I WANT IT!!! GIVE IT TO ME NOW!!!

We have moved into a new stage of parenthood - the "I WANT IT ALL AND I WANT IT NOW" syndrome.

Until now, we have been able to walk into any Wal-Mart or Target without the constant, "I wanna get this, I wanna get that," and "Noooo, I don't wanna go yet, I wanna get that," which comes in the most annoying whining you can possibly imagine.

And if you read this blog regularly, you know about our transformer fever. If you don't read this blog (shame on you!), see WHAT KIND OF TRANSFORMER ARE YOU? And the transformer fever was catapulted into high gear the day of my great-aunt's funeral, of all days. One of my cousin's kids had a Bumblebee toy that transformed from a car to a robot (if you don't know who Bumblebee is, again see WHAT KIND OF TRANSFORMER ARE YOU?) and I don't know if it was a sympathy gift to help him get through the death of his great-grandmother, but then his mother endeed up showing up at the gathering we all had after the funeral, after going to Wal-Mart to get some munchy food, with a Megatron toy in hand. Kaydn Rye was absolutely nuts for transformers already, but then when he found out that you can actually buy transformer toys, he was absolutely ballistic. For weeks all I heard was, "I need to get a transformer toy. We need to go to the store to get a transformer toy."

Oh my word, I was ready to ducktape his mouth shut (it really does have a million uses).

After I got over the urge to grab the ducktape, I thought I'd use the situation to my advantage, so I ended up telling him that I would drive to Wal-Mart and get him his stupid transformer toy, but, big but here, he would have to do absolutely everything I told him to do or I would take it away from him for the day. And when I say I'm going to take something away, I take it away. So he knew I meant business.

So needless to say we ended up walking out of Wal-Mart with a Jazz transformer.

For the next couple of weeks, let me tell ya, he was the most well behaved little boy in the "I want it all and I want it now" Western world. He didn't ask me for a thing and did everything I told him to do.

But that eventually waned and I began hearing, "Well now I want Bumblebee. I want him. I need him."

I knew then that one itty bitty transformer was not going to appease the "I want it all" monster.

I knew I had to take drastic action.

So I told Kaydn Rye that if he wanted another transformer he would have to earn it and that I would make a chart of stars he could earn to put towards a transformer.

I figured out that he could earn stars by playing by himself while I worked, by going potty without me having to tell him to go, by having a good attitude, and by doing what he's told. I thought that 15 would be appropriate as the magic number of stars he would need before I'd make the trek to Wal-Mart for the purpose of a transformer purchase. Oh, and did I mention that there is also a column for deducted stars in case of bad behavior? I know, I'm a horrible mother.



So, on Friday Kaydn Rye had officially earned his 15 stars, after only a week, which has convinced me that the star number needs to be upped, but I had already said 15 stars, so I kept my promise.

We found out that transformers are a hot commodity and that you pretty much need to be the pope to get your hands on one, but we ended up walking out of Target with Ratchet, the "medical officer" transformer. We ended up traveling all over the city just to find this stupid transformer, and now that Kaydn Rye already wants another one, he now has to earn 30 stars to get one. How fair is that, you do good in earning your prize, and then somebody says, "Oh by the way, now you have to do double the work to get another prize." But I'm the boss, and what I say goes, so you either deal with it or shut up about it. I could tell him all about how while he's getting transformer toys, some kid in Ethiopia doesn't even have enough money for a little rice and bread, but I restrained myself that much.

Oh yeah, I feel the burn

Just last week I got my new P90X work out videos in the mail (while I was practically on my deathbed, of course), and I have now come to the realization that I am addicted to work out videos. Have been for some time now. There is something about the thought of Billy Blanks busting his butt in my living room that just makes me giddy.

My obsession with work out videos began my junior year of college. I always had an all right, nothing special kind of figure in high school, despite the fact that by the time I graduated I hadn't eaten in four years. I was a cheerleader and tried to make myself into a runner, but as an asthmatic with no dreams of ever becoming an Olympic track and field gold medal winner, I had no desire to really run around the block fifteen times after school. I could never figure out why someone like me, who hardly ever ate a cracker, could barely keep a size 9 body.

Then in college, I put on about ten pounds, despite the fact that I was always starving and was still trying to make myself into a runner. By my junior year in college, I was only eating two, strictly regimented meals a day. It was misery, and while I had managed to take off and keep off a couple pounds, I still did not have a rockin bod.

I ended up marrying hubby that summer, so needless to say, that summer was a summer of starvation. But that fall, I woke up one day and decided I was done with starvation. I was going to get a rockin bod, and I wasn't going to run around the block 15 times to get it. I wasn't going to only eat two meals a day, and I wasn't going to fuss over how my clothes looked anymore.

So that day, after class, I went to Target and picked up The METHOD PILATES with Jennifer Kries. The video has four separate, 15-minute workouts geared for abs, arms, hips and thighs - exactly what I needed. It was low impact, it was awesome for flexibility and it didn't require any running - a great fit for all those asthmatics out there.

I decided then that I was going to work out for 15-minutes, every other day with my new pilates video. And I did. And boy was it a work-out. At that time, the workout was a little advanced for me, but I took a 10-second break when I needed a 10-second break, and I made it work. Even if it was 11:30 at night and I still hadn't worked out that day, I popped in the video and worked out. And I loved it.

Within, oh I'd say a month, I noticed that I was starting to get a toned butt, and my thunder thighs, inherited by my mother's side of the family I might add, well, they were disappearing, and I actually had shoulder muscles. But then the real test came. I went and bought a new pair of blue jeans. And instead of buying the usual size 8 or 9, I had to grab a 6. Yeah, a 6. I was amazed. I was even more amazed that they fit - and I looked hot! From that moment on, I was hooked. There was no going back.

And while the first wedding was just a little informal, outdoor wedding by the lake in Minneapolis where we attended college, the next summer we had a formal wedding and reception on my parents' farm for all of our family and friends. And the difference in how I looked in the first wedding photos compared to the second, well, let's just say I was absolutely hooked on work out videos after that. After almost a year of working out just 15 minutes every other day with a work out that really targeted every area of my body, there was no comparison. I was toned and lean for the first time in my life. I was actually the skiny girl. It was like my whole identity changed just by a dress size.

And of course, inevitably, two years later I was pregnant. That summer I was wearing short shorts, two piece bikinis and I was even occasionally fitting into a size 4 pant. Needless to say, I wasn't exactly looking to gain 30 pounds in a nine month period of time.

But I sat down one day, took a deep breath and told myself that I was determined to wear my short red shorts the next summer, even with a baby in tow. I was going to be a hot mamma. So I went on the internet and found a pregnancy weight gain chart that laid out exactly how much weight someone of my body size and build should ideally gain in pregnancy. That chart became my body bible.

But the hard part was only beginning.

For the first three months it was a good thing that it was summer and that I wasn't enrolled in summer school because I was sicker than sick. Granted, my plans of working through the summer were totally washed down the drain, but I was pretty much bed bound for the entire three months. I was absolutely miserable. I prayed for my death. Pretty much every medication I was given for nausea and pain did absolutely nothing for me. I remember crawling from the bedroom to the toilet just to pee. And I would throw up, and then throw up again just because I just saw myself throw up.

I now know that some vitamin B and a little grace in the I-only-get-three-meals-a-day plan would have gone a long way. Sidenote - if you're pregant - eat six small meals a day rather than three medium sized ones. But anyway, I was nauseaus and on my deathbed, but magically enough, I somehow managed to pull myself out of bed for those 15 minutes every other day. By that time I had bought a pregnancy work out video that I intertwined with another more advanced pilates video I had purchased pre-pregnancy.

I did my work-outs up until the day I was in labor. By that time I was a moose, with an almost ten pound baby in my belly that had bruised my bottom left rib, but I didn't miss a work out. And I ended up gaining exactly the 30 pounds the chart told me I was supposed to gain.

I new that I was absolutely obsessed with working out when I made my husband bring a work-out video to the hospital so that I could pop it into the DVD player and work out for atleast 10 minutes, the day after I delivered. Yeah, I know, crazy. You don't have to tell me. Which is exactly why I locked the door so no nurses could pop in on me while I was in down-ward dog position. Not many people know that story, but those who do, tell me I need to seek professional help and that someday, when I'm in my 40s, that 10 minute work-out in the hospital is going to kick my butt.

But anyway, while I admit that may have been a little extreme, you've got to give me credit for effort, determination, commitment and tenacity.

As soon as I got home, I saw an infomercial, got on the phone and ordered Gunnar Peterson's Core Secrets work out DVD, which came with a work-out ball and a work out specifically designed to work your abs and your core while working out every other part of your body. From what I gather, the workout is no longer available for purchase from his web site, but the package was great. I had a kind of beginner video for those who had never worked out on a ball and then it had an advanced workout for those who really wanted to tone their midsection. And to really step it up, I ordered some Tae Bo videos. I figured that while I wasn't a cardio girl, to really lose the weight I was going to have to really burn some serious calories. And let me tell you, the first week I did those Tae Bo videos, I could barely make it through five minutes before I'd fall on the floor in exhaustion. It really was pathetic.

Granted, by the time I got rid of ten pounds of baby along with all the other junk that accompanies having a baby, I probably only had about seven or eight pounds to lose to get back to my original weight. And about a month later, the weight was pretty much gone. I of course had gained a butt in the front with all the extra skin I had accumulated, but I did eventually get rid of the butt in the front (sidenote -I am still waiting for some of that extra skin to magically disappear one day).

The next round came when I took my first real job as a journalist. We had moved half way across the country, hubby was still in Memphis selling our house and packing our stuff, and I was living in a tiny motel until I could find us a house in South Dakota. I was working 12 hour, very stressful days, and when I would get back to the motel, I was just in time to get seven or eight hours of sleep before I had to wake up again and do it al over again. I was beyond exhausted, beyond even pregnant exhausted. So I did let the workouts slide every once in a while for about the first month I was there. And let me tell ya, I felt it in my pants. I was getting a ghetto booty.

But I eventually got back to my routine and all was well again.

And now, well, about six months ago I realized that I needed to really step up my work out because my muscles were getting too accustomed to the videos I had. I needed something new and tough. I saw the P90X infomercial and knew that I had to have it. I'm a sucker for all things informercial anyway, so of course, I was hooked. They had me at hello.

If you're not familiar with P90 X, see Super Beach Body. The P90 X slogan says it all, it goes something like this: "Want to get in shape? Jump on a treadmill, or go do some Tae Bo. Want to get totally ripped? Get P90X. P90X will take your body from whatever shape it's in and get it fit and TOTALLY RIPPED."

It took me six months to finally order the 12 videos that come in the set because it really felt absolutely insane to spend 140 bucks on a work out system. But armed with some birthday money, I went on Ebay, placed a bid and got the videos for 100 bucks.

I'm sure I don't need to tell you, but I have been in work-out heaven. And I just saw on the web site, that you can now get the "ultimate P90 X workout," the extreme version for those who need even more of a burn. Yeah, right. Like that'll happen even in my dreams. Wish me luck just surviving the first 12 videos.

Please save me from the cyclone

Today was another packing day and I actually tackled the paper cyclone in my office ... dun dun dun.

I have no idea what my freaking problem is, I don't know how it is that I can keep my house immaculate, organized, and running smoothly, but when you walk into the office, it's like the record scratches. Then the crickets start chirpring. And this problem seems to get worse as I get older. The office was so bad this morning that I was going to take a picture of it for this little blog, but I was too embarrassed. You'd never think of me the same again if you saw it.

Seriously, even in high school, no one could figure it out. My friends would come over to my house and I'd freak out if they even ruffled my bedspread. Everything was perfectly organized and immaculately clean, but by the time I was a senior, you could open my locker and it would literally be like a wave of books, papers, folders, maybe even an arm or a legs - you name it. I'm not sure how I went from perfectly wonderfully organized, to Monica with the secret closet (if you didn't grow up in the 90s watching Friends you probably have no idea what I'm talking about). Maybe I'm repressing a horrible incident from my childhood in the form of office disorganization. I don't know.

This disease then followed me to college, where even my super organized, obsessive-compulsive files and folders (color-coded for each class I might add) were then taken over.

From there, there was no going back.

Inevitably, after college I became a working girl, and my compulsive desk messinesss followed me there.

As a reporter, organization is one of the keys to the profession, but, you guessed it, I'd go home to complete organization and cleanliness, but my desk, oh my lord, I'd walk into the newsroom, and it would look like I was a victim of a paper cyclone. It got so bad that when the big corporate big wigs would make their little visists to the newsroom, my editor would make me clean up my desk, which usually consisted of taking all the papers, getting them all going the right way, and then throwing them in a desk drawer.

And I know how cliche it is, but seriously, when I'd spend an entire Saturday organizing my entire desk, the next day I wouldn't be able to find anything that I needed. But when the paper cyclone would hit, I'd magically find everything I needed that day. Granted, it might take me awhile, but I'd eventually find it.

And now that I work from home, my office is the same way. I'll spend a whole day cleaning my office, thinking, "Now that it's clean and organized, it's going to stay that way so I never have to do this again."

But of course, two weeks later I'll end up sitting in the office in the midst of a paper cyclone thinking, "I'll never let this office get this bad again."

And you guessed it, now that I'm packing up to move into a new house, I'm never going to let my new office become victim to the plague of the paper cyclone.

The Purple Move, Epidurals and Hello North Dakota

I'm blogging right now to avoid packing. For those of you who have subjected yourself to reading this little blog, you know we are moving next month. For those of you who have better things to do than regularly read this blog, see Our New House!. I am so behind in packing, especially since I was bedbound pretty much all of last week.

Seriously, we have about three weeks until we need to be completely out of our house, and I can count on my fingers the total boxes I have packed. The good thing is that I have saved every box from every move we've ever made so I don't ever have to worry about boxes. Every move we've made has been assigned a different color. This move, because I just happened to find a purple marker when I started packing boxes one day, is officially labeled the PURPLE MOVE. We've had the BLACK MOVE, the SILVER MOVE, the BLUE MOVE, which I think was the most recent move.

I'm just sitting here thinking about it, and we've moved pretty much every year since 2003. It started not long after we got married when hubby took a promotion with his company, which moved us from Minneapolis to Memphis. Then when we found out we were pregnant, we decided to rent out our house and move to a bigger one in a different suburb. I literally woke up one day when I was like six months pregnant and thought, "This house is too small. We have to move."

So that morning I called a mortgage broker, got approved, advertised our house for rent, and started packing. We ended up moving the weekend before Kaydn Rye was born. I was re-painting the rental house with an almost ten pound baby inside me. I kept bumping the wall with my belly and having to re-paint. Not to mention, I was in my senior year of college as a writing major, so that week I had just finished mid-terms. I had been in labor almost an entire day and I was so exhausted that I got the epidural not because of the pain but because I really needed a nap, so that's what I did, I took a nap. Hubby will tell you, the whole atmosphere of the room changed once I got that epidural. He was more excited about the epidural than I was. He later said, "When (and that's an if in my mind) we have another one, we are definitely getting that epidural, that thing was great." The epidural was great I guess, until I realized that while I was napping the tube thing got kinked and I ended up finishing the whole delivery process without it. That was an abrupt awakening from a nice peaceful nap.

So anyway, off that tangent, then, the next year after Kaydn Rye was born and I had finished my degree, I took a job as a journalist in South Dakota of all places, so we sold our house and we moved back to the prairie. I slaved at the paper for about a year, and then we were offered the insurance agent position in Stanley, North Dakota. So we trudged back to the frozen tundra of Minot, North Dakota. Then we found a gorgeous house in Kenmare, North Dakota, which is closer to hubby's work, so we are moving 55 minutes even further north to the itty bitty town of Kenmare, where the biggest event of the year is Goosefest. Wow, that was a mouthful.

But needless to say, we are living in Kenmare for the long haul, not because Kenmare is the greatest place on earth, but because none of us feels like packing up all our crap and moving it again.

To Kill A Computer

Well, I have laid to rest the search for the source of my blog problem that has been plaguing me for weeks now. When I, or you, would try to open my blog, a big message with a huge red X saying, "CAUTION - OPERATION ABORTED - INTERNET EXPLORER WILL NOW SHUT DOWN THE WEBPAGE" would suddenly appear. IT WAS ABSOLUTELY FRUSTRATING!!!

I'm sure all of you bloggers out there know how truly great (NOT!) that problem has been. I ended up deleting my Mr. Linkys with my Best of the Week in Blog Posts weekly feature. That seems to have taken care of the problem. At first I thought it was maybe my music player, so I got rid of that, but that didn't work. So much to my chagrin, the search needed to go deeper.

I'm not sure how I thought to get rid of the Mr. Linkys, but hopefully that solves the problem. I'm not sure what to do about the future of Best of the Week in Blog Posts. Hmm. I don't know, but before I decide to do anything drastic, like heaven forbid, trying to implement a Mr. Linky feature, I guess I should probably stop while I'm ahead.

Oh, and did I mention that the computer problems don't stop there...

There's the problem with my statcounter on my blog where it now, magically, counts my own visits as stats. Can't seem to figure out how to solve that problem either.

Oh, and there's the problem with Entrecard that I'm having, which is apparently a "cookie" problem. I'm still not sure why "cookies" are called "cookies." But whatever.

Oh, and there's the "java" problem that loves to mess with me on all my social networking sites.

So, needless to say, I'm ready to have an Office Space moment with my computer. You know how they have all these shows about people who suddenly snap and start brutally murdering their entire neighborhood? Well, I think the neighborhood computers should sleep with one eye open tonight, because I think I'm on the edge. No motherboard is safe.

With my luck, I'd end up taking a sledge hammer to my computer, kicking it to the curb, lighting it on fire, and the next morning it would magicallly be sitting on my desk with the Joker laugh (from the first Batman movie) coming from the speakers. Yeah, I think it's possessed.

So I must kill the motherboard. Burn baby burn.

The land of the living, Congaplex, and woohoo doctors

Well, I finally decided to join the land of the living today. (If you're confused right now see previous post) It's been a long time since I have this sick. I have been getting sinus infections since before I can even remember. I have never known what it's like to get some itty bitty teensy weeny cold before. Wouldn't life be great.

Last night I think I ODed on nasal spray, mucinex, exedrin and robitusson, and I started feeling a little better. Which brings me to the question, how is that the generation before me figured out nuclear bombs, but we still can't figure out how to make cough syrup taste atleast edible? Half the time I end up puking up the stuff. It's the nastiest stuff on the planet. I'd probably rather stick my finger in a toilet than drink the stuff.

But anyway, the thing that is really making me mad about the whole sickness situation is that just a month ago I went off my "woohoo" sinus pills, thinking, "Hey, I haven't had a sinus infection in about a year. I must be cured. YEY, I don't need to spend 30 bucks a month on "woohoo" pills anymore."

Wrong.

But before I go on, let me explain the woohoo pills. About five years ago my mother introduced me to a friend of hers from high school who is a kind of wholistic chiropractor. She does chiropractic stuff in addition to a bunch of other crazy things to find out the root of people's problems. And a lot of times she prescribes wholistic, herbal remedies to balance out whatever the body's problems are.

Muscle testing is this really weird method she uses to find out what exactly a person's body needs. She'll have you raise your arm, and once she pinpoints exactly what the problem is through a pressure point or whatever, your arm will magically fall, totally without your control. It is super weird.

And she does the same thing with whatever remedy she thinks will work best to counteract the problem. She'll have you raise your right arm and hold in your left hand whatever pills she thinks will give the body the supplements it needs. When she finds the right combination, you will be able to hold your arm up again. I know, it's super weird, but it works.

So anyway, she prescribed this stuff called Congaplex for my sinuses. Congaplex is really a totally natural and organic pill that is totally safe for ongoing use by people who have congestion due to an infection. It's actually really good for anyone, even babies to take.

I did some research on Congaplex and it's apparently made from the bovine (cow) thymus gland and crushed up bone. The thymus gland is one of the main parts of the immune system in the body. See CONGAPLEX ARTICLE And really, most people with sinus infections haul themselves down to their doctor and take a buttload of antibiotics to get rid of the problem temporarily, but I won't get into the problems with antibiotics right now. They are really just setting us up for infection strains that we'll never be able to fight off.

Oh and this site also has some good stuff on Congaplex. See BECOME HEALTHY NOW .

So, long story short, I hauled my butt outta bed on Monday and made my way to the local all-natural pharmacy here in town. I now have learned my lesson - that I will never be without Congaplex again.

But the really crazy thing is that the last time I went to the "woohoo" doctor, she tested me for a dairy allergy, and she told me that half of my sinus problems are because I'm allergic to dairy. Me, who's addicted to cheese and yogurt and my milk and cereal in the morning. Don't get me wrong, I absolutely hate the taste of milk, unless it's in a bowl full of Honey Grahams, but I love cheese and yogurt. I don't think I could live without it.

The woohoo doctor pretty much said that most of my sinus problems would be solved if I'd cut the dairy and go with rice milk in the morning. How disgusting. I pretty much told her I wasn't drinking rice milk, and from there I think she realized that you can't help those who don't want to be helped.

But really, can the pure joy of milk and Honey Grahams in the morning be worth all this misery? I'm starting to rethink the rice milk idea.

Will the poop and snot ever end....

Hey Everyone - Sorry about my little mini posting vacation. We ended up going to the lake for the weekend, and by the time we got home I had a sinus infection!

Yesterday I didn't even join the land of the living, and today doesn't look good either. And you wouldn't believe it, but on a day when I could barely roll myself outta bed, Kaydn Rye ended up having diarrhea, which he has never had before in his life!! He has never really even had the flu before. And he said he felt fine, he would just all of a sudden get a tummy ache, and by mid-afternoon, I was so tired of dealing with poopy underwear that I put him in diapers for the day! So I had a three and a half year old, who is tall enough to be a five-year-old, in diapers.

And throughout the day he gradually lost his pants and his shirt so he ended up lying around in diapers most the day. But I didn't really have the amount of functioning brain cells that would be required to really care about a half naked little boy running amuck in my house.

A Word of Prophecy for the Future?!??!

Image by bogdgmx Dan via Flickr Today for Revelatory Thursday I wanted to share a word of prophecy that was spoken over my life on Sunday.

Now for some of you less charismatic folks, prophecy is not as out there as you think. Here me out here….

For those of who read this little blog, you know that I have been taking a class on growing in the prophetic gifting and dream interpretation. And last weekend I attended THE GATHERING, which is ultimately a branch off of Morning Star Ministries, which actually offers classes on hearing from G-d and giving prophecy.

So here’s my story. At The Gathering there’s tons of worship music, and during the worship music painters paint and dancers dance. But there was one painter there, from Florida I think, and this is really bad, but I can’t even remember the guy’s name. I think it was Keith something or other.

So anyway, Keith’s ministry is painting, but also has a ministry of impartation. He imparts to other artists their gifting. So he had an impartation service on Sunday, and because the guy is a painter, I thought the service was just for painters. And with my friend, who was also my ride home, being a painter, she really wanted to attend the service. So I thought I’d just sit in the back and wait for her, especially since I had nowhere else to go ‘cause, well, I didn’t have a car.

But really, the service ended up being for everybody with a creative gifting – painters, dancers, singers, musicians, writers, poets.

So, needless to say, I’m glad I stayed.

So I end up sitting through the service and at the end the guy wanted to pray over everyone. I thought, well, he’ll probably ask everyone what they think their gifting is in and then he’ll pray that they grow in that gifting. It’ll be a good little prayer time.

But let’s just say I was totally wrong. The guy ended up actually prophecying over everyone individually.

When he gets to me I’m already kind of freaked out about what he’s going to say since I had been watching him speak prophetically for about an hour before he even got to me.

He ends up just kind of praying in front of me for a second and then he says, “I feel G-d telling me something about your degree and that you have some kind of creative degree. What’s your degree in?”

“I have a writing degree,” I tell him.

“Are you using it right now?” he asks.

“Well, kind of but not really,” I respond.

And now, keep in mind, I have never spoken to or had any contact with this man in my life.

So he then says, “I see you writing editorials – editorials of truth. And I’m not really sure what that means, but I see you writing editorials.”

And of course, by this time I was freaking out.

But then he says, “And I see that you have been having some financial difficulties and that you will be moving to a new place and that it will be a new start for you, financially and otherwise.” (See Extreme Budget Homemaking and Revelatory Thursday - The New House)

By this time I was really freaking out. But he keeps going.

He says, “I also see that you will be making money with your writing – that you will be able to bring in money for your writings.”

And by this time, I was really, really freaking out.

And that was it. It was a total confirmation of what I was feeling with my writings. And while I love my investigations biz, the absolute desire of my heart is writing. And I just got confirmation to jump out there and put the time into it that I need.

How awesome is that??!!! Has anything like this happened to you?

Deranged puppets and child abuse...what's next?

Image via Wikipedia

Having a child has really made me re-think the world of children's books. As a child, I mainly stuck with Amelia Bedelia and the Boxcar Children, but my sister had all the Disney books, of which Kaydn Rye has inherited. And while Disney stories pretty much totally disgust me, one of Kaydn’s favorite books, of all books in the world, is Pinnochio, which for lack of a better phrase, totally FREAKS ME OUT.

Think about it, a puppet comes to life in the middle of the night, his body suddenly metamorphs, and then he’s kidnapped and locked in a cage. What kind of crazy person thought that was appropriate for children, it’s something out of the mind of Alfred Hitchcock, for pete’s sake. I actually think that was an Aflred Hitchcock story now that I think about it, some puppet comes to life and starts wacking everyone with a butcher knife. Someone at Disney obviously saw it and thought, "Oh, wow, this would make a great children's story."

And oh, there’s Cinderella too. I mean, that’s something out of the logs of children’s services. Really, the girl is enslaved in her own home, her mother allows her sisters to pretty much strip her almost naked, and then she’s eventually locked in her room.

And then there’s Dumbo. His mom is locked in a cage and then he’s forced to dress like a clown and jump from a burning building just because he looks funny. That’s real comforting.

For some reason, this is acceptable, but Cookie Monster can’t eat cookies anymore and Oscar can’t even be a little bit grouchy because that would promote childhood obesity and antidepressants.

What is wrong with the world? What ever happened to Amelia Bedelia and the Boxcar Children?

Public restrooms - oh the horror!

For those of you who read this little blog, you know that Kaydn Rye and I spent the last weekend in Minnesota, and while it was a great trip, it was one of those experiences in which I came to know more about my little man than I did even when I was changing his diapers.

Saturday at the lake was specifically one of those moments. During the tent event we were attending, we stayed with some friends of a friend who live about 30 minutes from town. So in the morning when we left for the day we had to make sure to remember to bring everything that we might even possibly need for the day, cause we weren't gonna be back 'til evening, or should I say, I needed to remember to bring everything. And while remembering to bring everything and anything I might possibly need has become one of my strong suites during my motherhood years, I forgot to bring our swim suits.

So when we arrived at the lake, I said to Kaydn Rye, "You'll just have to swim in your underwear. I forgot to bring your bathing suit." To which he responded, "Okay!"

Normally when things are not in their usual order, my little anal child usually has a freak-out moment before he again regains his composure, and we move on. But he was cool with swimming in underwear. And I figured, there were only a few close friends of ours out there, so it really shouldn't matter, he's a little boy for pete's sake.

So he starts taking off his clothes and even proceeds to take off his underwear! He wanted to swim nude. But since it wasn't a nude beach, and we're not European, I thought he should probably keep the ol undies on.

So after he flashes everyone, he then gets in the water and all of a sudden, as usual, he has to go potty, and not like pee potty, but poop potty. He seriously drives me insane - he will hold it and hold it and hold it until he absolutely cannot hold it any longer and his little butt cheeks finally give up. Then, we have about a minute before all hell breaks loose.

So I grab him as fast as I can and try to think of some way to resolve the situation. Seeing no convenient way to resolve the situation, aka, porta-potties, I think, well, there's some tall grass over there, that's gonna have to do it for now.

So, we race to the grass, Kaydn proceeds to pull his pants and he just lets it go.

Then he pulls up his pants up and runs back into the water like the universe was in order once again. I didn't know what else to do, so I just went on my merry way.

I made the mistake of telling hubby, who was like, "What?!? You can't do that! You have to dig a hole or bury it or something."

I was like, yeah, he's gonna stand there twiddling his thumbs while he waits for me to dig a hole with my bare hands?! Yeah right. And like I really had a shovel. Like I'm going to bury it with my hands! Yeah right.

But really, if you think that's disgusting, get this.

The hubby of one of my friends, who was also in attendance over the weekend, walked into a porta potty, BAREFOOT! Yeah, BAREFOOT! How absolutely disgusting is that.

Some of you may not know my great aversion to all things having to do with public restrooms, but I thought I was going to have to light myself on fire just at the thought of breathing the same air as someone who would walk into a porta potty barefoot.

And really, I guess it's probably because of my farmer's daughter roots, but I'd rather go into a barn and pitch manure than even come close to a public restroom, let alone actually going in and using it. Animals are fine, but people are disgusting.

Give me anything you might find in a barn - cow placenta, dead animals, manure - and I'll take it any day over touching a public toilet. How wacked out is that?

Orbs and Revelations on the Ugly Face

So Kaydn Rye and I just got back from THE GATHERING in Otter Tail, Minnesota, the annual tent meeting by the lake in Otter Tail hosted by the Firestarters, a ministry of worship, dance and art. Kaydn and I were so touched by G-d during the conference, it was AMAZING!! If you at all feel like you connect to G-d through any kind of creative talent you may be blessed with, you need to check out the Firestarters Web Site. Oh, and make sure you stop by the photos section and check out all of the ORBS photos. They have some amazing photos during this year's and last year's tent gathering, with angelic orbs just absolutely surrounding the tent during the worship times. If you don't believe that angels surround us here on earth, just look at the photos and you'll become a believer.


But anyway, as it usually goes with any amazing experience, we got no sleep during the weekend. And while I was with friends, I was pretty much completely on my own with a three-year-old for four days straight. Brandon ended up going on a kind of weekend missions trip, so Kaydn Rye and I were on our own. And with the both of us being so sleep deprived, by Sunday, Kaydn was getting progressively obstinate during the meeting, and I was progressively loosing my cool. I ended up even putting on my "ugly mad face," as I was screaming at him to sit down in his seat while he proceeded to race around the outside of the tent. I ended up grabbing his arm, picking him up and carrying him surf-board style behind a trailor and screaming at him to sit down in his seat until I told him he could get his butt off the chair. And if you have even one child, you know the the ugly face I'm talking about. Yeah, I was there. Put a fork in me, because I was done. Over the edge. No turning back.

But once I finally got Kaydn Rye to sleep, the meeting was over, and the friends we were with ended up going to grab something to eat with everybody else. As I sat in the huge yellow and green tent, with just Kaydn and I alone, I was just overwhelmed at the thought that Kaydn and I were growing together. We were both learning as went along with this whole mother-son experience. And as he laid in my arms, in that place he goes to just before he enters into deep sleep, I said, "Kaydn, mommy's sorry about being mean to you. I just need you to stay where I can see you at all times. But I am sorry. I will try not to be mean to you when you make me angry."

And in his grogginess, he said to me, "Mommy, it's okay. It's alright. You're so beautiful mommy."

After a hug and a kiss and maybe a tear or two, I said, "You're such a good boy, aren't you?"

"Yep," he said. And he put his thumb in his mouth, grabbed a hold of his blanky and closed his eyes.

We're Headed to The Gathering

Image by theCarol via FlickrHey Everyone! I'm heading to The Gathering. It's a huge worship festival with music, art and tons of dancing - all for Jesus. I'm taking Kaydn Rye for the weekend and I think we're going to have a great time together with friends. Sooo, Revelatory Thursdays will happen when I get back, and I'll talk to ya'll later. Don't forget to post your Best Post of the Week down below!

Best of the Week in Blog Posts

Image via Wikipedia

Here it is - BEST OF THE WEEK in blog posts for this week. Post your best this week here. (If you're still confused, see BEST OF THE WEEK)

Hopefully he won't be in therapy the rest of his life

I have become one of THOSE parents. You know the kind, they buy their children's happiness out of their enormous guilt, and hope they won't end up in therapy 10 years down the road because of it.

Here's how it began....

On Tuesdays and Thursdays I take Kaydn Rye to the YMCA for an hour, at 9am, for "Itty Bitty Sports." It's really ridiculous, but Kaydn wanted to take a month off from swimming lessons specifically so he could do this itty bitty sports thing. So I figured it must be pretty important.

This sports class consists of two teenage "instructors" trying to teach 3 and 4 years olds teeball, basketball, even hockey and football, in between fights and screaming fits and the ever-present, "Mommy! Look at me!"

We just started this class last week, and I am having a really hard time making it to the Y at 9 o'clock in the morning. (See Becoming an Early Bird)

And I don't know on what street I left my mind yesterday while I was busy running errands, but last night, like a diligent little parent I set my alarm for the usual 8:30 a.m. For swimming lessons, which started at 10, I could wake up at the usual time, do some emailing, get ready, get the kid ready, and be out the door at 9:45 just in time to be the last ones at swimming lessons.

So in my mind I was planning on doing just that, but for those of you who caught that class now starts at 9, you see where I'm going with this....

So at 8:30, I wake up, I get ready, get the kid ready, and we're out the door at 9:40. I think, "Wow, I am going to be EARLY, I am super-parent today."

Wrong.

As I pull into the YMCA parking lot, I look at the clock and think, "Something's not right here." It's then that I see all the moms loading their kids up into their cars and driving off. Only then does it hit me, "We're an hour late. Class started at 9 instead of 10!!"

I then start freaking out, wailing, "I got the time wrong. I got the time wrong!" After 5 minutes of apologies, Kaydn Rye is still in tears in the back, so, I of course say, "How about we go for a ride on the little train in the park instead?"

His face immediately returns to normal and he says, "Okay," which eventually turns into, "Yeah, let's ride the train. Yey!!" This train ride was of course in exchange for his silence - if anybody found out about this I'd never hear the end of it.

The Legacy of two Norwegian immigrants....

Yesterday was the day of my great-aunt’s funeral. My great-aunt Laura died unexpectedly on Monday, and the funeral marked a sad day as we mourned the loss of a family matriarch.

Laura was the oldest sister of my grandmother, who had six sisters and two brothers. Her parents, Lars and Martha, sailed to America from Norway and settled in Tagus, North Dakota of all places. Tagus, once a booming railroad town with an ice cream shop, a school, a church, a post office and maybe even a grocery store (I'd have to double check that with my grandmother - my official Tagus historian), is now home to some run down old buildings, a few human inhabitants and some horses.

Of Lars and Martha's children, only four remain - my grandmother and her three sisters. One of the middle sisters, Marget, who married my grandfather's brother(which is how I ended up with double cousins), died some years ago, and the boys, Berent and Louie, died before I was born.

The little town of Tagus has been a part of my family’s history for so many reasons, one of which being its old country church, where my family attended church all throughout my childhood. Before it burned to the ground, much of the church’s congregation consisted of people of some relation to me. And that is how I ultimately came to see Laura every week of my life until about junior high. Laura and her husband, Gladwin, were also regular attendees of my sister and I's birthday parties and major life events. As is typical of all of my Norwegian family members, whenever we visited their farm just outside of Tagus, we were always welcomed with cookies. And we never left without some Tang to go with our cookies. I remember playing in the yard of that old farmstead down in the valley, beside the lake, while my mother and Laura and Gladwin discussed faming, ranching and the weather.
Laura ended up leaving the farm and moving into town, and after Gladwin died in 2003, I found out just how truly quiet Laura was at the core of her soul. Gladwin, who could start a conversation with a field rock, always entertained us with his musings, but Laura, well she was content just to listen to everyone else’s musings.

And my grandmother, while her heart is bigger than America, is the most stoic of people. Yesterday I watched her mourn the loss of her sister, the sister she spent much of her life alongside, without a whole lot of tears, emotion or words. And while my generation will never know the thousand upon thousands of hours the two families spent on the prairie surrounding the little town of Tagus, seeding and harvesting the land, their legacy will be that of the pioneer, and my grandmother and Laura, that of the pioneering, farmer’s wife.