Go with the flow

The shortest distance between two points is a ______________? Oh, who the heck cares? Just road trip with other women and you will not care if you took the shortest distance, because the conversation will make the four and a half hour trip seem but only a moment. Although taking a wrong turn and heading to Wyoming might make the trip back North and East a bit longer.

I would highly recommend a tubing excursion to all those looking for a little fun in the sun, (when it is shining), a little relaxation, and a little adventure. Just be sure to pack a lunch, wear sunscreen, and never allow the shortest member of your party to disembark from her tube at the deepest portion of the river. I guess my friends would probably add to that, not to let the loudest screamer off in any portion of the river. However, I have no idea what that is supposed to mean.

Although we were probably some of the eldest tubers on the river that day, well I guess the 60's plus club of drunken lotion rubbing canoers had us beat, we seemed to fit right in and even make a few friends along the way.

I guess that using the term 'friends' is overstating it a bit. It was more like we were role models or something. Or maybe that girl meant, "roll models"....oh now I get the laughter! But truthfully, there was a nice group of three that seemed to feel a small sense of obligation to look out for us. Maybe it was after seeing the 'predicament' that Carrie had gotten herself into, and her three friends utter lack of sympathy, that made them feel a bit concerned for our safety.

I am pretty certain that by the end of the river trip we were nick-named the "Big Mama's" or the "Desperate Housewives", but we were okay with that. Being from New York and all, we had pretty tough skin.

I can not speak for the other three, but I would sign up for this adventure again. I am thinking that I will keep the shopping an online adventure and will gladly go with the flow down the river again. Thanks girls making me laugh. So much that my cheeks hurt.

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Girls Getaway

I am not sure where the idea first originated, but I am pretty certain that it was decided around a table of food and a few margaritas. You may remember that last year for my 20th birthday a couple of my girlfriends agreed, much against their better judgement I am sure, to go on a extended weekend getaway with me. Well, I assumed that it was a one time thing, as we can hardly clear our schedules all at once to make a night for dinner and visiting. But somewhere between the Macho Nachos and the Jumbo Margarita's it was decided that a yearly weekend getaway was in order.

I suggested something along the lines of luxurious hotel accommodations and a day of shopping at the Mall of America. But my ever mischievous friend, Carrie, would hear none of it. She felt that an adventure was much more our style. After our great success with getting lost while 'hiking' in the Black Hills last year and the near trade in of my mini-van due to the infestation of mice, she figured that we were well prepared for anything. I guess she has not shopped with me enough, because believe me, finding a bra that pushes this sad little chest into a well rounded A cup is quite an adventure.

So, off we are. We are branching out into the wild world of water entertainment this year. We will be tubing down the Niobrara River. I would like to think that I will take all sorts of pictures but I am guessing that two major obstacles stand in my way. One, we willl be on the water---not the safest place for my new camera. And B, photographing your best friends in their swimsuits is a quick way to be thrown over-board.

So, I will pack the sun-screen, fill the cooler, and be off for an adventure of a lifetime, with three amazing women.

Oh Sweet Summer

Let it be

Summer is not for house cleaning. Did you already know that? I guess that would be why there is that thing called 'Spring Cleaning', but I kind of thought that it was a old wives tale as well. Now, I understand where it originated.

We did not start our May and June months with the warm weather that we are sometimes accustomed. We had our share of Spring rains and cloudy, cool days. I was not among those who complained about it. I know that for the farmers it was less than ideal. And it did do a number on the ball game schedule. But it was great laundry weather. And if there is an ideal climate for dusting, toilet scrubbing, and counter top de-cluttering, then it worked pretty well for those things as well.

But Summer just is not meant to be spent indoors with a vacuum humming. I can hardly get a load of laundry done. In part to the crazy busy schedule that will be ruling our lives for the next two weeks, but also because as soon as I pop a load in, the kids direct my attention elsewhere. Outside elsewhere. Like to the park. To the lake. On a bike ride. Anywhere but in the confines of the house we are forced to remain inside almost exclusively December through March.

So, let it be. Dust will wait. A little bleach will remove the toilet ring come September. Enjoy Summer.

Father's Day Weekend

****updated with new pictures...thanks Dawn.

Photo and video editing at www.OneTrueMedia.com

He has his faults...

The years have passed in what seems the blinking of an eye. I suppose that is the story for all who have fallen in love. The minutes, moments, days, years spent together quickly become a package of memories while in the present it all just passes by.

I did not marry Chad because he would be a good father. That has just been an enormous bonus.

As women often do, especially when visiting with one another, I am sometimes prone to complain about all of the things that my husband seems to over-look, all of the things that he does not seem to find time for, and all of the things he fails to notice. And as much as I love this man, I thought that some of you might want to hear about it as well.

-Chad always over-looks my faults and shortcomings as a mom and wife.

-Chad rarely finds time for the things that he once enjoyed, like hunting and golfing. Instead he tries to deceive me into believing that a family bike ride, or a backyard game of kickball, is adequate entertainment.

-Chad is completely blind to the dust, grungy floors or ring around the toilet, that often gets neglected during my day at home. He figures if he returns home and his wife and children are happy, that nothing else is as important.

-Chad over-looks his tiredness at the end of a long day and joyfully bathes and puts our children to bed.

-Chad rarely finds time to sack out on the couch to enjoy a good ball game because he selfishly lays beside our children praying with them until they drift off to sleep.

-Chad is completely blind to the extra pounds, lack of make-up, or disheveled hair of his wife, and seems only to notice her smile. Praying that he finds it there each day.

-Chad over-looks my frustrated attitude and lack of patience and loves me anyway.

-Chad rarely makes time for a beer with the guys but encourages me to call up a friend or two for an evening out.

-Chad is completely blind to material pleasures that often appeal to men. For him, a newer truck, a hunting trip, or the latest electronic gadget are of little value compared to having a house full of kids and a wife that can stay home to raise them.

There are so many things that my husband over-looks, does not make time for, and fails to notice. And for that I am so thankful.

Happy Father's Day Chad. Although I did not marry you for the father you would some day be, I am blessed beyond words with the man that you are every day.

According to Kate

Recently, due to our traveling schedule, we attended Mass out of town. The priest's speaking style was very casual and conversational throughout the Mass. As he began his homily (sermon), Katharine leaned over to me and said, "I want to hear something holy. Not this normal stuff."

You see she was waiting for the part of Mass where she usually turns her ears off, or onto other things. But due to this conversational tone, she was certain that he was still just talking to us, and was far too engaging...and therefore very normal.

Our home priest would be happy to know that according to Kate, he speaks very holy.

Top 10 Things I Love About Camping

10. Waking up to birds chirping...literally right above my head.

9. The scent of a campfire at any hour of the day.

8. Going to bed with dirty feet but not minding.

7. Spending time outside with my husband that does not involve mowing the lawn or home improvement of any sort.

6. Seeing the look of glee on Andrew's face when he asks first thing in the morning if he can go outside and is answered with, "Andrew, you can spend ALL day outside."

5. Not passing any mirrors and not caring how I look.

4. Not one thought or wish for a computer.

3. Long, lazy walks on quiet paths that lead no where special but involve extraordinary views and are walked with extraordinary people.

2. The camping fashion. Old, comfortable jeans, warm, worn-in sweatshirts, sandals.


And the number one reason that I love camping:


1. Need I say S'more?

Desperate times....

*Editor's note: since the re-telling of this incident the problem has been resolved.

Right now the drawers of my eldest daughter's dresser are E.M.P.T.Y. Right now the hanging rack in her closet is E.M.P.T.Y. And they will remain that way until a sincere recognition of the bad attitude regarding her clothing is made.

Sound harsh? Probably. But as they say, desperate times call for desperate measures. I am sure that by the time I actually post this the requirements and demands will be met and this stand-off will resolve prior to engaging in warlike behavior, and without involving the United Nations.

I am stubborn. My daughter is stubborn. But just as I was raised, so has she been, to realize that common sense trumps pride every time.

Before anyone assumes that I am using cruel and unusual punishment, let me explain. I am fully aware of her independence and creativity when it comes to clothing choices. And as the nurturing and loving mom that I try to be, I have done all that I can to encourage good and practical choices while letting her have a substantial say in what she chooses to wear. There are rare occasions when I must insist upon a specific item of clothing, but for the most part I encourage her to appropriately share her tastes and desires with me where her wardrobe is concerned.

Maybe it came at a bad time. Maybe the hormones raging in my own body did not mix well with the stubborn pride of a six year old. Maybe during a different time of the month I would have walked away ignoring the bad attitude and writing it off as childish independence. But not this time.

After letting her choose her clothing for the day, and biting my cheek as she came out in shorts that were too little (taken from her sisters drawer), I calmly and kindly told her that the new turquoise skirt that I had just purchased for her would go nicely with the tank top that she had picked out. And then she did it again.

Eyes rolled in a manner of disgust and a loud, "Hmph-ugghhh"-ish noise escaped her lips. The message was clear. She was saying with body language and expression what she has used words for so many times prior, "I hate that _____ (insert any clothing item here). It is stupid!"

With that I walked into her room with laundry basket in tow and quickly began removing every item (expect undies and jammies) from her dresser. Just as quickly I took all of the hanging clothes and flopped them over my arm. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" I was bombarded with, not only from her but from her newly acquired S.W.A.T. team of siblings. "I am removing the clothes from your closet leaving you only the items on your back, until your attitude changes about your clothing."

Mud was slung at me in every form. "How can you do that? That makes you the worst mom ever!" "How is she supposed to wear the same thing over and over? What if it rips and falls apart?" "People will think you are not a good mother when they see your daughter wearing the same clothes over and over!" "Will the police come and take her away?" "I like SOME of those clothes."

Many tears, many shouts. Mostly from her new found support system. But I remained firm, yet hopefully loving. "She will be fine." I reassured the worried onlookers. "I realize that you like some of those clothes, and it is perfectly okay to not love everything as much as some. But it is never okay to be disrespectful or rude towards me or the blessings that you have. If and when you apologize and sincerely talk with me about your desire to change your attitude, then I will retrieve these clothes and put them all back. They will be removed again, however, if the attitude returns."

The eldest in the family showed the greatest concern for his sister's well-being, telling me that everyone would think she was poor. That is exactly what she needs to feel like, I explained. Because a poor person puts on the clothing they have with a thankfulness that we ALL should have, just because they have something to cover themselves. Poor is okay. Poor is exactly what I am hoping for.

And off they went, to the darkest, spookiest bowels of our house. A place where Heffalumps and Woozles are known to reside. There they will sit until this stand-off is resolved. I have confidence that beneath my daughter's stubborn-ness is a heart that is sensitive and responsive to reason. We will see.

Experiencing the difference love makes

I know that school has been out for many of us for a couple of weeks now. But my feelings of gratitude and thankfulness can not be left unsaid.

It is not something that can be described in words. It is something that can only be grasped in a feeling, a presence, a quickening.

We send our kids out the door each morning to be taught, disciplined, instructed, educated, and socialized. It is our hope and prayer that somewhere in there they are cared for, listened to, held and loved.

But the reality is that with the growing class sizes and the stress felt by performance testing, many teachers have to push forward with the instruction before they can nurture. And really, is nurturing the school's job, or is educating them?

Well, among the blessings I count each night, one or two of them are for the school my kids attend and more importantly for the women who love them first and educate them second.

Very rarely do words fail me, you have all experienced that first hand. But when it comes to what these women are to my family, words fail. As I said before, it can not be described. It is a feeling. And once you have felt it...you know. Not exactly a great thing for coming up with a catchy slogan for perspective families.

On the last day of school, we held a talent show/awards ceremony. One of the parents who will be moving out of the country stood up to say a few words before it ended. He had asked his daughter, after a long fun-filled vacation, if she was looking forward to going back to school, or wished they could stay longer...she said to him, "Papa, it's so easy to go to school when you know that your teachers love you." Not only was he moved to tears, so were most all in attendance. It is so true.

(last day of school)

(Nic with Mrs. J.)

(Olivia and Mrs. Z.)

102 Ugly Street

That is where you will find me. Well, not really. My address contains neither a 102 or Ugly Street...but if you look hard enough for the ugliest house in town, there you will find me.


Our humble abode is in need of a slight make-over. Its roots are showing, badly, and we need a color job. I never was particularly fond of the white exterior in the first place. So when the Spring thaw brought about the shedding of my home's latex skin, I was not all that disappointed.

Upon the recommendation of the painters and the paint store guru's of our town, we have decided, against every sense of pride within me, to let our house 'breathe' for a few months. Yes, apparently we have a house with asthma or some similar sort of respiratory issue. In order to assure the best adherence of the new coat of paint, we must allow the house to sit after it has been scraped. To breathe.

U.G.L.Y. I am certain that many of our neighbors will mistake the necessity of such a decision for a more believable assumption of our sloth. I am also certain that they will be altogether sick of being asked if they live next to that hideous looking monstrosity on 102 Ugly Street.

"Oh relax, Heidi, it is temporary," my husband casually explains. Apparently I am alone in my disgust. My husband feels no shame in driving into the yard of an eyesore such as this. I however, am swallowing all of my pride and trying to visualize the end result, as I cancel all engagements requiring anyone new to come over for a visit for the next two months.

Yes ladies and gentlemen, I am vain. I want my home to be representative on the outside of what I feel it is on the inside. Right now, the outside is saying that a houseful of blind, slothful, vagabonds live within.

Those of you locals, go ahead drive-by and give me a wave of sympathy. Even though I know you will be laughing as you turn the corner.