Indiana: A Photo Review

That's me... getting ready to roast marshmallows while everyone else sets up camp. A girl must have her priorities straight!

Ellie and Jimmy

Great Uncle Dick, Aunt Penny, Kim, Maddy

Holly, Kate, Steve, Ellie, Jimmy, Kim

Steve's Aunt Penny (and my fellow Twilight fan)

Maddy...another Edward Cullen fan!

Steve's brother Jim and his Great Uncle Dick
Steve's sister Missy

Crazy girls!

Beach Party

David doing his Elvis moves on the trampoline

Steve's sister Carmen

Summer is a Place

A few months ago, some girls from my church were talking about our favorite summer memories. We realized that for each of us, there was a place that represented summer and all the good things that come with the season. For my friend Judy, it was a place on the Bay. Lori and Jamie each remembered lakes near their hometowns where they made summer memories. For me, summer is the beach or boating on a lake two hours north of here or lifeguarding at a lake near my home. Do you see the connection? Water. Summer is a lake or a beach or the bay.

For Steve, summer is a place on the water in Indiana …Lake James or Lake Pleasant or Crooked Lake. He spent a week on a lake in Indiana every summer until he was 12. Some of his very best childhood memories are of those vacations in Indiana. That’s where he reconnected with his Midwestern cousins and spent time with his Grandad, where he ate Tom’s Donuts and learned to water ski.

It is those memories that led us back to Indiana over the weekend. We packed up the wee small children, loaded the back of the truck with pillows, coolers, marshmallow skewers, and bathing suits, and made the long trek west…in the middle of the night….with very little sleep.

Our destination was Angola, Indiana. We made the trip as part of a caravan – three cars, four grown siblings, two spouses, eight kids, and a dog. I could feel Steve’s excitement the minute we crossed the Indiana border. He loves this place. He loves the memories that come flooding back. He loves the people who share those memories with him.

This trip was very different than those vacations from 25+ years ago. We only stayed for two nights, instead of six. We stayed at a campground instead of a rented cottage on the lake, and it was Hogback Lake rather than Lake James or Lake Pleasant. We did not do any boating, and the local amusement park was closed for the season. And for the first time in his life, Steve didn’t get to talk and laugh with his Granddad. Instead, we stopped to visit him at the family cemetery. Things have definitely changed.

In many ways, though, things were exactly as they should be. We reconnected with family. We hugged Steve’s grandma – one of the sweetest, cutest little ladies around. Two generations of cousins had a chance to get to know each other better. Steve’s brother showed his superior camping and cooking abilities. We ate steak and corn-on-the-cob and baked potatoes, all cooked over a campfire. We laughed about raccoon invasions and the interesting shower/toilet combination in a 1970’s camper. We discovered a shared love (among three generations of women) of Edward Cullen and all things Twilight. We swam in a lake and danced at a beach party. We roasted marshmallows and played volleyball. We connected our red-haired little girls to some distant red-haired relatives.

Before we left, Steve took me on a tour of Crooked Lake, and we wrote down names of realtors. I suspect that in the coming years, we will rent one of those cozy lake cottages, stay a whole week, eat Tom’s donuts, tell stories of Granddad, and teach our little girls to water ski. Because to Steve, summer is a place, on the water, in Indiana.

P.S. So what place is Summer to you?

P.P.S. Stay Tuned: Photos of our Indiana Adventure coming soon!

Breakfast Conversation

Ellie (with varying tone and inflection): "Blahh, ba ma ma, blah sup ta."

Kate: "No, Elwee, you can’t have more Lucky Charms."

Ellie (more insistent): "Blahh, ma ta blah ba ba"

Kate: "Elwee, mommy said we’re all out of Lucky Charms."

Ellie (gesturing): "Ma ta ba blah blah."

Kate (very firm): "No…You can’t have seconds. Now please stop talking about it."

*This is an actual breakfast conversation. It went down exactly like that. It happens all the time. Kate really believes that “Elwee” was asking for more Lucky Charms. Who knows…maybe she was!

Movie Night

For Steve’s birthday, I got a babysitter (thanks, Mom and Dad), made reservations at a nice restaurant near a local airport (the filet mignon was wonderful, but I wouldn’t recommend the blueberry cobbler). Then we went to the movies. We LOVE the movies. Before we had kids, we went to the movies a few times each month. It is the one thing that I truly missed when we had Kate (okay…I actually missed sleeping the most…oh, and having a skinny body – I still miss that, but going to the movies comes in a close third). I love everything about the movie theatre. I love the smell of stale popcorn, the creaky seats, the sticky, soda covered floors. I love sitting in the dark beside Steve, sharing popcorn, and getting lost in the big screen for an hour or two.

We went to see The Hangover (Steve’s choice because it was his birthday. I definitely wouldn’t recommend it unless you’re a college frat boy at heart. Oh, and just a quick warning that the credits are very vulgar – definitely caught me off-guard, being as naïve and innocent as I am). Anyway, we were having a great birthday “date night” that very quickly went downhill.

The theatre was packed, but there was enough room for “personal spacing” (you know, an empty seat between strangers). So, there was an empty seat beside Steve and two empty seats beside me. More than half way into the movie, two people came in; one sat beside Steve and the other sat beside me. It seemed strange that they didn’t take the two seats together next to me and I'm not sure why they joined us in the middle of the movie, but whatever. Then, the girl that sat beside me got a phone call and she started talking. I thought she was going to get off right away, but it was her mom and she proceeded to have a normal conversation with her. Steve leaned over and said, “Are you going to talk on your phone?” and she said yes. I asked her to take her phone call outside, which she did (but she was quite huffy about it). Can you believe that? Oh…but it gets worse.

About fifteen minutes later, she came back, this time with her very large, very mad boyfriend. The movie was about over by this time. They both sat down next to me (he was taking over my armrest and just being rude). As soon as he sat down, he leaned over to Steve and said, “Do you have something to say to my girlfriend?” Steve just looked at him and said no. Then he said, “Then why did you yell at her earlier?” I said that we just asked her to take her phone call outside because we couldn’t hear the movie. Then his phone rang and he took the call and started talking. Can you believe that? Ughhh…I was so mad. I have to say that I didn’t act like a very good Christian. I keep asking myself what Jesus would have done and I think the answer is show love and compassion, forgiveness and understanding. Steve thinks that Jesus would have put the guy in his place, though I suspect not. Well, here’s what I did. I took my elbow and shoved his arm off of MY armrest. When he looked at me (with his stupid phone up to his ear), I called him a nasty name. Really…I did – a three letter name that starts with an a and has two s’s in it. Yeah. Not what Jesus would do, I know. I was just so angry that this guy had the nerve to be so rude. It took every ounce of restraint to keep from grabbing that phone and throwing it across the theatre.

The sad thing is that I still feel guilty about the whole thing. Why should I feel guilty when they were the rude ones? I don’t know. I just feel sad that I didn’t handle it better. I’m not exactly sure what the right response would have been, but I doubt that I hit the mark with my nasty comment.

The guy gave us some very mean looks when we were leaving the theatre, but Steve and I ignored him and left. Then, I was convinced that he was following us home, so I made Steve take some unusual roads and turns to our house. The car behind us stayed right behind us, and just as I was convinced that we were going to be shot by the cell phone stalker, the car turned off and we made it home safely. What an ending to Steve’s birthday date.

So what would you have done? Just curious.

Duck

On Saturday we took the girls to one of their favorite parks. It was a beautiful day and we picked out the perfect spot for lunch. We set out our food and talked about how lucky we were to get such a great picnic table under beautiful shade trees. Didn’t take us long to realize why such a perfect spot was so readily available. Those beautiful shade trees contained baseball sized walnuts that fell every time the wind blew. We’re talking, conk-you-on-the-head-and-knock-you-unconscious-sized walnuts. Really, I believe they could have caused brain damage (I’m not kidding) and so we picked up the wee small children (covering their fragile little heads, of course) and moved to a less perfect, but much safer, picnic location.

A funny side note: We watched our friend Shawn play baseball last week and there were a few foul balls hit in our direction. The first time it happened, Steve and I immediately covered our heads, leaving the girls unprotected. We laughed about it later, and wondered why our parental instincts didn’t kick in… must be something wrong with us. I’m sure we were quite the site, ducking for cover while our two small children were free to get smacked in the head with a baseball. I’m waiting for child protective services to knock on the door.

Speaking of "ducking" (how'd you like that transition...), after eating lunch and tearing it up on the playground, we ventured over to feed the ducks. Last year when we fed the ducks, Ellie just sat in her stroller and watched. It was kind of nice and peaceful. I guess I just expected that she would be content to do that again this year. Not exactly…here’s how it went down.

"Really, mom, are you kidding me? You want me to sit here and watch Kate have all the fun?"


"At least give me a piece of bread, and push me closer. I’ll throw it from here."

"Ahhh, freedom...now that's better."

"Okay, so what's the deal? We just tear the bread and throw it? I think I got it, dad."

"Hey, stop that duck...he's eating my bread."

"Eat this, buddy."

"Yum...think I'll have a little more."

"Yeah...that was so good I gotta lick my fingers."

"Can you believe the nerve of that duck...trying to eat my food?"

The good news is that we didn't have any old, moldy bread, so at least she was eating fresh, whole wheat bread. There's always a bright side to everything!

Speaking of bright side... Kate just loved the ducks and she's finally big enough to tear the bread and throw it by herself. It was so fun to watch her.

I hope your weekend was as fun and eventful as ours. We jam-packed the weekend. Next topic of discussion...our movie night experience. But that post will have to wait. Happy Monday!

Ode to Steve

In just a few days, we will celebrate Steve’s birthday…and today, I want to take a minute to celebrate Steve’s 39 years, with this poetry salute. Here goes…

An ode to Steven

my favorite guy

On your 39th Birthday

Doesn’t the time fly?

We met in college

I was in apartment 6G

And three doors down

was a cute guy in 6C

We started as friends

Because you were off limits

But after one “date”

I knew in a minute…

I had to learn more

about this crazy, fun guy

Who knew in a few years,

the knot we would tie?

But married we are

and happily so

our home filled with laughter

Our love, it just shows.

You always make me smile

You’re spontaneous and cute

You’re hardworking and handsome,

You’re smart and astute.

You dance like a champ

and you’re good with a saw.

You iron and cook

You really do it all.

And to our little girls

You’re the epitome of grace

you hug and kiss boo boos

and wipe snot from their face.

And for their birthdays

you decorate their cakes

You wrap all their presents

however long it takes

You’re nurturing and kind

You’re wise for your years

You read stories and sing songs,

You wipe away tears.

So on this special day,

It’s you that we celebrate.

Happy Birthday, Babe

Love, Holly, Ellie, and Kate

Happy Birthday, Steve. We love you so much and are so happy to have you in our lives. I look forward to sharing the next 39 years with you!

Growing Up

When I was growing up, I spent quite a bit of time at Gretchen’s house. Gretchen and I met in nursery school when she put her boots in my locker (or vice versa?). I can’t remember now. I spent the night for the first time when I was in fourth grade. That was the first of many, many adventures at her household. There was the anti-prom party (held in honor of our friend Sara, whose parents wouldn’t let her go to the prom with her 11th grade boyfriend when she was in 9th grade), the valentine’s celebration the year my heart was broken, the time we packed up her little girl Beatrix Potter room and moved her into her teenage room, the many hot tub and pool parties, the all-night slumber parties…I could go on and on. It was a gathering spot for friends, a place to be silly, and it will always remind me of my teenage days.

Gretchen is expecting her first baby in a few months, so a group of friends got together last weekend to celebrate. Returning to Gretchen’s childhood home and hanging out with friends I haven’t seen in a long time made me a little nervous.

There were five of us at the shower. Five friends from high school, who have graduated from college, moved away from home, gotten married, started families. We have changed and grown, become different people than we were in high school. One of us has been divorced once, married twice, and engaged three times . Two of us struggled to conceive. One of us lost her father to cancer. One of us runs a business. One of us works in the heathcare industry. Two of us are expecting a baby. Two of us have daughters named Ellie. Three of us work part-time or are stay-at-home moms. One of us has moved across the country.

We have changed. Life has changed us. We’re older, more experienced, more worldly. When I first arrived, I was afraid that we had changed too much…that we wouldn’t even recognize the young, silly, giggly girls who used to hang out in that house.

I shouldn’t have worried. I don’t know if it’s the house or if it’s the fact that deep down, we’ll always be those giggly girls at heart. Whatever it is, despite our circumstances and our experiences, we laughed and we joked and we reminisced. Of course, experience has given us a little better perspective and we wondered why we went to the prom with the same guy every year or why we let (insert Boy’s Name here) treat us badly. We laughed at ourselves, our mistakes, our disappointments, our poor judgement. We talked Facebook and Michael Jackson tributes, becoming famous by our reunion, and the pros and cons of silicone implants. We laughed at stories of our kids, our childbirth experiences, our leaky breasts, our desire to buy a new house every few years.

Old girlfriends are so important. They remind us of who we once were. They show us how far we’ve come. They get together once every few years at a place that feels like “home” and share life for a few hours. And just like our teenage years, the time went by too quickly.

July 4th Picture Parade

The Fourth of July lived up to my Norman Rockwell expectations. It was filled with flag-waving, pony-riding, patriotiotic little red-headed girls...perfect! Check it out:

P.S. I "fixed" Steve's shirt to protect our privacy. Good thinking, huh???

Norman Rockwell

Four years ago, Steve and I traveled to Boston for his cousin’s wedding. It is the only trip that we have ever really taken with his family, and to be honest, I’m not sure I was overly excited about it. At the time, we didn’t have kids (though we desperately wanted them and I was consumed with sadness and fear that it may never happen). We were free to explore and linger, checking out the area at our own pace. Looking back, I can see what an immense blessing that was. Today’s trips are filled with pit stops, bottles, crying babies, and scheduled nap times (not that I’m complaining, of course… it’s just different).

Here’s what I remember about that trip to Boston…eating tons of cashew nuts (high protein people…I wanted to stay skinny back then), dancing like a crazy woman at the wedding – Steve couldn’t even keep up with me (he’ll tell you a different story, but don’t believe him), discussing steam-free bathroom mirrors with Steve’s brother for more than an hour (really, that’s true), and realizing the importance of in-laws and family (I will never forget the ginormous hug that Steve’s Aunt Rosie gave me when we showed up at the wedding – she was so happy to have her real family there, after being surrounded for days by, shall we say, “non-family, ex-wives, and crazy wedding people?” ).

We also made a little side trip during our wild, wedding adventure, to the Norman Rockwell Museum in Stockbridge. I don’t think I was thrilled about the idea, but I’m agreeable and kind, yo (you know that’s why you like me), and so I kept my mouth shut, put a smile on my face, and entered the museum. Norman Rockwell always reminded me of old people, wars, sadness. But my day at the museum opened my eyes (or maybe I am becoming an old, sad, pathetic person…who knows). The truth is, I love his paintings. I loved the feelings and the details, the sensation that you can touch the painting and feel the person in it (of course, the guards aren’t too keen on people touching the paintings, so I restrained myself).

Mostly, I loved the patriotism and the idea of America as Norman Rockwell presented it. His paintings showed freedom at its very best and in its truest form. He painted naughty kids, praying parents, soldiers home from war, first love, Thanksgiving celebrations, and gossiping townspeople.

His paintings represent everything I love about this country. We are free. ..Free to love and to speak out, to pray and to provide for our families, to celebrate holidays and wave flags, and make our own decisions about life. In our case, Steve and I were free to pursue treatment and chase our dream of becoming parents, something that we were vigorously doing that year. And today, this very moment, we have individuals who are willing to sacrifice everything they have so that Steve and I are free to tuck our children into a warm, safe bed every night. We live in a blessed country. We are a blessed people.

I think I always knew it, but it became even more clear to me during my visit to the Norman Rockwell Museum. I love this country. I love that I learned this (and the many benefits of steam-free bathroom mirrors) during my first trip with my in-laws. I love that my sweet little red-haired girls will wave flags and ride ponies, eat popsicles and watch fireworks tomorrow. And I pray that someday they, too, will know how blessed they are to live in the United States of America.

Happy Independence Day!

Kate and Daddy, Independence Day 2008

1994

In 1994, as Ace of Base was tearing up the charts and Forest Gump was pondering life and chocolates, I was an 18-year-old, wrinkle-free hottie (okay…that’s a little exaggerated – I would say I was more like a poodle-haired cutie), ready to take on the world. I was graduating from high school that year, with big, BIG plans. I had won a few scholarships and awards, so I was hot news in the local newspaper (I know what you’re thinking…and yes, it’s always a slow news day in this town). Every time I was interviewed, I was asked the following question: “So, Holly, what do you plan to do after high school?” Original, creative reporters around here…I know. The funny part is that I always gave a different answer. Here’s just a few:

“Well, witty and creative reporter, I plan to major in English and eventually I’ll write for Time Magazine.”

“I’m going to major in law and become a famous lawyer.”

“I’d like to write for magazines and maybe I’ll get a degree in Pharmacy, just in case.” (Pharmacy? Now there’s a glamorous back-up plan).

Truly…I didn’t have a clue, but the one thing I knew was that I was going to make the big time. If I wrote for a magazine, it would be Time Magazine, and if I became a lawyer, I would be a famous lawyer. We’re talking BIG TIME!

Fast forward to 2009…I’m heading to my 15-year class reunion in two months, and I’ve become rather reflective about my life. The poodle-haired cutie is now disguised as a soft, curvy mom with a few stretch marks, the occasional bad hair day, and barely a minute to take a second glance in the mirror. What happened to the famous lawyer writing for Time Magazine and practicing pharmacy on the side?

I keep asking myself, “What have you done with your life?” Is this a mid-life crisis? I haven’t been published in a magazine…lately. There was that one article in College Bound magazine, but fame and fortune did not follow that assignment. I haven’t written a book. I didn’t study law. I’m definitely not famous. My pharmaceutical knowledge is limited to Children’s Motrin dosages. What will I tell all my classmates? I’m planning to write a book? I may open a business? I’m moonlighting as a grant writer while I figure out what I want to be when I grow up?

Of course, I’m exactly where I want to be. I have a great , handsome, hardworking, fun husband. Two beautiful, healthy, funny girls...a part-time job that allows me to spend time with my family...Good friends...Parents who are still healthy and happy and living up the street. I have a great church. I have wireless internet. I have double ovens (great for hiding clutter). I’m so happy…so truly blessed, beyond anything that I deserve. God has been good to me.

And then comes the BUT…I haven’t written a book or written for a national magazine or danced on Broadway. Is it too late? Am I over the hill? Can this former poodle-haired cutie still hit the BIG TIME?

Maybe I need to change my idea of big time. I felt like I had made the BIG TIME when I found out, after three long years of heartbreak, that I was pregnant with a baby girl – that I was finally going to be a mom. Maybe Big Time is hearing that sweet little girl say “Mommy, I wuv you” or waking up every Valentine’s Day to a kitchen filled with flowers and chocolates and gifts and decorations from a thoughtful (and cute) husband. Maybe Big Time is talking about life and Botox, new inventions and paint samples with your girlfriends. Could it be that everyday life is enough? Could telling my classmates - I’m a mom and a wife and a part-time grant writer who has been immensely blessed - be enough?

What do you think? What did you want to be when you grew up? Are you perfectly happy and content or do you have big dreams, still waiting to happen?

P.S. I bet you were hoping to see pictures of my beautiful, poodle-haired, 18-year-old self! I may be having a mid-life crisis, but I'm not crazy!