You Should Be Dancing...

Oh my, oh my, what a week again. Isn't this supposed to be summer vacation? Aren't I supposed to be sleeping in, hanging out at the pool catching a good dose of skin cancer with some baby oil and my friends listening to Prince and Van Halen? Oh wait, I am an adult now. I have to work and be semi-responsible. Oh dear.

So between strained necks, getting ready for the dance recital, Grandmas falling in doorways, getting ready for the dance recital, numerous cardiac rehab referrals (enough with the chest pain, people), getting ready for the dance recital, teaching ACLS for the first time, and oh, did I mention getting ready for the dance recital, it has been a busy week and a half. The blog has been ignored - not for lack of material, just time.

Dance recital. I really have a love-hate relationship with the girls dance recital. Let's make that a HATE-LOVE relationship, because first I really HATE it. I HATE the preparation, the make-up, the costumes, (and where are the gloves and the hairbow and the tan tights layered under the pink tights and the ballet shoes, versus the tap shoes and where did your jazz shoes go?) I am not good at this - not one of my strengths to say the least. Both the girls are in dance, so that makes four costumes and their various and sundry accessories to keep track of. I realize I shouldn't whine because there are moms with three daughters in dance with costumes to the nth degree (pass that woman a xanax and a gold star, please), but it really seems to throw me for a loop or at least a skip-ball-chain.

Then comes the part I LOVE. Seeing Sweet Marissa and Princess Maren up there on stage makes it all worth it. I sit a little straighter, smile a little bigger, and I am just so darn blessed to be their mother - even if I am a somewhat disorganized and frantic one during dance week. They both LOVE the recital and totally get caught up in all the excitement. As we were pulling out of the parking lot Friday night after that night's recital was over, Marissa sighed, "Life is great, isn't it mom." Yes, honey, it sure is.

I firmly believe that world peace could be attained by having all current world leaders attend one pre-dance number. Three and four year olds in tutus and tuxes? Resistance is futile. It is too precious. Then there is that number danced to the Steven Curtis Chapman song "Cinderella". It is sweet and touching, and THEN, the girl's fathers come out and finish the number with their daughters. I am a slimy ball of sobbing mush up in the upper right balcony. Thank goodness they keep it dark in there. Here's the song via YouTube if you want to check it out. See if you can make it through without tearing up. You'll wish you were in a dark balcony too, guaranteed.

I try to keep it in perspective. These are the days. Like Steven says, all too soon they will be gone. I shouldn't let a forgotten pair of tube socks to go with the jazz costume with the tan tights and the jazz shoes and the pink hair bow ruin it, should I? Sorry Marissa. Momma loves you.

Until next year, then. Maybe.

(All photos by Mauer Photography)

Remember When...

Check out that beehive on Mom, would you? Check out that lack of beehive on Dad - sorry Dad. Bald really is beautiful. All in all a very handsome couple, if I do say so myself, and I do, and so did they, 41 years ago today.

I don't know that it was always easy. Don't know that mom always aspired to being a farmer's wife. Pretty sure Dad had no plans for getting Parkinson's disease. I do know they made it work when the crops were hailed out, when money was tight, when the arguments got heated, when babies were colicky, when the pies were burned. They didn't give up. Love is so often a choice, and somehow they have always chosen each other.

I'm real glad they did.

Love you both! Happy Anniversary!

E is for Maren

She just can't help it. If three lines are good then a few more must be better. Maren lives the embellished life, as evidenced by the number of lines on her "E". We have talked it over, the whole "just three lines" thing, but this is what she prefers. This "E" is actually pretty mild. I have seen some papers come home with the "E" looking more like a fine toothed comb than any actual letter of the alphabet.

It is the Princess Maren philosophy - if one clip is good, then an added headband must be better. Skirts are preferred over pants, heels over flats, and can you add a dollop of lip gloss with that? It would be the right thing to do in her book.

We have made some progress. No extra "e" lines, but let's just add a nice little tree in the corner for good measure and well, "it looked sort of plain".

So, why don't you tell her? Why don't you tell that sweet little face not to add too many lines to her "E's"? Good luck. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Why?

The wind was strong. The door was stuck... and then it wasn't. It all happened so fast. In a split second that no one saw...until hours later. Definitely an accident that would fall into the category of freak.

The heavy beat beat of the helicopter blades brings a chill to your bones, even on a 90 degree day. You hope and pray it is no one that you know. But it is, as it so often goes in a small town.

The question was discussed, probably in a cramped room without windows, in the presence of cold, vinyl, antimicrobial furniture and commercial grade carpet as witnesses. Hang on, or let go. Sometimes you just have to let go. A boy, now a man, no longer has a mother. Grandchildren have lost a Grandma, and a husband no longer has a wife. An entire family has lost...Her.

Sometimes I just don't get it. Would it have mattered that much to let someone live a few more days, months, years. Surely there must have been a better candidate out there. Why?

Starkly, you realize there is not that much difference between that family and yours. Death, such as this, has no vaccine, no remedy, no treatment, no preventative measures to be taken. You get home and stare at your children, committing their faces in this moment to memory - for what if there is not another? You notice their shoes scattered at the doorway and pray their fat warm healthy toes will always fill them as long as you draw breath. You wish your husband was home.

I know. I know. "His ways are not our ways, His thoughts are not our thoughts", but that still leaves us swimming in a murky pool of gray, feeling our way through. We reach for the tattered ropes of our lives and vainly try to tie them nicely back together. We try to solve the equation and realize that faith does not equal knowledge or a life here on earth without despair. We can only pray that somehow faith will add up to hope and possibly someday to that peace that passes understanding.

Googled

How clever are those people over at Google? What was life like B.G. (before Google)? Sort of like comparing an outhouse to having toilets and running water.


I happen to be very fond of Google. I am a Google Gal. I like the iGoogle application, the calendar, (which you can now add on a task list-did you hear that Honey?) and I especially like the artwork on the home page that they change periodically. Here's the one for today:


How is that for cuteness? Makes me smile everytime I open it. Very clever. And here is another one of my favorites:

Google, Google, what do you see? Everything apparently. (Whoops, wrong Eric Carle book.) And the very hungry Google ate through one Yahoo, two Mozilla Foxfires, three MSNs, and it was very SMART!

I think when something that was once a noun becomes a verb, then you have got it made. We no longer say, " I looked it up on Google". We say we "googled it". Maybe someday instead of saying "I did that like Shannon did" ( like everyone does right now), we'll just say we "Shannoned it".

I think my cold medicine is really getting to me. Sorry. Just go open your Google page about 5 times in a row and look at that cute little turtle and that will make you feel better.

P.S. 5-22-09: Look what they did today! Makes my mommy heart go thump thump. Yes, I am still taking cold medicine.