tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-201468052024-03-04T23:39:38.805-08:00Ottava BattutaKuliohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16881669733868910956noreply@blogger.comBlogger289125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20146805.post-39262300611008357062012-09-04T15:57:00.004-07:002012-09-04T16:02:07.931-07:00First Day In America and Unexplained HappinessTwo Korean exchange students are staying with us for 3 weeks! They arrived last night.<br />
<br />
They are sweet and pretty talkative and they <i>love our dog.</i><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaa-WGi1GEY17zekkR1PBdZ41A8D-_fg4sIQ6ggGjipEOw9dBKJiFODDdxLTaWNRSR0fXgbMKcamK2wIz-6Ly2inIwRkSjq7Te9DV6iN8rWwVNWaXyU_60nPVryuAKaUzDCGlP/s1600/IMG_4684.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaa-WGi1GEY17zekkR1PBdZ41A8D-_fg4sIQ6ggGjipEOw9dBKJiFODDdxLTaWNRSR0fXgbMKcamK2wIz-6Ly2inIwRkSjq7Te9DV6iN8rWwVNWaXyU_60nPVryuAKaUzDCGlP/s320/IMG_4684.JPG" width="320" />J</a></div>
<i> </i> Jin<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtvTSLeGModCDYWy64QkwBuqerVaWMi5fsVk4PcLlASb_PUh4ZKwdZEwIN2NbJiuxM_RrCIaOURS6Ig8WEYGZEojlipS1hx6yRC71ejhRxBHyCSysuF3A6TaXVTukv3QujcKLE/s1600/IMG_4678.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtvTSLeGModCDYWy64QkwBuqerVaWMi5fsVk4PcLlASb_PUh4ZKwdZEwIN2NbJiuxM_RrCIaOURS6Ig8WEYGZEojlipS1hx6yRC71ejhRxBHyCSysuF3A6TaXVTukv3QujcKLE/s320/IMG_4678.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
Dong hee<br />
<br />
Matt just took them to the mall. When the girls came down for breakfast this morning, Kara whispered, "What about the dress code?" Their shorts were shorter than fingertip length :-) I told her that the school would probably cut them some slack since it's their first day in America. Matt spoke with the principal, and apparently they got the message and are out shopping right now. <br />
<br />
After school today I had brownies for them, and asked what the best part of their day was, and what the worst part was. Unfortunately, they couldn't think of any good things to say - it was a real shock to them at school - mostly because the teachers spoke so quickly that they didn't understand anything. Also it was burritos for lunch and all of my kids agreed that they were horrible. One of the other Korean kids at school (there is a large group) said she thought she was going to puke. <br />
And they say, "puke" like, "pook" so that made me laugh. <br />
<br />
In un-related news, James is sitting on the other couch having a conversation with me right now. (I can't see him because I'm in a chair facing the other way).<br />
<br />
James just said,<br />
"Mom I just feel so happy. But I don't even know why, I just do."<br />
<br />
I answered,<br />
"I've had that happen before. It's like I feel really happy but I can't remember what is making me feel that way."<br />
<br />
James added,<br />
"Either that or I have to yawn, it's practically the same feeling."<br />
<br />
I thought about that for a minute. <br />
<br />
The voice came over the chair again,<br />
<br />
"I kind of feel like singing."<br />
<br />
:-)<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Kuliohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16881669733868910956noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20146805.post-38126282470788953522012-08-28T05:39:00.002-07:002012-08-28T05:39:55.386-07:00Getting Along<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqL_PWVHCdarZ2ksEs9sNE1LsM_RlH6g6vTxHSaOJLf8kB-q23uhqtrNhNQnQOMeuu1RetkwhbozfiOoLon0kbo7mHwjXXXIwlcASSpdeZbp_qK7u7_QeDt7D0Qs4X92ShyphenhyphenpoZ/s1600/521554_2215082394210_1985967153_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqL_PWVHCdarZ2ksEs9sNE1LsM_RlH6g6vTxHSaOJLf8kB-q23uhqtrNhNQnQOMeuu1RetkwhbozfiOoLon0kbo7mHwjXXXIwlcASSpdeZbp_qK7u7_QeDt7D0Qs4X92ShyphenhyphenpoZ/s320/521554_2215082394210_1985967153_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Kara had a cousin over, so Beth was relegated to James' room for the night.<br />
<br />
She dragged a mattress into his room and apparently wasn't sensitive to peas or Legos<br />
because it lay on top of about a thousand of them. Legos, that is.<br />
<br />
I think they were pretty comfortable in there together, because the next morning James came down in this huge pair of basketball pants. <br />
<br />
I must have looked askance at him because he followed my gaze and shrugged as he opened the fridge,<br />
<br />
"Beth made me wear pants to bed."<br />
<br />
Good call, Beth.<br />
<br />
*Kuliohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16881669733868910956noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20146805.post-65578629083758726102012-07-04T07:43:00.002-07:002012-07-04T07:46:50.492-07:00Summer Reading<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqreS2kLga_YJpBwGfUBUIuREaN9xPV64SuO9Fe3idRlKMKSYGdaIx6RR2zUUT6-CwBiEtIUlXUzOFzO1XfK2AOpNkx6AwlQX4P940cH9HZ3bb0ml4FBxnbarYAmj4Wn2FpHq_/s1600/Home_Photo_books.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqreS2kLga_YJpBwGfUBUIuREaN9xPV64SuO9Fe3idRlKMKSYGdaIx6RR2zUUT6-CwBiEtIUlXUzOFzO1XfK2AOpNkx6AwlQX4P940cH9HZ3bb0ml4FBxnbarYAmj4Wn2FpHq_/s320/Home_Photo_books.jpg" width="274" /></a></div>
<br />
Thanks cousin <b><a href="http://gogreenmolly.blogspot.com/2012/06/recent-reads.html">Molly</a></b> for the book reviews (and the idea to do book reviews)!<br />
<br />
Here are some books that I've read so far this summer:<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Clue-Tapping-Heels-Nancy-Drew/dp/0448095165"><b><u>The Clue of the Tapping Heels</u></b></a> by Carolyn Keene.<br />
I always liked Nancy Drew better than the Hardy Boys mysteries. One thing I've noticed about Nancy is that she has such great friends. They're always willing to get into scrapes with her. I am constantly feeling sorry for her housekeeper though - that poor woman gets so worried whenever Nancy is kidnapped or falls into a hole or when her car breaks down and she wanders up to strange houses to ask for help. On one hand Nancy seems to have so much common sense, but on the other hand, there is always a point in the story when you're thinking, "Okay Nancy, this is a TERRIBLE idea, do NOT investigate that hidden passageway!!"<br />
<br />
Anyway, this story involves Morse code and tapdancing (great combo in my opinion), stray cats, a recluse, weird tapping sounds emanating from an unknown location in an old house, and a trip to New York City. Unfortunately, I will never know what that tapping sound was because my book became overdue and I had to hot foot it to the library to return it. Mystery remains unsolved.<br />
<br />
<b><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Seriously-Im-Kidding-Ellen-DeGeneres/dp/0446585025/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1341410755&sr=1-1&keywords=ellen+degeneres+seriously+i%27m+kidding"><u>Seriously...I'm Kidding</u></a></b> by Ellen DeGeneres<br />
This is the third book by actor-comedian-talk show host Ellen, but the first that I've read. The book was a super-easy read, with really really short chapters. She writes just like she talks, so you can definitely hear her voice. I liked it because it was light and easy reading, perfect for between innings at James' baseball games, and several parts made me laugh. I did wonder if any of her other books were a little more serious or biographical -- I'm kind of interested in her life growing up. Other than that, I think it's a fun little book that I finished in one game!<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Dont-Look-Like-Anyone-Know/dp/B007SRXKMS/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1341411224&sr=1-2&keywords=face+blindness"><u><b>You Don't Look Like Anyone I Know</b></u></a> by Heather Sellers<br />
This is by far the most interesting book I've read this summer. Heather writes about face-blindness, a real condition that she (and many other people) suffer from. She cannot recognize a person by their faces. Even people in her own family. In order to recognize a person, she uses context clues - distinctive ears or hair, voice, location and dress (but it's bad if you're wearing a hat one minute and then take it off the next time she glances at you). It was fascinating to read about her upbringing (a very bizarre family situation that she believed was normal until later in life). Heather did not become diagnosed until middle age, and so up until that point people were always getting upset with her for not recognizing them. She was starting to wonder if she had some type of mental illness.<br />
<br />
I really liked this book, one reason being that she lives and works in my state -- at least at the time of publication she was a professor at Hope College in Michigan. Her story is so compelling even without the face-blindness. Her mom was probably schizophrenic and her dad was an alcoholic -- and yet she emerged from all of that difficulty as a successful teacher and writer. The face-blindness may or may not have been a result of some of the things that happened in her childhood, but the combination of all that going on in her life was just an amazing thing to survive. This is my favorite book of the summer so far.<br />
<br />
<u><b><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Dont-Look-Like-Anyone-Know/dp/B007SRXKMS/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1341411224&sr=1-2&keywords=face+blindness">The Pursuit of Happyness</a> </b></u>by Quincy Troupe/Chris Gardner<br />
I checked this book out because I saw the movie a while back. Will Smith was very good as Chris Gardner - and the story was just heart-breaking and wonderful at the same time. I haven't finished the book yet, but I'm sticking with it. So far, almost the whole first half is about his childhood - it hasn't even gotten to the part that the movie depicts (as a young father). His upbringing is by all sorts of random family members because his mother gets sent to prison and his stepfather is incredibly abusive and awful. I'm starting to get to the point where I want it to move on, because I know the story is about his struggle to remain a father to his son in the very worst circumstances, and how he never gives up. There is some harsh language in the book and a couple of "scenes" that wouldn't make it suitable for children to read (or me to read either but I'm "glossing" as well as I can). My review is...well I can't really recommend it yet. It's very very interesting, but so far it's a LOT of background information. Maybe it's because I watched the movie first that I keep anticipating when the book is really going to begin.<br />
<br />
Anybody want to recommend a book for me to read this summer? I just sent <a href="http://www.amazon.com/All-over-Shoutin-Rick-Bragg/dp/0679774025/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1341412445&sr=1-1&keywords=all+over+but+the+shoutin"><b>All Over But the Shoutin</b>'</a> to my dad on his Kindle for Father's Day. It's a great story! And of course, if you haven't read <b><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Bloom-Finding-Beauty-Unexpected--A-Memoir/dp/0062045032/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1341412819&sr=1-1&keywords=bloom">Bloom</a></b> by New York Times Best Selling Author (and my cousin) Kelle Hampton, then you're missing out! It's such a great book!! :-) <br />
<br />
I don't have a Kindle, but I have a library card! Tell me your favorite book!<br />
<br />
*<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Kuliohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16881669733868910956noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20146805.post-83729374783153155772012-06-26T09:40:00.000-07:002012-06-26T10:01:09.576-07:00Abandoning the Internet<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirgJ0vD1tey_ljDG-mLyNVDe4pIY_eA8cDxdiOCSHT9_FipbRYwr2Sdke5ppNbqCUIW79ICRUyw93xZaUWdYh9MPz3W9zqw1kNAIuUa-kaaXdkfroltEau_Ys3AMNRHwbMPY_s/s1600/229946_388050167918139_1149341831_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirgJ0vD1tey_ljDG-mLyNVDe4pIY_eA8cDxdiOCSHT9_FipbRYwr2Sdke5ppNbqCUIW79ICRUyw93xZaUWdYh9MPz3W9zqw1kNAIuUa-kaaXdkfroltEau_Ys3AMNRHwbMPY_s/s320/229946_388050167918139_1149341831_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Saturday afternoon we went thrifting - I love taking my girls because it's the one time I can sort of say, "Get whatever you like!" Usually we are on such a budget that every purchase is weighed carefully -- but at a thrift shop, if you see a funky pair of red sunglasses that flip up, and if they make you smile, and if they're 99cents....well then -- throw them in the basket, they're yours!<br />
<br />
After that we went to Kroger to buy snacks. We were debating between two different snacks when I noticed the backpacked stranger muttering to himself near us. We changed aisles, and he followed. We changed again and he followed. Kara was holding the bags and discussing which one was better when I grabbed both bags and threw them in the cart, "Let's get both!"<br />
The girls looked up, startled.<br />
I am not usually so generous with the snack food.<br />
I scooted them out of the store and told them what was going on. They were half-scared, half-thrilled and pretty pumped about two bags of snacks.<br />
<br />
Next stop was Joann fabrics, to buy material for the girls' first sewing project ever. Usually I meet the most irritable employees in that store, but this time we hit the jackpot. I asked a question regarding sizing and the lady at the cutting table leaned over to study the pattern and talked with all three of us for a long time, giving us so much help! She was kind and patient and not grumpy at all.<br />
<br />
We left the grocery store so quickly that we forgot about drinks, so we stopped at KFC for a soda. While there, an employee ran in breathless and pointed out the window. She had tried to help a blind man cross a really busy street but he said he was alright without help.<br />
We all watched as he made his way across Grand River with a long cane and sure enough he made it safely. Sometimes fast food employees get a bad rap, so I liked hearing my girls say how cool it was of that employee, running out to the street to try to help a stranger.<br />
<br />
The MSU Jazz Orchestra was playing at a festival in town, so we parked and found our seats by about 9:30. I love that we have such quality music available to us (for free!) in such a small town. After awhile I could see that the girls were getting tired so we walked around a bit - somebody took our picture, we people-watched, and looked at some huge paintings that were being made right on the spot. It was so nice to be there without an agenda.<br />
"One more song", I said, and then we left.<br />
<br />
I taught the girls my technique for walking back to my car in the city in the dark.<br />
Find a group of strangers that look nice and stick close to them.<br />
We found a bunch of kids in shorts and polo shirts. <br />
Yes, we judged a book by its cover :-)<br />
We caught up to them and walked almost on their heels all the way to the car.<br />
<br />
We slammed the car doors and the girls were anxious to get home, but I was sitting there feeling irritable because the night was so so beautiful, and because I suspected that they just wanted to return to their beloved internet. I probably said something to that effect, in a whiny voice, telling them that they never want to have any fun and look, there's a swingset right in front of us! <br />
We had parked right next to a playground.<br />
<br />
There was a pause and then they said, "Oh alright!" and we practically leaped back out of the car, laughing and jumping onto the swings, doing the monkey bars and climbing the rope ladder. We all paused almost at the same time and I said, "Where is that music coming from?"<br />
<br />
Kara looked and pointed, "It's a movie!"<br />
<br />
We squinted across the length of the park. We could see a tiny moving picture at the end of it. It was so far away, I thought maybe it was East Lansing's "Movies in the Park" night or something and I took off, saying, "Let's go!!"<br />
<br />
The girls followed me, but the closer we got, the more I suspected that this was not a public movie show. We drew right up next to five kids laying on beach towels on the grass, their projector flickering Indiana Jones onto a sheet tacked up onto a brick wall, sound system blaring the theme song as Indiana ran ahead of that huge rolling stone.<br />
<br />
I felt suddenly awkward. Their skateboards were in a pile near my feet. The girls skidded to a stop behind me and I called out, "Hey, can we watch too?"<br />
<br />
They looked up and immediately said, "Heck yeah! Sit down! Hey you want some pizza?"<br />
<br />
A high school boy slid a pizza box to us across the grass. We looked at each other and sat down, feeling happy and silly. We ate their pizza. We watched about a quarter of the movie until it started to sprinkle. It was time to go home.<br />
<br />
So all the way home we laughed and talked about what a great night it was. We kind of crammed a bunch of things into one day, but we also went through it in a very random, unplanned way, just letting things happen and being open to surprises.<br />
<br />
People are so interesting.<br />
I like to get my family out of the imaginary world in books and on tv and of course facebook, and into real living.<br />
<br />
Well, at least once a summer. :-)<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Kuliohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16881669733868910956noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20146805.post-64603504194295431302012-06-20T06:30:00.003-07:002012-06-20T18:40:22.439-07:00Heathercakes<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIxHkUSCfObsjfYcCdLWZg0CEkS468XlK_98yFNMT0z916sbvpGEJxDeQMsfwldCn-Qr69PEOqtnYX2hBepom7CkW2vxFRT-LaLqosqXMw95lFqI5FLTNoWVUTfz_0AwmK5YgN/s1600/cupcake.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIxHkUSCfObsjfYcCdLWZg0CEkS468XlK_98yFNMT0z916sbvpGEJxDeQMsfwldCn-Qr69PEOqtnYX2hBepom7CkW2vxFRT-LaLqosqXMw95lFqI5FLTNoWVUTfz_0AwmK5YgN/s320/cupcake.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">So I'm used to getting rejection emails, and this one was pretty typical. I had over-bid our band's fee, and I was expecting them to decide that "your band is not a good fit for us".</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">What I didn't expect, from the same address, was another email, inviting me to display my culinary talents at the festival pre-party. Here's the email:<i> </i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><i>Heather,</i></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><i>I
am following up on an e-mail sent a few months ago regarding Heather
Cakes participating in the Townie Street Party, and providing your
wonderful cake at the Terrace.</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><i>I
am hoping you have had time to consider this, so I am attaching a
contract. Please feel free to contact me if you have any questions.</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><i>I look forward to hearing from you!</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;">Well, this was a mistaken email -- apparently my email address was on file for the band and the organizer connected me to the owner of "Heather Cakes"<i>. </i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;">My wheels started turning. (My extended family will understand this completely)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">I didn't think about how this was sent to the wrong person. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">The contract had my attention, and </span><span style="font-size: small;">a series of thoughts flew through my mind:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;">I wonder how much it pays? I did get a lot of compliments on those triple-layer mini cupcakes I made for the recital. What if I painted a little HC monogram onto a baker's apron and took a bunch of cupcakes to the party...I have a contract, I'm totally legit!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;">After reading the contract, that was basically about providing between 4-600 pieces to the party and the payment was free advertisement for my non-existent company, I made an announcement to the room. (Consisting of my oblivious husband reading the paper and the dog)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;">"This is SO not worth my time."</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;">Matt nodded and the dog snapped at a fly. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;">I just smiled at the email for awhile.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;">I was thinking about how they underbid <i>me</i>.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;">*</span></div>Kuliohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16881669733868910956noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20146805.post-2889629315520799682012-06-14T11:16:00.002-07:002012-06-15T08:18:55.482-07:00Family<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEyRVinKQxY6cOJJvb9xRrxj2A_9sfAuqWrQumz_d-hCFVG3Kko-vjfh-26CBwoCzIkh0kgCjEhsamvk5Wwl4zAgl1FkcatviBXxzaxy8o5qN9PJZkMomNNb9SdfNoxTEZBzD-/s1600/IMG_1226.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEyRVinKQxY6cOJJvb9xRrxj2A_9sfAuqWrQumz_d-hCFVG3Kko-vjfh-26CBwoCzIkh0kgCjEhsamvk5Wwl4zAgl1FkcatviBXxzaxy8o5qN9PJZkMomNNb9SdfNoxTEZBzD-/s320/IMG_1226.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
I want to tell this story of a true family moment that happened last night, with names and everything, because right in the middle of it, while it was happening, I knew that it was an example of family doing what a family is supposed to do.<br />
<br />
I have four teenagers. And there is angst. And there is drama. And there are tears.<br />
And it is way way way way way way harder to know what is best for them now than when they were toddlers.<br />
<br />
Back then I knew. I just always knew exactly what to do. I didn't always do it right, or with the right spirit or with the best amount of patience, but at least I knew - I was captain, teacher, all-knowing, ever-present - keeper of the bandaids, the kisses, nutrition, shelter, life!<br />
<br />
Now my role has changed drastically. Getting ready to leave James for the day last week I asked him if he'd be all right, all by himself, all day. His answer,<br />
<br />
"Of course! I have plenty of waffles!" <br />
<br />
They feed themselves now. They wander around town with friends, babysit for neighbors, wash their own clothes and take showers behind locked bathroom doors.<br />
<br />
If my role hadn't changed, I'd have absolutely nothing to do now.<br />
<br />
But now instead of lifting a spoon to their mouths, carefully balancing amounts of green vegetables, orange vegetables and pureed fruit, I just try to make sure they don't eat too many waffles.<br />
I roll them outside when they've watched too much television.<br />
I get them to the dentist twice a year. <br />
<br />
And I listen to heartbreaking teenage moments of exclusion, betrayal, fickleness, immaturity and selfishness. And I am suddenly in this place where I have no idea what to do.<br />
No idea.<br />
And I watch helplessly as my child is rebuffed or lied to or hurt and I can't step in and scoop them up and carry them out of the sandbox anymore.<br />
<br />
Because the hardest part is -- they really don't want to leave the sandbox. They like playing there and the other occupants are their friends - imperfect and unpredictable though they are.<br />
And the fact that I am still allowed to sit on the edge of the sandbox is a tenuous gift.<br />
<br />
Beth was invited to a party - a boy-girl party - an overnight party.<br />
The boys were to be banished to the basement while the girls had the run of the upstairs.<br />
The information about boys spending the night did not reach me until permission for the sleepover was given.<br />
It was not difficult to render my previous permission null.<br />
<br />
The protest was passionate.<br />
I handled it calmly by asking Beth who was the strictest parent she knew.<br />
She said it was me (beam, beam).<br />
I said,<br />
"Do you remember when we tried to do that very thing for your and James' birthday?"<br />
<br />
We promised the parents that the boys and girls would not mix. But housing a dozen 13 year olds overnight requires round-the-clock vigilance.<br />
And we fell asleep.<br />
And they mixed.<br />
And no harm came, but it was a lesson learned.<br />
<br />
If Matt and I couldn't control a situation like that, I couldn't trust that another parent could. <br />
<br />
Beth accepted the verdict, but what we didn't anticipate was that Beth's best friend would react so meanly. Beth handed me the phone in tears and told me to read the slew of angry texts.<br />
In Sarina's words, thanks to Beth the party was now "wrewned".<br />
None of the other girls were likely to spend the night if Beth had to leave the party at 11pm. <br />
<br />
I was torn. Beth was being blamed for something completely out of her control, and the problem was not whether the party was "wrewned", but it was that Sarina was so terribly angry with her.<br />
I watched her dejected form, and I read the many many apologies Beth had texted back to an unsympathetic party host.<br />
<br />
I needed reinforcements, so I brought Matt in but he started saying things like, "Why are you crying?" and "Can't you see that this girl does not care about you?" I gave him the evil eye and he started to leave but then I gave him the pleading please-just-stay-and-be-quiet eye and he sat down on the floor while we talked and Beth cried. It had suddenly come to me that we could not denigrate Beth's best friend. The problem was clear -- Sarina was <i>mad </i>at Beth and Beth felt terrible and we just needed to talk about it and figure something out. <br />
<br />
Kara was leaning in the doorway listening to us come up with possible solutions and she started adding her own advice. Soon we were all sitting on the bed together, throwing out ideas.<br />
The first thing we decided was that Beth should not apologize even once more. The second thing we decided - neutrally - was that Sarina had all the control.<br />
<br />
We found out that Beth didn't even care about spending the night, she only cared about keeping Sarina happy. We all gathered around the phone as Beth texted the other girls only to happily find out that nobody else was spending the night either. Sarina's accusation that the party was wrewned was completely false. The party could go on!<br />
<br />
I noticed that the more information we had, the more Beth brightened.<br />
The more advice her older sister gave, the more she was listened to and comforted, the less terrible she felt.<br />
<br />
A few last barbs were thrown by Sarina. They were deflected by positive statements from Beth about how great the party was going to be. We could see Sarina weakening with every text. We could also see Beth's power grow. She realized that she was actually the powerful one in this relationship. She realized how much she was wanted, and how easy it was to distract Sarina from what she couldn't do. She realized that she didn't have to answer every question that Sarina lobbed - she was not required to be defensive - there was nothing forcing her to apologize.<br />
<br />
We talked about how Beth should show her kindness regardless of the things Sarina had said. We extended grace at every turn - another thing that added to Beth's confidence. She was <i>extending </i>grace, not asking for it. Any hurtful idea was cast aside as "not very nice" - only strong, positive comments were allowed to be texted.<br />
<br />
I felt, in the middle of it, so honored to be there. Nobody took over. Matt - a very black-and-white no-nonesense person - listened to all of this female fluff with patience and just lent his presence to the situation. Kara and I knew it wasn't fluff - it was real to Beth and we remember 13. I also knew that I wouldn't have been able to help Beth all by myself - it was this group of people, all with a common purpose, who were working together to help her.<br />
<br />
Beth felt it. By the end of it she was smiling. She went from complete discouragement to happiness. We asked her things like, "But what do <i>you</i> want to do?" and she didn't shrink from answering, from thinking for herself.<br />
<br />
I hope this long long post really describes what I'm trying to say. You might think that the issue at hand was frivolous...but to a 13 year old girl it was not. And the lessons learned during this time of figuring out how to be in a relationship...and how to be in a family....were priceless to me. Because at the end of it I said to her,<br />
<br />
"Beth do you know that all of these people in this room care so much about you. We all know you were hurting and we will always be there to help you figure stuff out. We love you more than anything in this world."<br />
<br />
And she heard me, and I heard me.<br />
And we as a family all sighed with relief because Beth was no longer unhappy.<br />
And because we remembered that every one of us is sad sometimes because of something we just can't figure out, but we are in it together, and that's what matters.<br />
<br />
That's what family is.<br />
<br />
*<br />
<br />
<br />Kuliohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16881669733868910956noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20146805.post-71923061630178012832012-05-02T18:51:00.001-07:002012-05-02T18:54:08.870-07:00Things That Make Me Happy<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqITVQxvLPqKvX-ymYElw9VJSYiReWPW92MSyOgtzA7_6pRejjqqUFeHOQVoWhjblMn2g4v0yEm_0resIO0A1CjuY_R-xIwW93sPjzBx_xCcNxmI0PW5HnjxejMxwsga-FQ1FE/s1600/smile.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqITVQxvLPqKvX-ymYElw9VJSYiReWPW92MSyOgtzA7_6pRejjqqUFeHOQVoWhjblMn2g4v0yEm_0resIO0A1CjuY_R-xIwW93sPjzBx_xCcNxmI0PW5HnjxejMxwsga-FQ1FE/s320/smile.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
An avocado, spinach, fried egg, siracha sauce grilled pita sandwich<br />
First coffee of the day<br />
A good night's sleep<br />
The noon emergency siren<br />
The 2am train whistle<br />
Warm weather<br />
Rainy weather<br />
A clean kitchen<br />
Weddings with dancing<br />
A free day<br />
Walking into Goodwill<br />
A foot massage<br />
Depositing checks<br />
Getting texts<br />
Smiling kids<br />
Mailing a letter<br />
McDonald's coffee, large, 5 creams<br />
When my students practice<br />
Going to the movies<br />
Having a supper plan<br />
Checking my garden<br />
Free food<br />
Practicing music<br />
Walking at night<br />
Open windows and breezes<br />
Birds<br />
Holding my dog<br />
Drawing<br />
Dressing up<br />
Quiet<br />
People who talk slowly and listen deeply<br />
Hugging<br />
Flying in an airplane<br />
Crossing things off lists<br />
Not being finished with a really good book yet<br />
* <br />
<br />
<br />Kuliohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16881669733868910956noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20146805.post-57954155845258844042012-04-16T07:05:00.005-07:002012-04-16T07:18:17.835-07:00Just Me<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmucTNxgYNPeLR0PcbZmB_t_fY3uVat64_0hNnOL_yIJwbpD2lDbYvSEF7HhGWXgoxGA2mnwLHZ7TxzwqiaT-Ov1kqTZaHzgNph0zdEtfhomzZYdXrdvD_cwQSLkyV8pArPdQ5/s1600/htde2-21.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmucTNxgYNPeLR0PcbZmB_t_fY3uVat64_0hNnOL_yIJwbpD2lDbYvSEF7HhGWXgoxGA2mnwLHZ7TxzwqiaT-Ov1kqTZaHzgNph0zdEtfhomzZYdXrdvD_cwQSLkyV8pArPdQ5/s400/htde2-21.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5732002402478860050" border="0" /></a><br />It will be just the kids and me for at least a month,<br />while Matt helps to open some new Party City stores in the Toronto area.<br /><br />He will be gone 10 days, home for 4, gone another 10, etc.<br />And during the 4 days home will likely work at his own store at least part of the time.<br /><br />I always really ramp up my expectations for times like these.<br />And I'm usually way more efficient, way more organized,<br />way ahead of the game, as if I'm trying to prove that I can do it all myself.<br /><br />But I feel a little anxious this time, a little less ready.<br />A little bit lost.<br /><br />I think the older I get, the more I feel like I'm forgetting something all the time.<br /><br />I hope it's not anything important.<br /><br />*Kuliohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16881669733868910956noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20146805.post-24010518388790773122012-04-08T17:09:00.002-07:002012-04-08T20:30:37.310-07:00Wizard<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_7-WcWRueGdk6iDmhFz70q0Q8MxJF68QepSs5VrD_tPNVOwd4L9F6zsHHfs_nW7-_K1bJxFbs4w1x-5nL0RaxISaKLn_ej72PfKIRvUycFwqum16bb17FRJ3EJGuiOt39GTco/s1600/tumblr_liel23yogv1qdkgpy.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_7-WcWRueGdk6iDmhFz70q0Q8MxJF68QepSs5VrD_tPNVOwd4L9F6zsHHfs_nW7-_K1bJxFbs4w1x-5nL0RaxISaKLn_ej72PfKIRvUycFwqum16bb17FRJ3EJGuiOt39GTco/s400/tumblr_liel23yogv1qdkgpy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5729237773675303362" border="0" /></a><br />I visited the <a href="http://www.khanacademy.org/">Khan Academy</a> online and read this quote by Descartes:<br /><br /><div style="font-style: italic;" class="grid_8"> <span class="huge">You just keep pushing. You just keep pushing.<br />I made every mistake that could be made.<br />But I just kept pushing.</span></div><br />I want to be like that.<br />If I can only figure out what it is I'm pushing.<br /><br />Then I would be on a trajectory of purpose<br />instead of this series of starts.<br /><br />I think I am like a pinball.<br /><br />I start and bounce<br />on downward arcs,<br />east, west, north for a bit<br />then straight south.<br /><br />Yet I hurtle down that spring-loaded corridor with a huge grin on my face<br />every single time,<br />because I believe I am headed out of that machine,<br />not just around the corner for a familiar jolting ride until I circle back.<br /><br />*<br />peaceKuliohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16881669733868910956noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20146805.post-16994531156097356972012-04-07T06:34:00.002-07:002012-04-07T06:46:52.957-07:00One More HugI had a dream last night - several dreams, all mixing together with extraordinary circumstances flowing into the story as if it were completely normal.<br />You know how it goes.<br /><br />In this dream, in between the bizarre and the sudden changes of scenery,<br />was my grandma.<br /><br />This made perfect sense in the dream, but still came as a wonderful surprise:<br />that I had another chance to see her.<br /><br />Somehow I had the knowledge that my grandpa was taking care of her - or rather - that she was in his care. I found out that he was coming to town.<br /><br />Apparently he was an important personage, and the pomp and pageantry was already beginning. Flags, robes, a stage, people filing onto it.<br /><br />I knew that he had brought her along, and as I waited, I cried. <br /><br />I cried so hard - harder than I ever had in the past, harder than on the day she died.<br /><br />I guess in the dream I knew that she had died. Her coming back was like a gift -<br />a second chance - another opportunity - a bonus.<br /><br />And as I sobbed, my cousin Carin was there, with her camera, and she was crying too.<br />Carin was going to get some extra time with grandma - more than me - and I said to her,<br />"Oh take some pictures - please take as many as you can!"<br /><br />And then she arrived - with someone on either side of her. <br />My grandma was smiling, but small, with her hands curled inward - she was weak, but happy.<br /><br />I ran to her, crying and laughing, and hugged her, wondering if she would be confused -<br />if she would know me. <br />She did know me, and she hugged me back and smiled, but lightly.<br /><br />Everything about her was light, as if she were not completely flesh and blood, just barely there.<br /><br />But she <span style="font-style:italic;"></span>was<span style="font-style:italic;"></span> there, and I hugged her, for real. She wasn't a ghost. I felt her.<br /><br />One more time.<br /><br />*<br />peaceKuliohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16881669733868910956noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20146805.post-22911938972582651132012-03-12T06:06:00.004-07:002012-03-12T06:36:02.260-07:00Imperfection<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEharTzQKrdWyUFeSjpcQBQFZK4IYvDYnr6YjxasqO2dJ-zhNK2oa3styj0OMLkZV7ctCYaCu2W-EodBbXYJMO7iA1wpTsPRIRcrw-AfD-R2u-pBjMlyoWxmhO7XrNnwbpTRWykk/s1600/love.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEharTzQKrdWyUFeSjpcQBQFZK4IYvDYnr6YjxasqO2dJ-zhNK2oa3styj0OMLkZV7ctCYaCu2W-EodBbXYJMO7iA1wpTsPRIRcrw-AfD-R2u-pBjMlyoWxmhO7XrNnwbpTRWykk/s400/love.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5719002152893014210" /></a><br />We took a walk, the first one in a long while, <br />and he was telling me how changeful I am. <br /> <br />He said, <br />"Remember how you proclaimed that we were all going to be vegetarians and then you made us all quit eating meat?" <br /><br />Yeah I remember. That one lasted 2 years. <br />And there have been other short-lived proclamations. <br /><br />I think it might be hard to be the child of a wandering soul, <br />especially when you're a black-and-white sort of person.<br /><br />I said, <br />"Yes, I start new things all the time. It's one of the best things about me! <br />And one of the worst."<br /><br />I keep something from everything I leave behind. <br />A little remnant of knowledge. <br />A healthy habit or a painful bruise. <br /><br />I imagine myself, at the end of life, <br />a patched-up conglomeration of everything I've tried. <br />Maybe a beautiful mosaic, maybe a piece of trash-art. <br />Depending on how you look at it.<br /><br />It's easier to be the child of a scheduled constant. <br />It's easier to live under the roof of someone who never contradicts himself, never changes direction. Keeps to the safe road.<br /><br />But I look at my children and all four have somehow survived <br />my neglectfulness or my hovering,<br />my inability to stick to a plan, <br />my confusing mix of strictness and lenience. <br /><br />I think it's because, beyond the erratic mealtimes and the abandoned projects <br />is one unscheduled constant:<br /><br />Love. <br /><br />I think, if you can give your child that, <br />along with a huge bucket of humor to wash over everything, <br />then you've done alright.<br /><br />I've done alright.<br /><br />*Kuliohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16881669733868910956noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20146805.post-17916618477426686902012-02-24T04:27:00.002-08:002012-02-24T04:46:34.597-08:00Conferencing<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxdUQy5qZbxIqlg4We5s5uT4iM85ZMGQEHUOSw_wl35JoDtJbjwYQgara5QbN1-HoWo8k1zBb1Qd9p6muJR2vKqyBVsp5Fwaz5qwo8aPZReLoF2ToetW-s_blwoCFM2hKoE3X8/s1600/snow-day-games-425a-102909.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 254px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxdUQy5qZbxIqlg4We5s5uT4iM85ZMGQEHUOSw_wl35JoDtJbjwYQgara5QbN1-HoWo8k1zBb1Qd9p6muJR2vKqyBVsp5Fwaz5qwo8aPZReLoF2ToetW-s_blwoCFM2hKoE3X8/s400/snow-day-games-425a-102909.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5712682675207687666" /></a><br />Yesterday was parent-teacher conferences at school, which I rarely attend, except they have cookies so I do sometimes.<br /><br />The husband does it for me, because he likes to talk to people. I get bored. I feel like I already know everything that they sit and formally tell us from behind the teacher desk. In fact, I feel like I know things that they don't know, so it should really be me sitting behind the desk, telling them non-schoolish things like how Beth drew that picture in band and smudged it on purpose by rubbing it on her jeans, or how Kara figured out how to edit photos on her own or how James helps so cheerfully around the house that sometimes we pick him to take out the garbage too much.<br /><br />Speaking of James (and the previous post below), the teacher from the biting incident had some words that made me smile when the husband came home to tell me. She said, when he apologized for James' random and weird offense, "Oh please don't squelch his spirit and his creativity. There aren't enough kids these days that have his spunk and his creativity."<br /><br />I'm glad to know that when my children are off at school they have teachers like this, who see them as I see them. <br /><br />Now I need to go wake them up, because they were supposed to have a snow day, but it didn't pan out, so I let them sleep in anyway.<br /><br />*Kuliohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16881669733868910956noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20146805.post-78680344466868313112012-02-16T11:14:00.000-08:002012-02-16T11:49:02.083-08:00Names and Unanswerable Questions<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7Sb7LwSTKm85PTbh6PzQRKoEb2dlFGG9zdfjHTjrHkAsCG8K-5ADn6AButM53TsQDXUTgrrSiAErbAQ7wjTkG-Ig_CB83p78QjotVDLXqKvg-6ASl_7NqT0VMjSwO5leMpCtf/s1600/teeth.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7Sb7LwSTKm85PTbh6PzQRKoEb2dlFGG9zdfjHTjrHkAsCG8K-5ADn6AButM53TsQDXUTgrrSiAErbAQ7wjTkG-Ig_CB83p78QjotVDLXqKvg-6ASl_7NqT0VMjSwO5leMpCtf/s400/teeth.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5709818721475428738" border="0" /></a><br />Well, my babies are big now.<br />I have four teenagers.<br />They are all on Facebook,<br />they are all web-savvy and properly informed about Stranger-Danger.<br /><br />And so I hereby Name them:<br /><br />Michael: (previously The Teenager)<br />Kara: (aka The Middle Child)<br />James and Beth: (Twin Boy and Twin Girl)<br /><br />Well that's done with.<br /><br />Now on to the letter I received from James' teacher today.<br />My husband read it to me from behind his computer.<br />I sat with my hands over my face, shaking my head.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Mr. and Mrs. K,<br /><br />On James' progress report today, he has a 1 on his Dam Comparison assignment. I'd like to explain that grade.<br /><br />James did a fine job on the assignment, as did his classroom neighbor. For some reason, and I can't for the life of me make sense of this, James chose to take a large bite (yes, seriously) out of his neighbor's paper. James freely admitted to having bitten the paper. Since the paper was in no shape to be turned in, James was asked to recopy it for the young man to whom the paper actually belonged. He said he would do that and took the paper with him. James was told that if he did not recopy the other paper, the other boy would get his grade, and he would get the 0.<br /><br />That was a week ago. As of today, James has not recopied the paper, and in fact, he reminded me of that. I put a 1 on the assignment so that I know it was done, but that it was not done correctly - or his part of the assignment was not done.<br /><br />I hope that makes sense.<br /><br />J<br /></span><br />Well of course, it makes perfect sense.<br />sigh.<br /><br />I have decided that when he comes home today I will say,<br /><br />"James, why did you take a bite out of that Dam paper??"<br /><br />*<br />peaceKuliohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16881669733868910956noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20146805.post-87765496546255872932011-10-17T06:06:00.000-07:002011-10-17T06:19:47.242-07:00Twelve<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir3GqPeHSvcghphFp8sjpXJfMVk6cYYd0cUPhHfuBfWhy0qDTLIa7RUAG4MgQ8F7jDvYryElGwaU5SByeblw1V9ZFEkgppV8QW0hSfWBpRmAhAoVIxazyacFjgqs0INMYPs78w/s1600/wienerdog.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir3GqPeHSvcghphFp8sjpXJfMVk6cYYd0cUPhHfuBfWhy0qDTLIa7RUAG4MgQ8F7jDvYryElGwaU5SByeblw1V9ZFEkgppV8QW0hSfWBpRmAhAoVIxazyacFjgqs0INMYPs78w/s400/wienerdog.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5664449949180874466" /></a><br />It's always a little bittersweet when kids grow out of their baby-talk.<br /><br />Lovely little lisps of guileless imperfection morph <br />into sophistication and startling clarity in the blink of an eye.<br /><br />Last night Twin Boy said,<br />"Oh I forgot, there's a crucial piece of information I left out<br />about my trip to the cider mill!"<br /><br />Really? Who talks like that? <br /><br />On the other hand, within the same hour his twin said to me,<br />of the yellow game-piece she moved deftly toward the Library:<br /><br />"Colonial Mustard, with a lead pipe!"<br /><br />ahhh<br />I love twelve years old.<br /><br />*Kuliohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16881669733868910956noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20146805.post-37345381938144602562011-10-13T10:06:00.000-07:002011-10-13T10:18:29.341-07:00Fantasy vs Reality<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipHJEohOkDmhXtrZ7DO2GzhiPfEHWnOU5Wy3sc0jYbCDgy20YnIjwGAk__gC-csrUJA5hdELInn2rVpz5zIYntzckCxX51iF1dwqWVyUQnE-zLa_s132Ar7F8LoXNODAWIZpA-/s1600/math.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 327px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipHJEohOkDmhXtrZ7DO2GzhiPfEHWnOU5Wy3sc0jYbCDgy20YnIjwGAk__gC-csrUJA5hdELInn2rVpz5zIYntzckCxX51iF1dwqWVyUQnE-zLa_s132Ar7F8LoXNODAWIZpA-/s400/math.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5663025001127264386" /></a><br />Whenever I start feeling like I have it all together something humbles me.<br /><br />Today, it was the making of rice krispy treats.<br /><br />A double batch in one pot (not recommended).<br /><br />There is no elegant way.<br /><br />*Kuliohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16881669733868910956noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20146805.post-36231599973738342542011-10-11T05:41:00.000-07:002011-10-11T06:00:25.875-07:00Busy<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDzxg-8lxZ3s6xuOhc2j3T1lObghJwVZn0imwzF-LBnPoyeCdcIXfTdQr6u-xTyEpNCDjFMYrelpk7lKFQ-MnsnhFKlggE83rkYodFCK8zfyEmk8SyYvnrx2sFkISkj_eEhtdB/s1600/wienerdog.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDzxg-8lxZ3s6xuOhc2j3T1lObghJwVZn0imwzF-LBnPoyeCdcIXfTdQr6u-xTyEpNCDjFMYrelpk7lKFQ-MnsnhFKlggE83rkYodFCK8zfyEmk8SyYvnrx2sFkISkj_eEhtdB/s400/wienerdog.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5662217656521629810" /></a><br />In the past few months I have dropped my son off at college, driven back and forth to school endless times, joined a soccer league, played music at restaurants, gone to parties, attended a Homecoming game and prepped a girl for the dance, watched volleyball and basketball games, lamented my fantasy football team and cheered for Lions and Tigers.<br /><br />Phew. <br /><br />Students have returned, and lucky for me and my college bill looming, there are more of them than ever. So I'm back to scales and chords and theory. <br /><br />In a few weeks I get to go see Tony Bennett in concert, celebrate College Boy's 19th birthday, dress kids up for Halloween and create lists and lists and more lists for the Christmas season approaching.<br /><br />So that is the recap. I might keep writing, or I might just recap again in a few weeks. I never know.<br /><br />But right now my leg is taped up from a strained calf muscle. <br />When I feel it tugging, it reminds me that with all the busyness and activity lately, I am still grounded, life is not passing by like a dream. <br /><br />Achey muscles remind me that I'm still here.<br /><br />*Kuliohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16881669733868910956noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20146805.post-28407393841107685212011-08-09T07:32:00.001-07:002011-08-09T07:44:17.842-07:00A Sign<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9iEI8ch1JT5wG_jf3qUOleTYYn9cQiTyrWFcBKojT0uAWaAqmM68DU4mcVuTEkEWyzID4uurNmL5h_QUuRvTu3Baltzgf-5u_ZwJ5iXa2QUnxTVBNUzLsniACFbmweaFghd5J/s1600/Staff-and-Treble-Clef.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 380px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9iEI8ch1JT5wG_jf3qUOleTYYn9cQiTyrWFcBKojT0uAWaAqmM68DU4mcVuTEkEWyzID4uurNmL5h_QUuRvTu3Baltzgf-5u_ZwJ5iXa2QUnxTVBNUzLsniACFbmweaFghd5J/s400/Staff-and-Treble-Clef.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5638867056573003778" /></a>
<br />I just poked myself in the cheek with a corn-on-the-cob prong,
<br />hard enough to draw blood
<br />while lunging my face toward a cob of fresh sweet corn.
<br />
<br />It came loose and stabbed me just at the moment I was going to take my first bite.
<br />
<br />What does it say about me, that I consumed the corn anyway,
<br />one-pronged
<br />before tending to my wound?
<br />
<br />Apparently I will not be deterred.
<br />
<br />*
<br />
<br />Kuliohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16881669733868910956noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20146805.post-79347037981788461212011-08-08T12:22:00.001-07:002011-08-08T12:29:22.280-07:00He Left Me A Note<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggc3Azd_sp4U0j9p9EbGu5cLenzbWsTFoHn0XWskWogZy26fi7bekrfwobgpnhB1ZrLqlSQs_ylNOWZ5iXBGnwUdPL09DHpyVd643I-ZHEU-Vriuczi25D1cRNQ_KecVfzdTq8/s1600/IMG_1493.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggc3Azd_sp4U0j9p9EbGu5cLenzbWsTFoHn0XWskWogZy26fi7bekrfwobgpnhB1ZrLqlSQs_ylNOWZ5iXBGnwUdPL09DHpyVd643I-ZHEU-Vriuczi25D1cRNQ_KecVfzdTq8/s400/IMG_1493.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5638568056877963586" /></a>
<br />
<br />I came home from dropping the Teenager off at work to find the house empty.
<br />I went around calling his name until I found this that Twin Boy left me.
<br />
<br />He is the most considerate kid ever
<br />and his handwriting is so awful it's kind of wonderful.
<br />
<br />*
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Kuliohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16881669733868910956noreply@blogger.com31tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20146805.post-68369627181557364482011-03-11T06:16:00.000-08:002011-03-11T06:28:45.852-08:00He Broke His Lent<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRYFLYklyQn0WJvwCtkY9guCsZOCDCuB34jqwPRmFQ7S65BWLpkZrk9_10700lHIiuC_WbdlDxsqLaKDfR8WXZYK5hPglIUGU5oAWN6sWBu6LPlvHWBFdWC6hYnK26qQfgJUDX/s1600/IMG_1595.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRYFLYklyQn0WJvwCtkY9guCsZOCDCuB34jqwPRmFQ7S65BWLpkZrk9_10700lHIiuC_WbdlDxsqLaKDfR8WXZYK5hPglIUGU5oAWN6sWBu6LPlvHWBFdWC6hYnK26qQfgJUDX/s400/IMG_1595.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5582828859522663266" /></a><br />Our family discussed the possibilities of Lent as we gorged on Paczki<br />Tuesday morning.<br /><br />He said he wanted to give up his DS.<br /><br />I said, "Are you sure?"<br /><br />I said, "For 40 days, are you sure?"<br /><br />He was so sure.<br /><br />Yesterday we called home to check on the children,<br />who were left to their own devices because we had an event.<br /><br />"How is the Teenager?" we asked Twin Girl.<br /><br />"He's fine," she reported.<br /><br />"How is Twin Boy?" we asked.<br /><br />"He broke his Lent," she said. <br /><br />He lasted a whole 24 hours.<br /><br />He looks so very sorry, doesn't he?<br /><br />:-)Kuliohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16881669733868910956noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20146805.post-1418115381438960372011-01-14T06:01:00.000-08:002011-01-14T06:07:59.233-08:00No Thank You<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWpnqu31-wipmJEfyUtIAkZRv35oIRoa6axPg0BjZ_rz6w_k9RsfcuBQ9AXWWfokEcGyMFFXIPJ_xHgCiZMgTFT9qcHJi1mwSgcqqaKvIdJwRiKh7Y7MG1IBAL59cRixRGM8Bh/s1600/image.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 380px; height: 253px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWpnqu31-wipmJEfyUtIAkZRv35oIRoa6axPg0BjZ_rz6w_k9RsfcuBQ9AXWWfokEcGyMFFXIPJ_xHgCiZMgTFT9qcHJi1mwSgcqqaKvIdJwRiKh7Y7MG1IBAL59cRixRGM8Bh/s400/image.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5562043015269470946" /></a><br />She ate all of her mashed red potatoes with the skins on.<br />She ate all of her green beans.<br /><br />She left her fish alone and said,<br /><br />"Is it okay if I don't eat the fish?"<br /><br />Pan-fried tilapia, served with a dollop of butter <br />mixed with fresh lime juice,<br />lime zest, diced serrano chile and salt.<br /><br />I was only thinking of the time I'd put into making that dish.<br /><br />I said, "Oh honey, there are lots of vitamins in that fish,<br />you should eat a few bites."<br /><br />She gave me a pained expression.<br /><br />I said, "One bite of fish?"<br /><br />She looked down at the fillet and turned a little green.<br /><br />"Ohhh!" I said, understanding dawning.<br /><br />She had some more mashed potatoes and smiled at me gratefully.<br /><br />Sometimes I am so thick.<br /><br />*Kuliohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16881669733868910956noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20146805.post-82071755042482992032011-01-13T05:28:00.000-08:002011-01-14T06:00:40.808-08:00Weird<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2e5k_PmiD3H9GIeEIBbxjsxzpJAy-cgsxwrT0seVsXNseS016rH3labmNxmJJ0JrSK3pgKQ2jORqHCwIpdNCxr36wbHjb09Fb4bI_rmIcngKXVVWAl2fe15av4k3gunoUt_9l/s1600/image.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 360px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2e5k_PmiD3H9GIeEIBbxjsxzpJAy-cgsxwrT0seVsXNseS016rH3labmNxmJJ0JrSK3pgKQ2jORqHCwIpdNCxr36wbHjb09Fb4bI_rmIcngKXVVWAl2fe15av4k3gunoUt_9l/s400/image.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5561666380739291362" border="0" /></a><br />We have a lot of conversations about being weird at our house.<br />We celebrate it.<br /><br />I think it started when one of the kids had a bad day and came home from school saying,<br /><br />"Mom, I'm weird."<br /><br />Instead of disagreeing I said,<br /><br />"That's okay honey, it's a good thing.<br />Also, normal is boring."<br /><br />We say "normal is boring" a lot.<br /><br />I have four children between 12-18, and these years are not easy peer-wise.<br /><br />There is always someone cooler, someone better-looking, someone who has nicer clothes.<br /><br />But we have a corner on the weirdness factor, and claiming that,<br />instead of denying it,<br />sort of helps ease the teenage angst.<br /><br />Why fight it?<br /><br />When you are a teen you feel weird all the time.<br />So let's be honest about it and just ride the wave of weirdness.<br /><br />I was driving the husband somewhere the other day and stopped at the high school to drop Middle Child off at dance team practice.<br /><br />There was nobody around so instead of parking at the edge of the ramped sidewalk,<br />I just pulled up to the door.<br /><br />The husband sighed.<br /><br />The child, who had been silently absorbed in her own morose back-seat thoughts,<br />grinned like mad and stepped out,<br />and waved,<br />and kept waving as I backed out again.<br /><br />She likes it that we aren't normal.<br /><br />We color outside the lines, and sometimes, we drive outside of them.<br /><br />I had a friend once, who, when I tripped on the sidewalk,<br />did the exact same thing a second later so that I wouldn't be so embarrassed.<br /><br />I feel my weirdness contribution to the world is sort of like that.<br /><br />*Kuliohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16881669733868910956noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20146805.post-50490551887982152842011-01-05T05:12:00.000-08:002011-01-05T05:23:08.446-08:00Morning<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5h0wLK_2n2mINV1HEpMN8XODczk-xaJMHCruw8TsqwBYosd0BNJe8Mb6o2DHAL9hpVYRzuZPTgHpa5MkbI1AvAgVabIaSSeU7gtxLmTKZcTQgSzYYdG85IqWBVZCwQGXQLika/s1600/image.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5h0wLK_2n2mINV1HEpMN8XODczk-xaJMHCruw8TsqwBYosd0BNJe8Mb6o2DHAL9hpVYRzuZPTgHpa5MkbI1AvAgVabIaSSeU7gtxLmTKZcTQgSzYYdG85IqWBVZCwQGXQLika/s400/image.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558691128820430946" /></a><br /><br />More fish biting the dust...we have all sorts of hypotheses about why,<br />but it's our own fault for tackling the job without expert advice,<br />so,<br />as soon as the last one dies (morbid, I know),<br />we will take a trip to Preuss' Pets downtown,<br />to start over with the right water, the right fish, the right chemical balance.<br /><br />She smiled when I told her what we'd do, and got that look in her eye again,<br />the twinkle, the excitement,<br />the belief.<br /><br />It's the way I feel most mornings,<br />with a half cup of coffee under my belt,<br />waking up to a gray sky and a quiet house,<br />in my old unraveling chair,<br />calendar and clean notebook paper by my side.<br /><br />I feel hopeful again, that the mess of the day that is yesterday<br />has died and gone fully,<br />and today,<br />I have a whole day <br />that is new and clean and fresh<br />and alive<br />to start over with.<br /><br />Good Morning!<br /><br />*Kuliohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16881669733868910956noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20146805.post-62639044460590919162011-01-02T19:02:00.000-08:002011-01-02T19:26:20.556-08:00Aqua<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbR2EoCURUQKMWcVLQKq9bnT7Xncgt88n4AN8UqnYxd04rNhmiNLKhsPIQtvNbwzJEFm0RFfQ5-Px2YtNBE4WYZLQhbrqfUZbMjXd99KQIAhn17jlkdkBTswAPR_7lvp1EYGwY/s1600/image.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 305px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbR2EoCURUQKMWcVLQKq9bnT7Xncgt88n4AN8UqnYxd04rNhmiNLKhsPIQtvNbwzJEFm0RFfQ5-Px2YtNBE4WYZLQhbrqfUZbMjXd99KQIAhn17jlkdkBTswAPR_7lvp1EYGwY/s400/image.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5557792629962816578" /></a><br /><br />Twin Girl got an aquarium for Christmas, and happily chose fish from Walmart to fill it. <br /><br />She has this way of beaming, <br />and this way of eyes-wide-open-trust and hope.<br /><br />The fish did wonderfully until a few days later when we decided to add some more <br />from another discount, mass-market store. <br /><br />Four died, two of the old and two of the new.<br /><br />They had already been named.<br /><br />She cried quietly and stopped looking at the tank.<br /><br />She sends Twin Boy into the room before her to check to see if any more have died.<br />She makes him check first thing in the morning too.<br /><br />She got a headache.<br />She couldn't sleep last night.<br />She can't sleep now, <br />and is on the couch reading a book,<br />trying to get sleepy.<br /><br />The Teenager said,<br />"Leave the light off, and then you'll get eyestrain <br />and it will make you tired."<br /><br />She ignored him and I watch her there,<br />so quiet,<br />so sensitive,<br />and I want her to feel better.<br /><br />But I am also glad that she has that thing inside of her<br />that keeps her fresh to pain.<br /><br />If that makes any sense at all.<br /><br />*Kuliohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16881669733868910956noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20146805.post-23971704874513687012010-12-06T04:55:00.001-08:002010-12-06T05:44:03.451-08:00G'morning<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmolGDi9lnjsuONzbmdc2C0YXmzPGOLvIyC72ukiPjmS0RJmjtVsV5DC4T-0k5POFn7qtNry0OX2zNT8rTrnEQqyYRUeo1GQwIbBB2EY7VCHCNGbmXjvRXWAAwFytKpgdUODOL/s1600/image.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmolGDi9lnjsuONzbmdc2C0YXmzPGOLvIyC72ukiPjmS0RJmjtVsV5DC4T-0k5POFn7qtNry0OX2zNT8rTrnEQqyYRUeo1GQwIbBB2EY7VCHCNGbmXjvRXWAAwFytKpgdUODOL/s400/image.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5547561655327608802" border="0" /></a><br />I stood in the glare of the kitchen light<br />with my eyes squinted, hands reaching for coffee when<br />Middle Child intercepted me.<br /><br />"Mom-do-you-have-a-black-shirt?"<br /><br />I stood mute, in a pre-coffee haze, recognizing the tone of measured<br />trying-not-to-panic-we-have-to-leave-in-ten-minutes pace of her words.<br /><br />"The dance team is doing our routine at lunch today and I looked<br />everywhere but I can't find my black shirt so I was wondering if I could<br />look in your room to see if you have one?"<br /><br />I nod and move instead to the basement stairs, to begin the sift<br />through clean and dirty clothes in search of the black shirt.<br />I find it in the wash, transfer it to the dryer and lug clean clothes<br />back up to the main floor.<br /><br />In the meantime I've found a mess left down there and send the twins<br />down to please pick it up before they leave for school.<br /><br />The Teenager darts out the door to start his car and <br />the Husband declares that he is working in Grand Rapids today, <br />except that they have<br />"a foot of snow and are expecting a foot more".<br /><br />I blink at this news and watch him help himself to an out-the-door cup<br />of coffee.<br /><br />I say please drive carefully, but I'm thinking<br />please save me a cup of that coffee,<br /><br />when Twin Boy emerges from the basement arguing with Twin Girl<br />only to stop short and stare at me with an awful look.<br /><br />"My food."<br /><br />I am still holding the basket of clean laundry, and glance at the clock,<br /><br />"What did you forget?"<br /><br />He is doing a report on Nicaragua today, and he completely forgot that<br />he was supposed to bring some sort of visual aid,<br />and had told all his friends that he was going to bring some traditional<br />Nicaraguan food for them to taste.<br /><br />He looks like he is going to cry.<br /><br />Twin Girl steps into the conversation and says,<br /><br />"Oh yeah I have to bring something from Guatemala."<br /><br />I am frozen, digesting the dilemma and the 3 minutes we have to work with<br />when the Teenager dashes through the kitchen again and says,<br /><br />"Enchilada sauce."<br /><br />I dart to the cupboard to find an old cool whip container<br />and tell Twin Boy to grab the can opener.<br /><br />"Why do we have to pour it in there?" he says,<br />rummaging through the wrong drawer,<br /><br />"So it looks homemade," I say,<br />reaching into the lazy susan for a can and<br />over his shoulder for the can opener <br />from in front of his sightless eyes.<br /><br />Twin Girl sighs and says,<br /><br />"I guess I'll just bring a soccer ball."<br /><br />I nod, thankful, and send Twin Boy to the pantry<br />to find a sleeve of soda crackers.<br /><br />"Pass around the sauce," I say,<br />emptying the can into the container,<br />"and give each person a Saltine,<br />and have them dip it in and taste it."<br /><br />"What if it's too hot?" he says.<br /><br />I look at the can and snap the lid in place.<br /><br />"It's not hot."<br /><br />I put everything into a plastic grocery bag<br />and hand it to him.<br />He stands there, grateful.<br /><br />"You have bare feet," I say.<br /><br />He looks down and then makes a dash for his bedroom.<br /><br />"Brush your teeth!" I call up after him.<br />"Everyone's in the car!" I yell up again.<br />"What is taking so long?"<br /><br />He darts down again, grabs the bag from me,<br />slips on his shoes in the garage,<br />mashing down the heels, and calls back,<br /><br />"Thanks mom!"<br /><br />I close the garage door and go out on the front porch<br />to plug in Christmas lights so they can see them on their<br />way down the drive.<br /><br />When I come back in, somebody is pounding on the garage door.<br />The Teenager mumbles something when I open it<br />as he pushes past me to grab his backpack.<br /><br />Finally the door slams again and I go to the front door to see them go.<br /><br />They are grinning from the car at the lights and I wave back absently,<br />noting the beginnings of a snow shower,<br />and the fact that they will make it to school before it gets really bad,<br />and wondering if the kids will know or care that it is Old El Paso<br />enchilada sauce and that Twin Girl's visual aid is just an old soccer ball,<br />and whether I will ever see my black t shirt again,<br />and if there really is a foot of snow in Grand Rapids today.<br /><br />I come back in and the silence feels temporary.<br />But I wait a minute and it stays.<br /><br />I breathe,<br />and pour a cup of coffee.<br /><br />*Kuliohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16881669733868910956noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20146805.post-50222484011475813212010-11-13T07:51:00.000-08:002010-11-13T08:40:36.022-08:00You're In Good Hands<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB3kfgpPhM_Zb-Z6bX4P6rbIdWwuz-Ljj6D0uecz_ylbIBGNPN1SFU9oifjbRtEud0KpMgXvmeV_6p0kEQSQH2KNxP0y05F9b2Odx3-TnCJOo18BapV304smLaCsUcuQIXlkbC/s1600/image.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 190px; height: 246px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB3kfgpPhM_Zb-Z6bX4P6rbIdWwuz-Ljj6D0uecz_ylbIBGNPN1SFU9oifjbRtEud0KpMgXvmeV_6p0kEQSQH2KNxP0y05F9b2Odx3-TnCJOo18BapV304smLaCsUcuQIXlkbC/s400/image.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5539064098011014738" border="0" /></a><br />I was helping Twin Boy with his winter coat<br />because the zipper had split,<br />understandable since he is the third child to wear it.<br /><br />But it's a really good winter coat<br />and the manufacturers of this particular brand<br />are great about customer service issues.<br /><br />I told him,<br /><br />"Don't worry, if this zipper is broken,<br />they'll send us a whole new coat!"<br /><br />He looked down at it with new appreciation,<br />eleven-year-old wheels turning,<br /><br />"Is this coat insured?"<br /><br />*Kuliohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16881669733868910956noreply@blogger.com3