time

It is true what they say, you know. Time heals all wounds. Although, Rose Kennedy disagreed and was quoted saying: “It has been said, 'time heals all wounds.' I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens. But it is never gone.”

In my slightly bitter, younger days I would whole heatedly agree with her somewhat half-filled glass sentiment. I understand her point of view. I do. Once the negative feelings eventually erode away, you are left with scars. Sometimes they are physical but mostly they are invisible, and the carrier of these scabbed-over wounds are left to figure out how to deal with them.

For lack of a better explanation, my biological father abandoned me when I was small. He made choices and decisions for himself that negatively impacted my life. And, for a long time, I walked around the world with a giant, gaping wound no one could see. I felt an obligation to love him because he was my dad but yet I felt so hurt and angered and ashamed of his behavior at the same time.

Long story short, my father met another woman soon after my mother changed her life (and mine). One thing led to another, yadda-yadda-yadda, I was the brand-new owner of a step-mother and a baby sister. After a few false starts as a blended/every other weekend family, I rarely saw the three of them. Mom and I went on living. And, that was that. 

Time passed.

As I grew older I did struggle with feelings of being replaced. Heard rumors of untruths. Had my feelings crushed. Wondered why. But, all along, I understood there was really nothing I could do about it. The less I saw of him, the less hurt I became. The wound healed and the pain subsided.

Time passed.

Jump ahead to my adult life, I made a conscience decision to NOT make any more attempts at maintaining a relationship with him. I was pregnant for the first time and I wanted this start at my family life to be simple and unscathed. I wanted my unborn son to have two parents, two sets of grandparents and one family. (Something I secretly always longed for.)

Time passed.

I moved away from my home town. Had two more babies. And, filled my life with diapers, preschool, sports, pets and Facebook. Little by little, I opened my heart up to the people around my father and allowed them to get little glimpses of my world through the magic of the interwebs. My half sister is a married adult with babes of her own. My step-mother divorced my father and is remarried.

More time passed.

Currently I do not, nor do I wish to, maintain any communication with him. That is one small piece of my heart I protect. I don't harbor ill will against him. I just don't wish to rip that scab off. And, maybe, if I'm being honest with myself, it is one small way I punish him for his betrayal. WOW! Get out of my head Dr. Phil!!

My kids have grown older. My life has become crazy busy and full. And another Mother's Day was yesterday. My family and I celebrated with a couple meals and some major downtime. And, per my normal routine, I logged into facebook to check out the goings on.

But something was different yesterday. Something a little bit miraculous. A quiet and a rather simple gesture between two women that shared my life in some capacity throughout the years. My mom and my step-mom became facebook friends. Time had healed wounds for these two women. These two mothers. Which in turn healed my wounds as well. And I felt happy.

Time. Its pace often not what we appreciate. Sometimes too slow, mostly too fast. It sneaks up on us and disappears in an instant. But one thing I know for sure, if we are patient and allow it. Time does heal all wounds.

 

Happy Mother's Day and every day, my friends.

mepps

Recently I was reminded of a little goodie from my childhood. I was searching for some form of entertainment via 'onDemand' on the television when in the top, right corner a blurb about an old movie called The Coneheads was being referenced. Do any of you remember that movie??

The Coneheads was a sketch on the Saturday Night Live television show of the late '70s about aliens with cone shaped craniums that come to Earth to observe everyday life. My mother thought the comedy sketch was hilarious and when I was nine years old, she dressed me up as, you guessed it, a conehead for Halloween. [go ahead...laugh]

She worked painstakingly on my costume. She made a cone for my head that allowed all my hair to be tucked inside. Spray painted it just the perfect flesh color. And, even included a senso-ring. Ha! Oh gawd, how I wish I had a circa 1980ish picture to share with you right now.

So while all my peer counterparts were dressed as princesses and ballerinas, I walked into my third grade class dressed like an alien with a cone-shaped head. I! Know! Now you might understand where my sense of humor comes from a little better.

Those were the years kids wore their Halloween costumes to school for the whole day. And, Halloween parties were called Halloween parties not Harvest Festivals. Truth be told, I sort of loved the originality of my costume. I wasn't like all the other kids walking around in drugstore purchased, plastic costumes that were itchy and falling apart that day. I was a homemade freakin' Conehead! I wore my cone proudly.

After being hopped up on classroom party candy, It seemed like forever waiting for dusk so Mom and I could venture out for trick or treating. At the time we lived in a mobile home park. Mostly filled with young families and older, retired folks. Not the best area for prime candy collection, but the trailer houses were close together and the drives were filled with street lights.

With every knock on the door I was asked the same question: "what are you supposed to be?" And, with every question my excitement and love of my cone dwindled. Nobody in my neighborhood thought my costume was as cool or as funny as my mother and I did. Nobody knew what the heck I was supposed to be.

Jump forward to present day: I was on the phone with Mom. I mentioned to her how I remembered that costume and how nobody in the neighborhood appreciated the fantastic-ness of the Conehead. At nine, I was expecting laughs and instead, I only received puzzled looks. Which in a nutshell is pretty much how my humor is received to this day.

But, in reminiscing about that night almost thirty years ago, we decided the problem wasn't with my costume. Because lets be honest, a nine year old alien with a conical skull is pretty damn funny. The problem was the trailer park filled with older retirees that go to bed at eight o'clock. That was our big mistake!! If I had gone trick or treating in the near-by hippie community that shared in the hilarity of the Saturday Night Live sketch, I would have had success aplenty.

Moral:  Know your target audience!

the story of my life

...is simply baseball, baseball, baseball. I feel like I do nothing else but shuffle children around from practice to game to game to practice and do laundry.

 

White pants + PNW rainy weather + muddy fields = mama does a lot of laundry.
 

 

All three kidlets are playing baseball. Did I mention that already? Meaning the girls play BASEball, not SOFTball. Big difference around these parts. And, everyone we talk to always respond the very same way, "I didn't know girls could play baseball?!" Yup, they can!

 

We tried softball and I do worry my girls aren't making connections with the other girls, but after a couple years of really going nowhere skill wise and schedules being bounced around who had dance and gymnastic and horse riding lessons. Not to mention all the singing and dancing in the dugout. We decided to put the girls into baseball.

 

The kids are on the same schedule. Bonus! Plus, the boys don't dance or sing or even once mention an American Girl doll.

 

It builds some major confidence in our middle child, especially, being nine and all. Lessons she learns is that she can do the same things boys can do, and in most cases kick their butts at it. Not to mention the lessons it holds for the boys having a rocking girl play on their team. So I would like to take a minute and say "you are welcome" to their mothers.

play ball

It's that time of year again. Rain and all!

 

 

 

how much

I was in the pharmacy this afternoon to pick up a prescription I had refilled and I was gobsmacked when the clerk said "your total will be three hundred and thirty dollars."

I almost pooped in my bluejeans.

Three hundred and thirty effing dollars?!?!

The sad part is I really wanted my prescription and I just couldn't let myself pay that much for a teeny, tiny tube of cream for chronic cold sores. Which is currently my throbbing issue. A big fat cold sores on my top lip. I get them all the time. Anytime the weather changes dramatically, or if I let my lips get too dry or if I'm stressed or sick. Wham-O! Cold sore. It's uber annoying!

I thought I would just have to make due with the over-the-counter, supposedly miracle creams until one day I happened to be in the doctor's office and she commented on the hideous thing on my lip last year. With a sigh I told her all my about my embarrassing, painful problem and how I hate it. She wrote me up a prescription lickely-split and unlike what I can purchase in the grocery store, this stuff is a miracle cream.

How did I not pay three hundred and thirty dollars for my magic medicine last year you ask. Well, last year our insurance coverage was different and this potion came into my life free of charge. So when I called the drugstore and dialed in my prescription refill number I didn't think anything would be different.

But before all you Obama-hating-finger-waving Republicans start in how awful, terrible that black guy in the big office is making everything go south, let me say this. I do understand that because of ObamaCare, the company my husband works for had to (or more like wanted to methinks) change their policies. And, it's true our coverage is different and I'm not a fan. Not a fan at all. Mostly because the pay cut my husband endured to work for this company however many years ago was balanced out because of the fantastic benefits we would be provided. Except now, those benefits are no longer. I won't lie, it urks me. And, I also understand the reasoning behind ObamaCare and it's purpose. In theory.

That said, I think if you rally rumblers want something/someone to blame I think you should (we all should) start pointing our fingers at the pharmaceutical companies. I don't know much but I do happen to know there is a farmer in Costa Rica that earns himself about eight cents per plant on crops for a company that makes medicine for the U. S. of A. So how, I wonder, does my magic cold sore medicine go from eight cents to three hundred and thirty dollars?  Obama isn't making my magic medicine....in fact, I have a very strong feeling he could care less about my cold sore.

open letter

Dear Starbucks,

I know the little city I live in was voted "The Friendliest City in America" after all. And, who doesn't like a cheery town?! But, I must admit when I pull up to your drive-through coffee stops, I am faced with a few dilemmas.

Firstly, I can now pseudo skype with the cashiers as I order my drink before I even pull up to the window to see their faces in real time. I'm asked "how are you?" and "what can I get started for you?" and "did you want any food to go along with that?" Frankly, I'm not really sure how I feel about this whole skyping thing. It's cute and all, but I now feel like I HAVE to smile at the computer screen. Not smiling would mean I wasn't being friendly. Not being friendly would go against everything the city I live in stands for. It would be like when Horton asks all the Whos of Whoville to make noise so the Sour Kangaroo has proof the wee society exists. Except at first that old, hopping sourpuss doesn't hear the Whos because of one small shirker named JoJo. I mean, what would happen to the friendliest city with shirkers going about without smiling?! We might lose our title!!! GASP!

But back to you, Starbucks.....when I do finally inch my way up to the window after all the pleasantries, I'm asked 'what plans I have for the day'. Here in lies my real problem, Starbucks. I am stumped with just how honest I should or shouldn't be with the doe-eyed, coffee schlepping workerbees. What plans do I have??? I mean do your employees really care what plans I have? Do they really want to know I need to go buy my kid some new underpants because the washer broke and the new one hasn't come yet. Or that I need to find an over sized sweatshirt, with just one pocket in the front not two pockets on the sides, so that my hormonal eleven year old won't wear the same stinky hoodie every fricken' day. Or that when I get home I need to do the dishes and clean the toilets but how I'm stopping at Starbucks just to prolong the miserable tasks I have on my agenda? No Starbucks. No, I really don't think they want to know that.

So then begins the battle inside my very tired and overly frazzled brain as they stare back at me with a wide grin. What, exactly, do I say in return?? My standbys? "Oh you know, trying to stay dry" or " not much" or "off to run some errands". Or do I play with them a little and announce, "Today is the day I get my head shaved and that Mike Tyson tat on the side of my face I've been wanting!!"

But Starbucks! Thinking that much and that quick before caffeine is hard! I don't have witty comebacks or intelligent statements. I. Just. Want. My. Tall. Skinny. Carmel. Mocchiato for God's shake!!!! You've already forced me to order my coffee in codewords only people of  the Pacific Northwest understand. Other than that, simple 'pleases' and 'thank yous' and 'have a nice day' is enough for me. No questions. No insights into my day. No first names basis. Just give me my drink, take my money and let me drive off into the drizzly, occasional rain showers and possible sun bursts. Because I Am That One Small Shirker in the friendliest city in America.

Best Regards!
JoJo

march second

And then she was seven.

 

Our baby is no longer a baby anymore. She is officially a kid, full of sparkle and glitz. She bleeds glitter and has a rhythm of her own. Meaning she takes her sweet (often excruciating) time in everything she does but once she gets there, she is a solid force to be reckoned with.

 

True story. And, don't go thinking I'm some weird nut job. When my older daughter was born we knew what we wanted to name her and that was her name. But! About two seconds after our second little bundle slid into the world, another name came to me. A name for a girl. At that very instant I knew we would have a third baby and what HER name would be. [Insert Twilight Zone music here]

 

Our newly crowned seven year old announced she wanted a costume party so on November 1st, I headed out and scoured all the clearance Halloween goodies. But, because I got so sick before her birthday, we had to rearrange plans a bit. Instead of whooping it up at home with a big costume party, we celebrated with a costume bowling party. Kids came in their favorite getups and we bowled under the neon lights. All in all, it turned out great.

 

Being a big kid now (and because her mom feels some slight guilt for not being able to celebrate her big day) we've decided to take the baby out of her bedroom and make it fit for a seven year old. Sadly, the nursery elephants are coming down (sniff) and this girl is going glam. Which makes this little fashionista's heart skip a beat. Stay tuned.

hydration of thy soul

Costa Rica, in one word, is magical. I can't think of a better way to explain it. Everything about it fills me up and lightens my mood. Maybe I have a biased view because when I've visited Costa Rica it hasn't been as a tourist but more like a friend. And, I'm not trying to sound corny, but I do really feel like the people I visit and see and laugh with are my friends. Even if we don't always speak the same language.

 

You don't have to spend much time around the people and culture to quickly realize this humid, jungle runs at a different pace than Americans are used to. Things aren't so much important as relationships are.

 

I did my best to soak up as much of this hard working, fun loving, happy place as I could. Madre and I had the best time. We laughed a lot and wore our brains out trying to communicate with our non-English speaking pals. But enough chit chat. I'll let these photos speak for themselves.

Swinging Bridge tour

Most delish bakery

baby moo

every Tico, most often than not, can be seen wearing a pair of these

state bird

break time

ojo azul

can't you just taste the refreshing goodness

Ticos

finca

hola

locals

lush

Madre

typical tico casa

anything can be turned into a fiesta

mode of transport

rio

walking partner to the Super Kike

cluck?

sleeping volcano

afterlife

rojo

howler monkey

line dry

longest bridge

yeehaw

grocery

last day was bittersweet

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You'll be glad you did. Well, maybe not. But hopefully you will.

xoxo

reading logs

Alrighty then....let me climb up on top of my soap box here for a minute. Sit right there and I'll tell you why I am not a fan of reading logs. Ahem! If you have children in school you might be familiar with this contraption elementary school age teachers are fond of. They are simply a log of what your child has read. And, more often than not, there is a signature required of a parental unit before going back to class the next day.

It is such a pain in the rear end. You might be thinking "it's just a signature, on a piece of paper, what's the big deal?" The big deal is I have three very active children, which on any given day feels like thirty-five children. All requiring some sort of guidance and/or help with various tasks. And, all three children read at night in their bed, for a half hour, before going to sleep. This is our routine and it works. These silly reading logs is just one more, unimportant thing, to be done which to be frank, holds no real motivational power at all. It is simply just another tedious thing that is required. I often forget to sign them. And, I often don't care I've forgotten to sign them.

I am not a helicopter parent when it comes to school work. I check in. I stay on top of important learning goals. But I hold my children responsible for their daily school work needs. I do not hover or hold hands or make sure every answer is correct. Because, people, that's not real life. I won't be sitting in their college dorms waiting for them to come in with their assignments and I won't be standing behind their shoulders when they are sitting in their office chairs. The sooner they learn to take responsibility for what is important, get themselves organized to do an assignment and follow through, the better. Can I get an amen?! Do they stumble? Hell yes! And, is that a valuable learning tool. You betcha!!

And, on a side note, 'worksheet and homework packets' is just code for busy work!

So anyway. Back to this nonsense of reading logs. Recently, one teacher decided that if the log came back to school unsigned and unfilled out the next day, students would get marked down on their behavior chart. X amount of mark downs would result in loss of recess or something like that. Sigh. I find no real educational value in this procedure whatsoever. I mean the teacher is just requiring one more thing for the parents, students and themselves to manage. And, when you have a class of thirty-two students....well, that's thirty-two reading logs. It's insane.

Makes no sense to me, especially when our school/school district has a wonderful tool that measures students' comprehension and skill level of books read in something called Accelerated Reading, or AR. Which is, in my mind, a fantastic and very motivational measure of students' reading progress. Way more informative than a paper reading log that a parent is required to sign. Basically, kids read a book and then take a five to twelve question test on a computer. Everything is student ran, giving them power over their learning, and then the computer spits out a result in which the teacher can see how much the student is reading, how much they are comprehending, and gauge reading levels per student.

The amount of silly tasks put upon us is unreal to me sometimes. It's hard not to feel overwhelmed and stressed out when feeling constantly "needled" by everyone. Less is more. Simple is better.

Stepping down from my soap box now to eat some cinnamon bears. Thank you for listening to my plight.

I'm here...

Scrub, scrub, itch, scratch, scrape, scraping off the moss over here. Seems like all the last posts up in this joint start with apologies for going so long in between posts. And, yet again, I feel the need to say "oops, I did it again!" I played with your heart and then got lost in my life. Oh Britney, what we would do with her catchy lyrics.

Truth is, my mother and I whisked ourselves off to Costa Rica and had a fabulous time. But after our return, I became very ill. I spent a better part of two and half weeks laying around and like all things in the Pacific Northwest that sits idle too long, moss starts to take over.

I don't want to go into gory details so here goes. For the last month I have been treated for an infectious disease called Dengue Fever. Don't be scared peeps. Unlike a cold or the flu, Dengue is a transmitted infectious disease, not contagious. It started with a raging sore, swollen throat and minor body aches at first. The physician assistant at my regular doctor's office concluded pretty much nothing except that I did not have strep throat.

Then it got way worse.

After suffering through four days of feeling like I was an arthritic 90 year old that just got hit by a bus and left in the ditch, my husband started doing some research on the good ole internet. He decided all my symptoms matched Dengue but I thought it all sounded too exotic and far fetched. However, not being able to use my hands and feeling like a crippled up, pile of painful goo, I decided to search out an infectious disease doctor because it was, is more painful than childbirth while running a marathon after winning the local hotdog eating contest. It hurts yo!

To date there is no cure. (I've heard they are trial testing a vaccine however) So like all viruses, you have to wait it out. Armed with some pain medications I was able to peel myself back up onto my feet. I still have some lingering minor pain mostly in my wrists and knees but it's tolerable now.

So that folks, in a nutshell, is why I haven't been around. My apologies.

I do have so much to share with you though. Costa Rica for one. Oh how I adore that little nook of the world. And, the kids' basketball season which overlapped the start of baseball season. My eleven year old's first (and hopefully last) in-school suspension. Ugh! Miss Petite's seventh fete too. Not to mention the household fun that was had when we discovered our septic tank was backed up. Oh and I'm pregnant!!!

Gotcha! I was just testing to see if you were still with me on this current ramble. I'm sooo not pregnant. Three will be the death of me, a fourth would surely kill me.

hoops

 

It's that time of year again. My most favorite kid sport ever....even though I really know nothing about it aside from the basics. Meaning the players try to throw the bouncy ball into the basket thingy.

 

Why is it my favorite sport then? Well, because it's fast and active. The parents get to stand (or sit) indoors in a warm gym. Every kid plays a lot...nobody is standing in the wings while the coaches all-star kid plays over and over again. And, the kids get a lot of exercise running up and down the court.

 

Turns out El Fuego's not so great experience in football served him well with some 'blocking' skills in basketball. That is until the referee bluntly told him "this isn't football kid!" Parental units got a good chuckle out of that one.

 

Our girls team are a little behind the eight ball as they are one practice short because they didn't have a coach. Mr. Hawthorne finally raised his hand and the team took off running. Two hours fr practice and they won their first game with a score of 20 to 10. Not too shabby.

 

I have to say, I do love this little team Miss O landed on. The group works really great together....

 

....and Miss O is happy.

t minus 3 days

The last couple of weeks have been a whirlwind of wrapping up and preparing. The chance to go to Costa Rica kicked my rear end into hyper drive. The freezer is stocked, the suitcase is half packed, the schedule has been mapped out and every day I try to check mark more items off my do-to list. Unfortunately, I seem to add more items to my list than I check off.

Jeans. Check.

T-shirts. Check.

Passport. Check.

Camera. Check.

Hiking boots. Check

Charging cables. Check

Mostly, I feel prepared but at the same time feel like I'm forgetting something.

The kids didn't go to school today in honor of Martin Luther King Jr. I think a better way to honor the man who fought for equal rights would be to send the kidlets to school, but that is battle I don't think I'm going to win today. I was actually cool with the three-day weekend because the girls are fighting off the cold bug that seems to be flying around. An extra day to rest was a good thing. They watched movies, while the neighbor kid and El Fuego played xbox, so the day has been rather low key.

I continue to run around while washing bedding, cleaning house and preparing for Grandma's stay in my absence. But, I'm tired today. Miss Petite got a little sewing doo-dad kit for Christmas and I spent about an hour and half sitting on the floor sewing the little bugger together. Half way through the project, Miss Petite disappeared. Of course. And, when I was all finished and presented the project to her, she was all like, "oh, put it over there." Grrrr!

Then I worked on Valentine's Day party prep for the first grade class because I'm one of the room moms and it's my duty to supply the six and seven year olds with a par-tay. I wanted to have everything pretty much wrapped up before I left so scrambling afterwards wasn't an issue. So I made a plan and made an online order. This little shin-dig will be on level "chill".

Four loads of laundry later, I'm still in my pajamas, the garbage cans are still on the curb and no dinner plans have been put into place in spite of the well stocked freezer.

Ten minutes later: Scratch that, I just put my go-to easy dinner in the oven. Frozen chicken breast, sliced potatoes and Italian dressing thrown in the oven. M'm M'm.

Another ten minutes and four games of Bejeweled later: I'm wrapping this long winded post about nothing special up. Relieved? Yeah, me too....

check, check, 1, 2, 3, check

So, you probably thought this ole windbag was up to posting at this here blog again, huh. You might have even come back to check?? And, then......nothing. I'm sorry. The truth is, I just feel so boring. A day in my life typically looks like me dragging myself out of bed, walking kids to the busstop, cleaning house, doing chores, yelling at the dogs for peeing in the house....again!, picking kids up at the busstop, making dinner, cleaning some more, putting kids to bed and sitting on my a$$ until the next day rolls around.

I know, I just put myself to sleep too.

Sometimes I have great angst about my professional life on a train going nowhere and what I've chosen to give up in replacement for being a stay-at-home mom. Don't get me wrong, I am grateful in every way possible that I get to be home. I get to send the kids off to school. I get to volunteer in their classrooms and be around when a kid (or two) gets sick. I get to be standing there every afternoon when the bus pulls up in front of my house. I love that! I really do. Some days less than others, but you know what I mean, right mothers?!

However, on the flip side, I've taken myself out of the rat race for eleven years now. I'm not building my retirement plan. I'm not buffing up my resume. And, it makes me scared in many ways. It was like as soon as I push that first baby out into this new life, I also walked off the face of the working force world. And now, I am 'just' the designated cook, laundry doer, maid, food shopper, waiter, dog walker and personal chauffeur. I walked this weird, tight-rope, journey. I had baby blues, and moving blues, and gaining weight blues, and questioning my role in life blues. I sort of flipped everything I had worked towards for all my life (ie: college, job, marriage, house, family, back-to-work...in that order) and got all Willy Wonka on that sh*t. My picturesque image wasn't as white picket fence as I had imagined. Not bad! Just different. And, sometimes sad.

In March 2011, I made a big decision to do something for myself. I elected to have surgery on my guts which essentially took 'me' out of the equation for a solid three weeks and it caused stress on my family. Things didn't run on autopilot. Meals might not have been the healthiest. Neighbors complained about barking dogs left out too long. The house was mostly messy. I didn't feel 'good' and I suffered a full gamut of emotions. It was hard at first, and I felt guilty for putting hardships on my family. In the end, however, I wouldn't have done anything differently. Almost two years later, I am ninety-five pounds lighter and totally feel like I've taken me back.

In January 2012, I was given an opportunity to spend ten days in Costa Rica. It was, in two words, LIFE CHANGING! I went into the rainforest just a tired mom of three but I came back to my life with renewed spirit and a positive outlook on everything around me.

 

The little non-sense dramas didn't bother me. The over analyzing of trivial problems were brushed off. The jumping on bandwagons to criticize others were pointed out as such. The importance of family and loving one another was more important to me than ever before. But besides all that, which is wonderfully awesome, I also realized in full force how my absence was difficult on my brood and my husband. Stress was transparent. But this jungle I emerged from helped me to see that even in the trials my family faces with my absence I can find good. Meaning, I am a much needed, intricate piece to this little world I call my own.

 

Slowly I put my home and my people back in order. And my life fell into a routine which included sending my peeps off to their workplace and learning institutes, as I was left behind to clean, cook, dog walk and organize once more. Welcome to the world of motherhood and wife of one. Glamorous ain't it?!

 

That said, my renewed spirit carried me far. I mothered better. I wifed harder. I valued friendships more often. And, I organized like no other. I looked back at my experience fondly whenever I felt low. Like mini-Costa Rican pick-me-ups. Anytime, my life was rocked by a little unpleasantness I would remind myself of the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity I was able to experience and remembered what is truly important.

 

And THEN!!!! Out of the blue and totally unexpected, the opportunity to go to Costa Rica again (at the end of this month) fell into my lap once more. The pieces fell into place in a days time, literally. Getting struck by lighting can happen twice for reals people!!! I am nervous about leaving my family while I trapes back into the rainforest, I cannot lie. I know it's stressful on my man and the normal routine of the my kidlets is rocked. That said, I won't be gone as long this time and my mother-in-law kindly agreed to stay with the fam to ensure the place isn't burnt down. Her being here also ensures Mr. Hawthorne's work schedule won't be effected. I'm crossing my fingers everything goes smoothly for everyone here in my absences.

 

I will miss them much but I firmly believe this is a good thing for all involved. I do. I feel much guilt for leaving, again. But I know the good it does for us all far outweighs the tough.

 



radio silence

It has been a long while since I've updated, huh folks. Much has happened, but not much on an exciting front, mostly just busy family/holiday/kid stuff. Boring to most I'm sure. I've filled my need to overshare via facebook these days. Pictures of comings and goings, dogs in precarious positions, kids being kids paired with one liners. I know some are leery of the gigantic timesuck and I agree, much time can be sucked away. But, I can honestly say, I love it.

I've partly been MIA because of the horrific Sandy Hook shootings. My dear college pal lives in Newtown and was hit close to her heart by the tragic event. Blabbering on about happy nonsense here felt just so unclassy. I came to this spot many times. Logged in, even. Stared at the blank screen. Only to back out and walk away for everything I could ramble on about didn't feel right.

That said, I am responsible for this wee family I share my abode with. My offspring are, for the most part, not mature enough to really grasp and understand the hugeness of December 21st. We talked about what happened and ensured the safety of their own school.  And, then we honored those twenty sweet faces by being positive while focusing on happiness and family.

That Friday was the start of the kids' winter break. We celebrated the holiday with a close encounter of the jolly kind, aka Santa Claus. Being that we live near Seattle, we decided to visit "fancy" Santa at the ever popular Nordstroms for the first time. Ever popular because we stood in line for three hours. (Never again people!) And, being Seattle, which brides itself on celebrating differences and originality, our Santa was also hearing impaired.

Other activities included:

Mr. Hawthorne and I ran the Jingle Bell 5k together. I beat my race time by fourteen minutes. Which was partly due to actually running and not walking.

The Divine Miss O had her expander put in to correct her bite and realign her jaw. I have to turn this little doohickey every day while it slowly moves things around. It gives me the hibbie-jibbies every time I turn the key. Because of this contraption stuck in the roof of her mouth, we get to enjoy the awful sucking noise made on a regular basis. Tis a lovely sound. Not!

We shared a most delish brunch with family while the cousins ran around playing and giggling. My heart is always filled when the cousin kids are together. Brings back memories of camping at the beach, sleep overs, and playing hide-n-go-seek in the woods with mine.

 

Christmas day was mellow and relaxing and really lazy. Lazy because Mr. Hawthorne and I hit the sack around 2am and the kids woke us up around 6am. We had fun opening gifts and playing with our new toys. The entire day was very peaceful, just the way I like it.

 



 

The rest of vacation was spent relaxing, organizing, making Goodwill runs, cleaning, watching movies, partying with friends old and new, cleaning and eating. And, just as quickly as winter break began, it ended. I put the kids back on the bus earlier this week and slipped back into my routine. 2013 has been great so far. I hope yours has too.