These Happy Fall Days

Posted today as a guest post on www.WichitaCityMom.com.  

These fall days are falling away far faster than planned, and my brain is swirling like leaves in the street. So before my thoughts are dissipated by my neighbor’s incredibly loud leaf blower (why, neighbor…why?!) I should jot down a few happy thoughts from a particularly busy week.

Behold, things that I love this week (in no particular order):

• This windows-open, fresh breeze weather. I want to bottle and shelve you for February.
• Being the mom of boys on picture day. One green shirt, one striped shirt, two pairs of jeans. Done.
• $1.99 Gladiola bunches at Dillons. For less than four dollars I feel like I live in a tropical wonderland. Or at least a much nicer home.
• The “Assembles in only minutes!” claim on Roman’s new bike box. Two grown men’s sanity and one hundred minutes later… 

• Roman’s new bike, a way-early birthday gift from Grandma and Grandpa.

• The new recycled clothing place in town (Fashion Bar, 21st & Woodlawn). Locally owned, unreal prices, and a potential new drop off location for everything but my leisure wear, which will only be taken from my cold, lifeless body.
• Evolution Futbol Club (EFC), Ben’s soccer program. They teach the value of real skills and the importance of sportsmanship. Naturally then, we try to play it cool on the sidelines. But, what, am I made of stone?! We all went bananas when Ben scored (three times!) last Saturday. 

• Dr. Kumar, the boys’ pediatrician since day 1, even though I don’t always love what he has to say. (Wednesday: “Ben’s hearing is fine, so it must just be a problem of his listening.”)
• My in-laws, who headed back to Denver on Monday, after an extraordinary food- and wine-fueled weekend. I adore them more with every visit, and double that for Ben and Roman. In fact, I wonder how they got into their car after Roman’s pleading: “Grandma, please just don’t leave.”

 

And while we’d love to be closer, their visits always help me re-open my eyes to what a great life Wichita offers us. And if ever I forget, I’ll just open that late-September weather bottle and take a swig.

Loser's Back!

Because I'm an trainer, because I'm an eater, because I'm a sentimental fool...I do love a new season of The Biggest Loser.

Or maybe it's just because I'm a loser.

But last night's was everything I love: tough workouts, serious whining, a new twist on the same ol' excuses (blaming divorce and Hurricane Katrina for your weight gain?) and contestants falling from still-moving machines.

Oh, and lots and lots of crying. So very much crying. But let's be honest; I'd cry too if I were on a 1,200-calorie/day diet.

Anyway, it's an entertaining, very teamwork-oriented season so far and, while I'll probably be fast-fowarding through 90 percent of each episode's fluff, it's always nice to see people get healthy the old fashioned way...through exercise, calorie counting, and a gazillion-dollar production budget (did the trainers really have to arrive by individual helicopters?!).

Back here at our ranch, we've had our own diet and exercise drama. I've hurt my back, possibly from overdoing it, but more likely from underdoing back exercises.

So I looked very much the part of an "oh, my baaaack!" old woman in Ben's lunchroom on Monday. I had no idea the strength required to be a lunch lady, hauling 100 lbs. of coleslaw to be distributed in 1/4 cup servings. 

Ben got a kick out of having us there though, possibly just to help open his banana; Roman walked the aisles flirting with the older ladies (the women of K-8); and I just can't get enough of the uniformed, please-and-thank-you'ing kids. 

Then, as I smothered Ben with kisses (he'll still allow it, so you bet I'll do it!) his friend Braden asked, "Are you Ben's mom?" Well, I should hope so.

I'll be back at it next week to dish up another delicacy ("taco burger" says the menu. Did I miss a merger?). In the meantime, I need to get back into lunch lady shape, so I'm off to fix my back the old fashioned way: stretching, Advil, whining and wine-ing.

Weather 180

Wichita, please accept my sincerest apologies for bitching about the weather for 90 straight days.

Okay, make that five straight years.

After staying north of 100 degrees since the snow melted, you've redeemed yourself with this week's heavenly 80-degree highs and light wind. 

For myself, it means a 180-degree attitude adjustment. (And new conversation topics, thank heavens.) More importantly, we are once again an active, happy family with fresh air breezing through the house, despite Anthony's fear that lead paint chips will blow from the windowsills and fall into the kids' cereal bowls.

We can be outdoors long enough  to watch a soccer game...

...and run our hands through the breeze without fear of heat combustion. (That's Romy's hand on the way home from the park.)

So, dear Wichita weather, please stay as long as you'd like. It makes a girl feel right at home.

Don'cha Know?!

"Are you from Minnesota? Or Canada?" I was asked yesterday.

Eh?

The asker: an otherwise quiet Kenyan man who takes my 5:30 a.m. class twice a week. And all I could do was respond with my own questions:

• Do I seem kind enough to be from Minnesota? Because I am not.
• Do I tolerate extreme cold like the Canadians? Ask me in February.
• Do I elongate my Os and lose the ends of words? No-o-o weh.

The culprit, I think, is one of two things: I'm at a loss for words when coaching exercisers at oh-five-thirty ("Go-o-o!" Pause. "Go-o-o!") or, more likely: my California accent is colliding with my Wichita one.

Now, I hold firm that Californians don't really have accents (Valley excepted, of course, but that's a caricature. And all teenagers totally sound like that, BTW.) Indeed, don't Californians have the intonation and cadence that newscasters strive for? If anything, we might be a little free-flowing with slang and, perhaps, a little relaxed.

Wichita, on the other hand, has the most indistinguishable - and incredibly wide-ranging - version of an accent. Sometimes it's just a "y'all" peppered into a conversation. No biggie. Warm and inclusive, actually. But in its most extreme form, it's like a slow, mumbled Texas-light.

Has my relaxed Californian mixed with mumbled Texan to give me never-ending vowels?

Eh, since a lot of Wichitans sound just like me, maybe I just need to have one more 5 a.m. cup of coffee to keep my words nimble. And varied, for that matter. 

Either way, I'll keep ya posted. Here's to a relaxing three-day'er ahead.

P.S. Speaking of relaxing, Roman found a great use for my resistance band today. Better here than around my legs, no?!

Sappy, Silly, School

This was a banner week around here, as Ben and Roman started kindergarten and preschool, respectively.

And the headline on that banner?! "MOM CRIES ONLY ONCE!"

Granted, it was a full-blown, shoulder-shaking sob, but I put on my shades, got it all out, then moved on.

And the boys are moving on too, with only slight hesitation. Ben's thrilled with the four-recess schedule, but is struggling with the everyday nature of it all ("We have to go back again?!"). Also, he asks me to announce his arrival every morning ("Uh, Mrs. Wiebe, Ben's here..."), but I'm sure each day will get easier.

Roman, on the other hand, is already running the preschool. He's fearless, if slightly smitten with the lovely Mrs. Wilson.

My biggest struggle (and I have several) is getting used to the schedule, which is alternately crazy-busy and thumb-twiddling-slow. One moment I'm doing 100 things (poorly), then I'm looking around for an activity and settling on scrubbing my kitchen ceiling. Poorly.

But I'm sure things will even out. We'll iron out our wrinkles (bedtimes, belt-buckling, homework, shoe tie-ing) and have another sappy, silly week.

Here are a few pictures:

The boys march off to school together...

Roman calls Anthony to tell him about his preschool day...

 

Roman high-fives Mrs. Wilson (she gives them the option: handshake, hug or high-five)...

Ben, his giant box of school supplies, and Mrs. Wiebe...

And, finally, kindergarten pick up in the wagon...

Off to do it all...again! 

Summer Lovin'...

...happened so fa-ast. How can summer be over in 12 hours?!

Tomorrow at 8 sharp, we turn Ben over to the Catholics for Kindergarten (Roman and Pre-school are Tuesday), but to close out summer and keep me from crying, we packed in a few of our favorite summer things:

Homemade popsicles to cool the boys and torture Reno the dog:

Our weekly Thiessen pool date:

 Our almost-daily Genesis pool time:

Two photo notes: 

1. No, we're not in the ghetto as the background suggests. Genesis is just awaiting a new fence after a summer storm knocked down the old one. Thanks for the beautiful background to my summer, Genesis!

2. Yes, there is more than one chair at the pool, but this is how the boys like to hang out between swimming stints. Mmmm...relaxing!

Our 12 hours are already a-fleeting (along with my emotional stability), so I'll end it on a light note; big changes coming this week for my not-so-little boys as they start their educational adventure.

And without them to bother 24/7, I'll fill my schedule with our other boy of summer. Reno, get your running shoes; you'll be a busy dog.

Cars, Boys and Tunes

How lucky I'll be if these sweet boys grow up to be like Anthony.

And, by that, I mean they'll willingly drive a decades-old Pontiac Grand Am and be reasonably skilled at its maintenance:

Yup, it's been a big month for car troubles around here; Anthony had a crack (or something) in his manifold (or something). Twice. Then my Jeep's a/c went out. Thrice.

But we had them fixed because (1) we're determined to enjoy a no-car-payment existence for a little while longer and (2) we've found an incredibly honest mechanic at National.

Also, (3) Anthony has a "til death do us part" vow with that Pontiac. He's driven it for something like 12 years, despite its lack of seat cushion, a side mirror or any sex appeal whatsoever. And while I try to match his minimalist ways, I can't help but hope each morning: Will today be the day someone steals that thing from outside of my house? Please?

But until then, our "we're not poor, but we drive like we are" attitudes (an actual quote from Anthony) will keep us from the new car lot. That is, unless Roman has his way; he stated from my backseat, "Mom, you need to buy a new car so you have better songs."