29 and holding

Mom and me on my 1st birthday, 1982

It's here. Finally. The first day of my last year in my 20s. Only 365 days left before I'm "old."

Although, I have been married for more than six years and have two kids, so people probably started putting me in that category awhile ago.

I plan on fighting it tooth and nail.

I am on gray hair watch. The first sign of a stray hair, and I will be at the hairdresser faster than ants on a picnic. My aunt was going gray by 18, so really, I'm doing pretty good.

The women in my family are notorious for many things, the least of which is conveniently forgetting their age. My mother was 29 until the day she died. She was a little harder to believe since she didn't have me until she was 33, but that's beside the point. My aunt would most definitely NOT say her actual age if you asked her. Nana doesn't remember.

That works for me.

So this will be the FIRST year I turn 29, but not the last. Gives me an excuse to party hard every year, right?

Where Are You Going

And now the moment you've been waiting for, my favorite DMB song and the story behind it.

Drumroll please...

"Where Are You Going" from Busted Stuff

Where are you going?

With your long face, pulling down, don't hide away

Like an ocean that you can't see but you can smell

And the sound of the waves crash down

I am no Superman

I have no reasons for you 

I am no hero

Oh, that's for sure

But I do know one thing

Is where you are is where I belong

I do know where you go

Is where I want to be


Are you looking for answers to questions under the stars?
If along the way you are growing weary 
You can rest with me until a brighter day
You're okay

Once upon a time, 11 years ago, a guy and a girl met their freshman year of college. They were in band and had a few classes together, but didn't really hit it off right away. Little did they know where life would take them.

OK I can't do this whole thing in third person. It's wierd and I'm not Bob Dole.

Spring break meant the pep band traveled with the basketball teams for tournaments and since freshmen got kicked out of the dorms, Craig and I found ourselves bunking for the week at the band house with the upperclassmen who lived there.

Scratch that. Craig found himself spending the week with a whole passle of girls, including me. We started to get to know each other more and get along. I had a boyfriend, so nothing more happened.

I found myself single again and kept talking to Craig over the summer while I stayed in town and he went home to work. He came to visit over July 4th weekend and after a long night of fun, I initiated a smooch on the back porch. He went home confused. (An emotion he is very familiar with now) A month later, I used a bus ticket to go visit him and meet the parents. (EEK! Without even dating? What was I thinking?!) 

So as sophomore year started, we were hanging out with four other friends all the time. I was OK with him just being a friend until I saw him hitting on my best friend. That was not cool. Yes, I turned green. It's not a good color on me. 

So I confronted him on it a few days later on our way out of the cafeteria back to our dorm. He said we were really good as friends and he would hate for it to be weird if we broke up. 

I stopped on the steps and turned to look at him.

"Then we just won't break up."

And with that, we were dating. 

We had one year together before he starting his engineering co-op in Indiana. He would work for a semester and then take classes for a semester. So he was gone in the fall of our junior year. I studied abroad spring semester. He worked over the summer and was finally back for the fall of my senior year and his "first" senior year (his was a 5-year program).

Being apart was awful. We were both easily frustrated and fought more than we ever had in our first year together. All of our friends agreed that we were hard to live with when the other was gone. That same year, DMB's album Busted Stuff came out with the song "Where Are You Going." As soon as I heard it, I knew it was for us. How else do you describe a relationship where we were living in different places for a year straight?

But we could see the light at the end of the tunnel. We started talking about what to do when I graduated. We wanted to live together while he finished school and then would move wherever he could find a job. Newspapers are everywhere, but not so for engineering jobs. There was no question that the future meant we would be together. But a local job wasn't a done deal and my mom was sick, so I hadn't ruled out heading closer to home. It was hard to know what was coming next.

As graduation loomed and we were infinitely tired of the commute back and forth (it was hardest on him, who ended up visiting me almost every weekend to help me pass statistics), things started to go our way. My internship from the year before was available as a paid position and we found an apartment, so the immediate dilemma was solved. We talked in vague terms about getting married, what kind of ring I would like and even how I would want him to propose. 

He asked if I would want people there. Perfect strangers? No. People we knew? Friends? Yeah, that was okay.

I had no clue what was coming.

In May 2003 he made the trip up for the annual band dinner dance. While he changed into his tux, I complained to my roommate that he hadn't even remembered to get me flowers for my last dinner dance. She tried to make excuses, but I was still ticked. I didn't even notice Marie has a horrible poker face.

We sat through the dinner with my Marie and her boyfriend Dave and it wasn't long after the music started (mp3s provided by band members - aahh, Napster) that Craig put his jacket back on and pulled me out onto the floor. I had mostly forgiven him about the flowers and was ready to enjoy my night. When we were on the floor, "Where Are You Going" started to play. He pulled me closer and started to sing. 

He looked in my eyes, "I don't have any answers but I do have this."

The next thing I knew, Craig was down on one knee with a ring in his hand. 

I think I managed to nod or say yes and it wasn't long before everyone else knew what was going on and started cheering and snapping photos. I was a thousand shades of red, but the happiest I had ever been.

My roommate and her boyfriend had been in on it, helping Craig make sure the song was in the playlist in a certain order and even hiding the ring in Dave's jacket in case I felt Craig's coat before he took it off at our table. Once the coat was on the back of his chair, Dave slipped it back into his pocket. I thought nothing of him putting his coat back on, even though he always complains of being hot. Marie wasn't really lying when she said Craig was too preoccupied to remember to get me flowers. I liked the ring much better. 

Less than a year later, we were husband and wife. A year after that, he was the rock I relied on when I lost my mom. He is my best friend and soul mate. He has seen me at my best and my worst, and decided I was worth the headaches. Now, 6.5 years, 4 moves, 3 jobs and 2 kids later, we are heading to Chicago to celebrate my birthday. With the band that plays "our song."

And it doesn't matter where we go next.

City mouse, country mouse

This is my daughter on her first combine ride with her buddy Makenna. 

Riding combines is old hat to her big brother.

Somebody upstairs has a crazy sense of humor. I grew up in the city and I'm allergic to hay. I tried to have a sleepover at a friend's barn when I was 7 and ended up sleeping in her room because I couldn't breathe. (Yes, I was that cool even back then.) I am the exact opposite of a country girl. But I moved into a house with a cornfield on one side and a pasture of angry cows on the other.

And my boy wants to be a farmer when he grows up. 

I am grateful I found an amazing friend who puts up with me and my craziness, supports my coffee habit and drags me out when I need a girls' night. I am almost as grateful that her hubby is a bonafide-honest-to-goodness-truck-driving-John-Deere-loving farmer. A farmer who doesn't mind giving a city girl's sometimes mutely shy children rides in his combine. I'm sure it doesn't exactly speed up his productivity. Or help his sanity when one child asks what each and every button, knob and screen do over, and over, and over, and over... 

Last year, Nathaniel desperately wanted a ride in the combine but was too shy to even look at Matt. So I got to ride too. Yesterday once Matt stopped, he ran straight to the ladder, climbed up and never looked back. No hesitation, no fear. Leah about peed herself (or was that me?!) when the combine came roaring through the corn, but reached for Matt as soon as he offered a ride. 

Oh yeah, I found my new afternoon babysitter. But don't worry, Nathaniel should know how it all works after another ride or two. And Matt'll be wishing he was mute again. 

The most chilling, touching lyrics I've heard in a long time. It's not a Dave original - originally performed by Lefty Frizzell in 1959 and covered by Johnny Cash and The Band, to name a few. 

"Long Black Veil" 

Ten years ago on a cold dark night

Someone was killed beneath the town hall light

There were few at the scene, but they all agreed

That the slayer who ran looked a lot like me

She walks these hills in a long black veil

She visits my grave when the night winds wail

Nobody knows, nobody sees, nobody knows but me

The judge said "Son, what is your alibi?

If you were somewhere else then you won't have to die."

I said not a word though it meant my life,

For I'd been in the arms of my best friend's wife.

Oh, she walks these hills in a long black veil.

She visits my grave when the night winds wail

Nobody knows, nobody sees, nobody knows but me.

To scrub or not to scrub

I have a conundrum. Of the cleaning kind.

I live in a zoo, so the most important appliances (after my coffee pot - duh) are the washer and dryer. Our very survival as somewhat normal human beings depends on it spitting out clean clothes every week. It's what separates us heathens from the neanderthals.

The dryer and I are rarely on speaking terms. That's what you get when you buy the first "cheap" set when you move into a new house. It looked pretty enough, but the sensor dry function worked for about 5 minutes after we brought it home. Now it takes at least an hour and a half to dry a normal load of clothes. Don't get me started on jeans or towels.

So I guess I can live with drying a load of clothes a day for now, but I'm anxiously awaiting the day when it truly kicks the bucket, or the hubby is forced to use it and realizes how craptastic it is.

The washer on the other hand, does its thing pretty well. We had an issue where it would fill with water and stop. It took a call to a repairman to figure out it was our fat cat denting the lid in and tripping the sensor that says "wait, this crazy lady left the lid up, don't run or there will be laundry carnage everywhere!"

Not that I've ever loaded the washer, turned the thing on and walked away without shutting the lid. No way.

So the repairman adjusted the sensor so it wouldn't be affected by our 10 lb orange lump of a cat and the washer has lived a good life.

Too good. I share the princess's clothes with my friend and she is forever complimenting me on how clean they are. She wants to know my stain-removing secrets. Eventually (ie as soon as she reads this) she'll figure me out.

I don't have any secrets.

I can count on one hand the number of times I've used a stain stick in the last year. I throw clothes into laundry baskets and forget about them for days, dump them into the washer and only remember the stains when I pull them out of the dryer, clean.

Case in point: Last Thursday little man came home from school with a giant blob of blue paint on his polo. I declared the shirt dead, but of course it wound up in the laundry anyway.

When I folded it yesterday, the gosh-darned thing was CLEAN. BLOBLESS!

I am at a loss.

I may never be able to buy a fancy, front-load, water-saving washer. Clunky old Bessie is so loud, I'm pretty sure the neighbors can hear when it's laundry day. But there is no amount of poo, spit-up, poo, peanut butter and jelly, mud, poo, ketchup or paint that she can't handle.

But now about that dryer...

"Rhyme & Reason" from Listener Supported


My head won't leave my head alone
And I don't believe it will
Until I'm dead and gone
My head won't leave my head alone
And I don't believe it will
Until I'm dead and gone

The uncool Mom effect

Parents, moms especially, are embarrassing. It's a rule. It's part of our evolution: loving caregiver, favorite playmate, embarrassing adult, dumb and out of touch old person, and maybe someday, many years and gray hairs down the road, respected adult.

I was hoping to hang onto the first two phases with my kiddos for awhile longer. But apparently at the ripe old age of 3.5, Nathaniel finds me too embarrassing to deal with.

As soon as he started school, I started getting "ew" and "I don't want a kiss" at bedtime.

Not cool.

This is the same kid who, a few months ago, used to hang on me, beg me not to leave and repeat I love you with no hesitation. Sometimes he even needed more hugs and kisses.

He could melt my heart and he knew it.

He used to demand that I say hi to Dorothy and Elmo, and sing the theme song and dance. Everyday. When I started boogie-ing in my chair today, he looked at me, rolled his eyes and proceeded to fall off the couch in mortification. He laid there on the floor for a good 20 seconds for emphasis.

He *might* have inherited my flair for the dramatic. Maybe. Possibly.

I expect to get those crazy looks from Leah any day now, but I really thought I had longer with my boy. I figured maybe age 8 or 9, right around when girls start getting cooties. And since I'm a few years past 8, I'll have a really bad case.

But if this really is starting now, means I just get a lot more practice for when he's a teenager and I'm REALLY embarrassing and REALLY dumb. I will have it down to an art if I have 10 years!


Put two of my favorite groups together and I am in heaven - DMB covering the Beatles.


"In My Life"
Though I know I'll never lose affection
For people and things that went before,
I know I'll often stop and think about them,
In my life I'll love you more.

Remember When

It's hard to think of this as just another Saturday. If it hadn't rained (boo) I'd have lovely tales of 3- and 4-year-olds playing "soccer" (I use that term loosely), but alas, we'll try again next week. So instead, I will remember along with a weary nation where I was Sept. 11, 2001.

I was a junior in college and I had overslept. I rushed around to get to my campus job on time and didn't turn on the radio or news. I don't do that anymore. 

When I walked into the office, it was quiet but not unusually so. Most of the big wigs were in meetings and the secretaries were in and out. I started picking up snippets of conversation that didn't sound right. I finally asked my boss, Heather, what was going on. She looked at me like I was crazy. 

When she said field in western PA, I panicked. She let me use the office phone to call my Nana, who managed to tell me what the geographically-challenged news people couldn't - the crash was nowhere near Pittsburgh or my hometown to the south. 

I hung around the office, not doing much and feeling very lost. When the university announced classes were cancelled, I walked back to the house and joined my roommates in a solemn trance in front of the television. We watched the news and the images of the planes hitting the towers and then the towers collapsing over and over and over. I have a hard time watching it now without getting that same feeling of panic. 

I don't think we talked much. We all disappeared from the living room at different times, to call family and be reassured that they were OK too. I impatiently waited for the clock to strike 4:30, so I could call my then-boyfriend-now-hubby when he got off of work at his engineering co-op (internship). I don't remember what we talked about, but I know I was wishing with all my heart that he was in my living room, holding me, not 5 hours away. 

So much has changed in the last nine years. It pains me to know that my children are growing up in a world where terrorists have always hated us and used planes and people as weapons. I hate that one of my best friends is now halfway around the world, fighting for our freedom, while his wife and baby girl wait for him at home.

I hate that time has made us forget how we felt that morning and who is really to blame. I hate that our country will not be united like that again unless another tragedy strikes. But what I hate most of all is that we are now turning on our neighbors, simply because their book is not the Bible. How does that make us any better than the enemy?

"Christmas Song" from Live at Luther College

Father up above, why in all this hatred 
Do you fill me up with love? 
Fill me love love love 
Love love love. 
All you need is love 
Love love. 
Can't buy me love 
Love love 
Love love 
And the blood of our children all around.

Someday

Someday I won't wonder how and why strange things happen to us. Me, usually, but I'll include the whole fam in this one.

The hubby just finished reattaching our screen door. He had to take it off because the bottom had come off the track. When he let the dog in after her evening business. Because she ran into the door before he opened it.

I'd say she's hiding in embarrassment right now, but she's not that bright. In actuality she's gotten tired of our late hours and has gone to bed with out us.

I can't make this stuff up, people.

This is the same dog who decided to roll in... ahem... "nature" on Wednesday when I was still feeling like utter yuck. So I got to turn the hose on her, get soaked in the process, and deal with wet dog smell for a few hours.

But it's not just the pets, I promise.

This morning, the princess demanded "yo-yo" for breakfast. For those of you not fluent in toddler, that's yogurt. Yogurt is an experience with someone who has no idea whether she wants to be left-handed or right and barely uses utensils. I usually dump it into a bowl to give the girl a fighting chance.

This is what I found when she hollered that she was all done.

I'm no photoshop whiz, but I'm not inept. All that white on her hand, face, nose AND forehead is yogurt. That garden hose sure does come in handy. ;-)



"Seek Up" from Remember Two Things

You seek up an emotion 
And our cup is overflowing 
You seek up an emotion, 
Sometimes your well is dry 
You seek up a big monster 
For him to fight your wars for you 
But when he finds his way to you, 
The devil's not going--ha, ha