Slide. Splash. Repeat.

One of the reasons I started this blog waaaaayyyy back when is because I'd fallen so far behind in scrapbooking that by the time I finally got around to putting pictures in albums, I'd forgotten the cute stories that went with them. And now that same problem seems to be striking my blogging efforts.

A couple weeks ago, while visiting family in the Twin Cities, we stayed at a hotel/waterpark near Elk River. I'm sure my kids made some wonderfully cute comments, but I didn't write them down, and now I can't remember them.

What I do recall is that Syndey - no surprise - was in the water constantly.

She's been asking if/when we could go on vacation again to Michigan, pretty much ever since we left Michigan last summer, primarily because she wants to return to the waterpark there.

Meanwhile, AJ discovered a big slide that wasn't too scary for his overly cautious nerves. And suddenly he was the one who couldn't be stopped. Up the steps, down the slide, into the water, and repeat. Again. And again.

And again.

And again. This is the face of a boy who's not just having fun, but who has conquered a longstanding fear.

And where was Sydney all this time? Playing in the water. Any water she could find. The kiddie area. The water basketball area. The floating path. The hot tub with Mom. It was all good.

And of course they're now asking when we can go back. As a waterpark it wasn't bad, but the rest of the hotel was about as basic as they come. For instance, good luck getting a pizza delivered to your room. There was no phone book in the room. And once the pizza was ordered and delivered, good luck signing the credit card slip because there was no pen in the room. What hotel room doesn't include a cheap plastic pen and small pad of paper? Not this one.

Though the shampoo smelled really good. So it's all about priorities, I guess.

AJ, I suspect, will always have fond memories of this place, if for no other reason than he finally felt brave.

It lives to drive another day

It's almost 10 years old and topped 150,000 miles earlier this fall. It's cluttered and unwashed (which is normal) and now smells like an oily machine shop (Bonus!)

But it's home in my garage again. And it starts. And it drives. And I'm very, very happy because I really wasn't ready to say goodbye to it quite yet.

It's silly to feel an attachment to a car. Especially to a car I once argued we shouldn't buy because it was too expensive and I'm a cheapskate. But Jeff really wanted it. "It's probably the only time in my life I'll ever be able to buy a new car," he said.

And he'd just returned from an overseas deployment, and I was so happy to have him home that I said, "Fine, dear. We'll get it. Even with the heated seats, which is absolutely a luxury we don't need."

But then somehow I ended up being the one to drive it most of the time. And soon I was asking why we hadn't splurged to get the heated steering wheel, too.

This car brought us to the hospital the night AJ was born, and brought our new family home a few days later. (I think it also provided our transportation when Sydney was born, but between the labor pains and subsequent sleep deprivation, I can't remember for sure.)

But what makes this vehicle the most special is what it taught me in the last two weeks: to trust that God is always watching over me.

The adventure started two weeks ago. Driving home from work, I was focused on stopping at the school to register AJ for hockey. Suddenly the car started making a weird noise. It wasn't the radio or anything rattling in the console. I hit the gas and the noise got louder. I hit the brakes and it got a little quieter, but not much. Just as I reached the main intersection in town, I braked to stop and, boy, did the car ever stop. The battery light came on and something - either smoke or steam - started billowing out from under the hood.

I jumped out of the car, reaching back in to turn on the hazard lights and grab my cell phone. Almost immediately, (either the first or second car to come upon me) a random stranger stopped and offered to help push me out of the intersection. Before he had a chance to do that, by wonderful coincidence, my next door neighbor happened to show up in his tow truck and asked if I needed a lift. Then, while he was busy hooking up my car, AJ's old hockey coach happened to drive by and stopped to see if I needed help. Who has luck like this?!? 

As he drove me home, Cory theorized it the problem was a serpentine belt, something he'd be able to fix that night. But a short time later he called with the bad news. It wasn't that. He suspected the engine was shot and offered to tow it wherever we wanted for a second opinion. He also offered to let us use their spare car until we figured out what we were going to do.

My mind was still reeling trying to figure out how we could afford two car payments, but I gratefully accepted his offer.

Meanwhile, Jeff got on the phone with our other neighbor - the one who works at a car dealership and helped us buy our minivan. Tim immediately offered to start looking for a used car for us. And then asked if we'd like to borrow one of their cars.

Again, I ask, who has luck like this?!? We are so blessed to have such good neighbors.

My mind continued to race. We'd just ordered carpet to replace what our old cat had damaged. It was scheduled to be installed the following week, but I was wishing we'd waited another week so the charge would go on the following month's credit card bill. And we'd just bought tickets to see Don Rickles perform at Mystic Lake. Add up the cost of the tickets, hotel stay, dinner and drinks and it'd probably be a $300-$400 evening.

And that's when I noticed the message light blinking on our phone. Voice mail message #1 was from the flooring place, apologizing that the carpet we'd ordered was on back order and we'd need to push back installation by a week. Voice mail message #2 was from the Mystic Lake box office, regretfully informing us that the Don Rickles performance and assuring us we'd get a full refund.

At that point I knew we'd get through this.

Over the next few days, talking with friends and colleagues, we heard about a place that fixes engines, and got an estimate for a used engine: $2,300. Meanwhile, we talked with Tim next door and asked about the trade in value for the car. As it - $100. Get it fixed - $2,400. 

Could there be a more obvious sign from God?

Despite this, when Sunday rolled around, I considered cutting back on our normal offering amount. I knew we'd be cutting back on everything else, and tried rationalizing in my mind that it'd be okay. But I couldn't quite justify it and so wrote out the check for the normal amount.

The next day, Cory towed our car to the repair shop. Later that afternoon, I got a call from them asking who'd told us the engine was the problem, because the car started right up for them. It no doubt had serious problems, but it wasn't the engine.

The next day (last Tuesday) they ran whatever diagnostic tests they do and determined the frost plug blew out, damaging the starter in the process. The head gasket also was shot. But bottom line... estimate for repairs was $1,200. So in the space of a week we went from needing a new car, to a $2,300 repair, to the relatively bargain priced $1,200 fix.

And today, when at last the car was ready to be picked up, the final price was $1,143 - and they'd changed the oil and done a few other things as part of that total cost.

Did I mention all this happened during the relatively calm few weeks in between soccer and hockey? God will not give us more than we can handle. If ever I need a reminder, I just have to take a drive. In the car that I'm so thankful to be able to continue driving.

 

In good times and bad, and fire safety drills

I started this post on Wednesday, and by "started" I mean I loaded a picture and video clip, but didn't quite get around to writing anything.

It's been an interesting week. Mostly good. Though I was really hoping to include a photo of me behind the wheel of my car, but I can't, because it's still not fixed. So I guess that story will have to wait until some time next week.

But I choose to focus on the good, which included wedding anniversary number 14 for Jeff and me. We tried really hard to be creative and re-create one of our wedding photo poses. But instead I ended up looking like I was blinking, and I can't help but notice how badly the picture frame behind us needs to be straightened.

To be fair, the original photographer was a professional. And our current photographer is eight and a half. 

Other exciting news of the week: it was fire safety week for first graders, which meant we got to do a family fire drill. Those are so much fun! We haven't gotten to do one of those since AJ was in first grade. 

This time around we weren't quite so organized. During dinner one night this week, Sydney reminded us we were supposed to have already signed the slip saying we'd done the drill and sent it back to school with her. Once again, it's the curse of being the second child. With AJ, we carefully plotted a time to catch the kids off guard and Jeff snuck out of the room to trigger the smoke detector. With Sydney, after she reminded us, I looked at Jeff and said, "Now's as good a time as any," and then did my best to make fire alarm sound.

The good news: the kids remembered to head to the mailbox, AJ did not yell at everyone to get into one line, the dog responded relatively calmly and waited for me to clip on his leash, and now that the cat is gone, no one feels guilty about heading out of the house without her.

So all in all it was a successful drill.

When we returned to the house, Sydney demonstrated what else she's learned as part of fire safety week:

I noticed she added a move beyond the traditional "stop, drop and roll" and asked her why she covered her face with her hands.

"So smoke wouldn't get in your face."

Smart kid. Let's hope we never have to do this for real.

Now if I could just get my car back, all would be well.

Inspired to write

Inspiration can come from anywhere. Or anyone. Or anything.

When you're talking about inspiration to write, each writer's source is different. For me, it's sometimes a need to express myself. Writing helps me work through complicated thoughts or feelings. Sometimes I'm inspired by my audience and the desire to share with them something I think they will find interesting.

For Sydney, inspiration must come from the tooth fairy. Because twice now, when she's lost a tooth, (and pretty much no other time) she's reached for her diary to record this most exciting news.

Dear Diary, I lost my second tooth.

For weeks now, Sydney has wiggled her finger around on her tooth, insisting that the tooth is loose. She's requested apples for snacks and corn on the cob for dinner, but the tooth remained firmly in her mouth.

In recent days, I could at last tell it was loose. Sydney could twist it in her mouth. But still it stayed in place.

Finally this past weekend, with little fanfare and thankfully little blood, the tooth came out. Sydney wiggled or twisted it just enough and out it came. She of course has since had to tell just about everyone she's seen, "I pulled out my tooth myself."

When you're six, there's nothing like a lost tooth to remind me you that all is right with the world. And once she recorded this this history news in her diary, she went on to ask for help spelling the other major development in her life.

I am finally in girl scouts.

If you see her, don't let on that you know all this. It's very important that no one peak at the top secret stories in her diary. I'm the only one who knows, and I'm sure that will only last for as long as she needs help with spelling.

Hockey during the off season and other things that make life hectic

The longer I go without writing, the harder it is to get started. Should I just jump in with the latest news as if I haven't had a two week absence? Should I try to write one massive post about everything that's been going on? Or do I try to pick up where I left off and eventually I'll get caught up?

Maybe I'll just start writing and see what happens next. And by "what's next", I'm hoping that doesn't mean another two week absence.

This is supposed to be our calm month. We're in between soccer and hockey seasons, which should translate into a slower-paced schedule. Except in the last week one of our cars died. (Three days after we got a flat tire on our other vehicle.) There was hockey registration, and Girl Scout leader training (that's going to be my next adventure) and, oh yes, even though it's not hockey season, we still had hockey. Six straight days of it.

We signed AJ up for a week long camp in Cloquet. We were able to register him as a Squirt, which means he was skating with kids who were one or two years older and bigger than he was. It was a good challenge for him, and for the most part he held his own.

One unexpected bonus of the camp was one of the coaches who showed up. Jamie Langenbrunner - a Cloquet native who just wrapped up a nearly 10 year career in the NHL (and who apparently had a son skating in the same camp.)

How many eight-year-olds can say they skated with a professional hockey player? After the third practice, AJ dug through his hockey cards, and sure enough! Armed with the card and sharpie marker, AJ couldn't wait to head back to the rink where, on the next night, he got it autographed.

And a picture! Note the gloves in the photo below and in the picture on the card. "He was wearing the same gloves!" AJ noted in awe.

Another fun part of the camp - getting to skate with a new friend. AJ's buddy Lucas, who just moved her from Superior, also registered for the camp. The boys will be on the same team come winter, and had a great time practicing together.

But now we're done, and should have three hockey-free weeks ahead of us. With all that spare time, I'll hopefully find time to write.

She didn't live forever

Over the years she's been called the cat that will never die and that &#%$ cat that will live forever just to irritate my husband. She's been unfortunate from the start - saddled with a name that was picked before I knew I'd be getting a female cat.

Spike.

She's been with me for more than 18 years. I don't know what that equals in cat years, but in human years, that's most of my adult life. Here's how young I was when I first brought her and her sister Maddie home after responding to a free kitten ad in the newspaper:

Our relationship can best be described as complicated. Spike was not an easy cat to love. She wasn't as pretty or affectionate as Maddie. But I couldn't love her less, just differently. While Maddie came across as beautiful but dumb, Spike looked ornery and conniving. Maddie could pull off a "who me?" look even when caught in the act. Spike looked guilty no matter what. But Spike liked me and trusted me, and she ignored everyone else. As long as she had me, she needed no one else. And so I loved her with a fierce protectiveness.

To be fair, I was probably not an easy human for her to love. I inflicted all sorts of crazy ideas on them. Since they were my first babies, I featured them proudly on Christmas cards each year. Here's from 1995 (message: Merry Christmas from our set to yours) when I borrowed some lights from the TV station and started a small fire in my apartment:

The next year I tried an easier idea: I brought them to work with me for a photo on the news set. Did I mention Spike also hated car rides? Another unpopular idea. 

I gave up on fancy after that. It was me and and the cats under the Christmas tree in 1997.

Fast forward to 2001, Jeff and I were now married and had just bought the land where we now live. By then we'd added a hyper dog to the mix, and brought them all for the photo opp. Look hard and you can find Spike showing her lack of cuddliness in my arms. (Worth noting: it was a year prior to this picture that I learned I was allergic to cats. And still I kept them. Because they were my first babies.)

Spike's biggest issue, however, was what the vet once termed "inappropriate urination". Translation: she peed where she pleased when she was displeased about anything.

Such as Jeff. He was competition for my attention and she had no time for that. Spike had to give Jeff a whole bunch of new hockey gear one year for Christmas. Had Jeff had his way, we'd have gotten rid of her back in 1999. During a pre-marriage counseling retreat, Spike was identified as the single biggest source of tension in our relationship.

Jeff is a saint for putting up with her as long as he did. For any of his colleagues, if you saw him doing a happy dance at work today, you now know why. He outlasted the cat.

(Maddie, for those who may not know, passed away fourl years ago.) And still Spike lived on. And on.

She had no interest in cat nip and other toys cats were supposed to play with. When a mouse got into our basement, she ignored it. Even when it pooped in her food dish. No lie.

If it was possible, Spike grew crankier and even less affectionate in recent years. She seemed to come out of her shell a bit during the couple months when we were in between dogs and she was the only pet. But ever since Gus joined our family, she's grown more and more withdrawn. Most of her days she'd spend hiding and sleeping in Sydney's closet or under her bed.

There have been more and more instances of "inappropriate urination".  I knew the situation wasn't good, and in some ways wished she would die so so I wouldn't have to make the dreaded decision to end her life. Finally, last week, Jeff had had enough. And I don't blame him. The carpet in Sydney's room and on the stairs to the basement stinks beyond words and will have to be replaced.

Last Friday, I made the dreaded call to the vet. They could have gotten us in that day, but I wasn't ready. I purposely picked a day farther off to so that I could have just a few days more with her. I confined her to the basement so she'd do no more damage upstairs. And the days marched on. I started really looking at her and seeing how badly she was limping and how mentally dazed she often looked. How bad has she been for how long and I just didn't want to see it?

Spike stayed true to her character right up until the end. I brought her upstairs so the kids could say goodbye before school, and she managed to sneak away and hide behind our bed. She's always been able to sense when something unpleasant was imminent. Jeff and I had to pull the mattress and box spring off the bed in order to get her out. Why should this trip to the vet be easier than any other trip we've made? At last I set off with her to the vet.

As hard as it was, I needed to do it by myself. I needed to be there with her because I'm the only person she's ever trusted and needed. As always, she purred and yowled at the same time for the entire car ride and while we waited in the exam room. She managed to projectile shed fur and dandruff all over my clothes while we waited for the vet.

And then, in a matter of seconds, she was gone. I'm glad it was quick and painless. But it seems so unreal that a cat can be living, breathing and purring one moment, and then just a few seconds later be forever still.

We will never get another cat. My heart is heavy, but I know it's the right decision for me, my allergies and my relationship with my husband.

I will miss you, Spike.We grew up together, and I am thankful for the many years we shared.

Adventures in vegetables

One of these years I'm going to plant a vegetable garden.

I should mention I've been saying that for years. The problem is we'd have to do a lot of work just to create a garden space that's level; safe from rabbits, deer and a poorly trained golden retriever; and can be reached with a garden hose. And then there's all the work of planting and weeding and watering - a lot of which needs to be done right when I'm needing to run the most miles while training for the half marathon. Plus, I'm kind of lazy.

And so one more year has passed with no garden in our back yard.

Last year, I at least started growing herbs in a large pot, and had relatively good results. This year, I let the kids talk me into expanding my container gardening efforts by planting a couple tomatoes. In a moment of weakness, or perhaps of forgetfulness on my part that I usually kill plants, I broke down and spent $6 to buy two small tomato plants at Home Depot several months ago. 

All summer long we've watched the plants grow on our back step, making sure it had enough water but not too much. At last two small tomatoes appeared. Slowly they grew bigger, but stayed green. And then, one day it finally turned red. With black spots that might have been mold.

We quickly plucked it and cut off the potentially bad part, and then used the rest of it - along with a bunch of other tomatoes we bought on sale at Cub for far less than what we spent on the two plants, to make salsa.

Meanwhile, we've discovered a far more reliable method for acquiring fresh produce. The Saturday morning farmers' market about three miles from our house.

Sydney came with me two weeks ago and had a great time. All those tables covered with brightly colored vegetables displayed right at her eye level for her to choose from and carry in her bag. Sydney simply couldn't resist!

"Let's get these!" She'd excitedly point at vegetables she doesn't even like.

And I'm pretty sure I got a lot of extra veggies simply because who can resist such a cute helper? Several times, as I was paying for something, I'd hear one of the vendors say, "Throw in those loose carrots," or "Here, just take all of these. She'll love them."

I have to admit I might also have gotten a bit carried away. My refrigerator now holds a big bunch of kale. I've only used kale once, and don't recall the recipe, or if we even like it. But just in case, I'm ready!

Last Saturday we returned. This time with AJ. He thought it was pretty awesome, too. Fresh green beans are his new favorite healthy snack. And tomatoes.

Sunday, I attempted to can some of those tomatoes. I had 80 percent success. Five pint jars sealed with diced tomatoes inside. Two hours later, one of the lids popped up. But the other four worked. 

I also roasted some of the tomatoes and made salsa. But then we ate it before I attempted to save any for later. I think I'm going to have to make some more.

I might even have a few more homegrown tomatoes to add to the mix. Tomato #2 from the back yard is finally ripe. And three other small green tomatoes have now appeared. Hopefully they'll have enough time to grow and turn red before frost gets them.

Thank goodness for farmers markets to back me up.