Babies everywhere

I thought I'd share this pix of Erika holding her new cousins, Ella, 2 months, and Mason, 3 weeks. We got to spend some quality time with them when their moms came home for the weekend.

Ella's 3-year-old big brother Cole was pretty funny. The things that come out of his mouth. He told several "Knock Knock" jokes, many of which were only funny if you were also 3...but that kid can surprise you, too.

Here was my favorite from Cole:

"Knock, knock," says Cole.

"Who's there?" I ask.

"Babies," he says.

"Babies who?" I ask.

"Babies everywhere!," he says.

I couldn't agree with him more. :)

Life isn't always fair

Not long after my daughter and I moved into our neighborhood almost 10 years ago, another single mom and her daughter built a home and moved in a few houses away. Our daughters were about the same age and the two of them, along with another neighbor girl who lives behind us, became quite a trio, running around the neighborhood like their own girl gang. I'd chat with her mom when either of us ran into each other while out on a walk or when either of us were having a garage sale.

It's been a few years since Erika has played with Shantel but I knew something was up when I came home from work early Friday afternoon and noticed several cars parked in their driveway and along the street. When Erika came home from school she told me the sad news, that Shantel's mom, Shelly, lost her lengthy battle with breast cancer. She was 48.

My heart aches for Shantel and her family. I can't even imagine what this seventh-grade girl is going through right now, losing her mom and having to move to southern Minnesota to live with her aunt.

While I'm married to a wonderful husband now, I can't imagine what I would do if I were dying, knowing my daughter had her whole life ahead of her and that I would miss it all: Watching her go to prom, graduate from high school, fall in love, get her heart broken, marry and have children of her own.

When we walk in the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure next summer I will be wearing Shelly's name on my back, walking in memory of a mom whom I know is terribly missed right now by all who loved her.

Introducing Ella Rose

Awwwww, how cute, huh? This is my cousin Lindsay's and her husband Jason's new addition to the family, Ella Rose. She's being held by her big brother, 3-year-old Cole. Lindsay's twin sister Shannon is due in a few weeks so it's very exciting for my aunt and uncle, to have two new grandbabies, along with Cole. Neither Lindsay or Shannon wanted to know what they were having so I was DYING to find out. We all thought Linds was having a boy. She did, too. It was a wonderful surprise. Now I can't wait to see what Shannon and her husband Ryan are having. I hope it's a "she," a built-in BFF for Ella.

Shannon told me that when she brought Cole into Lindsay's hospital room to meet his new baby sister, Lindsay was nursing Ella. Cole looked up at his mom and said, "Mom, are you still going to be my mom?" Shannon said she just cried and Lindsay got teary, too...and it wasn't as if Cole said it to get attention. The little stinker just wanted to know.

Ella Rose was 19-1/2 inches and 8 pounds, 7 ounces. I may have to head to the Twin Cities for a work-related trip this week or next and to be certain, I'll be stopping in and seeing Ella for my baby fix. :)

My house hubby

As of two weeks ago my husband went part-time at the newspaper to focus more on his growing wedding photography business. He's also shooting part-time for our sister newspaper just minutes from our home.

Anyhow, I didn't realize how much I had to personally gain by having a house husband. When he was working mostly nights, Erika and I would just find something quick to eat and eat in the living room while we watched TV. We've now moved our dinners to our dining room and Nels actually several days so far has fixed us genuine cooked-in-a-pot or grilled dinners. It's been awesome.

He's still really busy right now - it's the height of the wedding season - but this winter I'm fully expecting dinners every night, or close to it. He swears this winter he's going to clean out our kitchen, including getting rid of utensils and things we don't use that I've had since I inherited them from my parents while in college, and help us become more efficient. He even swears he's going to make sure I have a lunch from home each day so I'm not tempted to order out with the girls or walk over to Wendy's, which is across the street.

His new cookware he ordered just arrived in the mail today, he said when I called home during lunch.

I can only hope that he's put it to good use by the time I get home.

New York, New York ...

As my French manicured (read: totally fake) nails click, clack, click against my keyboard, it reminded me that I haven't yet blogged about my brother's wedding in New York.

He and my new sis-in-law are now on a month-long honeymoon to Fiji and Australia (yes, I know, must be rough...) and will return in a week or so...They'll be living in Long Island, where she's from.

The best way I can describe this wedding is that it was a celebrity bash without a single celebrity. Lindsay Lohan wasn't even snorting coke in the bathroom. We bridesmaids (Erika and I were two of eight) were treated to makeup and hair at a local salon...our makeup was flawlessly airbrushed on our faces ... I've never looked so good. (No, really, sad but true....) And the day before my sis-in-law, Erika and I got pedicures and manicures at a Korean nail salon...it was a little unnerving to have some dude rubbing my legs so I can't say I was too relaxed during the pedicure...but I loved my new nails. I got silk wrap nails with a French manicure...it took me awhile to get used to it. I liked them so much that I went to a salon in the Brainerd mall and had them redone last week.

I became so out of touch with reality while being pampered in the Big Apple that at one point during the six hours in the salon with the rest of the bridesmaids I thought that I could see myself moving there with Erika. Think of the writing possibilities and the higher salaries, I told myself... Ummm, yeah. I then remembered that I'm MARRIED and that since Nels is a wedding photographer he probably wouldn't be up for an East Coast move. I startled myself when I actually FORGOT I was married! And I'd only been gone for two days!

The wedding was at the 56-acre Flowerfield estate. The wedding was in this gorgeous atrium, complete with a bridge that the wedding party walked on over this pond with massive koi swimming inside. Our bets were on that one of my brother's drunken friends from Minnesota would end up fishing one of them out by hand by the end of the night (Surprisingly, that didn't happen.) There were several food stations for the cocktail hour, including crab, lobster, sushi - you name it. And not one, but two ice sculptures. The actual dinner was held in an adjacent ballroom with an incredible band. The dinner had several courses with lots of dancing in between. They had three photographers, a videographer and a wedding painter, a guy who painted the scene of the reception. I guess that hasn't caught on yet in Minnesota.

The photo of the portrait can be found above... I'm the one in the bottom center with the dark upswept hair with my back facing the artist, chatting with my cousin Shannon (to my left) and her husband Ryan. My parents are above me at the table and my daughter is standing directly behind my dad. The portrait artist is Martin Hardy. It was fun to watch him work. He places people and things that represent the night into the impressionistic portrait. Only in New York.

On Monday, the day after the wedding, I took the Long Island Railroad into the city by myself, about a two-hour trip, and spent a couple of hours in Central Park before nearly missing my flight home. I accidentally took the wrong train and ended up in Queens. Freaked this small town girl right out! But I made it. My twin cousins, who are both pregnant and due in September and October, told me they would have faked contractions if I hadn't made it. :) We were all on the same plane flying back home.

My brother and his wife are going to have their second wedding in October (Could I make this up?), this time in Minnesota. The New York wedding was a Jewish one while this will be a traditional Lutheran wedding in our hometown church.

It's sure to be less fancy or expensive, but should be fun. So for those who weren't privileged to see me dressed in my shiny gold bridesmaid dress, there is still one more opportunity.

Fabulous.

Summertime Blues

I can't believe July is almost over. ... and that it's been forever since I've posted.





Here's a brief first half of summer recap:

• Erika got a haircut. While it's a cute cropped do, I can't help but think she looks like Leather Tuscadero, Fonzie's girlfriend, on "Happy Days." I also got a cut and color, a necessity after my brother-in-law stood over me on the dock at the cabin and was stunned that I had so much gray hair, especially since we're the same age.
• I had an awesome two-week vacation from work over the 4th. But I knew it was time to return to work when I started dreaming that I was interviewing someone.
• My poison ivy that spread throughout my face before my vacation cleared up nicely, thanks. I didn't look like Shrek's wife for long, only a couple of days.
• My brother's wedding in Long Island is only a mere 2 weeks away. Erika and I are all set with our bridesmaid dresses. Their second wedding is set for Oct. 13th in Pequot so we'll be getting our money's worth out of these gowns (If we actually paid for them, that is.)
• Nels has been shooting many weddings, but the bulk of his wedding work will take place in August/Sept./Oct. He's a busy guy. But don't get me started on his Big Green Egg.

That's about all I have to report.


Hope everyone who reads this sorry blog is having a fabulous summer. :)

"Do you want to talk about it?"

That's Erika's latest way to get me to laugh. ... It's hard to not crack a smile when your 13-year-old leans over to you at the local pizza place and says, in a serious tone, "Mom, do you want to talk about it?"

We had been talking about what a complete idiot I was ... Nels and I recently bought his mother's old car, a Toyota Camry, so we're going to attempt to sell our oil-burning Toyota Corrolla. The Camry is older than my car (a year younger than Erika, actually) but it's got the same number of miles as the Corrolla and is in relatively good shape. It's also roomier so I won't have to hear Erika's friends from the backseat grumbling stuff like, "I'm so glad my mom drives an Expedition." Ugh.

Anyhow, on Thursday we stopped at the local grocery store in town so Erika could get some snacks to bring to her speech team practice/potluck (Are you thinking I'd actually bake something??? Even though I was on vacation from work all week? Puh-lease.) and when we got out to our car, it wouldn't start. The engine wouldn't even turn over. It was dead.

We had to walk to the church where the speech team was meeting and then I cut over across the highway and walked several more blocks home where I had left my cell phone and other car. I had left the milk in the dead Camry. How pathetic would I look if people saw me walking home with a gallon of skim milk?

A friend of my dad's tried to jumpstart the Camry for me to no avail. Nels has been in Las Vegas at a wedding photography convention this week so between speakers he got to hear voicemail messages from me cursing out the dumb Camry he made me buy.

So Friday I met the tow truck driver at the grocery store to get the car towed to Brainerd and the man gets in the Camry, notices the car is in DRIVE, not PARK. He puts it in PARK and it starts right up.... Yep, it was my own dumb fault.

After he drove the Camry to our house, with Erika and I following him in the Corrolla, we drove him back to his tow truck at the grocery store. Man, did I feel like a dumb ass.

Erika couldn't wait to call Nels on my cell phone and tell him the news. She thought it was hilarious.

"If it makes you feel any better," Nels told me later, during his and his friend Biff's 5-hour delay at the Las Vegas airport. "Biff now knows you're a dumb ass, too."

Fabulous.

True Love = Motor oil and toilet seats

My friend Tami and I happened to run into each other at the Nisswa Jubilee parade Saturday. It was fun to see her and catch up. I was there covering the event for the paper while she was there with her two young daughters and other family members to watch the parade.

We started talking about Valentine's Day and our presents from our darling hubbies. She told me how Shane got her a new toilet seat for their bathroom - and a promise of dinner on Saturday night. No card, even.

I could totally relate.

For Valentine's Day I received a plastic jug of my very own motor oil from Nels for Valentine's Day. My Toyota has an oil-burning problem. Yep, I didn't get a card either. But I did get dinner out that night, just the two of us, at Sibley Station.

It just goes to show that some men have their own way of showing that they care. Tami and I are the fortunate ones to have found loving, but very practical life partners.

Did I happen to mention that for Christmas one year Nels got me a set of wooden cutting boards? And for my birthday two years ago I got my very own push lawnmower WITH a mulching bag attachment.

I don't care what Dr. Phil may say ... motor oil and toilet seats, that's true love, baby.

True Love = Motor oil and toilet seats

My friend Tami and I happened to run into each other at the Nisswa Jubilee parade Saturday. It was fun to see her and catch up. I was there covering the event for the paper while she was there with her two young daughters and other family members to watch the parade.

We started talking about Valentine's Day and our presents from our darling hubbies. She told me how Shane got her a new toilet seat for their bathroom - and a promise of dinner on Saturday night. No card, even.

I could totally relate.

For Valentine's Day I received a plastic jug of my very own motor oil from Nels for Valentine's Day. My Toyota has an oil-burning problem. Yep, I didn't get a card either. But I did get dinner out that night, just the two of us, at Sibley Station.

It just goes to show that some men have their own way of showing that they care. Tami and I are the fortunate ones to have found loving, but very practical life partners.

Did I happen to mention that for Christmas one year Nels got me a set of wooden cutting boards? And for my birthday two years ago I got my very own push lawnmower WITH a mulching bag attachment.

I don't care what Dr. Phil may say ... motor oil and toilet seats, that's true love, baby.

Bragging rights

My hubby recently upgraded his Web site for his business, Maple Leaf Photography. It looks awesome! Check it out if you're interested.

Also, my brilliant daughter has been asked to apply for membership to the National Junior Honor Society. She has a 3.8 GPA or higher, which qualifies her to become a member. The next step is for her to submit an application and three letters of recommendation, which we're working on. I'm so excited for her. She is a natural volunteer and leader, much more than her mom. For example, she has volunteered to be a reader at the 8 a.m. church service and will lead the songs with another girl at the 10:30 a.m. service. So I'll be pulling a double feature on Sunday morning, attending both church services, along with teaching my little 3-year-olds during Sunday school.

I envision a nap in my future Sunday afternoon.

Anyway. I just had to brag about my talented family!

Say it ain't so!

When you live in a metropolitan area, or even just a larger community, there are often things you take for granted that the rest of us who live in the sticks aren't as fortunate to have.

For example, 24-hour convenience stores, a Red Lobster, a Costco (never even been in one) or a youthful, growing church that contains more than pews filled with Q-tips, as my daughter refers to gray-haired old people.

So I was in mourning Thursday when I opened the Lake Country Echo and discovered that Sunset Cinema, the movie theater build a few years ago only FIVE minutes from our house has closed. So instead of a quick trip to go see a movie, now we have to travel 30 minutes again to go see the latest flick. So sad.

Our city recently got a Giovanni's Pizza, where Erika and I stopped in Friday night to pick up some food. They actually deliver. You should have seen the three of us (Nels included), giddy with anticipation a few weeks ago when we waited for our pizza to be delivered to OUR OWN HOME for the first time. Before the pizza arrived, I actually cleaned the living room to make sure our delivery person didn't think we were slobs.

I hope someone resurrects the movie theater, which is a nice beautiful facility. We'll make sure to be first in line to buy popcorn on opening night.

My "Don't ask, don't tell" policy

I think there are two types of people in this world, the people who notice your flaws but don't say anything and those who notice them but feel compelled to point them out to you.

I have a co-worker who always seems to point out when: I need my hair colored, I have a zit on my face, I have a salad dressing stain on my shirt from lunch or if for some reason (and no, I don't know why, nothing is wrong with me!) I look flushed or pale. It's really the strangest thing and I think she honestly thinks she's just making conversation or trying to be helpful. There is no obvious malicious intent there.

Here's an example. About a month ago I had a pimple near my neck. Not something I was too excited about but hey, I had my period. Whatever. Like I need to explain why I get zits. She asks me, in front of others in the newsroom, "What happened to your neck?" Here's the conversation that followed:

Me: "It's a zit."
Her: "Oh."

Here's another similar conversation:

Her: "You look really pale."
Me: "Ok. Not sure why."

End of conversation.

Here's one more:

Her: "Your face looks really red."
Me: "That's because I'm hot."
Her: "Oh."

End of conversation.

In sharp contrast, when someone at work (who is not a close friend) has some issues, like yellow armpit stains, a large zit on her face, a booger dangling from his nose, white deodorant on the sides of his sweater — stuff like that, I won't point it out. I notice it, I may snicker to myself or e-mail someone else so she can privately laugh with me, but rarely would I ever say anything.

Heck, I didn't even say anything when one of my bosses, who was eating peanuts, spewed a peanutty chunk onto my computer while he was talking to me. It was quite nasty but my lips were sealed. (Mainly to avoid getting struck with more debris, I guess.) I cleaned the mess off my computer with a tissue after he left my desk. That still grosses me out.

Although, when it involves something like lettuce in someone's teeth, it only seems polite to mention it. This fall my daughter and I were at church and chatting with a woman after Sunday School. It wasn't until we got to the car when Erika happened to mention that I have lipstick all over my front teeth AND that I had the lipstick all over my teeth when I was talking to people at church. She thought that was quite funny. I scrapped the lipstick from my teeth and admonished her for not helping her own mother out.

"C'mon, I birthed you," I told her.

She said she didn't want to interrupt me.

Fabulous.

So what type of person are you? Do you say something or have a "don't ask, don't tell" policy like I do? Is it just plain mean not to point out some of these things or is it much more polite to not say anything?

I'm not sure.

But if Heidi and DeLynn are reading this, I hope to God you let me know when I have lipstick on my teeth or eyeliner smeared under my eyes before I head out on an assignment.

The strange pod people

When my alarm went off at 4:50 a.m. this morning I sat up, stunned, not comprehending why the heck it was going off so dang early.

Even more surprising than the fact that I was up so early, I shocked myself by hauling my butt out of bed and dragging myself and Erika to the YMCA by 5:45 a.m. to work out.

Today was the first day of our BodyWorks Fitness Challenge, a five-week challenge where you earn points by following certain guidelines, like drinking 48 ounces of water a day, eating six servings of veggies and fruits each day and exercising.

My team, called the Flab Four, made it a goal to work out together at the Y early this morning. I managed to talk Erika into coming with me, so we were the Flab Five. :)

It was amazing to see so many people working out at 6 a.m. Who are these people?, I asked myself as I looked around the fitness room, my face red as a ripe tomato and sweat dripping from my forehead. Nearly every machine was taken.

I'm not sure if I'll head to the YMCA at that ungodly hour on a regular basis, but Erika said she had fun this morning, meeting my friends and workout buddies for a heart-healthy workout together so we might do it again.

Who knows? Maybe someday we'll be like those strange pod people I saw today, running like gazelles on the treadmills instead of me looking like a big sweaty ape trying not to fall off the elipical machine while switching to a new song on my iPod. :)

We're so great, we're so fine ...

... We're the Class of '89!"

I'm meeting up with my high school friends in a couple of weeks at our 20th annual Christmas party. We've been celebrating with our own girls' Christmas party since we were 15.

Christmas in February, you may ask. Well, now that many of us are married, have kids, busy jobs, etc., it's tough to meet around the holidays. January/February seems to work out the best.

Anyway, I stumbled upon our high school fight song on our high school Web site so I thought I'd pass it along for my '80s chicas so we can sing it when we're downing margaritas.

Here it is:

Pequot Lakes Patriots School Song

We’re loyal to you Pequot High

We’re red, white, and blue, Pequot High

We’ll back you to stand

Against the best in the land,

For we know you will stand, Pequot High

Rah, Rah!

So smash those blockades Pequot High

Go crashing ahead Pequot High

Our team is the famed protector

On team for we expect a Victory

from you, Pequot High

V-I-C-T-O-R-Y

Yea, Patriots Fight

So smash those blockades Pequot High!

Go crashing ahead Pequot High!

Our team is the famed Protector,

On team, for we expect a Victory

from you Pequot High.

A few of my favorite things ...

Often my co-workers will glance over at my cubicle and catch me chuckling to myself.

This can mean one of two things:

My friend Suze sent me an e-mail detailing her latest online dating disaster.
or
I'm reading one of my favorite blogs.
(or I've gone mad. This, too, is possible.)

A friend (you know who you are!) mentioned a favorite blogger of hers on her blogsite so I followed her link and fell in love with it, too.

So I thought I'd share the links to a few of my favorite writers I check out nearly every day:

• Mom-101, a New York City writer and mom.
• Suburban Turmoil, a Nashville writer and mom.
• Looky, Daddy!, a New York City writer and father of three (Thanks, Rebecca!)
• Cribsheet, a Star Tribune blog for Twin Cities moms and dads.
• SnarkSpot, chick lit author Jennifer Weiner's weblog.

Enjoy! :)

Welcome to the world, Izaak!

I thought I'd show off a photo of my new little cousin, Izaak, born Wednesday to my cousin Heather and her boyfriend, Todd.

Izaak Russell weighed in at 8 pounds, 1 ounce, and is 20-1/2 inches long.

An argument for state-mandated birth control

As an education reporter, I write a lot of stories about kids in schools.

Duh.

Well, I'm still constantly amazed at the parents out there who act as immature as their offspring. At the paper we get calls all the time from parents who want to complain about things that their children SAY have happened at school but the parents themselves never actually call the schools to check it out themselves. Instead, they call the newspaper to do the work for them — Drives me crazy.

Case in point: I've had to call two different principals at separate schools during the past year to check out a complaint from the same parent that the schools have run out of food in the cafeteria and her little darling went without a meal. ("Please, sir, may I have some more?" - Reminds me of "Oliver.") The truth was (and this was the same circumstance at both the middle school and high school) that the schools have 4-5 lunch lines of offerings for students, much different that the choices I had at PLHS back in the day (hot lunch drowning in gravy, salad bar or hard butter slathered between two slices of white bread. Who serves kids this kind of crap?).

Well, since the lunch ladies can't guess what meals students will be most hungry for that day (hamburger and fries or pizza or spaghetti or a sub sandwich, for example) then sometimes one line runs out before the others...but the point is, THERE IS ALWAYS FOOD TO BE EATEN THERE, it just might not be the chicken nuggets you've been craving all morning.

I had to argue with this parent on the phone, telling her what the high school principal told me. She swore her daughter "always" tells the truth and does not lie about things like this.

Another parent called my editor a couple of weeks ago to report that a bunch of students at a local high school were going to stage a walkout during a math class at a specific time to protest the unfair treatment and mental abuse of the teacher.

Puh-lease.

But yes, I had to waste my time tracking down this potential story, which didn't happen.

Another parent last fall during Homecoming called to tell me how her daughter called her during lunch and told her she had to go home and change her blue-and-white clothing and wash the school colors off her face, as did her friends, because school administrators weren't allowing them to show any school spirit during Homecoming Week.

After the principal stopped laughing at me, he said that it absolutely was not true.

So I guess my point is, there are probably many parents out there who do take an active role in their children's education and would call their teachers or principals immediately if they had any concerns they were being starved or mentally abused at school.

But why does it seem the irrational ones have the newspaper phone numbers on speed dial?

Birthdays in Heaven

I just noticed the date after I posted my previous blog entry — Jan. 11. It would have been my grandma Hester Knapp's 96th birthday today. She was 92 when she died July 2, 2003, of Alzheimer's.



My grandma had the best birthdate. She was born Jan. 11, 1911, or 1-11-11. One of my coworkers is hoping she'll die on her birthday so the dates on her grave marker match up, but I think having a cool birthdate is something you can actually enjoy — and brag about to others — your whole life. Who really cares what day you die — as long as you've led a happy, long life.

So grandma, I hope you're enjoying your birthday in Heaven. Every Jan. 11th I'll be thinking about you, and look forward to your 100th birthday four years from now.

I'll show you mine, if you show me yours ...

So I'm off to the dermatologist tomorrow to have him check out a strange mole on the side of my calf, something my ob/gyn was concerned about when I had an appt. a few weeks ago.

The problem is, I've actually been in the operating room when a doctor sawed off a chunk of someone's face once in order to remove the mole. I was there doing a story on skin cancer. I watched the blood oozing out of the incision site as he cut a square around the mole. They take more skin than you'd think when they do lob the mole off.

So now armed with this information — and flashbacks from the surgery — I'm hoping that I don't have to go through that tomorrow. I'm probably worrying for nothing, but I managed to get most of the newsroom chatting about moles today — and experiencing our own twisted adult version of "Show and Tell." My coworker Matt and I have strange moles located in nearly the exact same spot on our calves but his is much larger. How weird is that?

But we all concluded that it was even more strange that we know WAY too much about one another than is probably normal!