15 already?

Happy Birthday Kylie! (A day late)

Gosh 15 already. I'm almost not sure where to start because there is so much to say. And at the same time almost nothing to say. Some days I just want to stare at you because I can not believe you're already 15.

When I was 15 I thought I was so much older and more grown up than I was. I was certain that I was ready to take on the world. So certain in fact that I got pregnant and had you. Of course I was 16 by the time you were born. So it is such a startling thing to look at you and think "She's my age when I got pregnant with her" and realize that in no way, shape or form was I ready or e even capable of conquering the world. At least not right at that moment.

You actually seem much more aware of your surroundings and while you are convinced you can conquer the world, you seem content to start with the high school and move forward.

When you were small I was convinced that you were switched at the hospital because of your light hair and love of vegetables. Some days I'm still not entirely convinced but then you'll come to me and complain about school mates who don't take dance seriously or how frustrated you get at sharing your friends (despite they having to share you) and I suspect you probably are mine after all.

Sorry about that short temper thing. I'd like to blame your dad but I'm pretty sure you got it from me. I'm working on it. It sucks. Hopefully I'm setting a good example for you.

As one of your many parents I have been talking to you often about getting a job. You seem sold on the idea of money but no so sure about actually having to work for it. While I can relate I hope that at some point you embrace the idea that you are probably going to do work that doesn't inspire you, at least for a little while.

It's also time for us to start thinking about you + driving permit. Actually no. I'm not going to think about that JUST yet. And apparently neither are you. When mentioned on Tuesday night you seemed pretty ambivalent about the whole thing. Which I suppose is a good thing. At least for my heart.

You tend to be a glass half empty child and are certainly self absorbed but no more so than the average teenager which actually gives me great joy. While we don't always see eye to eye you and I certainly don't fight like we did even a year ago. My vocal chords really do appreciate it.

Boys are flocking to you now and I can tell you're enjoying the attention although you have a crush on someone who does not return your affections. It's these types of things that teach us how to live and how to be and so I know you're frustrated but I can assure you that right now there is a boy with a crush on you that you have no interest in. So this is how the world goes around. I can still remember your devastation when a boy in elementary school called you ugly. Now that same boy wishes you would even notice him. You don't of course because you have already learned that there are more fish in the sea.

People's opinions of you still matter, of course, but although the negative ones irritate you they don't seem to break you anymore. I hope that you learn to let things roll off and don't let others opinions blow away in the wind. You seem to be doing just that but I can only hope that what I see and what are happening are the same thing.

I realized as I was writing this post that I don't really have any pictures of you this year on my iPhone. I think it's because you don't really like to pose or be in pictures anymore and in terms of photo-worthy there aren't really a lot of "firsts" left for you.

In closing I'll share this video though. We went to Outback last night for your birthday dinner. You insisted that you didn't want to be sung to. I, of course, corned the waitress and begged her to bring you a dessert and sing to you. She told me they don't normally do that but for a 15 year old they would see that they could do.

It's awkward and you can tell it's not their normal but I think the video says a lot about you. You're dying on the inside (and outside) but still manage to blow out the candle at the end. See video HERE.

Happy Birthday Cuckoo
Love Mama

Embie

I read a ridiculous number of blogs that I don't share with everyone because frankly, it's embarrassing. One of those blogs is Pacing the Panic Room. The Author, Ryan is funny and he does some really impressive photography series that if you have time and are inclined you should check out. The Walk to 40 Weeks was my favorite.

Ryan and his wife Cole found out in 2009 that their son had a condition known as Smith Magenis Syndrome. Since the diagnosis they have spent a lot of time and energy working towards fundraising so that groups that research and support this condition and families with loved ones affected by it can be served.

Ryan has gathered an amazing group of independent musical artists and they created a kids album that adults wont hate. It's called Do Fun Stuff and the proceeds of sales of the album on iTunes goes to the charity arm of PRISMS. 100%. You can buy it Here if you have iTunes and are into that sort of thing.

Personally, I like the songs. I try to buy children's music that doesn't drive me crazy but that is catchy and everyone can sing along to. Too many times I hear Lizzie singing a song from the radio that I'm less than pleased with and so having music to listen to or distract while in the car is pleasant. Some days I feel like if I have to listen to one more "She'll be comin' 'round the mountain" I'll loose my mind. Just sayin'.

Rumor has it that Do Fun Stuff will be sold on ETSY too in time for the holiday's if you want to buy them for nieces or nephews for stocking stuffers or whatever but it isn't officially up yet.

Not a bad way to spend $10 if you ask me.



Also, the art Monster, known as Embie (phonetic spelling of MB for Monsterist Buddy) is pretty cute too.

Happy Birthday Lizzie Lou

Dear Lizzie,

Yesterday you turned 6 and I'm not sure who was more excited about it, me or you.

For you 6 was all about presents and cake and parties. Lucky you with two houses, you managed to have two birthday parties which meant double the cake and ice cream, if not double the presents.

I'm excited because 6 is still full of magic for you. At 6 you still believe in Fairies and Santa Claus and that magical things can happen. You still believe in the perfection of parents and you trust the world around you. The world is full of possibilities and you want to grab each and every one of them.

You want to be a Dentist when you grow up. No wait, a Mommy. No wait, a Nurse. No wait, a Dancer. You want to be all of it. I believe you probably will be all of it.

You are always my glass is half full child and lately you have been joyous about life. I love to see your enthusiasm for everything around you although perhaps a little less around 7am on the weekends would be nice.

You seem to like your teacher, you love your teacher still from last year and you talk about your day with ease. You share without prompting anymore and try to make friends with everyone.

Alternatively when one of your friends hurts your feelings you are crushed but quick to forgive. I love that you don't hold a grudge and would rather play than fight. Life is so much simpler when this is your nature.

You are my big helper and often want to spend time with just me doing my mundane chores and tasks. You love to help with laundry, quick to stir the spaghetti sauce and adore mopping the floor. As long as you're with me you seem to relish whatever task we're doing. You are also good at enteraining your little brother.

You tell me often when you grow up you want 5 babies. Their genders change all the time and you have no names for them except maybe William for one of the boys but your love of children and babies knows no end. You talk with and play with your little brother and often he finds himself the Prince in your games. Too bad he tends to try and eat whatever item you have given him to play with.

I love that you read to me every day and you are so excited to learn. You and I play a game where I ask you to spell something and then act shocked that you can spell it. You adore this game and work very hard trying to get every word correct so I can be increasingly shocked at your genius. You also love playing school with me where we practice your spelling words. To surprise me a week ago you wrote all your spelling words 5 times while I was putting your little brother to bed. I love that you love that gift.

You always want the simple items and find joy in the smallest of gifts. For you a scooter holds just as much joy as a Dolphin pillow. You don't truly want much and what you do have you seem to really appreciate.

If I were to sum up this year for you I would say that it was a pink and purple year with silver stars and glitter thrown in. Being with you makes me believe in magic and makes me feel joy. Thank you my little angel bright.

Happy Birthday Lizzie Lou Who
Mama Loves You

I need a new pharmacy

This week has been the week of the Pharmacy. Better living through Chemistry as my mother used to say. I'm sure she meant her thyroid meds.

Anyways......

The baby needed two new medications for his asthma reactive airway disease. One is for everyday preventative use, the other is for emergencies. The emergency one works great, FYI.

Micah also needed something as he'd had a sore throat for 2 weeks and was over it. His Dr. prescribed what is affectionately known as KBX. It's basically a mix of Kaopectate, Lidocain and something else. I stopped listening.

Micah picked up his prescription on Tuesday and used it. It looked and behaved like a cough syrup only you swish and spit, you don't swallow it.

Wednesday it had turned to jello. Or a jello like substance. It was not able to exit the bottle and when you moved the bottle the blob just jiggled and plopped all over. What I'm telling you is that it wasn't consumable.

Because Micah has a sore throat and hates to return stuff I ventured out on Wednesday night to return it to the pharmacy.

I'm going to stop and tell you I've already had problems with this Wal-greens before. They shorted us on medication for William just a couple of weeks ago and it took me fighting with the pharmacy tech to get the "extra". So I'm predisposed to be grumpy but I decided I would kill them with kindness. And smile a lot. That seems to help.

Now imagine this. It's 8:30pm. I'm wearing a too loose halter top (it's what I sleep in) and black corduroy pants. I left the holy pajama pants at home. My hair is greasy looking after a full day of work and I'm 30 seconds away from "that time of the month". I'm bloated, broken out and missing the comfort of my couch. Oh, and I'm not wearing a bra because that is the highlight of my day, when I come home I get to take that thing off.

I show the pharmacy tech my bottle of jello. She agrees that it probably shouldn't look like that. She asked the Pharmacist who barely looks up from her filling of bottles (you can see them) and says to shake it. The tech tells me to shake the bottle and it will return to a liquid state.

To demonstrate she shakes it a little for me.

I take it from her, look at her and look at the Pharmacist. She hates me. I know it.

I tell them I will hang out in the corner and shake it for a little bit myself because I frankly do not believe it will return to it's liquid state.

And I shake it. And shake it. And shake some more.

And remember what I told you only a few paragraphs ago about my bralessness and my tank top?

Yeah.

So the pharmacy tech comes out and tries to shoo me out of the Wal-greens because OMG do you see what was happening there?!

I walk out to my car, call Micah, get my courage back, all the while SHAKING THE BOTTLE and then return to the pharmacy. I hand it to a new pharmacy tech and point out that I have been shaking the bottle for 20 minutes and my arm is tired. The inside of the bottle is coated with the stuff but the main portion of the medication is STILL a jello like blob.

To prove it I open the bottle and turn it upside down. The tech jumps back only to see that NOTHING comes out of the bottle.

I hear a loud sigh and the actual Pharmacist comes over. She closes the bottle. She shakes it. She opens it. She walks to the back of the Pharmacy and looks at a book ALL THE WHILE SHAKING THE BOTTLE.

She opens it again. She looks at it. She walks up to me.

Now at this point I assume it has magically turned into a liquid and I'm about to look like an ass. As if I was shaking the bottle wrong.

Instead she shows me the top of the bottle which is now completely jammed with what looks like yogurt but won't actually pour out of the bottle. She TELLS me it's kinda like yogurt.

"Yeah but he needs to swish it and spit it out. That's not swishable. It wont even exit the bottle."

At that point she concedes defeat and tells me that formulation is wrong. It's an old formula and should be MXB with has Mylox instead of Kaopectate. Whatever.

They told me they would have it ready the next day for pick up.

And they did.

I would like to believe it's the bralessness that did it.

I have no shame.

Obviously.

Flowers for Kylie

I think it's offically time to start feeling slightly past your prime when your teenage daughter is getting flowers delivered to the house.

Last Thursday I was sitting in the living room watching TV and playing with Will while Lizzie climbed all over me for attention. I had worked hard all day and was in ratty pajama pants that have made it through 2 pregnancies, barely, and a halter top. I was not, shall we say, presentable.

At just about 8pm there was a knock on the door. I got up and set the baby down thinking "It better not be the Jehova's Witness this late". I turned on the porch light and fought both Tasha and Molly to open the front door without them jumping or biting whoever lay on the other side.

Yes, I was one step away from crazy white trash woman is what I'm saying.

I opened the door and saw a tall, skinny kid with blond hair that's too long but all the style for disinfranchised youth today standing at my door with a large bouquet of flowers.

An aside here, Micah and I had had a "marital disagreement" earlier that week.

So when I saw the flowers I instantly thought Micah had sent me flowers. I smiled and looked over at Micah on the couch as he stared at me blankly waiting, I'm sure, for me to tell him who was at the door.

Then the long haired hippy boy asked for Kylie.

I paused and then recovered and asked if he was Justin, her latest boyfriend (she and Tyler broke up the day after I wrote the blog about him. Jinx thy name is Blog.).

"No. I'm Ty."

Hi foot, my name is mouth, nice to meet you.

At this point I said hang on, shut the door slightly to the two dogs begging to check out the new person at the door and went to Kylie's room to announce that she had flowers and a boy waiting for her at the door.

She went and spoke to him wearing Hello Kitty fuzzy pajama pants and a Bride of Frankstein t-shirt which I'm pretty sure sealed our Crazy Family status. They stood on the porch and talked which meant I was forced to try and listen through the door and peek through the window.

Crazy. I know.

Anyway - turns out this new boy Ty (not to be confused with old boyfriend Tyler) asked her to the homecoming dance. Despite her having a boyfriend already. And a date.

He said his mom MADE him ask and is MAKING him go to homecoming. Anyone else buying that story?

So yeah, no flowers for me. But my kid is getting expensive bouquets.

Something feels very not right about this whole situation and I don't think it's my tattered pajama bottoms.

Bullet Points

I've been crazy busy this week/weekend so I'll post bullet points on how the week has gone and I'll follow up later with stories. Sound okay with you? Good.

• Will has been to the hospital twice since Sept. 7th. He's going to live. ER Doctors might not.
• I made a giant leap forward in co-parenting with my ex-spouse and his wife. I believe that qualifies me for sainthood. Will research and get back to you.
• Threw Lizzie's 6th birthday on Sunday and spent more than we would have if we would have just had the party at Chuck E. Cheese. I blame Micah.
• My in-laws threw a massive September birthday party for the 6 people in their family who have September birthdays. The haves outnumbered the have nots 6 to 5.
• It's been a year since I have spoken to my father. I remember because he picked a fight with me over the President Obama speech to school children last year about this time. It's been a surprisingly pleasant year. I expect to care about him again about the time he dies. Whether or not I attend the funeral remains to be seen.
• A boy showed up at our house last week with a bouquet of flowers. I thought they were from Micah and got all mushy. Turns out they were for Kylie and the boy was asking her to the Homecoming Dance. Mom - 0, Kylie - 1
• I know I've had him for 10 months and all but changing a diaper with a baby erection still startles me. I'm pretty sure I'm not supposed to mention that on the Internet.
• Will's entire vocabulary consists of Da-da. The tone and frequency vary but the word Da remains the same.
• I have not yet won the lottery and it's starting to bother me. This whole "working" thing is so over rated.

There's my recap. I promise, when I'm feeling creative enough to write the stories I'll tell you all about them.

Garden Goodies

So it looks like my first foray into gardening has been a success.

I had cucumbers, although not many. Those are done now though.

My onions continue to grow although they are not going to be massive. I think that's the result of growing in a container with other items. Next year I'll put them in the ground in their own row.

My jalepeno peppers have FINALLY decided to come out and I've picked and used one so far in my peach salasa and have at least 4 or 5 on the plant still maturing.

My cherry tomato plant is ridiculus. I'm pulling ziplock baggies of red tomatoes off that thing twice a week. Sadly, I dont like cherry tomatoes so I've been giving them away after my children eat their fill.

My roma tomatoes have produced 1-2 smallish red fruits per week. Not enough to make sauce which makes me sad.

Mater's and Peno's.

This weekend we finally pulled a carrot from the garden. My helper ate it after we rinsed it off and its' short and stubby. Again, the result of it's container home I think.

Blueberries did not do anything this year (I didn't think they would) and my strawberries are now going crazy with runners but they aren't blooming. That's okay,we had a couple this spring.

Sure, we wont be living off the land this winter with massive food stores but overall it was pretty great watching things grow.

9 years later, what have we learned?

The last 30 days or so have been kind of not real for me. I mean, obviously they are real and I'm in them and experiencing them and feeling them.

But it seems like daily, as the 9 year anniversary of September 11th approaches, there has been more hate, more ignorance, more fear throw around. It makes me sad to think that 9 years after that sorrowful and fateful day we have learned nothing about loving and embracing. Those of us who turned to our faith have apparently forgotten the message that our faith provides.

I am of course talking about how America, or at least the media in America, seems to be focusing on Muslims, the Muslim faith and apparently controversy involving Muslims where ever they can find it.

I started noticing it when I heard "Ground Zero Mosque". The title suggested to me that someone wanted to build a mosque at Ground Zero in New York. I thought that was odd and, well, possibly not a good idea.

So I did some reading and research. Turns out no one wants to build a mosque at Ground Zero. But a religious group wants to build a Muslim Community Center several blocks away from Ground Zero in an abandoned building that was formerly a Burlington Coat Factory store.

Somehow though Ex-Burlington Coat Factory Community Center just doesn't sound the same though. Well, not if you want to enrage and incense people and get them up in arms about something.

It's not at Ground Zero. It's not a mosque.

Sure, it will have a prayer area in it. It will also have a basketball court. And a swimming pool. I'm pretty sure we won't be calling it a stadium or water park though. I have delivered 2 of my 3 children in Catholic Hospitals but I don't tell anyone they were born in a church even though they DID have chapels in them. So it's not a mosque.

Immediately in the aftermath of the terrorist attacks on September 11, 2001 lots of people asked why. Including myself. I could not fathom the WHY and I generally like to know the WHY of things.

Lots of people seemed to think the terrorists hated out freedom. They hated our way of life. Hated our FREEDOM. Especially that whole Freedom of Religion thing. And yet here we are, 9 years later, saying, essentially "screw your freedom of religion". Well, not all of us. But some of us. A large majority of us, if you believe the polls you read online.

Apparently we are willing to loudly scream about freedom of religion (even though it's not really a mosque) but we mean only for us. Us. Not Them. Christians. Jews. Anyone but Muslims. We are willing to say "Yes of course you can have freedom of religion but, you know, can you do it somewhere else? Somewhere not here." Which isn't really freedom at all.

Following the Ground Zero Mosque controversy comes a Pastor from Dove World Outreach Center in Florida decides that September 11th should be burn a Qur'an day. Let me say that again, a Christian Pastor thinks we should declare a specific day to burn the holy books of another religion. The irony of calling his church a World Outreach does not escape me.

The Quran mentions Jesus specifically by name 25 times. Did you know that? Did you know that the Quran teaches that Jesus was born to Mary from virginal conception and that his purpose was to guide the people of Israel? Did you know that Islam teaches that Jesus was raised up to Heaven and will return to Earth on the Day of Judgment to defeat the false messiah?

There are differences between Islam and Christianity to be sure. But are we really saying it's okay to burn a holy book which proclaims that Jesus is the Son of God?

When we say Muslim do we realize we are talking about American's? That we are telling American's they can't have a community center that celebrates their religion as well as basketball and swimming and a library? Because they share a religion with people who flew planes into buildings that killed thousands of people.

Except they don't really share the same religion anymore than Pastor Terry Jones and I share the same religion. Sure, we can both say we are Christian. But I can promise you that the Christianity I practice and the Christianity he practices are apparently VASTLY different.

To note, I believe in the Freedom of Religion along with our other freedoms and embrace them. I do not, however, believe that Terry Jones burning the Qur'an is an expression of his religion anymore than Catholic Priests who molested children were expressing theirs.

So it is with terrorists who are Muslim and American Muslims.

American Muslims had a loss that day on September 11th, 2001 as well. People that shared their faith, and I don't mean those flying the planes into buildings and fields, died that day. They lost loves ones. They saw their cities destroyed. They saw their country on the verge. They asked "Why?".

I truly don't know the answer to Why, even now, 9 years later.

I'm pretty sure it isn't because they hate our freedom.

But just in case, let's really show them. Let's love our neighbors, all of them, including the Muslim ones SO much that we encourage them to reveal and enjoy their community centers and places of worship and holy books without fear or concern or doubt.

Let's show them that when we talk about Freedom in America, we really, truly, mean it for everyone.

Flowers for Mommy

I think there is possibly no greater way a child can show their mother that they love them than to bring them a bouquet of wild flowers. I myself can recall the excitement of finding yellow dandelions all over the lawn and picking them, even if they were only nubs, to present to my mother.

"Here Mommy!" I would say as I presented what adults called weeds to her.

Normally she put them in a cup of water for as long as my attention span remembered the flowers and then she would dispose of them later.

Last week Lizzie brought me a bouquet that I tried REALLY hard not to bring into the house. Nor only was it weeds, it didn't even sort of resemble flowers.

At least not to me.

Because as an adult I have lost my wonder and excitement at things that grow and sprout. I no longer think of anything with a head or bulb and leaves as a flower but children certainly do.

Initially we left the "bouquet" outside, to get rid of the bugs I told her. The next morning she found it where I had left it, outside and brought it into the house for me.

The next morning I could appreciate the arrangement better and could see that it was important to her that I accept them. That I fawn over them. That I recognize them as a gift.

When I left them outside, I was telling her I didn't like her gift. When I put them in water, I showed her that her effort and gift was important.

I wish I always thought that way but I don't. I'll try to be better about it in the future.

For the record, these "flowers" have lasted a LOT longer than anything I've ever paid for.

Thank you Lizzie, for your flowers. They are beautiful.

State Fair

I'm not sure if the Alaska State Fair is vastly different than the Colorado State Fair or if it's just that age and memory put those places into a different context for me that makes it SEEM as if they are different.

My memories seem almost magical as my friends and I wandered around the fair for hours exploring every exhibit and booth until finally caving into our base desires and surrendering to the lure of the carnival rides and games.

Perhaps it's as a parent of small children where that magic dissipates some what.

Saturday on a spur of the moment we decided to go to the Colorado State Fair. Kylie was with Brian that day so it was just Lizzie and Will.

Best money spent ever was $25 for the ride wristband.

I wish I could tell you that we looked at the exhibits and booths, which is a huge part of what I remember from my state fair experiences, but we really didn't. We looked at some rabbits and chickens and then a 4H exhibit and after that spent the majority of the day with Lizzie (and occasionally myself) riding the rides.

Will spent the majority of his day in his stroller but was still wiped out.

And I'm not sure if I've just gotten used to the heat (unlikely) or if the temperature was just perfect for and afternoon/evening at the state fair.

What you don't see here is the EPIC struggle Will and I participated in over that cut of Strawberry Lemonade. He won but just barely.




It took two rides on this particular ride before she could let go enough and put her arms up in the air but once she did the joy she felt was amazing.

Will was exhausted after the cup wrestling earlier.

This was far and away Lizzie's favorite ride and of course it was the ride I had to go on with her because she's so tiny. When first seated she can barely see over the safety cage. After the twirling of the ride she definitely can't see over it.

We rode this three times she loved it so much.

The first time it started moving she looked at me and said "I'm scared." I told her I had her, it was okay and asked if she could feel the butterflies in her stomach. I reached over and held on to her legs for the rest of the ride so she didn't fly all over the seat during the ride and she had a blast.

By the third time on the ride she demanded I not hold on to her and also was the first person in our car, nay, the whole ride, to throw her arms up in the air and scream for joy.

Perhaps the State Fair isn't magical to me anymore. But it certainly was magical to my children.


And that's pretty magical to me.

It skips a gender

When I was a wee lass (side note - when I was younger I had SEVERAL people ask me my name and think I said Lassie instead of Lacy. They also thought it was funny that my name was Lassie. People can be really lame.) I was what you may call a Tom Boy. I generally played better with boys in a social setting rather than girls. Girls are mean. They really, really are.

Naturally on the playground there was always roughhousing and running around and playing "war" and "cowboys and Indians" and "cops and robbers" etc. My role in these games always shifted, as they generally do for all the kids involved. Sometimes your the bad guy, sometimes your the good guy but there is almost ALWAYS guns and weapons of mass destruction involved.

While I was EXCELLENT at running around and hiding and strategy (lets hide under the tires!) I did have one VERY pronounced shortcoming that made me a semi-outcast in these games.

I can't make the noises.

I can't make the sound of a gun or fighter engine or tank or motorboat or speeding race car or ANYTHING of the sort. At least not convincingly.

Where the boys would make noises that sound exactly like what they are portraying and typed out look like "PSHHHHHBEERRRRRBAM" my noises were sad little "pow pow" and "bang bang" and in the case of all motorized vehicles "vroom vroom".

My male friends attempted occasionally to teach me the cool noises. When I asked HOW they made them they would normally shrug and just say "I dunno" and go on making their fighter planes drop massive nuclear weapons on my little ponies or Bar*bies or whatever.

Thankfully during the outside games they normally allowed me to play along despite my obvious handicap and instead gave me silent roles. I OFTEN played "spy".

The other night Micah and I were sitting on the couch when suddenly I heard a VERY familiar sound coming from the play pen. I looked around and saw Will crawling out of his corner making, I kid you not, race car noises. VERRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMM is what it would look like.

I looked at Micah and asked "How does he know how to make that sound?"

Micah's response was a shoulder shrug and "I dunno".

Still can't dance

These last 2 weeks have been moving and shaking weeks for us here at Che Gonzales.

First, at back to school night Kylie performed with her dance class to Shakira's Waka Waka (the theme song for this years World Cup, in case you didn't know). You will need to click on the movie once it starts playing to see Kylie in the frame. I have no idea how to fix that.



And then Will decided to entertain Micah and I at dinner last night. Yes, this is dancing. I was shaking my shoulders and dancing to the music while we waited for our meal. Will watched for very intently for about a minute and then, well, watch.

Let us not wallow in the valley of despair

On August 28, 1963 Martin Luther King Jr delivered a 10 minute speech that ranks as one of the most memorable, most admired, most wept at speeches of all time.

It's referred to as the "I Have a Dream Speech".

My post is the text of that 10 minute speech.

While I believe there have been leaps and bounds made in regards to racism in this country I still believe there is more to be done. More hearts that need to be softened. Most fears that need to be addressed.

As a side note, about a year after my parents were divorced when people would ask my mom how she felt about it she would say "Free at last, free at last, thank God almighty, I am free at last."

I am happy to join with you today in what will go down in history as the greatest demonstration for freedom in the history of our nation. [Applause]

Five score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand signed the Emancipation Proclamation. This momentous decree came as a great beacon light of hope to millions of Negro slaves who had been seared in the flames of withering injustice. It came as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of captivity.

But one hundred years later, we must face the tragic fact that the Negro is still not free. One hundred years later, the life of the Negro is still sadly crippled by the manacles of segregation and the chains of discrimination. One hundred years later, the Negro lives on a lonely island of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity. One hundred years later, the Negro is still languishing in the corners of American society and finds himself an exile in his own land. So we have come here today to dramatize an appalling condition.

In a sense we have come to our nation's capital to cash a check. When the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir. This note was a promise that all men would be guaranteed the inalienable rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note insofar as her citizens of color are concerned. Instead of honoring this sacred obligation, America has given the Negro people a bad check which has come back marked "insufficient funds." But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt. We refuse to believe that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity of this nation. So we have come to cash this check -- a check that will give us upon demand the riches of freedom and the security of justice. We have also come to this hallowed spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of now. This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism. Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlit path of racial justice. Now is the time to open the doors of opportunity to all of God's children. Now is the time to lift our nation from the quicksands of racial injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood.

It would be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment and to underestimate the determination of the Negro. This sweltering summer of the Negro's legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating autumn of freedom and equality. Nineteen sixty-three is not an end, but a beginning. Those who hope that the Negro needed to blow off steam and will now be content will have a rude awakening if the nation returns to business as usual. There will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the Negro is granted his citizenship rights. The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice emerges.

But there is something that I must say to my people who stand on the warm threshold which leads into the palace of justice. In the process of gaining our rightful place we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred.

We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. We must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force. The marvelous new militancy which has engulfed the Negro community must not lead us to distrust of all white people, for many of our white brothers, as evidenced by their presence here today, have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny and their freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom. We cannot walk alone.

And as we walk, we must make the pledge that we shall march ahead. We cannot turn back. There are those who are asking the devotees of civil rights, "When will you be satisfied?" We can never be satisfied as long as our bodies, heavy with the fatigue of travel, cannot gain lodging in the motels of the highways and the hotels of the cities. We cannot be satisfied as long as the Negro's basic mobility is from a smaller ghetto to a larger one. We can never be satisfied as long as a Negro in Mississippi cannot vote and a Negro in New York believes he has nothing for which to vote. No, no, we are not satisfied, and we will not be satisfied until justice rolls down like waters and righteousness like a mighty stream.

I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations. Some of you have come fresh from narrow cells. Some of you have come from areas where your quest for freedom left you battered by the storms of persecution and staggered by the winds of police brutality. You have been the veterans of creative suffering. Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive.

Go back to Mississippi, go back to Alabama, go back to Georgia, go back to Louisiana, go back to the slums and ghettos of our northern cities, knowing that somehow this situation can and will be changed. Let us not wallow in the valley of despair.

I say to you today, my friends, that in spite of the difficulties and frustrations of the moment, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal."

I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at a table of brotherhood.

I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a desert state, sweltering with the heat of injustice and oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.

I have a dream that my four children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.

I have a dream today.

I have a dream that one day the state of Alabama, whose governor's lips are presently dripping with the words of interposition and nullification, will be transformed into a situation where little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls and walk together as sisters and brothers.

I have a dream today.

I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight, and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together.

This is our hope. This is the faith with which I return to the South. With this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.

This will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with a new meaning, "My country, 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my fathers died, land of the pilgrim's pride, from every mountainside, let freedom ring."

And if America is to be a great nation this must become true. So let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire. Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York. Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania!

Let freedom ring from the snowcapped Rockies of Colorado!

Let freedom ring from the curvaceous peaks of California!

But not only that; let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia!

Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee!

Let freedom ring from every hill and every molehill of Mississippi. From every mountainside, let freedom ring.

When we let freedom ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual, "Free at last! free at last! thank God Almighty, we are free at last!"

Of girls and boys and toothbrushes

First- funny story about Lizzie. A couple of weeks ago we received the reminder from Ky's orthodontist that it was time for a visit. Whoo hoo! Ky saw it and threw it into the back of my car. A day later Lizzie saw it and in her excitement of seeing the postcard with a tooth and cartoon dentist on it lost her ability to read. Practically shaking she asked, nay, demanded to know if it was time for her to visit the dentist. Sadly I had to tell her the postcard was Kylie's. I might have well just told her that Santa wasn't real and she was never going to get a present ever again. Devastated. Over the lack of dental appointments.

That kid is not right.

This short story DOES have a happy ending however. 2 days later her reminder came in the mail. I haven't told her about the appointment yet because I just can't deal with daily questions "Is TODAY the day I see the dentist?".

Second - Last week Micah and I were sitting in the living room watching a show that I can't remember now. I heard a strange noise and so did Micah so he paused the television. All our children were supposed to be asleep and in bed after all.

I listened and finally the source of the noise dawned on me. Kylie was in the bathroom. Brushing her teeth. For over 8.6 seconds. WITHOUT BEING TOLD. I thought Micah was going to faint when we then heard her rinse with mouthwash.

He looked at me and said "She has a boyfriend. I'd bet money."

The next day was Back to School Night. I met the boyfriend. Micah was right. Good thing I didn't take that bet.

Here's the skinny on this boyfriend who is real and doesn't live on the Internet (where the large majority of her boyfriends have lived in the past).

His name is Tyler. (I call them Ky and Ty. I bet she hates that)

He is a senior. (More on this momentarily)

He shook my hand and looked me in the eye. I like that. A lot.

When quizzed about college plans he has solid plans and goals AND knows the reasoning why he making these decisions.

His mom attended back to school night which tells me they are involved in his life. I like that.

He has siblings that he is close to.

He is respectful.

This is the two of them together obviously hamming it up for my iPhone camera.

I have two concerns. The first is that he is a senior and she is a freshman. When I was a freshman I dated a junior. I know how that turned out so my concern is strong. When I told my co-workers about the age difference they all responded with not so helpful thoughts on why a senior would date a freshman. THANKS GUYS.

Looking at it another way though, Kylie will be 15 in about a month. She missed the deadline to enroll in Kindergarten in Tucson by weeks so she is almost always the oldest in her class. Tyler is 17 currently although he'll turn 18 in November. That's a not quite 3 year age gap. I'm comfortable with that, especially since I've met him and so has Brian.

My other concern though is totally selfish. I think we all know how high school romance can turn out. Rarely do people stay together in high school and Tyler will be graduating and attending college next year. While he will remain in Colorado he may not be hip into sticking it out with a high school sophomore and Kylie may want to see other high school boys when Tyler isn't around. This is normal and not weird.

But I REALLY like him! (Imagine me throwing myself across the bed sobbing with acne cream all over my face and curlers in my hair.) I think he's a nice boy and good and I don't WANT him to go away when chances are likely that he will. DAMMIT.

Yes, I know. I have teenage angst over my daughters boyfriend.

Obviously, I'm weird.

Conversations with Micah

Lacy: *gets off the couch and knees creak*

Micah: My old lady

Lacy: I know, I'm already 31. Can you believe it?

Micah: I know! I'm 36.

Lacy: Actually, you're 35.

Micah: Well they say you're as old as you feel.

Mis-Matched

There was a moment in my pregnancy with Lizzie where my heart broke into about 100 pieces. It was that moment where as a mother you realize you had forgotten to address something that was really important. Except you didn't forget. You didn't realize which is almost 100 times worse than forgetting.

Kylie, as you may know, is my blond child. Well, she was at 8 which is when this happened. Right now she's kinda black with blond/red highlights but in the last year has had green, purple, red and blue hair. But for this story she's blond. And 8. And had been an only child for those entire 8 years.

I am not blond. I have pretty dark brown hair. Sometimes it naturally has a copper tint to it (and sometimes I just go all out and dye it red for a year). My ex-husband also had brown hair, although slightly lighter than my own.

When I was about 6 months pregnant Kylie looked at me one night and asked, innocently, "What color hair will the baby have?"

I didn't even think about it. It was an innocent question after all. I told her probably brown.

Kylie thought about it for a minute and then said, "I wont match."

I asked what she meant but the statement already resonated with me.

She explained that I had brown hair, Daddy had brown hair and the baby would have brown hair but she had blond hair. She didn't look like anyone else.

I didn't know what to say. She was right of course. She was blond and neither my husband at the time nor myself could have ever passed for blond. In the past when people had mentioned her blond hair compared to two brunette parents we had usually said something along the lines of "Her dad was blond as a baby." Which was true. Except my husband wasn't her dad. Not in the biological sense anyways.

I tried to explain to Kylie that she and the baby would look plenty alike and they both would look at LEAST like me somewhat. (Which is odd because neither of my girls look like me. My boy on the other hand.....)

I explained that the baby would have blue eyes and so did she and that people would know. They would see them as sisters.

Eventually that anxiety passed and moved onto other things. Other things like, "You and dad did it! GROSSSSSS!"

It's funny now. It's funny because last week my mother in law looked at my son and said, "He looks like his hair is turning red." And she's right. Not like TV-commercial-for-Ireland red but it's a much lighter brown than mine and certainly my black haired husband. And it's got a LOT more copper in it than mine.

Frankly we look like a hair product ad. Well, we would.

If Kylie still had blond hair.

Technically ketchup is made from tomatoes....

Dear Lord,

Is ketchup a vegetable? Or a fruit? (Tomatoes are fruit I was just informed). If it isn't could it be just for tonight? Please? Because Lord, if you would grant me that ketchup counts as a vegetable (OR FRUIT!) then I can rest easier knowing that I served my children a well balanced meal with a protein (chicken nuggets), a starch (steak fries), and a vegetable/fruit (ketchup).

Lord, it's not that I don't WANT to serve my children a healthier meal where the status of the vegetable/fruit is not up for debate. It's just that, well Lord, I'm busy. You see I struggle. I want to be really PRESENT for my children. I want to be a good mother. I want to be a mother who listens to her daughters tell her about volleyball and the playground and discuss boys and friends and birthday parties. And I can't always do that when I'm rushing around the kitchen trying to make dinner.

My time is limited Lord, but then, you know that. Often my choice is to make a healthier meal which will take longer in the kitchen or throw something together fast so we can get on with our night. Yes, I know, Once a Month Cooking and Kitchen Prep can be lifesavers. I KNOW this. But sometimes, some weeks, I forget. Or I get lazy. Okay, it's probably more lazy than forgetful.

But Lord, I don't get home until 6pm. Then it's another hour in the kitchen. Then we eat dinner. By the time that's all over it's 7:30pm and there is still homework and bath time and baby cuddles and story time and dancing princesses and, well, sometimes I just don't wanna give all of that up for dinner prep.

I'm striving to be a better mother. A more in-tune mother. I want to know my children better Lord. I want to know their hearts. I want them to feel as though they are being heard and that their mother is not distracted with food preparation after work.

And this ketchup gift would go a long way in helping that. So please Lord, just for tonight. Or this week. Can ketchup please be a vegetable (or fruit)?

Cat & Mouse

Dear Jason-the-cat,

You are an excellent cat. One of the best I've ever had. Of course you are only the second cat I've ever had and I've only had you for about a year. Plus the other cat had urinary tract issues that cost several thousand dollars to correct. So far you haven't cost nearly that much so you're in my top 2 for sure.

You are loving and affectionate and I dare say I am one of your favorite humans in the house. I think it's because I so gently open your cat food every morning after your have meowed at me beginning at 5:30am. Just ignore the things I grumble under my breath, they aren't for such young ear anyways.

You are also very patient with all the small hands in the house and despite a death grip on your tail you have never once scratched or even hissed at the Baby. Or Lizzie. And only a little bit at Kylie.

You are obviously grateful for such a nice, comfortable home with couch to live on and a variety of delicious food to eat. I can tell by the gifts you bring in at least once a week.



While I appreciate IMMENSELY that you have begun bringing them in more often dead than alive I must ask that you refrain from the gift giving. The mouse on the kitchen floor Saturday was disturbing and it's becoming a habit. I realize that you are simply bringing me gifts which are in your nature but I have now had to bury and give funeral for 1 Edgar The Mouse and have had to quietly hide 2 more bodies when small little girls have not been looking.

Not to mention my mother in law freaks out when you bring them in and my husband steps over them as if he doesn't see them.

Please Jason, if you love me, stop bringing me mice, dead or alive.

How about you just don't pee on anything in the house and we'll call it good?

Love,
Lacy

Colorado friends and family - look away

Okay you can read the first 6 paragraphs but then really, you have to stop reading. The safety of the world depends on it.

This Saturday my husband gave me the morning "off" and I went strawberry picking. I figured it would be like when I went in June which means they would be small and hard to find. I was SO wrong.

The berries were EVERYWHERE and they looked like this:

They were so plentiful that I hoped off the tractor that pulled myself and the other pickers our there that within 35 minutes or so I had an entire flat FULL of them. It looked like this:



I will say that it is considerably easier to pick berries that are large and everywhere without children than with. I was in the field a considerably small length of time than the groups with kids and had far more to show for it. Of course I didn't eat the product either and by the looks of some of the kids that's ALL they did.

I went back out into the field and picked another flat because I was certain one wouldn't be enough. In June when I made Jam I didn't have enough and had to buy strawberries at the farmers market for far too much money. I was determined to get enough. I got MORE than enough.

I also got a really bad sunburn. Turns out when I don't bring my children with me I get so excited that I forget to bring ANYTHING for myself and so didn't have any sunscreen with me. It's now Thursday (I picked on Saturday) and the back of my arms STILL are sore to the touch from the sunburn. Owwie.

Okay Colorado family and friends. Time to stop reading. Look away now.

Are you looking away? NO! You just read this line. For real now, I'm serious, look away.

Okay, are they gone?

So I'm making Strawberry Vanilla jam for Christmas gifts this year. From one FLAT of berries I produced 2 batches of jam. Really it's just a strawberry jam recipe with a vanilla bean cut in half, scraped and all stuff dumped into the pot to simmer. It tastes divine.

I made it in two sizes. 4 oz and 8 oz and Micah will be hopefully designing the labels for me soon.


Tell me that doesn't look yummy!

Two sizes. Also, if you look at the environment AROUND my jars you'll see a real microcosm of my life. Teething tables, dental checkup reminder and unopened mail on my counter.

This is the AMOUNT of jam I have so far. I still have the berries from another flat to process too.

I better hurry, raspberries are ready to be picked in 2 weeks at the farm and I'm looking forward to some raspberry jam as well!

August 10th

August 10th was yesterday and for the most part I kept myself incredibly busy all day. Well as busy as I could, what with working and PTO and driving and all.

But everytime I had a free moment, everytime my mind had a spare second to wander it went right back to playing the same game.

What if?

I personally HATE the What If game. I hate when people play it with me professionally (What if I got laid off and I was hit by a 800lb gorilla on the way to work the day before my last day?).

I hate when my children play the What If game with me also. (What if I smacked William in the head with a plate?)

I hate when friends play it. (What if I dated a married man, just for fun?)

I hate the What If game.

But yesterday my mind kept going back to it with every passing moment and I had to work really hard to keep it focused elsewhere.

You see, yesterday was supposed to be my mother's 58th birthday. She passed away at 52, 3 months before turning 53. Yesterday my mind wanted to play What If She had lived.

You probably can see why this game sucks. But in case you don't here's what my brain was doing.

What if she had never gotten sick? Where would she have traveled? Would she have remodeled something else in her house? Would she have bought a new car? Would she have gone to Russia? Paris? Italy? Would she have moved you to Alaska when you got divorced? Would you have gotten divorced? Would she have come for Christmas every year? Would you have married Micah? What would she have thought of a grandson? Would she have liked the name William? Would she still be working there? What would she have said when you got your job?, got your certification? grew your garden?

It was like that, the same questions, all day long when it was quiet.

And it all begins with the same question.

What if She had lived?

I hate the What If game.