6710 Grand

Ike has taken a liking to my new job.  He's absolutely OBSESSED with cows and pigs.  I let him look at a photo of Duncan on my phone once and now that's all he wants to do whenever he sees me scrolling through my phone.  He'll climb up on the couch next to me, force his way onto my lap and say "piggies?"  If I say no, he responds with "Cows?"  Because I must be looking at one or the other.   Last week during the big snowstorm, Indraloka posted live videos of the cows in the snow.  Ike would watch for HOURS if I let him.  I was trying to get a few things done over the weekend so I was down in my office.  He would NOT let me do anything on my own so finally, I relented, put on the videos and walked away.  I got much more done in the kitchen.  

 God is my salvation.  I will trust and not be afraid.  Isaiah 12:2 Success is important to me.   Success in work, parenting, marriage, life in general—I want to be successful.   I work hard at it, sometimes making unrealistic demands of myself.   I set a goal (to burn 1500 calories a day more than I eat; to bake 25 kinds of Christmas cookies during the busiest season of the year; to raise $2500 every day for my organization—because that’s what we spend; to not get frustrated with my kids) and push push push to get it done.   Sometimes I make it (a lot of times actually) and sometimes I don’t.   When I do, I feel good—like I can take on more and keep it going.   But when I don’t, I internalize the failure.   I forget that sometimes the goal isn’t realistic or that there are things beyond my control that keep me from hitting a target.   It’s never easy when it doesn’t work out the way I see it in my head. Sometimes I forget that my life is hard.   (Isn’t everyone’s?)   I’m not inter

 It's my favorite time of day--the early morning.  I'm awake but no one else is.  The house is quiet.  The coffee is fresh.  I can cuddle up on the couch with a blanket and a book, watch something not animated, or sneak down to my office to unload a few thoughts or ideas.   It doesn't last long, but I savor every moment.  It's the time of day when I can, for a short while, stop being mom and wife and just be Robin.

 They're sort of everywhere.  On the counter, filling the freezer, in the cookie jar, on platters.  Half-finished in the fridge and on baking sheets.  Everywhere! Cookies. Lots and LOTS of cookies. It's like this every year.  We pick 25 different kinds and set out to bake one every day starting on December 1.  It started out much more modestly--only 3 types back in 2006.  Then I found a cookie cookbook and it went up to 11.  It's grown steadily until I finally put a stake in the ground at 25.  One a day until Christmas.  And that's what we do.  The girls love helping.  Everyone loves eating.   I don't eat them really--maybe one or two here and there but mostly, I just bake them.  This is the busiest time of the year for me (big shock!) not just with my own family holiday preparations but at work too.  Fundraising hits its peak in December so I'm going going going more than usual.  Baking calms me down.   I have a pile of ingredients in a corner of my kitchen: 25

 Yep.  Did it.  We adopted dogs.  Not just one--two.  What on Earth was I thinking?   I know what I was thinking.  I was thinking about all of the amazing childhood memories having a dog gave me.  I was thinking of Iris and her sweet note asking us to consider one (she's being raised by a fundraiser, what can I say?).  I was thinking of the many, many animals needing homes.   And so we found Pookie (I HATE this name) and Lucy (Also one I would not have chosen given our recent loss).  They're a bonded pair who's former human died.  There were five dogs in the home and the other three found homes.  Pookie (the Pookster, Pook Pook, and often just Puppy) and Lucy (Luce Luce and sometimes Lucy Lu) are always together.  He's ok without her, but she's NOT ok without him.  So far, we're getting along well.  They're older dogs and not really puppies which is good.  Some kind of chihuahua mix, they're quite small so they seem like puppies.   Most days, they hang o

 It always breaks my heart.  When love ends for someone, I’m sad.  And then I’m scared.  Anytime I hear about a divorce I panic.  Sometimes it’s a celebrity but sometimes it’s someone I know.  Family friends and relatives that have been a part of my life since I was born are now gone.  Or maybe just different.  A celebrity couple whose love story I could wrap my arms around and squeeze are now separating.  An author of books about living life as a Christian working mom I’ve devoured and tried to internalize reveals that her marriage is ending.  It happens over and over.   No one is safe.   And that means I’m not either.   Every time it happens, I want to find my husband and climb into his arms and hold on tight.   I want to check in and make sure we’re ok.   I want to remind him (and myself) that I’m desperately in love with him and if he ever decides to leave, I’m coming too. Sometimes I’m amazed and awed at my marriage.   “We’re doing it right!” I say and pat myself on the back.

She sat next to me for 3 hours as we drove together.  I’d never spent so much time with a live chicken before.  Peggy O, as she’d been named, wasn’t going to make it.  We all knew it.  Maybe she knew it too.  She was an elderly bird—one we’d rescued years before.  She’d lived a long and happy life—much longer and happier than anyone might have expected.  But now, her leg was in such pain that her quality of life was almost nothing.  She was in constant pain and there was nothing more that could be done for her.  She needed her pain eased.   The only way to do that was to end her life.   But that, it seemed, was easier said than done.   I’ve had dogs and cats—dogs that needed to be similarly released and a cat whose life ended very suddenly and without explanation.   It’s never easy, but it’s also not hard—not like this was.   Peggy was hurting.   But there was no veterinarian who would see her—they just don’t see chickens. Why not?   Who knows?   This was not the day I was expe

I’ve never been a cat person. Growing up we had dogs—once three at a time. I didn’t get my first cat until I moved into my brother’s house with him for my last year of college. I wanted a dog. But he already had 2 and was strongly opposed to me having my own. So, I said I’d get a cat. No way! He was convinced it would find itself in the ventilation.  Um…  But I got one anyway. He was a blackish-brownish boy that a friend of mine gave me as a kitten. Her cat had babies and these ones needed homes. I named him Jean-Claude. He was a great cat—full of personality. We got along great. Until I moved to Kansas City. I was sure it would be a bad idea for him not to have a roommate. I found another friend who’s cat had kittens and Oberon was brought home. Let me just say these two gents never really got along. We had occasion to rescue other cats in Phoenix. Someone had left 4 of them outside our daycare center—in July—in Arizona—with no food or water. Luckily one of the moms

I love books. No big secret there. I've been an avid reader for as long as I can remember. I would always pick the big books--the ones with 4-500 pages so I could dive in and stay a while. I've never been one to read a single book at a time. Even now, there are 8 or 9 on my "currently reading" shelf. I love real books--I love the smell and the feel. But I'm not one to pass up an audio version either. I have the Kindle, the iPod, the personal library, the library fines--all the signs of a book lover. I do not appologize for this. One of my most memorable birthdays was when I was nine or ten and my dad took me to B. Dalton and gave me free reign. Pick 10, he'd said. Ten! Ten new books! There were a few series I'd picked out--Sweet Valley Twins, The Babysitters Club, stuff like that. But the one I felt most excited about was the Tell Tale Heart and Other Writings by Edgar Allen Poe. I still have that book. It's a bit worse for wear, and mi

It’s 4:33 and the sunrise alarm clock that is supposed to wake me up naturally is blaring orange light into my bedroom.  I have no idea how to turn it off because the 946 page instruction manual remains unread in my “to read” folder.  But it doesn’t matter.  Ike is crying and it’s time to get up anyway.  I pry myself out of bed, throw on my gym clothes and head downstairs.  The coffee pot is brewing.   I debate having a cup before my run but as I diaper my baby and snuggle him back to bed I know it’s not a smart choice.   One cup leads to seven and that means my morning run won’t happen.   And it MUST happen. Baby is back down for at least another hour so I head to the basement where my office and gym are waiting for me.   I’m immediately reminded of the things I meant to finish last night but didn’t and am momentarily tempted to tackle them now.   No.   You MUST run.   I open the windows in the gym and turn on two fans.   I start slow (ok, really slow for you runners) at 3.7 mph

 I'm so disappointed.  Someone famous literally said "here's what I want my headstone to read" and no one did it. I'm not a science fiction fan.  Not specifically.  I am, however, a fan of great writing.  So, I've been reading this book On Being a Writer  that's full of interviews of mostly old white (and now dead) men on what their life is like (er... was).  It's not exciting.  I'm not getting tons out of it.   One of the interviews was of Ray Bradbury.  There was a lot of blah blah blah about how he's great and his books are great.  Yeah yeah.  I get it.  But what I found really cool was what he said he wanted on his headstone when he died: "Here lies a teller of tales.  If he had lived ten centuries ago, you would have walked down a street in old Baghdad or in some Middle Eastern city and there among the menders of copper and the shapers of clay turned into a Street of the Story Tellers and found him seated there among the tellers of ta

 Ike is a talker.  More of a shouter really.  There's no wondering about gender stereotypes--he is ALL boy ALL the time.  It's a different world raising a son.  He barrels head first into whatever he sets his sights on.  Sometimes it's the couch.  Sometimes it's the cat.  I suspect neither one of them likes it much but he just keeps going. One thing that's the same though are the things he says.  Sometimes we laugh and sometimes we cover our mouths (and his) in embarrassment.   A few weeks ago we were in Target.  He's the only one who doesn't have to wear a mask.  Most of the time, I'm glad for it.  Not this time.  I wanted to plant one on him and never take it off.  As we're walking through the store, he just starts yelling.  This isn't new.  He's not making words, just OOOOOOOHHHHHHH!  OOOOOOOOHHHHHH!  Sometimes it's jabber but mostly just yelling.   Until it's not just yelling.  It's him yelling that word.  A word he NEVER hear

 I’m reading a book about life lessons.  The lessons themselves aren’t really memorable.  I can’t even think of one of them.  Of course, I’m only halfway through the book so maybe it gets better.  In one of the chapters, the author is talking about growing up in a far north part of the world.   It’s cold.   It’s dark most of the day.   He describes how a cat’s greatest worry in winter is not being run over but rather finding a nice warm engine of a recently driven car, falling asleep there and waking up too late after the driver decides to make another trip.   Yikes!   He talks about the dangers of driving on cold, slippery roads.   At one point he describes a sign that reads: “Be Alert…the world needs more lerts.” I read this and laughed.   A big belly laugh.   A laugh that required me to throw my head back.   It’s not that it’s really even that funny.   But it’s totally something my dad would say.   And THAT’s what made laugh and laugh and laugh.

It’s kind of a new thing-at least I think it is.   The Anti-Hero.   It started out with Breaking Bad.   Who roots for a meth kingpin?   Well, everyone when he’s a cancer patient chemistry teacher who is just trying to provide for his family when he meets his eventual death.   Then there was the Sons of Anarchy.   We seemed to be willing to forgive them a bit more for their gun running because they were against the drug trade.   You know, moral domestic terrorists.   Now I have Queen of the South.   This cartel lord with a heart.   (I say that like I know what I’m talking about…).   Teresa is convinced there’s a better way to manage the cocaine trade.   Um, well, maybe, but people are still dying.   I guess if you think it’s their choice to die, then it’s OK.   I don’t know.   But it sure is a whole lot of fun to watch.

I hate running. I do.  I don't apologize for that.  It is, however, my cardio of choice.  Mostly because I can buy a treadmill and not have to think too much about it.  I run 3 miles a day, 5 days a week.  In my peak, I ran 3.5 miles a day  But post baby 4 I feel good about where I am.  I have a book on running for women.  It's...interesting.  It talks about slow runs.  You know, the ones where you maybe run at a 10 minute mile or a bit faster.  Um, what???  I run a 12 minute mile...and I'm struggling!  I can barely make it!  I feel like I'm sprinting for 40 minutes!  What do you MEAN this is a "jog"????  Did I mention that I hate running? So, why do I do it?  Why do I torture myself?  I honestly don't know.  I've tried buying elliptical machines and I can never find one that doesn't hurt my feet.  I enjoy walking but it never feels like enough intensity to make a difference.  So, I run.  Ugh.  I love the feeling of accomplishment when

Productivity is a luxury when you're quarantined with 4 children.  I try to stay focused and efficient and, in reality, if you were to isolate the time I actually spend working (on my job, that is), I probably am pretty productive for the time I get to spend.  Problem is, it's not focused time and it's not big chunks of time.  It's frustrating to be sure, so when I got an email about a 15 minute productivity webinar (free!) I was all in!  This could be great!  I could get a tip or two that would help me.  At the appointed time, I logged into the Zoom meeting and eagerly awaited.  I was spending valuable nap time on this so I had high hopes. I was disappointed.  Really disappointed. It started out promising, like most webinars.  Separate what you spend your time on into four buckets: Important and urgent important, not urgent urgent, not important not urgent not important Big reveal--spend your time on buckets 1 and 2.  Um. Ok.  Well, that's not poss

Monday.    Quarantine day 45…I think.   It feels like day 68,532.   I’ve been awake since 5am but lack the will to get out of bed.   It’s now 7am and Isabelle has crawled under my covers.   I kick the cat off of me and whisper in her ear “ready to get up?”.   She is and we push the blankets aside.   I used to get up early.   I still have alarms set.   But the hour comes and I ask myself why bother?   It will all still be there in a few hours.   So I try and try to sleep in.   It just ends up feeling like wasted time. Bebo gets dressed while I put on gym clothes.   She puts on whatever she feels like wearing.   Sometimes it’s a fancy church dress.   Sometimes it’s her Supergirl outfit.   We go downstairs and start the coffee just as Ike is waking up.   Iris is eating breakfast.   “Can I have breakfast mom?” Bebo asks.   I tell her I’ll get up Baby Ike first and they can eat together.   Baby is changed, dressed and plopped into his high chair.   Coffee is still brewing as they