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.

Summer Days

Today is June the first. 

My kids officially have moved beyond kindergarten, third and sixth and eighth grades, and sophomore and senior years.  I'm still recovering from the graduation blow-out that brought family and friends from far and wide, whose presence made the celebration truly wonderful.

However, I found myself this morning knee-deep in kids, some of whom could regularly sleep through lunch.  Can I say how much this cramps my style?

The potential is great:  I could quickly lose perspective, and even my sense of humor (which, admittedly, is not great).  After all, it only took until dinner time for Kel to point out this very fact to me.

So, per his suggestion, I am going to find something to blog about, e-v-e-r-y day...  "something funny, something joyful, something not crabby."

Because we live a big life here, and I don't want to forget that.

Pay Dirt

There are some responsibilities (oh, okay, I'll say it.... chores) that go with being a Stay-at-home-Mom. The one I dislike the most is dusting.  It's not uncommon to hear me inhale deeply and then blow off a layer on top of the piano, or use a dirty sock to swipe the top of a picture frame, conveniently located just above the laundry basket.  Luckily Kel laughs about it, or maybe it has taken him 24 years to laugh about it.  The kids really could care less, except to draw hearts and flowers and their names in it.

But laundry, I don't mind so much.  And I'm not sure why.  After all, it's just as endless as the dusting.

 I don't care that the washer and dryer are located in the   basement, aka "The Dungeon".  At least it doesn't have dirt floors.  Kel has done his best to perk up the place for me with super bright yellow walls, sleek black industrial storage shelving, and smartly placed incandescent lighting.  The best part?  It's quiet down there, and people rarely follow me.

We used to own the front loader Maytag Neptune, the cadillac of washer appliances.  I loved that machine, despite the frequent mechanical mishaps (ALL of which Maytag corrected for us, at no charge).  When we used up that machine, we bought  a Kenmore Elite Oasis Canyon Capacity washer.  It can wash 20 bath towels with little water and half a teaspoon of detergent.  Since we added a $400 ejector pump right next to the machine, it now finishes entire cycles and no longer eats dishrags.  I know the Sears servicemen on a first name basis.

It's not the technology, though, that makes me appreciate laundering, although I truly am amazed when the clothes emerge barely damp from the washer thanks to the impressive spin speed of 1000 rpm.

For some reason I get some type of satisfaction sorting the soiled clothing into big piles, and whittling them away one by one throughout the day. I like the challenge of occasionally being able to empty the lint screen in one whole piece.  Surprisingly, I don't mind hauling loads up and down stairs (15 steps on 3 different levels). 

There's an intimacy, though, in laundering, and it's not just handling everyone's underwears.    It's pulling out from the dryer a big batch of warm clothing, and feeling that warmth on my arms and chest.  It's the joy of folding championship sweatshirts the kids have earned from leadership and sporting events.  It's the extra special effort of hanging bedsheets outside on the line, because you know your husband loves that fresh scent.  It's matching socks and smoothing out shirts, and it's connecting prayer for each family member as I do so.

While my family was replacing rotting deckwood this weekend, I was reaping much reward from my laundry chores.  This week it included squeaky clean $1.16.
Yeah, I regularly hit Pay Dirt...

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.

Small Comforts

I've been a little under the weather.
Well, more like "under the effects of anesthesia and pain meds."

And since I can't yet lift my own toothbrush with my right hand, I also can't even type the incoherent thoughts that run through my mind.  Or remember with detail how in my youthful ignorance I would consider dependence as a sign of weakness.

But I did want to share how much I've been cared for....
and it's nice to be cared for.

While many families might spend their Spring Break on a beach or in Disney World, or even relaxing in their own backyard, my husband spent his entire break in 4 hour increments, around the clock.  He dispensed medication, kept a cooling machine full of water and ice, helped me navigate the 10 baby steps to the bathroom, and even washed my hair.  (And he took care of the whole family too).

He has modeled care and compassion, and my children have watched and learned well.

One child has helped adjust cords and velcro in the middle of the night.  Another has attended physical therapy so I can have help with my exercises at home.  Another is a wiz with the sling. 

I've had help fetching water, the phone, the Ipod, the remote.  I haven't been in the laundry room for two weeks, and clothes are still being washed, dryed, and put away.  I can't drive, so I've been driven.

And tonight, my 3 year old sitting next to me on the couch rubbed my arm gently, and then proceeded to put a Nemo band-aid on the hurt spot. 

And others have helped.

Several dinners have been delivered, and there are offers to assist with taxi services.  Delightful cards and good wishes have been mailed to my home.  Kel's mom and dad sent a gorgeous lavender plant, and my own parents gave me a beautiful blooming azalea.  I've been kept in prayer in the hearts of dear family and friends, and I get repeated texts and emails reminding me of their vigil, often well-timed with my moments of feebleness or frustration.

I'm keenly aware of how undeserving I am to be showered with such goodness and generosity.

But, I keep myself humbly open to it.   For, if out of my own pride or stubborness or independence I turn any of this away, I close the door to an opportunity for others to serve, to love.  The Giver benefits too.

And sometimes for me that humility takes a little effort.

Consider, for example, slowly coming to consciousness and realizing you're propped up in a brand new fluffy overstuffed recliner with a perfect view of a flat screen tv.  

A dream?  An hallucination?  You don't own a recliner and your tv has a 10 inch screen, and you've never really pined for either.

But at some point you realize that's exactly how a family would go to the moon to make sure you're comfortable.  You realize you're tremendously grateful, for they just may know you better than yourself. 

I surely didn't know I wouldn't sleep in a bed for two weeks, or that I would want to see the scores for an NCAA bracket game instead of puny blurs at the bottom of a puny screen.  I had no idea seemingly extravagent items like a chair and a tv would bring me such comfort.  Who knew?

But now that I'm thinking about it, in and out of this pain-med fog,  I can cross at least two items off of  somone's "Over the Moon/Someday/Maybe/Sure Would Be Nice" Personal Wish List... even if the list isn't mine.

Time to rest and put my feet up...

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.  

Crunched Time (Part Two)

So, the receipts were finally entered, columns tallied, and reports printed.

I survived the prep work of yet another tax season. 

I do dread the process, but I always end up in the spot when I see there's more to the Cash Flow report than credits and creditors.  The "Crunch time" that is tax preparation produces a two-page end product that condenses the life of this BigFamily into a small snapshot... Time, crunched. 

Funny thing:  that little report gives me a bigger perspective.

Right off that Income/Expense report, I get to appreciate that a new camera is a wonderful business expense at any price.  Not one "thing" gives me more joy than that single piece of equipment;  perhaps surprisingly, it gives me much more joy than even a washing machine, dish washer, or very large vehicle... combined.  And now that the tax work has been submitted, I have learned I absolutely must budget more funds for scrapbooking and photo finishing.  Afterall, I don't want my babies to end up as jpegs.

The new Nikon is small change compared to the one glaring humongous umbrella expense entitled "Medical".  This includes insurance premiums, doctor visits, and buckets of antibiotics.  But there's no subcategory in that report that documents the awe of watching your daughter, while her arm is in the unnatural shape of the letter "S",  pray her way calmly through the pain until an ambulance could get her to an emergency room.  Or the joy of scheduling a "Well Child" visit for a three year old when you realize your child is perfectly healthy.  I'll pay double for that.

We also spend a small fortune on gasoline...waaaaaaaay more money than we do even our mortgage. (Okay, it's true we have a pretty cheap mortgage, however gas got outrageously expensive!).   But you know what?  I won't apologize for this carbon footprint.  That expense represents time spent with grandparents, or watching my kids play in ball games, visits with friends, and day trip experiences for my children.  Last Fall when my nephew called at 5 pm to invite me to share his birthday cake 90 miles away, we jumped in the car and went.  (And I've got GREAT pictures from that gathering too!)

I will add that the 2009 Gasoline expense was actually less than in previous years, which I attribute to our dumping 19 sets of seatbelts for a sardine can with five. The fuel efficient Ford Focus racks up 34 mpg, but I still call it The GoCart.  I tolerate it only because it gets me to my destination. 

We seemed to have cut back on recreational expenses in 2009.  But one of them, a family swimming pool pass, is worth any amount of money spent.  In the scorching heat of summer, we put off running our air conditioners for as long as possible, and the local pool is one reason I can get away with it.  While it's true that having a family pass means kids need fewer baths at home during the summer, the financial savings is zilch when factoring in the garden hose that gets left running under the trampoline overnight. 

It's a wash... but it's also perspective.

Somewhat misleading, it also looks like we spent more money on clothing last year, especially around Eastertime.  However, the Quickbooks "Income/Expense Comparison" report does not have room for a parenthetical "Sears Gift Cards from Grammy, Thank God" notation.  But it should, as well as all the other instances of kindness generously shared with us.  And there's no spot on the report for "Priceless", which is the value of friends who share the bounty of their gardens, their outgrown clothing, or giant sized jars of peanut butter from Sams Club.

There are economic lessons to be learned, but we're hanging in there.  Oh, we're still going to work hard to reduce our debt, increase our savings, and stay healthy and cast-free.  But some expenses just can't be avoided,
like replacement windows....
or the stories that go with them.