Archive | June, 2012

Ten Days to Ten Years: Day 1

14 Jun

In just 10 days Jerry and I will be celebrating our 10th anniversary.  In anticipation of this great feast, I’ll be posting a little look back at that balmy, beautiful Sunday of 2002.  It seems like just yesterday, and yet, when we look back at the pictures it becomes apparent that a decade has taken it’s toll, on at least some of us.

Look at these girls, for instance.  You’d hardly recognize them today.  One is married and expecting her first child, three are in college, one works in Japan, one just graduated high school, and the littlest among them will be a senior next year.  The years have treated them well.

We were just over at these girls’ house last Sunday . . .

for a graduation open house.  Wow.  The the middlest just graduated from Jerry’s 8th grade class.  The youngest?  Well, last time I checked she wasn’t wearing that adorable watermelon top.  But she’s pretty cute, she could probably still pull it off.

And then there is this gorgeous family.  It goes without saying that ten years hasn’t aged the parents one bit.

But those boys, woah.  They’re all grown up, succeeding in college and high school, throwing no hitters and over-achieving.

There were a lot of children at our wedding.  Jerry is a teacher, I was teaching music to the entire school at the time.  This just wasn’t a wedding, this was the wedding of Miss Vogelsang and Mr. Roberts.  Mega Big Deal.   His class, especially the seventh graders were super involved in the planning.  These three preteen beauties . . .

now sucessful, beautiful adults, helped my pick out my wedding dress. (Okay, one of you was just there in spirit.)

The seventh grade boys played their part, too.  They accompanied us on multiple viewings of Lord of the Rings, quite a romantic way to begin a relationship.

I’m not sure the years have changed these two much.  Once a seventh grade boy, always a seventh grade boy.

______________________________________________________________________________________________

 

 

Hello Goodbye

13 Jun

We never know whether this child is coming or going.

_____________________________________________________________________

Glory of…..

11 Jun

The other day we were cruisin’ in the mini(van), jammin’ to A.J.’s top rated tunes and this melodic pearl sprang forth through the speakers in an insta-memory. Do you know what I mean by “insta-memory”? When some environmental happening thwacks you in the face with past sensations, emotions, and all that? Sure you do. ALSO, it being the week prior to Father’s Day I found this little insta-memory especially relevant. I love it when things work out like that.

Did you click on the link? Did you bathe yourself in the creamy sound of Peter Cetera’s power ballad? Go do it now, it’s worth it. Karate Kid II, right? Good stuff. Well, when I took my cream bath(what?) I was immediately ripped from my captain’s chair straight to the local (and by”local” I mean an hour down the road)roller skating rink. We were there for a church youth get-together. Except I wasn’t a youth. I mean, I WAS, but not officially. I was too youthful to be a youth. And my plight as a too-youthful non-youth was that I didn’t have a group of friends with whom I could flail down the rink. My parents were chaperones. My sister was a genuine youth. I was an 11th wheel (’cause that’s what it would be on a roller skate, right?). It wasn’t too bad being me, because I was always super good at butting my innocent face into Christina’s circle of friends. They didn’t mind because of my sparkling personality……

But then came couples skate. Lights were dimmed. Boys scattered to the snack stand like roaches to, well, a snack stand. Giggly Youth Girls grabbed the paw of their besty. The ivoried intro of Glory of Love sailed through speakers and crushed me. Yes, crushed me to thousands of youthful, Karate Kid II obsessed particles. My favorite song and not a soul with whom to skate.

I was leaning on the rink, watching the joy of Youth, fighting the blister of tears when my dad sought me, and grabbed my pitiful little hand. Together we clanked our wheels around that rink. Dad said silly things. I pretended that I hadn’t been crying. I shared insight into the plot intricacies of the Karate Kids. Dad pretended to be interested.

THAT’S good stuff. 20120611-141705.jpg_____________________________________________________________________________

Floored

7 Jun

My sister got my hopes up yesterday.  Did she do the same to yours?

I really thought she was going to tell me some magical hint for keeping my floors clean.  It’s a continually battle around here, and I can use all the strategic advice I can get.

Last night we had a few friends over to talk about a book (it’s just something we do, you’re welcome to join us) and before they arrived I glanced at the floor and thought, “Hey, it’s not too shabby, I probably don’t even need to sweep, but shoot, I’ve got another 17 minutes before they get here, and the babies are already safely caged away in their cribs for the night, why not?”

So I hauled out the broom, refereed a fight between the oldest three about who got to hold the dust pan – it’s a major honor, let me tell you – and swept together a pile of crumbs, and wrappers, and seeds, and sticks, and gunk, and dirt, and stuff that would practically be enough to start a small garden plot.

That was the result of what I thought was “not too shabby.”

In repentance of my poor floor care, today I have a renewed interest in keeping the areas underfoot free of grime.  And so, in light of that, and in response to my sister’s disappointingly unHeloisish post, I give you this household hint:

If you let the spaghetti rest for at least two hours before attempting to clean the area around the table, dried pasta pops right up with no hassle.

I decline to comment about the Froot Loop(s).

It’s time to do the floors.

6 Jun

Hey guys. Remember me? Honestly, I barely do myself. Fear not, however. I’m back to prove my existence. I’m real. I’m here. I’m a person. I like to write drivel. Or I like to drivel. Which is it? Am I driveling? Let me get out a mop….

I’m back. My family is once again a slobbery summer unit of sprinkler running, lazy trips to Target, PB&Js, and PJ Days. I feel complete. And entering in to my completeness? You. If YOU’RE still there. Are you??? Hello???????

I’m getting my drivel-chops out again, friends. That’s a thing. Drivel-chops.

And ZOO trips! I forgot to mention ZOO TRIPS!

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Another Year, Another Day

2 Jun

I wonder if when my parents got married 40 years ago they ever imagined they’d have a daughter so lazy that she’d rerun the one and only thing she’d ever written about their anniversary.  I hope so, I’d like to think I was making their dreams come true.

Oh, and please add 366 to the end, okay?

________________________________________________________________________________

Today is our parents’ wedding anniversary.  They were never huge celebrators.  Every once in a while Stacy and I would get some hair-brained idea to do something for them, which usually turned out pretty lame.  One year we took an old bread basket we found in the basement and embroidered their wedding date into the woven surface.  The term ’embroidered’ here is about as loose as the stitches in the project.  It was pretty special.  Mom probably still has it hanging up somewhere near her desk downstairs.  So Mom, please feel free to toss it any time you like.

Don’t you love their wedding photo?  Mom’s all white with just the right amount of black accent on the super trendy glasses and Dad’s got that completely groovy Bang Shwoop.  Love it.

Also, look closely at the candelabras.  Do you see it?  Look again.  Yup.  Bulbs.  Real, live, electric candles.

Mom and Gramma made the wedding dress.  I think she told me it cost $12.  That was so smart.  I cannot tell you how many times my sister and I have talked about the stupidity of spending hundreds of dollars on a wedding dress that we would only wear once when we could have had something beautiful, and simple, and white for much less.  So, in order to take down the cost-per-wear on ours we have each donned them at least one other time.

On our fourth anniversary I was cleaning out the cedar closet (I know, romantic, right?) when I saw mine hanging in the back.  I had just lost some of the baby weight from Thomas’ birth and so I decided to see if it still fit.  I was so excited when it zipped all the way up that I ran through the basement toward the backyard where Jerry was mowing (much like my parents, we seriously know how to live it up on our anniversary) and I knocked our poor seven month old son right over with my train.  And that, my friends, is one of the reasons you should wait until after you are married to have children.

Stacy put on her gown at our house last summer while Mom and Jerry were out building a retaining wall.  We were so excited by its ginormousness and her teeniness that we ran out side to show them.  That’s when our new neighbor across the street finally came to introduce herself.  And to warn us never to come near her or her family.  No, not really, but seriously, can you imagine having us as neighbors?

It’s safe to say that our love of everyday joys comes from our parents.  It wasn’t the wedding itself that was important.  They didn’t focus on the dress, or flowers, or cake and punch reception in the church basement, but in Christ joining them as one in heart, body and mind.  Mom and Dad’s anniversary always reminds me that marriage is about the everyday.  Their marriage is no different on June 2 than it is on the other 364 days of the year.   I don’t know if that’s why they don’t make a big deal about their anniversary, but it seems like a valid rationale to me.

Happy 14,244th day of marriage, Mom and Dad!

A Laundry List. Literally.

1 Jun

Things to wash today:

  1. A quart of freshly cold-pressed coffee out of the kitchen rugs and seven towels used in the clean-up process
  2. A cupful of milk out of Abraham’s favorite blanket which unwisely joined him at the breakfast table
  3. Cinnamon sugar out of all the placemats, sprinkled there by a two-year old with a love of climbing, unscrewing, and shaking
  4. A quarter of a bottle of cherry body wash out of the bathroom rugs.  No laundry detergent needed.
  5. Yogurt out of the bibs, long-sleeves, and hair of the twins who generously shared “bites” with one another
  6. Various types of shampoo and conditioner out of the other bathroom’s rugs after the twins discovered the storage cabinet more fascinating than the toilet.  I’m not complaining about this one.
  7. wet, dirty socks from unshod children and a dreary June day

I’m just thankful that there’s no blood-stained laundry.  Jerry took care of all of that yesterday.

_____________________________________________________________________________________