Summer, summer, summertime

So three more weeks to go of summer vacation.

  

Here's a little video about how I feel about that.

Me and Kanye

Since I started writing this wee little blog some people have been surprised about how crazy I really am.  Others have known it all along, but are just surprised that I am telling people.


This week was a particularly hard week for me.  VBS/Camp was fun, but with some work commitments changing for my husband (basically he has to work more and be away more), my oldest son starting football (I worry about him getting hurt and the time commitment is flipping insane) and my feeling of life simply spinning out of control.  I needed something to get me feeling better.  A good run, which is what I did this morning.  And I found a new song that I am obsessed with that helped me get my swagger back, Otis by Kanye West and Jay-Z.


All of you may be surprised by my love of angry rap music.  Sure I let the cat out of the bag that I love eighties hairband music.  But there is nothing like a good angry rapper.  Even though I am honest right now about my love of rap, I do get the irony.  Me, a suburban, white, church going, custom van driving, married mother of four who is in love with Kanye West.  Not their typical demographic I assume.


The classic scene from the movie Office Space comes to mind where the guy is rapping Tupac's music in traffic until he sees a black man coming by.  That clip is funny (and you can watch it at the end of this entry). 


Kanye's music, along with some Eminem, T.I., Missy Elliot and Nicki Minaj and classic Tupac are all on my playlist.  This music is the only music I can run to.  I tried to run while listening to soothing, folk music (which I also love) but I ran waaaaayyyy too slowly.  I tried listening to Miss Tina Fey's book BossyPants on my ipod while running and was laughing waaaayyyy too much; I decided it was a better idea to drink wine or eat ice cream, or both in bed while listening to the fabulous Miss Fey read her book to me.


So why do I run like an angry young black man?  Why do I find such joy in running to music that makes me feel like saying f-you to all my haters?


Because I have some inner rage, more like frustration.  This is where I start complaining about being a stay at home mother and mothers that work roll their eyes.  I get it, the whole "mommy wars." I want to clarify, even though my frustration grows with doing so, that motherhood is hard.  Parenthood is hard.  Being responsible for little people and making sure they grow up with the right nutrition, values, kindness, activities, opportunities and education can be and most of the time is completely overwhelming on a good day.


But being a stay at home parent is different, especially today.  There are many days when I feel the need to defend how I spend my days and I feel pressure to keep the house clean and cook great dinners.  I feel like Betty god-damn Draper from Mad Men.  My husband doesn't make me feel this way.  I do it.  I feel like I chose this path and had the great fortune to be able to do so (you know I mean fortune as in luck, unfortunately not personal wealth!), so I better make the most of it.  


I think a lot of women are like this.  We are an educated lot, we mothers of small children.  Many moms I know that stay home left great jobs to devote time to their kids.  Many moms left great dreams to devote time to their kids.  And yes, most of them are happy a lot of the time and they love their kids and all that jazz.


BUT....there is frustration.  It may be because the pay off or the results take so long to see...the goal is to raise happy, well adjusted adults who can cope.  Seriously?  I am going to be completely nuts by that point.  


There are many days that I feel unworthy, inadequate and like I am failing.  


I told my father recently that I felt like I just wasn't doing anything right and everything was falling apart.  He looked at me after spending a week with two of my children and said "You must be doing something right because those kids are wonderful."  
Well I didn't hear anything else anyone said, their voices turned into the grown up's voices on a Charlie Brown cartoon.  


I guess we don't have to wait until they are grown up to have some results.

But on those days when I need to say f-you to my haters, there is the rap music.  Stay-at-home mothers generations ago had Betty Friedan, today we have Kanye, Jay-Z and Nicki Minaj.  They aren't rapping about my issues exactly, but damnit they help me get my swagger back (as Jay and Kanye would say).


And of course I only download the clean version...again with the conservative mom side coming out.


Funny clip...

Serious clip...

Camp with my BFF

I feel like I just got back from camp--I'm exhausted, sad that the experience is over and I am singing songs with hand motions to boot.  At least that is what I think it feels like when camp is over.  I never went to camp as a kid.


There were a couple of kids I knew that were away from the neighborhood for a couple weeks every summer, at camp.  And when they came back they seemed super tired, bummed out that it was over and of course there were the songs with the motions.  And I was totally jealous.


So now that I have my own kids, I am trying to create that campy feeling for them and oh yeah, for me too.

Vacation bible school at our church (yes the church that I previously mentioned that has some members  on the lookout for my kids and me....for any signs of...trouble or mayhem) provides the perfect outlet for that campy kind of feeling.   

It makes it even more perfect because my partner-in-crime, I mean BFF Stephanie, is a member of the church too.  She and I work in the kitchen because honestly, well that is the department that we only have to see the kids at the designated snack times.  And we get to hang out and talk to everybody.  And there is the chance to use a microphone for the prayer.  Steph and I love a little enthusiasm.  When the kids were little, we would literally spend hours at Chuck E. Cheese.  We always thought we could do a way better job than the girls that worked there and half-assed their way through the birthday song for the kids.  So we really try to bring it with the snack prayer on the mic.

A lot of summer camp type things have gone on in the kitchen over the past four years.  She and I got in a fight last year, yup, a full-blown, catty, Real Housewives caliber fight (no hitting, just a lot of pouting) and we made up at the closing ceremony just as it should be at camp.  We have laughed our heads off, complained/vented about a lot, cried because our kids were going through stuff and cried because we were going through stuff.  

This year we pinky swore that we would totally be there for each other when we got old and started acting crazy or not like ourselves.  She is that type of friend.  The type of friend that understands my crazy, pulls me out of my rut, makes me laugh and simply gets it.  We are so much the same, yet so different.  At camp, I mean church, people often get us confused.  She and I usually take full credit for what the other person has done, unless it is scandalous of course (which has happened!).  We are like "Parent Trap" but we aren't long lost twins that were separated because of our parents' divorce.

We seriously love microphones.

That's the thing about camp, it is intense.  Intensely fun, silly and bonding.  And then you throw the songs in, are you kidding me?  I want to go back to school to be a camp counselor, seriously.


And oh yeah, the kids have a blast.  And every year, even though I have some pretty deep questions about my faith, I am the mom crying because my kids and so many other kids are singing songs about Jesus.  There are so many adults that pour their hearts into the lesson and the fun for the kids it is truly moving.  

And VBS has crazy hair day, my kids love crazy hair day!

I think this looks like another album cover!

What would Pam Ewing do?

Plunging stock markets.  One of the worst days on Wall Street.   As I glanced at my Yahoo homepage I felt panicky, kind of like the world was ending.

I don't don't have a lot of money invested in the stock market....okay admittedly I don't have any money invested.   But remember my nickname is roller coaster.  If the news tells me it is the worst day in the world I go there.  Then tomorrow or next week when there is a recovery, like none Wall Street has ever seen, I go there too.

Up and down and all around....I go there.  

Basically I am that chick that is constantly trying to control something, anything in life.  Even though I know it is a futile effort.  I literally need to get a grip.


My coping strategies with this crazy world involve very complicated, intricate analyzation of tv.

For example, when I met my husband's family I thought I was marrying into a family like The Waltons.  No one was divorced,  they all seemed so wholesome.  And there were a lot of them.

Well not too long after we were married, I discovered this family was more like the Ewings from Dallas and I needed to get a grip. But as I mature I realize all families are like the Ewings, right?  Doesn't everyone have this cast of characters:

• the ego-maniac uncle/brother/husband---JR
• the hopeful, naive at times, trusting, conflicted uncle/brother/husband---Bobby
• the depressed, addicted, misunderstood uncle/brother/husband--Gary
• the rebellious, fun-loving, spunky niece/daughter/grand-daughter---Lucy
• the strong, stoic, maddending-ly accepting and overlooking, righteous mother/grandmother/matriarch type--Miss Ellie
• the idolized, tough-loving father/grandfather--Jock
• the sweet, virtuous, driven, lovable daughter/sister/wife--Pammy who turned into Pamela
• the troubled, insecure, somewhat bitter, but rooted for daughter/sister/wife--Sue Ellen

Okay, I could go on and on, but think about it.  And maybe everyone doesn't have a JR.  But really the Waltons were boring anyway.

The realization that I married into the Ewings, minus Southfork Ranch (thank god we don't all live together) and the hired help, was interesting, but not life-changing.  That moment came in yet another therapy session, that's right another session.  I believe therapy is like getting your furnace checked....every 10 years you need to get checked out to make sure everything is still working properly.  

Anyway, I was sitting on the couch talking about some stuff and totally talking about myself like I was sweet, virtuous, driven and lovable, like little Pammy Ewing.  As I spoke I thought, holy shit, I sound troubled, insecure and somewhat bitter.  Oh my god!!!! That was the day I discovered I was Sue Ellen Ewing.

It was life changing.  

Doesn't this look like a Dallas pose?  Don't even ask why I was posing so inappropriately...remember I am the Sue Ellen in this situation.

So now on days when the world is up and down, I do panic a bit.  But unlike Sue Ellen I don't reach for the bottle or any other destructive method of coping.  Okay, I might drink a little.  But mostly I think "What would Pam Ewing do?"  I think she might say something like "Bobby, we have to make the best of it and I will get a job at the clothing store in town or ask my brother Cliff to help out."

If you think I am obsessed with Dallas, you haven't even read anything yet.  Wait til I start writing about Thirtysomething, possibly the greatest show on television ever.  

And by god, these shows, albeit old, are so much better than watching the news.

I hope Jesus doesn't hear my gun

The summer of violent toys continues with the cap gun purchase.  While the big kids were at grandpa's, JT  was pretty lost.  He didn't know how to play by himself.  So my husband Tim stepped in and played the role of a 10 year old (remarkably well I should add).

JT, he looks more like a farmer, less like a cowboy.

Until you add the good old fashioned Billy the Kid Cap Gun his dad got him.  Now he is more nervous, excited cowboy.

One afternoon I came home to find them melting a plastic Army guy, with a blowtorch.  When I asked why in the world?  Tim replied, "that's what boys do" which sounded eerily like his logic behind getting Peyton the pocket knife.

While the violence is disturbing, I can't argue that JT loved it.  And he really loved playing with his dad.  As I have mentioned Tim is a fabulous player.

After a few days of shooting his gun in the backyard, JT said "boy I hope Jesus doesn't hear my gun."  

"Why...do you think Jesus wouldn't like your gun?" I asked.

"Nope," said JT.  "He would say 'you shouldn't shoot that gun little boy,'" JT said in his deepest voice, sounding more like Fat Albert than Jesus.

"If Jesus thinks it is wrong to shoot a gun, does it make it okay to do it just because he can't hear it," I asked slowly in my best know-it-all mom voice.

"Yup," he said pointing the gun at me.  "Put your hands up."

Clearly, there is trouble ahead.

Even though Jesus may not approve of the gun, we were at church this morning.  Wade was baptized.  Up at the altar were all my floppy-haired kids.  JT and Lucy held the baptismal bowl while Peyton stood with his hand on JT's shoulder.  I took a deep breath.  

Listen, the whole church takes a breath when my family gets near the altar.  More like they hold their breath.  There was a Christmas pageant incident a few years ago that involved a little angel of the lord we all know and love dangling the bottle of frankincense over the baby Jesus' head(played by a real live little baby).  There was some hay throwing and grabbing the microphone and yelling "be not afraid" during the reverend's sermon.  No one has forgotten.

So there we were today up in front of the church family.  And I am sure some people were scratching their heads wondering how we could have had decided to have so many kids.  Especially after supposedly "ruining" the Christmas pageant and a few other minor little church incidents.

But none of my children threw anything today, no one got violent.  Today as I and other members of our church watched my children, they looked...sweet.  It was definitely a holy moment, fleeting, but holy.  Because very quickly JT splashed his hands in the bowl and I thought for a moment he was going to flick the holy water at the reverend, but he didn't.  

I sighed with relief.  And thanked Jesus.

An adorable line up, I mean picture at church.

Coming Home

Lots of attention for JT and Wade.

Lucy's room has never been so clean for so long.

Dinner out last night was a lot cheaper.

No fights to break up.

No wrestling matches.

Nobody complaining about what's for dinner.

These are some of the things that have been good about my two older kids being away at grandpa's for the week.  
It doesn't even include the best part, the beyond amazing bonding experience for my kids and my dad.

  

Visiting on holidays is fun, but it can be hectic and kids can get lost in the shuffle.  A lot of times the cousins go off and play, which is a wonderful thing.  But sometimes the grandparents and the grandkids don't really get a lot of time to hang.

Well my dad and his wife Carrie fixed that.

These are some of the pictures that grandpa and Carrie have been texting me:

I admit it, I am jealous of Grandpa and Carrie Camp. It looks so fun. 

When is my week?

Even though my heart is about to burst with love and happiness that two of my children are really getting to know my dad and his wife, I am ready to have my kiddos back home.

Even though it should be easier with only two kids at home (and believe me there were parts that were easier), I was off my game.  I am used to loud, crazy chaos; putting out fires (sometimes literally), yelling to get everything and everyone in place;  tucking them into their beds and watching them wipe off slobbery, mom kisses.  

That does not mean that if Grandpa and Carrie were willing to open the camp up to kindergartners and toddlers we wouldn't send the others too.

It just means that I miss them and look forward to them coming home tomorrow.  Don't they seem taller in the pictures?

A simple summer

This is my fancy summer fun list that we made on the last day of school:

We have done a lot of things on this list. 

But there is still fun to be had!

Even though I may complain, I am going to make a valiant effort to enjoy the last few weeks of summer.

Because there will soon be other things to complain about...homework getting done, rides to football practice, making it to the bus stop and all that jazz.

And because, a lot of things on this summer list are pretty simple.  I can handle going barefoot, staying up late and going to Dairy Queen.  Learning Spanish?  That might carry on into fall.

Before Lucy left for Grandpa Camp, she and JT spent an ENTIRE afternoon painting rocks.  Simple fun.  And for those of you wondering what you were getting for Christmas from the Youngblood kids, sorry I ruined the surprise.

Every summer I read this very sweet book about well, summer.  I only read it in the summertime because I don't

 like things out of order.  I don't celebrate Christmas in July or have breakfast for dinner either.  Anyway, this book is from when I was a kid.  And even though it is a million years old, it holds up.  The simple joys of summer are the same--catching fireflies, eating watermelon, swinging super high, building sandcastles and more. 
Simple, even I can do that.

The list

I recently informed my extended family that I believe I have adult ADD.


It didn't shock anyone too much. Forever I have been the one with all the ideas, but not a lot of follow through.  Sure, sometimes there is follow through, like my decision to have a large family with an amazing husband.  Followed through and got very lucky.  Running a marathon, check.  Did that.  And a few other things.  But for every major example of follow through, I have 100 million examples of not so much success.

Yes, this pic was taken in the bathroom, like the toilet paper holder in the background?

My ADD was self-diagnosed after reading an article in a health magazine.  There was a checklist with criteria like:

• difficulty getting organized (check)
• many projects going simultaneously; trouble with follow-through (check, and check)
• often creative, intuitive, highly intelligent (check, thank you very much)
• changing plans, enacting new schemes or career plans and the like; hot-tempered (ugh, check)
• a sense of insecurity (yup, check)

and so on and so on.


The list even included family history of manic-depresssive illness, or depression, substance abuse, or other disorders of impulse control or mood (remember my mother? check, check, check)

The article focused on the positive aspects of having ADD, like having abundant energy and creativity.  There were examples of coping strategies such as making lists.  Cool I thought, I have been coping pretty well.  I am a huge list person.  Forever I have been making lists.


Sometimes, like today, my lists are a little like a struggling, not very realistic ADD sufferer however.  
For example:

• Train for a marathon
• Work out
• Buy the snacks vacation bible school at church
• Relax
• Work on business plan
• Return Emails
• Play with baby
• Read to five year old
• Call crazy mother
• Pull weeds
• Read BossyPants
• Design lesson plan for fun Math Camp for Lucy
• Check on kids at grandpa camp
• Paint the kitchen
• Make breakfast, lunch and dinner
• Go on a bike ride with the kids
• Pay bills

and so on and so on.


My real life went a little more like this:

• worked out
• checked Facebook
• read to five year old
• played with baby
• stressed out
• made breakfast, lunch and dinner
• went on a bike ride
• felt like a failure

Even though I meet more criteria than some, we all have a little ADD in us.  Too many things to do, too many expectations we put on ourselves.  While I was fretting about how I didn't do half the crap on my to-do list, I heard the movie that I had sat JT in front of so I could worry.  He was watching "Up."  I heard the music of that first scene....you know the scene.


I scrapped my list and went and sat down next to my 5-year-old and watched a good movie.  I sighed with relief and soaked up the message of the movie way more than JT.  He just snuggled up next to me and laid his head on my shoulder.  


There are days where I feel like Tim and I get ahead with our great plan for our lives and our family.  But there are so many days when I feel frustrated that we have to break the Paradise Falls bank and fall behind.


But this afternoon I hugged JT a little tighter and realized I did accomplish some things on my list.


I will put my creative, highly intelligent mind back to work on a new list tomorrow.

The Scene:

The Other Scene:

The facts of life

I hit the road again.  This time driving to Pittsburgh to drop my two oldest children off at their grandpa's house.  


In an effort to save a little money I decided to leave the fun, but gas guzzling custom van at home and drive our small car, the mini-van.  Aside from not being nearly as cool as the custom van, the mini van also lacks a functioning air conditioning system.  But I figured this is how it was the good old days, right?  No air.  My kids are tough they can handle it.  And maybe they will learn a lesson about appreciating the luxury of air conditioning.


Well guess who learned a lesson?  Me.  The lesson is I will never drive over one hour in an un-airconditioned car in the middle of summer ever again in my life.  Ever.

Self portrait of my near heat stroke ride in the mini-van.  

It felt like I was in the middle of a hair dryer turned on high heat.  The windows were down so the hot air was blowing in full blast, the sound of massive trucks and tires was roaring and the volume on the dvd player was at the maximum number.  The perfect mix for temporary hearing loss.  When we stopped at the rest area we tried talking to each other but just kept repeating "What?" like we had just been to a concert.


During the drive they would yell out a few questions, but we mostly gave up trying to talk.  


"How could a frog fall in love with a pig," was one question I heard Peyton ask.  He said it like it was the craziest, most unbelievable concept.  He didn't ask "what's a muppet?" (they happened to be watching "The Great Muppet Caper") or "why does Fozzi Bear only wear a tie and a hat while Miss Piggy is fully dressed?".  No he got hung up on the frog/pig thing.


I tried explaining acceptance and how love is blind. Yada, yada, yada.  He couldn't hear me.  So I yelled "Just let go and believe it and enjoy the show."


When we got to Pittsburgh, we ran out of that oven of a mini-van as fast as we could.

Pittsburgh is a postcard kind of town. Love it.

Peyton and Lucy, my two oldest kids are staying a week at their grandpa's house.  For Grandpa and Carrie Camp (my dad and his wife).  A week of amusement parks, baseball games, bike riding and so many good times with their grandparents and their uncles (my brothers live in Pittsburgh as well).

Even though my kids wanted me to turn right around after dropping them off and head home, there was no way I was getting back in that van without a break.   Plus it is a 6 hour drive!  


So I spent the evening visiting with my family. We went to the park, played in the fountain, had Dairy Queen and then did some hanging out. 

We looked at old pictures, told some stories.  I seem to be the memory keeper for my siblings.  I remember everything good and bad.  I fill in gaps for everyone.  


For some reason, when my kids weren't around, we talked about some times in our family life that weren't so great.  My siblings like to block these memories out, but I like to remember to really celebrate how sane we are.  Especially considering some of the crap we've been through.


Even though I am a big believer in remembering, when I left today my heart felt heavy.  Plus leaving my children in a different state is something I have never done.   As I drove out with an empty minivan I started to cry, shocking right?  


Wiping away the tears and feeling stupid I decided to get angry.  My mother nicknamed me Angry Angie (yes, we are very into nicknames).  A therapist once told me my anger helped me get through stuff.  So, I pulled out the old anger trick.  I even found some angry music I indeed used to listen to during some difficult times.  Judas Priest and Ratt--yes I am outing myself as a bit of a burnout hairband fan.  


Back in the day, my mother was right I was always a little angry.  A little more Jo than Blair (from Facts of Life), a little more Lisa Bonet than Denise (from the Cosby Show).  But I am different now.  I am happier.  Even with some not-so-great childhood memories and parts of my heart that simply won't heal.  I am able to let go and believe and enjoy the show.


So I changed the radio station, found a classic hits station and sung along to "My Perogative" by Bobby Brown.  Aside from being depressed that it is considered a classic, I had fun.


Still not Blair though, maybe more Natalie and a little less Jo.