Household Duties

An assignment was given for my blogging group, Homesteaders and Homeschoolers. 

The topic is "how are household duties divided amongst your family."

Well, since I have a hired maid, cook, gardener, and animal caretaker I don't have any duties at home. 

"Snork, sniff, uh, what?  I'm awake. I'm here."

I was in fact dreaming up there, folks. 

Sigh. 

I do it all. 

End of story. 

All kidding aside, I was very fortunate to marry a very helpful and eager man 14 years ago. 

I hate how he loads the dishwasher, but he does do it. 

I really loathe doing that job, so we seem to both split the duties of that thankless chore. 

Yes, thankless. 

When is the last time anyone in your house said to you "thank you for cleaning that fork so that it's clean when I want to eat a salad."

No one has ever said that to you. 

Laundry I don't mind doing. 

I will wash. 

Then dry. 

Well, the machine really does that job. 

But, I assist. 

And I fold. 

My husband and children both will help fold if I'm knee deep in another task. 

But they all fold as if they are using their feet instead of their hands. 

So, I fold. 

But, I've assigned the children the job of putting away their own clothes now. 

I get moans and heavy sighs about this, but I remind them that I've done most of the work in this area and these polka-dot socks and Minecraft shirts are their things. 

And these things are their responsibility. 

The girls will feed the dogs and cats when asked. 

And the chickens. 

Chad gets the majority of the barn chores. 

Feeding and cleaning the stall in the wee hours of the morning. 

Really, 6:30 AM. 

But in the winter....that sucks. 

We all check the barn throughout the day for chicken eggs. 

I've even had the girls use the dog pooper scooper to pick up the piles of dog doo in the yard. 

Everyone LOVES that job. 

Yard work. 

I love to mow. 

Always have. 

It's like my free time. 

My alone time. 

Chad saws things. 

And burns things. 

And he's in charge of our swimming pool. 

I do nothing unless instructed by him. 

Which is usually just checking the skimmer for leaves. 

Otherwise, I sit on the deck and admire his work. 

There is one job I just do not do. 

And really have no idea how to do it. 

Changing the furnace filter. 

Blech. 

We suck up 2,456 pounds of pet hair daily into the furnace filter. 

That is Chad's job. 

Really, we all help out one another in this house. 

Chad and I both cook. 

I bake, though, as he doesn't really like to do that. 

But, I enjoy it. 

He can make some killer creme puffs if the mood strikes, though. 

He takes the girls to school. 

I pick them up. 

We have had a sick child and understand the need to "pull it together!" and have the mentality of "we are in this together!"

As I think most of our married friends do. 

Marriage and children are a balancing act. 

One side of the scale tips too far and loads up one person's agenda to it's maximum...there's going to be trouble. 

So, we all chip in together. 

We don't pay our children to help out. 

We ask them to help out because it's the right thing to do. 

This is OUR family. 

We teach them to stick together always. 

And keep family first. 

But, would it kill someone to play the lottery a little more often so I can eventually hire that maid!

This one just dusts cats...

Back To School

Another group blog topic for my blogging group Homesteaders and Homeschoolers. 

This week our topic is about "back to school."

This past weekend, a friend said she hates all of the media posts about... 

"101 Super Fun Things To Do With Your Kids This Summer!" 

or 

"Do These 25 Things With The Kids Before The Sun Sets Each Day Between June And August!"

and

"You're Not Even Close To Being A Good Mom If You Don't Hit Every Splash Pad In A 25 Mile Radius Every Single Day This Summer!"

or 

"Enjoy The Summer Before It's Too Late And Your Kids Hate You!"

So. 

Much. 

Pressure. 

And then before you know it you see the media posts about...

"Sick Of Your Kids Yet? Back To School Is Coming Up Soon!"

or

"17 Things To Do To Your Child's Lunch To Make Him/Her The Coolest Kid In The Cafeteria!"

and

"66 Homemade Gifts To Give The Teacher To Become A Brown Noser!"

Okay, she didn't say all of these things. 

But there is a lot of pressure. 

And there are media posts that we see about all of the fun things we are supposed to do with our kids during the summer. 

And then they seem to be quickly followed by posts about back to school and how we are all so over having our kids all summer long. 

It's ridiculous. 

Summer days and school days used to be easy going seasons. 

Laissez-faire events. 

In the summer you had unplanned, carefree days. 

Swimming in the creek, playing Atari, eating apples from your grandma's backyard tree. 

Or you hopped in the car for a fantastic road trip to see Mark Twain Cave or to splash in ocean waves at a beach on the coast. 

And then it was back to school time.  

New corduroys, a magenta Trapper Keeper, and one box of crayons. 

That was it. 

It all seemed easier. 

Or was it because I was the kid and not the parent?

No, I think it just was easier. 

There were no meddling posts online and zero talk shows with 60 second pieces on being better than the next person. 

No one telling us how to be a better parent to our children. 

How to make memories that, once we read about them, make us feel dumb because we hadn't thought of them on our own. 

Mothers weren't in a silent competition with every other mother in the classroom. 

There was no Pinterest with quirky teacher gifts telling us to make a homemade tag stating "You Are An Egg-Celent Teacher!" and to attach it to a certificate for a weeks worth of culinary classes. 

For a preschool teacher. 

That your kid sees for 2 hours a day. 

Maybe. 

Because some days you don't feel like taking said kid to school because you want to go to a Target and get a new scarf. 

Anyway, it's complicated. 

And it shouldn't be. 

It should be about being young and spirited in the summer. 

It should be about suntans and zoo visits and mowing the grass with the push mower. 

While back to school should be about the excitement of knowing who your teacher is going to be this year. 

And seeing who grew their hair out. 

And the smell of pencil erasers and hot lunch in the cafeteria. 

Simple. 

We all need to take it back to simple. 

And we need to, as moms, to cut ourselves some slack. 

It's hard enough raising our kids to be the best that THEY can be. 

We are already good enough. 

Love that about your mom role and go buy new jeans...for yourself.  

Neverending Transformation

I've been assigned a blog topic by my Homesteaders and Homeschoolers group on body identity. 

My body. 

My 43 year old body. 

That has grown two humans. 

That has had a few broken bones.

That had a broken heart, literally, that needed repaired early on. 

A body that has changed and morphed so much in these years. 

I'm not too keen on my parts these days. 

It's my own fault, really. 

I don't exercise anymore. 

And I should. 

I do farm chores and walk a lot. 

I should walk more. 

I should strength train. 

But I've always found regular exercise boring. 

I was a dancer once, you see. 

I thrived exercising in a group setting. 

Where music and sweat mingled.  

I used to have a strong body.

A thin body. 

A body of muscle. 

I didn't weigh over 115 pounds during college. 

Or after college. 

When I still danced, but also was too poor to eat much. 

I adored my body then. 

I took it for granted that it would always be there for me. 

Externally, I am different now.

My thighs are bigger. 

They aren't large from muscle like in the past. 

They are large from carrying children on my hips. 

My arms have some sag. 

I lost the muscle there, too. 

My neck has started to sag. 

I have no idea when or how that happened. 

It seems to have appeared overnight. 

My waist has expanded and is very unflattering. 

I like to wear large underpants that I can pull up over all offenses I see. 

My waist stretched and ballooned out from growing two children. 

My breasts droop. 

They used to be so pert and taut. 

They swelled with milk after my children were born. 

They fed one for 12 continuous months. 

My body is different now. 

I could change it. 

And I probably should. 

Or does it matter?

That's a question I've yet to answer for myself. 

On a more superficial level, there are things about my face I don't like. 

Never have liked. 

I doubt I ever will like them. 

My nose. 

It's too wide. 

I don't like it. 

Don't tell me I should. 

I've lived with it and it's mine to dislike. 

As I dislike my skin. 

It's never cooperated with me. 

I've tried all sorts of products, went to the dermatologists as a teen, and it just doesn't like me. 

I would say it profoundly hates me. 

I envy women with blemish free skin. 

I really, truly, deeply envy them. 

I have two daughters. 

Two daughters who will be judged on how they look from their peers. 

Girls can be so damaging towards one another. 

I don't this is a streak that can ever be stopped. 

There will always be mean girls who will tell you that you look bad. 

Or different. 

Wrong. 

So, all that I can do, as a mother, is to remind them that they are beautiful. 

Inside and out. 

And to not let them hear me when I complain about my nose or my skin or my waist. 

Or should I let them hear?

To know that it's okay to like or not like something about themself?

Because no matter what is said, over and over and over, you will always find something to dislike about yourself. 

Every man I know does it. 

Every woman I know does it. 

It's part of being human, I think. 

To want to be different. 

To yearn for something you used to have. 

Or for something you've always hoped you had. 

Be it a new set of feet. 

Or the exquisite shoulders you had when you were 20. 

I see myself in both of my daughters, though. 

And I look at them and see nothing but beauty. 

Unequivocal beauty. 

And I don't know how to feel about myself. 

My body has changed in it's 43 years. 

The skinny legs from my childhood evolved into dancer legs. 

And now they are facing middle age. 

What the future holds for them is up to me. 

As they hold me up...

 

Having Daughters

Daughters. 

I have daughters. 

Two in fact. 

And it can be a tough world for girls. 

It always has been. 

They are lucky, though, that they live in the U.S. 

Where their individualities can be celebrated.  

But, there are still obstacles that girls must overcome to live a fulfilled life. 

And as a mother, it's my job in my household to strengthen my girls to become fabulous women. 

I allow my girls to express their uniqueness. 

With their hair, their clothing, their accessories. 

In hopes that if they are allowed to be creative at a young age, it will continue throughout their entire lives. 

Creativity heralds itself in many ways. 

Through art. 

Photography. 

Books and film. 

We try to show our girls all of it. 

Not just "age-appropriate" material. 

This notion that permeates the parenting air really needs to stop. 

I mean, I'm not out showing my children porn by any means, but they see stuff. 

In art and film and in photos. 

Of beauty and love and life. 

Because it's out there. 

And if anyone is going to show it to them, I want it to be me. 

I want my daughters to know about their bodies. 

How they work and why certain things happen. 

I've written about this in a past post.

Zoe still tells me "that I'm too young for this mother!"

I disagree. 

So I keep talking. 

And boys. 

I hope the mothers of boys are teaching them that girls are to be respected. 

That a girl should be able to express herself as she wishes without some sort of message being attached to it. 

A message that they think means "I can do what I want to you."

I want my daughters to respect their bodies and to know that their body belongs to them. 

So we talk about boundaries. 

And saying no. 

We haven't gotten too deep into this yet, though. 

They are young. 

But, it's my belief that if they hear something over and over and over, it will stick. 

I'm pretty liberal in my parenting manner. 

But one thing I'm tough on...manners. 

Table manners. 

No feet on the table. 

Sit on your butt. 

Use the utensils in front of you. 

They aren't decoration. 

Put the napkins you are provided with to use. 

And say thank you. 

Please. 

Call your friends' parents by Mr. and Mrs. only. 

Nothing irks me more than having a friend of my children calling me Jennifer. 

Kid, we aren't counterparts. 

Respect has gone out the back door and down the road with many children. 

Too much leniency at home in regards to adults. 

My children are told numerous times before going to a party, play date, etc with friends this statement..."if you need to speak to (insert friend's name here) mother/father, what do you call her/him?"

I'm met with the response of "Mrs. or Mr. (Insert friend's last name here)."

And I hear Zoe informing her friends when sitting in the back seat of our minivan "her name's Mrs. Pramuk" when they mutter to her "what's your mom's name?" 

Making and keeping friends can be daunting for girls. 

The drama of some female relationships rears it's loathsome head very early on in school. 

This is something new I now fear. 

I don't recall having to fight for a friendship in 2nd or 3rd grade. 

I think the biggest talks we have had in our home the last few years have been about friends. 

Telling our girls when they should walk away from someone that they thought was "on their side."

What I've learned so far in my daughters' 

school friendships...all is not as it always seems. 

The girls who come off as sweet when adults are around aren't necessarily showing their true colors. 

And we've had to say to Zoe "I don't think she's a good friend for you."

We aren't religious at all. 

But, we are raising our daughters on the virtue of goodness equals everything. 

And we explain the world's religions as much as we understand them. 

My husband was raised Catholic. 

So there's that understanding. 

Buddhism is fascinating to me. 

We try to showcase the world and it's differences. 

And we show them that other people are struggling. 

Or have struggled to get where they are now. 

We watch the world news. 

We watch documentaries on the civil rights movement. 

We watch shows and read books about the plights of their Native American ancestors. 

We have started to discuss what the Nazis did during WWII.  

We research polar bears and climate change together. 

So that they are aware. 

So they know the world isn't just their neighborhood. 

That it's big and can be scary sometimes, but that everyone needs to be aware of what's happening and if you can, you need to help. 

Zoe has seen that the world can be unfair. 

And that her friends can die. 

And that helps motivate her to give back. 

We give to the childhood cancer community. 

We are working on the Illinois license plate. 

We've explained to her that years of research in the area of childhood leukemia have kept her alive.

But that more research needs to be done.

New drugs need to be made. 

So she never has to lose another friend to a brain tumor. 

We teach them that knowledge is truly power. 

To love school. 

To love learning. 

If they don't know something, let's look it up. 

Having 21st Century daughters makes learning easy, actually. 

Want to find out what a graffiti painting by Banksy looks like?

Look it up on the internet. 

While you're siting in a restaurant. 

Eating pulled pork sandwiches. 

Then look up who first invented pulled pork sandwiches. 

Having daughters can be daunting. 

The arguments. 

The crying. 

The clothes stealing (Gigi is always taking her big sister's things much to the chagrin of 
Zoe.)

But, I'm glad to have them with me. 

Another set of estrogen souls for me to hang with. 

And to bond with. 

And to help shape into strong women.

I wouldn't know what to do with sons.  

This is part of a group blog post my Homesteaders and Homeschoolers group is writing...

Read more from Carla, Laura, and Melissa. 

All three women are raising daughters. 

My Refrigerator

I was challenged by my friend Laura to show and describe the inside of my fridge.

I guess a refrigerator can speak volumes about a person. 

About a family. 

It's like a chilly inner sanctum. 

It's what defines a person and how they feel about their body. 

What you put in it, the contents of your refrigerator, propels you through your day. 

When I was in my twenties, my fridge contained milk, cheese, Diet Coke, and leftover pizza. 

That was it. 

My thirties expanded my fridge decor because I had a child and a husband. 

It contained organic milk, organic cheese, Organic juice, stir fry veggies, and leftover pizza. 

These days I have two kids (girls, not boys who I hear eat 4,326 calories worth of food every hour) and the husband still. 

I try to make stuff from scratch as much as possible. 

But I still love leftover pizza and Diet Coke. 

My fridge as of today...

Milk

Chocolate soy milk and regular cow chocolate milk (Gigi's must have morning breakfast drink. It's her coffee.)

OJ

Homemade coffee creamer I just started making. 

Jelly

Hummus

Sour cream

Pasta sauce with only 4 ingredients for manicotti

Heavy cream

Cottage cheese

Ricotta cheese 

We really like dairy

Pickles

Salted butter sticks for toast...I keep some out at room temperature on the counter

Unsalted butter sticks for baking

Kiwi

Strawberries

Cherries

Salsa

Eggs..,still store bought for now. Our chickens should hopefully start laying eggs for us next month. 

Leftover homemade pizza

Bread dough

And some cupcakes Zoe made at summer camp that are getting hard and icky. I should throw those out. 

The top crisper drawer at the bottom of the fridge contains veggies...

a bag of baby carrots for the goats, a cabbage for the chickens, organic romaine, sugar snap peas, and broccoli for the humans. 

There's some phylo dough in there I should probably make something with it if it's not dried up. 

The bottom crisper drawer is full of cheese...

shredded cheddar, blocks of cheddar, goat cheese, laughing cow spreadable wedges, queso fresco Mexican crumble cheese, mozzarella cheese to put on a toothpick with some basil and a cherry tomato, a small hunk of Parmesan. 

Like I said, we like dairy. 

The door of the fridge...

Condiments, condiments, condiments. 

Peanut sauce. 

3 kinds of mustards

Taco sauce

Hershey's chocolate bars for s'mores 

Hot sauce

Cod liver oil (don't ask)

Ketchup without high fructose corn syrup

Mayo

Yeast

Kraft Parm Cheese (for Gigi's pizza, because it's just like Monicals)

Bacon bits to put on homemade potato skins

Ranch dressing for dipping veggies in

Proseco wine

Coffee...we grind Einstein Brother's Coffee Beans and put them into an old red Folgers canister. 

Gatorade...which I usually never buy, but we went to a cookout and needed to bring drinks and Gatorade is a treat for my kids.

My refrigerator is a side by side model. 

Meaning the freezer is upright behind the left door. 

I hate it. 

You can't fit anything in it at ALL. 

My freezer is currently shoved full of...

Edamame

Black bean burgers

Fake chicken patties, i.e. Soy

Eggo mini cinnamon waffles

Mini tacos because I'm addicted

Shrimp

Tilapia

Ore Ida Crispy Crowns

More phylo dough...geesh

Some Ben and Jerrys

Freezer pops because it's summah!

And a flexible ice bag for cracks to the head, face, knee, shin, elbow, etc. 

The door of the freezer is odd. 

Not much there. 

Except some of those mugs with the frozen stuff within the walls of the mugs that freeze. 

No one hardly ever uses these mugs. 

A broken ice pop...is someone ever going to eat that thing?

And those glowy things kids get at various outdoor events, 4th of July, birthdays. 

For some reason my kids think if you put them in the freezer after you've already snapped them and they've glowed all night long, they will rise from the dead and glow again another day. 

I keep telling them it doesn't work.

And they keep putting them in there. 

And I keep throwing them out. 

Care to share what's in your fridge?

Food Ewwws

Part three in a series for the month of June entitled FOOD from my blog group Homesteaders and Homeschoolers.

I try to be a positive person.
Really, I do.
But today I'm going to post about foods that I do not like.
That I abhor.
That make me gag with an intent to barf.
Foods that make me shiver with discontent and foods that appear in my nightmares.
Nightmares where I am being force fed things that make me go "Ewwwww!"

Foods such as...

Fruit punch
-I think I hurled once as a child after drinking this. The Hawaiian Punch brand. I can't stand the smell of it. It gives me the heebie jeebies. But, since I am the BEST mom in the tri-state area, I do buy it for my kids. They must drink it at a distance of at least 15 feet from my nose, though.

Mushrooms
-I don't do fungus. Bottom line. My family goes ga-ga over the morel mushrooms that pop up in our yard in the spring. No. Thank. You.

Cooked onions
-Translucent, wormy looking, squishy. Again, no thanks.

Veal, lamb, rabbit
-On principle alone

Organ meats
-Really. Who likes these? Besides 94 year old cronies in The Home or that guy on that show "Bizarre Foods", Andrew Zimmern? No one really likes to eat organ meats, do they???

Meat in spaghetti sauce
-Something about a hunk of beef in my tangy tomato sauce gets me all gaggy.

Thick beef hamburgers
-I really hate biting into a hunk of meat and getting that bit that's all grisly or hard or whateverish. If I eat a beef burger (which doesn't happen too often) it's gotta be super, super thin. And from Culvers, Krekels, or Steak 'N Shake.

Sausages or brats
-Again, the biting into meat thing gets me with sausages and brats. Really, I'm not much into the meat thing.

Peppers of any kind
-I don't know why, but I have NEVER enjoyed any kind of pepper. Green. Nope. Red. Nope. Yellow. Nope. Spicy. Nope. Sweet. Nope. I just don't like them.

So, there you have it.
The foods on this earth that I don't like.
I'm probably missing some.
I do know that I now like some things that I used to hate when I was younger.
I can now successfully eat cooked carrots and tomatoes.
Maybe brats will grow on me.
Nah...

Food vs Cancer

Part two in a series for June entitled FOOD

from my blog group Homesteaders and Homeschoolers.

We don't eat bad at our home.
We don't always eat great, though.
There are times when I don't have any fruit for the kids and I start to get mom-guilt over it.
When I was pregnant with Zoe I knew I had to eliminate some things and add some foods to my diet to make sure the baby came out healthy.
No caffeine.
Lots of water.
More fruits and vegetables.
She came out full term and perfect at 7 pounds, 14 ounces.
I tried breastfeeding her, but it didn't work out.
I was stressed by it.
She was stressed by it.
We went to formula.
And boy, there's a lot of stress about failing at that!
But, our pediatrician assured me that I was not a bad mother and Zoe did thrive on formula.
She was a very chubby baby.
And she was never sick.

When she started to eat foods, I either made her food (I was the puree queen for a while at home) or bought organic canned baby foods.
Chad and I had decided that our daughter would be fed foods that didn't have pesticides or hormones in them.
Organic costs more, but she was worth it.
Nothing but organic milk went into her.
Organic cookies and crackers.
She drank organic grape and orange juice.
I didn't give her apple juice because my friend Kelly had had trouble with her son when he drank apple juice.
I remember her telling me that his behavior changed when he had the apple juice.
That's all I needed to hear...no apple juice.

Through her toddler years, she was never sick.
She would get the regular cold.
But no ear infections.
No strange rashes or bacterial infections.
Nothing at all.
When she started going to preschool, we kept up the organic foods, but also let in mainstream things.
She would go to McDonalds and get a Happy Meal.
But, she never drank soda.
And she never went for those super sugary drinks that some moms brought into school for preschool birthdays.
She asked for water.
Water has always been her favorite beverage.
We thought we had done everything right.
Everything right in terms of nutrition and good health for our first born daughter.


When she did start to get sick, when she started to feel lethargic and get headaches, we were shocked.
It was so unlike her to be ill.
Then we saw the bruises.
I made an appointment quickly with the pediatrician.
I made an appointment quickly because she had never been sick like this before.
She had always been super healthy.
The biggest problem she had had up to that point was a broken toe that summer.
Was the broken toe a pre-cursor to what was to be?
Was her body failing already and we just didn't realize it?
But no matter what we had done for her in the past, it was no match for cancer.
The organic foods we had stuffed into her body.
The pesticide-free fruits and veggies didn't matter.
Cancer was going to change our lives and our daughter and it didn't matter what we HAD done.
All that mattered now was what we WOULD do.

We kept up the healthy foods.
She still hates sugary drinks and soda.
When the steroids took over her body at the beginning of treatment and she would wake us up in the middle of the night because she was so, so, so hungry we did give in.
But not too much.
We would force her to go back to bed sometimes.
She would fight us, cry and tell us she was starving.
But we told her she wasn't, it was the medicine taking over her body.
That we wouldn't let her starve.
Food became not something that she enjoyed, but rather something that overtook everything else.
She would rather eat than color or play.
And it was salty foods that she craved.
It was a tough thing to watch.
I'm glad that it's over and that she's back to her old self again.
She still likes salty treats, but in moderation.
And her love of water has never wavered.

I remember when she was first diagnosed and how furious I was that this had happened to her because we had done everything right in terms of her nutrition.
A friend said to me "but the food choices you have been giving her will hopefully help her recover quicker. they will help her heal."
I think that she was right.
Maybe we couldn't fight against the inevitable.
She was probably bound to get cancer no matter what we had done in the past becuase that's just how her body was wired.
I call it "the kink in her DNA".
But we could continue with the healthy eating habits and try our hardest to counteract against the effects of the drugs.
Has it helped?
I think so.
But, I'm not a doctor or scientist.
I'm just a mom.
With a daughter with cancer.
But a daughter who is thriving today and who is a survivor.
A survivor who loves garbanzo beans and Dairy Queen.

Cheese and Me

Post one in a series for June entitled FOOD

from my blog group Homesteaders and Homeschoolers.

I have this thing for dairy.

I love milk, yogurt, and cheese.

Oh boy, do I love cheese!

I will eat any kind of cheese you put in front of me.

Any kind except that pepper jack stuff.

That's not for me.

One thing I don't like are peppers.

And who's jack?

Back to cheese...

I went to Paris when I was pregnant with Zoe and did not eat the cheese because a lot of it is not pastuerized.

Maybe the French ladies do, but I didn't want to chance it.

It was one of the big downsides of that trip.

So I had escargot and croissants instead.

I love baked goods as well.

Breads and pastries are things I like to make at home.

One of my favorite recipes to make are for Cheddar Buttermilk Biscuits.

They are light and flaky and chock full of sharp cheddar cheese.

Check out the recipe on my food blog Dinner at Cheshire Farm.

Another great recipe that calls for cheese that I love is for something I call Summer Salad.

It's got greens, walnuts, apples and here it goes...Goat Cheese.

I've been making this salad since probably 1999.

I used to only make it in the summer, hence the name.

But now I'm all crazy and make it anytime of the year.

Potatoes.

I love potatoes as much as I love cheese.

It's really a horrible combination to have now that I am in my forties, but what's a girl to do.

I love a gooey, cheesey potato gratin and if you try this recipe, I think you will see why I love potatoes and cheese so much.

What's your favorite food?

Care to share a recipe of your favorites?

Movies, Dance, & Music

Part four in the series "Music Mondays in May" from my blog group

Homesteaders and Homeschoolers.

This week I'm going to give you some randoms about me and music.
My love of visuals and music in perfect combination.
Dance and music.
A bit from college and what I can remember.
Here it goes...

I love the movies.
It's why Chad and I got married, really.
I understood his geekiness about movies and he let me introduce him to A Room With A View and Out of Africa.
Music plays such a vital role in film. When a really good film has hit you full force and you feel like the wind has been knocked out of you, the music within the film probably played a bigger role than you imagined.
It can set the mood, the scene.
One of my all time favorite movie scenes is from an above mentioned film.
A Room With A View is my very favorite movie EVER.
Makes me smile just writing about it.
And my favorite scene in the film contains zero dialogue.
Let's go into the movie now...
Lucy Honeychurch is in the Italian countryside and George Emerson (he's just one of many others in their group who made the afternoon trip to the countryside) is there with her.
He's standing on a hill taking in the amazing scenery.
The wildflowers and barley fields are tall and waving in the breeze.
Lucy finds him in the field.
It's very hot out, but Lucy is dressed as a proper lady at the turn of the century should be.
Parasol and all.
George turns and sees her.
The song playing begins to get bigger.
The song is called "Chi el Bel Sogno di Doretta" by Puccini and is sung amazingly by New Zealand Soprano Kiri Te Kanawa.
He begins to walk toward her.
Then he walks with more purpose.
Quicker.
Kiri Te Kanawa is hitting her high notes now.
The music begins to crescendo and at it's climax and as Kiri hits THE note, he runs to her and plants the most amazing kiss ever.
He steals his kiss, which Lucy happily and shockingly gives to him, and then he runs off.
Sigh.
Swoon.
I love that scene.
And that song.

I studied dance in college.
Music was a part of my everyday life.
Classical, new age, jazz, rock.
All of it enveloped my head from my first class to my last.
My homework usually consisted of choreography.
More music.
It's easy for me to "see" a song and what choreography could be thrown into it.
To make the song come alive even more.
It's easier for me to see the results in my head than to actually execute them now.
I haven't really danced since probably 1996.
But I still cut a rug with my kids in the living room.
And as I'm driving I can hear a song and envision it on the stage.
With dancers moving to and fro.
It's a part of me that will never go away I think.

College.
I don't remember too much sometimes.
It wasn't like I was drunk during my entire college experience.
Far from it.
As I said before, I was a dancer.
I couldn't take a nap during my second class of the day.
No one could get away with napping after a long hard night of drinking if they were in Advanced Modern Dance or Pointe.
I just have a bad memory for specifics sometimes.
I remember a few things about music outside of classes.
When we lived in the dorms there would be lively productions of "Annie The Musical" in the halls by me and my friends.
And there was Laura's infatuation with Patsy Cline our sophomore year.
I think it really freaked Rose out.

When I discovered dancing at The Gallery (and was old enough to get into the bar) I spent most weekends there dancing.
Dancing to U2, INXS, and whatever obscure group/song the DJ threw out.
It was the place to be if you were an artist.
The dance, theatre, and art students converged at The Gallery Thursday-Sunday.
The Frat guys and Sorority girls went to the two bars next door, Shannigans and Rockys.
Except when it was Retro Wednesday.
Then we would wander into Rockys to dance to old school disco.
Our group was always the first to hit the dance floor.
People in the arts don't mind being looked at by strangers on a stage.
It's our thing.
It's our element.
It's who I am...

Music and My Kids

Part three in the series "Music Mondays in May" from my blog group

Homesteaders & Homeschoolers.

I  try to listen to music more than have the television on in my house.

I want my kids to have the background noise of lyrics, melody, and toe tappin' beats instead of dialogue, infomercials, and all of that other tv crap in their heads.

I like music that has a story to tell.

While listening to the lyrics, you get a piece out of the story that's being told that you can carry around with you. 

My kids listen to a variety of music because of me.

And because of them, I listen to artists that I didn't think I would (isn't that the case with all parents?)

When my girls were really young we would pop in Dan Zanes and bop away in the kitchen or in the car.

His style is so eclectic, he mixes traditional themes with international tones and we just love him.  

I like having my girls listen to a song arranged for the 21st century, but whose lyrics are decades upon decades old.

Think of a Woody Guthrie song played with a trombone and a congo drum. 
That's Dan Zanes.

As they have gotten older (yes, the whopping ages of 8 and 4) we are listening to more and more mainstream stuff.

Katy Perry, Adele, Bridgit Mendler, Zac Brown Band, Florence and the Machine.

I also throw on the classical music channel on the kitchen radio everyday.

I recently had Zoe sit quietly and really listen to Jeff Buckley sing Hallelujah.

To hear his first breath and to amaze at the way his voice just floats.

And we listen to traditional Irish music in the Chieftains.

And to a slighting different extent, The Pogues.

Zoe and Gigi get a real kick out of listening to our friend Lincoln's album, Murderize, that we have on our iPod.  

I've known his wife Tina (Hey T Sapp!!) since 1989 (she's one of my besties!) and our kids are great friends.

They LOVE it that someone they know has an album out!

Of course I'm sure they don't use the word "album" because they have no idea what an album is and that's just what I say.

Sigh...isn't that sad?

When we are playing his songs they just belt out "IT'S LINCOLN SINGING!  YAAAAAY!" 

One of my greatest joys, though, is when I'm playing a Steve Earle CD and Gigi is singing along to "Sparkle and Shine" ...it's one of her favorite songs.

Or when Lyle Lovett's voice is wafting through the rooms of our house and Zoe is quietly singing along to "If I Had a Boat" just because it's about a pony.

Music is a very important part of my life.

And I want it to be a very important aspect of my kids' lives.

I hope that they can appreciate every form that's out there.

The old stuff as well as the new stuff.

They listen to The Beatles, Mozart, Amy Winehouse, and One Direction. 

I want well rounded musical kids.

And one day I hope to hear Zoe playing a Patsy Cline song on the piano.

With Gigi singing along...

Check out these other Music on Monday posts...
Carla
Melissa
Laura

    

Take Me Out To The Ballgame

Part two in the series "Music Mondays in May" from my

blog group Homesteaders & Homeschoolers.

I have been going to major league baseball games since I can remember.

My dad is a huge St. Louis Cardinals fan.

I don't know how that happened really since his mother (whose home I live in) was an even bigger Chicago Cubs fan.

I guess he wanted to root for a team that didn't have it's fans in tears at the end of September, every year.

So, because of my dad's unwavering love for the redbirds of Missouri, I spent many days and nights at Busch stadium.

Eating cotton candy from a bag and scouring the seats looking for Fredbird.

Doing the wave and then begging my dad to leave "because it's the 11th inning and this tie is never going to end!"

And always singing from the top of my lungs during the 7th inning stretch to Take Me Out To The Ballgame.

The quintessential "Baseball in America" song.

I moved to Chicago in 1994.

I started going to Cub games.

It's what everyone does.

Wrigley Field.

It's a passage of sorts.

To sit in the confines of the ivy covered walls.

To get a seat behind a pole so you can't see a thing.

To get a SRO ticket (Standing Room Only).

But it didn't matter when the 7th inning stretch came up.

After the visitor's at bat and before the home team had their turn to bat in the 7th inning, he appeared.

Harry Carey.

It was a momentous thing to sing along to Take Me Out To The Ballgame with this true American symbol of baseball.

I thought of my grandma every time.

He would hang out of the booth and was such a huge presence and it's a memory I won't forget.

But, we too got tired of losing.

Of hanging out with a group of people who didn't really seem to care too much about the game before them.

Who instead were more interested in taking pictures of themselves with their friends, talking on their phones, and of being obnoxious under the beer stupor they were in...mind you, this was not everyone at Wrigley field. But it seemed to be that way everytime we went.

We then moved our allegiance to the south side of Chicago.

To the White Sox.

I think it was in 2002.

Zoe was born in February of 2005 and her first baseball game was in May of 2005.

It was dog day at the park, so we took our two kids...Zoe and our dog Madison.

The Chicago White Sox won the World Series that year and we took in the ticker tape parade the city threw for them downtown.

We had made the right decision to move.

We also made sure that Zoe knew every word to Take Me Out To The Ballgame by the age of two.

Both girls have been to numerous major league baseball games.

Gigi went to her first game at the age of 6 1/2 months.

It was in Cardinal territory, though.

We do go with grandpa to St. Louis.

He's tried brainwashing them to become St. Louis fans, but it's not working.

They have both Chicago and St. Louis apparel and banners in their rooms.

Baseball is a big deal in our house.

And as long as they love the game and love singing at the top of their lungs during the middle of the 7th inning while their faces are covered in ice cream and cotton candy, I know we have done something right with these girls.

Lets Go White Sox!

Viva Las Vegas

Part one in the series "Music Mondays in May" for my blog group Homesteaders & Homeschoolers.

Music has always been a big part of my life.
My father is one of those young dads.
He was twenty when I was born in 1971.
Because of his young age, my young life was submerged in the music that he loved.
One of those music loves was Elvis Presley.
My mom's sister, Jeanne, was a huge Elvis fan as well.
She even saw him live in concert not too long before he died.
Something I was always jealous of...come on, ELVIS! She saw THE Elvis!

In college my group of girlfriends were huge Elvis fans as well.
We knew the words to all of his songs and weren't afraid to belt them out at large decibels from our house on 916 Hovey Ave.
Graceland has been visited by all of us.
Las Vegas has been a travel destination for many of us since it's the land of Elvis Impersonators.
It's always fun to ride in an elevator next to a guy with huge sideburns and extra wide, dark sunglasses while trying not to snicker because Elvis is standing next to you.

I met Chad in the Fall of 1999.
We had a quick courtship and knew we wanted to do something out of the ordinary for our wedding.
We didn't have a lot of money so we knew we wanted to combine our wedding with a honeymoon.
A two for one deal.
Las Vegas sounded like the right place for us.
And when you think of Las Vegas and weddings you usually also think of Elvis.
It was decided.
We would get married in July in Vegas by Elvis.

Why we decided on July is beyond me.
Wait, I do remember...
my mom kept telling me "this date and that date won't work for me because of work."
Sigh...
So, the middle of July in the desert it would be.
I later remember declarations of "MY EYES ARE BURNING OUT OF MY HEAD!" from wedding guests because of the intense heat of the day.
Don't get married in the desert in July people.

This being the era before smart phones, we had to use a fax machine to get copies of restaurant menus from various places in Vegas for our "after the ceremony dinner."
We called and emailed a few different Elvis wedding places.
We picked the right place.
It was off of the strip and seemed like a real genuine place.
It was family owned and as I sit here and write this, I know we picked the very best spot.

Viva Las Vegas Wedding Chapel was where our wedding was held.
Thirty members of our family and friends made the trip to Las Vegas to be with us on our big day.
My niece was five years old at the time and since I wasn't going to have a flower girl, she instead became the camera girl.
She was in charge of handing out disposable cameras to each guest...remember this was before smart phones.
My girlfriend Tina stood up with me and Chad's brother Chris stood by his side.
I wore a black dress, 'cause I'm unconventional like that, and Chad wore shorts.
Elvis was great! (Elvis was the owner, Ron, and a super great guy.)
He sang three or four songs ( I forget the exact number now since it went down in 2000 and the heat of that day melted some of my brain away.)
He ended the ceremony with Viva Las Vegas and had the arm swings, lip curl, and leg lunges to go with it.
His white sequin suit filled the room with sparkles and was only overshadowed by the large amount of laughing, singing, and cheering by our guests.

It was a fantastic day and the start to a great journey with my hubbie Chad.

My best friend.
My source of support in what has become a difficult journey in our days as parents.
He makes me laugh and doesn't care when I fart in bed.
Well, he may care about that.
But all I have to do is starting singing Viva Las Vegas and all is forgiven...

Read more "Music on Monday" from...
Carla
Melissa
Laura

Keeping Our Lives Upside Down

Part Two in a series from my Homesteaders & Homeschoolers group blog topic..."When and Why to Start a Family--Highlights and Lowlights"

We were only going to have one child.
It's easy to get around with just one child.
We could drive a small car.
Vacation would be that much cheaper.
Zoe was such a good kid.
No problems ever.
Then it happened.

I was so tired the spring of 2008.
I would tell Zoe (who was 3 years old) that mama was just going to close her eyes for a bit.
Two hours later I would wake up.
Remember, I said Zoe was a good kid.
She completely kept herself busy while I was zonked out on the couch.
Something felt "off" and I told Chad to pick up a pee stick for me on the way home from work.
Silence.
"Just do it!" I bellowed.

I peed on that stick, ate dinner, then went to check on the pee stick's status.
Sigh.
Positive.
I didn't want to be pregnant.
At all.
When did this conception even take place for gosh sakes?
Well, if I was going to be pregnant it had better all be for another girl.
Since I was over 35 years of age (another reason I didn't want to be pregnant) I had to go to a Maternal/Fetal Specialist.
The ultrasound tech that day was a man.
As was the doctor I saw.
Manness was ripe in the air that day.
They both declared that the fetus within my over 35 aged body was a male.
WHAT?!
I called Chad as I was leaving my appointment.
I paused on the skywalk when he answered.
"Thanks a lot."
He knew by those three words that there was a boy in my belly.
He knew that the sperm determines the sex of a fetus and he apologized.
Again and again.

I did come to terms with the fact that a wee penis was forming in my body.
I bought boy type clothing.
I bought boy type bedding.
We even discussed names and after some thought we decided our son would be named Oliver Ash and that he would grow up to be a MLB player.
I was good with things now.
I had conceded and had accepted that I would have a daughter and a son.
Zoe and Oli.
I had no morning sickness...again.
I received zero stretch marks...again.
It looked like a super-duper, extra-large pumpkin was stuffed under my shirt.
All was good.

Another planned c-section.
I was not going to do that VBAC crap (vaginal birth after cesarean) that the OB was pushing on me.
I had never felt a labor pain and was fine going to my grave having never felt one.
We picked the date of November 14th.
I had a real gung-ho doctor and she scheduled things bright and early.
So, Zoe went to grandma and grandpa's house for breakfast and Chad and I headed to the hospital to welcome our new son to the world.

So, as I'm strapped down in the crucifix position with painful gas bubbles rising up into my shoulders and a barf bucket next to me when it happened.
The baby was plucked from my uterus and the nurse standing behind me declared "that's not a boy."
Well then what in the hell was it?!
I'm supposed to be having a boy!
Was it really a cat this time?
Or was his hardware so mangled that he was going to need surgery to repair his stuff and he may look more like a mangled her?
The doctor then said "Nope that's a girl!"

After much explaining to my parents, the new big sister, relatives and friends whom Chad called, we were elated to have another daughter in our family.
We had to come up with a name quickly.
Oliver then became Gigi.
That's not short for anything, folks.
Just Gigi.

I'll never forget for as long as I live what my girlfriend Kelly told me later on..."I never knew anyone who could will away a penis like you did."
"If you want something bad enough, you can make it happen" was my response.
And I'm very thankful toward Chad's sperm.
I'm not mad at him anymore...

Check out my fellow Homesteaders & Homeschoolers "second in the series" blog stories on motherhood...
Laura @ Where Love Starts
Melissa @ Teach Academy
Carla @ Our Happy Chaos