Time Management

I actually excel at time management. I use the calendar in Outlook and almost every moment of my day is accounted for. For me, it is really freeing. I know when I need to do what and so I know I have enough time to do X, Y and Z. It allows me to live in each moment because I know when I need to move on to something else. I am not fearing the clock. It's a guideline and a tool...not the enemy.

So...does that sound obcessive complusive?

Husband Brag Session

In an attempt to redeem myself for the many times that I take my husband for granted, I'd like to brag about him for a change. This past week, Kurt (who is a teacher) was on spring break. Like most husbands who have a significant chunk of time off from work, he was assigned a few tasks around the house to complete before going back to the grindstone. Amid those tasks, he also completed a wonderful project for our son, Kurt Jr.

First let me get you up to speed about something: Kurt (Sr.), now 47, is a landscape artist. This just came into being about seven years ago. Up until then, he was just your ordinary guy, who would mumble a reply of "Uh-huh" on all of the many walks we took in the evening here in Texas when I would rant and rave in awe of the lovely colors of the sunset. (Thank you to polluted Houston for that!) At the time, we had lived in our house for about three years. Our walls were still mostly bare, because we couldn't agree on purchasing any kind of art that we both liked. Kurt's mom, an art major and artist herself, suggested that we simply paint some pictures together and hang them on our walls. My response was a very sarcastic, "Yeah, right" as I never advanced from stick figures and finger paints from my childhood years. Kurt was intrigued by the idea, however, and began painting. Over the years, he's become quite good at his craft and his paintings adorn our walls. Here is a painting he recently finished that now hangs over our fireplace mantel:


And here is one of my favorites which hangs in our front hallway:


Lastly, here is his work that always makes me smile when I look at it. It is Kurt's painting of the Fairy Tale Meadow framed by the Karawanken Mountains in Austria, where Kurt and I met and went on our very first date. Kurt is a fanatical mountain climber and hiker, and this date was a "test", a supposedly "easy" 7 hour hike to test my love of the outdoors and physical prowess. I passed the test but could barely walk for the next 5 days. (Not kidding.)


So, now that I've bragged a little about my husband's artistic skills, it's on to the project that he completed for our son this past week. Kurt's "studio" is our garage. He built himself his own monstrous easel and spends whatever time he can (which isn't much as a dad of a preschooler) creating additional masterpieces. Kurt decided that Kurt Jr. needed to have an easel of his own, too, so he built a miniature one for him and even a little table next to it to organize his paints. Our son loves it! He and Papa can now paint side by side to their hearts' desire. This is the two of them hard at work:


Isn't that just the sweetest thing??

And here's Kurt Jr. happy as a clam with his easel and paint table:


I am so blessed to have such a wonderful husband and father to our son!

Go Fly a Kite

We had such a busy weekend. I am exhausted! This is all I got today.

When someone told us to go fly a kite, we did:-)

What did you do this weekend?

Bored Games

I just played my ninth game of Candy Land today. And.I.have.had.enough.

I'm one of those moms who does not sugarcoat motherhood. You'll never catch me touting the life of the SAHM, gushing with joy about how delightful my time with my son is. Half of the time, when I voice my true feelings in this regard, I get various degrees of disapproving looks from most SAHMs. So, if you're one of those moms right now with that "Man, this chick is screwed up" look on your face who's super relieved I can't see you at this very moment through the blogosphere, it's OK; I've witnessed it hundreds of times before and have become downright thick-skinned about it. Don't get me wrong, though; I love my son beyond words and cherish (most of) my time with him. However, I'm honest about my feelings about being a mom. For me, it's not always the greatest thing in the world. Frankly, I think working full time, although draining, would be easier on the mind for me. I miss my full time work. I was an educator for 12 years teaching high school German. Now, I still do work part time as an adjunct instructor at a local community college and I LOVE it. But I miss being an important and daily part in the lives of young people. I miss eating lunch with my colleagues and sharing countless laughs about our daily struggles and triumphs as teachers. Most of all, I miss the way my mind was completely, 100% occupied with the intellectual stimulation of work throughout the work day.

So, I'm sorry, but Candy Land just does not cut it. And sometimes when I play it with my son, I think I'm going to keel over at any time. Cause of death: Boredom Beyond Belief.

Perhaps you're thinking, "Well, come on, as a mostly SAHM, you ARE an important and daily part in the life of the most important young person in your little circle, your son!" And I fully agree with that. However - believe it or not - I actually find working with teenagers a lot easier than the "work" I've done raising my son since his birth four years ago.

To keep myself motivated as a parent, I have an article that I cut out of a magazine stuck to my refrigerator for me to glance at every day and remind me of my important presence in my son' life. It's entitled, "Sacred Time with Children" by Thomas Moore. Moore writes that "being a parent is a spiritual office...when you are giving so much, you are becoming a vaster, more enlightened being." And I agree with him 100 percent. I do believe, as Moore states, that on a daily basis during all of those countless daily necessities of "cleaning, teaching, picking up, driving, paying for school and lessons, guiding, counseling, feeding, clothing, and entertaining" that I am "ministering" my son in order to "transform [him] into a thoughtful, engaged adult."

Seeing that article everyday is a great way for me to begin my day motivated to live in the present and to smile and laugh with my son as much as I can. Except that is, when my brother-in-law pays us a visit. He sees the article and calls it, "SCARED Time with Children." And, to some extent, I just can't argue with that, frankly.

So now that I've revealed my true feelings about motherhood to the entire blogosphere, I do think this post comes down to one thing: I need a new game. Board game, that is.

I'm wondering if any of you have any suggestions for fun games for preschool-age children. I'll share my son's favorites in our family's collection (and I won't mention Candy Land, because, as I'm sure you've figured out by now, if we're playing it nine times in a day, it's gotta be a given):

1) Captain Hook's Shipwreck by Tomy: This game is so cool! The game is an actual pirate ship which can pitch back and forth and all around. The goal is to move a weighted ghost of Captain Hook around the ship and knock your fellow players overboard before they can get to the pirate treasure on the ship before you do.

2) Cariboo by Cranium: This is also a treasure hunt type of game but it's played in a more educational manner. Also a fun game!

3) Diggity Dog, by International Playthings Inc.: Love this game; it's just too cute! You move little doggies around a game board and try to find your doggy color's corresponding color bone. The dogs have magnetic noses and can "sniff" the bones to look at the colors underneath them.

So, what are your suggestions? I'm hopeful for as many responses as possible.

Because if I have to play another game of Candy Land today, I may do something drastic...

Freak of Nature

Unfortunately, I have not lost any weight this month:-( Taking a couple weeks off of my workout to be sick is no fun, no fun and not effective. Now, I didn't gain any weight either so, that's good.

On a related topic, I have been skipping periods left and right. Last month was the first one I had since November! Yikes! I knew I wasn't pregnant because I tested frequently. Now, I am two weeks late again. It's a little unnervering. Last year, I was put on the pill for excessive menstral pain but I have been off of them since August. I am only going to be 39 so I don't think it is perimenipause yet. My doctor says it's hormones but, am I not too young? Has anyone else experienced this?

Other than that, I feel great. I have energy again and I spring out of bed in the morning. I get tons done and I even enjoy doing it. It's just this pesky little thing that is bugging me. So blogosphere...lend me your thoughts. Am I a freak of nature?

My Biggest Fears

So, I sit here on another Thursday night, realizing I have not thought about our blog at all this week and what I'm going to write, until this very moment.
Unfortunately for you guys, there's only a few things that have been on my mind lately: the baby, getting our house ready for the baby, and work.
So, let's try a variation on the theme: how uncomfortable the baby is making me and my fear of maternity pants. I know, I'm crazy. But I actually have a deep-seated fear of three articles of women's clothing: full-panel maternity pants, granny underwear and house coats.
Now, these are my fears and I own them.
I know many rational women, that I respect, who claim they love full-panel maternity pants because they fit and are super comfortable.
My mom wears a house coat every night around, well, the house.
And granny underwear? You may have a reason for having 12 pairs in your drawer, but I just can't help it. I don't own any and I never will. It makes me feel old. And un-sexy (not that you ever feel sexy when you're pregnant!)
So, I wear maternity bikinis, low-rise maternity pants and sleep in a tank top and shorts.
I don't think what you wear changes who you are. Or what you're going through. I am not any different than a mom-to-be in a polka-dot tent dress and a bow at the neck.
But by avoiding those three simple things, I feel better. It's a psychological game I play with myself. What about you?

No fun in the sun

Yesterday I said goodbye (and good riddance) to number 25, the 25th mole on my skin that I've had surgically removed. Now the waiting game begins, waiting for the results of the biopsy, a game I've had to play since I was 14 years old, a game of wondering whether or not I'm a still a winner or if I've finally lost the game after all of these years. It's the game of health versus melanoma, one that my family is sadly all too familiar with.

When I was 14, my mom spotted two moles on my body, one on my stomach and one near my left temple on my head. I knew they were there; they'd been around for as long as I could remember, but being a kid, I didn't know that their scaley, crusty appearance was anything to worry about. By chance, my mom saw me naked that day. I don't think she had in a long while. Once I hit those preteen years, the thought of anyone seeing me naked was horrifying (despite the fact that there wasn't a whole heck of a lot to see). So, the fact that my mom was able to take a good look at me with my birthday suit on was pretty out of the ordinary. Personally, I've always thought there must have been some divine intervention, because I think my mom saved my life that day.

A few days later, I found myself in her doctor's office undergoing a minor surgical procedure to have both moles removed. We found out later that week that the biopsy reports were normal; both moles were just your average joe-shmoe moles, nothing to worry about. Pfew! Truthfully, I didn't exactly know what we were so relieved about. I knew that cancer was a sickness. My mom had had breast cancer a few years before then, but she came out of it just fine. The word melanoma was foreign to me at that age, perhaps even to my mom, too, I think to most people back then, frankly. Skin cancer just wasn't a big concern in the early 80s; no one talked about it or knew much if anything about the disease.

Now, somewhere right around that time, I don't remember if it was before or after that first mole removal incident, my family and I took a vacation to Sanibel Island off of the coast of Florida. What a paradise! Coming from chilly Wisconsin where the weather is less than desirable 8 months out of the year, my family was totally into the tropical island experience. I still remember my dad pointing up to the sky periodically during our visit there and shouting, "Boss! Dee Plane! Dee Plane!" Yes, I must ruefully admit, we were faithful TV viewers of Fantasy Island at the time, and during that vacation on that breathtakingly beautiful island, we lived out our own fantasies of lazy days on sandy white beaches surrounded by nothing but lush vegetation, water, and sunshine.

Until the day we decided to go shell collecting. We woke up before dawn and made our way to the beach in the dark during low tide when shell finding is supposed to be at its best. We walked with our heads down, scouring the beach for miles, finding as many beauties as we could for hours. Finally, somewhere around noon, my mom decided it would be a good idea to put on sunscreen. No, we didn't have any on until that point. And, yes, it was too late. We had been out in the sun for about 5 or 6 hours already and had completely underestimated its morning strength. We sure felt it later though. To say we were sunburned is an understatement; fried is more like it, especially my younger brother and I. Red as lobsters. And in a lot of pain. It was so bad, my mom called the local hospital to find out what to do. After a few sponge baths, we hit the sack for a night of little sleep with wet, cold washcloths over the areas burned the worst. In the morning the blisters had popped out, and we could barely move. So, we spent the next couple of days in the hotel room ordering room service for all of our meals. We eventually ventured out to do a little shopping (the word "beach" was akin to speaking heresy; not one of us breathed a word of it) but were we ever a motley crew to behold. The tops of my hands were burned the worst and I couldn't lower them because it was too painful, so I had to walk with my arms raised and held out, Frankenstein-style. My brother completed the Frankstein picture, as he got hit the worst on the back of his legs, behind his knees, and had to walk with his legs stick straight; any bending caused him great pain. The tops of my mom's feet were her nightmare, so she had to walk around without shoes. My dad, who apparently has great skin, was burned but had no blisters, so he was pretty comfortable. That's the way we made our way around the island for the last few days of our vacation...and how we boarded the plane to fly home...and how we greeted my grandmother who picked us up at the Milwaukee airport to drive us home. I still vividly remember her only words to my mother once she layed her eyes on our family in the terminal: "Oh, Sharon." Now, imagine the worst tone of disappointment and frustration that you can in those words and you'll have an idea of my grandmother's dismay.

My mom still feels guilty about what happened to us during that vacation almost 20 years ago. I've tried to reassure her that we were just ignorant Wisconsinites who didn't know how strong the sun was that far south that early in the morning. Plus, everyone's version of "sun screen" back then was SPF 6. Any higher than that and you felt like you were wearing an iron shield for really no good reason; it was considered "healthy" to have a golden-brown tan on your skin. I definitely thought so; it sure helped my teenage acne, made my blue eyes stand out beautifully, and gave my hair some lovely highlights.

No one knew back then that if you got even one blistering burn before the age of 18, your chances of getting melanoma as an adult skyrocket by 50%. My brother found out, though. At the age of 27, he was diagnosed with stage 3 melanoma; the cancer had spread from a mole on his back to some lymph nodes in his neck. We were all shocked when the results of his biopsy came back, me most of all. After all, I was the "moley" one. Since that first surgical procedure at 14, I visited the dermatologist annually and had a mole removed on average about once a year. Moles are everywhere on my body. I was amazed that I hadn't been the one to get melanoma, that all of my biopsies had come back with good reports.

Luckily, my brother made it through his ordeal, after an 8-hour surgery and a month of radiation treatments, with a clean bill of health. The physical scars of his surgery will always be there, but as for anyone who gets cancer, it is the emotional scars that are probably the most troubling for him. He puts on a strong front, but I think the fear of his cancer coming back is always with him, and the medication he has to take every day for lack of much thyroid activity as a result of the surgery is likely a daily reminder of what he went through and what could strike again at any time.

So, I write this post as a result of a conflict. A few weeks ago, I had an annual check up with my general practitioner. My blood work revealed I have a vitamin D deficiency. Well, duh. I hide from the sun. I fear it. I harbor angry thoughts toward it and what it put my brother through and what it puts me through every year with these ridiculous moles. Despite the fact that my body needs the sun to produce an important vitamin for its health and well-being, the sun is also my worst enemy. Hmmm, the irony, huh?

I also write this post with spring break upon us and the approach of warm weather for us all. Take what I've shared with you as a warning. All of the talk in recent years about skin cancer and the inherent risk about being out in direct sun for any longer than 15 minutes without sunscreen with an SPF of at least 15 is true; I know, because my family has lived with the consequences of what can happen if one is not cautious.

Protect yourself...but most importantly protect your babies.