Proceeds from our lemonade stand

This is what $200 of peanut butter and jelly look like. The girls donated it to the food pantry. We are very proud. A good lesson in humility and service.

Amazing what difference a year makes

We took Meredith ice skating last year.  I think it was the worst 10 minutes of her life.  Not this year.  Brad took her for her Daddy and Me day and she rocked it.  She is like a regular ice princess. 

God has such a sense of humor

I am cracking up at my last post...

We got home safely from Notre Dame and talked the whole way about how much fun we had.  It really was a great time and so far from our daily lives.  However, just in case we were enjoying ourselves too much God planned a huge reality check for us.  We returned home in time to take the girls trick or treating and hurried around to get out the door.  Lillian wasn't feeling well and kept complaining of a headache.  She had a low grade fever, but in spite of my better judgment, I gave her Advil and put her in the car seat.  By the time we arrived at Uncle Bill and Aunt Alberta's, Meredith was crying.  I knew we were in trouble when she said she wanted to go home.  I packed her up, walked out the door and SPLAT, she threw up on the doorstep.  I took her home, turned out the lights we cuddled in bed.  I am not a coed, I am a mom.  I get the message, God.  Joke's on me.  

Living like a coed

I am writing this post on a trip home from a football weekend at Notre Dame.  While the Irish lost to Tulsa we had a great time acting like coeds...staying up too late, drinking too early and being too silly. The best part about our grown up weekend was the chance to revisit our youth. We went with the Richardsons and the Lynchards and, since none of us actually went to college together, it was a small glimpse of how it could have been. We are driving back home to life as we know it and while I am always grateful for the chance to get a way and the chance to go home.

Ten years of email down the drain

Brad walked in at 1:30 AM on Sunday morning and wondered what I was doing still on the computer.  It seems our email had been hacked and bgpettet was sending pharmaceutical emails.  Lots of pharmaceutical emails.  So I begrudgingly began the task of changing our email after the girls went to bed at 8:00 PM.  Here I am two days later still making updates and changes.  We have had our email address since before we got married, hence the bg (Brad and Gretchen.)  Appropriately, I have changed the email moniker to something more representative of our full family (the pettets).  Hopefully that will last us another ten years.  It's amazing how a functionality that barely existed ten years ago has become such an integral part of our lives.  Our families, our friendships, our finances, and even our fun (cardinals, vacations, etc.) are all part of email life.  Now I have to sit patiently to see what I have forgotten and who cannot contact us or, whom we can't contact.

My personal motto

I love this girl and hope I can instill the same confidence and chutzpah in my girls.

Co sleeping

Eleanor Pettet is all Pettet in all things, except for her sleeping habits.  Those she gets from her mama.  Meredith Pettet and Lillian Pettet are frighteningly like their mama in all things except their sleeping habits.  Almost nightly one, or the other, or both end up perpendicular to me in my bed.   Most nights it's irritating.  But when I wake up just enough to remember that I will soon wake up and they will be grown, I sigh and go back to sleep.  When all three were tiny babies I wanted them in my bed but all the parenting books protested.  It didn't stop me from nursing them in my bed.  My favorite time was right after they would drift off to sleep and before I would transport them back to their beds.  It was always such a satisfied sleep.  Their breathing was so deep.  I remember laying face to face with these tiny babies and breathing in.  It was as if they were breathing life into me and my next breath depended on theirs.  Interesting metaphor for parenting.

Another mother's letter

Molly and I have a running joke that all the bloggers are beautiful Mormon moms who run Etsy shops and lead perfect lives (reeks of jealousy, eh?)  But in fact, I love to read other blogs.  I found this one tonight and it was too perfect to not share.  It's written by Sonya Audrey http://www.sonyaaudrey.com/ but posted on Sparkle Power! in honor of Mother's Week.  http://candacetodd.blogspot.com/

My advice to my young daughters:
Don't worry about perfection in life, in looks or in love. It isn't attainable, and honestly, those perfect people never have any fun anyway. Always be you. After all, no one else can do it better. Read everything you can get your hands on. Never be afraid of making a mistake. Sometimes those mistakes lead you to the most magical places. Speaking of magic, believe in it. It's real and it's out there just waiting to be uncovered. When someone shows you who they really are, listen. Love with reckless abandon. Please don't hate me when you're 15. But if you do, I promise I'll still be waiting with open arms when you need me again. If you have the change, spare it. There is nothing cute about a bad boy. The only score you should keep track of is your credit. Take care of your skin. Be silly for as long as you possibly can. When you are old enough to have children of your own, watch them when they sleep. You will never feel more peace and love than in those moments. Amazing girlfriends are a necessity in life. Smile at strangers. Trust your gut. Find the kind of music that speaks to you and hold onto it for dear life. It will get you through the toughest of times. Wear your seatbelt. Playing dress up never gets old. Sing as loud as you can in the car whenever you feel the urge. I promise to always sing with you. Don't cheat. Create and capture your moments. Know that it's ok if you can't decide what you want to be when you grow up. Be everything. And most importantly, I gave you as a gift to each other. Cherish one another and be the best friends you were destined to be

Connected but alone

Something occurred to me when I took Michelle to school this fall, in fact, I may have already posted about it.  I was alarmed at how our technological advances and mobile devices have changed the fabric of the college experience.  The dorm halls and lobbies were empty.  It was as if everyone had retreated to their small rooms to connect with people who weren't really there, but were an avatar or an @ sign away.  Of course as the proverbial old woman I had to tell Chelle about how it was when I was in school...no cable tv, expensive long distance and no computers in our rooms and certainly no internet (and I am not talking no internet in our rooms, I am talking no internet yet at all.)

Well tonight while running I noticed that same phenomenon sneaking into our own small town.  Yet this time, instead of retreating into small dorm rooms, adults were remaining in small vehicles.  I saw three folks sitting in their cars outside of homes (presumably their own) talking on the phone or texting. Remember when you had to go into your home to make a call or connect with someone?  Now we are delaying going into our houses to make a call or connect with someone.  I am not sure what it says about us as a society, but I am sure it says something.  Of course, the irony that I immediately sat down at my computer to write this post upon returning home is not lost on me.  At least I had to come inside to do it.

When a weekend is truly a weekend

I think the planets must have aligned last weekend because, for the first time in a long time, we had nothing to do all weekend.  Usually our weekends are jam packed running here, going there, marking this off of the never-ending to do list.  The only things we did on this weekend were things we wanted to do.  The weather was stunning so we went to Lowe's to buy plants.  Twice!  There was so little that had to be done I really enjoyed the things we got to do.  The girls were thrilled to be planting seeds.  Each picked out a packet of pretty flowers...Dahlias, Johnny Jump Ups and, what else you ask, Poppies.  The most remarkable thing about the weekend was how I felt on Monday morning when it was over.  Rested.  I commented to Brad that it was amazing how weekend-like a weekend feels when it's not full of weekend activities.  I hope there are more of those in my near future.

I guess I really am a runner

I haven't ever called myself a runner.  I don't look like a runner. I don't run like a runner. I don't train like a runner.  If the word jogger didn't make me think of 80's running suits, I might use that term, but instead when describing my involvement in the sport I say "I run."  I have described my miles as an action verb, not a definition of who I am.  That's fairly common for many half marathon runners, I think.  In fact all it takes is one day at a running event to realize that anyone (and I do mean anyone) can run a half marathon.  It's the kind of thing that is on many people's bucket list.  But I don't think anyone has "Run two half marathons" on their bucket list.  Many people run a half to cross it off the list.  I did in 2009.  In 2010 I ran a second.  Now it can define me.  I am a runner.

I run because I can

Forgive my continuation of the running theme but it is kind of consuming.  When you run 13.1 miles you have a lot of time to think and my mind covers a lot of different topics but surely one pervasive thought is "why in the heck would I pay money to do this?"  The answer I always come back to is "because I can."  I spend a lot of time in prayer (running up hills, praying for the next water station, asking God to keep me safe, asking God to heal fallen runners) and through this prayer has come the realization that God has given me the ability to do this.  He has made my remarkable body.  It might not look like I want or function perfectly, but it works mostly like it should and as long as that is true, I will continue to do this.  I had a foreboding thought yesterday after the race when I was considering why none of my friends run for a cause.  I think it's mostly because none of has one common cause that is so meaningful to us.  I thought briefly how quickly that could change. How in a year's time, before the 2011 Go! Marathon, any one of us could be cancer stricken or debilitated in some way and running may no longer be an option.  Unless or until that happens I will run.

I'm alive

Funny how something that makes you feel so close to death actually makes you feel so alive when it's over.  Brad and I (and 17,000 others) ran the half marathon yesterday in St. Louis.  Running 13.1 miles is truly amazing on so many levels: psychically, spiritually, mentally, socially.  One of the most incredible feelings was at/near mile 10 when I was passed by the lead marathon runner.  Yes, that's right, when I was at the 10 mile mark of a 13.1 mile run, someone else was at the 23 mile mark of a 26.2 mile run.  I actually teared up.  I was so moved by his humanity and physicality.  The human spirit and the human body is so incredible.  I couldn't help but think how God made that possible, but that runner made it a reality.  I know it won't happen but I want everyone I love to run a half marathon.  I want them to experience the same thing.  I think it's a life changing experience.

Hand holding

Eleanor started in a new tumbling class last week.  During her first class she was one of only two girls.  The other girl, Emily, is four also and has a sister in Meredith's class.  Obviously Eleanor and Emily have a lot in common.  This week there were a few new girls, bringing the total to six.  Eleanor and Emily are still friends.  I know because I saw them holding hands.  It warmed my heart.  It made me grateful for the friends I have and sad for how friendships change as we age.  There is not a lot of hand holding that goes on in grown up friendships.   But just like everything else in her young life, when Eleanor sees something she likes, she picks it up and holds it in her hands.

Why does this feel so long ago?

Like (grand)mother, like (grand)daughter

Young mothers usually reaches a point where they recognize their own mother in themselves.  I think that's common.  This weekend, however, I turned into my grandma.  It took my new friend, Tammy, to help me realize it.  Tammy goes to St. Gertrude's.  She knows grandma.  Now she knows me.  We were attending a retreat at church (Example 1.)  There were about 40 women there all weekend.  We ate a lot, we drank a lot, we had a lot of plastic bottles and cans.  It seemed silly not to recycle so I found some bags and separated the cans and bottles (Example 2.)  While I was separating the trash Tammy asked me why I brought a crock pot full of soup.  I told her because my potatoes were starting to sprout and if I didn't use the mushrooms they need to be thrown out (Example 3.)  Tammy said "You're like a little Shirley Maune."  I'll take that.

A uniquely maternal feeling

Poppy had her preschool assessment today.  Each of the girls has done one in advance of starting school.  Poppy was the first one who wouldn't go without her mama.  At first I was frustrated by her neediness but then I was flattered (is that wrong?)  Either way I got to see the administration of the Dial 3.  Miss Eyvonne is so sweet and motivating you feel like the mother of a prodigy even as your three year old answers "TWO!" when asked her first name.   Overall she did really well.  There was one activity where Miss Eyvonne had a variety of circles, squares and triangles in different colors and sizes.  She asked Poppy to pay attention telling her that she would need to do exactly the same thing when it was her turn.  Miss Eyvonne made three piles, one for all of the circles, another for all of the squares and the last for all the triangles.  I thought ugh.  But then, like she had been sorting and stacking her whole life, Poppy did the whole thing correctly.  (In my mind she might as well have cured cancer...I actually got teary-eyed.)  My pride quickly disolved to a feeling I can only describe as maternal...never, before having children, had I felt this way.  I suspect it's a feeling I will forever know.  When asked to cut with scissors she tried and tried and then she put her head down in shame and said  "I can't do it."  My heart broke.  I was sad for her, I felt like I had failed her, I was mad at Miss Eyvonne for not moving on before her shame set in, I was afraid she might never learn to cut, and on and on and on.  I know why they don't usually like parents to be present for the Dial 3.

Childhood magic

The sun has shone!  Finally.  After a seemingly eternal, gray winter the sun was out today and we broke 70.  To celebrate we packed a McDonald's dinner and headed to the park with our cousins.  There wasn't much eating happening but, thanks to Daddy Pettet (who can do the best underdog in the whole world) there was a lot of swinging. Every swing was full with a hiney and every face was full with a smile.  Not your everyday pose for the camera smile but a huge, this-is-as-good-as-life-gets-for-a-kid smile.  Swinging is truly one of the most magical childhood past times.   I still swing sometimes, but it's not the same.  I hope my girls have years of the aforementioned swinging left in their lives.  They deserve that kind of magic.  Daddy and I deserve those kinds of smiles.

My new tardiness theory

I just watched the neighbor kid running to school (late.) I think the rates of tardiness are inversely correlated to proximity to the destination.  I can make it to a St. Louis meeting on time, but somehow can't get to church by 9:00 AM.

Life imitates art

We have a lot of princesses in our house.  Girls, movies, dolls, dresses, panties...you name it, we have it with princesses.  I think we've seen all of the Disney princess movies and the favorite depends are the day and the real life princess.  Yesterday, Poppy was watching Cinderella at Mary's.  She told Mary that stepsisters are mean.  Then she told Mary that Meredith was her stepsister.  Hmmm...

Tell-it-like-it-is Gal

I always hear these great stories from other parents about the divine or inspiring things their children have said. I am not hearing those things from my girls.  They might say them, but I am not tuned in enough to hear them.  The quotes that stand out for me tend to be LOL worthy.  I took Poppy to the bathroom at Bob Evans yesterday after she nearly panicked and declared that her poop is almost coming out.  I don't usually rush because that Poppy is a fibber, but this time I sped up because a huge mess seemed eminent.  Long story short:  we get there, she mounts, no poops, just potties because as she tells it her "hiney is empty."  Makes sense, especially if you are two.

Tell me what I want to hear

I am out of town this week and while I have tried to call home daily to talk to my girls, I didn't make it today.  I didn't even get to my hotel room until 8:00.  My girls go to bed at 7:00.  I just hung up the phone with Bradly and made a point to ask "They didn't miss me did they?"  Courteously (and probably honestly), Brad answered no.  It got me thinking about a powerful maternal skill that was obviously born of necessity in the absence of our children.  I think they call it ignorance.  Not ignorance as in dumb, but ignorance as in don't ask, don't tell.  Interestingly today I heard two other similar stories from mothers.  Early this morning, a state legislator was providing insight to being in politics while raising children.  While her kids are grown and largely out of the house she suggested that sometimes you don't want to know what they are doing.  You work hard to raise good productive adults (note we do not raise children, we raise adults) and then you have to step away.  She advised that you do not want to know everything.  Later, I was talking to a professional woman who once lamented that she would miss some of her daughters' early milestones when she returned to work after giving birth.  Her childcare provider lovingly reassured her that "no firsts happen here."  I am not sure fathers have this same need, but as a mother I am grateful sometimes for what I do not know.

My altered reality

Today I was getting a computer game for Eleanor.  She likes to play the online games at Nickelodeon or Disney.  I was finding the Wonder Pets game when she asked what Ruby's brother's name is.  I thought for a minute and said Max.  Then I started singing the theme song from  Max and Ruby, a show on Nickelodeon.  Then Eleanor said no, the Ruby from this real life.  Funny how my mind defaulted to a cartoon with a theme song and not our real life cousins Ruby and Jonah.  I guess I need a reality check.

Try, Try Again

Today is officially Ticked Off Tuesday.  We were snowed out last week so I had to take a rain check.  Hmm, maybe it should have been called a snow check.  Well, anyway I am looking forward to it.  I have figured out why the girls were excited about me being on the radio and, consequently, why they were sad to miss it.  Apparently, I didn't tell them that Ticked Off Tuesday is a TALK show.  Meredith asked what song I was going to be singing.  Sweet girl.

A nightly ritual

As much as we rush through life we try to build in as much routine as we can, particularly at bedtime.  It's hard though because sometimes a scheduled book or a song will be what tips the scales the following morning.  One thing that has become a nightly ritual for us is a small gesture suggested by Deacon Leon Noelker when he baptized Meredith in 2003.  Regrettably, I have few memories from any of the sacramental moments in mine or my children's lives.  But I do remember Deacon Leon asking that we parents make the sign of the cross on our child's head each night.  I don't think I started right away, but it has become a nightly ritual for me.  I take comfort in it.  The girls barely even notice and often ask me to do it as they missed it the first time.  Even if I don't have bedtime duty, I sneak in quietly before I retire to give this tiny blessing.  I have seen Bradly do it and now, most touchingly, Eleanor likes to do it back to me.  She did it last night on my lips and I found that to be such a tender moment.  Maybe a telling moment, too.  It makes me think she knows a lot for her four years and, perhaps, I needed that.  It was a small gesture that will have a lasting impact.

A fire and hot cocoa

 

I am officially tired of the snow and cold, but I must say there is nothing cuter than kids in snow suits.  Not to mention it makes you want to shout "I can't put my arms down."  This was from Brad's first attempt to sled with the girls this winter.  They were very excited but they kept telling people that mommy didn't want to sled, she wanted to sit by the fire and drink hot cocoa.  There was no fire and no hot cocoa. Of course see below for what happened after the photo shoot and one or two trips down the hill.

Yep, that's us, driving away.  Suddenly a fire and hot cocoa didn't seem like such a bad option when compared to subzero weather and walking up that hill.  Of course Meredith and Daddy had a blast.  But we were warm!

The etiology of a nickname

People ask me frequently how a child named Lillian came to be called Poppy, instead of the more obvious flower nickname, Lily. Like most childhood nicknames a sibling was involved, but rather than being anointed Poppy, her name sort of evolved. Lillian was born when Eleanor was just 16 months old. Unfortunately Eleanor's toddler language skills were not quite developed enough for her to say the three syllables of Lillian or the double L sound. So she called her Lala (like the Teletubby.) And we did too. Eventually, as her language skills developed, Eleanor began to call her Lala. And we did too. In goofy "mother-of-a-newborn-ese" (that's the official language of sleep deprived, hormonal, postpartum women)Lolly became Lollipop. As Lillian grew so, too, did her personality. Eventually her nickname was being modified depending on her mood. If she was crabby, she was Pop Tart. If she was showing off she was Pop Star. If she was crying she was Poppy Top. From there we evolved (or perhaps regressed) to Poppy. Funny how a long name was shortened to a nickname which was then lengthened to another nickname was inevitably too long. Thus we arrived at a nickname of a nickname. Don't ask me how Eleanor came to be called Noodle, just be glad she reclaimed her name. I suppose Lillian will too, if not before, she will definitely do so when she is asked about the etiology of her nickname.

Gifts for the new year

I just remembered how I was awakened this morning…

A small finger inside my nose followed by the sweet voice of Lillian proudly saying “Mommy, I gave you my boogie.”

December 31, 2009

Eleanor (4) to her much older friend, Lizzie (8)

From December 28 (blogging for prosperity and so I can delete the email from my inbox.)

"Did you know some couches are named sofa?"

A jury of your peers

I was summonsed to jury duty today and although it was canceled it made me wonder about the process and the promise of a jury of peers.  Do I really want to be the peer of someone whose guilt or innocence I would be called to determine?  Maybe peer means something different to me than it does in legalese.  I actually even looked up the definition of peer.  M-W.com defines peer as:

1 : one that is of equal standing with another : equal; especially : one belonging to the same societal group especially based on age, grade, or status
2 archaic : companion
3 a : a member of one of the five ranks (as duke, marquess, earl, viscount, or baron) of the British peerage b : noble 1

I choose noble.  If I get a choice of which kind of peer or which definition to choose, I choose noble.  Anyway, most people dread jury duty.  I can't wait.  I am a true crime junkie.  As such I don't think I will actually be selected.  I imagine the defense will issue a peremptory challenge. They might claim "actual bias."  Do you think I watch too much Law & Order.  QUIET IN THE COURTROOM.

SNOW DAY!!!!!!!!!!

There is still something so magical about a snow day.  Even though we get a phone call canceling school long before I turn on the TV, I still tune in to watch the cancellations on KSDK.  I have never seen my company name scroll across the bottom of the TV but I still watch with anticipation.  If I had a radio I would tune in to hear Chris Dieckhaus read the through the litany of closed schools and canceled events.  I have always thought it would be easier if she just said what was open instead of what was closed.  Regardless of the approach, her monotone, androgynous voice is soothing like a Gregorian chant.  The only thing that would make it better is to go into the living room and watch the Lone Ranger in the dark while mom gets ready for work.  Be careful out there and stay warm.

Mama Bear is at it again

I made Meredith wear her snow boots today.  It wasn't that she didn't want to, it was that the school dress code policy prohibits.  Even snow boots.  Even on snowy days.  Even for kids that walk.  I am feeling kind of bad about it now, because she may end up being the sacrificial lamb, but I have since contacted a member of the school board and the faculty.  I get dress codes.  In fact, I cherish them, but let's not have all black and white rules when the sky is gray, snowy gray.

He's swallowed the Kool Aid

Pops just left.  I think he has officially swallowed the "grandparent Kool Aid."  I've never seen this Kool Aid before but it must exist because seemingly level headed parents get all kooky when they become grandparents. Let me explain by example.  Pops never gave me money for getting an A on my report card, good grades were expected.  But today he handed Meredith a $10 and told her keep the change.  She only had 7 As.  Of course that made Eleanor sad since Pops didn't give her any money.  I  suggested he give her a quarter.  He gave her a $5!  Then, like cash for grades is not enough to make me think my dad is softening with age, he proceeds to tell Brad and I that he is thinking he might get Meredith a swimming pool for her birthday!  What?!  I asked for a swimming pool for years instead I got pass to the public pool.  What's next?  A trampoline? A car? A later curfew?

It sounds like a country song

Lillian woke up early this morning so I got some Mommy and Poppy time.  Like her oldest sister (and her mother, if I am being honest) she cannot be quiet.  Oh the funny things I learn.  She started by telling me she ate too much icing (Michelle?)  She proceeded to tell me that Michelle woke her up yesterday (MICHELLE!)  Then she when on to tell me that a boy came over, a boy with a dog and a John Deere hat (Michelle (and Andrew, of course.)  I think she has a future in storytelling or country songwriting.

Tune in on Tuesday

Momma makes her radio debut on Tuesday.  Meredith is sad that she will be in school, but I am not sure she will miss much.  I am a guest on KLPW's Ticked Off Tuesday.  Don't be too impressed, I was the only bidder on this "opportunity" at the grade school dinner auction.  Crazy schedule aside, I have been postponing this because as I told the host, Diane Jones, I just don't have much to be ticked off about.  Well, actually there are somethings that tick me off, but they aren't things I want to share on the radio (or on this blog for that matter.)  How about you?  What ticks you off?

Catholic Schools Week Not Snowed Out...Yet

It always seems like God's funny way of recognizing the event Himself, but usually Catholic Schools Week (CSW) results in a snow day.  And while snow days are usually a welcome event, that's just not the case when the kids should be dressing up for "Hillbilly Day" or having a popcorn and movie in the afternoon.  Of course, tonight, we are expecting snow to begin accumulating with an estimate of 2-5"  I am not too worried though, we have seen much accumulation yet this winter, despite strong predictions.  I guess, we might get to pull out our blue and gold shirts, watch the 8th graders beat the teachers in a volleyball game and get out at 2:00.  You gotta love being Catholic!