Happy Haunting. . .

Usually I don't allow the girls to dress up as anything too scary or gory.  For years we have had princesses, more princesses, and the occasional hippy.  But this year we tried something a little different.

Meet the Ghost Bride and her little Ghost Waif. . .

The pictures aren't great, but this is what I get in a dark house minutes before heading out to haunt the neighborhood.

Signe still claimed:  We are beautiful. . . and a little creepy.

That blank stare IS a little creepy

They wore black shoes, which you couldn't really see in the dark, so they looked like they were floating.

Even still, the neighborhood was a little quiet.  It might have been because Halloween fell on a Sunday. . . or it might have had something to do with this:

Apparently a bear has been frequenting the neighborhood.  But these two were the scariest thing we saw out and about. . .

Happy Halloween!

Silence is Golden. . .

I love my kids to bits and pieces, but I have been dreaming of this day for weeks!  However, it was hard to drop my daughter off at middle school and have her say:

"Leave the camera in the car." Then she only let me walk her halfway to her home room.  I hovered at the halfway point watching my grown up girl walk away until the principal assured me I could go all the way.

"She doesn't want me to walk her." I explained, kind of sad that she didn't need me.

"Well, I will go down and make sure there is no confusion."  He offered with a smile.

She is going to be fine.

As for Signe, she was stoked to be in first grade and couldn't wait to meet her classmates. She skipped all the way to class and held my hand and even let me take two pictures of her at her desk. . . and kiss her in front of other people.

It's good to know I am still needed.

And it is very good to sit in a silent house and ponder my plans for the day in peace.

Growing Up

I find it interesting that no matter how old you actually are, your kids determine how old you feel.  I started fairly young, having Hannah at age 21.  Just yesterday she was my one and only, my blue-eyed, curly-haired blondie-- my sassy smart three year old. . .

Today she seems all grown up. . . and I feel sort of old, and amazed to have such a helpful young lady that is maturing and becoming more responsible each day.  Sometimes I can't believe she is nearly eleven and some days I forget that she is just a kid, and it is okay that she is acting like one.

She starts middle school next week and I think she is only half as nervous as I am.  Sixth grade seems so young to be in middle school, and she is the youngest in her class.  I took her to orientation yesterday and was amazed at the array of children.  Some looked like fourth graders. . . some looked like ninth graders!  I am glad that Hannah still would rather play with the boys instead of sit around giggling and talking ABOUT the boys.  It eases my nerves ever so slightly.

However, the "skater girl," as she calls herself, has made one leap this year.  Where last year she hardly cared if her hair was clean, or if she'd worn that shirt the day before, she suddenly is concerned about her appearance.  Though she still wants to stick with the "skater/tomboy" look, she is putting more thought into how she puts her outfits together.  Her "image" is no longer just a reflection she sees in the mirror when she brushes her teeth in the morning, it is something to carefully consider.

Which is why I was not too shocked when she asked if she could get a hair appointment at my salon before orientation so she could make a good impression and get a good picture for her student body card.  Of course I jumped at the idea.   We even scheduled it for the day of orientation so she could get it styled.

Luckily she loved it.

I hate that she is growing up. . . I love that she is growing up.  Either way she makes me proud to be her mother.

Life Is In the Little Moments

. . . but sometimes those little moments get lost in the hustle and bustle.  Part of the reason I started this blog (and the blurb books before that) was to document life's little moments.  You generally remember the big things, the feelings you had during certain periods of your life, but sometimes the small things get forgotten.  

I didn't want my kids--or myself--to forget all those precious little moments that seem like nothing, but which make up our life together.  

But once in a while life gets hectic and the little moments seem like they are getting in the way of life, instead of creating it.  In those moments I start wishing school would start and order would return, and that silence might make its way back into my home.

Then something jars me back on track and reminds me those moments ARE life, and in fact, they are actually BIG moments.  

Today, I sat down at my computer [my desktop computer] and found myself staring at a flashing question mark.  This is NOT a good thing.  And while it may be solvable, the quick steps that should have fixed it didn't.  I will have to take it in and see if my hard drive is damaged and my files are lost, or if someone can resurrect my life--at least that is how it feels sometimes, that my life is on that computer.  

All I could think about were the pictures that aren't backed up (luckily most of them are. . .or at least a large portion of them are), and about papers I wrote for school that I never printed (because the classes were online), or other documents that are only in that thin little box. . .

I thought of all those little moments I had not blogged about, but had planned on including in my girls' blurb books--one day.  Many of which I can't think of now--which causes small shocks of panic even now, at the thought of not being able to preserve those memories in neat little books that are easy to refer to and reminisce over.  

I may or may not be able to retrieve those files and pictures, but in the meantime I realize that my life is not on that computer.  I can still remember to appreciate the little moments now, as they are happening--to savor them before they are gone.  In a matter of weeks the girls will both be in school all day long.  Silence may reign, and my house may be clean on a more regular basis (both of which I will appreciate on so many levels), but those aren't the moments I will look back on and smile over.

When summer has gone and chaos with it, I won't look back and wish I'd had more clean laundry, I will think of the day the girls (along with 9--NINE--neighbor kids) sold cookies and lemonade for THREE hours and were tickled to make $16.50 from generous neighbors--and a sheriff and the UPS guy.  Never mind that they had to split it 11 ways!

Or I might remember how the kids started their own weeding business to earn money so they could buy a new wii game, and then worked so hard in my yard for five dollars each.

Or how excited they got to have a sleepover on the family room floor and make a tent out of chairs and blankets.  Not to mention the pure pleasure they got from spending days at mana's or grammy's house, swimming or playing with cousins.  

Signe's giggles still echo in my mind as I remember watching her chase Addy through the back yard, trying to retrieve the frisbee so she could throw it for him--giggles that lured the other kids from their activities to join in hot pursuit.

And nothing seems to beat the times they just wanted me to watch them sing and dance to music playing on the ipod, or read stories to me that they wrote themselves.  

I hope I never forget that all summer long Signe has insisted on one last goodnight hug and shared simultaneous kiss, after a whispered "one, two, three" to get the timing just right.  Some nights I just want her to go to bed already. . . but when she does one day without the need for that hug and kiss, I will miss it.  I know I will.

So maybe the computer does not need to hold all my memories for me.  Maybe I need to live in those moments so they can live in me.  

But really, cross your fingers for me, will you?  One day when I am old and my memory is frail I will need concrete evidence that my life was well lived! Like tomorrow.  

Summer Freedom. . .

. . . is a little over-rated.

Remember how excited I was to fling schedules to the wind and experience life summer style: no deadlines, no structured activities?

I changed my mind.  A certain amount of freedom and spontaneity are great, but a whole lot of flying by the seat of your pants makes for a wee bit of chaos. . . or a lot.  Sometimes that is great fun, but sometimes I just need to be able to plan.  I am, after all, a notorious list maker.  Inevitably, what happens is summer flies by and I suddenly wonder what the heck I have been doing.  I look at my summer to do list and think, "I know I've done stuff, but it ain't on this list!"

Plus the kids get all weird on me.  They don't like it when I suddenly ask them to do some simple tasks, like practice their piano, or some crazy other thing, like quit staring at a computer and try reading a book--or *gasp* go outside and play.  What ever happened to kids who played outside all summer? (of course we HAVE had very unsummer-like weather of late, all summer actually, with the exception of that one week when it was around 90 degrees)  And bed times are apparently non-existent in summer (but on the upside, mornings are quiet around here).

And I sure haven't been writing--not even on this blog (as the date of the previous post attests).

Through all the craziness I have come to a conclusion:

I need a schedule.  And deadlines.

I am clearly not great with the self-imposed variety of deadlines either.  I need people waiting on me to get it done already or else.  I seem to recall three distance classes that gave me six months to do the class, with no deadlines along the way.  I paid to extend all three.

I need LOTS of deadlines--for each step along the way.

My wall of shame is not working, and I figured out why:  It's overwhelming.  And it has no deadlines.  "Update digital contact info" has been on the list for over six months (I have piles of paper with addresses and such in a folder that I want on my computer and cell phone).  I suddenly wondered why it was on my long term goal list and not my daily to do list. . . so I put it there yesterday and less than an hour later I crossed it off the list. Done.

I need little goals and daily schedules that head in the direction of my bigger goals, and so do my kids.  And my husband for that matter.  The chaos has been driving him batty lately.

I don't think I am ready for school to start yet, but I think my first goal is to work on making goals and setting schedules.

Summer can be fun in an orderly fashion--I am sure of it.  Because after a couple months of wingin' it I have discovered something else:

I am not as free-spirited as I thought I was!

How do you structure your summer?

Signs That Summer Has Finally Deemed Us Worthy of Her Presence. . .

Accessories must be waterproof. . . Forecast calls for water, and not the sky variety!

Our diet includes a lot more dairy.

Getting dressed is quicker. . . Less is more.

My house is filled with fresh flowers at all times.

AND fresh, crisp sheets grace my bed. . . ahhhhhh.

My ceiling has expanded.

Shopping for dinner has gotten a whole lot quicker.

I find myself picking up a lot less toys. . . at least inside the house.  

And for once, my world in drenched in sunlight. . . which our eyes are still not yet used to :)

Summer is finally here. . . and she brought giddiness with her.

Is the Universe Speaking to Me?

I love old houses.  Houses with history and a name. . . and original wood floors and trim--and five panel doors!  I love a grown in garden and a good hedge.  Oooh, and big wrap around porches.  And trees that yawn out over the lawn and create a canopy over the house.  It has been one of my longstanding aspirations to own one .  It even made my top 20 things to do before I die--it was number 15, though it REALLY should have gone before 14 considering my hatred of running!

When we first moved here nearly three years ago I looked at several old houses but Rob was scared of them because they tend to have issues.  And the ones we saw had LOTS of issues, and not nearly enough fun history.  I DID pick a house I told Rob I wished was for sale due to its cuteness and tree filled yard.

But it wasn't for sale--still isn't.

Then a couple months ago we were driving around near that house ogling all the oh-so-lovely old houses and wishing we could live in one when we came around the corner and I blurted out:

"That one!  Ooh, I LOVE that one."

And then I made him drive around the block like four times while I took pictures of it from every angle. . .

I could do this because three quarters of the block make up the yard. The the corner quarter had a cute matching white house on it that had to be a guest house at one point.  The yard was filled with trees, and hedges.

It had a large wrap around porch and loads of charm.  I told Rob then and there that if that house went up for sale, I WOULD buy it.

I even told my realtor.  She rolled her eyes.

Then I went home and researched it with dreams of all the people I had heard of who watched a house for years and when it finally went up for sale they bought it.  That could be me, I thought. . . then I found out it was a famous house with a name and a history and an owner that was like the grandson of the man who built it back in 1920.  The family also built and owned several buildings in town, including a mercantile and a theater.

Those kinds of houses aren't sold.  Who sells the family home when the family home is THAT fantastic? I jokingly made plans to meet the family and arrange a marriage between our kids so we could sort of own it by relation, and maybe our posterity would get it someday.

THEN, last night, I was perusing through houses for sale in the area and BAM! There it was. . . for sale!

MY dream house was for sale--less than two months after I swore I'd buy it, should it ever go for sale.

As I sat there hyperventilating and wracking my brain to find a way to actually purchase this dream of a home, my husband just reminded me how I should have been writing and publishing instead of sewing fun projects and tearing out my laundry room.

"You have to be ready for these situations if you expect to be able to pounce when they arrive." He reminded me.  Not for the first time.

And my daughter kept yelling from her room: "We are NOT moving!  Dad tell her we aren't moving.  It's probably HAUNTED!"  Oh yeah, did I tell you she is scared of old things.  We are working on that.

Because how can you be scared of that much fabulousness?  It could be a coincidence, or it could be the universe speaking to me!

So, who wants to buy my house?