Falling Temps

Our elves could not be located ANYWHERE this morning.  They've gone missing before, and turned up in some of the oddest places.  So, Andy looked in Christmas trees, on ceiling fans, and in refrigerator freezers.  No elves. 

Recalling that one of their adventures last year involved take-out pizza, he ran to the window.  Now, mind you, the average temperature this week has been about 4 degrees, but despite the cold, Andy ran outside... in socks and pajamas. 

There on our deck, seemingly frozen in time, were Brownie and Charlie in the midst of an ice skating party.  They had been drinking pop and hot chocolate (now also frozen in time). 

"And Mom!" exclaimed Andy, "They had the FAKE Santa with them too!!!"

Such resourceful little elves... and full of bright ideas.

Inspired, Andy is geared up to pull out the lumber and rebuild our own ice rink. 
Coincidentally, so is his dad.

I'm stocking up on hot chocolate.

Tumbling Treasures

We live in an old home, so I'm accustomed to stuff not being perfect.  There are cracks in the plaster walls, gouges in the oak floors, and BB gun pellet dings on the living room ceiling.  (Teenage sons of the previous owners... NOT OURS). 

We also live in an old community.  Our current library building was actually an old Congregational church, donated to the city for this public purpose in 1912.  The charm of our turn-of-the-century pharmacy includes its worn wood floors, painted tin ceiling, custom cabinetry and medicinal labeled porcelain knobs (not to mention the charm of friendly pharmacists who work there!).  The building that houses our current grade school was built in 1877.  There's some history in those halls.

I'm surrounded by old, worn stuff, and it's not uncomfortable.

But things got a little exciting a few months ago when the back of one of the downtown buildings literally slid off.

Thankfully, no one was injured.  However, the site was quite impressive, and the kids and I would regularly drive by to see what else was hanging out of the exposed end. 

To our joy, the city has finally contracted the details of demolishing this property and work started on it this week. 

From the safety of our big white van, we got to gawk at two brave men (one is shown in this picture) who withstood the windy heights to knock out sections, brick by brick.  When larger chunks tumbled out of the air and crashed to the protected sidewalk below, you could hear the whoops and cheers eminating from my van.  The dust didn't settle, and neither did the Five-and-Under crowd.

The children were excited, but I was also a little sad.  This building is much older than three of me, and now it will be gone forever. 

The arches above the windows, the detailed stone carvings, the cornice at the very top.... all this "character", gone.  And I couldn't help but wonder about the personal history of the people who utilized this building over the years, those who worked in it, those who lived in it, and the generations since who have ridden their bikes in front of it. 

In a few short weeks, the resulting big empty lot will look awkward.  Rosie, Finan, even Andy and Merryn may never remember what the downtown looked like before the gaping hole, but I will. 

And, I realize I've just joined the ranks of those who "Remember when..."

Getting There

Note: Text by Kelly. Parenthetical notations by Kel.


Saturday’s eight hours in a car were chopped up by a few potty breaks and a whirlwind run through Walmart where we spent forty bucks on lunch fixin’s and a frisbee too. (We almost lost Finan. That’s why we don’t stop very much… it increases our risk of loss). We had plenty of food for snacks and another lunch today. I think the Food Network should run a Challenge show for deli chefs who can assemble meals for eleven in vans driving through department store parking lots. I’d be a contender for the $10,000 oversized check. Even if I won I think we would still assemble lunch from a grocery store. (No, we would go through a Wendy’s drive thru.)

We were happy to arrive at our little Ramada last night. (It was a dump.) It wasn’t bad, except for the lack of adequate air conditioning. Considering that we have NONE at home, we kept complaints to a minimum and put the big kids in the “cooler room”. (Don’t forget to mention the lack of windows, lack of towels, lack of ice machines, lack of hotel personnel, lack of wi-fi, lack of omelets and pancakes and bacon and sausage and waffles and good coffee. Shoot! Even lack of Twinkies.) It was just for one night, and the pool was nice and cool. Unfortunately, I did step on a “not quite so dead yet” wasp who managed to stick his stinger in the bottom of my foot. (That would not have happened at a Marriot).

I would also like to add how difficult it is to settle children for the night in an unfamiliar place. (Add to the hotel list: PARENTAL LACK OF SLEEP). They are fascinated by every switch, button, cord… and the close proximity of two bouncy double beds. We spent several hours attempting the impossible, and I finally suggested turning on the National Weather Service broadcast on the tv. Think emergency weather radio with radar maps. Both have the same sonorous voice that warns you of clear skies and flash floods in emotionless monotone. (Hey! I like the weather channel!)

Kel, exhausted from the day’s drive and relaying the incessant countdown to “When are we gonna be there???”, was clearly getting frustrated (This was Hell), but eventually the children fell asleep. And then he was compelled to take this picture of them. “Aren’t they so cute?”, he said. (I did.)

I’ll skip the breakfast selections (Yes, we should have) and add that we actually made it to Mass on time! (The truth is we had help… we gained an hour in Ohio’s eastern time zone, and who wants to linger over wheat bread?). The children were so interested in this centuries old German parish called St. Nicholas Catholic Church. The Italian Renaissance architecture supported a beautiful Florentine dome and stunning stained glass windows. (That’s what the pamphlet said). Merryn pointed out that one of the largest windows was of The Visitation, depicting Mary visiting her cousin Elizabeth. “That’s your name!” I told her.

So here is Merryn Elizabeth in front of her stained glass window.

The next blog will number the times Finan has exclaimed “Awesome!” and “WOOOOO-HOOOOO” during mountain tunnels, steep grades, runaway truck ramps, and bridge overlooks. (As well as Andy’s “I gotta go pee!!! breaks).

Vacation Adventures

So who was I kidding when I thought I would write something “cheerful” everyday?

(Not that I couldn’t…there has been plenty of cheerfulness around here, as well as a few great stories. But with baseball and softball and play practice, leadership camps, tumbling nationals, and, For Pete’s Sake, NINE kids, who has the time?)

I’ll just jump in, instead, where I am…. which is at mile marker 138 on Interstate 70 heading into Zanesville, Ohio. This is not a final destination but the interim spot. And Finan is, (and I quote), “so so SO excited Dad!!” (The kid can’t wait to get out of a seat belted booster and into a swim suit!)

We are on a family vacation, short one child but long on a girlfriend… and we hope she still likes us after this adventure. After all, this is a lot of “togetherness” going on, with our overstuffed duffel bags and economized eating plans.

But there are plenty of laughs to go around, and I’m glad we’re sharing it.

In fact, we were sharing what we have to look forward to when Finan made his interjection about swimming soon. Merryn is keeping track of the state capitols we see. Andy is itching to spend the $10 he received from kindergarten graduation. And Ally can’t WAIT for …. Mountains? Museums? Metropolitan sites? No, Ally can’t wait for the hotel breakfast tomorrow morning.  “I love hotel breakfasts!” she says, with her salivary glands visibly overworking.

“Well,” I say, “I sure hope it’s nothing like your continental breakfast at that Daytona Beach hotel!”

Kel can’t contain his laugh. “Who would ever think to serve coffee and Twinkies and call it breakfast?”

I wasn't surprised to hear there were no complaints from the Krenz girls who had joined him. Their only concern was making sure they weren’t stealing Twinkies on display for hotel guests.

Personally, I’m hoping for omelets tomorrow. It may be my last warm meal for a week!

(Stay tuned for more Vacation Adventures… permitting Wi-Fi access).  Oh, this little bitty notebook computer could be a lot of fun!

Revolving Doors

It was brief, but they're gone again.  A bunch of them.

One to Champaign, and several to Springfield, IL...

Kel is getting Maddie downstate to the USTA  National Tumbling Championships, in which she qualified to compete in both trampoline and double-mini. 

She's been to Des Moines, Amarillo, Daytona, and other exciting places.

And for the first time, EVER, the venue is close enough for her mom to see it.

I can't wait!

Have confidence, Maddie, and just do your best.

Real Surreal

A few miles up the road is a topographical bump called Cayuga Ridge.  This rise is just big enough to make what looks like flat land actually quite a "hill" for around here.  This rise also makes the area one of the best in the entire state of Illinois for harvesting wind energy.

We've got wind farms in these parts.

It will catch you off guard as you travel along I55.  For miles and miles you'll see nothing but flat farmland in various stages of production of corn and soybeans.  But as you near the Ridge, huge 100 foot propellers on poles erupt out of nowhere.  Hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of them.  Their computer controlled motors seem to turn the propellers in unison, and at night, a blinking red light alerts aircraft to their position.
The. same. slow. red. blink.  Blink. Blink. Blink.

It's a tremendously surreal moment.  And fascinating. 
You pause, and watch. 
You're quiet.

And if you're out for a drive like we were a few summer evenings ago, you might tumble into a little adjacent town called Dwight. 

Three nights ago, a windy wind blew right through there. It even touched down in several places. 
It sheared off the tops of trees,
and unearthed others.

It sheared off the tops of houses,and unearthed others.

It was a tremendously surreal moment.  And fascinating.

You pause, and watch.

And then you see real people

who are struggling with this real loss...

You're quiet.

And then you keep thinking about how that surreal moment,

is someone's reality.

Friday Five

Today was a typically busy and eventful day.

Maddie competed with a solo for the first time in a talent show and placed third, singing "God Help the Outcasts" from The Hunchback of Notre Dame.

Kieran competed in the same talent show and sang "I Enjoy Being a Girl" from the Rodgers and Hammerstein musical Flower Drum Song.  She got first place in the Junior Division.

We accidentally ate four pizzas today... two for lunch, two for dinner.  No complaints from Andy or Finan.

Ally packed her bags for a week-long mission trip in Jackson, Mississippi.

Camden spent 6 hours in a lifeguard re-certification class.

Brennan drove mom to the doctor 25 miles south in Bloomington.  And then Brennan turned around and drove Rosie 15 miles east to the doctor in Fairbury.  Kel supervised 8 kids in the interim.

Merryn celebrated her 9th birthday today.  She got a brand new bike with 18 speeds.

I don't know what I would have done differently today, but it just seemed like I should have done a lot differently.  Fuss over Kieran or Maddie's hair for the show?  Pack and repack Ally's suitcase?  Wrap Merryn's gift in festive paper?  Plan and provide more nutritious meals?  Or perhaps meals that minimally were not redundant? 

Even if I could pick and choose what I could have done better,  I feel like many of my efforts would still come up short changed.  Inadequate.

It was a day full of numbers... and sometimes, in the hustle and bustle of the day, we lose track and we get a sense that things just don't add up.  We grade ourselves on what we did wrong, what we missed out, what was imperfect.

But, in spite of me...
3+1+4+2+2+7+6+25+15+8+9+18= 100.
Perfect score.

I know my best effort will always be inadequate.  I'm human.  But I also know that if my head and heart are in the right place, God can fill in the gaps and broken parts, and make it all Good.
Or, at least, Good Enough.

Feast Days

We don't especially need a good reason to host a celebration.
Shoot, "It's Sunday!" is enough of a reason.

But last Sunday was extra special, because our family was observing The Feast of St. Joseph, and in the Italian tradition, this means exceptional food and many people with whom to share it. 

Sicilians have been honoring St. Joseph, the patron saint of Fathers and the Protector of Families, since the Middle Ages.  It was through his intercession that they attributed relief of a long drought and famine.  In thanksgiving to God, they gathered together and brought with them the bounty of their harvest, sharing it with the less fortunate.  That's why, today, many St. Joseph tables include an array of delicious food and a donation basket for the poor.

When I was little, I remember my Nana would cook for some Italian friends in her home on St. Joseph's Day.  She would make a little pasta, cook up some frittada,  stuff some cannoli and cream puffs and make sure there were plenty of sesame cookies to dunk in your coffee.  She set a beautiful table and was a wonderful hostess.

When my Polish mother took over the    

Italian tradition, she covered our ping pong table with food and wine and struffoli and Trinity bread and a fruit display and of course, the St. Joseph altar.  The food would spill out over the buffet.  She made pounds and pounds of pasta con sardi with bread crumb topping.  She stuffed artichoke, prepared fresh asparagus, and fried up eggplant parmesan.  She made dozens and dozens of pizzelles, and cream puffs filled with ricotta cheese and chocolate chips, or pistachio or lemon or chocolate fillings. 

The parish priest would come over and bless the table.  Every guest who walked through the front door was greeted with a big hug, and if your name had "Joseph" in it, she promptly pinned you with a red carnation boutineer and wished you "Happy Feast Day!". 

She prepared for weeks in advance, shopping and cooking and cleaning like a mad woman.

One year, after accidentally serving 200 people in her home (hey, she's known for talking to anyone in the grocery store or the back of a church), she passed out on the couch and announced she just couldn't do it anymore: "Con scuse profondo San Giuseppe!"  (Well, actually she didn't say "With deep apologies to St. Joseph"... She really can't speak Italian, but she was thinking it).   The days of the Big Open House were over.  Yet, 12 years ago when our Maddie Jo was born on St. Joseph's Day, mom ceremoniously passed down the wooden spoon to me, and I was honored to carry on  the tradition.

Now, mom still makes the pasta con sardi.  And she brings with her the confeti (Jordan almonds) and the antique candleabra.  And, she stands at the stovetop flipping frittadas with my awesome William-Sonoma frittada pan.  Oh, and she greets everyone with a big hug too. 

But Aunt Jan and her daughters prepare all the fruit, and Trish usually takes care of the fruit display.  Michelle makes the best antipasta because she gets good provalone.  And Charlotte makes the sesame

 cookies.  And CeCe made the strufoli one year, and Danielle made the pizzelles.  Xochitl made the braided Trinity bread shaped in the staff of St. Joseph.  She also made cream puffs, but about 6 pairs of hands fill them in my kitchen. 

Grammy brings all the daffodils and red and white carnations for the table.  Sue has provided all the paper products for years, and I still wear the red apron she lovingly made me.  Mary can't come unless she makes scotcharoos or a fancy cake.  In fact, any contributions to the table just make it all the more beautiful.  And Shannon lets her junior high daughters stay the night before to help scrub floors, vaccuum and dust the house, and steam veggies for the frittadas.  (We play loud music and stay up too late). 

It's tradition.

And it leaves a mark. 

I still get phone calls and cards on March 19th from friends who remember celebrating St. Joseph's Day in the house I grew up in. They share fond memories of the joyful gathering, but even more, they acknowledge something "extraordinary" about the whole celebration. 

It's not a holiday, and it's not a birthday.  There are no presents, but there are many gifts.  You can't help but marvel at a whole crowd of people wearing red, and gathered together for the purpose of a single devotion... "Lord Jesus, you willed to place yourself in the care of St. Joseph.  Bless this food which we are about to enjoy as we put ourselves under his patronage..."  And now my own children and family friends are being blessed by it too.  

There's an inexplicable grace

that permeates a place

where God is at the center

and you break bread together.  

Crunch Time (Part One)

Tomorrow morning we have our rendezvous with Ned. 

He's our accountant, and we've been with him for many years.    He's the one who genuinely thrills over all our dependents, who has watched our vehicular size grow with our family, and who has helped us make sense of each year's crumpled Wal-mart receipts and Aldi lists.

Correction:  piles and piles of receipts.  And checkbook registers.  And calendar notations of daycare income and attendance.  And proofs of purchase, valid vouchers, sales slips and stubs.  Yep.  It's all there.  Our 2009 lives, in one big box.

Ned likes seeing us because he gets the "Annual Big Picture" of our lives.  He also gets the paper thin computer report that summarizes it.
I'm left preparing that report from the quagmire of "proof" of how we lived it.

I really struggle with all this.  In fact, I mostly dread it.

It's not that I fear looking at the reality of the Sieve of my Checkbook, or how much we don't put into savings, or how our emergency fund is drained every month, usually via the plumbers, or mechanics, or doctors.  (Kel can do a lot of things like build and lead and cook and clean... if only he could prescribe!  Sigh.)

The struggle is that I'm the one who sorts, organizes, and enters all this data into the computer.  That's a Big Ugh.

Because of my daycare, I use a Quickbooks program that allows me to take each receipt and catagorize it by various line items... like "Paper Goods", "Cleaning Products", or "Lawn and Garden", all of which are relevant to the "bottom line" of our taxable income status.  This takes a lot of time!

Forgive my sour mood, but what I really need are categories like "Stuff", "Crap", and "Things We Impulsively Bought But Never Should Have Left the Store With".  Surely the IRS would understand these universal designations!

So now you know; the only reason I even blog is so I don't have to deal with the data entry of receipts. 

Wanna  see a cute picture of my kid????

Eye Blinks

I noticed by chance today that I need to flip my calendar month to February... and I am still a long way away from not misprinting 2-0-1-0 on my checks.  And in the blink of an eye, I've lost blogging about the end of 2009 and the whole start of 2010. 

I've missed sharing a really great story about getting a professional family portrait taken the week of Christmas.  It was a HUGE accomplishment, but I'll definitely save that story, and the photo, for another time. 

I could have written several blogs about families and Christmas... like what it takes to get our family to Christmas Eve Mass, the dinner we share when we get home, and the gift-giving afterwards. 

Many people think that with all these kids our house must be madness during present time.  But on Christmas Eve, the children get a gift from a sibling who drew their name weeks before, and a gift from their parents.  That's it... really!  And their gift from us?  Well, if we can pull it off, it's their hearts' desire (within reason!).  Birthdays might be a Shell gas card and a case of favorite pop.  But Christmas.... well, Christmas is truly special (and truthfully, it doesn't happen without a sprinkle of "magic" that even I can't explain.  "Blessings", pure and simple).

Go ahead and call us selfish, but many years ago, Kel and I decided that WE wanted to give them "the big gift".  We got tired of the guy in the red suit getting credit for all that good stuff.  Afterall, he never needs to fight for parking spots and stand in long lines!  

When the kids open the gift that says, "Love, Mom and Dad", they know it's not Santa doing the scrimping and saving and sacrificing.  (And it works wonderfully in our favor when we've told them "No" to something; we don't hear "Well, I'll just ask Santa for it!") 

Pictures speak for themselves in explaining their joy when big kids get their hearts' desire, and babies get babies, which is their hearts' desire. 

So, it's a good thing we have these pictures, because after months of preparing, it's over in a blink of an eye.

But there's more... there's always more.  Afterall, Christmas truly is not about the gifts and the stuff.

Since December 22nd and my last blog entry, we created faces for Mimi's poor faceless yard decorations. (We also gave her a whole stack of other angelic grandkids so she can switch them out anytime!)

We got to spend time with Big cousins and Little Cousins.

And we said Goodbye to cousins who moved far far away.

And with them, my sister and our fun-loving brother-in-law.  We already miss them.

We rang in the New Year and a new decade with friends we have known for ages, who have joined us year after year despite the fact that there is increasingly less room at the game table.  Our kids invite friends of their own and it ends up being a raucously good time.  We love their playfulness, and we love watching them grow up.  It happens in the blink of an eye. 

It doesn't go unnoticed that we end one year feeling immensely blessed, and start the next one feeling even more so. 

 Since my last blog, the extended Krenz Family said goodbye to our snowbird grandparents and sent them off with a new GPS and enough peanut M&Ms to get to Florida.  First, however, we were treated to newly found home movies of camping trips and early attempts at cinematography.  Who knew Kel could, at such a young age, produce-direct-and star in such a dramatic tale of dog attacks and severed limbs?  We laughed at the hilarious "fashions" too.  You know, filming those home movies just didn't seem that long ago.  Blink of an eye. 

We united the Big Sky of Montana and East coast New Jersey with a gathering of college friends in suburban Chicago.  We shared sorrow and loss, and celebrated engagement and hope.  That we can all see each other once in a few years and literally pick up where we left off is a testament to... well, I don't know what it's a testament to.  All I know is these people will always have a significant place in my heart because they've always been there... for decades.  

A blink of an eye. 

We helped observe the first birthday of a dear Goddaughter, went sledding on the closest hill in Chenoa (the overpass), built an ice rink, and hosted a "Slide on the Ice" party in subzero weather under a big moon and oudoor lighting.  8 adults, 25 children.  No one complained about the cold.  Afterwards we had to have rootbeer floats because it was also Report Card Day, and we always have rootbeer floats on Report Card Day.  We do this just 4 times a year, but it seems like just yesterday when were were last slurpin' suds. 

A blink of an eye.

   

Since the last blog, we clowned around at home, made batches and batches of chocolate chip cookies, and limbo-ed at a family dance celebrating Catholic Schools Week.  One daughter legitimately took second place!  Could you guess which one?

We also clowned around with some real clowns at the Illinois Association of Agricultural Fairs held at the Crown Plaza Hotel in Springfield.  We've never attended this before... never had a reason to.  But this year we did (with a whole posse of support), because Kieran was chosen last summer to represent Fairbury in the Junior Division of the talent competition.  Was that already 6 months ago?  Blink of an eye.  I must add, from a tremendously subjective point of view, not only was Kieran stunning, but her voice was simply radiant.  I won't ever hear "Think of Me" from Phantom of the Opera, without thinking of her.

I must note that it has not even been 6 weeks since my last blog, and in that time we have lived a lot of life.  Do we look tired?  Even so, we are not without perspective.  Just recently we received a letter translated from Spanish from a special Guatemalan boy named Juan. This little first grader is included in the salutation of our bed-time prayers every night ("God Bless momdadbrennancamdenallykieranmaddiemerrynandyfinanrosieand juan..."), and we keep his picture on a wall in the hub of our house.  Right next to his photo is a special cross from Mexico, given to us years ago by a dear friend, Fr. Terry.  We haven't seen him in forever, but it feels like just yesterday he was helping us in the wee hours of Christmas morning, assembling toys and filling stockings... and when his dogs, Angel and Jude, ate all the chocolate out of those stockings.  His out-of-the-blue phone call just a few weeks ago brought back a flood of love.  And next to that cross, and that picture, is a little heart embossed with the words, "The most important things in life... aren't things."

Now, this is what we are really trying to live...

in the blink of an eye.