It was a beautiful thought, really.

 

Robb’s grandparents had died earlier this year so we had joined some of their ashes to spread around the outside of the home that they had shared for their entire marriage. Great Grandpa John had even been born in this house.

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As we walked over to the 100-year-old farm-house, Nora tripped and fell and began the process of trying to decide if she was hurt or not. Robb and I (trained in the art of minimizing hollering) probably said something like, “Nice crash!”

Nora decided that she might actually have an injury so she began to whimper a little. Grayson quickly turned around and helped her up and brushed her off and even admired her new scratch and I was reminded again about how he is sometimes a much better parent than me. Or he is just a huge sucker.

We made it over to the house and everyone in the family began to take a handful of ashes to scatter around the yard.

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Grayson may have been a bit nervous about the whole thing. Because he kinda knew what was going on.

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Nora wasn’t nervous. Because she obviously didn’t know what the heck was going on. But we thought it would be good for her to participate in this family celebration of life.

 

Which may have been a mistake.

 

She grabbed a great big handful of ashes.

 

Here I am documenting this beautiful symbol of family. Of love. Of the passage of time. Of multiple generations of family.

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And then Nora…

 

put the ashes in her hair.

photo 3 (46)And she even rubbed it around a little.

 

I’m not really sure what she thought it was but doesn’t she look absolutely gleeful?

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There might have been some shrieking then. By me. By the bigger kids. I’m not really sure. But I think she kinda figured out that something was up when everyone simultaneously began to shout at her that she needed to get into the bathtub Right Away.

 

Here is her screaming, “I need a bath!”

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It takes an incredible amount of soap to get human ash out of hair. Another fact that I never in a million years thought I would know.

 

I know that Robb’s grandparents were cracking up though, so I guess that’s all that matters.

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I’m over at Scary Mommy today talking about swim noodles and kids named Namaste Jones.

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Fountain Enema

Now that summer is finally, hopefully, for the love of all things hot and sunscreeny, here…we have been making the rounds at some popular pools in Boulder. Sometimes I find it fascinating to watch other people interact with their kids. This may mean that I don’t get out a whole lot.

Here are some variations of Moms that I have seen at the pool:

1. The Regulars: The swimming pool that you are at is their swimming pool, you just haven’t realized it yet. They come in small groups and set up shop at the prime sunny/shady spot with their matching fold-out chairs and their coordinated snacks and brightly colored towels and eye you a little suspiciously if they don’t recognize you. They are together. You are clearly not in their togetherness with your raggedy bath towels and your chocolatey-faced children.

2. The Nannies (Or “Au Pairs” if fanciness is required): They often look as weary as any mother. One told me the other day, after she rehearsed an oddly mechanical phrase to the child she was watching, that she has a set “script” that she was supposed to say to get the children to stop doing something. I could tell that her heart wasn’t really in it though, and I think the little girl could too, because she kept right on pushing those other kids off the ladder to the slide like it was The Lord of the Flies.

3. The Fun Mom: This mom makes us all look bad and I don’t like her very much. She tickles her kid going down the slide EVERY TIME and she lets the kid ride around on her back even though they are clearly choking her and she encourages games of tag where she actually tries to catch them and everything. And she brings swim noodles for chrissakes. Swim noodles. Her kids look pretty smug too, as if they know they had done something pretty great in a previous life to earn Fun Mom.

4. The Phone Moms: We all need to talk at some point, but there are some moms that literally spend the whole time on the phone at the side of the pool. It’s impressive. Their child is eating other people’s snacks, using my kid as a floaty and clogging up the slide situation by trying to go up backwards and Phone Mom is completely clueless.

5. The Toddler plus New Infant Desperation Mom: She has a new baby snoozing at the side of the pool. She has a toddler wreaking havoc like a boss. She is lucky if her swimsuit is on in the right direction. She looks a little freaked out around the eyes. We’ve all been there. You may see her nodding off a bit as she sits down in the shallow end and then get startled awake when her toddler pokes her face with an errant swim noodle.

 

And you can read the rest here!

 

 

 

I’m so excited to be on the Huffington Post today! This is a rework of “The Stamp Incident” that I published in December.

 

A leprechaun siting!

 

It all started to go wrong while grocery shopping.

This was because I decided to let my 2-year-old, Nora, push her own cart and every time I turned around, she had put another frozen chicken or other random food item into it. These were things like cartons of plain yogurt (no, thank you), or roasted chestnuts (festive, but I don’t think I would know what to do with them), or Raisin Bran, which she called “meatballs.” She also proceeded to freak out when I took the random food item out. Each time I took something out, she screamed at me, “my shopping!” And I could hear her really saying, Step off, lady, I am trying to feed this family and my bubba (her brother) likes chicken and yogurt and meatballs!

Finally, because I wanted to appear as if I had some semblance of control over the small human I was shopping with, I got down to her level and said,”OK, sister, here’s how it’s going to go down. You can only put what I give you in your cart or we can just put that cart away.”

Boo-yah, little girl.

In retrospect, Love and Logic would have told me to say, “You can continue to choose to be a crazy person and have your cart put away or you can choose to be normal and continue to push that thing around like a pretend grown-up.” But, sometimes my Love and Logic training slips from my brain and all I can think of is my threats and bribes training.

But, amazingly, she took the ultimatum in stride and said in a surprised tone, “Oh!”

As in: Like, that is a huge surprise to me. Why didn’t you just say so to start with? Then I wouldn’t have had to scream at you for the past 15 minutes.

We got the shopping done. Nora, of course, had to put all of her items from her cart onto the counter. That was challenging, especially when trying to lift the heavy milk over her head and the breakable eggs, but I didn’t make the mistake of trying to help her twice. Everyone around me most likely was thinking she was being a cute “helper,” but both her and I knew that she was not there to help me.

What she was actually doing was attempting to assert her dominance over me via a gradual wearing-down process, one vegetable at a time. It’s possible that she was winning.

We then went to the post office and I bought stamps and I was also handed five boxes with the idea that I would attempt to carry them out to my car. A nice person asked me if I needed help, but I am part Norwegian and the other part is German, so I basically have to do everything by myself. Huh. Sounds familiar, somehow…

At that point, I realized that I didn’t have any way to carry my stamps. That was when my dormant Love and Logic skills kicked in and I got a brilliant idea.

And the rest is here!

Like many parents, I am entering into Summer feeling a mixture of excitement and trepidation.

On the one hand I’m like,

“Yay, we get to sleep in!”

But then,

“Holy crap what am I going to do with these children for 82 days.”

Yes. I counted.

So, I had my 7-year-old sit down and make a list of all of the things he wanted to do together this summer.

 

Here is what he came up with:

1. Go to a hot spring. (His dad has a broken arm so I’m thinking a trip to Glenwood Springs is pretty distant on our family trip list. Sorry, kiddo.)

2. Go to the zoo. (I do this once a year. Once. And the heat and the kid-wrangling and the actual complete disinterest in the animals by my children help me remember why it is only once.)

3. Go to Spruce pool. (He forgot to add the part where he will bug me until I buy him a popsicle and then he will have 2 bites of the popsicle and the rest will melt into a sticky red goop that will keep showing up in random places for the rest of the Summer.)

4. Take a picnic to a really cool place. (Done and done.)

photo 1 (47)

5. Go waterskiing. (He’s awesome. See?)

Showing off already.

Showing off already.

6. Go biking with Mom at Valmont bike park. (I am definitely a distant 2nd choice here. Dad’s broken arm is actually the only thing keeping me in the running.)

broken

Wrists aren’t really supposed to look like that.

7. Make popsicles. (We ended up making a whole day out of this activity. We went to the store for our ingredients, we debated and decided on different flavors, the popsicles’ liquid to solid progress was checked approximately every 5 seconds for 2 hours, and finally each of the children had about…one bite. I am finding that the idea of popsicles is always much more exciting than the actual popsicle. And now there will be frozen fruit in our muffin tin in the freezer until the end of time.)

8. Make stuffed animals out of socks. (This happened. There are about 100 of them. They are all electric eels. Here are three that I could reach just sitting here in my chair. My kid is a creative genius, no? I mean look at the care that went into…stuffing those socks and…drawing stripes.)

socks

 

9. Plant our garden. (You know, to feed the bunnies and squirrels and birds with carefully tended, fresh budded lettuce and carrots that I will never ever see.)

10. Write poems. (This kid. Seriously. What 7-year-old says they want to “write poems” over Summer break?)

12. Make a lawn elf. (I’m not sure Pinterest has a section for this. I just looked. They do not. I feel like a pioneer here.)

13. Make a doll house for Nora. (Sweet, but I am still haunted by the vacuum box turned super hero castle of 2013 that lived in my house for 6 months.)

14. Play in the fountains on Pearl St. (Also known as toddler rugby. Tackling is encouraged.)

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Getting some refreshments before heading back into the game.

 

15. Ride a real train. (Does the 1880 train in Hill City count? Because I don’t think I am going to be getting on an Amtrak any time soon.)

16. Make homemade ice cream. (I totally remember doing this as a kid. Actually, I totally remember helping put ingredients in some huge contraption and then my parents cursing about how long they had to crank that sucker in order for it make something that resembled ice cream.)

17. Hear someone play music outside. (Does listening to me being forced by the toddler to sing “I’m a little tea-pot” over and over on the deck count?)

 

He forgot to add:

18. Ask mom constant, meaningful questions during her 5 seconds of mid-toddler-nap, pre-dinner writing time like,  “Are there really two-headed things in the world?” and “Do I have to put sunscreen on my penis if I’m outside naked?”

19. Go naked as much as possible.

And…

20. Continuously spray little sister with the hose when she’s trying to play in her little pool. Cause that’s always a good idea.

 

I’m at Mamalode today! They added a slightly terrifying picture of Nora as well…

Why Jon Stewart Can Wait
“My mad at you!” My two-year-old says to me. She crosses her arms and deep grooves appear in her forehead. And what in the world is she wearing?

She does look mad, actually. Adorable, but mad.

“Why are you mad at me, sweetie?”

“You working!”

“You are mad at me because I’m working?” I look down at my computer a little guiltily.

And then, as quick as a wink, she remembers that she is a baby owl and she begins to make a nest on the ground with her blanket, hooting softly, oblivious to me and my working. The moment is gone for her, but I allow it to crawl uncomfortably into me and make it’s own cozy home.

I don’t need to work when she is awake. And “work” will often involve things that aren’t quite like work and that are more like blog-reading and idea-gathering. You know, falling down into the inner workings of the Internet until suddenly I’m watching a video of Some Incredible Woman Rendering Jon Stewart Speechless and I’m so confused as to how I got there.

And you can read the rest here!

Okay, to be fair, I think my seven-year-old really did feel sick for about 5 minutes on Monday morning. And maybe for about 5 minutes on Tuesday morning. And he may have felt pretty terrible on Tuesday afternoon for about 5 minutes after I said I was taking him to school after lunch if he didn’t start appearing more sick than he was.

But. Here are some of the ways that you can tell if your child needs to get their butt back to school.

1. After you tell them, a little begrudgingly that, okay they can stay home because maybe that cough sounds contagious?, they immediately shout, “Yay, I won’t have any homework today!”

2. They come up for a “snack” and out of the corner of your eye you see them sprint back downstairs with something clutched tightly behind their back. I will only briefly mention that the child was running away from me, so they probably should have put the contraband in the front of their body. So, when you track down the child and their “snack”, you find a bag of Every Flavor Jelly Beans that they got recently at a Harry Potter birthday party. Yes, they wanted to eat barf flavored jelly beans for a snack.

3. When you check on them in the morning after they have been very quiet for a while, you realize that they have snuck their iPad downstairs and they are watching some crap show called Total Drama Island.

4. They can’t stop playing the game, Make Sister Scream Her Face Off.

5. They eat twice the amount of food that you do at lunch and then ask if they could please have their bag of Every Flavor Jelly Beans for dessert.

6. You go downstairs to get some laundry and you find them standing on their head in the stairwell. In.The. Stairwell.

7. A few times a day, they come up to you, fart, and then giggle maniacally. Like any other day.

8. When you say to them, “Can I take your picture so that I can document this day for future reference so that I will remember forever and not ever let you stay home unless there is a fever or puking involved.” And they do this;

graysick

9. When you suggest that they relax, they decide that relaxing means sitting on the chair for approximately 10 seconds. At 15 seconds, they have confiscated your phone and have begun to take pictures of themselves with a weighted exercise ball on their head. (!?)

10. They can’t stop singing “Do You Want To Build A Snowman” when they are supposed to be taking a nap in the afternoon.

11. And then, when it has actually been quiet for a while, you sneak down to check on them again. Because you are a masochist. You are quite shocked when you enter their room because it appears to have exploded. You are simultaneously annoyed and awed by the sheer amount of things that litter the ground. Legos, toddler puzzles, little shredded pieces of cardboard, the entire contents of their underwear drawer. They then take one look at your face and say, “I know, I know. I’m going back to school tomorrow.”

 

Boulder’s Listen To Your Mother Show is over for 2014. It’s been over for more than a week now and I still can’t seem to get back in the swing of life; my laundry is haunting me, my to-do list is self-propagating, and I haven’t been able to write anything longer than a grocery list.

Here are a couple of my favorite pictures;

This is our second year producing and after the show someone asked me if I had a favorite show between the two. I told them that trying to choose between shows would be like trying to choose a favorite child. It was maybe a little more fun this year because I wasn’t as freaked out as I was last year. And I do think that I remember more because I didn’t have that first five-minute blackout that happened to me last year. And I will be forever grateful to Pam’s baby that he/she decided to hang in for a while longer and not make me do the whole thing by myself. But I think she might be ready now, baby!

The story I shared was about the panic attacks that I started getting when Grayson was a baby. While writing it, I felt like that time of my life was so far away from where I was at. I was surprised when people came up to me after the show and said that they had gone through a similar thing and that hearing my piece made them feel not so alone. And someone even called me brave! For a moment, I thought, did I say something brave? Well, I guess I sorta told all of Boulder that I had a brief period of mental instability, I guess maybe that’s brave? I’m not sure. It’s like I kind of forgot about my own piece in the whole process of trying to help release everyone else’s into the world, that I was actually surprised that my story touched someone.

I could go on and on about the magic of the show. I really could and I probably already have. It’s kind of like summer camp though, you don’t really understand it until you’ve experienced it first hand. So, I encourage you to find your own local show and do that. Experience it. It’s not just about listening or mothers. It’s about sharing those little pieces of humanity, for good or for bad, that get brought into the world because of mothering.

So, thanks to everyone who came to the show and hopefully we will see more of your faces next year all over the country, writing, auditioning, being cast, or sharing those “not so alone” moments in the lobby after a show.

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When I was a little girl, I mostly remember my Grandpa wearing Groucho Marx glasses and being that goofy Grandpa that everyone hopes for. He loved kids, he loved baseball, and he really loved herbal supplements. I mean, really, really loved them. But he must have been doing something right because he lived to be 96. He was very religious, but he was a smart ass too. Recently, my mom snuck out of his house early so that she could make the long drive back to her own home in Southern California. Later on the phone, he said to her, “I thought for sure you’d just been Raptured up.”

I spent the last week helping plan his funeral, cleaning out his room, and trying to distract my mom with the antics of my two-year-old and her sweet little cousin. And what I realized during the whole thing was that I probably wasn’t going to provide as much help as I had hoped. My sister and the little girls and I could surround my mom with the love and support that only comes from the closest women in your life. But, I couldn’t make it not sad, I couldn’t make the extended family dynamics happier, I couldn’t make my mom not have to go through everything she is going to have to go through.

The last day that I was there, my sister was cleaning my Grandpa’s closet and discovered a nice wooden floor hiding beneath the decades-old carpeting. All of a sudden that wooden floor become the entire focus of our energy. Finally! That floor was a task, with steps, and an ending, and an accomplishment.

We went a little insane ourselves, for a while. While the two little girls slept an unprecedented three hours, we moved furniture and cut carpeting and pulled up padding and wrenched out the nail-studded wooden edges and cleaned and polished with wild abandon. We felt like with every swipe of the Exacto knife, we were doing this thing that was going to help a situation that we felt helpless in.

And then. It was fixed. It felt like the biggest thing in the world and the smallest thing in the world. The girls woke up just as we lay in an exhausted heap and they demanded that we feed them and watch their jumping skills and blow bubbles with them and watch their every move so that they wouldn’t torment the cat or change the passwords on my uncle’s computer.

We ultimately knew we couldn’t fix any of the craziness that was surrounding us. Sometimes the crazy is too big and too old and too ground into the fiber of a family.

But we were able to fix that fricking floor.

 

I am so excited to be featured on Mamalode today!

I wrote a version of this story to share at Robb’s grandparents’ memorial service, so it’s close to my heart. This a picture from our own collection of magical rocks.

4_AB_Magical_Wisler-1

I met my husband’s Grandparents when I was 19. As we left their 100-year-old farm house, Grandpa John walked over to a drawer in their kitchen, dug around a bit and then took something out and put it in my hand.

He said, “Travel safe.” He patted my hand and his blue eyes twinkled at me, bursting with the Irish charm that only a man who was born on St. Patrick’s day can have.

I looked down at the small nondescript rock that he had handed me and noticed the hole that went all the way through it. I nodded at him like I knew exactly what the rock meant, but at that time, I didn’t. Not really.

Sixteen years go by. Two nurses are helping me as I stand for the first time after giving birth to my daughter. I am as worn out and wobbly as a new colt. One nurse starts to clean up my sheets when something hard falls onto the floor and she bends over to pick it up.

“Is this yours?”

And you can read the rest of the story here…

 

If I could go back in time, I would try to intersect with my 16 year-old self and give myself a little pep talk.

I would say, the boys that you think matter so much right now, they don’t matter. Nope.

Please keep wearing your retainer at night.

I might give myself a quick one second view of the life that I had ahead of me. Maybe just an image of my husband throwing our kids up into the air. And then hearing, “Watch Mommy!”

I would say, you know, it’s probably a good idea to major in something like Physical Therapy to pay the bills and all, but why don’t you get a minor in English, too? You might want to write someday.

That cute guy with black hair that you meet Freshman year of college? That’s him.

Oh, and listen to Grandma when she tells you that she has a feeling you are supposed to go to Augustana. She’s right.

Life is going to have some bumps. Save some money.

When you are 38, you are going to have the weirdest desire to be able to do a round-off back handspring again. Maybe just keep this skill up so you don’t hurt yourself irreversibly.

Amazingly, all that waitressing that you are doing is going to pay off. It’s teaching you how to take care of people, how to work hard, how to multi-task and how to be wrong.

You are going to be a good Physical Therapist. But keep writing because someday you might need a change.

Sixteen is young. You have your whole life to be a grown-up. Don’t be afraid to be young.

You live in a ridiculously small town. You will be amazed at what’s out there.

Sit down and learn History. Really learn it.

But you are right, Calculus is not important to real life.

Keep running.

Appreciate Mom and Dad, you are going to miss being around them someday.

Try to figure out that whole common sense thing, it’s really helpful.

Learn those recipes from Mom, it will save you a lot of time and effort trying to learn everything over the phone.

Maybe keep a couple of those jackets from the 80’s. That brown leather bomber jacket with the orange lining, in particular.

Things are going to be even more amazing than you can even imagine. And harder.

Do things that scare you, over and over and over.

You are going to live at the beach for 4 years when you are first married. You aren’t going to have any money, but it’s going to be a lot of fun. Try not to stress about the whole money thing.

Sleep. Just sleep and sleep and sleep.

And for god’s sake stop getting perms and doing crazy things to your bangs, you look ridiculous.

 

This post was brought to you by Finish the Sentence Friday (FTSF).

The Sentence was “If I could go back in time I would..” Please visit FTSF blog hop hosts:

Stephanie at Mommy for Real

Kristi From Finding Ninee

Janine from Janine’s Confessions of Mommyholic

Kate at Can I Get Another Bottle of Whine

Jennifer at Real Life Parenting

Finish the Sentence Friday

 

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