Writing, anyway. About balance.

I have a picture of Pookie when she was 5...as I look at it, I see a beautiful little girl with all her baby teeth in a gorgeous, full, lights-up-the-room smile, her hair dolled up diva-style, with nothing but fun on her face.  Love pours out of my heart for this little girl.  I think of how much she has grown up since that day and I think of all that she has been through and accomplished and I think about what five more years will do to grow her up.  I also think about who I must have been back then verses today and what five more years will bring for me. 

She's a whole lot of adorable, persistent, talented, smart, spirited, and truly just an amazing kid.  But we are seriously in the throws of sass.  And I am not a fan.

We are working on that magical word over here at Chez Jackson -  Balance.  I think it's hard in life as a general rule to find "the balance" - it's almost maybe even trendy to seek the elusive ... thing...{as if balance were a thing versus an act }... but we seek it. 

So where does balance play in to sass?  I think that as her mother, I must remain consistent with Pookie that we do not and will not tolerate poor treatment of others.  It doesn't present itself so much in what is said as it does with how it is said.  But it is often.  And it enflames me.

Add to that, a general lackadaisical attitude towards the basic concept of work.  I know we are not the first family in the world to deal with kids getting something out, using/eating/generally being responsible for it being out in one way or another, dropping it, then moving on without regard.  Yet, I can't stand it.  I feel like I am constantly going through the house picking up everyone else's junk.  Plus my own.  I busy myself cleaning one room only to turn around and see that the entire house is a disaster.  It makes my blood pressure rise.  There is no balance in fun vs. cleaning up the house when I am constantly cleaning the house.  And please don't tell me these days of little ones are fleeting and the housework can wait - because that requires balance too, doesn't it?  Or we would all be eating dry rice from a box while wearing ... well, nothing, neck deep in plastic McDonald's toys.

So lately, I have been seeking balance.  A sense of everyone working together towards the relative success and happiness of our home and family.  I have settled on nothing.  We have tried rewards and punishments revolving around electronics, cash, goods, services, kissing your sister smack on the lips (forced affection - eegads!).  I am almost constantly reinventing the wheel but the wheel is square.  Or maybe a quadrangle (using those fourth grade math skills, baby! ... I digress).  I insist that each kid has a 'zone' to clean and a chore to own, and the responsibility of picking up their things plus putting away their clothes.  Then tonite, stuff comes falling out of the closet.  That we spent the entire afternoon cleaning yesterday.  And I am undone.

I lose my balance.  Or is that my cool?  {Is cool a direct correlation to balance?}  The work of caring, managing, and maintaining this household - and imagine if there were more people about, or if the house were bigger!!! - is daunting on the best days.  Sometimes the little things - boots, a sleeping bag, and a sweatshirt shoved into the closet are the proverbial straw that broke it, you know?

So I spend the entire night folding, sorting, and placing laundry in respective rooms instead of typing up pages and pages of directions and requirements and expectations of what should, is, and will be done before and after school.  And then I blog about it. 

And I wonder ~ about balance.  About writing.  About getting it right, what 'right' is, and just how do you get there, exactly? 

And I think it probably starts with sleep.

edited to add:  Seriously, I just clicked over to check my emails before heading to bed and what do I see but an article from Martha Stewart's daughter lashing out at her mother for expecting her to be 'perfect' throughout her childhood.  And I get that I am a total perfectionist.  So I struggle regularly, as well, with finding the balance between asking too much and asking too little of my kids.  I really do.  And some day, I want them to read all this and just realize that I was always trying to do my best - and I only expect them to do their best, as well.  But sometimes your best means actually putting your sleeping bag, sweater, and boots away.

And then again.  Sleep.

Static

I am certain that a day or two from now I would write something pithy or cute or inspiring or funny.  Two and three days pass while I wait for eloquence to pass from my head to my fingertips, but the days run together and today becomes tomorrow time and time again.

Nevertheless, today begs for words, even if they are too mundane to express the things of today.  Hopeful that they make sense to someone.  Even if it is only me in 20 years.

A fire returned today that had gone cold.  And though I am strong and intelligent and an advocate and stay on top of things, some days I just feel beaten and dragged down and weak and done.  I know Who wins in the end, but sometimes it is dark there in the middle.  Maybe it's static on a TV from the 50s - sort of dark and light at the same time.  Black and white. 

None of this even matters.  I want to photograph my fridge and tell my kids how my head swims when they all talk at the same time and how my heart swells when Mattie tells me he befriended "Jermy" today and won Presidential for doing serious push-ups.  And T who does his math unlike other 4th graders who come up with "30" by adding 29 to 1 but T figures 5,962 divided by 16 minus 342.625 is 30 and Sash plays with her imaginary friend and tells her, "It's OK, noboby likes me either" {  :(  } and Pookie is healed and it's still static but it is clear.  I have to write this blog.  Life isn't hi-def.  It's full of static.  But these words - though they are senseless - are sometimes everything we have to bring in the channels more clearly.

Thank you God.

Day 12: 2.05

It has been 12 long days since, starry eyed and full of hope and anticipation, we crossed the threshold of St. Louis Children's Hospital for Pookie's cath. I might say it's been 7 long days. The first five or so were more of an adventure.

The first few days we took walks to the garden and scoured the gift shop. Pookie finished homework and watched tv for fun.

These last few days even the glitter of hospital life has worn it's welcome for her. The garden is there and the gift shop is blasé. Homework is boring and so is tv.

But this morning, as I trudged past the nurse's station with my frozen mocha in my hand and two four cheese souffles in my bag from my now-habitual early morning run to Bread Co. right off campus, I asked with no regard for hoping, "are the results back?"

The nurse's smile was untelling...but in retrospect, it existed, which had to be a sign. "2.05," she crooned.

The numbers meant everything to us in these last two weeks. The numbers inside her heart that we came to fix. The numbers inside her blood that indicate how soon we can go home. Numbers.

We leave today without knowing much though many have asked - and I really do thank you for your continual prayers and messages. Pookie's opened all her cards now - and pretty much thinks she's a rock star.

But again, in terms of what we know, the message is unclear. With all due respect to the system here at the hospital - and let me say again, our experience has been stellar - there are a lot of cooks in the pot and we have purposely chosen to talk to our Head Chef. We see him on Wednesday, and I will update as I am able at that point.

What I know for now is that we are going home today, as soon as the white coats lay eyes on her. We are packed and ready to go. Pooks is calling all her friends to let them know and I am looking forward to a beautiful fall weekend. At home.

Thanks, and God bless,
Karin

Katydid

A katydid.  That's, apparently, what these bugs are called.  I called Pooks out into the garage one afternoon to show her this amazing creature that God made for us to see.  "I wonder what it is," I marveled.

"It's a katydid," my daughter responded without hesitation.  "I read about it in a book."

That is one of the things I absolutely adore about my kids.  They love science.  They love to read every book they can get their hands on that teaches them about weather, nature, the earth, the stars ~ life beyond themselves.  It's one thing that majorly frustrates me when my son's second grade teacher announces at curriculum night that they will be studying only 7 chapters from their very expensive, super thick science text books filled with lots of amazing facts to discover.  But less than half the material will be covered in the book.

Life. 

Whether it is our life or life beyond ourselves, it is a precious gift.  I am reminded of that this week while I wait here in the hospital with Pookie to go back home to our real world.  A world where we don't spend all day watching TV and dealing with blood draws and being woken over and over all night long and fearing what the future might bring.  No.  I want to go home where we can study the various critters that fly into our garage and make too many batches of pancakes with chocolate chips, strawberries, and whipped cream.  I want to go home and live our lives.

Thankfully, it sounds like that's exactly what we get to do.  Tomorrow.

Thank you, thank you, thank you for your calls, your emails, your instant messages, your Facebook posts.  Pookie and I have enjoyed reading every last one.  {She thinks she's a pretty big deal ;)}  The ballooning that was attempted in her heart did not quite work the way we'd hoped.  That doesn't mean it won't work entirely, it just means for now we haven't made a lot of progress.  And it means that Pookie still will not be allowed to run.  Or ride her bike.  Or participate in PE (to be honest, she's not too bummed about that last one.)  And it does mean that she will be having open heart surgery.  Number 7.  (I told her I may have to rename the blog.  And have another kid, if 6 wasn't going to be enough for her...)  The question will be in how long we wait.  For more answers, we go back to the cardiologist in 2 weeks.

In the meantime, we go home and covet the gift of life just a little bit more than we did last week.  And we thank God for the outpouring of love we've felt this week.

We are truly blessed indeed.

~kj

When Two Worlds Collide

Normal Life.

Heart Life.

Yesterday my little girl worked things out on the playground.  After a year of struggling, Momma stepped in and talked to Momma.  The girls decided to speak together alone.  They demonstrated respect, responsibility, and maturity.  I pray that it leads them in the right direction.

Tomorrow, the doctor will work things out in the operating room.  After months of struggling.  Momma stepped in and talked to Doctor.  He decided this needed to be done.  He demonstrated wisdom, experience, and compassion.  I pray that it leads her in the right direction.

Will you join me in praying for my pookie today?  Her heart has not been healthy and the doctor feels that widening her aortic valve can alleviate her symptoms and allow her heart to function better.  She will be admitted today to run preliminary tests.  Tomorrow, via the cath lab, they will be ballooning her valve.

Thank you.

~k

Last Birthday Post of the Year {I promise}

We let birthdays play on and on and on around here.  At least it feels that way sometimes!  My man and I went for a run/bike ride tonite and I took a very deep breath in and out, then said, "I am so happy this weekend is over!" 

It's not that I don't love celebrating with my kids.  And it really isn't that their parties even require too much work anymore.  It's just...stressful.  I don't know why.  Probably the pressure of the time crunch more than anything, I suppose.  Peppered with a nagging fear of the real potential for chaos (not a fan). 

Yet, both evenings went off without a hitch - the boy's party Friday night and the girl's Saturday.  All said and done, 10 hours allotted for each due to early morning prior engagements for us to fulfill (certainly adding their fair share to the over-all feeling of being crunched for time!!!).

Nevertheless, Tommy's version of a 10th birthday party, complete with Domino's bacon pizza and Pokemon cake, as requested:

I love the dimmed light, cake on fire photo look:

Actually, I think half the boys at the table breathed out heavily just to save Pikachu's li'l plastic nose from melting.  And yes, I really did re-light the candles because they spontaneously blew them out too fast!  (See the worried expression over there?  What are you doing, Woman?!  He'll burn! Oh the humanity!  ;))

I consented to having the boys bring their DS game systems to the party.  We let them play them during a portion of the evening  ~ Tommy was super thrilled!!!  And the boys were quiet and well-behaved all night. 

I always love the 'whole room' shots...

We topped off the morning with pancakes with strawberries, chocolate chips and whipped cream, bacon, sausage, OJ and milk. 

Yum!

We are seriously blessed to have these boys in our boy's life.

On to Pookie's party!  Her friends arrived to pizza and cake, as well.  But, Pooks is more of a fluffy and furry girl vs, lightning bolts and fighting Pikachus:

She insisted on Hello, Cupcake's pupcakes, just like Sashi had at her first birthday.

I even taught the girls how to make these li'l puppers themselves!

Again.  Yum!  ...And the obligatory dimmed light, candle lit photo, cuz I really do just love them:

OK, I actually didn't completely lose the Pikachu tail-burning phenomena, did I? 

Pookie's wish was to watch Soul Surfer with her friends.  She is a HUGE fan of that movie ~ we can't wait for A Dolphin Tail to come out later this month!

It was a classic slumber party, with girls up watching TV til way too late at night.  Whereas all the boys were up and ready to eat in the wee early morning hours, these girls had to be called twice three times to their breakfast (of pancakes, chocolate chips, strawberries and whipped cream, bacon and sausage, OJ and milk ... ... it's down to a science, ladies.)

Still, we are just as blessed to have these girls' in our girl's life:

And now, on to the last days of summer and beginning of fall....
~kJ

Friends Since Seventh Grade

When I was little, my mom and I lived in a farming/college town in northern Missouri.  My mom was a real estate agent there.  We lived in a big two story house on a busy thorough-fare through town.  We had plum trees in our backyard and wild raspberries.  We used to keep a key hanging just inside the garage door so I could let myself in after school.

At some point, maybe 6th grade, I think, my mom got a job two hours away - in Kansas City.  It was a good, steady job with benefits.  She began commuting there five days per week.  And yes, I said it was two hours away.

I remember during this time setting my old white, buzzer alarm clock for 4:00 in the morning and sitting, dazed, on the edge of the toilet seat with my eyes closed while my mom french braided my hair.  On the days I wanted a french braid.  Then I'd go back to my room, reset my alarm for a more normal hour, very carefully sleep so as not to mess up the braid, then get up again when my alarm went off to get my breakfast and make my own lunch, knowing my mom was almost at the office - me in Maryville and her in Kansas City. 

This went on for quite some time because I didn't want to move.  And my mom never made me.  She just woke up day after day and drove hours and hours to make a living.  It's just what she did.

Then one day my best friend Sara told me she was moving to Cowgill, Missouri.  The next day I told my mom I was ready to move to Kansas City.

I remember my first day at Pleasant Lea Junior High.  I was way out of my league.  The young lady who showed me around - who happened to be cousins of one of my classmates in Maryville! - wore a starched white cotton top with a pale yellow peasant skirt.  And matching pale yellow pumps.  And yellow fashion earrings.

I wore a white romper with tri-color buttons on my shoulders that I'd sewn myself and who knows what on my feet.

Luckily, God had mercy on me that day.  Or, at least, within three days He did.  Because on my third day at my new school, I met Cherrie (pronounced like the little red fruit - "cherry").  Cherrie and I were inseparable best friends every day for the rest of our lives.  Well, at least until we were juniors in high school.  And then we did the unthinkable.  We let a boy come between us.  And then Cherrie moved away our senior year.  But during freshman week at college, we found each other again.  We also found our husbands.  And through the years, we found a kid.  Or two.  Or eight. 

This weekend, Cherrie and her family came and spent some time with us.  I'm telling you.  I am the luckiest girl in the world to have her as my friend. 

Love you girl!
~k