Finding balance

More often than I'd like to admit, weekends get away from me. Because I work full-time and am too lazy to clean during the week, the state of my house steadily declines during the week. So by the time Saturday rolls around, there is pee next to the toilet and clothes next to the hampers and puzzle pieces under the table and dishes in the sink and shoes strewn throughout the house.

I'm messy. I'm disorganized. But when the house is that bad, I start to panic a bit. So I tend to go into a mad cleaning frenzy.

I'm a little ashamed to admit that although I look forward to spending time with my boys during the weekend, sometimes quality time with them gets pushed aside to clean, and then rest, post-cleaning.

But for some reason,last weekend, I found a little balance. As I rushed through the house, armed with paper towels and cleaners, L asked, "Mommy, will you play one game of Trouble with me?"

I started to say, "Buddy, I gotta get our house cleaned." Then I looked down at him, and realized that before I knew it, he'd be asking to borrow my car on a Saturday to go hang with his friends.

And later, when G pointed to the door and asked, "Ow-sahd, pees?" I set down my dusting rag. And took him outside into the sunshine to revel in the day that God gifted us.

We talked about the birds singing.





We explored the rocks and individual blades of grass.




And we thought about how amazing it was that water can come from! the! house! I took a deep breath and let him watch what happened when dirt got wet, even when it muddied his hands, legs, and socks.

Later, when L asked, "Remember when we pwayed in 'da sprinkwer wast year? Do you fink we could do dat again?" I rolled with it.

Even my heat-hating husband got into the spirit, coming out to play, despite the 95 degree, extremely humid day.

When G woke up from his nap, we took it a step further. We went on an adventure to explore our soon-to-be neighborhood, and found an awesome little playground.

As we drove home, L said, " 'Dis was 'da best day ever!"

Even though there was laundry waiting on my bed, and I never did get around to the master bathroom floor, I had to agree.

Namaste'.

We experienced....

On Easter, we experienced......

Amazement




Joy




Wonder

Determination






Peace




Love

Connections

Jubilance

Silliness

Happy Easter, indeed.

Namaste'.

Welcoming Autumn

The fall temperatures have been creeping in around these parts. Although L and I have kept our eyes peeled for changing leaves, it hasn't happened just yet. But the hoodies and the boots are making appearances, and I decided it was high-time to do something fall-y.

What's more fall-y than apple picking, right? Most orchards around here are quite a drive, but a quick google search found a little farm nearby. Their website boasted pickable raspberries, peaches, and apples. Jackpot.

Well, until we pulled up yesterday morning to this teeny little farm where the lady replied to our request for apple-picking with, "Sorry, no apples left. If you want, y'all can try, though." Gesturing to B, she noted, "He's awfully tall...maybe he can reach the ones at the top."

We turned to look at the ghost-town-esque orchard and shrugged. Might as well try.

At least we were able to check out the trees and give L a mini-biology lesson, albeit one on rotten apples and the short tree-fruit-picking availability window.

It certainly didn't put a damper on our excitement of impending fall.


Plus, we got the obligatory autumn activity...a hayride. As my boys taught me, hayrides are serious business, yo.





Later, L raved about the hayride. Although their facial expressions would make one think otherwise, it was a cool little ride, where we saw everything from a honeycomb to rows of peppers in the fields.


What farm trip would be complete without some farm dog kisses.....


....and a few trips down an awesome slide?



Who needs apple picking, anyway?

Namaste...and happy Fall.

In which we dedicate

Growing up in a religion that baptized babies, I always questioned part of it. I always thought (and still do) that it was a beautiful and well-meaning ritual, but the reasons behind it always left me unsettled. I proudly serve as a godmother for a cousin and a niece, but the baptisms themselves stirred up thoughts that left me feeling guilty for questioning my religion.

When L was born, I put off baptism for a while, but after needling from some relatives, I gave in and had him baptized.

Well. Kind of.

Instead of in the church in which I was raised, I had L baptized in a park, under a tree, by a minister of a different religion. I did it in a way that was a bit more personal, but to be honest, the baptism was done out of duty. I don't regret it...the ceremony was beautiful and perfect for us, and we asked my cousin and her husband, who we adore, to be his godparents.

Fast forward to a few months after G was born, and I was left struggling with the decision again. About that time, we started attending our new church, where we learned of a new outlook on baptism....baptizing those who were old enough to make the decision. They had a dedication ceremony for children instead;a public promise that we'd bring our boys up to know God, and the church family promised to assist us in doing so.

We attended a class, in which our questions about infant baptism were answered with responses that made us feel comfortable, and felt right in our hearts.

Last weekend, we took part in the ceremony and it exceeded our expectations.

As we stood in the lobby and heard the band start the opening song, I was shaking as I thought of our family members who came to the ceremony that were of different religions. I was sure that the drums alone would send B's grandmother straight into a stroke. (Little did I know Grandma was getting down to the tunes.)

After the first song, the families processed into the church, standing in front of the congregation. Our children were introduced by name. I was already so overwhelmed that I don't remember hearing any children's names but my own.

Our pastor came to greet each of us.

He then spoke on what dedication means, on what we were promising to do, and how the congregation was being asked to help us. Although kids were screaming, running around, and the chaos was only somewhat controlled, I felt the holy moment that was promised to us in our class.

We listened as well as we could (and said a silent prayer that for once, our boys were the least out-of-control children somewhere).

The pastor explained that things were about to get very messy and very spiritual and indeed, they did. The congregation came up to speak with us, to pray with us, to love us. Tears pricked my eyes as my coworker embraced me, as a less spiritual family member locked eyes with me and nodded, as church members put their hands on our shoulders and prayed with us.

My best friend, who I sat next to each week at church growing up, now attends a church that is extremely similar to my own. She came to support us even though she is extremely pregnant, and it meant the world to me that she did so.

After the service, I knew that I was blessed to have gone through this experience. I knew that it was what was right for our family, and I am beyond grateful to have a church full of people helping us teach our children to know God.

And a family who, even though they may not fully agree with us, is willing to respect our decision.

And B's grandma? She came through with flying colors. I should have worried that I would be the one to stroke out, because I was absolutely shocked when I heard what she said to B after the ceremony. She explained that she loves her religion, but she prays a Novena every night that her grandchildren simply find a church that they love and that her great-grandchildren get to know God.

Like I said...everything I hoped for, and more.

Thanks to my friend Elizabeth for the gift of these photos. I wish I could express my gratitude clearly enough.

You rock, sister.

Saturday Morning Scene...take one

I've wanted to participate in one of my blogger besties' linkups for a while now, but I couldn't figure out how to get a photo of my Saturday morning tradition. Really, how do you photograph rushing around the house to get the boys' to my dad's (he watches the boys every week) on time for me to get to the gym? And do you really want to see the hot mess that is myself, sweating profusely and trying not to puke on my spin bike in my Saturday class?

But then today, I realized there is a special part of my Saturday routine that needs to be documented.

Every other Saturday or so, I treat my 95-year-old grandfather to a manicure after my workout class. He lives with my dad, so it works out quite nicely. If for some reason I haven't made it in a few weeks and my dad has to cut his nails, he always says, "Gina does it better."

Today, my dad snapped a photo of the part of my Saturday that holds a special place in my heart. Please excuse my post-spinning class appearance. Happy Saturday!

Why I love my family

Last night, my dad posted the following status regarding my 95-year-old grandfather, who is 90% deaf and lives with him:

Just spent 20 minutes teaching Vito how to make microwave popcorn...I have a headache now. (I guess when I'm 95 I just hope I know what popcorn is...or where I am!)

My brother and I began a virtual commenting war almost immediately:

Me: Please tell me you made him a visual aid. Didn't your time at the middle school teach you ANYTHING? (My dad and I worked together in a special education room at a middle school for a year. That's another post for another day.)

Mark (my brother): It has a button that says, "POPCORN" how much more of a visual aid does he need?

Me: Well, Mark, he needs a bright pink notecard with 1. Popcorn 2. Start .
You know, like the one Kris put on your microwave.

Mark: Gina, please stop making fun of wife's ability or inability to make popcorn. She is pregant and her mind does not work as well as it should. So the fact that she requires a note to explain how to carry out simple tasks should not be a topic of conversation for FB.

Me: She is PREGANT? I'm sorry, I don't know the definition of that word. Would you mind explaining? By the way, how is her pregNancy going?

Mark: Dear spelling police, I apologize for my failure to properly spell the word pregnant. Never in the history of mankind has such an atrocity occurred. I feel deeply saddened by this and will attempt to become a better speller (and all around ...better human) in the future. I fear this recent occurrence may bring shame and dishonor to my unborn child, so for that I apologize. On the positive side of things my offspring is baking at a toasty 98 degrees, which is good when it is snowing. She and mom are doing perfect. I hope to learn from their example

Me: The punctuation police have taken over. End your sentence with a period.

Mark: Times are tough and periods are expensive. Kris hasn't had one in five months....................

At this point, my aunt chimed in:

I think it's because she was punctuated five months ago!

My dad: OK, despite the spelling and punctuation police, let me tell you the problems I had explaining the procedure to Vito. Gina, I did write on paper 1 Press "Popcorn"...2 Press "Start". Vito wanted to press the number 2 before Start....it went downhill from there.

He then added:

When I first started explaining it to him, it was 5:53pm...he thought you had to cook the popcorn for 5 minutes and 53 seconds. It took about 10 minutes to explain that situation. Please God give me patience...please.

"In my cousin, I find a second self." -Isabel Norton

My cousin (and L's godmother) lives waaaay too far away from us. Texas is a 12-hour drive, but we braved the road trip with a two year old over the weekend. I just had to meet her little girl, who might just be the cutest thing ever. I know I'm a little biased, but seriously...look at her.

Gorgeous...right? I know. Needless to say, I fell madly in love with her upon seeing her for the first time. I spent a lot of time telling her that, too.

Unfortunately, she had her first fever the whole time we were there, so she wasn't quite herself, but I wouldn't have changed a thing.

You see, L had the worst bout of asthma he's ever had while we were down there. And it was nice, in a very weird way, for my cousin and I both to have kids under the weather and be able to console each other. Saying we are both worriers is a bit of an understatement, so having someone who actually understands me and knows exactly how to help me was priceless.

When my cousin and I were little, every single time we got together, it ended in a blowout fight. She was bossy and I was wussy, and we both desperately wanted the spotlight.

Now that we are older, we have discovered our similarities and they have brought us incredibly close. The ways we are alike, including our love of avocado and Haribo gummy bears, addiction to hot baths, anxiety, extreme clumsiness, penchant for drama, guilty pleasure of celebrity gossip, thoughts on God, organized religion, politics, parenting and legalization of marijuana, a pet peeve of righteousness, right down to the way we talk, is amazing. I don't know many siblings who have as much in common as we do.

I can't say that we have completely lost our bossiness and wussiness, but we've guided those traits into positives now. She owns her own business and I really admire her confidence and grit. However, my big heart and ability to sympathize works well in my own career and I've learned to let her take the lead in our relationship...and enjoy it. On the rare occasion when I don't agree with her ideas, I tell her, and she accepts it. It took long enough for us to get to this place. But it was worth it.

Seeing her play with L warms my heart. Fortunately, I got lots of that this weekend.

Thank goodness L's asthma (which was apparently induced by last week's H1N1) didn't keep him down. He played HARD and loves my cousin and her husband as much as B and I do!

But considering that her husband is also quite similar to B, maybe he just felt like he had two sets of parents all weekend.

One way my cousin and I are NOT alike is in our sewing ability. She made her little girl's costume by hand and it was the perfect companion to our little....

Bam-Bam!! (Take pity on me. I literally don't know how to sew a button on. That bad boy was made with safety pins, Velcro, and Stitch Witchery.) Pebbles and Bam-Bam were not exactly thrilled with their costumes. But we got enough giggles to make it worth it!

Besides the asthma, I had one other worry about L this weekend. He absolutely adored the creepiest Halloween decoration ever...this clown that took his head off! Just...ew. I might have run every time I had to get past that clown. Just sayin'.

The boys went trick-or-treating while my cousin tended to her sick little girl and I (wo)manned the door. I sent the camera with strict instructions to get some good photos of L's first time trick-or-treating. Apparently, L loved saying "Twick oh tweat" and "Happy Hawwoween!" And my cousin's hubby came home giggling about how after every house, L said, "Wook...I got sooo much candy!!"

On our last night there, we all had to get out of the house for a while. The fever and asthma attacks were starting to drive us bonkers. My mom's sister, affectionately known by the kids as Gigi, came over to rescue us with a gift of babysitting while we went out for the best sushi I've ever had. My cousin and her husband have been to Nobu in London and they say this is better. I can't imagine any sushi tasting more fantastic than what we ate that night. I actually took pictures of it to show you all......

This salmon was cooked in vinegar and was ridiculously delicious. The fact that it wasn't cooked in heat wigged me out a bit until the first bite. After that, the lack of heat was not an issue.

But my favorite thing was the edamame. Salty and warm...I could have made a meal out of them. I've been craving them since I ate my last one that night. Sadly, that's not an exaggeration.



Although maybe the meal was extra enjoyable because of the company. Eating with one of my favorite people who I haven't seen in almost a year and a half makes any meal fabulous.

We returned home to find that my little man's coughing had finally let up. He gave me the best possible gifts...snuggles that are few and far between these days. Don't get me wrong...I get lots of hugs and kisses, but he doesn't let me hold him nearly as often anymore.

The next day, we said our sad goodbyes, packed up the car and made the 12+ hour trip, and L was absolutely perfect. I still haven't really gotten over the shock. We did have a portable DVD player, but at one point, he told me, "Mommy, I just sit and listen to your music." We literally had no tears for the entire ride. He napped, he ate, he went to sleep for the night without any fuss. I actually had a more difficult time than he did.

Yeah. I'd say it was a pretty darn good weekend.