It's like the Great Race except I don't get anywhere

From the beginning of the school year to Thanksgiving break I put over 6,000 miles on my car.  Yup...twice what my little oil change sticker says I should have.  And it's not even from driving on a long trip or commuting to my job.  It's because of the children.  I blame them.

Between school schedules, soccer practices, soccer games all over the valley and now wrestling, we've racked up the miles like we're road testers for Chevrolet.

Part of it's because the oldest is a high schooler now....the amount of miles I drive in a day have gone through the roof!  We live 12 miles from the high school and I make the drive twice a day.  In theory.  

What usually happens is something like today:

7:00 am: Take oldest to school in the morning:  24 miles round trip

8:10 am: Take girls to elementary school:  12 miles r.t.

1:00 pm:  Drive to Salem to pick up clothes that oldest needs but I just found out about:  50 miles r.t.

5:00 pm:  Drive back to high school to take oldest the newly purchased clothes and dinner:  24 miles r.t.

6:30 pm:  Take girls to Christmas Program at elementary school:  6 miles

6:40 pm:  Drive back to high school from elementary school to watch oldest FFA ceremony:  6 miles

7:20 pm:  Back to the elementary school for the end of the Christmas Program & pick up girls:  6 miles

8:00 pm:  Back again to the high school to pick up oldest after ceremony ends:  6 miles

8:30 pm:  Make the final drive home, thank you baby Jesus, with all 3 kids:  12 miles.  

Almost 150 miles.  Just today.  I always think that if I'm driving that many miles I should be somewhere much more interesting.  But no...it's like the Great Race except I don't get anywhere.

Loving Your Kid, What a Pain...

There are things that I'm coming to realize for myself finally, even though other people have been saying them to me ever since I've had kids.

Like the fact that time moves really fast.  Case in point:  I used to hate it when other moms would come up to me as I'm wrangling my preschooler, toddler and infant and say "Enjoy it now, they'll be grown up before you know it".  Really???  Who says that to the mom who hasn't slept in days and is wearing a sweatshirt that looks like abstract art but in all the colors of spit up?  Who's body is contorted into a S shape from a baby on one hip and a 300 pound diaper bag dragging down the opposite shoulder?   I always wanted to punch them right in the throat.

But now I get it.  My kids are older now and I feel like I lost the last 5 years.  My son went from 10 to 15 in the blink of an eye and I can't get that time back again.  My girls are 12 & 11 and I miss when I got to dress them and it just took a silly face to make them laugh.  Now when I make a goofy face at them they just look at me and say "Mom, stop.  Just stop."  And I see the moms with little ones and I want to say to them "Enjoy it!  Love it!  Soak it all in!"  But I'm afraid to get punched in the throat.  I hear it hurts like hell.

Another thing I've come to know is that you really can love someone so much it hurts.  I know that most of the time you hear that phrase associated with a spouse or a lover and I get that.  I've experienced that with my husband. We are still so in love that we don't know any boundaries between ourselves.  There's a line from Wuthering Heights that describes it:  "He is more myself than I am.  Whatever souls are made of, ours are the same."  That's a pretty apt description of how I feel about him.  But it's different when it's your kid...  

When it's your child, it's more of a one sided, protective love that I can't even seem to find the right words for.  It makes you want to hide them away from the world and all the kids of all the assholes you knew when you were that age.  What? Why can't we just homeschool for the rest of our lives and then build 3 more houses on the property for when they grow up?  It'll be fun.  Like a commune.  We could even think up a name for ourselves and get tax-exempt status.  Yea, love for your kids will turn you into a whack job.

Here's an example of what I'm talking about:  yesterday was my son's first high school wrestling tournament.  And he's like me...he can't get out of his head when he needs to and then psyches himself out.  So I prayed that morning for several things, including his tournament.  Because I knew if he just got a good one under his belt, it would change his entire mindset.  And I prayed throughout the day about it.  And then we got to the meet and I sat in the stands and looked up at the ceiling of the gym and prayed some more.  I just wanted so badly for him to succeed, to have a good match, to be able to realize how great he is.  I wanted him to be victorious and tough and a key member of the team but most of all, I wanted him to just be able to have confidence in himself and his abilities.  I wanted it so badly that it hurt down in my chest.  I was a physical ache in my heart.

When he got pinned in his first match I felt that pain sharpen.  All I could think was 'please, please, please God...forget all the other things I've prayed about today and just focus on him.  please, please, please...."  He sat across the gym between his matches with his hat slung low and his shoulders lower.  I knew he was beating himself up and it killed me.  Please, please, please....

I could tell when I saw him step on the mat for his second match that something was different.  He had something to prove now and he worked this poor kid over before pinning him at the end of the first round.  I could barely contain myself!  Thank you, thank you, thank you...  I was so happy for him!  My heart felt full to bursting now.  That's what he needed!

And then the third match came and with it my nerves again.  This time the kid he was wrestling looked tough.  He looked like a wrestler.  That may not make sense to someone who hasn't spent time around the sport but you can totally tell which kids have experience just by the way they carry themselves.  You just know by looking at them.  And although he held his own, he got stretched into a pin in the second round.  Damn, damn, damn....  And there's the ache again.

It hurts because I can't help him.  I have to let him struggle and sometimes fail.  It hurts because I remember what high school was like and all the things that I don't want him to have to go through, even though I know that's a futile thought.  I want him to be the things I never was:  popular, above average athletically, confident and self-assured.  Not because I want to relive those days through him; no way would I want go back to high school, even vicariously.  Not for anything.  But because I know it would make his high school experience so much better, so much easier.  But I know we each have to go through it...it helps make us the people we are now.  I know that he has to grow into the man he will be and that all of these things are shaping him.  These are things that I know in my head but not in my heart.

So yeah...you can love so much that you physically hurt.  And it goes both ways:  you can ache to protect them and you ache with the blessing of them.  Later that night when he was going to bed, I asked him if he saw the hand signal I was giving him between matches.  He said, 'Yea, you were tapping your heart'.  "No, " I said, "not just tapping my heart, I was holding my hand in a C and putting it over my heart.  Because you have a champion's heart and that's what you'll always be to me."  His smile and "Thanks Mom" gave me that ache in my chest all over again.

Our Homemade Advent Calendar

I channeled my inner Martha Stewart the other day and came up with my own homemade advent calendar for our family.  It was pretty awesome...just sayin'.

First, I made 24 advent envelopes.  This was super easy since I found a website that has free printable wrapping paper: http://gift-wrapit.com.  They have 12 patterns for Christmas which is perfect because I just printed 2 copies of each.  

And my envelopes are about as simple as you can get: 

Fold the paper so the seam is in the back and tape.

Fold up the bottom edge and tape.

Easy peasy lemon squeezy

So...I whipped up 24 of these and then added numbers on the front made from left over christmas cards.    I was out of card stock but this worked just as well.  

Now the question was how and where to hang them since there's not a ton of open wall space in our house.  But I found the perfect place...the hall closet!  It's just a big white canvas so what better place to put them.  I rummaged around in my sewing/craft drawers and found some green ribbon.  Perfect!

I measured the envelopes against the door and figured that I could fit 4 in each row.  So I cut 6 lengths of green ribbon and used sealing tape to secure it to the inside of the door.  Then I used clothes pins to hold the envelopes in place...viola!  Country Christmas Chic.  (I think).

The harder part of the whole thing was trying to figure out what to fill them with.  I didn't want to spent a lot of money on things and I didn't really want to give the kids more 'stuff' to clutter up the house.  So...here's what I came up with:

1.  a few pieces of candy

2.  Christmas magnets

3.  candy

4.  Bookmarks  (homemade)

5.  candy

6.  Date Day/Christmas Shopping Trip Coupons (homemade)

7.  candy

8.  Lip balms

9.  candy

10.  Dairy Queen Coupons (homemade)

11.  candy

12.  Scrapbooking Stickers (girls) and Fishing Lure (boy)

13.  candy

14.  Do Not Disturb Doorhangers (homemade)

15.  candy

16.  Bracelets (girls) and Fishing Lure (boy)

17.  candy

18.  Movie passes to Northern Lights Pub (already had these on hand)

19.  candy

20.  Family Game Night (homemade)

21.  candy

22.  Silly Puddy (who doesn't like that?!?!)

23.  candy

24.  Polar Express Movie Night (homemade)

So...you can see that I went the easy route and put a few pieces of candy or a candy cane in every other day.  I just couldn't buy/make enough things to fill out all 24 days.  I bought a few things (lip balm, lures, silly puddy) but most of the other items I made on my computer.  The bookmarks were made in Word and printed on high gloss brochure paper that I already had on hand.  I personalized them for each kid and they loved 'em!  

The Date Day coupons, DQ coupons and doorhangers were all made in Word from existing templates that I just personalized to each kid and printed on that same brochure paper.   The kids love to go to DQ but I never let them order anything they want...usually they have a few options and the sizes are all smalls.  This coupon lets them order something of their choice although Mom gets to OK the size.  

The movie passes were things we already had on hand.  We won them last March at the kids' school fundraising auction and hadn't used them yet.  Since they expire this month it was a perfect item to add to the envelopes.  The other two homemade items were the Family Game Night announcement and the Polar Express Movie Night.  

The Family Game night is a big thing because although we like the idea of boardgames, the reality is that they are never as fun as you think they are going to be.  I desperately want to be that family that sits around the table and enjoys that quality time together.  And sometimes we get it.  But more often than not, it degenerates into an evening of grumpy kids or fights.  It's not pretty but it's the truth.   So, I'm going to make this particular game night work even if it kills me....or them.  We will have a good night, dammit.  

The final envelope is the The Polar Express Movie Night which is our Christmas Eve tradition.  We let the kids open one present on Christmas Eve and it's always new PJs.  Then we all put on the new PJs, pop some popcorn and make hot cocoa and watch The Polar Express.  That makes a perfect 24th envelope!

It has been an almighty win in every way!  Didn't cost much, made it in a short amount of time and my family absolutely loves it!  And it has been a great addition to our Christmas traditions.  Way to go me!

I just need a F%#@*!& battery!

The other day my husband and I were discussing the issues of gender equality and the social ramifications of the war of the sexes.  OK, not really but he was listening to me complain about how I hate being treated like an idiot because I have boobs.

Case in point:  one evening while at soccer practice my son ran the battery down on our car while listening to his iPod and being a moody teenager.  That, my friends, is a whole other post and I'm sure I'll get there later.  Anyway...the car was dead.  And I was not pleased.

After returning to the group of dads that I had been chatting with prior to finding out my car was flatlined, I finally got one of them to pull their vehicle over to my car.  I had already fished the jumper cables out of the car top carrier and all I needed was a willing battery that I could take advantage of in a completely shallow and meaningless way.  But it was not going to be that simple.  He needed to read the manual to make sure we didn't blow the battery up so he stopped about 7 feet away from the front of my car.  There I stood with my 5 foot long jumper cables...so close and yet so far.

Mind you, this whole time I'm simmering with annoyance at my son since I had specifically said "Don't run my battery down listening to your music".  I kid you not...I said those exact words and yet here I was, standing in front of the car wishing I had longer cables.  And, I had 2 tired, stinky, hungry girls in the car and no supper waiting for us after our 20 minute drive out of town.  I just needed to get home.

While I was waiting for guy #1 to read his manual and trying to contain my growing frustration (he is a very nice man, after all), another dad saw the open hood of my vehicle and decided to stop to lend a hand.  A nice gesture except that I already had it under control, not to mention the other guy that was lending me his battery.  And this particular person completely ignored me when I said as much.   Guy #2 began a conversation with Guy #1 about what needed to be done.  Helllloooo....standing here with the jumper cables in my hands and the hood up.  I just need to use a f-----g battery and I can be on my way!

Guy #1 finally moved his car forward and I handed him the cables to hook to his battery.  I hooked the first clamp to the lower part of the metal nub on my battery and heard the concern of Guy #2, who was hovering over my shoulder, that it probably wasn't the correct spot.  He thought I should hook it to the top of the nub.  Never mind the fact that I have done this several times and know from experience that the claws slip off of the sloped upper part of the nub.  But, hey, I don't have a penis so how can I know such things?  To show him my reasoning, I attached the claw to the top of the nub and, sure 'nuf, off it slipped with a snap.  "Oh", was all I got in return.

Finally I was able to attached the cables and start the car.  But not without a reminder to turn off the extra things like the radio and the lights.  Gee, thanks guys.  I don't know what I'd do without you.  Except maybe be home by now!

The biggest frustration of the whole thing was the fact that I didn't need them to do this for me.  I didn't need them in the way.  I just needed a battery and a set of jumper cables...that's it.  No side of condescension, no discussion, no manuals, no 'here let me do that for you'.  Just let me use your battery and we can go home.  And yet it took almost 20 minutes to get my car running because they couldn't just let me do what needed to be done.

And that is what really annoys me about being 'treated like a girl' sometimes.  Just let me do what I know needs to be done and if I need help, I'll ask for it.  Pretty freakin' simple.  Don't assume that I can't do something without giving me proper time to prove it myself.  Believe me, if I can't do it, I'll either ask for help or make a fool out of myself....then feel free to jump in.  Until then, get out of my way and let me use your battery.

The Year of the Garden

This was our best garden...ever.  Hands down.  And, funny enough, the epicness (it's word, i swear) was in direct proportion to the amount of labor I put into it this year.  I know...so weird.

I started this garden in February, sitting hunched over seed catalogs making stars next to all the things that sounded good.  Then I had to go back through them and mark the most realistic ones that my family would actually eat.  I get caught up in that foodie thing where I'm like 'yes, i will grow my own brussel sprouts and asparagus and I will serve them with nothing but a drizzle of expensive olive oil and herbs.'  Then my family looks at me funny and asks what we're really having for supper.  So ya, it takes a few revisions to get us to what we are really going to grow each year.

Grow...please!

We started the seeds indoors in March & April.  They took over our eating nook and the house smelled like a greenhouse but it gave me great joy to see all those little green signs of life with their promises of abundant production.  As it turns out, those promises are pretty fragile.  I killed an entire planting of onions and half of the cucumbers before I managed to feel relatively certain they were going to make it to a life outdoors.

Most of the seedlings were planted out in the garden during the end of May.  Spring being what it is here in Oregon, it was hard to find a long enough stretch of days to let the ground dry out enough to plant them.  And when I did finally get them planted, I killed more of them.  Turns out there's a certain amount of patience needed when moving seedlings from indoors to outdoors.  Your supposed to set them out for a few hours at a time, increasing the amount until they have had a chance to acclimate and 'harden off'.  Huh...interesting.

You mean one day outside isn't enough?

So, even with my not-so-green-thumb, we managed to have a pretty darn good garden started by the first part of June.  Between the surviving seedlings and seeds I planted directly in the ground, we were off and running.  And so were the weeds.  Oh, how I hate weeds.  No really...they are the bane of my existence.  And I read somewhere that you shouldn't rototill because it stirs up the dormant seeds and makes them germinate.  So what did I do?  I weeded our entire garden by hand.  We're talking a 60' by 50' area plus the 60' by 10' for the berries.  It was a major pain in the hiney.  But, ya know what?  It worked.  The weeds were sparser and slower growing, especially once we got our soaker hoses lined out so we were only watering the rows of plants.  It went from a three hour job to a one hour job.

The beginning - if you look really hard you can see tiny green things growing.

Captain, there be plants here!

Soaker hoses are my friends.

It actually looks productive!

Second plantings of lettuce, broccoli, cabbage and cauliflower...oh, and a faded scarecrow.

And as much as I complain about it, I really didn't mind it too much.  I like working in the dirt and watching my efforts translated into vibrant plants and bushels of food.  If I could make a living off of working on our farm, I'd do it in a heartbeat.  I could live in work clothes everyday:  old jeans, stained shirts, romeos and a ball cap.  Huh...I sound like a dude.  But it's pretty much true of me...I would be happy as a clam.

In July we were filling my big metal mixing bowls & colanders every day with good things:  lettuce, carrots, peppers, broccoli, cauliflower, cabbage, peas, beans and berries!  It was time to start canning & freezing.  I have always put up our food in the freezer each year.   Corn, green beans, berries & applesauce...it all went into the 2 big freezers in the barn.  But this year I conquered my reluctance to tackle canning.  And I will say this...the first time I tried to can jelly, I felt like a blithering idiot.  Never have I felt that inept in the kitchen.  So many things to have to do at the same time!  And I never seemed to have any of it ready when it was supposed to be...the water either wasn't boiling when it should have been or had been boiling so long it had evaporated below the necessary level.  The lids have to simmer, the jars  have to be warmed and then you have to actually prep the food.  I needed more burners on my stove and at least 2 more hands.

After a few frantic texts I got some much needed advice from my BFF, and queen of the canning kitchen, Shannon.  She gave me tips on how to heat the jars (in the oven, not on the stovetop) and how to prep the kitchen before even starting the canning process.  The next time I tackled it, I was surprised how much easier it was.  By the end of the summer I felt like I had beat my trepidation of the canning process and, dare I say it, was fairly competent at it.  Just don't ask her about my ignorance regarding the curing time for dilly beans....

By the end of the season, we had jars and jars of pickles, pickle relish, hot corn relish, dilly beans, tomato sauce, pears, peaches, apples, applesauce, and a plethora of jams & jellies.  Yeah me!  To top it off, my wonderfully handy husband built me a canning shelf that fit perfectly into a crevice of unused space in our eating area.

Toward the end of the summer and beginning of the school year, I was just about over the garden.  With the fall season comes school, sports practices and an increase in my workload.  It's a 24 mile round trip each morning to take kids to school and again every evening for practices.  So, weeding took a back seat to the rest of life and by the time we reached the end of September, I had all but abandoned whatever was left growing.  So I'll never be a multi-season gardner...eh, oh well.

Done until next year.

Now it's just an overgrown plot again but come February I'll be reaching for the seed catalogs and drawing diagrams of where things will be planted and getting excited about it all over again.

So much to catch up on!

I did not even realize it had been this long since I posted on here!  Summer came on and with it the garden and vacations and work and...well, you get the picture.

Quite honestly, I don't have the energy to post much tonight but soon I will post how my wonderful little garden did this season and all kinds of things that are interesting to me...no guarantee they will keep your attention.

And it's probably a good thing I wasn't posting during the election...it would have just been one long string of curse words and that's just not very productive.

So....someday soon there will be more posts here.  That's my plan.  It's good to have a plan.

4th of July Freakshow

Today I took the kids to the Silverton street fair to enjoy the 4th of July.  I thought it would be a quaint small town gathering.  Well...it was small.  And it was in town.

In addition to the handful of booths and food vendors there was also a family standing on the street corner in sandwich boards.  And by family I mean a dad in a sandwich board, a mom in a sandwich board and three little kids in three teeny tiny sandwich boards.  Ya...it was just a picture of family bonding time.  Oh, and they were handing out religious tracts to go with their signs.

On the opposite street corner was another family with a message.  They were holding signs that read "Patriotism is Idolatry" and "Worship God not your Country".  I didn't get a pic of them but let me tell you, it was great.

We gave up on Silverton and drove to Stayton for the parade.

We parked at the cannery and were early enough that there was no one else there yet.  After a short walk to A&W, which turned out to be the highlight of the day, we sat on our tailgate and waited for the festivities.  As we sat and waited the lot began to fill up with other parade watchers.  Soon enough we had neighbors on either side of our spot.  To the left of us was a nice group of older folks that were very pleasant.  However...to the right of us was what could easily be classified as one of the most annoying families.  Ever.  Two quite large and rather unengaged parents sat in their chairs while their three small, loud, unruly children screamed, threw rocks and argued.  Every once in a while the mother would throw a "stop throwing rocks, your a bad girl" over her shoulder in the general direction of the mayhem.  This would be followed by an ear splitting scream from the little girl and more rock throwing.  Child rearing at it's finest.

Needless to say, it was a LONG parade.  Even my kids were getting annoyed with them and making comments to me about how the parents weren't doing anything.  You know it's bad when teenagers & preteens think there isn't enough parenting going on.

All of this is why right now my kids and I are sitting comfortably in our house watching a movie instead of spending anymore time 'celebrating' with other people.  Happy freaky fourth!

My Garden

Aaahhh...my garden.  I love my garden.  Even more this year than normal because I'm fully invested in making the most out of everything I can grow.  I put up food every year by drying or freezing things but this year I'm adding canning to the list of ways to preserve the bounty.  I want to make my own pickles, salsa and dilly beans (just like Shannon's)...not to mention tomato sauce, canned tomatoes, relishes, applesauce, pie filling, etc. etc. etc.

Please note my extremely stylish scarecrow...made out of old Levis (too small unfortunately) and a Tommy Hilfiger shirt that I was giving away to Goodwill.  Best dressed thing on our farm...


I began planning the garden in March and started all my plants from seeds I ordered from Territorial Seed Company...awesome!  It smelled like a greenhouse in my kitchen for about 2 months...not awesome.  But we put up with it knowing that the end result would be worth the extra can of febreeze.

I want to start saving my own seeds as well so I chose seeds that came from only open-pollinated or heirloom plants so they will reproduce correctly.  Wonderful varieties with names like Indigo Rose tomatoes and Burgundy beans and Country Gentleman corn.  Yummy!

I've been diligently trying to keep the weeds at bay...weeding by hand and using a hoe.  No, not a Kardashian, just the garden implement.  It's time consuming but I enjoy it because my hands get dirty and my mind gets clear.  I like that I am being active and proactive all at once.  My physical labor will help us eat better later this season and for the whole year to come.  Plus, because its such simple work, my mind has time to run.  And run it does....it runs through my to-do lists (yes, lists plural), work stuff, house chores and the projects I have to finish.  And, if I work long enough my mind will get clear of all those things and actually get to that place where my creativity gets buried.  And that's when I come up with some of my best ideas.  And all because of dirty hands.

Tonight we got the first spoils from my hard work:  a mix of heirloom lettuce, spinach and arugula.  Wa-freakin-hoo!  Oh, and the first of our strawberries too.

So, here's to a bountiful garden, healthy eating, stocked cupboards, dirty hands and creative minds!

Defective Lady Bits...

The warranty on my lady bits has run out...I think my particular model only came with one good for 35 years because at that age I began to fall apart.

Three years ago this month I found a lump in my left breast.  Nothing big, just a weird little lump hiding down on the underside of my boob.  I went into the doctor and she could feel it too.  Great.  After an inconclusive ultrasound I was sent for my very first ever mammogram.  Aces.  As if my boobs weren't flat enough after nursing three kids, let's squoosh them some more.  And there it was, a little white spot looking back at me from the tech's computer screen.  I didn't even need her to point it out to me, I could see it from across the room.  Superb.  So, over the next three weeks I had more ultrasounds, more mammograms and a failed biopsy.  It was finally determined that it was not considered cancerous and I would just need yearly mammograms to keep an eye on it.  Sweet...and this time I really mean it.

Later that same year I decided to finally have an uterine ablation.  It was either that or a hysterectomy and I chose the lesser of the two evils.  For those that don't know what it is, it's a procedure that cauterizes the inside of your uterus into charred barren wasteland.  Like the post-apocylptic set of The Road or The Book of Eli.  Ok, right here would be a perfect spot for some kind of a joke about Viggo Mortinsen or Denzel Washington being inside my uterus, but I digress.  I'll just lob that one up there and let you hit it out of the park in you mind.  Anyway, I know the doc used some thing more high tech than this but I just always pictured him with a blow torch and welding mask.   Oh, also, if there happen to be any guys reading this...right now would be the time when you should bow your head and thank God for giving you your manly bits and not lady bits.  Seriously, your upkeep & maintenance program is so much better than ours.  And you can pee standing up.

Fast forward to last Friday and my yearly mammogram.  Same old, same old...15 minutes and a pink carnation later I was on to other errands and the rest of my day.  It didn't cross my mind again until the hospital called Tuesday and said I needed to come back in because they had found something 'abnormal' in my right breast.  But, she said, "you have young, dense breasts so it can be hard to diagnose"... wait, did she just compliment my boobs in the same sentence as telling me they were abnormal?  Um, thanks, I think.  Maybe I'll use that next time I'm trying to flirt with my husband:  "Hey  babe, get a load of my dense breasts."  Hubba hubba.

This morning I went back to the imaging department to have more squooshing done.  After the doc reviewed the images he determined that it was just normal breast tissue and no need for any further testing.  Quite good news for my boobies.  And good news for my husband too...since he has grown rather fond of them and I've always said that if they ever do find something serious I want them taken off.  Really...I'm not attached to them.  They have done their job:  I caught myself a husband and they have fed three kids.  Now their main goal is to just offset my hips and make me look somewhat proportional.  Without them I strikingly resemblance a pear...or a raindrop...or something else that is much heavier on the bottom than the top.

So, it's all good for now.  I'll keep up on the maintenance programs for all my lady bits and hope they don't all go defective at once.  And even with the expired warranties, I still got flirted with at the grocery store on my way home today...well played, defective boobies, well played.

Not quite a foodie...

Today is my last quiet day for several months.  My husband is at shift, all 3 kids are at school and I am enjoying it.  It's rainy & windy outside so I don't feel guilty for spending the day indoors, my office work is caught up for the moment and I figured out how to play my iTunes through the surround sound!  Bonus!

So...what am I doing with these few precious hours?  Baking.  Cuz I like it.  I enjoy being in the kitchen and creating good (hopefully) things for us to eat.  So far today I've made individual apple pies with carmel icing and apple cinnamon rolls with the same carmel icing.  I really like the icing, ok?  Well, truthfully, only half the apple cinnamon rolls have icing because I ran out.  And I may or may not have run out because I was eating it on graham crackers while waiting for the dough to rise.  Or maybe the cats ate it.  But probably it was me.

The apple pies were supposed to be homemade pop tarts but I figured if I called them that the kids would want to eat them for breakfast and while I have fed my kids some interesting things for breakfast, I do have standards people!  Although, in a valiant effort to offset the icing, I made the crust whole wheat with flax seed.  On the great nutritional balancing scale that has to be worth something, right?  Plus the applesauce filling was my homemade low-sugar applesauce.  See, that's nutrition!  Maybe they will be breakfast tomorrow morning...

The apple cinnamon rolls turned out really well.  It's a new recipe and the dough was really soft so I thought I had messed it up but they turned out nice and light.  Again the filling was my applesauce with grated apples added to it and then cinnamon sugar sprinkled over that before rolling them all up.  Nummy!

I posted my food pics but I'm not really a 'Foodie".  I don't spend my days experimenting with new cooking techniques and ingredients.  I just like to bake.  And I make a mess when I do it.

No Martha Stewart kitchen here...there are no perfect plates of carefully shaped cookies or vases of flowers or bowls of fruit too beautiful to eat.  Almost all of my plates are chipped and my favorite vase is an old molasses bottle and we have an empty fruit basket at the moment (payday is tomorrow...yeah!).  Mine is a small kitchen with minimal storage and comically sloping formica countertops.  And there's a melted spot in the linoleum where I spilled hot candy syrup two Christmas's ago when making hard candies.

But my kitchen can produce lots of great and imperfect treats and meals.  It's where I put up countless quarts of applesauce and corn and berries and jam.  It's where my kids are learning to cook and bake.  Every Thanksgiving it's full to the brim...every inch of counter space is covered with pots and pans and platters.  And, most importantly, it's where we all hang out.  Even when we have company over,  everyone seems to just hang around the kitchen and visit.

So eat your heart out Martha...my kitchen is awesome.

Weird and Cool Coincidence

We take my mom around to clean up and decorate the family headstones at area cemeteries each Memorial Day.  It's become a tradition and my kids actually look forward to it each year.

Our first stop is for my mom's brother Dean who passed away in a car accident before I was born.  His headstone is a military issued metal one with the raised lettering.  Each year the kids argue over who gets to paint the letters with gold paint....and each year they each get to paint a portion of them.  Wyatt, who thinks he's military bound when he gets older, likes to walk to rows with flags and read the military references on the headstones.  

Our last stop is our local cemetery which on a hill behind our house.  It has the most breathtaking views of the valley and foothills!  You have almost 360 degrees of unbroken vista from the top of the hill.  It really is as peaceful a resting place as I can imagine.  And it's got the coolest, historical feel to it as soon as you walk through the stone gateways and see the old headstones that are so worn you can hardly make out the wording.

This is where our ancestors are buried, right back to my great-great-great-grandfather who crossed the Oregon Trail (twice!) and settled the family farm in 1851.  And all the generations following him are represented in the family plots.  And our people aren't alone, there are numerous old headstones with dates from the 1800s.  The kids like to walk around and try to find the oldest ones or try to piece together the stories of families.  

While they where looking around on Saturday they found a small flat headstone that was overgrown.  It was sunken at one end and didn't look as though it had been cared for in awhile.  They decided to 'adopt' it and Wyatt set about cleaning it up with the grass clippers.  The girls made a pretty vase out of the flowers we had left over and placed it on the grave.  Satisfied, they sat for a moment before we packed up to head home.

I took note of the name and dates of our adopted headstone so I could do a little research when we got home, as the last name was not one that was still in the community.  She was only 19 and nothing was noted on the stone about her cause of death.  When I typed it into the Google up came a picture of the headstone with a notation that she was a sister-in-law to a family name that I recognized.  Now I could start to connect some dots about who's family-line she belonged in and maybe find out a bit more about her.

I emailed the information to my mom, thinking she might find it interesting.  She responded with some of the coolest information I could have imagined.  When she had mentioned the name and family connection to my dad, he recognized it right away.  No shock there...he's like a walking community history encyclopedia.  

But what he added to our bit of information was that the young lady who's headstone the kids had cared for used to live right here at our house.  Her old house has been long gone, I don't remember ever seeing a stick built home on this property in my lifetime, but she had lived right here at the beginning of the last century.  How much of a weird, and cool, coincidence is that?

The kids loved it...they thought it was creepy and freaky and awesome.  I thought it was a bit Twilight Zone but found it very cool.  I love things like that!  And now I am on the hunt to find out more about her and why she only had 19 years.  It's like our own Nancy Drew story.

Needless to say, we'll be taking care of that grave each year on Memorial Day as well as the others.  Because it's kinda like we're connected and that's pretty cool. 

Riding on busses

I spent Thursday on a field trip with my kids' classes.  We went to the Timber's soccer game in Portland.  Now, for those of you who may not understand the ins & outs of chaperoning field trips let me just explain a few things.

First, the field trip encompassed grades 4-8 which covers all three of my kids' grades so I technically volunteered for all three classrooms at once.  That is what's known as looking like a good parent without exerting too much time & energy.

Second, it was to a Portland Timber's soccer game.  Come on people...a soccer game for a field trip?!?!  That's the best field trip ever!  And believe me I've been on some serious field trip snoozefests.  I spent an entire day walking the Oregon Gardens with a group of third graders.  A group of third graders who live on farms...they already knew what the plants were and what animals made the 'neat-o' animals tracks.  You should have seen our guide's face when all the kids finished identifying their plaster molds of tracks in record time and then threw in a few stories about killing some of them.

Let me recap:  I volunteered for all three kids at one time and got to see a Timbers game.  That's golden...in fact that, my friends, is what's called 'Winning the Field Trip Chaperone lottery'!!!

So, we arrived at school that morning on time (which already made it a stellar day by my measure) and I found out who my group of chaperone-ees was to be:  all the 6th grade girls.  Which sounds like a lot until you understand that this is a little country school that has 185 students in a K-8 building.  The grand total of my group was 8 and that included my daughter Kate.  A wonderfully manageable number and, knowing all the girls fairly well, I was stoked to see that my job would be an easy one.  Sweet!  Off to the game!

We loaded onto the busses...one for the 6, 7 & 8 graders and one for the 4 & 5 graders.  (My bus contained Kate & Wyatt while Abby rode with the other 4th graders)  And then we sat.  On a bus.  For about 20 minutes.  With roughly 52 kids.  Not fun.

Let me rewind 26 years to when I was 12 and tell you why it was particularly not fun for me.   When I was a 7th grader at Victor Point I developed a bit of a phobia.  It was like claustrophobia but not quite.  I was always self conscious and afraid of being made fun of by other kids.  That morphed into being afraid of being somewhere where I couldn't get away from people if I was too be sick or have something equally embarrassing happen.  It became a fear of being in overcrowded places, from concerts to the mall to Costco...they all became places I hated.  And it became a big fear of riding the bus.  I was afraid of being sick on the bus and then having to endure the rest of the hour long ride with that granule-covered puddle beside my seat and the jokes and pitying looks of my fellow students.  But where we lived, the bus was the only option.  So every morning and afternoon I faced that yellow monster and gutted out (no pun intended) the ride and tried not to let anyone else know how hard I was struggling.  Because for my friends to know that I had this phobia was almost as embarrassing as the original fear itself.  I mean really, how do you explain that your afraid of the bus?

My Mom took me to some kind of psychologist or psychiatrist or counselor or something...I don't remember the guy well but Mom says I pretty much clammed up and wouldn't talk to him except to be snarky.  Hhhmmm...doesn't sound like me at all.  Anyway, she read up on stuff and then decided the best way to handle it was to make me face it.  She didn't alter our day to day living to pander to my fears, she just taught me how to work through it when I was somewhere that I felt panicked.  And God bless her for that.  She would make me go to Costco with her and then distract me with conversation or silliness so that I wasn't focused on the fear.  I was still encouraged to go to concerts where I would loose myself in the music and only have to get through the intermissions when I could see how many people were actually in the arena with me.  She taught me that the mind is powerful and you can talk yourself through difficult situations instead of giving into panic.  Over the years, it's become a valuable mental trait that I'm indebted to her for making me develop.

So, I made it through 7th grade and two hour-long bus rides a day and the fear started to ebb.  It was never as bad as it was that year.  I would still have momentary panicky times later on in high school when I would have to ride a team bus to games but I could always get myself through them.  By the time I was out of high school, it wasn't an issue anymore.

And then 26 years later I found myself sitting on a bus full of 12-14 year olds in front of my old school.  Nostalgia is a powerful thing.  All of a sudden I was 12 again and facing another hour long ride in front of the most judgement people in the world:  junior highers.  And this time not only would I embarrass myself but also my kids.  I began to panic a little.  I was about two seconds from standing up and telling the teachers I would just drive my own car and follow them to the stadium.  And from the cobwebs in my head came the phrases I would tell myself when I battled this feeling so long ago.  "I'm fine, I will get through this" and "I'm OK, just breath".  I let go of the seat in front of me and sat back.  I cracked the window to get some fresh air and breathed deep.  "I will face this and I will be fine."

The bus began to move and I had one more surge of wanting to bolt for the door.  I texted Mike that we were headed out and that I was having a harder time than I thought.  He responded with "if it gets bad call me and I'll come get you".  He was willing to drive to Portland to rescue his ridiculous wife from her fear of busses...that's love, people!   As I put my phone away I turned toward the back of the bus and caught Kate's eye.  She smiled her silly smile at me and that was exactly what I needed to ground myself.  I settled back into the seat and resolved that I would make it through this bus ride.

An hour and 20 minutes later we were pulling up in front of Jeld-Wen field and while I was anxious to get off the bus, I was OK.  I gathered my 8 chaperone-ees as we got off the bus and made our way into the stadium.  The game was great with the Timbers winning 4-0.  I even managed to keep my usual yelling-like-an-idiot-at-sports-events self under control for the sake of my kids.

Because I had made it through the ride up, I wasn't dreading the return trip and even had a nice visited with another mom while we rode back.  When we exited the bus back at the school I felt good.  It was nice to know that even though I still had that irrational fear lurking in the recesses of my mind,  I also still had the ability to conquer it.  Funny how something as silly as overcoming a childhood fear can make you feel invincible...even when you are middle aged when you do it.

Lá Na Gaeilge

Dia duit!  Conas atá tú?

(Hello!  How are you?)

I'm learning Irish, or Gaeilge, and I'm driving my family a little nuts with it but I'm having a blast!  I've been listening to podcasts from EasyIrish.com for the last few months.  I listen to them in the car, when I walk, while I'm waiting for the kids at practices.  And even though I haven't retained more than the first two lessons it doesn't stop me from trying to sharing my new language with anyone who will listen.  When I pop off with some of the words & phrases I've learned Mike just looks at me with raised eyebrows.  "Are you sure that's even a real language?  It sounds like gibberish."    

I realized that my brain was having a hard time remembering which phrases were which so I set out to find a way to really learn from Irish speakers.  That's how I found Lá Na Gaeilge at Marylhurst University.  It's their annual Irish Language Day and it was great!  I spent my Saturday learning all kinds of great stuff about the language.  I learned about the structure of the language, of the differences between Cork and the rest Ireland and lots of other cool stuff.  

The best part of the day was definitely a workshop called 'Tea with Grandpa'.  I signed up for it on the recommendation of one of the attendees and I'm so glad I did.  The first cool thing was that it was just the teacher, one other student and myself.  Pretty much a personal lesson.   Brían uses a way of teaching that is like immersion.  He spoke mostly in Irish the entire time, except when explaining certain rules, etc.  And he uses signs, like sign language, to help enforce the absorption of the words.  He took us on a walk outside and presented us with very obvious situations so grasping the concepts and words was easy once I caught on.  Before I knew it I was understanding things like take & give, here & there, old & young, tall & short...it was so cool!  To see an example of it, you should check out Language Hunters on YouTube.  

So, now I'm all excited to keep learning and get better at the language so that when I go back to Lá Na Gaeilge next year, I'll be able to talk to the others and maybe even move up to the Intermediate classes.  I'm just so glad that my brain can handle learning something like this!  After three kids, I was beginning to think that all my college learning had been replaced with grocery lists, 4th grade math homework, game schedules, 6th grade science, permission slips, 8th grade field trips and, oh yea, maybe some work stuff too.  Good to know there's still some room in there!

Slán go fóill!

(Goodbye for now!)

My Smartass Daughter

Both of my girls have some quick wits on them.  But, my youngest daughter is particularly talented in the smartass category.  

When I picked up the kids at school today, she climbed in the car and told me that a boy had slapped her across the face today.  My first reaction was shock...what the hell?!?!  My next reaction was 'uh oh'...what had Abby done back to him???  So after I got the story of what exactly had happened I asked her, "what did you do?"  She said, very calmly:  "I didn't hit him back mom, don't worry.  I told him I couldn't hit him because I'm not supposed to hit women."  Then she proceeded to tell him that he better sleep with one eye open because her big brother was coming for him.  

Ya....I don't think I'm going to have to worry about that girl.

My 30s

I think it's safe to say that I have always liked each age I've been.  I'm not the person to lie about their age...when asked I tell, with no preamble or apology.  I'm 38.  I like being 38.  Even though when I turned 35 my husband informed me that I was 'half dead' now.  Thanks babe.  He's two years younger so he doesn't feel he's as close to death as I am...unless he keeps making comments like that.

The cool thing about my thirties is that I feel like I've grown up finally.  My twenties were full of lots of growth and events that shaped me but my thirties is when I was able to take those things and make sense out of them.  I am at a point where not only do I have my own opinions, but I own my opinions.  Because a lot of what I believe now is not the same as what I was taught when I was young.

Like the fact that I can't get myself all worked up about gay marriage.  I just don't see why two people who care about each other can't have some type of union that shows it.  You don't have to agree with them but you have to stop telling other people what to do.  It's between them and God and I'm not needed in the middle of that equation.

And the fact that I am now pro-union.  For good reason, since they are trying really really hard right now to protect my husband's job and keep him safe.  They are like family and I know I could count on them if we ever needed anything.  Heck, I might even vote Democrat this election cycle. (gasp!)

Perhaps the best thing about my thirties has been that I finally feel comfortable in my own skin.  I've always struggled with self-consciousness and the fact that I don't ever feel like I fit in.  From a strictly physical standpoint, I've been skinnier and I've been heavier and neither really made much difference to the way I felt about myself.  I saw that people treated me differently at different weights but I never thought of myself differently.  There was always something to change or some flaw that needed fixing.  While I'm not going to proclaim that I have reached some zen state of mind where I'm completely at peace with my body, I will say that I have grown to love it and that worrying about it's appearance is not taking up so much of my brain power anymore.  I am, for lack of a better word, content.

As for the fitting in part, I can unequivocally say that I am OK with not fitting into anyone's group.  In fact, at this point I reject people's labels and attempts to corral us all into categories.  To the point where I have intentionally not become a member of our church because I don't feel that I need to identify myself as a denomination.  I don't need to pledge myself to anyone or anything outside of God and my husband.
I don't want to be registered as a Republican anymore but, then again, I don't want to be registered as a Democrat either.  I'm both conservative and liberal and it doesn't always fall along party lines.  I abhor the idea that I have to reduce myself to checkboxes on a list of categories that someone has decided is big enough to identify me.

So my thirties has taught me that it's OK to believe what I believe and be the person that I have become.  And I understand that people don't agree with me and that's OK.  I don't expect them to because I don't necessarily agree with them.  It's simple that way.  It's grown up, even.

Mother's Day on the lake

Today was one of the best Mother's Days ever.  After missing several years due to bad weather or sickness, we were able to take the boat out for our traditional Mother's Day on the lake.  Since we bought the boat 7 years ago, we've tried to make Mother's Day our first lake day of the season.

Yes, the water is freezing but it's worth it.  In years past, I've gotten in the water to wakeboard just so I could say I was the first one in the water that year.  Not so much anymore.  I'm perfectly content to sit in the boat and soak up the sun while the kids brave the hypothermia-inducing water.

And today was exceptional.  We got to the lake around 10:30 in the morning and there were only a few boats already out.  The weather was perfect...warm & sunny & beautiful.  The kids jumped in the water and Mike & I sat on the boat with the sun shining down and Jack Johnson singing our soundtrack.  Those are the moments you want to freeze and keep forever...I guess that is what I'm trying to do by writing it down.

But....

It's Friday but it feels like a Monday morning.

The sun is out but that makes me realize how badly I need to wash the windows.

Wyatt woke up with a red eye this morning.  It may not be pinkeye but it probably is.

Usually that would mean a doctor appointment but we already have medication left from the last time he had it.  Score!

Kate asked Abby to borrow t-shirt but she had already taken it without permission.

Abby said NO but Kate left the house wearing it anyway.

Abby hurt her foot and wanted to take crutches to school but I said NO because she can walk on it.

That is not unreasonable but Abby doesn't agree.

I asked Kate if she remembered her homework and she said YES but she was wrong and I had to make two trips to the school this morning.

I wasn't planning on going into town today but now I'm way low on fuel.

I've already done 3 loads of laundry this morning but now it's all on my bed waiting to be folded.

I did go for a walk this morning but I have yet to get a shower.

It's only 9 am but I just ate a left over taquito from last night's supper.

I need another cup of coffee but its decaf so what's the point.

I wish we could do this everyday...

Mike & I worked on our place all day today.  We picked up supplies, spread sawdust in the blueberry patch and compost in the garden, put bark dust in more flowerbeds and worked on the pig pen.  When we were putting up new chicken fencing around the back side of the barn he looked at me and said "I wish we could do this everyday...work here together."  

I couldn't agree more.  If we could make a go of it with our farm it would be the best thing ever.  We can't do it full-time...yet.  But everyday we get to be here together is a good day.  

And I think the cows agree.

Girls and Tractors

My husband is a good man.  He teaches our kids...all of our kids...how to drive tractors.  That may not be a big deal to some but to me it sums up a lot of stuff.  

I grew up on a farm but was expected to do more female chores.  As a tomboy, that never set well with me.  I was much happier outside than in, dirty than clean, loud than quiet.  I've always pushed against the 'woman's work' role that I felt put in;  very much the square peg into the round hole scenario.  And in that scenario the peg never really fits, it just gets beaten down.  

I used to bug my dad unendingly until he finally would put me on a little old Farmall A and let me drive around the pastures.  Other than that, I was never allowed to drive much farm equipment and that has always bugged me.  It was not for lack of wanting and asking on my part...it was just how it was with my family.  Later in life that mindset ultimately played a part in my decision to leave my family's farm;  I'd never be satisfied if I was relegated to a narrow job description based on my gender.  

So, my husband and I left that farm & business and started our own.  It's super small compared to what I was raised on but it's ours to run how we see fit.   And, by design, the kids are a big part of the farm and the chores that come along with it.  They handle the livestock, clean the barn, collect the eggs, mow the lawns, weed, clean the house, bake & cook, etc.  Our expectations of them are equal whether its our boy or one of the girls.  Like today...my husband didn't hesitate to throw the girls on the tractor and give them a lesson on hauling bark dust.  And that, my friends, is pretty freakin' awesome.  Because it gives my girls a certain confidence early in life that will be invaluable to them throughout their lives.  It also gives them, and by extension me, validation.  It says to us "I recognize your abilities as a person regardless of your gender."  It sets the bar for how the kids should expect to be treated and how they should treat others.  I hope it will someday help them decide who they will choose as a partner for their life.  My wish for them is that each of them find a person who respects them and who they can respect, a person who they can work side by side with as individuals and as a couple.  My wish for them is that they find a partner just like I have.

All that...just from driving a tractor.

Facebook Prayers: grabbing everyone's attention, one key stroke at a time

Prayers and prayer requests...most people would agree that these are good things.  And I've seen some pretty moving instances of prayer and I've seen God move in some pretty cool ways.  But there are times when people hijack the prayer request time as their own personal spotlight.  I'm sure if you've been to a bible study you've heard the usual sob stories about how difficult someone's life is right now.  Or, the ever popular gossip-disguised-as-prayer-request:  "I'm only telling you guys this because you need to know to pray for them..."  It can be disheartening and down right annoying.

And now with Facebook, it's easier than ever to show just how religious you are by asking for random prayer requests or leaving actual prayers in someone's comment box.  Because we all know that God has a Facebook page and he's totally into social media.  What better way to reach Him?  I'm pretty sure I've seen him on Twitter too (@imtherealgod...I think, but I might be wrong).

I think Facebook prayers carry extra weight with God.  When someone invokes God's name in text form, it probably goes straight to His celestial iPhone.  "OMM! (Oh My Me...I'm pretty sure that's how God says it) Holly just wrote an actual prayer for Jennifer?  She must really mean it.  Plus she added, like, fifty exclamation marks so I better get right on this."  Or, "Melissa is sending extra special prayers...and hugs? She is such a good christian, I better honor those prayers.  Besides she added those cute little heart icons before and after her sentence."

And, even if that's not how all that plays out...at least they've just shown the entire Facebooking world just how gosh golly great they are.  But I'm sure that wasn't their intent at all...

Why are the cats british?

I'm a little 'off'.  This is a known-factor for most people with whom I have had any type of conversation with that lasts longer than 2 or 3 minutes.  Or if they have ever accompanied me to a sporting event.   

I fill my parts of the conversations with movie lines or song lyrics or random noises.  My husband and kids are used to it so they can follow along quite well.  Although, sometimes they look at me with that expression that says, "Wha?  What the hell is she talking about?"  And I glibly look back at them with an expression that says, "Why are you not following all of this?  It makes total sense."

I felt I needed to preface this story with that information so you...well, so you would know that this is not the weirdest thing that I do in a given day.

I went to the linen closet in our bathroom to get a towel for my shower and was met with two beady little eyes.  These belong to one of our cats named Chloe and she shot me a look that said, "Why are you interrupting my sleep?"  At that moment the other cat, Nala, came into the room.  She caught site of Chloe perched on top of the towels and looked up at her buddy.  And then I proceeded to have a mock conversation between the two cats...in my head.  And I made them both have british accents.  Don't ask...I don't really know why.  It went a little something like this:

Nala:  "Oh, that looks comfy.  Can I come up?"

Chloe:  "No.  No, you may not."

Nala:  "But...why not?  I fancy a little nap on the towels too..."

Chloe:  "No, I'm afraid there is just no room for you."

Nala:  "But you can scooch over a bit and I'll curl up and it'll be fine.  I'm coming up..."

Chloe:  "Listen you saucy little tart, I said no.  Now go away."

After this I just imagined a stony silence until Nala finally gave what I thought was a little cat shrug and walked back out of the room.  Chloe looked at me with those smug cat eyes until I felt like I was intruding and pushed the closet door closed again.  

She's quite intimidating...especially when she's british.

The Freedom of the F word

I cuss more than I should.  Way more.  Like enough that my mom would probably still want to ground me and I'm almost 40.  But sometimes it's just what you need.  It's like a glass of ice tea on a hot day or a foot rub from your husband.  It makes everything better and, if you can admit it, it just feels good to let lose with a litany of salty curses.

Now, I endeavor to curtail this part of my vocabulary around my kids for obvious reasons.  I try.  Really hard.  But I don't always succeed so my kids have heard my colorful adjectives.  I'm upfront with them about the fact that I'm a severely flawed individual and they should not follow my lead.  Will they turn out ok?  I have no idea.  I grew up in a household where you weren't even allowed to say butt and look where that got me.  Maybe they'll rebel against me and be straight laced and proper...that would probably be great!

Out of respect for my parents I do keep my language to a minimum at family events.  And if you knew my family, you would know how fucking monumental that is.  (See, I just used it and lightening didn't strike me, or you, down.)  There are several family members that I would love to let lose on but, no, I keep my mouth shut.  Meanwhile, my brain is in meltdown from all the held-in verbal smack downs running through it.  There may come a day when I loose control of the thin filter that has managed to grow between my mind and my mouth.  And when that comes, it will be the most freeing day of my life.  Sure, I won't ever be invited back for Christmas dinner.  Or Easter.  Or, well...any other forced family occasion.  Hhhmmm....perhaps I'm onto something there.

An open letter to anyone who wants to read it:

Today the City of Salem announced that it would be shutting down 2 fire stations.  Completely.  As in, sorry no one is home to answer your emergency, please try again later.  I am rather indignant about this decision for several reasons.  The first being that my husband works for Salem FD.  The second has to do with the fact that the FD union was in negotiation with the city and had presented another viable option that would accomplish the same savings (if not more), shut down only one engine and evenly distribute the staffing throughout the city.  The city manager said no.  Then to prove how much she really meant it, she closed two stations.  Ya...I know.  I have flashbacks to the playground and that really spoiled girl that always stomped her foot and cried if she didn't get her way.  I never liked her...I wonder what she's doing now?

Anyway, as I read the article published in the Statesman Journal (cough cough) I was shocked by some of the comments.  Not all of them....just the really ignorant ones.  The ones that said things like "Good, I'm glad we're not paying those guys to sleep anymore" and "I'm tired of seeing them at the grocery store in their shiny trucks".  Wow.  I mean, really.  Wow.  At first I was angry, like shake my fist and use my favorite curse word angry.  Then I realized that maybe people really just don't get it.  So, let me clue you in on what goes on during a 24 hour shift.  And, bear in mind, this is all second hand from my husband but I'm thinking he's a pretty reliable source.

My husband works at Station 3, referred to as The House of Pain because it's the busiest engine in the city.  I believe it's also the 27th busiest single-engine house in the nation.  Their record for responses in a 24 hours shift is 20 calls.  You do the math people.  They don't really sleep so that answers the one ignorant comment.  Sometimes it's referred to as The House of Mild Discomfort when it's a slow shift...you know like when they get maybe 3 or 4 hours of sleep.

Each day there are 3 people on the engine:  the captain, the engineer (driver) and the hoser (firefighter).  These crews rotate every 3 days:  24 hrs on/48 hours off.  Each shift is responsible for their own meals and they each pitch in a few bucks to buy the ingredients for that day's meal.  Sometimes they bring stuff in from home so they don't have to shop but most of the time they go to a local grocery store to pick things up.  Also, they sometimes buy items ahead but you have to remember they are there every third day so any of those items must be frozens/non-parishables.  They are only allowed to go to a store in their response area and at one time or another have left their food behind to go on a call.  In additional to this, the entire station (all 3 shifts) pitches in for what's known as "cat meat".  This is for items all of them use:  ketchup, pickles, salad dressing, etc.  The term is from way back when they used to have horse drawn engines.  The station would keep cats to control the mouse population and the firefighters would pitch in money to help feed the cats.  Viola':  cat meat.  I can attest to the fact that the cat meat shopping is not done on shift.  I have gone shopping many a time with my husband on his off-shift days to buy the supplies needed because, frankly, they just don't have the time.

Next time you see a crew at the grocery store, ask 'em.  They'll answer any questions you have and be happy to do so.  They aren't driving around showing off their shiny fire engines, they are going to training or coming back from a call or moving up to cover a different station or any number of job related tasks that they are asked to perform during their shift.

So...that kind of covers the ignorance about seeing them at the store or and paying them to sleep.  But, there's a lot more to know about what these people do and it goes deeper than those silly comments.  My husband has been on some really crappy calls, as has every member of the Salem FD.  Calls that I know must be bad because he won't talk to me about them.  And we talk about everything.  Really, we're that couple...if you tell me, your telling him and vice versa.  Anyway, I know he has things in his head that I can't understand because of what he's seen.  Every FD spouse would agree.  And we both know that it's part of the job.  It's a known factor: there's gonna be some messed up s**t to deal with.  Got it.  What is more difficult and, in my opinion, wears them down more, is the abuse of the system and lack of coping skills people seem to have.   (I think there should be a class in high school, like maybe sophomore year, that teaches coping skills.  It's freshman prerequisite could be manners 101, but that's a whole different story.)  People call 911 for everything.  EVERYTHING.  My husband has had to go change the batteries in a smoke detector for a person who was completely able bodied and could reach the unit.  And, to make it even better, there was another able bodied person laying on the couch watching him do it.  They called a 3 person engine company into service because they were lazy.  People want to be transported to the ER for a sore throat.  No other complaints...just a sore throat.  Another person called 911 because they had a burning sensation in their throat after drinking a Coke.  Someone else called because they sneezed while eating and were sure they had chicken stuck up their nose.  I'm not making this stuff up.  People treat the ER, and by extension, the fire department/ambulance as their answer to general practice medicine.  And the brunt of that lands squarely on the firefighters who respond to the calls.

And we haven't even touched on the mental health issues they have to deal with.  They may as well have their degree in counseling as well as fire protection & paramedicine.  From people who need a mediator to settle their disputes to meth heads gorked out of their minds to older folks who just want to talk to someone, they field it all.  And they do it because it's their job.  And underneath all the crap, they like helping people.  But when the very people they protect start turning on them and calling them greedy, over paid, under worked, union puppets, I have to say something.  And, yes, I get angry because I see what these men and women put into the job and how little they get back in return.  People hear 'union' and they automatically react as if it's evil.  And, in the spirit of honesty, I used to as well.  I didn't think unions were necessary until I got a close up look at what they do for their members.  I cannot speak for every union out there but I can tell you this:  Local 314, Salem Professional Firefighters Union, is out for one thing and one thing only.  The safety of it's firefighters and the people they protect.  Period.

Here's the thing, I watched my husband find his way to this line of work.  I helped him study for his paramedic courses and it just came naturally to him.  When everyone else in his paramedic class was testing at every fire department around, he held out for Salem.  It was the only place he applied to because it was the only place he really wanted to work.  That was 9 years ago.  I am so proud of him and the entire fire department family at Local 314.  They are a great bunch of people and they really do love their jobs.  They aren't trying to fleece the city, they are just trying to do the best job they can with the resources they have and keep everyone safe in the process.