Attitude Wins a Starbucks Card

Upon picking up Hope from gymnastics on Tuesday she informs me her coach has been really stressed out this week and the following conversation ensued:

Hope:  Mom, Shannon has been SO stressed all week!  You HAVE to buy her a Starbucks card so she won't be crabby anymore.

Me:  Well, I'm pretty stressed out and crabby a lot and no one buys me a Starbucks card.  (yes, I know... this is a good self reflection moment - there is an opportunity for improvement here but that is totally not the point of this story!)

Hope: (pausing just briefly...) yeah... (slowly spoken) that wouldn't help you (again, drawn out with pursed lips and a tilted head as if I were insane for even suggesting something so simple could make me happy).

Me:  (raised eyebrows and at a loss for words because I know my response was totally inappropriate and I got called on the table...)

And then I busted up laughing (uncontrollably) and bought Shannon a Starbucks card just so I could share this hilarious story with her coach who encounters Hope's attitude more often than not. 

Gone Living

Over the past 12 months I've been busy, busy, busy... I never took the time to write down my thoughts on paper but every night as I sipped my coveted glass of wine I jotted down a blog in my head, hoping to at least imprint the memory in my mind. Truth be told, I've missed the ritual of spinning words on paper to tell a wild and crazy tale that provides glimpes of this wild ride I'm living. And what a roller coaster ride this past year has proved to be. For all the twists and turns below I have grand plans to reconstruct each story into a well documented memory... here is a window into what has evolved in my life and how each plunge continues to shape me - here are just of few of the memories that make up my inner most being.

After 22 Years My Heart was Once Again Made Whole

My Karaoke Gene Lives On at an Indian Reservation

A Meow of a Time

Saying Goodbye and New Beginnings

Christmas Picture Drama

A Snowy Adventure in Denver

Medical Quandries

The Yarbrough Family Christmas of 2011

The Happiest Place on Earth

Post soon to follow on each of these rides... stay tuned!

Did You Eat Me?

One recent outing to Barb's combined with an absurdly preposterous photo had my littlest babe believing I partook in infanticide. I was simply showing Hope some earlier photos of her ridiculously crazy hair when she was just a toddler. Nico was not interested in taking a trip down memory lane if he was not involved and so inquired why he wasn't in these photos. I assured him he was with us - just still in my belly. A similar photo (that I am so proud to share with the world) was produced to satisfy his desire to be included.


His very serious and concerned response to viewing this picture:


"Did you eat me?"


Well... it kind of does look like I ate him! But note: I did not eat that tub of ice cream next to the regulation size basketball under my shirt. As appalling as this photo might be to you all I am proud to say that this was taken approximately 7 weeks before I actually gave birth to Nico.


But now that you've digested my pregnant nature in this picture (no pun intended!) back to the point of this story... after I wiped the tears away from laughing and finally had the breath to tell curious bystanders what was so funny I promised Nico that I did not eat him for lunch that day. I told him he was much too cute to eat! Thankfully no subsequent questions ensued about he got in my belly to begin with.

A Real Witch

I might just be a real witch...

And Hope just may love dressing up like her Mommy...

But make no qualms about it... Hope is, without a doubt, exactly like Sarah...

Not to mention that Riley often gets mistaken for Barb's twin...

Does this mean Batman looks like Janet???

To view all of our annual, traditional Halloween fun click here...

I want to be a Rock Star

Post turkey coma (and groggy after a day filled with family and friends, good wine and a few rock star serenades) I awoke to a sad and confused little boy peering over my bed, staring directly into my eyes, only inches away from the fog that was settling into my mind. On the verge of tears my littlest babe pleaded desperately vying for some sympathy or perhaps just a bit of consolation. In his shaky voice Nico barely managed a very sad little whisper of a whine:

“My room… is a MESS!”

He too seemed to be lingering in the after effects of a Thanksgiving party that ran late into the previous night. I visualized my own pile of unattended dirty dishes downstairs and I gently assured Nico that waking to a messy room was simply a sure sign of a great party the night before. Then I tried to lure him into my arms and under my warm blankets for a few more moments of cuddled slumber before we had to further examine the party’s aftermath.

The comforts of my warm bed couldn’t keep him away from the lingering mess in his room. Nico sauntered off mumbling something about not having enough space for his toys. I couldn’t let him wander off so disoriented and sad… and it was 10:00 a.m. after all – time to go see what the fuss was all about.

"See, I don’t have any more room to put my toys away”, Nico quietly cried as I entered his room and sat with him on the floor.

I moved some things around on his shelf securing a home for the remaining toys and offered up my praise at a job well done. Nico cleaned his room all on his own accord – a first in our world and I really was proud of my little babe.

Still not quite emerged from his own slumber Nico looked me straight in the eye and very seriously stammered, “Sometimes… when Sissy clean her room… (a long pause obviously lost in deep thought)… she is… a WWW… WWW… RRRRock SSStar!”

With a melting heart and tears stinging my eyes I recognized the plot behind the clean room was to attain his very own rock star status. I wrapped my arms around my littlest babe, held him tight to hide the tears streaming down my face and whispered, “You’ll always be my littlest Rock Star.”

Christmas 2010 Photo Shoot

Picture day in the Gronke household always justifies skipping school and ditching work responsibilities. It's a lot of work to coordinate cooperation for this annual event.

Riley is naturally mellow and loves the day off with the promise of lunch at Buffalo Wild Wings so he only mildly grumbled when we forget his belt. He really just wants it all to end so he can go back to bed.

Hope was modeling her attitude through the first round of pictures because we insisted she not wear her shirt that shouts "Totally Cool" (and you'll see that attitude if you look through all the pics).

Nico has no idea what's going on but he doesn't like to hold still for the camera and he perfected the art of the fake, plastered, constant smile, not moving his lips at all when he repeats "my brother is stinky" (our failed attempts to get him to smile normally).

But it's all in fun. We got some great shots that convey the story of picture day in all its glory. And I might be bias but I think these just might be the cutest kids ever... goofiness, attitudes and all.

To see all the unedited fun click here.

Homecoming 2010

I'm thinking the homecoming party was a hit... hoards of soda and chips, intense foosball matches, movies, xbox, 1:00 a.m. runs to McDonalds, 3:00 a.m. street football, 5:00 a.m. walks to Safeway for more food! It was a successful all nighter topped off with some extreme flipping at Sky High Sports in the morning only to find kids passed out in the office that afternoon - they were sitting in chairs, heads bent over desks or slumped in their seats while attempting to do homework! If nothing else we successfully wore them out.

What Goes on at Your House at Night?

Be sure to turn up the volume so you can get a little Justin Beiber stuck in your head... only then will you have the full appreciation of what goes on at our house each and every evening!

This Little Lady...

Has wormed her way into the hearts of a group of 6 year old boys! In the midst of Hope’s hourly nightly story where she recounts every minute detail of her day (she is SO different from Riley) she announced that one of her best boy friends wants to marry her… and her other boy friends gathered her to tell her… and I’ll spare you the remaining scene of events because I lost track of the story when it went on for 30+ minutes. However, the mention of marriage brought my focus back into the long story Hope was conveying and Riley and I chuckled at the thought of 6 year olds betrothing themselves.

Later that evening I received a phone call from a mother of one of these boys. My insecurities kicked in and of course I was sure she was about the “discuss” the marriage proposal. Instead I was pleasantly surprised to hear this Mom had a special request from this group of boys to extend a very late invitation to a birthday party – the boys insisted Hope be part of these festivities.

We arrived at the party unaware that Hope would in fact be the only girl among this tight knit group of boys. This group of boys (and Hope) were in kindergarten together and although they are now split between four different classes their friendship remains strong. They eat together, they play together at recess and they apparently weren’t willing to let Hope miss out on this extracurricular activity.

Hope was in her element… batting her eyes, flattering the boys with balloons, leading a game of chase and delighting even parents who marveled at her lack of consciousness that she was the only girl in the room leading the way in a close group of rambunctious boys.

It’s cute… I’m proud of her confidence… I admire her choice of friends… all when she is 6!!!

Will I think it’s cute when she’s 16??

The Proudest Mama...

What started out with a less than endearing night in the ER and resulted in mid-week doctor visits, ultimately produced two of the proudest moments a Mama can ask for. I would be amiss if I didn’t admit that my perpetual tardiness played a here say role in these infamous moments but nonetheless it’s all part of this memory that will always induce horripilation (my new favorite word discovered in an intense bout of Cranium).

I work, I have three kids, a husband, a dog and a household to maintain (where cleanliness and organization that will inevitably never live up to my standards) but regardless, those are all just lame excuses that don’t hide the predictable fact that I am inherently behind schedule… always. I obviously inherited this gene from my grandfather where stories prevail of him running down runways to catch a flight in the midst of a departure in motion. My mother was scarred by those memories to the point of showing up twelve hours prior to a flight to this very day but I tend to lean more toward my grandfather’s laissez faire attitude of arriving with seconds to spare or even occasionally just moments too late and I do not restrict this behavior to only include airline flights. I am fashionably late for everything!

So, it should come as no surprise when I arrived at Riley’s football game three weeks ago, predictably missing the first few minutes of the game, to find his hand bandaged. I questioned my vision and retraced the previous day - had I forgotten about an nagging injury (yes, there are always football injuries and you learn to ignore them unless they demand immediate medical attention). Sure enough, I watched Riley sit on the sidelines for the remainder of the game only to find out he hurt his thumb in the first few minutes of the game. The pain was enough to warrant a trip to the ER upon completion of the game, where a bad sprain was diagnosed, a split was secured and rest was prescribed, including a week or two of NO football. It should be noted here that should you ever have to sit in a 4 by 4 room with an adolescent boy who just completed a football game you should be given an honor for not violently throwing up from the stench! Riley cleared the waiting room and had nurses checking MY vitals declaring they could smell the “football” on him a mile away – yet they locked me in a room with him while they took their sweet time attending to people with heart attacks and strokes all while I was experiencing of my own life threatening condition of aspirating on my own vomit which I suppressed to avoid embarrassment by all. Eventually we were released with strict orders to “baby his hand” and take a long, hot shower. I took my long, hot shower in the form of a big glass of cabernet.

Come Monday Riley has had enough of sitting out of practice and insists on securing a release to once again play football. I set up an appointment with the nurse practitioner erroneously believing she will be naïve enough to grant us a release simply based on our request. She lectures, she offers physical therapy options, she stressed the potential impact of a reinjury, she tried on 20 different splits, for nearly an hour which causes me to be late once again (this time I don’t assume the blame for my tardiness – I wholeheartedly threw this office under the bus) but in the end we secured Riley’s release to play by promising that his trainer would tape up his thumb forever and always. I’ll admit, her lecture did make me reconsider my decision to abide by a teenage whim depicting when to “back-burner” an injury but my questioning was short-lived.

I arrived at the game on Thursday (yes, a few minutes late – seriously, Riley got hurt one time when I was a few minutes late, that’s a once in a lifetime event, right?) only to have another father approach me, pointing at me saying “can you believe your son”? Oh great, he hurt his thumb again I immediately wonder… I knew I shouldn’t have let him play! This dad obviously saw the look of confusion on my face and said “Oh no! You did NOT just miss his touchdown??” His TOUCHDOWN – are you flipping kidding me? He plays defense – he can’t get a touchdown!! He proceeds to describe to me the “greatest touchdown ever” where Riley was so determined, he picked up a fumble, immediately had three guys hanging off him and he drove for 6 or 7 feet before he went down reaching the football over the end zone to secure the 6 points. The most amazing touchdown ever and I missed it! I didn’t care – I could see it all happen in my mind. I probably would have cried had I actually seen it – how embarrassing that would have been for all. Riley got his five minutes of fame and he didn’t disappoint. Parents were commenting, kids were all over it on facebook. I emailed everyone I knew. Uncle Warren even called his Mom. Riley got a touchdown!!!

Riley can recall very little about his famous touchdown despite my repeated requests to have him replay the scene again and again. Many defensive linemen never see (or seize) an opportunity like this but Riley saw the loose ball and wasn’t letting anything or anyone get in the way. He was going to make these five minutes of fame worth the memory. What Riley remembers most is the surreal feeling. In that mellow manner so befitting of Riley he nonchalantly tells me “I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t believe it. I wondered if it really happened. I was like… did I really just get a touchdown?” I have to hide my tears of pride every time I torture him with a replay. The novelty of this famous touchdown may have worn off with Riley (which just proves that I take more pride in this accomplishment than he does) but don’t you think every lineman dreams about this exact same scenario where of course, they themselves play the leading role? Riley owns his own version of this story now, one where he is the star – although it’s a story I will probably retell way more times than he ever will.

For those of you who are hoping that the moral of this story is that I have learned to be punctual I’m afraid to admit you’ll be most disappointed. Riley got a safety the very next game – two more points, again during the first few moments before I had yet to make my fashionably late appearance. He’s racking up the points so I don’t want to mess with a good thing? He’s on a roll, why jinx it? So, I’ll keep showing up late, you know, just in case… (not that I could consistently be punctual if I tried – remember, this is an inherited gene – it’s something I was born with!)

I’m the Proudest Mama… even if I’m rarely on time to catch all the action.

My Life as a Rock Star

This rock star retired??? Never!!! I haven’t retired from super stardom nor have I retired from blogging; although I will admit my rock star lifestyle took precedence over my blogging while I took a much deserved break from reality… but my super star weeks were lived in style and allotted me a million amazing memories that I deeply desire to document so they can forever remain in my heart and be periodically revisited so that I may vicariously relive these magical moments. From parties to beaches, adult only vacations, kids occasionally along for the ride and girls weekends… way too much for one really long blog! So I will meander through these weeks in a series - one story to tell at a time in hopes of softening my reentry into reality as I reminisce. Soon I shall contemplate my life as a rock star for you all… here is a sneak preview:

Lots and lots of delectable wine...
Good friends...

Dance parties...
A lot of kids all in one place...

even the occasional beer

The Life of a Super Star

One year of practice, three dress rehearsals and finally three chances to shine... all in one week we watched (with genuine pride) Hope tip toe her way through ballet:

... show off her jazzy side:

... and shine in her world of hip hop:

From princess to bad ass - one year in the making was well worth the memories!

Back on a High Note

Quite recently I sat around in the quiet of each evening just wondering and waiting. Life seemed to be on hold. Laundry was only washed out of dire necessity. Meals were prepared only when the troops refused leftovers or take out. My mind was overwhelmed with the unknown, hindering my ability to produce a publishable blog entry. Boxes sat stacked in my garage as a constant reminder of my interim state of mind. I couldn’t quite live life in a house that was perfectly prepped to sale but I also couldn’t allow myself to prep for a potential move out of genuine fear of setting false expectations. I was protecting myself from disappointment by refusing to live in the present and inadequately preparing for the future. The highs and lows of life somehow seemed to sidestep me while I secluded myself in the waiting game.

But life has resumed and we’re making up for lost time. The highs and lows that often resemble chaos in my life are abundant once more. I was spurred back into action only when every last “I” was dotted and every last “T” was crossed on the sale of our first home and on the purchase of our new house.

With only a few days to pack our overabundant belongings were thrown into boxes (without using one shred of newspaper, mind you). Through the help of my gracious family and my dear friend Elizabeth we made the move from one garage to another.

My generous Mother made the trek to Portland and with the help of my recently relocated sister Barb they kept watch on my children and scrubbed and organized my new kitchen while I immediately departed for an East Coast training tour. (Truth be told, we briefly lost our youngest babe for a few moments but he was safely returned without a scratch, although our hearts will forever be scarred by the memory of his momentary escape). While my Mom trailed my kids constantly to ensure their safety in my absence she still managed to disinfect and arrange my new kitchen. Dad left me with the nicest surprise as they left town – a freshly vacuumed house upon my arrival home after a busy day at work. Vacuuming my home is no small feat – there’s a lot of carpet in this new house! I will forever be grateful to my family for their unwavering support when I needed them most.

My last surviving Grandfather passed away only hours before I left for Boston leaving me with unattended emotions as I boarded a plane in the wee hours of the morning. My busy career and my chaotic life that so abruptly resumed averted my necessary grieving and hindered my ability to support my Father as he so gracefully accepted the passing of the first of his parents. I may forever feel guilty for losing my focus on family.

One truly talented and amazing little girl turned six years old and lost her first tooth shortly after my return from the East Coast. And my incredibly supportive family stepped up to the plate when I was preoccupied with life and arranged a fabulous birthday party for Hope, complete with diet friendly food for all, gifts of plenty to cover up my lack thereof, a delicious princess birthday cake from a delectable bakery and party favors overflowing in gift bags to entertain and occupy our rambunctious children. Maybe someday I’ll be able to repay your generosity.

I unpacked the last of the boxes in my new home just in time to watch Barb and Daryl move into their new residence, a mere mile down the road from me. The idea of having a sister close enough to arrive unannounced has already proved its worthiness. On the verge of unforeseen tragedy I called on my sister Barb who dropped everything to make a late night trip to the 24 hour emergency veterinary clinic to hold my hand and offer support as I made that final call to put our ornery Ariel to sleep. Despite the fact that Ariel was 17 years old and drove us all crazy I suddenly experienced some seriously unanticipated sorrow when Ariel came home injured. My heart was in pieces when I saw her in pain and I was simply not prepared to say my final goodbyes. Barb held me and up and wiped away my tears on that late night as we felt Ariel purr one last time. We recounted our many memories of Ariel along with all our pets that left this world long before this fateful day.

How thankful I am for all of my family. It seems as though I’ve been closing a few chapters in my life lately but I’m writing many, many more – as the old saying goes, “when one door closes another one opens” and I’m just happy to back living life one again – even if it full of highs as well as lows.

Nico Jones

As a young child I could easily interpret the seriousness of my parent’s discipline not only by the tone of their voice but by the name that preceded each warning. Sue indicated a mere warning to modify my behavior. Sue Kimmy (which I vehemently despised) revealed their humor in my actions but hinted they might have less patience if I continued tormenting my siblings. Susan Kimberly would undoubtedly get my attention and would most likely redirect my behavior to something less obtrusive or destructive. And when my full first, middle and last name was used I knew that I had crossed the line of no return and it would be in my best interest to skedaddle and be on my best behavior.

These subtle indicators worked their magic more often than not (at least when I was little).

As a parent now, I use these same tactics to capture my children’s attention and redirect questionable behavior. My children are not surprised by these specific mentions of their names – they are fully aware that they are pushing boundaries and these simple reminders suggest a necessary change in activities and the name I choose to use denotes the seriousness of the offense and implies how flexible I will be if they continue to push the envelope.

While I did not consciously interpret my parent’s actions (although I subconsciously reacted) and I was clearly an adult before I realized the benefit of revealing my seriousness through the use of a name, my smart little cookie, Hope, has discovered the success of this tactic very early on and has already begun to use this influence to her benefit.

The pitfalls of emitting authority and utilizing this method as a young sibling is their lack of insight on the origination of each sibling's name.

So, when Hope began incorporating Nico’s middle name into her many demands of her younger brother I gave her a lot of credit for her ingenuity but I wasn’t all that surprised when her influence didn’t quite render the desired results. Mistakenly referring to Nicholas James as Nico Jones only fueled his fire as he repeatedly responded with “I Nicholas James”.

But the entire interaction had me laughing hysterically and contemplating my authoritative influence based on the simple selection of a name. I’m afraid opting to use Nicholas James as a behavioral modification tactic may never hold the same authority or produce the desired results in the future – especially when I find myself continually referring to our youngest babe by his latest nickname, Nico Jones.

And yes, those are Hope's high heel's Nico Jones is sporting in the photo above.

Limbo Land

I live in limbo land these days… Most of my belongings are stored away in boxes stacked in my garage. I follow my children around with a windex bottle in an endless pursuit to entice potential home buyers with my cleanliness. I obsessively check my phone and email for any signs of interest in my house. I over-analyze the time each prospective buyer spends inspecting my home.

I once fantisized about a life where laundry was always washed, folded and neatly stored away, where beds were never left unmade, coming home to an immaculate house smelling of pinesol and soap... I suddenly realize the beauty of a house well lived in.

Now I dream about the house I am trying to buy. The same house that once seemed simply acceptable has entangled every last detail deep within my heart and mind, despite the reality that one day owning this home is slowly slipping away from my grasp. I rearrange rooms in my daydreams, I scan stores for complimenting furniture, I select paint colors in my head, I drive by repeatedly just practicing my new commute – I have fallen in love with this house and I vicariously live my life in this new home – I don’t want to let it go.

While I meddle through my reality my mind is preoccupied with my fantasy. I am stuck in limbo land – snubbing reality, disquieted by the unknown, and imagining the future.

I’m not looking for answers to where my life my take me but I’d sure like to know where I am going to live so I can move on and start living my life once again.

Someone please buy my home so my invented future can dissipate into a realistic present.

Mom of the Year Award

I never really thought I’d ever be in the running for Mom of the Year Award but it never crossed my mind I would be a candidate for Worst Mom of the Year Award… until today. Now I am fairly certain I would win.

Clinging to a small thread of hope and acting on desperate despair as I worried about my hectic work schedule this week, I sent Hope to school in spite of a sudden suspicious red, blood shot eye this morning.

Hope immediately went into drama mode when I mentioned her eye looked suspect, declaring that she must stay home and rest or she could infect her friends with this deadly disease. (This girl just may be on TV someday with her perfected acting skills and persuasion tactics). But I am not a casting agent so I dug up some seriously expired eye drops and sent her on her way… periodically checking my phone for that dreaded phone call that would deem her too contagious to stay in school.

The anticipated phone call came eventually but to my surprise Hope was in the nurse’s office complaining of an ear ache. The nurse assured me that Hope didn’t have a fever and thought her sudden symptoms may be a byproduct of an argument that ensued during a group project where Hope got her feelings hurt for some accusations of cheating while playing a game. Yes, yes… this sounded about right and just something that only Hope would dream up to come home early. Being St. Patrick’s day the nurse asked Hope if she really needed to go home or if she thought she could stay through the assembly where some special dancers would be performing. Of course, Hope responded that she wasn’t really that sick and would like to stay to see the performance. We chalked it up to her extensive theatrical skills but wanting to demonstrate that I am a caring parent I offered to pick her up after school instead of sending her to dance.

After school I had a brief chat with her teacher about the “cheating incident” and we were on our way. I sent Hope to bed to rest reiterating that if we are sick we don’t watch movies or play – we have to rest. Tears ensued but I persisted. This was not going to be a special stay home day that Hope thoroughly enjoyed because that would only set a precedent for disastrous things to come.

Well, the forced tears turned into something more along the lines of agonizing pain and I had to rethink my previous policies. I threatened a visit to the doctor thinking surely this would produce the truth of an ill conceived plan to stay home. The only response I received was eager willingness to cooperate with any plans to relieve an aching ear.

I pondered my options… make the trek to the doctor and pay the $20 to have them tell me nothing is wrong or risk a midnight visit to the ER if Hope’s theatrics turned out to be legitimate suffering. I reluctantly decided on a quick visit to the doctor to eradicate any lingering question of my parenting abilities.

Hope was diagnosed with a double ear infection and an eye infection. To Hope’s delight the doctor suggested we keep her home on Thursday, at least until the eye infection was cleared up.

I momentarily felt a bit of guilt for doubting my girl and I turned my attention to apologizing for my lack of sensitivity and promising to see to it that she is comfortable and coddled until her health returns in full form.

I admit defeat on the ear and eye infection – my doubts about any illnesses were shrouded by Hope’s ability to manipulate and skillfully act and I was just plain wrong in my diagnoses this time… but as I watched Hope run through the house tonight playing gleefully as she destroyed our house and tortured her brothers I decided she was cured enough to return to school in the morning.

Unfortunately Hope’s intimidating aura came back to haunt me as she is fully aware that she has the upper hand in this debate. She has it stuck in her head and on the tip of her tongue that she is not allowed to go to school tomorrow because she could infect her friends. Should I protest and insist she is well enough to go to school she will certainly make it known to all that she has an eye infection and she’s not supposed to be at school (but her mean, heartless mom made her attend anyway) and I will undoubtedly get that call that will make me question my ability to parent this smart little cookie.

Hope wins this battle…

I have lost any chance of running for the Mom of the Year Award and I am feeling inadequate enough to nominate myself to the Worst Mom of the Year Award.

And I am afraid to admit that this is only the tip of the iceberg... how in the world can such a small innocent human being cause me to question so much of what I believe and shatter my confidence as a parent so easily?

Forever...

While reading bed time stories tonight I paused to let Nico carefully articulate his interpretation of the book:

“Airpanes… go… way… up, up… in du… sky. It’s vewy dangwous… I have ta howd on tight!”

With his little legs crossed and his arms demonstrating an airplane flying high in the sky I watched his wondering mind conjure up these deep thoughts and I desperately wanted to bottle up all his two year old cuteness and keep it with me forever.

Hope was smitten with his adorable revelation and planted a big kiss on his cheek proclaiming that she loved him just as much as she loves the Jonas Brothers (yes, the teenage boy band) and then predicted that our little Nico was so delightful that he would be in the Jonas Brothers band when he grew up.

I want to bottle up all her charming hopes and dreams, her endearing innocence and her enchanting confidence to fuel her spirit forever.

Flying the Nest

We were all born and raised in Boise, Idaho. Inevitably we all eventually flew away from the nest. One departed for an adventure in New York. Another found refuge far away from her childhood home in the Midwest. College life in McMinnville was in store for yet another. And the solace of the peaceful ocean town of Astoria was most appealing for the youngest.

A few of us made a pit stop back in Boise on our respective journeys to unearth that place that we could call home. There were adventures in Eugene, camp counseling in Yelm, temporary homes in Medford, even a four year stint in Seattle. And who can forget the countless apartments all throughout Portland?

One by one we made our way from the dry Boise desert to the soggy streets of the Northwest. One by one we sought out Portland neighborhoods that fit our lifestyles – a place where we would each create new lives and establish happy homes of our very own. Only one sister remains in Seattle anxiously awaiting her cue to claim stake on her own corner of Portland.

Portland was the “big city” we would visit as children. It’s the place we ventured out to when we visited distant relatives. It’s the place where we remember sleeping in cramped motor home quarters camped in the mall parking lots when we needed to leave our “small town” to find the latest fashions.

Portland isn’t a place we sought out knowing we would find sanctuary. It’s a place that we all happened upon at one time or another and it just felt like home. This is the place we all came back to after various adventures in our young adult lives. It’s the place that we will all soon call home.

Did you ever imagine that all four of your girls would end up in Portland?

The Week of the Wounded

Riley walked in the door last Monday carrying his front tooth in his hand. During Martial Arts his teeth collided with Nick’s head sending his front tooth literally flying.

Three times he has lost this tooth now. A sidewalk curb, a parked car and now a friends head…this third time was the charm… with orthodontic work complete and old enough to now to get a crown we decided it was high time for a more permanent fix. A lengthy dental visit commenced that attested to Riley’s stamina for extreme pain.

While I no longer wince when Riley walks in the door with a tooth in hand, nor do I conjure up unrealistic scenarios where Riley’s childhood is doomed as he endures years of teasing and torture any longer, but I do wonder how many more times this affliction will nuisance him and I have always dreaded the pain that would surely ensue from crowning a front tooth at such a young age - when nerves are so easily exposed in
adolescence.

But Riley was a trooper – even after countless injections couldn’t numb the pain. I think the idea of stronger remedy fueled his endurance to just get through the procedure one final time. With a temporary crown in place we now patiently await the (hopefully) final visit to the dentist to repair this impairment that has become the bane of Riley’s childhood.

My goal now is to keep the crown securely in place well into Riley’s adult life.

Just when I had become accustomed to the news of a lost permanent tooth and found myself taking pride in my ability to put inevitable childhood mishaps into realistic perspectives – keeping my fear in check, focusing on the actuality of each situation, recognizing the reality and not assuming the improbable worst - I encountered another childhood collision that humbled me.

I’m not actually that tough Mom that takes all her children’s bumps, bruises and breaks in stride after all. Despite our past stitches, head wounds and broken teeth I failed to remain calm, cool and collected when Nico tripped getting in to bed and planted his face directly into the bed rail on Thursday night. My knees buckled, my hands shook ferociously and my heart raced violently as I imagined the worst – unable to see the damage through pouring blood I was certain Nico’s nose had either been completely severed or was certainly smashed into his skull.

I panicked… I cried… I prayed desperately…

We were all in the room preparing to give our nightly “kisses from everyone” when Nico fell. The sound of the impact sent chills through my spine and I held my breath as Roger picked up our crying babe to assess the damage. Roger is much more relaxed in emergencies so when I saw him panic I nearly lost it. I had to make that split second decision – crumble into a ball of fear or fight through my terror, comfort my babe and get him to the hospital without falling apart.

We bundled him up and applied pressure to his bloody nose as we made our way to the hospital. The amount of blood was alarming but by the time we reached the emergency room Nico was sitting up wondering what all the fuss was about. He was put out to stitch up the wound on his nose and apply suture glue to his cheek. He awoke a bit grumpy still perplexed by the monitors and begging to go home.

After a mere 5 hours of sleep Nico awoke Friday morning no worse for the wear, oblivious to the wounds on his face. He caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror later that morning and did a double take inching closer to get a good look at his bruised and battered face. “What’s that on my nose? Get it off!” he naively announced. He bounded through the house all day bumping into everything despite my attempts to steer him clear of any impact to his wounds. Obviously he recovered quite quickly – his physical wounds went unnoticed by this innocent babe but my psyche remains forever scarred.

I couldn’t bear to look at his bed, reliving the fall, my knees buckling and hands going weak each time it replayed in my mind. The bed frame was packed up and immediately put on Craig’s list – a mattress on the floor now deemed to be the safest place for my clumsy child to sleep.

Seven stitches later, a bit of suture glue, some good hallucinogen drugs and a minor scar to remind Nico of this incident that he will unlikely ever remember – but a memory that I will always replay in my mind and forever feel responsible for. Nico was our little trooper – me not so much! I will never be the brave one in emergencies that involve my children.

But I am thankful for my little (and big) troopers and I am looking forward to a new week and anxiously hoping to keep our future wounds to minor scrapes and bruises.