Delayed

2014 has to be better than how it has started. Granted, yes, it technically began at midnight on January 1st at a phenomenal concert with some of my favorite people. But, it swiftly went downhill from there. 

We have been in Chicago for the holidays for a year now. Ok, not that long, but it feels that way. We have tried to go home several times. We drove to the airport, checked in for flights... Hell, we even boarded a plane once (and sat there for two hours). But, countless delays, a hotel stay, three cancelled flights, a lot of tears, and finally just going back to my in-law's later... we are still here. The combination of weather and FAA regulations have people sleeping in the airport, news crews interviewing annoyed airline customers, and planes sitting at the terminals. Honestly, there is so much more that goes into it than I ever care to understand. But, the bottom line is - we cannot go home. If it were just me and my husband we would live at Midway to get on the next standby flight; but, we have two children with us. Children who need beds, rest, decent meals, etc. 

It has been a constant guessing game. Will the plane take off today? The answer has been "no". Will our flight be missing a pilot or another essential member of the crew? More than likely. Are flight attendants that essential??? Turns out, yes, they are. Should we stand in the line at the gate to speak to an agent? Or call? Or brave the line at the ticket counter? Doesn't make that much of a difference. Feed the kids lunch or sit here in hopes we board the flight? Feed them; you're not going anywhere. Should I cry? Yes. 

I suppose this is the part where I reach a higher level of appreciation for the situation. *I'll try* I am so thankful we have somewhere to go. We did spend the first night in a hotel since my in-law's house is an hour away. We were sure we'd spend one inconvenient night in a room with both of our kids and then we would be on our way home. Fools. Once we were exhausted after day two at the airport, second cancelled flight, and a night sharing a bed with a toddler... we gave up and headed back to the suburbs. We had to buy new pajamas, underwear, and other essentials; did I mention we are without our luggage? *ugh* But, we have our own rooms and the ability to wash our clothes and eat home cooked meals. We don't have our coats or hats in this below freezing weather - so we haven't left the house. But, it absolutely could be worse. I am also very grateful my children are with me. If I were stranded somewhere trying to get home to them I would have completely lost my mind by now. I have snuggled on them both so many times and said, "I'm so glad I'm with you" through gritted teeth. But, any other greater understanding from all of this is lost on me. I just want to go home. 

All of this has left me feeling very behind in the new year. Delayed. Just like our flights and return home. I am the type who takes control at the beginning of the year. I love making lists and deciding what I can improve upon. Last year held a lot of changes for my health. And now, after a very long holiday, I am desperate to get back to that healthy lifestyle. I am dying to go to yoga and would be content with never looking at a Christmas cookie again. I want to clean my house. Unpack. Do our laundry. My children want their bedrooms. Their toys. Their home. I know Craig would like to return to work! The day before we were originally scheduled to fly to Dallas I said to Craig, "If we are delayed for whatever reason I am going to cry." It had already been a long trip. Little did I know what was in store for us. Kendan has been begging for a week now, "I wanna go home!" We all do, buddy. Mommy, Daddy, Brother... and everyone stuck in the airport. 

Tomorrow we try again. We are rebooked again. We will drive to the airport again. We will check in, go through security, and wait at the gate AGAIN. We may board the plane one more time and hopefully, hopefully take off and then land in Dallas. Almost a full week into 2014 we will finally be home. *Please* As delayed as our start into the new year may be, I plan to make the best of it. I have so much anticipation built up for getting this year going. Until then, I will sit in pajamas, eat delicious homemade food, love on my family, and enjoy this forced hiatus from productive life. For only one more day. I hope. 

Beyond annoyed at the airport!

Affluence

A friend of mine recently brought a local news story to my attention. A 16 year old boy got drunk and crashed his truck, killing four people in another vehicle and paralyzing at least one of the passengers in his vehicle. A very serious tragedy. Incredibly sad. But, here's the part of the story that makes it nearly impossible to comprehend: the teenager was sentenced to treatment and 10 years probation. That's it. He chose to drink. He chose to drive. And his choices resulted in ending four people's lives. His defense attorney's argument was that this child was too privileged and never had limits set for him by his parents. They're claiming "Affluenza" as his defense. Is that like declaring "Insanity" only in reference to the defendant's parents? *eye roll* So, because this kid has never been made to take responsibility for his actions he doesn't have to now either? The lesson this boy has been taught is, "You can do whatever you want and literally get away with murder." Literally. Ok, ok ... "Man slaughter" ... 

I understand that the juvenile system is not meant to be punitive. That it is in place to help kids who have made mistakes so that they can become functioning members of society. I completely agree with that. Throwing this boy into jail to rot for several decades is not the answer. Treatment is definitely the best solution... for him. But, what about the grieving families? Innocent people suffering through the loss of their loved ones, left wondering why the person who killed them is being paid such kindness. Keeping him from going to prison and helping him to succeed in the future is about the nicest thing that can be done for this offender right now. Is that what he deserves? 

Ok. So, he's not going to be incarcerated. Fine. He'll get his truck taken away, his license revoked, he'll have to attend treatment, I'm sure he'll have some sort of house arrest situation.... so, basically, he's grounded? Hell, that was my punishment for not doing my chores! "Driving drunk and killing people is very bad behavior, son. Now write that sentence 100 times and no ice cream before bed tonight." Ridiculous! Although, because this kid has never actually been grounded in his life, I am sure this punishment will feel "SO UNFAIR!" 

This teen's lack of parental guidance, boundaries, and consequences growing up is being made the larger issue here. So, can we put his parents in jail? If the argument is that their parenting, or lack thereof, is the ultimate cause of this situation and the child cannot be blamed because he is a victim of his circumstances, then shouldn't his parents be held responsible? If they are the reason he felt it was acceptable to drive drunk then doesn't that make them conspirators in the killing of these people? If the plaintiff is a victim and the defendant is a victim.... then who is the culprit? I realize it's not as black and white as that. That, yes, this teenager probably really is a victim of terrible parenting and that he does need help. But, where does that defense stop? Maybe his parents also come from an affluent family. And their parents. And so on... Maybe the next serial killer in this country will just be "testing boundaries" because his parents never told him not to mutilate innocent people. Somebody has to be made to face consequences - real consequences, not being told "no, no" with the shake of a finger. I am sure the parents will be sued left and right. But, I can also guarantee that that is not a big deal to them. Again, the punishment does not fit the crime. They have, undoubtedly, used their affluence to get them out of sticky situations before. Which only reinforces the negative affects of being affluent. I get in trouble because I have too much money to care and then use that money to get me out of trouble so I can continue not caring. Sounds like a pretty high brow problem to me! Chant it with me... "Jail time! Jail time! Jail time!" Because I am 100% certain that if I got into a vehicle while intoxicated and hit another car causing the passengers to perish, that's exactly where I'd be. Jail. Deservedly so. 

This whole situation is infuriating. And I'm not even one of the people involved! I suppose the only thing I can do is raise my children the complete opposite way. We are definitely not affluent, so that part is not a problem. But, holding my kids responsible for their actions is of the utmost importance. Starting with the smallest offenses and giving them real, consistent consequences. It is actually very hard work for such a simple concept. But, it has to be done. I know they will still occasionally make bad decisions but I hope they will also understand responsibility. 

Give

Once I had children I knew I wanted to teach them something very valuable, especially around the holidays. To give. To give of your heart and your time is always better than to give gifts. Helping others in need is one of the most important things you can do. And, "It is more blessed to give than to receive..." You know, all that "jazz". I want them to grow up serving others a Thanksgiving meal or inviting people into their home. Ideally, there will be a pile of toys and clothes to be donated every Christmas before new items are unwrapped from under our tree. Since the boys were born, I have taken the holiday season as an opportunity to teach them this lesson a total of zero times. Not that I promote the opposite or anything.... it just turns out I didn't have my act together for the last three years. I have made several clothing and food donations since they were born, and Kendan loves helping me bring new neighbors cookies... I just failed to use these as teaching tools for the boys. *Whoops!*

This year is different. Well, not that different since Thanksgiving came and went without so much as a coin dropped in a donation bucket. *Whoops again!* I was informed that our playgroup would be participating in the local Love Pac program this season. This program donates boxes with enough food to feed a family of three siblings every day during the winter break. Families who rely upon the school meal programs for breakfast, snack, and lunch everyday to feed their children, and who cannot afford all of this food on their own. The idea was for each member of playgroup to donate some items to create one or two Love Pacs to donate to a local school. Deciding not to miss this opportunity to teach my kids (well, Kendan, at least) about helping others who are in need, we volunteered. But, I thought that a few canned goods would not drive the point home. No, we needed to do an entire box, by ourselves. 

The day I planned to shop for the Love Pac items I asked Kendan, "Did you know that there are some little boys and girls who don't have enough food to eat at home? And when they are hungry their mommy and daddy don't have food to give them. Isn't that so sad?" I became a little choked up at the thought of my sweet boy standing in front of me asking for something to eat and imagining what I would say to him if I couldn't provide that. He, as sweetly as ever, said, "But, we have a lot of food," and motioned towards the open doors of our pantry. His response could not have been more perfect to highlight the contrast between the two scenarios. I reiterated, "I know we do, but some people don't. So, today, we are going to go to the grocery store and buy lots of food for a family so that they are not hungry." He was happy to get food for another family, but reluctant to agree to go to the store; it's his least favorite activity. He became more excited once he was helping me unload more bags than he's ever seen at once from the car when we returned home. It looked like we were preparing the an apocalypse after our two hours at the store! 

Kendan reviewing the receipt as they went through the bags

The boys among a sea of food... and Damien eating a pretzel because he cannot go five minutes without food, especially while staring at food.

I hope to be able to instill this value for my children year round. But, the holiday season is when enforcing giving is most necessary. Christmas is about getting presents... or at least that is the message that is made very clear to children. Children who are already super psyched to be handed anything with a bow on it. Christmas only accelerates this excitement. Let's take Santa Claus, for example. He brings presents! He's in most Christmas carols on the radio. In countless store fronts. And even on kids' shows on television. We were watching a Mickey Mouse episode in which Christmas wasn't going to come if Santa couldn't be rescued from a mountain top. I announced to Kendan from the kitchen, "That's not true! Christmas will come with or without Santa Claus!" *Ridiculous* Thankfully, we also watched Dr. Seuss's The Grinch Who Stole Christmas. I made sure to point out in the end how, even without presents and decorations and food and STUFF, Christmas still came. Whoville still rejoiced. 

We don't actually "do" Santa in our house. He doesn't come down our chimney, we don't leave him cookies, there's no Elf on our Shelf. I promise I don't shuffle around the snowy streets shouting, "Bah humbug!" But, Santa is not a part of our Christmas tradition. He was a major part of my childhood. I loved mailing him lists and the magic surrounding him. But, long after I knew the truth about Claus and long after the quantity of gifts with my name on them was no longer important, I still felt the magic. In fact, I feel it more and from different sources and traditions. I do not reserve judgement for people who do include Santa Claus in their holiday festivities; I grew up believing in him and it was great! I love seeing mall Santa photos with kids screaming on his lap. And, it's not like we can completely escape Jolly Old St. Nick; like I said, he's everywhere. I tell Kendan that Santa is a representation that it is good to give. That some families believe he brings them presents because giving to others is wonderful. But, the idea of having to behave because Santa or his elves are watching so that you can be rewarded with gifts is not the direction I want to go in. a). I want them to behave all year long. And, b). I want them to behave without bribing them with wrapped boxes! *Let's be honest, the bribery happens enough on its own!* And do any parents truly withhold Christmas gifts from their kids if they act like little jerks leading up to the big day? I highly doubt it. Lesson lost. 

Teaching to give when all my three year old wants to do is get is going to be difficult. But, I am hoping to give both of my boys enough examples throughout the year, and especially during the holidays, to help them along. Keeping their ages and attention spans in mind, I am taking small steps to include acts of kindness, donations, and giving of our ourselves in our holidays. Maybe they will cherish gift exchange a little less, hopefully Kendan will remember when we helped to feed a hungry family, and I pray these are traditions they want to continue all their lives. 

"Christmas Day is in our grasp, so long as we have hands to clasp. Christmas Day will always be, just as long as we have we. Welcome Christmas while we stand, heart to heart, and hand in hand."

-Dr. Seuss

Thankful

I was a little hesitant when Craig said, "Let's do Thanksgiving at home this year." Just us, our little family, in our house. My first reaction was, "I'll buy a Honey Baked Ham and make side dishes, done!" Then Craig insisted, "We should make a Turkey.... and cranberry sauce! .... oh, oh, and two pies, and..." I tuned the rest out and began to dread what was coming. I have to cook a Thanksgiving feast. Because when Craig says "we" he means "me". I've never done this before. Every Thanksgiving prior to this there was a (more experienced) mom in the kitchen; referencing old family recipes, using ingredients I've never heard of, and looking like a professional. My Thanksgivings past involved my "helping" by chopping or stirring something, eating way too much, and then washing some dishes - I'm a hit at other people's gatherings! But, there was no hiding behind the "I'm a guest" excuse this year. It was up to me to provide the meal - the pinnacle of the Thanksgiving holiday.

To add a higher level of difficulty to the day that would surely be a disaster, our family planned to run a Turkey Trot first thing Thursday morning. It's enough that I would have to be on my feet cooking the rest of the afternoon after running over three miles, but we actually had to wake the kids up early for this event. Meaning, we would have two extremely cranky boys on our hands while I sweated it out over several entrees. At least it would just be us though. No matter what kind of monstrosity ensued I was really only cooking for me and my husband. Kendan and Damien wouldn't eat the majority of the regalement and wouldn't be harsh critics even if they did. So, who cares, right? ...... Enter: the unexpected (and totally welcome, so glad he joined us) dinner guest. Now, the pressure was on. 

I made the pies the night before. Cherry and blueberry, completely homemade, including the crust. I felt frantic but organized at the same time. Everything seemed to go off without a hitch save one very smokey oven incident as the cherry filling dripped out of my pie a little (ok, a lot). Craig wondered aloud if Martha Stewart ever dealt with the same issue. *Butt head* Before bed time I had two complete and savory-looking pies. The cherry did appear to have had a seizure on one side but, I didn't beat myself up over it. 

Warning: Objects are more delicious than they appear.

The Turkey Trot went great! It was actually my first official race since the 5k I had planned for early November didn't work out. It was freezing outside. And I don't mean "cold for Texas". I mean, literally below 32 degrees. This forced my children, who were not in the best moods as predicted, to sit the race out. Not by our insistence, by theirs. Craig made it around the first turn of the race with them in the stroller and Kendan was ready to go to the car. I was unaware of this, as I was running ahead of them, until I text messaged Craig at the end to let him know I was done. His reply was, "We saw you finish. We're in the car." Finishing my first race was an amazing feeling, but nothing was better than finding all of my boys dancing in the back of the car, blaring Paramore, warm, and in better moods! 

Slight panic began to set in. The race was the easy part of the day. I knew I could do that. Now, I had to get the house picked up, myself cleaned (and dressed) up, and all the traditional Thanksgiving fare prepared. To make what is already a long story short(er), I did it. Don't ask me how. But, I did. I'm either not going into detail about how I accomplished this because it's my little secret, or it's because I blacked out and cannot remember exactly what it is I did right that day. I credit my adrenaline from the fact that it was a holiday (I'm a holiday junkie), Damien taking a 3 hour nap in the middle of the day, and help from my husband whenever I demanded politely asked for it. Turkey, gravy, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, cranberry sauce, green bean casserole - all homemade - all delicious. And, most importantly, timed perfectly. Everything was warm when it hit the table! I can barely manage that on a regular week night. In addition to it looking and tasting wonderful, I was calm (and in a dress!). The day was a complete success. The boys had fun, our guest enjoyed himself and the meal, and so did we. To top it off, the pies were like slices of Heaven; even the epileptic cherry one. Take that, Martha Stewart! 

This is the time of year that we all give thanks for what is truly important in our lives. There are so many obvious answers to that question. Of course I'm thankful for my husband who makes everything in my life possible with his love and support. My children and their health will always be the definition of what it means to be honestly grateful. But, this year, I am thankful for a few more things. That my first Thanksgiving at the helm will go down in history as a great one. I'm beyond thankful for homemade pie crust (duh). And the fact that, after a 3 mile run and standing to cook the rest of the day, my feet didn't hurt when I went to bed that night. Hallelujah! 

Hope you all had an amazing Thanksgiving! 

Kendan's gift to us for Thanksgiving!

Summer

I don't like Summer. I'm not one of those people who waits until it has been a two month continuous streak of 100 degree days before I exclaim my dislike for Summer. The minute a beautiful, warm Spring day turns into "it's hot outside," I am not amused. Hell, 80 degrees is too hot for me unless I can sit in the shade and am not expected to exert myself physically. I have always been this way. I may have been the only child ever who would rather sit inside than frolick around in the summer sun. It boils down to two issues: I hate to sweat and I hate to wear sunscreen. The only time I am ok with sweating is if I am doing so to burn calories. Then, I welcome it! But, if I am showered and dressed for the day and cannot step four feet from my doorway without beginning to perspire, I am miserable. And sunblock.... Don't get me wrong, it's the best invention ever. I am so fair I burn if I stand too close to the toaster, it seems. So, I buy stock in anything with SPF in it. I wear it diligently and douse my children in it. But, that sticky, stinky solution just makes me cringe! The only time I don't mind wearing sunblock is if I know I'll be swimming. Typically the over-chlorinated public pools strip the grease component out of sunscreen, leaving only a layer of protection from the sun. But, if I have to be outside for any reason other than swimming and I am wearing sunscreen, then I'm secretly annoyed at its presence on my skin. .... And annoyed at the sun in general.

My disdain for Summer was never really a problem... until I had children. Before kids, I could easily decline invitations to events in the blazing heat. "No, I will not join your softball league that plays in mid-August." The majority of social gatherings that I agreed to attend included alcohol. If I could cool down my over heated body with cold beer then great! "Yes, I would love to come to your Fourth of July BBQ and bring beer with me!" See the equation below:

Heat + Beer = A Good Time

But, now I have two children. Children who do not discriminate between playing outside in the frigid cold or sweltering heat. They want to walk to the park, ride a bike, kick a ball, or draw chalk on the hottest of hot days. They do not care if their mother is sweating or if she actually washed her hair that day. They want to be outside! Standing at the back door, begging to be let out as if our backyard is the most amazing place on Earth (I can assure you, it's not). And it's not like I can keep cool by drinking like in the past. See the equation below:

Heat + Beer + Taking Care of Kids = A Bad Time

Yes, yes, you're adorable. But, it is not nearly as fun to care for you if I've been drinking.

I have had a lot to say about the high temperatures of the past few months. I have been looking forward to Fall, cold mornings, a chill in the air, and especially Winter. So, the fact that Texas does not begin to cool down until November has not had me in the best of spirits. The boys and I were outside the other day before dinner, late afternoon. It was 90 degrees. Our back porch area was shaded enough so that we were not being beaten down by the sun. And suddenly, there was a shift inside me. I don't know what caused it, but I felt very grateful that we had this hot summer day even though it was already October.

There's something about my red-cheeked, sweet baby boy running around in a one piece outfit. 

Dirt under his nails and all over his butt. 

Eating more bubbles than he is blowing, but he is trying so hard. Both boys' hands sticky from the bubble solution and sweat. Their shirts slightly wet from the water table. 

Something about the warm sun following them as they chase a giant red ball around the backyard. Dragonflies diving and flying around their heads. I think I knew deep down it was probably one of our last days of this summer. And I was determined to saturate myself in it and memorize its details.

Just two days later, it is cold, windy, and rainy. I love it. But, mostly I love that I shed my negativity for that afternoon and ran around the yard with my boys. Sweat, sunblock, and all! This summer didn't just mark record temperatures, it was also the summer Damien learned to walk. The summer Kendan started school. The summer Craig and I turned 30. I will eventually forget how miserable the heat felt during our daily errands; but, I will always remember the highlights of this past season and that amazing day we spent blowing bubbles under the sun.