Big Mean Norwegians

My husband's family is mean.  Yep, they are all a bunch of mean spirited Norwegians who make fun of me.  They get together a lot...this big group of mean Norwegians.  And me, poor little me, along with all the other "in-laws" are subjected to their cliquey elitest Norwegian behavior.  I have two sister-in laws in the immediate "mean family"  I'll  call them Mitzy and Muffy.  I actually really like M & M because they are usually just 'laughers'...meaning they don't instigate the Norwegian nastiness. The older brother and his wife, they are ok too.  We actually hang out for coffee sometimes.  We call them Ken & Barbie.  They are from CA, he has done some acting, (you can see him on TV commercials) ....she is tall and has Barbie doll legs.....we all secretly don't like them for their veggie eating ways, but we're happy they moved back to MN.  We're trying to fatten them up with hotdish and heavy whipping cream.  The staples of any Norwegian family, mean or not.    Finally we have the little brother, (my husband's youngest brother) well he's another story.  He was only 12 when Rockstar and I started dating.  He seemed so sweet back then.  Well, he became this big piano player guy.  He teaches at this school in St. Paul...he's blah blah blah....Ya, you get the picture.  Big ego piano teacher guy.  Then there are all the nieces and nephews.  Too many to count...but they all pretty much make fun of me too. 

Rockstar also laughs at me when we're all together!!!  He says that I am actually the instigator.  (See it's dangerous for him to be around them, he is prone to their brainwashing)  He says if I would not TALK so much maybe there wouldn't be so many things in which the mean family could tease me about.  I don't consider it talking, I'm sharing...I like to think that I'm transparent, open, that I am engaging and friendly.  Norwegians NEED that. I consider it a ministry to the less fortunate.  Oh, but they just wait to pounce...I tell a charming little story about myself...some quirky thing...and WHAMO !!  They remember every detail for years and years too.  All my lovely stories that are meant to inspire just end up on the chopping block.  Fodder for the Norwegians. 

It's kind of surprising with how terrible this family is that I keep going back.  For 22+ years I've been going back.  It's also surprising that I laugh sooooooooooooo hard everytime we're together.  I didn't think I was the type to laugh in the midst of pain....but I guess I am. They can be very entertaining sometimes,  I'll admit.  That little piano player guy, well he's quick witted...and Mitzy and Muffy, they know how to put in their 2 cents. Ken and Barbie join in often as well.  (when they aren't looking for something "healthy" to eat)  For as mean as they all are I find them rather endearing.  I've grown quite attached to them.  I've known some of them for over half my life....and the nieces and nephews...well pretty much their whole lives.  I think this big group of Norwegians must show love by being mean to me.  And if that's the case then I know they really REALLY love me. 

The days of Superman & Elmo

I know that I'm not having any more babies. I've known that for quite some time obviously.  However I still wax nostalgic every now and then of the years gone by with my kids.  The days when I loved to kiss their chubby feet, and rock them to sleep while they made those cute little chipmunk squeaks.   The other day I happened to be in the baby aisle at the store for some reason.  I think I got lost while looking for the papertowels when suddenly I saw it.  The bright pink bottle.  I cracked it open and took a long whiff.  Ahhhh Baby Magic.  Suddenly I wanted to buy a cart full of Pampers and a 3 pack of Onesies.  I resisted, but I did buy a trial size of the lotion.  I don't know what possessed me, but it's kind of fun to see it in my purse now.

I loved the days of Superman and Elmo jammies.  The days when the tub was full of boats, squirt guns, and rubber duckies.  I wish I could have known how fast the time would go.  I might have enjoyed the splashing more.  I don't know about the flooding though.  I mean honestly, the amount of water that would end up on the floor was staggering.  There is nothing quite like snuggling with your freshly scrubbed children though.  Their noses so pink and shiny.  Their damp heads against your chest while you sing favorite songs and read favorite stories.  In our house daddy always did the final tucking in.  Usually there would be some squealing too.  A decent goodnight tickle by dad was just as important as the singing and stories.  Even as teenagers daddy still does the final tucking in.  There isn't so much tickling anymore...but every once in a while an arm wrestling challenge is issued and Dboy and dad head to the table.  Much to Dboy's dismay his dad sufficiently whoops him everytime.  Much jeering and hollering ensues.  This has replaced our stories and singing...but that's ok, I'm kind of tired of Good Night Moon.  We'll break it out for the grandkids one day and it will seem like a new story once again. 

No one wears Superman, or Elmo jammies in our house anymore.  No one needs a rubber duckie or toy boat in the tub.  None of them can sit on my lap without causing me to let out an "uff da you're heavy".  Their feet aren't so cute and chubby anymore...and I certainly don't feel like kissing them.  But...if they wanted to use some of that Baby Magic in my purse I might consider it. 

5th Grade Lunch

I have the fun job of working in a class of 5th graders a few hours each week.  In fact we just finished lunch a bit ago and while they are in math I decided to jump on the computer to write for a minute.  I thought I'd fill you in on our lunch time today.  I observed the following:

*Arm pit farting (boys)
*Excessive burping (boys)
*Trying to put one leg behind their head (boys)
*Strange dinosaur noises with accompanying actions (boys)
*Lots of strange looks in the boys' direction (girls)
*Some eye rolling and more looks of complete disgust (girls)
*Louder arm pit farting when the girls looked at them (boys)

 The one thing that seemed to be lacking today was actual eating.  Don't get me wrong, the lunch ladies do a wonderful job trying to monitor all of this....but when 5th grade boys realize they are annoying a bunch of girls, eating their chicken nuggets goes right out the window.

A Family that Plays (music) Together...

One of my most favorite memories as a child was lying in bed at night and hearing my mom make popcorn in the kitchen and listening to my dad play guitar.  As the popcorn smell drifted upstairs I'd hear my dad tuning up for some golden oldies.  The Beatles were really big in our house.  In fact, I consider myself a "Beatle Baby" as I'm sure John, Paul, George and Ringo serenaded me from the ol' turntable as my mom rocked me to sleep.  As the corn popped, and my mouth watered, my parents would usually break into some kind of song.  He'd start by warming up  his guitar with a little ditty I loved called "Alice's Restaurant."  And then, at some point they always seemed to sing "Brown Eyed Girl."  Mom, would be melting butter and singing harmony from the kitchen..... "Do you remember when.... we used to sing...Sha-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la- dee-da- la-dee-da...brown eyed girl"  I usually sang along quietly,  trying to match my moms notes.  I liked that we were both harmonizing with dad, it was kind of  like my own little secret.   I remember thinking if the song were "Blue Eyed Girl" it could have been about me.  I still pretended it was anyway. 

I took piano lessons for many years, played in the marching band, sang in various choirs and singing groups. One of my younger brothers took up piano and guitar too.  I wonder how many hours we spent on our big upright?  It was my Grandma's piano and the one my dad learned to play on too.  Every now and then dad would come in and plop down on the bench beside me and I knew it was time to get serious.  It was CHOPSTICKS time!!!  Sometimes I would play the top, and sometimes the bottom...but the goal of our chopsticks duet was not to make beautiful music... nope, it was to see who could be clever enough to mess up the other persons rhythm.  For a long time I was the underdog, but over the years was able to trip up good old dad a few times too.  This past Christmas our Gracie and her PaPa had their first "Chopsticks Showdown" I tried downloading a short 35 second video of them,  but for some reason blogger wasn't allowing me to.  Suffice it to say Gracie will be the underdog for a while too...but PaPa better watch out because she's feisty!

As I watched my dad and daughter duke it out on the keyboard it brought back so many fond memories of our little den with the big piano on Channing Ave.  I love that my kids will now have some of the same memories too.  Our son Dboy,  has followed in his PaPa and Uncle's footsteps and become a pretty darn good guitar player.  I'm thinking it sure would be fun to have "Alice's Restaurant" played in our house too.  We'll have to get Pa Pa workin' on that next.



This is by far and away one of my favorite Christmas pictures from this past year.  Dboy on guitar, PaPa rockin the bass, and Gracie tickling the ivories with some "Joy to the World" and "Deck the Halls."  It made me really glad that I grew up in a house with lots of music. And even more glad that my kids are too. Oh, and I saved the best for last....sometimes my parents would let me and my brothers come downstairs and join them for popcorn.  Even on a school night!!  Now that really was music to our ears.

So that's what cool is?

I consider myself to be pretty cool.  Hip even.  What I mean by that is, as far as moms go I think I normally pass the test with my kids. Now mind you, I'm NOT one of those moms who wants to look and dress like her teenagers.  Frankly, I think skinny jeans are from the devil.  However I don't wear 'mom' jeans either, nor 'mom' sweaters with embroidered cats on them. (Those are definitely a blue light special from hades)  I don't spit on kleenex (anymore) to clean a dirty face on the way to church.  I try my best to not sing along with the pep band when they play "Freezeframe" by the J. Giles band.  Seriously, that one is tough.  It's so darn catchy.  Take a moment and sing it if you can.

So you see, we've established that I'm your basic, normal-ish trendy enough to make the cut mom.  But for all my mom coolness I cannot for the life of me understand this pose my daughter is demonstrating.  Its' sweeping the nation.  It's on every teenager's Facebook and it's always the same!

The pose by the tree above is a little less gangster.  But here, not only do we have gangster we have 'I'm gonna rob that gas station with a butter knife'. (all the while wearing my pink hat with a cross on it that I got at Bible camp)  What makes it even more funny to me, is that this picture is so uncharacteristic of her real personality.  

She usually looks like this!!  See, a sweet, cute smiling face.  No weird lip contortions and sideways peace signs.  No scary butterknife looks. (I realize the sombrero is a little distracting, but it was her Birthday and we love enchiladas)  My point is she's really quite a lovely, well mannered girl.  Polite, kind, great with little kids, loves her daddy, loves her sister, loves her brother (most days) works hard at school....but ask her to strike a pose...any pose she wants and she goes right back to this...

When I ask my kids why this is standard in the 'coolness industry' they can't even tell me. They just look at me like I'm wearing one of those uncool cat sweaters.  So,  I've come to the conclusion that in teenager land contorted lips + sideways peace sign = cool. It just does. Period.  I only wish the J. Giles band would make a comeback, because then I could sing along with the pep band and be cool too.  True dat.

Chew on this

It came in the mail the other day.  I was just looking at it again a few moments ago.  And no, it wasn't Publisher's Clearing House so don't ask me for money.  It was a $1,600 estimate.  For teeth.  Not for actual teeth, but for the fixing of teeth.  Rockstar's poor, sad, teeth.  He's had a pretty bad toothache for much longer than is wise I'm afraid.  He's also not a big complainer, but when I noticed he was downing advil like a bag of skittles I knew it must be bad. He actually has really nice 'looking' teeth, but they lack substance.  (think The Real Housewives of Orange County)   So what are we gonna do?  We can't not fix them.  But I've been thinking of what we could do with $1,600 if we didn't have to deal with  his Orange County Housewife teeth. Ready? This is pretty fun.  I need to make it fun ok?

                     YOU COUD BUY:

1.  400 boxes of Froot Loops  (without coupons)

2.  A 1997 grey Ford Taurus with 143,000 miles on Craigslist.  Runs great, little rust.

3.  1,600 bags of Pork Rinds from the dollar store.  Well, really you can buy nearly 1,600 of anything from the dollar store.  I just chose pork rinds because who needs 1,600 tweezers? Duh.

4.  266 packs of Charmin. 400 packs of generic.  But if you're going to spend that kind of money on toilet paper I'd say quality is more important than quantity.

5.  533 McDonalds Happy Meals (with or without the controversial toy)

6.  800 cups of McDonalds coffee (with or without the controversial lawsuit)

7. And my personal favorite:  2 roundtrip tickets to Milan, Italy.  Now that is how you spend $1,600.

But alas, none of these are to be.  That's ok really.  I'll get over it.  You might be wondering why I chose Italy though huh?  Well it was my thinking that with all the soft breadsticks and pasta in Italy, Rockstar could enjoy our trip painfree.  I'm thoughtful like that.

Please *don't* be quiet

I complain far too much about noise in my house.  True confession.  I have a husband and three teenagers.  I should not expect it to be zen-like around here.  I know this somewhere in my head, but usually I can't hear my head thinking because well,  it's too noisy in here.  I have a tapper, a drummer,  a 'beatbox sounding mouth noise maker'.  Then we have your usual humming and whistling.  Meanwhile in the kitchen we have crinkling bags, and more crinkling bags and cupboards shutting  and dishes clanking.  Then there's the crunchy chip chewing.  Don't even get me started on that.  I need earplugs when the nachos come out to play. Oh and we musn't forget the favorite fork.  The favorite fork that must be used by one of my offspring every time they eat.  Of course said fork is never on the top of the stack of (perfectly good) other forks so we wake up China while rummaging to the bottom of the drawer.  Every. Single. Meal. 

So I had the house all to myself this past Saturday.  All day.  Until 11:00 pm.  RH was out of town, kids were at a retreat.  And wow....it was quiet.  Almost zen-like.  Did I like it?  Yes.  Did I love it? No.  Believe me I'm still shocked by this new found revelation.  I was reminded how much the noise in my life represents all the good things in my life.  Happy, healthy, hungry people.  A family that enjoys hanging out together. Why do I always think it needs to be so doggone quiet anyway?  So I'm going to embrace the noise of the happy people I live with and be thankful they are here to chew in my ear.  I might hide that stupid fork though.

Life's Glasses

I haven't been doing this blog business for long now.  In fact this is only my 4th post in case you've been following.  I got to thinking today that before I blogged much more I should introduce you to someone.  I know him as Babe, Babycakes, Darlin', and a few other names that I'll just keep between us. (and trust me, you're glad for that)  You know him as Rockstar Hubs (RH)  I do call him this as well sometimes.  Like when I see him display amazing feats of strength with pickle jars, and especially when he gets his vacuum groove on.  Now that's HOT!  So why Rockstar?  Well first of all it sounds much cooler than Stoic Norwegian Hubs.  Right? I mean c'mon that ain't exactly sexy.  No offense to the Norwegians out there.  Obviously I'm married to one.  A pure bred 100%  UFF DA Viking man.  And for the record he is the epitome of sexy to me...but that's not where I'm taking this post so relax.  This isn't the adult blogging channel.

When we got married 22 years ago we had our rose colored glasses on like every other couple I assume who gets married.  We were going to live the fairytale. Minus the glass slipper...how uncomfortable is that?  And for those of you who know me better, also know that my parents owned several women's shoe stores for most of my life, so there was NO way I'd be caught in something like that.  Anyway...rose colored glasses...yes, they were intact on that cold day in November.

As life would have it for all people on this planet the rosey picture has had it's less than pink hue some days.  When we were married about 3 years we had our first daughter A, whom we call Ki Ki.  She was and still is the most lovely, beautiful child.  Oh the love love love....she was our WHOLE world.  We jumped into first time parenting with abandon.  There was no moment unaccounted for. Every smile, coo, and burp was admired as the 8th wonder of the world.  And for a time our glasses weren't just rosey they were downright MAUVE.  (It was the 90's remember, mauve was big)

Our Ki Ki at age 4

We noticed some things were "off" around age 2.  She could count in perfect Spanish and yet not seem to follow through on a simple command to get her sippy cup.  She could recognize her letters, numbers and colors, and yet wouldn't make eye contact with us.  She seemed to be in her own world.  Indeed she was....we were told at age 3 that she had a high functioning form of autism.  NO...NO..not our child.  Not our perfect, gentle, sweet first born baby.  Our glasses were no longer mauve, nor even rosey, they seemed pretty grey.  Cold.  Dirty. And very ill fitting.  I wanted to rip them off actually and scream "This is NOT the fairytale!!!"  I want the glass slipper!!  Really I'll wear it...I don't care if my toes turn purple...just make my baby ok.

Rockstar Husband was born that day.  I may have wanted to stay in the grey for a while but my rockstar said no.  He reminded me first of all who our God is.  And that with our God nothing is impossible.  NO thing.  So together we cleaned our dirty glasses, pushed them back up on our faces and focused on to see more clearly.  Our Ki Ki is nearly 20 years old today.  I cannot begin to tell you in this one post all of the many many things we've gone through.  The times of pure joy and elation and some points of severe sadness and grieving.  I also cannot begin to tell you in this one post how big our amazing God is.  I will tell that story one day.  For now just believe me when I say NOTHING is impossible with Him.  It's truer than any true thing.  The miraculous ways in which He has restored her when "they" said she will  'never be'...never be this...and never be that.... We would always leave those meetings and ask the question again...'What does God say?' And His answer was always different, and He proved it time and time again as she conquered this...and conquered that.  Rockstar, he was the optician in all of this.  Kept my glasses on, kept them polished, and helped to bring the rosey color back. 

   Worldly Rockstar status is sought after by so many, but not attainable for most.   Rockstars are the be all and end all of the "good life".  Women, booze, drugs, and a rock and roll band...every man's dream right?  Not my rockstar...he's one for all the other reasons...not women , just woman, one woman.  He doesn't even like the smell of beer, and Advil is his pain killer of choice.  And while he loves a great Van Halen song as much as any good 80's person should, he kinda likes Need To Breathe these days and a little TobyMac.  We've had two more children, the rockstar and I.  We've moved more times than I care to remember.  We've been broke...like dirt down in the mud busted broke.  We've argued until 3:00 in the morning.  We've given each other the silent treatment for far too long sometimes.  And we have shared thousands of hugs, millions of kisses, and trillions of laughs with each other.  I know what he's thinking when he gives me this certain look in the kitchen.  I know what he means when he sends me a text that just says "moo".  (and it's not that he thinks I'm a cow) Even I, who love to joke, would not find that funny.  He is a rockstar every day when he goes and works his ever livin' tail off so I can teach our kids at home. He is a rockstar when I've putzed around on the computer too long, and asks if he can make supper for me.  I don't know if real world rockstars are this selfless, generous and strong.  I guess I don't care, because the word 'Rockstar' has changed for me.  To me it's a Stoic Norwegian man who knows how to keep my glasses clean.  The rosey part...well... fairytales are not real...but most days my vision is clear, and definitely a pretty shade of pink.

Three Little Words

You're probably thinking awwww she's going to write about those three little words.  The words we all long to hear.  As much as I adore those three little words and even say them many times a day to those around me, they aren't the ones I'm thinking of right now.  These words I write of today are completely different but sometimes popular around here too... I've even been known to say them to myself.  Here's a picture that will help you understand.

                                                              "ARE YOU DUMB?"

Now wait...before you go all Dr. Phil on me and call the child psychologist.  My children know I don't really think they are dumb.  Remember I homeschool them, so of course their brillance is unmatched in the tri-county area.  They know this is how I lovingly ask them if they are off their rockers.  If they have a screw loose... If their elevator goes all the way to the top...If their cake is frosted.  You get the gist.  On this particular day my son happened to be the recipient of the three little words.  I don't really need to explain do I?  I mean it's not exactly balmy here right now.  In fact the day this was taken I think I may have used five words.  Something like "DUDE....HELLO???...ARE YOU DUMB?" Appropriate if you ask me.  As I've been writing this post I realize I use lots of three word phrases in my life. 

Here's my Top 5 on any given day

1. You JUST ate.

2. Pick that up.  ( I do try and say please, but this isn't the four word phrase list)

3. What's that SMELL? (use your imagination)

4. Think it through.  (something I say to them so I don't have to ask 'Are you Dumb?' as often)

5. You JUST ate.  (sometimes this one is actually said 'Seriously..really?..you just ate)  And yes I realize I said this one twice.

So you see, 'Are you dumb?' isn't even in the top 5 daily phrases.  Dr. Phil can keep his job helping shoe addicts, excessive flossers, and the women who love them.  I for one think I'll go tell my kids those other three little words.  The ones I mean the very most, and the ones I know they love to hear.    "Time for lunch"

The Yellow Light

This bowl of fruit on my counter is my happy place right now.  In fact my kids caught me today with my eyes closed, nose in the middle of the bowl, just sniffing.  "What are you DOING?" Startled out of my fruity bliss I responded with "Thinking how much I miss the yellow light."  Now most kids would wonder what in the heck that means, but not my kids.  They just said "Oh" and were on their merry way.  I think I did catch them giving each other the 'Wow mom IS a fruit isn't she?'  look, but I ignored them and went back to my happy place.  I'm a self professed winter non-lover.  (sounds nicer than hater)  I do really well until New Years and then on January 2nd I want it GONE. And well, let's be real, in Minnesota old man winter is just putting on his big boy pants in January.  He's more like middle aged man winter right now....something of which I'm completely aware of and yet it annoys me every year.  Oh yes...the yellow light.  Sometimes I call it the green light too.  It's the kind of sunshine you only get in the spring and summer.  It's a yummy yellow light that is rich and warm and full of grass and leaves and corn in the fields.  Winter is pretty when the snow sparkles in the sun... I'll give you that...but the light is just so...well....white.  Really, r.e.a.l.l.y. white.  Like burn your retinas give you an ice cream headache white. So this fruit on my counter, it's my therapy.  I can smell it and get lost in the summer to come.  It also seems to create good bonding time for my children as they mock me, and call me names.  I don't care, my retinas are really happy.



Blog Pressure

So being this is my very first blog post I feel pressure.  Bloggerpressure.  I'll bet that may become a new word one day.  Like texter's thumb.  Or cellphone ear.  Oh wait, that's cauliflower ear and has to do with wrestling.  Never mind.  See, bloggerpressure has already gotten to me.  I mean what should one post her very first time on a blog?  Seems like it should be something hugely monumental like how to solve world hunger, or how to help Paris Hilton become famous for doing nothing.  Oh wait, she already is.  See...bloggerpressure.  I thought about telling you my New Year's resolutions.  But that seemed rather typical for a January post.  Besides I don't usually share them so when I fail, no one can look down their nose at me.  It's a win-win.  I also thought I might write about the cold weather.  But (yawn) seriously that (yawn) is not exactly (yawn) an exciting topic.  I live in MN. It's cold. Deal with it. Get some wool socks.  See not much there.  Bloggerpressure.  There's many many random things I could write about....like how I think freshly ground coffee smells like tuna.  Or how eating Big Red gum gives me really bad canker sores.  Yet none of those seemed quite right for a first blogpost.  So I'm thinking of taking an aspirin and lying down a while until all this pressure passes.  Then I'll be back with something awesome to tell you!  Maybe I'll figure out the world hunger thing by then.