From Dream to Reality

I have a tendency to bite off more than I can chew, in every aspect of my life. I over-volunteer, over-commit, and just over-do. It's a fact. It's who I am, and I don't expect to change any time soon.

Back in September, I volunteered to assist with the decorating committee for the school Walk-A-Thon, the biggest fundraiser of the year. When I met with the event chairperson, I was the only person who had signed up to assist with decorating. She told me the theme of the event—"Homecoming - Show your School Spirit", and mentioned that she would love to have a balloon arch as the main entrance to the walkers' path. My response? "Sure, that sounds great!" After all, how hard could it be?

So over the past 6 weeks, I Googled, Yahoo'd, and asked Jeeves all I could about balloon arches. I printed out dozens of instruction sheets on how to build it. I asked Steve (the resident engineer in our house) for his ideas on how to make sure the arch would stand. I had dreams, nightmares, and visions of how it would look.

Saturday morning, I woke up early (5:45) to shower and get out to school by 6:30 (in the dark) to start building the monstrosity. I had been battling strep throat, so popped some Extra-Strength Excedrin in addition to my antibiotics to get me through the day, and headed out the door. I had 3 amazing helpers, who followed my lead, and did exactly as I told them, and 300 balloons and 3 hours later, we stood back and admired our creation. It was almost perfect, better than I had expected it to turn out. I was thrilled!

(The wind was blowing lightly, so it looks uneven, but in reality, it was perfect!)

It lasted precisely 5 minutes before the kids started popping balloons on the bottom columns. I wanted to beat them. But I held back. I had known it wouldn't last forever.

Miles, and Milestones

For anyone who knows us well, you know that Steve has a passion for all things motorized. Cars, motorcycles, remote control vehicles...you name it, he loves it.

In the 13+ years that we have been together, we have owned a total of 11 cars, 3 Harleys, 4 dirtbikes, and a couple of ATVs. If you take into consideration that we have had his current truck and my minivan for 5 years, that shows what the first few years of our marriage were like.

Shortly after Jack was born, we were content (or at least, I was!) with our Expedition and a VW Passat. One afternoon, while I was home sick with the flu, Steve and Olivia went out for a few hours to give me a much needed break. As I was resting, dozing, and trying to recover, the phone rang. It was Steve.

"Hi honey" he said.

"Hi" was my groggy reply.

"Um, could you come open the garage door?" he asked.

"What? What happened to the garage door opener?" I replied.

"Well, I want to see if this will fit..."

By "this", he meant a new full-size conversion van. Yep, you read that right. He had traded in my Expedition for a mack-daddy van, complete with the drop down tv, captain's chairs, and bench in the back that converted to a queen size bed with the press of a button. I didn't have the strength to fight him on it...what with having the flu and all...so we became the proud owner of something that wouldn't even fit in a standard parking space. I drove it for 6 months, then put my foot down and insisted that I needed something that I wouldn't have to climb on board to buckle my baby. Thus, my minivan was born.

For the past 5 1/2 years, I have driven what I swore I never would, and have loved every minute of it! I love the automatic sliding doors, the automatic rear lift, the roomy cargo space, I love it all! I don't care that it screams "MOMMY ON BOARD", or that it's not the stylish uber-hip mommy-mobile I once dreamed of owning. This baby gets up and goes, gets 20+ mpg, and has never let me down.

This past week, we hit a milestone...one that hasn't been achieved with any other vehicle until now—we hit 100,000 miles!

I had hoped to get a photo as it rolled over, but we were on the freeway, and it just didn't seem safe to pull out the camera and start snapping.

We've had fancy, luxury cars . . . and enjoyed them. But with three kids who pee, throw up, spill juice, drop french fries, leave crumbs, and wipe their messy fingers on whatever fabric is closest, I am happy to drive my minivan. If I have my way, I'll drive it at least another 100,000 miles. Its stained floor mats are evidence of the life that we are living and the stage of life that we're currently in. And the miles that are clicking away on that odometer are evidence of the memories being made along the way.

Birthday Blues...and smiles

Today was my birthday. I woke up grumpy. I didn't want to face the fact I was getting older.

Steve's mom, Joyce, has been here all week. She made a delicious birthday breakfast. We then took a family bike ride down to the park to play. As we were riding, I was at the back of our little pack. As I watched them ride ahead of me, I was overcome with emotion, and love, for this family of mine.

We had a fun shopping excursion this afternoon. I picked out my own birthday gifts—a new gym wardrobe, some new make-up, and my first perfume in nearly 13 years. I chose a Versace, which I've been sniffing and loving all afternoon.

My mom called me this afternoon to wish me happy birthday. She gushed about how happy she was to be my mom, what a joy it was to have me as a daughter, then said "I just can't believe you're 35!"

There was a moment of silence, after which I replied "Well, that's good. Because I'm actually 37."

Life is good. I am happy. And while I don't necessarily love getting older, I love my life, and those in it. And that is reason to celebrate.

Seriously???

Today was a Monday...in all senses of the word. Not only was it hard to get out of bed this morning (partly due to the fact that I stayed up way too late because Steve was out of town), but it seemed that nothing went quite right.

Last night at bathtime, the water wasn't getting warm. I had been doing laundry all day, so thought at first that perhaps I'd used up the hot water. Unlikely however, seeing as we have a 75 gallon tank. When Olivia got in the shower this morning, it still wasn't more than lukewarm. I called the company that installed the tank a year ago and scheduled a service call. When the guy showed up, we went to the garage. After looking at the tank for about 2 seconds, he adjusted the temperature knob from "LOW" (don't know how it got there...the only thing I can think of is that someone, perhaps a certain 3-year-old whose name starts with a G and ends with a T, messed with it during the yard sale over the weekend...) to the normal heat range, and said "OK, that'll be $65 for the service call." Seriously??? Why didn't I think of checking the knob first?

I got a call from school right about this same time, saying that Olivia was in the office complaining of an itching eye and it was bright pink, and could I please come pick her up. I wanted to tell her to stick it out for an hour until school was out...but couldn't really do that, in case it was pink eye and contagious. So, I grabbed Grant (naked except for his underwear), my keys, a Diet Coke, and jumped in the car, drove to school and picked her up. I brought her home, she finished her homework, then we turned around and made the same trek out to pick up Jack and the other two kids I bring home on Mondays.

In order to avoid an absence tomorrow (for my sake, not hers), I drove Olivia to Urgent Care to make sure there was no pink eye involved. The doctor said "Looks like an eye allergy. There's some great over-the-counter drops, but they are expensive. It's probably cheaper to get the prescription drops, since your insurance will cover them. They're virtually the same, and will do the exact same thing, but you won't have to pay as much." That sounded good. We left the office, headed to the pharmacy, waited in line at the drive through lane, and when our turn came, was informed that our co-pay on the drops was $75.00. Again, Seriously??? Forget that, we parked the car, unloaded the kids, went inside, and bought the over-the-counter drops for $11.69. Seriously??? Something is gravely wrong with this system, that an insurance company will charge $75.00 for something that I can buy over the counter for $11.69.

My day was not nearly as productive as it should have been. I am fighting off a cold, and I am hoping I win the battle. Tomorrow is a new day. All three kids will go to school. I'll have a new perspective. And new opportunities will arise for me to use good judgement, common sense, and hopefully save a buck or two.

Letting Go

My baby boy started preschool this morning. It is a milestone 10 years in the making. I have no baby in my belly, on my hip or my breast. I will have six hours, two days a week, completely to myself, to do whatever I choose.

As we were dropping him off today, with his little Batman backpack and Superman lunchbox, he was independent and happy. We had visited the classroom last week and met his teachers. He saw where the bathroom was in his classroom . . . and even tried it out (announcing loudly as he was peeing "The bathroom works mommy!")

There were a few kids crying and clinging to their parents this morning. Grant looked at me with this perplexed expression, as if to say "Why on earth are they crying? This is AWESOME!" He walked in, we pinned on his nametag, found his cubby and placed his backpack and lunchbox inside it. He went potty, then found some cool cars to play with. I knelt down next to him and asked if it was okay for Steve and I to go. He said "Yep!" I kissed him, told him I loved him, and to have a great day. Then I turned and walked away.

Letting go is an important part of parenthood. We do our best to raise independent, well-adjusted children. To teach them kindness, compassion and respect. Now that the time is here to begin the letting-go process for the last time, it is bittersweet. There is peace in knowing that he is secure enough in our love for him to know that we'll be back for him, and it's okay to be away from mom. There is joy in knowing that he is well-adjusted and happy.

When we got outside, Steve looked at me, smiled, and said "We did it honey! This is a big milestone...how does it feel?" At that moment, the tears started rolling, and all I could say was "Lonely."

Fact or Fiction?

My dad is a dentist, and my youngest brother is currently in his 4th year of dental school—the same school my father attended 30 years ago.

In a recent alumni newsletter commemorating the graduating class of 1979, graduates were asked to submit their favorite dental school memory.

My dad is Kurt DeLong.

I saw this while on a recent trip up to Oregon to visit my dad. I asked him about it...I wanted to hear the story behind this! Dad flashed his smile, which I adore, and said "Honestly, I don't remember that."

Dental school is an intense 4 years. Anatomy was not my dad's favorite class. While he excelled at the clinical portion of school, the lecture and lab series were a little more challenging. In a way, I can imagine one of his lab mates handing him the heart to feel, and my dad being grossed out and flipping it off his hands. But out the window? Who knows? Imagine the surprise of the innocent passerby walking below, when "SPLAT", a human heart lands right in front of them.

On the other hand, this is the stuff that legends are made of. Perhaps the heart slipped out of dad's hand, and the rumor mill started and by the time 30 years have gone by, it didn't drop on the floor accidentally, but rather was tossed out the window.

Regardless of how and whether it actually happened, I think it's hilarious to see that that moment was Morley Smith's favorite memory of dental school. Must have been a rough 4 years...

Silver Linings

I am a firm believer in finding the good in every situation. Even those situations that we perhaps wouldn't choose.

Jack has been a finger sucker since birth. Actually, before birth as evidenced in an ultrasound photo. At first it was cute. And original. While thumb-sucking is an everyday, run of the mill habit of children around the world, sucking the index finger is not so common. We thought it was pretty cute...

Once Jack hit preschool, we started realizing that maybe we needed to nip this habit in the bud. For the past 3 years, we've tried all sorts of tactics to discourage the hand in the mouth. Nothing worked. Bandaids, clear nail polish, bribes, threats, prizes, punishments, we tried it all. I even threatened to cut off his finger. I'm not proud of that one - I strive to never use empty threats, ones I won't actually carry through on. But I was desperate.

He went through kindergarten sucking his finger. He went through the summer after kindergarten, sucking his finger. He turned 6. Still sucked his finger. I was growing more and more concerned about him starting first grade with finger in mouth. The germs, potential teasing, the viruses he might pick up . . . I was worried about it all!

The weekend before school started, we went camping at Pismo Beach. We rented an RV trailer. It was heaven. On the second night, about 4:30 in the morning, we were woken with a big "THUD". Then a loud scream. Steve and I jumped out of bed, ran to the other end of the trailer, and found Jack, with a bloody face. Jack had rolled off the top bunk. He had split his lower lip wide open with his teeth, and had knocked his top three teeth way back. They were loose, the gums were swollen and bloody, and he was a mess. I panicked, thinking of his teeth. Would they be okay?

Three days later, Jack had his 6-month check up at the dentist. Through X-rays, it was determined that he had fractured two of the three top teeth, and they would need to come out. But no damage was done to the permanent teeth, big relief! An appointment was scheduled for later in the week to pull the fractured teeth, once the swelling had gone.

That night, I noticed that Jack's finger wasn't in his mouth. As I thought about it, I realized that it hadn't been in his mouth since the fall. I asked him about it, and he said "It hurts my teeth when my finger is in there."

Now, Jack has a new smile.

It will be this way for a while, as the permanent teeth are no where in sight. And my concerns about him starting first grade with a finger in the mouth were unnecessary. So while I wouldn't necessarily have chosen for him to knock out his front teeth, if this is what it took to kick the finger-in-the-mouth habit, so be it.