The Art of Becoming

Recently my husband has traveled for work, leaving me to steer the ship at home.  When this happens my patience with the kids - at times - runs low. My craziness factor - most times - runs high. He doesn't travel much, maybe 3 - 4 times a year, but when he's out of town, solo parenting bears great fruits. Usually these emerge as really attractive character traits: resentment, anger, and rage (to name a few) directed at no one in particular. Well usually it's directed at my husband when he calls to check in me: Oh me? I'm great. Except the kids are fighting, I didn't sleep well, I can't go to the bathroom in peace, and Audrey was already in time out at 7am this morning. We're great - how are YOU? And sometimes (always) it's directed at our kids me: I'm the only adult here, so NO we will not swim in the deep pool. I don't CARE that you're practicing jumping in the deep end. That will wait for another time. and me: Put your clothes o...

Most anyplace we go, the kids want me to watch something they're doing. Sometimes it's obvious what they want me to see - a slide down a slide, walking on a balance beam, climbing something high. Sometimes it's not obvious: "watch this!" followed by an ambiguous physical action, complete with a proud smile. My internal monologue: What am I supposed to be watching? What the hell did she just do? Can I stop watching now? Oh. Is that it? Did it just happen? Audrey: Did you see that? me: Ehm...yes? Of course watching is so fun when they're experiencing something for the first time. Watching Sean start to play soccer and run his heart out. Watching Audrey begin to take dance classes and enjoy figuring out the movements of her body. Watching Frankie begin to play with little figurines and talk to them or walk them around a doll house speaking gibberish to herself. The emerging personalities of our kids is a magical thing. It's easy to watch. But other t...

If ever you think you might pick up a piano in Chicago and drive it across two state lines back to Minnesota, I've compiled some helpful hints for your trip. To quote my sister, Mary Kate, "Easy as pie. Nothing to it." 1. Rent a cargo van. 2. Silence questions about how you will get piano hoisted into cargo van. Tell these detail-seeking questioners that "I can not be bothered with the details! I am holding a vision!" 3. Drive to Chicago. 4. Stop in Wisconsin for gas and find a coffee shop. 5. If you worry about finding a place with fresh food, good coffee, essential oils, and homemade hemp-purses, just look for the VW van cut in half and plastered to the side wall of said coffee shop . It acts as the drive-thru window, and it's a beacon of originality in a sea of Wisconsin cheese houses. 6. Take note that they are Cheese HAUS's not HOUSE's. 7. Upon arriving in Chicago, reserve two hours to get through the god-awful traffic. 8. When trying ...

When I was pregnant, someone told me that a pregnant woman burns just as many calories per day as a mountain climber actively climbing a mountain. Whether or not this is scientifically proven doesn't matter to me. What matters is: growing a person is hard work. It's not just a blissful time of kicking back.  For most women I know, and especially those with other children, pregnancy is hard work! The pregnant body grows, swells, retains water, feels foreign and uncomfortable, keeps you awake at night, and makes you feel like you can barely hold your eyes open during the day. Pregnancy is like climbing a mountain. Those who have outgrown their rearing years frequently tell me that this is the best, most amazing time of my life: pregnant and with young children. How is this the best time of our lives? Why do people say, "you think it's busy now, you just wait!" or "you think you have problems now, just wait til your kids get older. Small people, small proble...

Some things in life are better left unbroken. People's bones. Someone's heart. Your bike. I'd rather not see these things broken. There are things around my house I would prefer didn't break. The oven, the washer, the dishwasher, the car, the heat. Yet that's exactly what's happened recently: nearly everything has broken or a function of it has stopped working. Two years ago, our toaster oven bit the dust. It started sparking flames out of the back where the plug connected to the electrical insides. It made a quick exit stage left. Ever since then we've toasted things in the oven. No problem - that's why we have a broiler, right? Then a month ago, a couple days before Thanksgiving, the broiler stopped working.  Thankfully (no punn intended) we weren't planning to broil anything for Thanksgiving, so we just pushed through. To this day the broiler doesn't work. I'm just glad the subtle buzzing sound from the back of the oven has stopped. Si...

With three kids around the house, I often wonder who's running the show.  On any day, one kid might need more attention than another.  It's a good day when I feel like I'm running the show.  Over the past year, I've felt like Kelly has been running the show.  Who's Kelly?  Great question.  Kelly is almost always with us.  As Audrey's imaginary friend, she can be seen (or not seen, as the case may be) all over the house, out in public, fighting fires, climbing ropes, sliding down slides, and running after our car as we drive away. Audrey: (spontaneously screaming) Mommy!  Stop the car! me: What?  Why? Audrey:  Because Kelly is chasing behind our car!  We need to pick her up!  Stop the car! me: No - I'm not going to do that. Audrey: (distressed) But she is RUNNING. AFTER. THE CAR! me: Well then she has to catch up with us at the next stop light.  I'm not stopping the car. Or when Audrey's supposed to be in bed ...

My brother Denis has a great line: "you can't hold what's not in your hand."  He uses this to refer to flatulence.  Ever the gentleman.  And it's been this thought that's come back to me again and again while changing poopy diapers (which I'm definitely holding in my hands) (I mean, not right now, but...), or while the kids are laughing about farting at the dinner table, or when Audrey is using farts as a means to insult someone. me: Audrey, please pick up that book you just threw and put it on the bookshelf. Audrey: Ok, poopy. me: Audrey, that's not nice.  Please pick up the book and choose different words when talking to people, especially me. Audrey: Ok, tooty. Uproarious laughter follows each of these name-calling episodes. We read a book recently where a villainous character called her sidekick/minion "Fatso".  Asmarter, quicker parent might have chosen to not read that word aloud.  I read the word outloud, and it has become ...