Small Things

Survey Sunday: Do you have a Sunday night routine?

I enjoy a Sunday, I think I always have. It's so totally different from the structured demands of a weekday, when I am shuttling kids and we almost never see my husband. It's also completely different from the wide-open potential of a Saturday, the one stretch of day that I feel compelled to fill with outdoor activity (maybe that's a San Diego thing?) and then stay up late watching a movie with Jamie.

But Sunday lends itself more to routine, especially for people who go to church regularly. But even if you don't, it is still a day to wind down from the weekend, and prepare for the week. That makes me think of the Seinfeld episode when Elaine is trapped on the wrong side of town due to a parade and has to get home to watch 60 Minutes and unwind. And that makes me remember the ticking stopwatch, and Mike Wallace, and my Dad nodding off on the sofa after Sunday dinner, and me dreading all the weekend homework I'd procrastinated.

See, even as a kid, I had a Sunday routine. In college, I had a Chi Omega chapter meeting every Sunday night. When my husband and I first married, we'd cook breakfast and read the Sunday paper for hours. Then there were the beer-and-laundry Sundays, when my husband and his buddy Martin would brew beer while I shuttled 8 loads of laundry down to the laundromat on the corner (at 1st and Orange in Coronado, facing the Ferry Landing, possibly the most scenic laundromat in the world), then we'd all have dinner, often ribs and corn on the cob.

For the last few years, on Sunday nights I put the kids to bed early and spend the evening doing laundry and watching Desperate Housewives and then Brothers and Sisters. I didn't ever plan on watching those shows, in fact, I expressly intended NOT to watch those shows. But they follow Extreme Makeover: Home Edition, and they are gooood soaps, and there is PLENTY of laundry to fold . . . so I eventually got hooked.

Tonight I am off my routine. My husband and I decided to call the sitter and then go out to dinner, just the two of us. Very nice. We went to a new Pho place and had a hot pot of spicy broth and cooked our dinner at the table. Interesting. We liked it, and we liked doing something we could never do with our kids. And it was very healthy. So then we went to the Cheesecake Factory for dessert.

Meanwhile, my laundry is piling up and I have shows backed up on my DVR.

Do you have a Sunday routine that you count on? Do you need 60 Minutes to unwind? Comment below and let me know how you spend your Sundays!

Peace and Coffee in the Parking Lot

So often during busy days with my kids I think that what I really, really long for is just some hot coffee and peace and quiet.

I really love coffee. And I really, really love peace and quiet. Stillness. Just being alone, all alone, with my own thoughts, no interruptions, no one I need to answer or tune out or keep an eye on.

I know I am a true introvert, that being alone is what I need to recharge my batteries. I have friends who are the opposite, who are energized by having company, having a friend to talk to.

Not me. I love having friends, and sometimes need them to draw me out of my hermit-crab tendencies. But being social does drain my energy.

Having three talking, needy, emotionally expressive children turn to me all day with their questions, their hurts, their acheivements, their complaints, their hunger, and their silliness is an awesome blessing. I love being a mom.

But I need some time alone, in peace, in stillness, no demands, when I can be all inside my own head.

After taking both older kids to school this morning, I drove thru a starbucks and headed for the commissary to do some grocery shopping. I parked, and just sat listening to a sprinkle of rain on my windshield, my two-year-old deep asleep in the backseat.

After a moment, some people walked by, and I began to feel guilty, like I was wasting time, and what kind of crazy person just sits in the commissary parking lot doing nothing, waiting for no one?

But no one needs me right now. I've got almost 3 whole hours before I need to pick up a kid (the biggest block of time I get all week) and I am spending some of it in just stillness, doing nothing, going nowhere.

It's one of my favorite things to do.

I'm gonna leave my kids at the park . . . no, really!

Have you heard of Take Our Children To The Park . . . And Leave Them There Day? And does that shock you? I just read about it on the blog Free-Range Kids, one of the best parenting blogs I've stumbled across in a long time.

The idea of Free-Range Kids, also a book by Lenore Skenazy, is that children need freedom and independence to play and explore.

Most of us used to play outside in the park, without our parents, without cell phones, without Purell or bottled water and we survived! Thrived! We cherish the memories! And if you believe the million studies that I’m always publishing here, kids are healthier, happier and better-adjusted if they get to spend some time each day in “free play,” without adults hovering

And Skenazy points to a stats showing that the belief that our world is mor dangerous these days is a myth; our kids are safer now than when we parents were kids.

So she is offering this May 22nd as a day to Take Our Chilldren To The Park . . . And Leave Them There.

Across the country — what the heck, across the world — parents will  converge upon local playgrounds and parks with their school-age kids. They will tell them to have fun, make friends and don’t leave with anyone. Then the parents will wave goodbye and the kids will amuse themselves for whatever amount of time they’ve decided with their folks. An hour. A morning. Or maybe even just half an hour, to get used to the whole thing, which, admittedly, sounds radical. But is it?

Check out her blog and decide for yourself!

Survey Saturday: A Plot to Get Comments

This is the very first Survey post in what I plan to be a weekly series. I'll ask a question, one that is rather Family-Fued-esque, and then I will ask (beg, guilt, plead with) you to leave a comment here (on my blog, not facebook) with your survey response.

What's in it for you? Well, eventually, I plan to have some giveaway drawings. But for now, we can just find out a little bit about each other!

So for this inaugural Survey Saturday, the question is:

What mom-items do you have right now in your bag?

Obviously things like wallets, keys, and mace don't count.

It's ok if it's common, like wipes. Or very specific, like a red dragonoid Bakugan battle armor.

You can make a quick list, or even give an explanation. Just please comment! If you're a dad, what's in your wife's bag? Or if you had a bag, what would you put in it? Or if you do have a bag . . . well, then good for you, I'll be sending the Small Things Dad of the Year award to you soon.

I'll comment first!

April is Month of the Military Child

It's nice that my kids are recognized by the First Lady. But I wonder, what are they being recognized for? For being brave? For doing without their parents? For some, seeing their parents wounded or worse in service of our country?

My kids go long periods without their Dad when he is deployed. They are brave about the the dangers of his job, but then they are young, and a bit sheltered. And many kids grow up missing a parent, not just military kids.

I think the main difference that being military kids makes for my kids, is that they have a clear understanding of courage. They know there are bad guys in the world, and that the only way to make the world safe(er) and just is for brave people to step up.

They will not take freedom for granted. They know Dad misses their birthdays and summer vacations and many family dinners because he volunteers to defend democracy and America. That he helps catch bad guys on the other side of the world.

My kids have also lived in many parts of the country, visited many national parks and monuments on our cross country moves, and understand that the world is big. That communities vary widely. That there are many languages and skin colors and foods and cultures.

Do they need our governments' help? They already have health care, and housing, covered. What more can Uncle Sam do for them?

Jill Biden and Michelle Obama mention our communities, and that's exactly what our kids (and military spouses) need most. My friends and neighbors who babysit, or share a meal, or listen to you vent.Who bring in the garbage cans, or mow the lawn, or drive your kid to school. Help their at-home parent be a better parent, a less-stressed parent. I always say, when it comes to helping kids, help the mom to help the kid.

And show their gratitude for our troops. I can't tell you how that makes my kids beam!

When my husband was returning form his first deployment, just after September 11th, I went to Publix to get a rack of lamb for his homecoming meal. The butcher happened to see me looking at lamb, offered his help, and I told him what I was buying and why. He said he'd go pick a cut himself. He came back with the most beautiful rack of lamb he'd just trimmed for me, and told me to thank my husband for his service. I cried over the meat case.

I had no kids yet, so I suppose that's unrelated to military children. But that's how meaningful saying thanks is to military familes. I think it means even more to us than to our servicemembers. Of course they appreciate it. But I know my husband's response is "well, it's my job." Heroes usually don't feel like heroes. They shrug and squirm a bit under praise.

But their kids! For a kid to hear someone else thank their Dad. To see other's respect and appreciate their parent for the job he does when he is missing those birthdays and holidays and weekday dinners . . . they are proud. And pride will get you through a lot of deployment.

I'm proud of my military children.

 

Easter and Earthquakes

I love Easter. I love Christmas, too, but there is so much less production and expectation at Easter, that decorating and entertaining is much more stress-free. The Christmas story is lovely, about the birth of the baby Jesus, Mary, the manger, the star. But the Passion and the Resurrection are really the meat of what being Christian is, and I can use every reminder I can get that salvation and forgiveness are mine for the asking.

(I even have forgiveness for the family slurping a frappacino and crunching spicy potato chips behind me during mass--but are you really going up to receive the Host with jalapeno breath?)

We have a decent-sized bunny collection going, it grows a little every year. At first, as the grandmothers would send a couple of bunnies each Easter, I began to think, seriously, what do they expect us to do with more bunnies? Then I realized, they are a great way to decorate for spring, and isn't that what bunnies are supposed to do? Multiply? That's the whole they reason they are a symbol of spring and fertility. So I take them out each March, and then pack them away again after the Easter season.

(Which lasts 50 days, my friends, so when you see the egg wreath still on my door, it's not because I'm too lazy to take it down. Ok, not only because I'm lazy. But also because it's officially ok to leave it up until May, when I bring out my red, white, and blue stars wreath in preparation for Memorial Day, Flag Day, and 4th of July.)

So this Sunday, we hosted our 10th Annual Easter Ham and Lamb. We've been hosting Easter for friends, and occassionally visiting family, ever since our first military move to the West coast, and we always enjoy it.

It was just after our first guests arrived that the earthquake struck. "Struck" sounds very dramatic, and really, the shaking wasn't that bad, just rattled the house and made the trees and bushes sway back and forth. Though it did seem to go on for several minutes, which was unusual and a little exciting. We went on with the kids' egg hunt, and then our dinner. While we were eating I heard my cell phone ring, but I knew I wouldn't be able to extricate my self from the table in time to get it. I suspected it was my mother, because she has been fascinated by earthquakes since she felt a small one when she visited us here years ago. I wondered aloud if she had an iphone app for the usgs earthquake alerts. A minute later, my husband's cell phone rang, I figured I'd better get it so my parents wouldn't worry.

Good thing I did.

Back in Georgia, my parents were hosting their own Easter dinner, with my sister and my nephew, and my other sister and her husband. My younger sister just visited us here last week, and she was sharing her stories about San Diego, and wishing she'd had a chance to feel a little earthquake. They teased my Mom about all the email updates she receives about every little earthquake. She insisted it wasn't that many, not since she changed her settings so she only is alerted for 3.5 or above. While playing Scat (a card game) after dinner, my nephew was the first eliminated and went to the computer. He quickly called to the others that there'd been a seven-point-something quake in Southern California.

"What!?" shouted my Mom, jumping up from the table. Everyone tried to calm her, assuring her that it was probably fine. Mom rushed to her computer, looking over my nephew's shoulder as he clicked on different headlines and links. She told me later that it was all she could do to not physically throw him out of her chair so she could start checking for herself. Finally my sister suggested my nephew move, and Mom got more worried when she saw the giant red box over the Mexico/California border. That's when they started calling us, and worrying more when we didn't answer the home phone (the ringer is off) or my cell.

When I answered my husband's phone, it was my Dad, and he put me on speaker phone. I think they were all on the edge of their seats. I had to step outside so I could hear them, and reassure them that we were alright, that there was no damage here. He told me that I should post something on Facebook, and I distractedly said "OK" (I was distracted because all three of my kids had snuck out after me and were running down the street as though their very freedom was at stake).

"No, really, you should, Kristi, because people will be worried," added my older sister.

I assured them I would, then I chased down and caught the two-year-old, and went back inside. I wasn't about to chase the older ones, and we live in a small gated neighborhood anyway.  They'd come back when they realized that freedom, when you're under 8, is overrated.

So I updated my Facebook status, and went back to dessert. Soon the doorbell rang. "Who is it?" shouted my husband.

"US!" called out my son and daughter.

We let them back in. Maybe they finally realized it wasn't that smart to run away from a house full of Easter candy.

How the Sears repair man killed my dreams

Let me state that I have nothing against Sears, in fact, I think I might love Sears. Especially their appliances. Specifically, their appliance outlet stores like the one in San Diego.

So when my Maytag oven went on the fritz, I called upon Sears to send a repair guy. Quite frankly, I didn't know who else to call. I knew exactly what was wrong, the front electric panel had just stopped working and needed to be replaced. It happened once before, when our house, and all the appliances, were still new enough to be covered under warrenty. That time, the home builder's repair guy said he'd replaced four of those panels in our neighborhood already, so it's clearly a lemon.

But it's no longer under warrenty, so to Sears.com I went for help, and scheduled a repair man. Earliest appointment was 8 days later! But I had company coming, I planned to bake a cake for my sister! And I had 2 boxes of brownie mix in the cupboard! Oh, well, que sera.

We muddled thru well enough without the oven. But it seemed like every day I would start planning a meal and then realize I couldn't do it without an oven.

I had a ham I wanted to bake. Breakfast with bacon, which we usually roast in the oven. Cookie dough from the kids school fundraiser came in. My new Better Homes and Gardens had a recipe for an awesome looking chocolate truffle cake made with whole wheat flour. I wanted to bake potatoes. Blueberry muffins for my visiting sister. Scones. Roasted potatoes. Quiche. Yeast rolls. I kept eyeing the whole chicken in my freezer.

So finally Hector came at 9:30 AM on the appointed day. Which is a pretty good target in an 8 to 12 window. He quickly confirmed my assessment of the oven, and that he did have a new panel in his truck.

So then I showed him the fridge, the one that leaked water all over my kitchen last deployment. We trouble-shooted and found that the ice maker pipe was frozen. I fixed it, and we tightened the freezer door so that it won't jiggle slightly ajar when wild monkeys swing from the door handle, as is a common occurence in my kitchen.

So bottom line, oven is fixed, and I one again have ice and filtered water from my fridge. Great! Right?

It's been three days. I did indeed roast some bacon to toss in a pasta dish. And tonight I made a frozen pizza. That's it. No scones. No baked ham. No whole wheat truffle cake. There are still two boxes of brownie mix in my cupboard. The chicken is still solid as a bowling ball.

I now see that the idea of all the things I couldn't make without an oven were just fantasies. Wishful thinking, temptations sparked by the knowledge that I was barred, they were impossible, I just wanted what I could not have. Like the way I am consumed with longing for doughnuts the second I decide to go on a strict diet.

Ok, they're not exactly fantasies. I will eventually make the brownies, and the chicken, the ham, and even the quiche. But the urgency, the sense of loss I had at having the OPTION of baking taken from me--I think that's really insightful.

Hector brought me back to earth. Still, I'm glad I have all my options back. Maybe I'll make some scones in his honor tomorrow. Or some frozen chicken nuggets. Whichever.