing what her brother does. (She loves to do Everything that N does) Right down to getting the hug when she came out of the corner (N always gets a hug and an “I love you” after said timeout and a discussion of why he was there) Once I realized what she was doing I just left her there and laughed. Little does she know that someday that will no longer be a fun thing to do.

For those tracking the arc of N’s potty training, we are at a plateau. He’ll go when asked, sometimes, and still won’t initiate anything. We’ve resorted to bribery and he is rewarded with mini M&M’ s for each sucessfull attempt. Of course, since he’s three sometimes even the bribery is useless. “Let’s try for a couple of M&M’s”, I’ll say. “I don’t want any” he’ll respond. Then it’s like pulling teeth to get him to interupt whatever it is that is so important to go sit on the potty. Nothing can convince him that taking the time to go potty is actually less time consuming and stressful then having to stop and change wet clothes.... sigh... maybe his new daycare provider can help us win this battle.

Meanwhile L, the copycat, toddles into the bathroom attempts to pull off her pants, sits on the potty chair for a couple of minutes and then stands up with great joy and says “Potty” or “ta-da” at the top of her lungs.
Kids, go figure.

Note: While I realize that most of my readers know my children’s names and I have actually used them in earlier blogs, I have decided to use their initials from now on. Why, you might ask? Because someday they are going to be old enough to care about me writing about them. Someday they’ll have friends who might google them. So, this is the first baby step towards the day when N & L ask me to stop writing about them all together. Luckily for you and me, that day is hopefully a ways off still!

‘Til next time, take care.

Flooded with memories

I have spent the last few days glued to the internet and CNN. I am and news junkie on a good day, so the news of my home state drowning in both the small and the mighty rivers was enough to put me over the edge.

First let me say that my family and friends are, all things considered, lucky. Some wet basements here and there. Ruined backyard gardens and rained out activities. Some missed doctors appointments due to bridge closures, but over all they were lucky. For that I am grateful.

And yet Iowa being what it is, I do know someone who knows someone who lost their house in the Parkersburg tornado, and someone else who knew a boy at the boy scout camp in Eastern Iowa. I'm sure as I catch up with old friends over the summer I'll hear more tales of near misses and 'did you know that so-and-so lost....' Because that is Iowa, one great big small town scattered across 99 counties

Personal reflections on the places I know:

Iowa City was my home away from home for most of my childhood, I had many a surgery there. I know the halls of the "old" hospital well, and wonder if the murals painted for the amusment of children passing thru the basement catacombs (to avoid the extreme Iowa winters/summers) to get from the "old" to the "new" survived? No way to replace those. Those flooded dormitories? They hold different memories of partying with friends on weekend getaways.

Cedar Falls was the first town to capture national attention as they rallied and saved the town w/a massive sandbagging effort. It was also my college town. I still have friends teaching at the University of Northern Iowa. I walked along the Cedar River and attended many an improptu concert in Sturgis Falls Park. While the town was saved, I understand the landscape of the park is changed forever.

Cedar Rapids is just another town to me, but still I know those people, because Iowa is one of those places where you just 'know' everyone. So, I feel these are my neighbors and weep with them as their beloved downtown washes away. I know all these families who are wondering just where to begin as they stare at their flooded homes. Homes awash with mud and scattered dreams. My thoughts and prayers are theirs this weekend.

And then there is Des Moines, my hometown. I played in Birland park, now a giant swimming hole, flooded wihen the levee broke. I attended many a football games at North High School. My father worked downtown so I know those flooded street names very well. Saylorville dam was popular make out destination and to see those waters rushing over the spillway is surreal.

It has been over 20 years since I lived in Iowa, but she is always home to me. And I hope my home can recover.

Random notes from my head

I tip my hat to Maya Angelou and Anne Lamott. They are two women who, as single mothers, managed to raise their children and still find time to write and live their lives. Damn, how I envy them. Now, I don't have them on some great Mother/Writer pedestal, I know it wasn't easy and like many in the arts sacrifices were made, but still they persevered and to that end I say, "hooray"

Sometimes I am awake in the middle of the night and I write glorious prose in my head, but in the light of day the words have escaped me. So, sometimes I quietly crawl out of bed and I flip open the laptop in hopes of capturing the words before the seep away... but alas, the glare of the screen, the lure of the Internet is all too much. No, if I'm going to get the words down, I'm going to have to do it long hand, on a yellow note pad, with wide, not legal, ruled lines. The pens must be just perfect, even pencil is preferable to a pen that skips along the page, stopping and starting.

If I could only get up earlier then my children in the morning, but it seems no matter how early I get up, 5 minutes after my shower I either hear Lucy calling from her crib or Noah is bounding into the room with a cheery, "Hello my name is _______" fill in the blank with any number of names for the day. Sigh... I have morning children!



These morning children are a delight to be around. Lucy, although still not possessing a complete grasp of words yet, babbles and sings nonsensical words. She'll greet you with a giant grin and a big, "HI!" Every time she says "HI" she beams as if she's just mastered the word for the first time. (and not said it on end for the past several weeks) It is awesome. She toddles around the house with great pride at having mastered walking. Soon she'll be chasing Noah, and there will be no stopping her. I think the only thing keeping her from having a perfect life right now is her inability to open the cabinet where the cereal, crackers and other good things to eat are stored, on her own. If she could crack that puzzle, she would be in heaven. (and I don't mean Iowa)



Noah, sigh, Noah... it's such a wonderful name, Wouldn't you agree? Picked out specially for our first born. But, currently we hardly get to use it. Noah, you see, has turned into a warthog named Pumba, at least it is today. Yesterday he was a Triceratops named Sara, and the day before he was tank engine named Thomas, and the day before that he was a train named Emily. He won't answer if you call him the wrong name. And woe to you, if you forget who he is, or worse yet he's changed his name between the last time you addressed him and the moment you are in now. It's a wonderful, delightful, and exasperating phase we are in. I try to embrace it, but sometimes I just want Noah to come home. Sometimes, I am sure he's living in some world without me and I want him to come back.. now! But, when asked where Noah is, and when he might be coming home, Pumba/Thomas/Sara et al will respond, "Noah can't come home, he's at work." (opening a whole new world of Mommy guilt)

"Will he come home soon?" I ask him.

"No, not for 40 days." He'll respond. And so, on it goes.

I had an overactive imagination as a kid. I used to get so far into my imaginary worlds, whether in reading a book or just playing, that I would not hear my mother come up the stairs looking for me. I would get in trouble for ignoring her... I wasn't ignoring her, I was just gone. I understand the power of the imagination and how it gives you freedom in a world where you might not feel in control or free. I worry that Noah feels he has no control, and it freaks me out. Then I remember that he is three... of course he has no control... that's my job. He is just being three and realizing that while everyone around him tells him what to do, when to do it, and how, there are indeed somethings he can control. He can control when and where he poops (and so far, that's not in the potty. But that's another story) and he can pretend he's something different every day. And that's pretty cool.


And that's just a few of the random thoughts floating around my head this evening, how about yours?

You'll wann do it too!

Too much time on my hands... but oh so fun.

sharing a love of music

I love musicals! I grew up on Showtunes, I can name a showtune and/or musical for every letter of the alphabet, and can sing selections from even more. When I was young I would sit at my bedroom window and sing the slower songs to the outside world. This would often take place on summer evenings when I had to go to bed at 8:30 and it was still light out. While the neighbors caught up on the latest gossip and news, their cool Milwaukie's best cans sweating as much as they were in the Iowa humidity, I would serenade them. "Where is Love?", "(I must have done) Something good", "Over the Rainbow" and on and on... At some point Dad would look up at my window and tell me to go to bed, but I swear there was always a twinkle in his eye when he would do so.

As my life went on I participated in musicals in high school, both on and off stage. I have stage managed many a Musical and, honestly, I think I deserve a medal for stage managing "The Wizard of Oz" three seasons in a row. (The final year I was literally dreaming the show forwards and backwards!!) I have been known to burst into Musical numbers at random both in the house and in public. It's just part of who I am.

I am now the mother of two beautiful children, and despite the fact that my husband is NOT a big Musical fan, they are learning many a showtune. I was pleasantly surprised to hear my son singing a number from Oliver! just last week. Imagine my surprise to learn that it wasn't "Who will buy" or even "ooom-pah-pah" but rather "Oliver" the song where Mr. Bumble berates the boy and threatens to 'feed him on cockroaches served in a canister"!

And the legacy continues - enjoy

I got nothing

I got nothing today. I have been wracking my brain all day for something, anything to write about. I felt especially compelled to write something, anything, since I harrassed my husband about putting up a year old essay on his blog... the gods are now getting the last laugh on me.

Nope, I got nothin' tune in tomorrow.

There are women

There are women who never run out of 'personal' products. I am not one of them.

I am a woman who is grateful that all her parts still work, no matter how inconvenient it may be.

There are women who always have a well balanced dinner on the table. I am not one of them.

I am a woman who almost always ensures her family eats at least one meal together every day, despite crazy schedules. And yes, that means sometimes we have cereal for dinner and leftover mac-and-cheese for breakfast.

There are women who's children are always color coordinated clothing when they walk out the door. I am not one of them.

I am a women who's children know it is okay to play in whatever they have on, and that their individuality should always shine.

There are women who's children always have clean hands and faces and always sit quietly in church. I am not one of them.

I am a woman who's children aren't afraid to get dirty. Who know that in order to find the worms, you might have to eat a little dirt. And they will know that it is a good thing to make "joyful noise unto the Lord" (or buddah, or mother earth, or whoever)

There are women who never roll their eyes when their husbands say goofy things in public. I am not one of them.

I am a woman who loves her goofy, brilliant, adorable, honest and trustworthy husband.

I am a woman who has to remind herself daily that I am the woman I want to be, most of the time.

The Archbishop responds

Dear Ms. Wohlmut,

Please accept this acknowledgement of your letter to me of February 15. Your decision to break your 'ties' with the church saddened me. I apologize for any way in which I have not served you on your journey of faith adequately.

It seems you have found a new place of worship which makes you feel at home. The beliefs and convictions of our Catholic community seem to have been too challenging for you. Be assured they they are challenging for us all of us. The church's evangelizing mission entails preaching the good news and a calling to a conversion. The second part is the hard part.

You said you leave with a 'broken heart'. Hearts break for many reasons, not always due to an external aggressor. Your letter and a few other experiences this spring prodded me to write a column for The Catholic Sentinel of March 7. Perhaps you may be interested in reading it.

As we move closer to Easter, I promise to keep you in my prayers. I pray that God will one day lead you back to your true home, a community of saints and sinners all struggling in thier search for the face of Jesus. God Bless.

Sincerely yours in the Lord,

Most Rev. John G. Vlanzy

I post this today without comment. I need to let it sit for a day or two, but be assured I will have something to say about this response, or lack of... CA

Practicing Patience

I thought this post was going to be about practicing patience with my children. There's been a lot of that going on in our house. Between the refusing to nap, the occasional fights over toys and all the other pitfalls of being a two children household; patience is in high demand in our house. But as I thought about it the person who I really need to practice patience with is myself.

I promised myself I would write more, and yet I find myself wasting more time worrying about having no time to write then actually writing. Then when I do write, I find that everything sucks. No, seriously I've got three essays going and you're just going to have to trust me when I say, "they suck". They don't suck beyond repair, mind you, but they do suck. My inner critic is working over time these days and mostly what she lacks is the patience to let me actually take the time to get things written. To her I say, 'slow down. These things take time. As long as I'm writing something, I'm winning the battle... so back off."

I promised myself I would excercise more patience with my kids. But, as I mentioned above I think the true test is can I be patient with myself when I forget to exercise said patience? After all, just as my kids are exploring the world for the first time and everything is new to them, so is being a parent new to me. How can I possibly know how I will react the first time anything happens , or for that matter how I'll react the gazillionth time something happens? It's all new.
To my inner mommy critic I say, 'slow down. You can only take this Mommy thing one day at a time. Kids are resilant and you'll all bounce back from a bad day. And the good days will carry you a long long way. Be patient with yourself, you are a good mommy'

I promised myself I would figure out (with many discussions involving my husband) our family economics, and where I want to go next in my career, and where to buy a house, and how to find time to organize the chaos that is my desk at home, and... and on and on goes the lists in my head at night when ( or is it why?) I cannot sleep. To the inner obssessor I say, "relax, slow down. Remember you are a Mommy of two, you are a wife, you are working a day job, you are running a show ,you are keeping a house running and you are struggling writer. Be patient, all these things will work out in time, they always do. Trust yourself, your love, and the universe. Give your mind a little quiet and peace"

Practicing patience is simply that "PRACTICING"

how to beat cabin fever

Sunday arrived in our fair household this weekend and I found myself telling Noah "no" for the umteeth time. As I watched his face crumble in disappointment yet again, I knew it was time to do something, anything. So, we decided it was time to get out of the house.

If you know our house you know it's small and getting smaller with each passing winter day each additional toy, rock, sticker,or any of the other treasures so vitally important to an almost three year old boy. (Luckily, the one year old has yet to begin to amass any collections of her own, yet)The endless rainy days, combined with runny noses and nap times that refuse to be coordinated, end up leading to too many days that go by without a good dose of fresh air. Sunday we changed all that.

We loaded up the car, two kids, kidpack, boots, extra pants, diapers, camera, snacks, toys for the ride, clean socks -and this was just for a trip across town! "We are going on adventure" we tell Noah. "Where are we going?" he asks time and time again. A question that can grate on one's nerves after awhile, but just knowing we were heading for an outdoor location gave me the patience to hang on. "Somewhere to run,"I answer. This ,of course, leads Noah to the conclusion that we are headed for a race. It took me awhile to connect the dots, (Mom's are awfully slow some days.) When he mentioned a race I asked, "a car race?" "Noooo... a running race" ahhh, I see.

Finally we reached our destination Tryon Creek State Park. A lovely day use park near Lewis and Clark College. A place with trees and trails and, as Noah pointed out, "more mud!" it was perfect. Noah got to run, splash, touch and explore. Lucy got a nap in the fresh air and Mommy and Daddy got some much needed exercise and an oportunity to enjoy the company of each other and their children once again. It was just what the doctor ordered.

In addition to getting outside I also had an opportunity to practice the art of swallowing my fears and letting go. Ssomething they neglect to tell you about when you have babies- that from the minute you give birth to them you are learning how to help them to be people on their own, and that in order to do this you've got to let go a little more each day. This includes letting your child run a little ahead of you without stopping him with every three feet, letting him walk up the steep hill on his own (and sighing, just a little, when he reaches for your hand). You let him run ahead to the bridge trying not to envision it breaking and crashing into the raging river (okay, it's just a creek) below. These are all things you do. And with each leap ahead your heart is joyous to watch your child grow and become more and more independent. Your heart also breaks a teeny tiny bit to know that this moment will never come again... And then you embrace the joy, racing on to catch up with the child jumping into his umpteeth mud puddle and you know it's a good good day.

Evel Knievel and me

Evel Knievel and me

When I was a kid all the boys in my neighborhood wanted to be Evel, and I mean all the boys. I remember one summer when 3 boys bruised, sprained, broke or otherwise busted up some body part trying to be the one to jump over something like 6 (or was it 16) garbage cans lined up on my street. It was wild and crazy. We were smart enough to know we shouldn't tell our folks why we were taking the garbage cans down the street, but not smart enough to not do it in front of Hazel's house.

Hazel was a the neighborhood recluse which, of course, led us all to call her a witch and play nasy tricks on her whenever we could. She was always watching from her window, with one hand on the phone to dial someone's parents to report the latest misdeed. When she did venture out it was always with too much perfume and a look of pure disdain. My mother always made me buy a box of Thin Mint Girl Scout cookies from my order for Hazel and then take them to her. I'd always ring the bell and thrust them into her hands quickly and run. Everytime I sit next to an older woman on the bus with crooked lipstick and too much perfume I think of Hazel and Evel Knievel.

In addition to the garbage can fiascos there was the time all the boys went to Donny Putz's house (true last name, poor kid) one evening to watch one of Evel's jumps on tv. No girls allowed, I was miffed, not that I really cared but I sensed a shift beginning to occur. It may have been the beginning of the end for hanging out together, boys and girls, without the weirdness of budding breasts and crackling voices. So, the boys were at Donny's and the girls were at Erin Humpel's (again, poor kid) house. I wanted to watch the jump, Erin and Michelle wanted to put on music and dance. Without warning the lights went out and the record player ground to a halt right in the middle of some 70's dance song.Everyone, boys and girls, gravitated to Donny's front yard.

We loved Donny's house, his mom was often working and left her cigarettes and cash just laying about. Easy pickin's for quick hands. The cigarettes were mostly for posturing in the school yard ( I wouldn't actually light one until the following summer) and I don't know about anyone else but I spent my ill-gotten gains on Charlie's Angels trading cards, you know the ones with the bad gum that you just threw away.

I don't remember what caused the blackout, although one theory was that Hazel hexed the power so we couldn't see Evel jump. I just remember thinking how weird it was that we were suddenly boys AND girls and not just the gang. By the end of the summer Michelle and James were going steady and Matthew and Erin made out in Donny's basement. I hung on the sidelines desperate to go steady, and yet equally relieved to still be able to just hang out at Donny's house without worries. The following summer Donny would kiss me and things were never the same.

Rest in peace Evel.

An Open letter to the Archbishop of Portland:



I wanted to write and tell you why I have broken my ties with the Church. It was not a decision I entered into lightly. And I did much soul searching before I decided it was time for me to go.

Let me tell you a little about myself. I was raised Catholic in the Midwest. I was raised in a fairly liberal diocese. Liberal in the sense that we had women participating in services long before the Vatican ok'ed it. Liberal in the sense that the bishop was often getting 'warning' letters from Rome about some policy he was ignoring. There was a lot of "don't ask don't tell" going on there. And as a kid, I guess I was okay with that way of thinking. We were the diocese known for the radicals who with-held the portion of their federal taxes the figured was going to the ever growing, ever bloated military budget. And the Bishop who got detained, along with a certain 16 year old girl, at a protest and SAC airbase. We had it all. While I knew there were Catholics who didn't always agree with our bishop and his "modern" way of thinking. It always felt like we all just agreed to disagree.

I was very active in the Church in my teens and even into college. I have always believed that the Church (or more likely the people in it) saved me from a difficult home life and probably even saved my life. I moved to Portland in the late 80s. I attended church from time to time,but like many young people bent on finding themselves I found myself drifting away. I found myself constantly questioning the Church's stance on such issues as birth control, a woman's right to choose, women as clergy, homosexuality and other 'human" issues as I came to call them. I kept wandering in and out of the Church's door. I believed, for a long time, that there would come a day in my life time when an American Catholic Church would be born. I kept hoping that sooner or later Rome would come into the modern age and be willing to embrace a new era.

Then came the pedophilia scandals. My very foundation was ripped from underneath me. Parish priests of my youth were accused of unspeakable acts. Even locally a young priest, a priest who's sermons made me feel welcome even as I disagreed with the Church, was shipped back to California to answer for a 'mistake in judgment'. I watched in horror as the Catholic Church continued to deny any wrongdoing, to act like a child and not stand up and accept responsibility; allowing everyone to heal and move on. It broke my heart. I know now this was the beginning of the end for me.

Still I held on a little longer- wandering in and out again- reveling in the beauty of mass and a great love for the Virgin Mary. Hoping against hope things could be healed.But then came the election of 2004 and things became absurd - John Kerry was to be denied Eucharist- as was I because we believed woman had a Choice, we believed that marriage was for everyone, straight or not. And let us not forget my own marriage to a Buddhist was technically not a marriage in the eyes of the Church. I grew tired of waiting for the great change I prayed for. I grew tired of being a cafeteria Catholic picking and choosing what I wanted while ignoring the rest. I was tired of feeling like a hypocrite. Sadly, I broke away. It feels like a broken marriage. I loved the Church, but I cannot live with her anymore, too many arguments and hurts.

I have found a new place to worship. A place that welcomes me in warts and all. A place where they don't care where I came from or where I am on my spiritual journey. I feel as if I have found a home. I still carry the Catholic Church in my heart, like a first love the good memories cannot be erased. I am grateful to those who put me on my first spiritual path, but now I move on.

I wish you only peace.