Jakeover

6th Grade Crazy Hair Day...but, really, isn't every day a crazy one when you're in sixth grade?

The adolescent and I have been doing a little Jakeover in his new bedroom.

Apparently, he has not been loving my decorating techniques lo these many years. Apparently, the preppy Nantucket cottage look is not jiving with his inner rockstar/sk8erboi. So madras plaid and denim are out. Black, silver and leather are in. Yes, there are fake fur throw pillows, which have been a major source of envy among younger sibs. (Pictures coming, once we hang the black-out curtains!)

Jake has grown a lot over the past couple months. I think I tower over him by a measly inch, maybe two. When I talk to him now, I am looking straight into those baby blues. Of course, this does not mean we see eye-to-eye on much.

Bedtimes, computer time, chore time, homework time, mealtime, dental hygiene time. All continue to be a struggle of wills. Life with Jake has never been boring.

My mom and I laugh about the day Jake learned to roll over. The absolute moment he discovered that he could actually muscle his way over that bulky left shoulder and GET AWAY, he started to roll like a demon tumbleweed from one room to another. There was no stopping him. I've been chasing after him ever since. He keeps me humble and very tired.

I am proud of the way Jake has handled the big changes life has brought him lately. Not only does he have a new school and new neighborhood, Mother Nature's starting in on a more personal sort of Jakeover.

Loathe to blog about it. After all, what kind of tween-hating mom posts about curly blonde leg hair or tiny little forehead breakouts? Certainly not me! (Even though both make him look quite manly and, if I were a sixth-grade girl and not his mother, I would totally have a major crush.)

I think adolescence is just as thrilling to watch as a baby discovering how to roll over for the first time.

But twice as frightening.

Just Trying to Swim to the Surface

For some reason, I really thought a cross-country move would be restful. A day at the beach. Not the moving part, of course, but the arriving and settling in.

I figured for the first year, I'd just be buried in packing peanuts and painting projects. I was actually kind of worried that I'd be bored and lonely.

Already, though, I feel like I am right back in the deep end. Today I started with a new responsibility at church and a big commitment at the kids' school. Soccer is three times a week, art class every Wednesday, piano lessons, orthodontist appointments, activity days, Scouts and...don't forget!...the laundry pile isn't going anywhere but up.

I guess at this stage of life, there isn't much time for lying in the sand. It's all about keeping my head above water.

Hives at our Hive

It started with a tummy ache and fever. It ended with a serious case of leprosy. At least, that's what my overactive mombrain decided.

Luckily, the doctor said it was just a virus and all these things are typical back-to-school symptoms. A little cortizone cream, a low-dose steroid and everything is all cleared up.

In the meantime, I had a chatty daytime buddy most of the week and Sam's fantasies of life as an only child were temporarily fulfilled.

We spent a lot of time talking about his plans for the future, which include (in no particular order): becoming a chef, having 12 children, living next door to me, attending BYU, marrying a beautiful girl, going to Legoland and working as a cashier at Fry's.

Sam is a delightful child.

Life with a Tweenage Daughter

Em just finished my all-time favorite tween romance. Fifteen by Beverly Cleary. Since Salina Gomez got her all pumped about Ramona and Beezus again, she has been devouring all the Cleary books in the house.

I confess, when she reached for my old dog-eared copy, I discouraged her a little. "That's kind of a teenage book, Emmie. About a girl who wants a boyfriend." Well, duh, Mom. She was all over it. A few nights I even tiptoed in to read a chapter with her and it was pure pleasure.

Can I just say Beverly Cleary ROCKS?! I mean, this book was originally published in 1956. It was old-school when my mother read it. The dad smokes a pipe, for Pete's sake. The best friend wears a girdle. No one is texting or online. But the writing focuses on emotions and relationships that are timeless.

When she got to the last page, that climactic moment when Stan finally gives Jane his ID bracelet and a chaste 1956 kiss, Emmie's eyes were shiny.

My little girl is growing up. She is babysitting (a little) and on the phone with old and new friends (a lot). Her moods have always been less predictable than her brothers', but now that she's almost in the double-digits, I find I have to tiptoe even more carefully. Just yesterday, I was teasing her (a little too publicly, I guess) about something we'd always laughed about. But this time, she burst into tears. Yikes.

And that was just the school nurse on the phone, calling to say Em is in her office with a headache. She forgot her glasses. Again.

Time to go. Life with tweenagers is not all a Beverly Cleary romance, if you know what I mean.

I'll Know I'm a Native When...

...I can wear dark wash jeans in triple digit temperatures.

...I don't keep circling the parking lot, looking for nonexistent shade.

...I get the hang of using all my major appliances during "energy saving" hours.

...I can pronounce Spanish words other than salsa and guacamole.

...I can actually find a location after people say things like "It's on the SE corner of Alma School and Baseline."

...I don't get overexcited about spotting hummingbirds, quail and lizards.

...I can squeeze myself a glass of grapefruit juice from a tree in my own backyard.

We've survived our first August! Maybe I'm a native already...

China Anniversary

Jumping from one family tree...

into another!

Pretty good yield, huh?

Traditionally, the 20th anniversary is the China Anniversary. You either buy yourself a new set of china or go on a trip to China. We chose instead to buy a leather sectional and have a spa weekend in Scottsdale. Tradition, be hanged.

I feel like I should write something sappy, but if you look through the archives, I've said it all before. All I can say is that I can't believe it's been 20 years. There are lots of things in life that have been hard for me, but marriage has not been one of them. I'm lucky.

**Current photo by Christie...wish she'd been around for the original shots. Early '90s wedding photography should be a federal crime.

Promise

Blogging, right now, is kind of like the pretty round bronzed mirror that looked so good in the entry of our old house but is now sitting dustily on a stack of cardboard boxes. I love it. I miss it. But I'm just not quite sure where it fits in the new place.

I have many blog-able thoughts and moments during the course of my day, but I haven't quite figured out when and how to get them all down.

My days are so busy right now. I don't know why. So many of the things that used to take up my time--half-day kindergarten, early morning Seminary, driving along winding, country roads to get anywhere--are no longer part of my routine. I've found a handful of new friends, but my social calendar is still pretty empty.

I guess it's the four kid thing that keeps me hopping. When they're around, they need food and help with homework and (unfortunately) a whole lot of sibling refereeing. When they aren't around, I'm buying their food, washing their clothes and making copies on the Riso machine for their teachers.

And what's taking up the rest of my time? As Dr. Seuss might put it... "Oh the house. Oh the house. Oh the house, house, house, house. That's the one thing she's doing. The house, house, house, house."

New houses are a lot of work. I have to keep reminding myself that Rome wasn't built in a day and that it took years before I was happy with all the paint colors and window treatments in our old place. We went ages without a finished basement and eons before Brad built the back patio. In fact, it was not the house of my dreams at all until we put it on the market last spring.

But, in my old age, I'm a lot less patient. I know how I want things to look. And I want them to look that way. Now. I drive myself a little crazy. Hanging things up, taking things down. Buying things. Returning things. And I'm still learning my way around town, so usually each errand takes twice as long as it should. See? Low-stress and inexpensive and eco-friendly!

Brad has been extremely patient with this whole nesting process. I mean, let's face it. The guy, if left to his own devices, would live in a house with one MASSIVE tv and a lone, comfortable (but hideous) black leather chair. A bed with a mattress so firm it'd need a medical prescription with no designer throw pillows. The walls would all be white without a single nail hole or picture hook to be found. There would be no toile in his world.

So, Babe, this post is dedicated to you and your generosity of spirit (and checkbook). I promise once all the drawer pulls are installed and the curtains hung, I will return to my former low-key, easy-going self. Yes, really.

Also, I promise, more blogging. More often. I miss it.

My Take

On exercise at age 40:

I am DONE with exercise I do not enjoy. Life is too short to spend any more time with you, Mr. Stairmaster. Same to you Dr. Elliptical. We are through.

Because what's the point of exercising for longevity if you keep looking at the Minutes Remaining and wishing you could die?

Hello, Zumba. Hello, Body Pump. Hello, Spin. Hello, Early Morning Walks in the Gorgeous Desert Sunshine. You make me happy.

On having all four kids in school all day:

I will not lie. I have mixed feelings. Some days I love it and feel like I'm getting away with something almost criminal. The mall? By myself? And I don't have to bribe anyone with a free balloon or an extra spin on the escalator? Other days I miss having little buddies around. I miss being needed in that non-stop little kid way.

People, of course, have asked, But what do you do all day? Well. Same things I used to do all day: Clean the kitchen. Go to the gym. Grocery shop. Pile after pile of dirty laundry. Errands and phone calls. Help at school. The difference now is I get to listen to whatever I want in the car and I have no excuse to stop for an ice cream cone.

Together time.(Nimmy...this living room shot is for YOU. Don't worry, I got new lamps.)

The downside of having everyone gone at once, is that everyone is home at once. There is no one-on-one (or two-on-one, in our case) time together and I DO miss that. Everyone is home and at their hungriest and neediest. And, of course, I am usually hungry and needy too.

My kids still need me. Just in a different way. It's just gonna take some getting used to.

On living in Arizona at this historic moment in time:

I feel like I should have a stronger opinion. But, the truth is, I can really see a lot of different sides to the issue. My goal is to get more educated.

In the short time we've lived here, though, I have found the population to be very friendly and welcoming. There are all shades and varieties of people coexisting nicely and acting like grown-ups. That seems like a good sign.

On settling into a new house:

We have cleared away most of the moving-in mess. Which is good. Because now we have all of the regular everyday living-in mess. And I can only handle so much mess.

Moving into a new place means re-evaluating every "system" in your life and re-ordering each one. The laundry system. Where will the dirty clothes go? What's the best place for the dryer sheets? The homework system. How many private study places do we need? Where are they? Why do the kids need to sharpen brand new pencils down to nothing? I find it enjoyable and exhausting.

Here is one of our study areas. In its former life, it was a family room wet-bar. But I learned in our old house that I don't like "wet" and "family" in the same room, if you know what I mean. So the sink is out. New countertops, drawers and pencils are in. A+ for Effort, right?!

The thing about this house is that it is going to take some living-in to get really comfortable. New sheets, new jeans, new houses may look great right out of the package, but to feel great, they need a little wear. (Remind me of this fact after someone lets a pen leak on the new slipcovers or the carpet meets a root beer float, ok?)

On Axe deodorant and shampoo:

I am glad products exist that make my eleven-year-old excited about personal hygiene. I like the instructions on the bottle that say Wash. Attract. Repeat. Along with a cartoon picture of a guy meeting a girl.

However, all four men in the household have been using Axe for a week now and, to date, no women have been attracted. As far as I can tell.