How do you solve a problem like Maria?

Thats' the question.

I've found a lump. Yup, one of THOSE lumps. A lump in my happy pillows. It's been around for 6 weeks or so. At least six.. that's when I found it. I was rubbing my pec after a workout and... wait a minute. THAT doesn't belong there.

I've watched it to make sure it isn't a hormonal change thing. It's not. It's still there, being pesky.

Doc is concerned enough about it that I'm getting My First Mammogram. there should be Hallmark cards for that.

So we'll see... just how DO you solve a problem like Maria?

So, I was all set to come on today and write about dreams and the future as I see it. I think about the future a lot, see. I have since June. I know I talk a lot about Eric being sick (and to see him scampering around the roof tonight, you'd think I was crazy. Oh Sparky...) but it's the stressful reality in my life right now, and the one thing I can't just talk about to the average individual. I mean, don't we ALL have that friend who complains constantly, who can turn every conversation back to her woes and ailments?

You: "So, congratulations! That big promotion AND winning the lottery? Amazing!"
Her: "I guess... but the promotion means a new office chair in that corner office, and I just know my sciatica will act up again, and that is so painful... and the big cardboard lottery check gave me the worst papercut- my doctor says I may have gangrene in my pinky now...."

Anyway- I think a lot about what I need to do, how I need to prepare for the future. I'm going back to school once Eric is out, for something that can support us eventually if need be. But I need my creative outlets as well. That's just ME. And while I have my photography and scrapbooking (all hail the suburban mom!).... a part of me longs to write again. Fiction, not just my bloggish ramblings. I've had three stories, three sets of characters living in my head for a while. One is geared towards kids Dash's age, but girls- a girls' sports story. Too many princesses, not enough second basewomen in youth fiction if you ask me. the second is more YA, and it intersects with the world of the third. The characters in the third have a permanent residence in my subconcious, and if I'm not careful I'm going to begin taking on the characteristics of a split personality.

So tonight I was going to write about that, kind of a "pump myself up" thing, get myself geared up to stop thinking and start DOING (or typing). I was in my bedroom, folding laundry and thinking about my post. We keep the kitchen radio on almost constantly during the holidays, tuned to 102.1 for it's constant stream of holiday music. As I was folding and hanging, thinking about all of this, I heard the song "Let there be peace on earth". It made me just stop. I love that song. I remember standing in Mass as a child and singing that song during Advent. But more than that, I remember my Grandma singing it.

Grandma always listened to 61 country on the old radio by her bedside every night. She'd turn on the radio, climb into bed, and listen to whatever program was on. More often than not, she'd sing along. When i was little and staying the night, I'd often sleep in the bed beside her. She'd pat my back (even when I was 7 or 8 years old) and sing along with the radio. "Church in the Valley", "Amazing Grace", and "Old Rugged cross" are permanently etched in my mind as Grandma's songs. I can't hear Amazing Grace without tearing up. I look REALLY devout at church sometimes due to this.

At Christmas time, 61 country would play... well, Christmas songs. And my grandma's favorites were O Holy Night, Away in a Manger, Silent Night, and of course... Let there be Peace on earth. She'd half hum, half sing as she patted my back, lulling me to sleep. And tonight, hearing that song, was a sock in the stomach. Grandma's song. And a rememberance... that Grandma's almost been gone for a year now.

I miss her. A lot.

I believe that moments like that are signs, or messages. So while I was thinking about my future, and what I may or may not want to do, Grandma had a litlte message for me. I'm not sure what it is, but I know she's there.

My heart is open.

Hey, thanks!

Cell Phones ring, are you listening?
Twitter updates, my screen is glistening!
A beautiful site, toys half-price all night!
Scrolling through Cyber-monday land!

Yes, it's that time of year again. Time for good will towards men (as long as they buy you the RIGHT holiday gift), love of your neighbors (at least if they get out of your FNARKING WAY AT THE MALL!!!!), and general all over good cheer (with enough wine. Well, not me. I don't like wine. So, with enough rum.). Seem sarcastic? Only because I work retail.

I shouldn't be complaining. I actually got off easy this Black Friday (Green friday? Chartreuse Friday?). Twelve hour shift, 4am-4pm... and I was actually out the door by 4:30. Customers were mostly polite and well behaved. I won't mention the person who ranted at me because, at 11:00am, we had no more of the $199 laptops. I'll be polite and sympathetic to her obviously delusional state. But all in all, not a bad day. Got in, got out, got it over with.

I have a lot to be thankful for this year, even though sometimes I blink and wonder "Do I, really?" It's hard to look past the bad (okay, it's not so BAD anymore... just "eh" at times) sometimes to see the great things in my life, but here I go.

I'm thankful first and foremost for my husband. He's been through hell the past 6 months, being sick and not knowing why (still don't), discovering he has an incurable kidney disease, traveling for work every week... it all adds up, the weight of the world on his shoulders. But he manages. I don't know how, but he does. Sometimes he's beyond crabby- straight into pissy- but he always pulls it together. I'm thankful for his strength, his love... and most of all, that he's here.

I'm thankful for my children. They infuriate me, they befuddle me, they exhaust me... but they lavish me with love and kisses, they make me explode in great belly-rolling gales of laughter. My kids may keep me running 26 hours a day, 8 days a week... but God, they are worth it.

I'm thankful for my home. Yes, the floors need mopped, the carpet REALLY needs replaced, and the deck should be condemned... but all in all, I'm living in my dream home (my reality dream home. My real dream home has a full 2000 sq ft studio, laundry chutes, and a live in masseuse named Fernando). But I have a home, a home that I OWN...well, me, Eric, and Wells Fargo.

I'm thankful for my neighbors. Each afternoon, I can let my kids go out and play in teh cul-de-sac while I start dinner. I don't have to hover or helicopter, because I know there are many other eyes on them. Sometimes I feel transported back to my own carefree childhood. How great is that?

Finally, I'm thankful for my friends. You keep me sane. You've dug me out of more holes than I care to count.

We have a lot coming up in the next few weeks.... Eric is finally heading to Mayo the 8th and we have the usual end of the year craziness. But right now I can sit back and smile at all the awesome things in my life. Really? I've got it pretty good.

Now, where's my credit card? Cyber monday sales start in four hours!

We interrupt this story to bring you.... life.

Lately, I've had a lot of stress in my life, and nowhere to vent it to. With me, stress is like a pressurized vessel. You can keep heating it and heating it, and the pressure keeps building and building- but eventually its' going to blow. And when that happens, it's not pretty.

I've vented some recently to a friend, but I can't talk to her on a daily basis, and it's not fair for all of our conversations to be:
Her: Hey, K, what's up? How are-
Me: OH MY GOD MY HEAD IS GOING TO EXPLODE DO YOU KNOW WHAT THE KIDS DID YESTERDAY? AND THEN THE DOG PEED ON THE BED AGAIN AND I WAS OUT OF SHEETS AND THEN.....

Her patience is golden, but it only lasts so long. It's a non-renewable resource I don't want to tap out.

She made a suggestion though. "You need to find a way to get this out on a daily basis. didn't you used to keep a journal?" I did, back in high school. My journal was a spiral bound notebook of teenage angst, unrequieted love, and bad poetry.

I am not
Made of Stone
No matter what
The masses think.
I hurt
I bleed
I weep at night.

Move over, Sylvia Plath.

The e-age gave me an online journal that I kept for several years... and I have to admit, it helped. When bad things happened, it was a place to pour it all out. When good things happened, it was a place to celebrate. I left that journal a year ago to leave some people behind. A good move... but I realized after talking to my friend, that I missed the cathartic nature of pouring it all out to the universe.

So here I am. I started this blog some time ago to document the insane life I lead with my family, but I never could find the time to update it the way I wanted to. Now I realize that it's more a matter of necessity to sanity. That could make a good band name. Maybe I should re-take up the spoons.

ANYWAY (look at the kitty!). This is the story of my life. I'm Kh, sometimes known as Silent K, sometimes known as Mom, Mama, Hey you, Honey, Princess, and even That Bitch. I'm a 32 year old mom of two crazy boys. My oldest is 9- about to turn 10 this month. Don't get me started on how fast a decade flew by. He's the Dashman, Big D, or My Bear. He's brilliant, beautiful, kind, and funny. His teachers describe him as the student every teacher dreams of having. He loves to read, and his latest passion is fantasy books. He's a math whiz. he has what is pretty close to a photographic memory. He's never met a kid that doesn't become his friend. He's popular in that "everyman" kind of way, and his birthday party invitation list is a mix of kids from every social segment. Dash plays football and baseball and understands the games more than most adult makes do. He doesn't watch morning cartoons- he watches SportsCenter and Mike and Mike in the morning. He's got blond hair, blue-green hazel eyes (they change depending on what he's wearing and his moods) with dark lashes that make even the 14 year old across the street sigh a little. He's completely oblivious to the fact that he's beautiful, and the fact that he carries my heart around in his messenger bag all day.

My youngest is 4, and the polar opposite of dash in many ways. The Z Monkey is dark where his brother is fair, is loud where his brother is quiet, and dives into everything headfirst, where Dash is more likely to test the waters slowly. Zack has a killer sense of humor, is passionate, headstrong, and vibrant. He loves sports, and plays soccer and t-ball. He requests that his wavy brown hair be spiked, faux hawked, or otherwise styled each morning. He loves the Imagination Movers and wants to grow up to be Mover Dave. He rode his first roller coaster (REAL roller coaster) this past summer, having just turned 4. The Monkey is hell on wheels, but he has a heart of gold, and is the first one to ask if you're okay if you get hurt. Z has speech issues, and goes to a special preschool four days a week to help develop his speech. He works hard, though he balks at home. He also sees an occupational therapist weekly to help with sensory issues. through it all, his sense of self and sense of humor shine through. Sometimes I have to close my eyes and count to ten, but I'm always rewarded for my patience.

I've been married to The Flake for twelve years. We met doing collegiate theatre, and it was the closest thing to love at first sight I can imagine. We ignored everyone and married less than a year later- four days after my 20th birthday. Flake is the most amazing man I know. He's a phenomenal father... every child should have a father as passionate, involved, and caring as my children are blessed to have. He's worked his way up in his company from a part time vacation person (we're talking bottom of the ladder.. maybe not even on the ladder) to becoming a National Director. he's determined, he's a leader, he's incredibly intellegent, he's hilarious.... and quite frankly, he's hot :) You should see the boy in a suit. He's also battling not one, but two diseases that he was diagnosed with this summer: Polycystic Kidney Disease (PKD) and possibly Crohns. I admire him more than I can say.

And me? I'm just a part time retail trainer, full time mom/chef/chauffer/life coach/secretary/nurse/vet/jungle gym, who also happens to be a semi-professional photographer. I'm a team mom, a friend, a daughter, a sister, and at times a conniving little bitch.

This is our story. Excuse me while I go get the shaving cream off of the Monkey's head.

September 1: Ordinary Beauty

At church the upcoming discussion is going to be finding beauty in unusual places.. ordinary beauty that we miss. I like that concept. There are so many things that we miss in the day to day of life that are truly filled with beauty. Unusual beauty.

So for today, September 1st, this is my unexpected beauty. Not for it's form or it's glory... but for what it represents: kindness. See, our washing machine- it's one of those that could probably fly the space shuttle if you asked it nicely. Of course, that means that periodically it begins flashing codes at me- LD, PW, OB, DD. I'm sure they have significance, but at the time I'm too busy kicking the machine and swearing under my breath. Don't get me wrong, it's great that my washing machine can automatically detect if it's being graced with my pink underoos or my kid's stinky football pants... but it's a pain in the kiester when you're trying to figure out what an L5 code means.

So here we are, with no washing machine, in the middle of football season. Ew. I could go to the laundromat... in fact, that's what I planned on doing. It irks me to dish out the money, but it is what it is. Instead, I ended up at my in-laws, doing three loads of much needed laundry today. That's their laundry room. And while some can argue that they're family... of course they should help out- it's still an act of kindness. And kindness, in this world, has a special beauty. their kindness makes this picture beautiful.

HAVE FUN, DANGIT!

It's the last few days of summer vacation, a bittersweet time of anxiety and repressed jubilation when you have school agers in the house. The summer is over- no more lazy days lying around in jammies or staying up too late to watch another movie. It's time to pack your bags and hit the road, Jack. Your life awaits you.

But hold on, wait a minute, gotta get one last blast out. That's why we headed up to the local water park a couple days ago, squeezing those last scorching bits of fun out of August. We pick up theme park season tickets every summer. Sure, it's a bang on the pocketbook that first time out, but after that it's sensible, easy fun. Pack a cooler for lunch or dinner, and head out. We wander around, doing whatever seems like fun. Sometimes we go out for the whole day; others we zip out for a few rides after dinner. The great thing is that we never feel like we have to do ABSOLUTELY EVERYTHING RIGHT NOW TODAY BECAUSE THIS IS OUR ONLY CHANCE. You know that feeling... you paid twenty umpteen dollars and ,by goodness, you're going to get every penny's worth! So you turn into the Fun Nazi, dragging your tired, aching children from ride to exhibit to ride, demanding the good time you paid for.

Fun Nazis crack me up. I mean, I feel terribly for their children, who you know will someday crack in therapy, weeping uncontrollably. "And then... and then it was the MERRY GO ROUND! All it does is go around and around and around.... just like my life!" I expect to see them in certain places- the zoo, traditional theme parks, fairs. But for some reason I'm always suprised to see them at water parks. To me, water parks are filled with a land locked island spirit of sorts. You meander from place to place. There are rides, but it's so much more of a relaxed vibe. I mean, one of the main attractions is called a "Lazy" river! How can you get worked up in a place like this? Oh, but the Fun Nazis can.

At water parks, the true sign of a Fun Nazi is the camera. Yes, a camera. At a water park. And it's not just a disposable, or a cheap digital shoved in a plastic case (of which I'm guilty). We're talking hardware. Digital SLRs, primed and ready for the next great shot of Little Lola and Junior Johnny splashing at the frog pond. Rather than getting in and playing with the kids, the FNM (Fun Nazi Mom) stands at the side of every attraction, her $1000, decidedly NON waterproof camera in hand. "Lola! Lola, honey, look over here! LOOK! OVER HERE! LOLA!" "Johnny, stop going down the slide so fast! Mommy needs to take your picture! Go slower! No, Stop! STOP! RIGHT THERE! Now... no, DONT SPLASH MOMMY!"

Good times, good times.

As we splashed and played that last day of summer, I caught a FNM standing at the side of the pool, holding a camera that easily cost well over a grand- closer to two grand with the lens. I smiled at her and said "You are a braver woman than I!" With a frosty glare, she arched one perfect eyebrow and said "Well, their summer scrapbooks will NOT be complete without these pictures. I can't sacrifice quality." With that she fired off 27 frames per second of Little Lola, all of two years old, looking dejected and nervous amid the running, screaming kids.

Maybe I won't have perfect pictures of my kids at the water park. I'll have some, but they won't be the same quality as SuperPhotoMom has. But I'm okay with that. Because in the end, I want my kids to remember the time we spent together going down slides and racing through waves. I want them to remember it in their heads, and with their hearts, rather than th rough the pages of a scrapbook. I want them to remember it because it REALLY happened.. not because i was directing an artificial scene of fun.

I'll save that for my personal social life. "Here, stand over by this restaurant honey, and it will look like we went out for the night rather than just grocery shopping!"

School bells ring... are ya listening?

It's that time of year again! A time of cheer, a time of happiness, love, peace, and goodwill towards men. No, silly. It's not Christmas.

It's time for the kids to go back to school!

Don't get me wrong, I adore my children. I love them more than life itself. But I'd be lying through my teeth if I said that three months of vacation is a dream waiting to happen. Oh sure, the first month is fun. You have so many ideas and plans! You'll go swimming at least twice a week! You'll have picnics at the park and playdates at the playground! You'll host rousing barbeques on your back deck! You'll pee rainbows and poo bubbles!

Okay, maybe I got a little out of hand there.

By month two, reality begins to click in. It's been raining the last two weeks and swimming has been out of the question. When it's not raining, the park is too muddy to play in. Your kids are sick of peanut butter sandwiches, and no one is hosting a BBQ since that big e-coli scare. The only one peeing anything of note is the family dog- you should probably have that checked out by the vet.

Don't even get me started on month three.

The point is, twelve weeks is a long time for the average family to be stuck in 80% humidity plus happiness. It's not just the parents. My son is secretly gleeful that soon he'll be racing around the playground with his buddies again, not having to deal with his four year old brother All Day, Every Day. And the four year old? Well, lets just say that I've seen him looking longingly at the occasional school bus a time or two this past week. The wait is almost over. In just fifteen days they'll be dressed in their back to school finest, waiting for their golden hued chariots to whisk them back to a life of friends, structure, and milk in cartons.

It hasn't been the summer of our dreams. Somewhere amidst the sunburns and peanut butter, my husband got sick. Really sick. We thought it was food poisoning to start- a bad slice of pizza was surely the culprit. But he didn't get better, no matter how much Pepto we poured down him. So while I ran to baseball games and birthday parties and figured out grocery shopping and carpools, he stayed home, in bed, sick. And when July reared it's head and my favorite holiday- the 4th- approached, rather than celebrating with us by buying explosives for small children, he could barely make it through the day. He spent the holiday weekend in the hospital, getting steroids and antibiotics. Instead of lighting the candles on our youngest's birthday cake, he watched from his hospital room via webcam. He came home after a week, but it's been a roller coaster of medications, tests, many questions, and few answers.

Life- and Summer- go on though, blood draws and colonoscopies be damned. And truth be told, this summer is heading towards it's close. Fall bedtimes have been reestablished, much to my children's chagrin. And while I may not look b ack at Summer 2009 with the fondest of glances, I can say beyond the shadow of a doubt that it was memorable in it's own ways. Even if I didn't pee any rainbows.