Better Late...

than never, you know? Easter was more than a week ago, I know. But I figured you may still want to hear about it.

It was wet.

The End.

But, since we are native Seattleites and do not fear the wet, we still hunted Eggs in the wet, torrential rain.

The Portrait of one Aunt (after pitching in to help our local bunny and hide a few eggs, with a bonus background of the neighbors ghetto filth, niiiiiiiiiice)

Boys on the hunt

Baby hunts on the patio, with no hair tie, desperately trying to see, anything

Lastly, for good measure...

Under Fire

Recently, and by recently that means, oh, in the last five years or so, my bachelor father had a state of the art security system installed at his home. Ever since I can remember my parents always had an alarm system and one thing we could never figure out how to do was turn the damn thing off. No matter which system it was, it never failed, the authorities would be called and then the trauma of explaining ourselves ensued.

A few weeks back my children were ill and I had to take them to the doctor and since Aspen's doctor is in the same town as my father's home, a trip to the doctor usually means dropping in on Grandpa unexpectedly, generally a phone call a few minutes - half an hour tops, warning.

This particular day Grandpa gives us the green light to kill a little time at his house after Aspen's appointment while waiting for Kyan's appointment. Upon arrival we find Grandpa in his bathroom getting all gussied up. Unbeknownst to us, G-pa had a lunch date, which meant that we only had a few moments with G-pa before he had to leave.

So, we quickly say our hellos and then G-pa proceeds, as he does every single time we come over, to show my kids his remote control for the alarm system because I don't know, kids like remotes? More like, kids like to lose remotes, better yet, kids like to use remotes. While showing the kids the remote my dad accidentally arms the system, and let me tell you just arming the thing was an experience, a nice lady comes over the PA and states, "The system is armed,"as if the loud chirping didn't already indicate that but I suppose if you can't hear those chirps the nice lady clears up any confusion there may be. It was such an ordeal that I thought for a minute the entire house was going on lock down and there would be no way out.

Dad leaves, the kids and I start to go stir crazy because taking my kids to G-pa's house is like taking a Bull into a China Hutch - I was there for fifteen minutes and completely worn out from making sure they weren't breaking anything. One thing G-pa count on when we come visit is for his kitchen to look like a tornado hit it - this trip was no different. So, pretty quickly after seeing G-pa off I decide I need to find someplace else to kill some time, I gather our things and head out the door.

The alarms starts blaring. I, of course, panic, search for the remote, let both kids down so I can think, as if that was going to help what with the nice lady now telling me that alarm has been activated and to disarm immediately, yes, lady if I knew where the freaking remote was I would deactivate the freaking alarm. No remote, call Dad.

"Um, hi, Dad," I said.

"Honey, what is all that noise," he started before I could tell him.

"I set off the alarm, I think you left it armed when you left and I think you may have taken the remote with you."

"No, the remote is at the house and I disarmed it before I left." He refutes.

"Well, what should I do? Do you know your code?" I beg.

At this point G-pa is clearly as shook up about this as I am, and who wouldn't be? Mass chaos is going down at his house and he is now put on the spot to remember his code, a code he, I am sure made up a really long time ago not at all under pressure and is probably really quite clever, but under the circumstances is not coming to him. He hangs up the phone.

"What is the password?" The PA suddenly speaks in a male tone. Not at all the same nice lady from earlier. At this point it sounds like this voice is God because I have no idea where the voice or PA actually is. I shutter.

"What is the password?" The PA speaks again.

I am scared and don't respond, again. Although this voice can here me, and tells me that he can't make out what I said, which 100% freaks me out. Now I'm considering hoping in my car and fleeing the scene because someone is now watching me.

Instead I call Dad, again.

"The voice, it keeps asking for a password. Dad, what is the password?" I plead.

"Well answer it and tell him who you are." He refutes.

I don't know, that would have been logical I suppose, but with the alarm blaring, the now not nice lady telling me I need to disarm, my children running amuck, and some guy asking for some password I wasn't privy to, logic wasn't exactly something I had a grasp on at the moment. I did the only thing I could think of - ignore the guy asking for the password.

Grace, under fire.

Shortly after hanging up with my Dad the alarm stopped. The alarm company had reached my Dad and he remembered his password, my number from my last National Horse Show, a number I should know but don't.

---------------------------

Post Script

On a more recent trip to G-pa's, I was explaining to my sister the events that occurred that afternoon, because much like me she had no idea Dad had a state of the art home protection contraption. And while explaining where the voice of God was coming from that day suddenly the lady started speaking, "System Armed."

No joke and I couldn't stop laughing because I thought Dad was teasing me because I was sort of teasing him for having such a contraption.

But then Dad came out of his room which is right above the PA, and was all, who is messing with the alarm, which then scared the jeebus out of us because if it wasn't Dad then it must be someone from the alarm company watching us. But, they weren't.

A funny thing happens when you show a toddler a remote, they are inclined to use it, which is probably the exact same scenario that happened on my previous visit, although clearly that time? I was Grace, under fire.

It's Tricky...Tr-tr-tr-tr-tr-tricky (Tr-Tr-Tr-Tricky) Tr-tr-tr...

Don't you hate it when people have blogs and don't update? I mean, isn't that the point of having one in the first place? I have been frustrated all week when checking in on some of my favorite blogs only to find that the author failed to update me, again.

Sadly, it was just today that I realized I hadn't updated my own blog. I mean I keep meaning to, I have all these stories saved in my head only to forget them or forget to upload the pictures. Blah, blah, blah.

You've heard it all before but this week I have been working on changes around here. For some reason I don't like the standard templates Blogger offers, I mean, sure, they are fine but I was hoping for something, I don't know, different, maybe? Something a little less Blogger-ish. I have come to the only reasonable conclusion – I will have to modify an existing template, on my own, either that or pay money. And, that folks? Is where I draw the line.

So, modify myself I must. Easy peasy, right? Um, unless you know nothing about html or css, and in that case you are me, and you will be modifying your blog for all eternity. Check in monthly it should be scintillating.

I suppose I could share what I have learned with all 4 of you, in case, I don’t know you are geeky like me but want to learn from my mistakes and skip the whole 4 days of messing with your blog and get the menu pages in a whole 30 minutes.

Or, maybe you are not geeky like me and don’t care about the look of your blog or hell, maybe you don’t even have a blog, and at this point let me direct all of you to STOP reading now. Go on, get out of here, no sense wasting time, there is nothing to see.

So, that ‘tab’ menu at the top of my page below the header, the one that says things like, ‘home’, ‘about’ (you should click that one because it is new and you thought I wasn’t writing). I’ve decided to include pictures in case you still have no idea what I am talking about. See below.

Clearly my tabs don’t look like tabs per se but you get the idea – I was going for a clean look because I am not sure where this design thing will take me – so I modified the code I will refer you in a minute.

Anyway, that thing? Let’s call the whole thing Navigation Menu, well, because all these websites keep calling them that and we all know the Internet is never wrong, is what I have been searching for my whole life.

After 4 days of searching templates, modifying them and scraping the whole idea – it hit me. What I really wanted was for my blog to look like a website I paid for but without all that money changing hands.

I narrowed it down even further and realized what I wanted, that almost every template out there was missing a Navigation Menu that takes you to someone’s “About” page, suddenly it hit me again, why not first go to Blogger help? Novel idea, one of my more brilliant moves, really. I know it’s possible since I came across some templates I disliked with the feature. After some fumbling I found this: THE ANSWER TO MY PRAYERS.

Pretty tricky, no?

36 Hours if you are 2 1/2 Feet Tall

Apparently when my hair caught on fire last week I somehow managed to let it smolder and eventually my brain spontaneously went up in smoke, either that, or the work I’ve been doing is so tedious that I leave at the end of the day so dumb that my brain would have been better off charred then its current state.

It’s true that sometimes my job is hard, and not all smart hard, just hard, stab my myself in the eye hard and sometimes it takes away from the rest of my life – sitting down to write a simple sentence is more than I can muster or, hell, taking a pictures of my children playing – simply pressing a button is sometimes more than I can manage.

You see, in my former life, the one where I took the first job that actually called me back (which may or may not be a major retailer who paid me pennies when I just happened to have spent thousands of dollars on my education), I worked hard, really hard, the kind of hard that made me sleep really well at night, the kind of hard that required walking more than 5 miles to and from the stock room and back up to the front then, oh! Oops I forgot that and back to the stockroom once more kind of hard. My former job required little actual thinking it was mundane and that was reflected in my paycheck, even when I climbed the ladder and the paycheck more accurately reflected what my education cost the actual use of my brain was minimal, after all, telling people what to do isn’t rocket science.

My current job, however, sometimes requires me to apply myself and think – sometimes a lot. Recently, well, for more than a week now it has required me to think every single second and I’m exhausted, my mind is exhausted, I can no longer think, drool is all that I have left to give – just throw me out now, the kids are in danger – CPS should be notified. Never, ever, even when I had to work through the night did my more physically challenging job leave me this kind of exhausted.

Lucky for me, my client is knee deep in the tedium as well and has failed to get back to me this morning which has afforded me the opportunity to regain my brain for half a second and try to recall what has occurred in my life over the last 168 hours or so, which happens to be nothing spectacular, really.

Our science project this week involved seeing how long food coloring takes to pass through the human body.

The answer: 36 hours if you are approximately 2 ½ feet tall.

Next week: Raisins.

Stay Tuned.

Diagnosis

After plotting my escape planning a gathering for weeks finally the evening had arrived where I would feed my children and husband dinner then quietly slip out for a bite with some girlfriends – friends I haven’t seen since my wedding nearly 6 years ago and ones I haven’t really connected with for more like 12 years.

After arriving nearly 15 minutes late, which by the way, I totally consider on time when children are involved, I take my seat, look across the table and realize I am sitting in the presence of a successful criminal lawyer and a television producer – friends of mine from a former life, one where we didn’t have children, responsibilities or jobs for that matter. The conversation was easy – each of us quickly chiming in to catch up as quickly as possible, nearly impossible to span 12 years in just a few short hours.

We successfully irritated our waitress several times because there was too much catching up to do to actually glance at the menu and make a decision and all that gabbing made the table next to us slightly irritated as well, seeing as how they were trying to enjoy a intimate evening and we could not shut up for 5 freaking minutes.

Midway through the evening my friend whips out her camera – she needed props to explain exactly how fat her alcoholic father had become and I was interested, more than interested, I was down right ecstatic to see him, even if he was a little rosy in the cheeks. Seeking a better look, I lean in towards her not realizing someone had moved the candle that was supposed to be in the middle of the table between us, perhaps when the bread was delivered. After about 30 seconds of pilfering through her camera she finds one, looks towards me and screams, “You’re on FIRE!”

At that point all I can see is smoke and I start flailing, because unlike everyone else in America I was taught to stop, flail and scream – try it, you’ll be quite the spectacle. Turns out my hair was on fire, yes, it actually caught fire while I was busy gawking at photos and I didn't even notice. As you can imagine it wasn’t the actually being on fire that caused the stir, no, it was the smell. If you have ever burned your hair you know what I am talking about – it is quite possibly one of the worst smells in the entire world, I can still smell it. The smell was so bad that the lady tranny next to us turned and asked if one of our napkins was on fire – no sweetheart, I just lit my hair on fire and I haven’t even been drinking.

Diagnosis: SPAZ.

It defines us...

It was a Friday afternoon, I was listening to Babylon by David Gray in my car while driving back from school when the call came, she had been sick for what seemed like an eternity yet no matter how much you prepare yourself you are never ready when you receive that call. I continued to drive because news like that hits you hard, it's as though the driving was therapeutic in itself and if I stopped then the phone call would be real and not one I just imagined.

The call came from my father the person I least expected, after all, during my childhood he was the sick one, not her.

It was January of my senior year in college, 6 months before graduation, the 10th day of the quarter when I received the call – see I knew this call was coming, I had just returned from my last goodbye only 3 days prior, the week before we made the decision she would have wanted, the one she had clearly outlined in her Living Will, a decision not easy to make no matter what a little piece of paper says, we let the hospital know she was to be labeled DNR and had her taken off of the Ventilator, but knowing does not make receiving the call any easier.

What they don’t tell you is that dying in a hospital may be one of the worst places to die. Before making a life altering decision such as ‘pulling the plug’ the hospital has a family meeting, a debriefing of the patients condition, best case, worst case, best-worst case, worst-worst case, the doctor goes over what will happen in a ‘pulling the plug’ scenario, all the information you need in that situation but never ever imagine yourself receiving.

When we made the decision, it was crystal clear, there was no question what she wanted – at that point it didn’t matter what we wanted – we were all present and accounted for in that little room and we all knew she wouldn’t want to live that way, a fact she had herself told me over the phone a few weeks before and one she had uttered to my father a few days before. The doctor gave us as much time as we needed, we gathered our belongings and headed to her room, just left of the nurses station, in the ICU somewhere in Denver Colorado, to say good-bye and watch our mother die.

It took the nurses a few minutes to actually unplug the machine, pull out the ventilator and reduce her medication so she could interact with us one last time – the staff had warned us that she may go quickly, if she wakes, give everyone a chance, stay near. We did just that, prepared that moment was the last moment we would have with her, but she stayed awake, she was a fighter. With a morphine drip and a promise she would not suffer, they moved her out of the ICU into a regular room at the hospital but somewhere in the move the message DNR was lost – see the funny thing about hospitals is that they are in the business of saving lives not letting ones who’ve run their course just go.

Over the next few days, I said good-bye to my mother over 100 times fearing each one was the last, only to have to tell her upon waking again, where she was, what was happening and why we were all there – having to tell your mother she is dying once is heart wrenching but having to tell her numerous times is like ripping your heart out with your bare hands and running over it with a Semi truck not to mention completely exhausting.

After 5 days of living, breathing and eating hospital my father suggested to all of us kids that it was time to go back to our lives – my oldest brother and sister had a wife, a husband and kids who needed them while my brother Todd and I only had school to return to, not that we couldn’t have stayed but in all fairness we made a collective decision to leave as siblings and let our father have the remainder of her time.

That was the last time I ever saw my mother alive – it was January 9, 2001 she died on January 12, 2001.

___________________________________
It is not that I remember my mother by her death or even because of it – her death was one of the defining moments of my life and it has shaped who I am today.

Newsletter: Aspen Month Nineteen

Dear Aspen,

Today you turned nineteen months old and just today, when I referred to you as 'Baby', did it really dawn on me that you are not as much a baby as you are a full fledge toddler who is not at all afraid to speak her mind.You spent much of the past month sick, which is not at all uncommon for this time of year. The virus we caught was a doozy - one that included lung medication and the first round of antibiotics you have ever taken - it was touch and go for a few days both your brother and you were really sick. But, like all bad things, it passed.

This past month have continued to increase your vocabulary, in fact, you even speak in sentences. Full sentences. Aspen, you never cease to amaze me. Your favorite sentence is "Where is Daddy" Then I have to break the news gently, "Working. Daddy is working." You always respond with an enthusiastic, "Oh!", as if this was the exact answer you had been seeking and were only asking to see if I was paying attention, yes Aspen, I am always paying attention.

Recently you have started to cry when I drop you off at daycare. This little stage has blindsided me, until a week or two ago I could set you down give you a hug and a kiss and off you would go to play. NOT. ANY. MORE. Aspen, you want nothing to do with me leaving you anywhere, in fact, you want me to do nothing but hold you whenever you are near me and as sweet and as precious as this is, sometimes a mama wants nothing more than a few seconds to put on a pair of panties.

I know this stage will come and go and return again and there will be a time that I only wish you wanted me to hold you and I'd promise to wear dirty panties for the rest of my life to have these moments back, but, at this very moment this stage is ripping my heart out, because, ya know, leaving your child screaming is never a good way to start off a day. As a mother, you arm yourself before leaving the car, you prep yourself for the meltdown, you gage the entry, you can tell your child senses the fear, you quickly say your goodbyes, hoping the meltdown is contained and possibly not even started until after the door shuts, you wave good-bye with a smile while a small piece of you dies inside and you just try to remember that your daughter loves the kids and has nothing but fun and that upon your return, she cries because she has to go home.

From the previous paragraph I think it is safe to say you are all female and have a flare for the dramatic - you cry because I leave, you cry because I pick you up and you whine, a lot. But I am just chalking it all up to your age because your communication, albeit quite advanced in my opinion, still leaves a bit to be desired. In fact, you have been speaking in sentences for quite some time now but the sentences were complete gibberish - now it is only 60% Gibberish, 20% Spanish and 20% English - I blame Dora.

One thing is for certain you keep both your father and I grounded - we hope in the future you will keep both feet firmly on the ground while trying to navigate through this crazy world knowing both your father and I adore you!

Love,
Mama

Money Well Spent

In our family we share a fine appreciation for toys of the larger variety - ones that poise more of a threat but always promise to take fun to a whole new level.

Over the weekend Bob broke down and bought Kyan a new (to him) electric four wheeler. Yes, he already has one and he already has a gas powered one as well BUT the electric one was way too small and the gas powered one required too much help from Daddy not to mention we failed to buy a Honda and after just a few months it is giving us problems.

I had no idea they even made electric four wheeler for the 3-7 age range. Hours of fun - now if we could figure out a way for it to hold a charge for more than 2 hours - the kid will ride the thing until it dies at full blast around and around and around the yard. It is so mesmerizing it sort of makes me want one. Hey, I said sort of.

This picture sums up the ENTIRE.WEEKEND. (Click on the picture to see Kyan's Expression -priceless!)(Sorry for the color - Bob didn't know he was shooting in manual.)

Offering his sister a ride.

Aspen checking out her brother's new ride.

Have You Seen the Rabbit?

So, as I am sure all of you are very aware there are 3 weeks left until Easter. Can I just tell you that I really dislike it when Easter ends up in March - it is like JC doesn't realize it is still friggin cold here in Seattle during that time.

In my youth Easter was one of my most favorite holidays but mostly because it was definitely one Sunday I didn't have to attend church since we always spent the weekend with my grandparents - strange, no? Lots of people only go to church on major holidays and generally we avoided church then, because, it was much like a mall at Christmas filled with lots of people roaming aimlessly. The truth is, we split the holidays with my grandparents and since they would come to Seattle for Christmas we would go to them for Easter, fair trade I suppose.

Anyhow, I think I like Easter more than Christmas, which if you really think about it is sick but really who doesn't think JC's resurrection isn't cause for celebration - oh, that's right every other religion besides Christianity. I do not want to get too deep into all of this since I have my opinions and you have yours but this is my favorite holiday for all the wrong reasons but much like Christmas I don't think I am alone.

On Easter Sunday after breakfast my father would take us for a drive to see if we could see where the Easter Bunny was and if he was soon on a path to our house. This is one of my fondest memories growing up - a tradition I continued long after discovering the real Santa Clause. "He went that way", "Faster, Dad, faster!", or the one line that always came out of Dad's mouth as soon as both my brother and I were not looking ahead "Did you see his tail? He turned at that street up ahead." I am not sure why I continued but it was fun to take a drive and see where the Bunny had been that morning and always fun to come back to Grandma's to a yard littered with treats, eggs and baskets.

This year I am feeling rushed and feeling a little pressure since Kyan is finally entering into new territory where he might actually remember this Easter when he is older - so I have spent this weekend collecting, ordering and purchasing all the fine items for both Kyan and Aspen's baskets and thought I might share some of my finds with all of you. If you don't want to hear about this STOP READING NOW.

If you are like me, you like a good deal and really who doesn't? And by good deals often I am just refering to it as a good deal because it is clever not because of price - although clever and cheap is always a plus. Sure you can always find excellent deals at Wal-mart and Target for just about all of your holiday needs, but honestly what fun would that be?

For baskets, personally I recommend Wal-mart for large baskets and Target for the cute baskets, not that I have been to either store this weekend (sarcastic smile).

For filler why not step out on limb - one far, far away from the candy aisle - certainly your child will have plenty of treats from the rest of your family. For baskets this year I happened upon a few items I know my children will cherish - the items I have found are neither something they need nor something they even know they want yet will be something they use everyday.

First, the towel. I know, ya'll are thinking that I am crazy but think about it for one second, does your kid actually care if they were a Reindeer or Snowman in the middle of summer? I know mine wouldn't but they would love to play with each one at bath time each evening. So, the kids at my house will be a pair of Reindeer until the fibers disintegrate. For only $6 you can have them monogrammed.

Next, to continue the theme why not offer them some entertainment in the tub?

Or perhaps, you have been searching high and low for a descent nap mat for daycare or all day Kindergarten why not check this one out? (Not totally cheap but it looks like a pretty neat package - I wish we needed it).

Or maybe you feel the need to warn others about your child's Tantrum Yoga - this is purely for your enjoyment, of course, as the toddler or child often discards clothing by a simple toss to the loot pile, unless you are Kyan in which case you put every article of clothing you received on the very moment you open it, over the clothes you currently have on.

To finish off the basket and to incorporate something traditionally Easter- I threw in a mini Charlie whom happened to be half off (the advertised price online) in the actual store. It is quite possibly the softest stuffed animal I have ever touched.

So, what ideas have you run across in your recent endeavors? The Rabbit at this house loves to hear what other Rabbits have in their hats!