Applause Applause

I love Facebook, if only for the opportunity to catch little snippets of people's lives.

One of my own recent status entries noted:  Andy is practicing his Christmas program songs for me this morning, and says, "MOM! We are going to sing this in front of the WHOLE school!" And he thinks about that a minute and adds, "When people clap for me, I just have to smile."

Oh, what a feeling to be applauded!

Well, that innocent sentiment stayed with me all day, and I've since thought about it several times afterward. 

I had so much anticipation the night of the program, not just for the 8th grade presentation of the Nativity, or the singing of traditional Christmas songs, or the big Flashlight Finale of "Silent Night", or even laying bets on the expected Fainter/Puker count.   

What  I really wanted was to see that smile.

When it was their turn, the little first graders entered the church, lined up in single file, hands set prayerfully in front of them.  They approached the risers, and on cue, set their hands at their sides.  The spotlight popped on, and their faces literally lit up.

During the entire first song, it looked to me like Andy was going to bust.  Kel leaned over and whispered, "He's gonna bust!"

He looked so purely and entirely HAPPY.  Down to his toes. 

Enthusiastic first graders really don't need microphones.  Like his classmates, he sang his heart out: "Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer" and "O Little Town of Bethlehem".  Despite his concerns, he remembered all the words.

I know in my head that a Christmas program is really supposed to direct our attention to the birth of a Savior.  But my heart swelled because these children are given the opportunity to shine, to have their efforts appreciated, to be applauded. 

And then, even though the singers were supposed to be looking at the director, Andy quickly stole a glance at his mom and dad.

I caught it... that blurred but memorable image of a happy happy child.

And I thought,

surely this is part of what God had in mind

when He sent His Son.

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.

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!

Summer Sounds

Our first official School's-Out night escalated into a bona fide summer kick-off.  Everywhere we went, we seemed to gather up a few more friends, until I realized that we were hosting an additional 3 pre-teens for a sleepover (I hate sleepovers), and taking 8 to see "Letters to Juliet"... a 9:15 pm showing.  Now, THAT's "care-free". 

That's also noisy.  Add to it my 3 daycare additions, and I was flipping pancakes mid-morning amongst quite the hoop-la.

But the loudest and most persistent clamor came from a few new squatters on our property.

About 4 years ago, Kel purchased a couple bird house kits designed for calm and care-free parents to assemble and paint with their children.  Aside from the fact that it's a nice IDEA, I have no clue why he bought these things.  We don't have time to make bird houses, let alone maintain the one WE live in. 

But, it was Christmas time, and we all tend to go a little nutty at Christmas time.

Well, last year Merryn and Andy found the unopened boxes in the basement.  Immediately, they worked with a guilted dad and hammered and glued these simple pieces of wood and created quite the cute little condos.  They hung them in the river birch trees in our front yard, with Merryn commenting that our house colors complemented the bird houses quite nicely.  (She gets that from her dad).

I thought they were decorative, but this year we have residents!  With babies!  And I can hear them over the din of my own children.

It's also fascinating to watch... the momma fluttering out, the babies fussing until she returns with munchies.  My children think it's fascinating too, and have wanted to help. 

At least that's what we THINK they were doing, taking turns with their cousins, standing atop the Little Tykes portable slide, attempting to peer in that little bitty bird house hole, and unsuccessfully feeding the babies by tossing raw eggs inside.

I might have heard the fridge open... if only my kids were a little noisier.

Big Bites

Last week Finan helped himself to a spoon while I prepared his breakfast cereal.  I laughed out loud at his choice of a serving utensil as big as his head.  (I remember our first son doing the exact same thing at that age.  In fact, all the boys have done this!)

It wasn't even a week later when the three year old picked out the "bigbigBig" bowl for breakfast, the same bowl I serve rice in for a family of 11. 

I don't know why I grabbed the camera for these silly little moments, these little "Life Snapshots".  Why did they even make me stop?

It's good to stop and notice the silly little things.

There regularly is a lot of activity around here, and now that we have officially found May, the calendar dates get lost for all the scribbling and notations. It's easy to be overwhelmed, and lose sight of why we might end up spinning our wheels every day.

That's why I'm not going to write about Confirmations and Track and Field Days and May Processions and Award Banquets and Spiritual Retreats and First Communions and Music Competitions and College Admission Days and softball and t-ball practices too. (Yes, that describes May 1-15. Really.)

I'll just make a little note about how we in the Krenz Family tend to bite off more than we can chew, and we start doing that at a very young age.

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. 

 

Christmas Break- Day 1

It's the time of year when people talk about the ways the Holidays delight their senses.  Wafting holly candles, pine garland, cinnamon.... twinkling lights, tumbling snowflakes, decorative wreaths... festive carols and traditional hymns...

Those people don't have kids.

Basically, the familiar sensory experience in OUR home is, well, to put it simply, Stimulating.

No one else ever mentions the sound of ornaments crashing together when a ball goes flying through the living room, but it regularly happens here.  The Monkey in the Middle is just not tall enough to screen drop kicks from the 3 year old.  He doesn't mean to be destructive... he just has awesome aim. Even from 2 rooms away, I am quite adept at knowing when it's just brass ornaments, or when I have to jump up and grab the vacuum cleaner.

There are traditional Holiday tastes and smells, but here there is also the constant "stick" that is gnawed on candy canes, still in wrappers. Or globs of glitter glue that won't fully dry.  Or the rejected fancy candy with the gooey centers that taste like "yuck" ("Well, then stay out of your father's Ghirardelli!").   I want to scream when asked for the 15th time, "Mom, where's MY candy?"  It's only 9 am.  I should spare myself the agony and just eat the stuff myself.  But how then should I handle the situation when I hear "Why is the baby carrying around a bottle of ketchup?" 

Our one-horse open sleigh is real enough.  The circle loop that links the sitting room-living room-dining room-computer room is a first class obstacle course for the new Radio Flyer wagon.  I've been told not to overreact:  Speeding is of little concern since the thing actually has seatbelts.  Doesn't candy count as an accelerant?

I don't hear other households lament that, now that it's Christmas break, they are the loudest family on the planet. Well, maybe other families do have such complaints, but I certainly wouldn't be able to hear about them.  The din here can be deafening.

Am I the only person who drinks a beer to STOP my head from spinning?

My poor husband. 
The man is a professional who runs a building with nearly 400 children in it, aged 7 and under.  SEVEN AND UNDER.  It's a RESPITE compared to here.  I'd ask him what his thoughts are about this apparent juxtaposition of his life's work, but I think he went to have a beer.

Elfin Magic

For the third year in a row, The Elves have arrived.

While I suppose they could arrive anytime, they hitch a ride to our house with St. Nicholas on the eve of December 6th.  This is when the empty shoes that make up a huge array surrounding the Christmas tree skirt are filled the next morning with gold chocolate coins, favorite candies, and old-fashioned bottles of Coca-Cola.  Merryn and Andy squealed aloud this year when they spied the 12 inch NorthPoleans nestled in their own stockings hanging by the Christmas tree.

Brownie and Charlie supposedly were sent to make sure the Krenz kids are good and kind in the days leading up to Christmas.  However, even though we have never actually seen them move, these elves have been known to cause mischief and commotion all over our house!

Last year they baked brownies, and made good use of the abundance of powdered sugar strewn everywhere by also making snow angels on the kitchen table.  Somehow, one snow-filled night, they snuck outside and had a blast in the snow, which they smartly preserved inside.  Merryn eventually found them in the freezer with a mound of snowballs and a stuffed polar bear too.  We've also found them in the refrigerator with fresh sugar cookie dough for the kids, and they even provided a cookie cutter shaped like an elf!

If the snow was not in the forecast, they made their own winter wonderland by TP-ing the livingroom or having marshmallow wars.  Other mornings we found them watching a big stack of Christmas movies and eating microwave popcorn, or playing the Wii.  They had even figured out how to make their own Wii Mii profiles!

They've played Scrabble (the whole board was a criss-cross of Christmas and winter words), decorated the children's bedrooms with lights and sparkly ornaments, switched out all the drawers in every dresser of the house (imagine the difficulties of getting to school on time THAT morning), and actually ordered themselves a Pizza Hut pizza.  (The empty pizza box and the car parked crooked in the driveway were proof of it!). 

I won't soon forget, however, the night they spent cutting huge letters out of colored pieces of paper, using every one of our decorative craft scissors with scalloped and sharp-toothed edges.  Nearly 30 letters!  It was a jaw-dropping sight to first see the scissors and rolls of messed up tape and residual scraps that literally covered the entire floor of the sitting room, the room into which everyone enters our home.  But on a single wall, the fruit of their labor:  "JESUS IS THE REASON FOR THE SEASON".

I left that pile of stuff on the floor there all day, and the graffiti until The Epiphany.

The elves come during a busy and often stress-filled time of year.  The calendar is jam-packed with meetings and programs and practices and games and shopping and commitments and festive parties.  We're often rushed and hurried and heavily burdened.  On tired, wintery nights, those elves add to the list.

However, I'm sincerely grateful for the opportunity to host them.  They bring joy and expectation every morning to our children, and they provide these weary parents an opportunity to remember how to just be PLAYFUL.  Afterall, we're anticipating the arrival of Jesus who truly brings Joy to the World.

And that, for me, is really a gift.

Project Runway

I first realized she could do it when she emerged from the living room with a squished stick of butter in her hands and a big smile on her face.  Unless she was able to manuever the huge hose on the Dyson vaccuum, the butter stunt meant she could scale the kitchen counter.  And I was right.

The next time (or, what I THINK is the "next time"), I was able to catch her with the element of surprise.  The bar stool had already been pushed across the room, and the baby was standing ON the counter talking to the birds outside the kitchen window.  I didn't want to startle her into falling, so I clamped my lips shut and gulped down my scream. 

Over the years I have learned you can kind of expect this sort of dare devil behavior from small children, because at this age they are formulating thoughts and exercising preferences.  Still, it's a shocker when you realize your baby can actually implement a plan.

The most recent exploit, though, really had me wondering about personalities that accompany these behaviors.  I understand that if the child is hungry, she'll find a way to get into the secured cereal cabinet and dump 3 pounds of Cheerios on the floor, and a few in the bowl too.  I can see how if she wants to make dessert  like the big sisters she'll pull out the vegetable oil which is loosely capped from the last set of Brownie Bakers (who also did not secure the cereal cabinet).  Babies mimic the people around them, which is why in this house no one can ever find their own toothbrush.

But what do you make of a baby who is pleased as punch to have you enter the Hub of the Household to see her prancing up and down the dining room table as if it were Project Runway?

(Un)Frozen Dinners

My daughter's friends were visiting in the midst of a dinner preparation. I think we were having stir-fry or something, and the counter was cluttered with veggies to be cut, and salad to be chopped.

One of the girls exclaimed, "Your family eats so organic!" and I just laughed.  We are far from that. I don't exclusively buy food specifically labeled as organic... I don't go out of my way to shop in specialty stores... I can't incur the expense of higher priced foods labeled as organic... How in the world could she perceive us as organic eaters?

"Well," she said, "you make your own food!"

And then it dawned on me.... she was referring to the fact that we buy very little pre-packaged and processed foods. (And we eat a lot of fresh salads).

This made me appreciate that we are really giving our kids a gift in making our own meals!  Further, they acquire knowledge and skills when they assist us, and their confidence in working in the kitchen grows too.

 And here I thought I was just saving money....

Deep Thoughts

Kel and Andy were driving past our local cemetery when Andy asked,
"Why do they bury dead people in the ground?"

Ahhh... life, death, respect, honor, grief, family, sadness, remembrance.

Kel pondered how to approach answering this question when Andy suddenly answered it himself:

"Well, I guess if they put them in the trees,
they would fall on the cars!"

Wopes

We have endured rain and rain and rain.  Flooded crop fields, muddied ruts in the driveway, running water in the basement... and everyone is affected, especially moms who would much rather be outside with the children.  So when there IS sun on the ground, the kids and I are out the door, usually taking long strolls through our quiet streets mid-morning.

F:  Look at that!  A wing!  In a wee!
G:  It won't fall down.  It has a wope.  The wope will hold it up.
F:   Can you wing on that wing?  Way high?
G:  Oh, yea.  Tires off twactors are good for dat.

"Just Turned" three year old boys love the puddles the rain leaves behind.
G:  I got me fwee wocks!
F:  I got two.
G:  Look how they jump on the water!
F:  Look how they make big wipples!

"Just Turned" three year old boys even know who is home mid-morning and who enjoys their visits.
F:  We want to go dat way.
G:  Okay. 
F:  I want to go see Zosul.
G:  Yea!
F:  I want to get popdorn balls at Zosul's house.
G:  YEA!!!!!!
F:  Then we go over dere.
G:  Okay.
F:  We get dookies and juice at Grammy's house. 
G:  And see the dogs!
F:  And the dat!
G:  And she has twucks!
F:  And dars!
G:  YEA!!!

Most comments from "Just Turned" three year old boys end in exclamation points.  They like to pause and watch a group of landscapers carve out sections of yards.  They like noticing squirrels on telephone poles.  They like listening to the sounds effusing from a water fountain in someone's front yard and discussing whether or not you should drink from it. 

For little boys, taking a long walk, mid-morning, is a good thing after days and days of rain.  But it's even better for moms who need an "out of the box" perspective so she doesn't feel like she's at the end of her wope.

Our Garbageguys

We are still cleaning out after 6 inches of rain water swooshed into our basement.  (Take note:  Rubbermaid totes are not truly waterproof if they float and then tip.)  And while I was able to salvage lots of things, much of it required laundering. I am the Queen of Laundry. 

The rest had to be pitched.  Big Black Bags of Stuff, now in a trash heap...  Stuff I've been holding onto "for one day" when I can do things like cross-stitch again without fear of children picking up stray supplies and using them to puncture their siblings' body parts.  It's a gross thought, but it could happen.

Okay, maybe that's the only thing I regret losing... the supplies, that is.  The rest of it really was excess and should have been donated somewhere a long time ago.  I'll do my best not to cringe when it all gets set out at the curb, not because I regret the loss, but because our Garbageguys will have to pick it all up. 

I love our Garbageguys, and so does my family.  We'll hear Josh and crew in their huge garbage crusher truck clamber up the street.  My kids will drop what they're doing and run to the front porch windows hoping to catch a glimpse..."The Garbageguys are here!!!!  THE GARBAGEGUYS ARE HERE!!!".  Or, if we're already outside, the kids will run up to the sidewalk's edge for a real close view.  They'll be greeted with a huge "HELLO!!!"  and "Are you kids having fun today??"  And then their big eyes will watch in awe as the men haul our big green bags and cans over their shoulders and toss them like paper wads into the mouth of the machine.  A lever will be pulled, and a claw-toothed arm will screech and squeal and engulf  the stuff that came from our house.

The kids will step back a bit, because it's noisy and intimidating.  But the men will grab the now empty cans and lids and race them up to the front of our house, taking care on especially windy days to ensure they won't tumble back into the street.  One of the Garbageguys might run over to the kids for a whole Victory Lane of High 5's.  Waving goodbye, the Garbageguys will hop back on their ride and clamber to the next row of houses, and they will hear me, and all the children, yelling "THANK YOU" and "THANK YOU SOME MORE".

If we are lucky, we will see them again when we are out on our walk, and don't you know our Garbageguys will beep the horn and wave to us across several streets.  They're good like that.

Tomorrow night our family will unfortunately be setting out more garbage than usual, and my conscience is tweaked because of it.  While we do Reduce/Reuse/Recycle, what is left over is put on our Garbageguys, and for me those are the first real faces of who has to deal with "too much waste".

Memories (unedited)

Just a few minutes in the Krenz household... for real.

Easy Access

Rosie, 17 months, approached me today with a cucumber in her ear and the instructions, "Hiiiiiiiii Nanny!" And then she handed it to me so I could talk to Kel's mom.

Luckily, it was a plastic cucumber from the play kitchen, and not a real cucumber from my refrigerator. If it were a real cucumber from the real kitchen, then my life would have taken a truly awful turn: it's never good when babies help themselves to the contents of your large appliances.

I remember one summer day, when all the windows were open. If you can picture it, we live in a house that's about 150 years old, and these old pulley system windows run nearly floor to ceiling. In fact, a 17 month old can easily see out, and neighbors see in. Some might consider that a little too much exposure, but I was grateful when our dear "great aunt"-type neighbor Nancy calmly called over our adjacent yards: "Kelly, I think Ally has a few eggs in your windowsill". Sure enough, that 17 month old baby was making scrambled eggs for us, with real eggs, and she was nowhere near the kitchen. (However, I'm not convinced she didn't get some help opening the fridge from a few bigger brothers.) I was actually kind of impressed that she walked through the whole house before breaking them in the window sill.

I guess it's safe to report not much has changed for me in these 15 years, from my oldest daughter's antics and now to my youngest. Children watch everything you do and innocently make their own attempts to follow along, although I'm quite sure my kids never saw me make eggs in the toyroom or talk in a cucumber. What is different is that I am slightly more calm about these efforts at independence and don't nearly over-react as much as I did in the earlier years (which honestly isn't saying too much).

Maybe I'm more wise, maybe I'm just more numb. What I do know is this: eggs and cucumbers are easy. But, I do draw the line at anything involving a gallon of milk.

Fashionista...Not

Did you see that episode of Project Runway, in which the fashion designer Vincenzia had to create a contemporary cultural commentary using various fabrics and icons? The model's too short shorts had a "Bob the Builder" logo, the funky pajama top had a green T-Rex, the jacket tossed haughtily over the shoulder had a light-up Spiderman that blinked and pulsed with every shimmery movement down the catwalk, and the model wore brown with orange crocs... on the wrong feet.

Ok... That wasn't Project Runway. That was my 3 year old in the emergency room last night. (I don't even watch Project Runway, so my apologies if I might have misrepresented the show, a little.)

The emergency turned out okay (x-rays, no foreign objects, heavy hitter antibiotics), but sitting in that waiting room holding a child in that "get up" got me thinking about my own blue crocs at home, even though I wear them on the right feet.

I shouldn't be so misleading; I can appreciate beautiful fabrics and artful design. It's just that I've never been a slave to fashion. It's hard to care about quality clothing when a nice blouse is going to end up with jelly fingerprints on it, or blood. No, if I'm a slave to anything, it's laundry, and I actually don't even mind that.

Since I would not have picked this condition for myself, I'm convinced I've been wired for it since the beginning of time, prepared and genetically inclined to not fuss too much. What else could a Junior High girl evolve into when she wears a Women's size 10 shoe in the 6th grade? (I got a brief reprieve when the Unisex style of the late '70's was widely accepted, but even a Men's 8 shoe still made my big feet look, well, really big.) My mother's efforts to comfort, offered with an eye wink, were of little consolation: "Oh, you will have even greater under-standing!"

(Prophetic? I wear a 13 now. It is all her fault!... even if I do have greater understanding).

I can remember the angst of shoe shopping, needing to go to "special" stores that only carry "old lady" orthopedic styles. (Nothing against those shoes; I'll legitimately need them some day). I died a thousand deaths and suffered even more disappointments; I'm sure I made my mother suffer too, or at least I tried. As a result of never having anything trendy to wear on my feet, the rest of my closet naturally followed suit.

I never thought I would be thankful for it, but I am. My life would be immeasurably more difficult if I were too fussy about things, or attempted to keep up pretenses more than I already do, albeit futilely. The jelly on my shirt? It might come out, or not.

I think I'm a better mother for it, but my children are threatening to nominate me for What Not To Wear.

"You should have your own show!"

You can't imagine the number of times people have remarked that our family should have its own TV show.

I guess they are referring to the popularity of numerous Big Family shows that pepper the TV Guide selections.... cute kids with matching outfits, nice parents, and perks in Disney World. A show about our family? I couldn't think of a WORSE idea.

For selfish reasons, I couldn't have a camera crew in here. They would be capturing hard evidence that I have a low tolerance for shoes littered at the door and garbage tossed lazily behind the couch, and even worse, that my children would actually do that! Producers would also expose to the world that my children learn to write their names on the dust that clings to the TV screen. There is no June Cleaver in pearls here... just a poorly dressed mom who is sorely lacking many answers to life's child rearing questions.

Of course there would be other characters on the show. But, tell me what could be so interesting about an Abe Lincoln sized man, the father of nine, who makes a living as the principal at a school with 360 children (all of whom are aged 6 and under). Hey! Maybe a few people would watch if it were shown during cold and flu season. It could be entitled "The Germinator", and sponsored by Clorox wipes and Kleenex. Now THAT'S reality TV. Still, would you really want to watch that?

My kids are performers though; just imagine what they would do with a Nielsen rated audience. They already love to entertain each other with their silly skits, funny jokes, amazing card tricks and karaoke. Our oldest could astound you with his abdominal muscles contorted to look like a skull. The 11 year old can do the splits AGAINST THE WALL. The 3 year old speaks Spanish, sort of. (At least that's what we think he speaks when he yells at the TV: "Dora, ciudado!" Really, her father is just not in that many episodes for a "See you Dad!" translation.) I wonder if shooting squirrels out of trees is considered entertainment?

We do have some cultured skills: The 13 year old can bring you to tears with her rendition of Les Miserables' "On My Own" or Phantom's "Think of Me". Her sister's just as good with contemporary Christian music. And the 8 year old can program the Casio for Bach's Minuet and can even follow along the lit keys. We also have a clarinet player, guitar strummer, and a couple trumpet tooters, but only one person ever practices. Every single family member dances, sometimes while not even waiting in line for the bathroom.

No, I'm convinced we should avoid more publicity. To the next person who says "You should have your own show," please don't take offense when I laugh out loud. Truly, I think we are on display enough (like, every Sunday when we're walking in late to Mass), and I already have enough Reality without having to do a show about it too.

I will, however, contemplate signing on for a cleverly scripted TV series about clean and well behaved children, and a mom who has dinner on the table every evening at 5, as dad waltzes through the front door and plops his briefcase on the dust-free coffee table.

Oh, never mind.
June already did that.

Kitchen Help

Kel likes to drool over the Williams-Sonoma catalogue. They represent some wonderful products that have a huge "cool" factor. He gets sucked into the top-of-the-line grill gadgets and specialized tools, smartly designed utensils, and hard-to-find ethnic cookware.

Like the Ebelskiver pan he got for his birthday.

Today, on this leisurely Saturday morning, he is breaking out the new cookware to try his hand at making these Scandinavian treats, fluffy little pancakes you can fill with jam or fruit or cheese. (Williams-Sonoma also fills them with chocolate ganache, as if we would ever have THAT hanging around in our pantry. We always have chocolate chips.)

You whisk flour and other batter ingredients in one bowl. In the Kitchen Aid you beat egg whites "until stiff but not dry peaks form". Then you carefully combine the whites with the batter "in two additions." When you pour the batter into the wells of the pan, you dollop a teaspoon of the filling of your choice in the center, followed by another tablespoon of the batter. The video on the Williams Sonoma website is very helpful in demonstrating how to use two wooden skewers to roll the Ebleskiver over in the pan to cook on both sides.

I will tell you I love these Ebelskivers, especially the blueberry ones that have some powdered sugar on top. I also love hearing Finan pronounce these treats: "EbbaSibers..... Evvaskeebas... Escabobbers.... PANCAKES."

Stop in and join us.

Pests

The whole family enjoyed a peek at our daughter's high school varsity volleyball team at their scrimmage last night. It's kind of striking to see the young woman she is becoming, and seems like only yesterday she was just starting kindergarten.

But, there was no time for in-depth recollections. It was getting late when we piled into our van to head home.

Six year old Andy sat "in the way back." He's typically a smiley, giggly, dimpled cheek kid. Maybe he has been so tired from nearly a whole week of kindergarten, but his tolerance for the two sisters sitting in front of him was quite thin.

Now, all families with two or more children hear the same things: "Mommmmmmm! She's copying me!" or "Mommmmmmm! He's looking at me!" I think even an "only child" must make up imaginary friends to bicker with.

Andy's solution to getting away from his family annoyances? He announced he's going to college.

Sigh.
Blink of an eye.