The Romance From Afar

As many of you know, Chris and I married after being matched up by eharmony. We committed to each other very quickly for reasons we're not really sure of. We just went with our intuition, and thankfully, it's worked out well for us. We'll be married four years this March, and we're still finding new reasons to love each other every day.

Silly Valentine's Day. I'm not an overly sentimental, mushy person. I don't hold onto many keepsakes, and I don't think those reminiscings are all that important. What is important is the day to day love and kindness and grace. Waking up every day with a commitment to someone, with shared dreams and lives.

Forgive me, then, if I take a moment to reminisce on the mysterious origins of my marriage. A couple weeks ago Chris was going through his emails, and he came across one of the first emails I sent to him after we graduated from the eharmony process. I thought you might get a kick out of an excerpt:

I came into work this morning, shivering from the cold. I had to wait
fifteen minutes in my car for the darn thing to warm up enough to melt the
frost off the windshield. And I refuse to get out the ice scraper before
November. I'm dressed in khaki pants, leather sandals, and a huge yellow
sweatshirt that says "Big Daddy" on the front. (It's one of the thousands of
products we sell, and I got it for five bucks. I find it amusing). I combed
my hair but didn't wash it. Left off the makeup. Didn't even brush my teeth
yet. Just crawled over here to check my email.

There are two people I'm corresponding with on a regular/serious basis right
now. You and a guy named Ben who lives about 45 minutes from me. For the
past month after I shoved myself onto the market, I've been juggling. And
I've narrowed down the field to you two. And I have to be honest. I want
you. I sat down here at my desk, read through the latest email from Ben that
was sent to my work account. And he mentioned that I shouldn't be surprised
if he called me this morning. And then I got online and checked my hotmail
account, and there you were. As alive and pulsing as anybody... so real and
tangible even though you really are just words on a screen. Halfway through
your email, with my pulse racing and an idiotic grin spread across my face,
my damn cell phone rings. And it's Ben.

He's a very nice guy... incredibly stable. Owns his own home. Has a loving
and great family. And if you weren't holding me so close to your heart, I'd
probably throw myself at him. Which would be a mistake. Because no matter
how ideal he appears, "it" just isn't there. That divine spark of knowing.
The flutter. The chemistry and pheremones that glues me to your emails.

We'll figure out the rest. What matters most is the connection we have
already. This nameless force, this thread that seems to bind us together,
even though we probably haven't been closer than a thousand miles to each
other. We could probably ignore it. And move on. But I don't want to. I feel
deep within my body that you're mine already. That it's a foregone
conclusion. Does this scare you?

Happy Month o' Love Everyone!

Life Along Side the Quilting Table

I am in full-fledged quilting mode, spending at least four hours a day at the task. I have beautified my sewing table and laid in a cache of unheard audiobooks. I have more fabric than I know what to do with thanks to too many trips to the fabric store.

I have had many questions as to how I manage to quilt while taking care of the kids. The answer is complicated, but I'll give you a picture to describe it, a picture of words, that is.

My hair is pushed off of my face with a headband, letting me forget for a bit longer that it's been two (or is it three?) days since last I washed it. My shirt, crusty in places from snot and breakfast, tops off a careless outfit that may or may not include jeans, which I consider to be "dressier" than my pajama pants. The children are clothed and fed and washed; I have standards, don't you know.

In the adjacent bedroom, a Little Tykes slide plays host to numerous activities... the conveyor belt of flashcards, a launching pad for trucks, a laundry chute for disheveled children. Duplo blocks are scattered across the hardwood floor. Don't they make such a great sound when dumped from their bin?

After teaching Anna how to safely go down the stairs, she now as free reign of the house. She frequently makes the trek downstairs to grab a sippy cup or a cozy blanket or a shoe. Every once in a while, I move to the floor to sit and reach for her. We cuddle and giggle together, and I will nurse her until boredom moves her elsewhere or sleep overtakes her. Her favorite spot is on my lap, and when I'm just sewing and not brandishing the rotary cutter, I'll often hold her precariously on my lap, my arms reaching around her to hold the fabric steady under the jumping needle. Her joy is letting one of the widgy-gadgets bop up against her outstretched hands as the machine jiggers along.

Ben will sometimes be content to play upstairs or watch TV. Often, however, he goes downstairs where I have mommy radar going, listening for naughty sounds, or, worse, naughty silence. Mostly, he pulls out toys and plays by himself, entertaining himself without my assistance for up to two hours at a time. Sometimes I come downstairs to minor disasters, like washable marker on the floor or a roll of toilet paper in the toilet.

Before snacktime, lunch and naps, clean-up time occurs in at least one zone of the house, and that's when the fun begins. The quilting table is tidied up, and I give the kids my full attention. I try to make clean-up fun. My strokes of genius include putting the end of the slide on a bucket and using the slide to put toys away. It's much more fun to collect them in buckets if you get to push them down a slide. Or maybe I'll put a broom handle on the floor two or three feet away from a bin, and I'll play referee while Ben practices his free throw skills. That one takes longer, but it's more "play" than "chore," so it's definitely worth it.

Slowly but surely, the quilt gets completed without bloodshed, without too many tears, without resentment and regret. I'm in the homestretch with my dear niece Alisha's quilt right now, and I feel overcome with blessings of a magnitude not yet experienced.

From One Thing to Another

First off... I shared this story with Chris today. Heard it on Catholic Radio, got warm fuzzies. I think it's a good lesson to learn.

A momentous occasion occurred today when Chris brought Momma Val's quilt to the post office. I was so glad to pull it out of the dryer this morning and see that all the stitches held, the colors didn't bleed, and it looked cozy. Mission accomplished. Whenever I look at it, I see all the little mistakes I made. I hope they are not as noticeable to Valerie and her sweet little boy.

Here's a picture of the quilt during one of the last stages of completion:

I had started this quilt early last summer at the end of a quilting binge. I started working, my health was "iffy" and life was chaos. I just didn't have the heart for quilting anymore, so I stopped. Unfortunately, that meant that Valerie didn't get her requested quilt in a timely fashion. Oh the guilt that festered. She never bothered me about it, but I didn't forget entirely.

Fast forward to the beginning of this month. We moved our bedroom upstairs, and I decided that I should bring up our six-foot table to put in the extra wide hallway at the top of the stairs. On there, I could put my sewing machine, and I'd even have room for my cutting board. Bingo. I set it up, and the quilting bug happened again.

It didn't take me long to finish her quilt once I started. I had most of the blocks completed or nearly completed. I just had to cut out the white blocks and put it all together. Happiness, thy name is "matching seams."

And now it's done. After the quilt for Alisha, I have four more quilts planned. A nap blanket for me, a quilt each for Anna and Ben, and a quilt for my nephew Gage. Happy times ahead.

On the kid front... Ben's vocabulary is burgeoning still. He's hard to understand at times, but he's trying. He's "using his words" a lot, even if it doesn't do any good because it sounds like gibberish. He can count to ten and can recognize all of the numbers. And he has most of the alphabet down pat, but he won't say it, just points them out and names them when he sees them. Colors are memorized.

His personality is adhesive. He loves stickers. If I give him a sheet of stickers, he will either put them all over his face (including eyelids), decorate a table top (or my laptop) or add them to random pages in his book collection. A couple days ago I went into the living room to turn off the TV quickly before we left to run errands, and I was greeted with the sight of a TV screen covered in stickers. Ah, Ben.

He's acting more interested in what I'm doing, and most of the time, he wants to join in. Kneading bread dough, washing dishes, picking up laundry, washing the table, etc. "Ben try?" I hear that a lot, except when he doesn't want to do something. Then it's "Mama try?"

Anna's infected boil is slowly healing. The infection is gone, but the spot remains. I'm glad the doctor ran labs on the specific bacteria (ostensibly to rule out MRSA) so that we could get a targeted antibiotic. Unfortunately, with antibiotics comes a terrible diaper rash. She's kind of annoyed by that and the two molars that are still halfway out or just under the surface. Intermittently, she's either jolly and rambunctious or she's whiny and clingy.

I wish you all could see her adorable facial expressions. The "stinkface" with a crinkled nose and pursed lips. The "oh-hi!" where she squats slightly and grins like she's ready to jump for joy at seeing you. The "oh-really" where she raises her barely-there-blond eyebrows and smirks, letting loose a deep-throated chuckle.

That's all I can do for tonight. Hope you all are happy and well.

Back to Business

Last week was manic in its activity. I squeezed in 20 hours of work and at least 10 hours on the quilt. As I systematically took care of business and nudged myself towards efficiency, I even had the emotional nerve to start going through the bills that have piled up. We still can't pay any of them, but at least they'll be at hand when we finally have a surplus again.

It's nice to feel capable again. I've had a rough couple of months. I don't really know what it was all about, but I'm very glad that I'm snapping out of it.

The new stuff happening in my life:

• New contributors at CitizenWausau.com. I've adjusted my duties at the site to better fit my new priorities. Now I'll be mainly coaxing and nurturing our new writers. It's quite satisfying to encourage people in their writing. I feel like a conductor of a fine orchestra. They have all the talent, I just blend their numerous skills together into a beautiful medley.
  
• The sewing station. I never got back to the sewing machine after my surgery last year. It's regrettable, and I'm ashamed. So I decided that I'd set up my life to reduce the excuses. I hauled up the six-foot table from the basement and set up a sewing station in the wide hallway outside our bedroom door. I got to work and quickly finished piecing the front and back of Momma Val's quilt. I spent extra time on the new piecing to make sure my seams would match. I'm pleased with the result, and now I'm just waiting for some more supplies. While I'm waiting on that, I'm doing more pinwheels for my niece Alisha's quilt. It's colorful and fun, and I'm excited to see that one finished as well.
• The kitchen. Why is it so easy to let the kitchen get disgustingly dirty? We didn't have dish detergent for a few days, so the dishes were put off. Then a plop of spaghetti sauce landed on the floor and splattered everywhere. It just went downhill from there. Now I'm just a day behind in the dishes, and there aren't any sticky messes festering.
• Laundry. This was frustrating. A while back, I was completely caught up on laundry. It was miraculous. But you know what? If you don't do laundry for more than a week, there's going to be a mountain waiting for you at the bottom of the laundry chute! I sorted Mount Washmore yesterday and completed three loads. There's still at least three more waiting down there. I think I'm going to try to make it a habit to go down there every morning after breakfast to move laundry up again. At least that will keep the system moving forward.

That's my life, folks. I hope January is treating you well. It certainly is cold up here. The temperature won't get above zero again until Friday, and that's not even mentioning the crazy wind chill temps. Yikes! Thank God that we have a roof over our heads and a functional furnace. We have food in the pantry and warm hearts. Yay!

Ben Turns Three

Chase after me, little boy.
Let's race and see what wonders we can rouse from the ordinary.
Hold my hand and explore this world with me.

Count to ten. Say the alphabet.
What color is this?
Roar! A lion is attacking.
No wait... it's the tickle monster!

Worlds of expression dance across your face.
Anticipation for a trip to the library.
Consternation when you can't find your airplane.
Fury when Anna plays with your train.
Adoration when it's snuggle time.

Say "I"... "I"
"love"... "Yubbs"
"you!" .. "You!"

Last night, Ben asked me if we could put his jacket on the cat so she wouldn't be cold when she got stuck in the attic. "Mama? Cat too cold in attic. Cat put on Ben's jacket so not cold."

I love this boy so much. He's the best tagalong, the best companion in this march through time. My little budd started hip-hop dancing when we started singing "Hark the Herald Angel Sing" at Christmas Eve service.

Two mornings in a row, I've found him sleeping on the couch when I come downstairs in the morning. During the night, he'd snuck out of bed, grabbed a peanut butter cookie from the kitchen, ate half of it and left the remainder on the arm of the couch next to four or five favorite cars, lined up carefully in a row. Twice, this has happened. The stinker.

Ben turns three today. *Sigh*

Memory Storage

Another Christmas under the belt. A success.

Yesterday morning dawned cold and snowy. The day became even snowier, and it seemed determined to bury us in for the duration. As more than six inches of fresh snow fell in our yard, we wondered if we'd ever make it out of town that afternoon to spend Christmas at my parents' house.

By the time we left home around 4, the snow had stopped, but the roads in town were near impassable in places. We had to slide down a hill once because the tires started spinning. Once we were on the highway, the roads were okay until closer to Minocqua, where they became snow-covered and slippery again. We made it, though.

During the Christmas Eve church service, I drew pictures of Lightning McQueen and Mater for Ben on the back of the program. Snapshot: When we started singing "O Holy Night," Ben started jamming next to us, complete with air guitar and booty shake. It's hard to explain to an almost-three-year-old that not all songs are dancing songs.

Back at Nana's, we let Ben and Anna open a couple of presents from family to keep him occupied. Snapshot: My brother's family gave Anna a box of tissues as a present. I knew she'd love it, because she's often strewn tissues around the house like rose petals. Instead of going crazy and tossing them everywhere, she pulled one out at a time and then brought them directly to the garbage bag that was sitting open for discarded boxes and paper. Such a conscientious girl!

My brother Mitch and his family opened their presents to each other. (They gave each other Mike and Ike's ... I'm so jealous!!) One of the gifts unwrapped was one of those new Monopoly games that uses a credit card system instead of cash, and Becky (Mitch's wife), Alisha (their 14yo daughter), Chris and I played until we were near to passing out around 10. Ben and I went to bed while Chris stayed up with a sleeping Anna on his chest. He was talking to Mitch and Becky until 1:30 in the morning. Crazy man.

Morning came far too early, and we gorged ourselves on homemade cinnamon rolls (we call it by the Finnish name "nisu") and breakfast pizza. My sister Jolene and her family came later in the morning. She has a son Gage who just turned 2 a month ago. Gage and Ben were chasing each other around the house and playing so easily together. It was remarkable to watch. I got to know my new niece Mya (she's 4 months old now) while Jo's stepdaughter Taylor entertained herself with Alisha.

We opened lots of presents after lunch and just before our family was going to leave for Wausau. So many gifts. So much fun. The ride home was easy, and as soon as we got home (and retrieved Molly from the dog sitter), we started putting together the new toys. The big circus tent playhouse was erected. I put together Anna's dolly stroller (now we just need a dolly). And Chris started the gargantuan task of putting together the play kitchen.

After no few than 3 hours, the kitchen was finally completed, and Ben and Anna were delighted with the finished product. Snapshot: Ben's favorite task is to wash his hands in the sink. Over and over again. At least I've taught him something wholesome. Snapshot: Ben knew instinctly where the ladle and spatula were supposed to go, even though we didn't have a clue. He placed them where they belong... on a couple of hooks built into the backsplash. We were dumbfounded.

The grandchildren:

Coffee Cake Pancakes

Yesterday morning I had this crazy idea to invite a whole passel of people over for pancakes following the half day of work today. Because of family obligations and the crazy amount of snow, only one family joined us, but we still had a fantastic visit.

I'd promised homemade pancakes, but I'd only ever made pancakes with a store-bought mix, so I searched online for the best recipe. I even stopped by IHOP's website for inspiration, where I saw their splash page feature for coffee cake pancakes. I started drooling.

With a few changes to a few different recipes, I came up with my own version of coffee cake pancakes. Here it is, a double-batch recipe...

COFFEE CAKE PANCAKES

Streusel topping:
1.25 cups flour
1 tsp ground cinnamon
1/2 tsp ground nutmeg
1/2 cup brown sugar
1/4 tsp salt
1/2 cup soft margarine

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. After mixing the dry ingredients, I used a handmixer to blend in the margarine until the mixture was the consistency of wet sand. Toss the mixture by the handful onto a parchment covered cookie sheet. Bake for 25-30 minute or until golden brown.

I overcooked the topping, so I ended up grinding up the hard chunks in my food processor. I was left with something that looked like graham cracker crust. Right before I started cooking the pancakes, I mixed in some melted butter to make it clumpy.

Pancake batter:
3 cups all-purpose flour
6 tsp baking powder
1 tsp salt
1/8 cup white sugar
2.5 cups whole milk
1/2 tsp vanilla extract
2 eggs
6 tbs melted butter

Mix together the dry ingredients. Allow the eggs to warm to room temperature. Heat the milk to lukewarm. Combine the eggs, milk, vanilla and melted butter and whisk well. Pour wet ingredients into the dry ingredients. Stir slowly with a spoon until blended, but still lumpy. Let sit for 10 minutes.

I used an ice cream scoop to make medium-sized pancakes on a 350-degree griddle. Once the pancakes were poured out, I sprinkled 1-2 tablespoons of the streusel topping onto each cake, followed by finely chopped walnuts and almonds (optional). Flip the cakes once the bubbles reach to the center and the spatula slides under easily.

I served them with a choice of real or imitation maple syrup, homemade hot apple cider and orange juice. Delicious.

I can imagine them with a cinnamon frosting drizzled on top or even whipped cream, but I thought they were quite tasty "plain."

HOT APPLE CIDER

I filled a saucepan three-quarters full with unsweetened 100% apple cider juice. I added 2 tablepoons of cinnamon, 1 tsp of nutmeg, 1 tsp of allspice, and 1/8 cup of real maple syrup. I let that simmer for an hour and strained it through a cotton cloth. Delightful.

Merry Christmas Everybody!

Much love from the Mathis Family.

Bedroom Switch 2008

Anna, Ben and I went from having the stomach flu around Thanksgiving to having colds this week. Ben is on his nebulizer a few times a day, and Anna is constantly dripping copious amounts of snot and very fussy. So of course it's the perfect time to start sleep training again.

Yeah right. We started training her again because her sleep patterns were getting worse and worse, finally to the point where she would pop right back up in her crib when we'd put her down. And then she'd cry forever until she'd either pass out for 30 minutes or so or until I would cuddle her.

Wednesday night, I slept upstairs with her. I slept in the twin bed, and she was in the packnplay. The idea is that she'd still have to go to sleep on her own, but she wouldn't be alone. Didn't work very well. She's had two very difficult nights. So we're taking it to the next level. She'll be sleeping in her crib in a room by herself. And Chris will be doing the Ferber timing. Going in after five minutes to tell her she's loved and should lay down. Then after ten minutes. Then again after fifteen. Etc. Until she falls asleep.

The other side to this, though, is that she's not feeling well. She's sick, and she's tired and cranky and congested. So this mama's heart might bleed too much, and I'll have to take her up into bed with me and keep her there with me all night long. I've eliminated the night feedings, though. That's tough on her.

While I was sleeping upstairs with her Wednesday night, I was thinking about how nice it would be to have our bedroom be upstairs. It's such a big room. 12x19. And we hardly go up there nowadays since Ben is sleeping downstairs now.

I mentioned it to Chris last night, and he jumped at it. At first he wanted to wait until we can paint the rooms to non-nursery colors, but his desire to sleep train Anna came first. Instead of putting her upstairs and leaving her to cry, and having to walk up there all the time to comfort her, we switched bedrooms today. Ben's twin bed is temporarily in the dining room (again) until Anna is sleeping better. Hopefully we'll be able to put it in their bedroom before Christmas. Tonight Chris will be sleeping in the dining room doing the Ferber thing. And I'll have the whole upstairs to myself. Such a luxury. Except I have to get used to not drinking so many fluids around bedtime. It's a long hike down some noisy steps to go potty.

Getting our bed upstairs was a challenge. It's just a queen, but we couldn't get it through the stairwell because of how steep the steps are. We folded the mattress and shoved hard. Very intense workout. The boxspring was a lost cause though. We just can't bend that. So Chris bought some rope, we leaned the two-story ladder against the balcony, and we did the pulley thing to slide the boxspring up the ladder/ramp and up to the second floor. That was quite the ordeal, but we got it done. Phew.

Beginning to Look a Lot Like ...

We started decorating for Christmas yesterday. I put lighted garland inside the arch between the living room and dining room and hung beautiful glass ornaments from it (and only broke one in the process). Chris put up the Christmas tree, including the lights.

While reading FamilyFun magazine, I was enamored with their Sparkling Ice Crystals. They looked so beautiful and so simple to make. This morning, I bought the supplies, and Ben and I got to work.

You see, in my head I had a vision of a winter wonderland in my living room.

A back story. When I was in college, I had an awesome apartment, featuring an awesome living room. I covered the ceiling with gnarled grape vines. It felt like a winery arbor. Gorgeous. When I was going through my butterfly phase, I hotglued thread to little butterflies made of feathers. I tied the thread to the grape vine. The result was a butterfly garden effect. It felt like butterflies were flying around in the room. Beautiful.

Why not hang the ice crystals in a similar fashion? That's what I did. Well, that's what Chris and I did. We'll add more when we get more supplies. I think it's magical.

You may also notice from the pictures that I'm in the process of painting my living room. Yeah. It's taking forever, but it's so hard to find time to paint when the kids are gone or distracted.

My Cup Runneth Over

I count my blessings every day, and I try to live with as much gratefulness as I can muster. Thanksgiving comes easy to me, and it’s my favorite holiday. All the best food with no gifts.

This year, I am thankful for the small grins my daughter gives me when she’s privately delighted. I’m thankful for the wrinkle in her nose and the downcast eyes when she’s scolded and trying not to cry. I love the soft strawberry blonde curls that swirl around the nape of her neck, and I’m so grateful to have her in my life, healthy and happy.

My son continues to teach me humility and new ways to laugh every day, and for that I am appreciative. I’m thankful for his politeness (when he’s not kicking his sister) and his willingness to love openly and enthusiastically.

I can’t talk about thankfulness without acknowledging The Husband. He finds new ways to love me and value me every day of our life together. I’m grateful for the way he throws his whole heart into loving our children. I didn’t have an overly affectionate father, so it heals me to watch him with Ben and Anna.

So that’s about all the gooey, sentimental claptrap I can handle for one post. Here’s a brief rundown of a few of the other things I’m thankful for this year.

– Citizen Wausau and the Gang of Four lets me be a grown-up once in a while.
– Working part-time so I have time to be the anal-retentive control freak I really am.
– Owning our own house where I can paint the walls with color.
– Redemption and forgiveness and all of the other graces you can find around the corner.

Happy Thanksgiving everybody!

On the Run

Anna started walking when she was 13 months old. Really, she started just after her first birthday, but she didn't start walking on a regular basis until a couple days ago, when walking became her ideal mode of transportation. She quickly learned the value of walking upright and how it eclipses crawling both in speed and convenience.

My little girl. She's walking. She toddles along, straight legged and clumsy, falling often, but able to get up now without having to pull up on something.

When Shiloh was a baby, Angelina Jolie got a lot of flak for calling her a blob compared to the sparkling personalities of her other children who she didn't meet until they were older. She called her infant a blob? How terrible. Well... not really.

I loved Anna desperately even while she was still in utero. After she was born and began growing, I was delighted and enamored with every new squeak, every new gesture, every spark of the special personality developing. But honestly? It's not until these last couple months that she's less "my baby" and more "my Anna." She has distinct likes and dislikes. She calls me "Mama." She plays hide and go seek with her toys. She claps and giggles and loves petting the dog. And now she's walking everywhere, suddenly with much more access to mischief.

She's becoming fully formed now. It's so difficult for me to remember Ben when he was still a baby. He's come into his own now, and he's my buddy, my entertainer, my shadow. This is who he is, more himself now than when he was a wailing infant.

So I'm feeling like I'm getting to know a new friend now, as Anna throws her first tantrum when I won't let her play with my cell phone, as Anna runs to greet me at the door when I get home from work, as she yells, "Mama!", when she wants my help.

My brain is fuzzy in the mornings, my eyes bleary, after yet another night of frequent wakings. Her sleep apnea keeps us all up at night (or at least the two of us) as she's stirring awake every hour or two in a hacking cough. I barely wake up now when I'm summoned into the dining room to feed and cuddle her again. Every night, I consider sleep training again, night weaning, so I can share the burden and lighten my load. But nearly every time, my heart goes into protective mother mode, and I go hug her as she yells and cries for me. So I resolve that when she has a clean bill of health, when the doctor tells me that she's fine and there's no reason for her to not sleep through the night, that is when I will start sleep training again.

In other news, Molly survived her spay surgery on Thursday. She slept most of Friday and yesterday. She's very cuddly and sensitive, and I hope she's not in much pain. That first day and night that she was home, she had diarrhea, and there was much ... um ... "leakage" where she was lying down and sitting. It was horrendously stinky, but luckily that resolved quickly.

An Imagination Tempered With Toddler-ness

This morning, Ben had a temper tantrum for no less than 30 minutes in our bedroom while Anna and I peacefully ate breakfast in the kitchen. From what I can make out from his shrieks and rants, he was angry that I had changed his diaper on the right side of the bed. Apparently, he wished that it had occurred on the left side, but he hadn't known that until after the change was done. Eventually, he pulled off his pants and his diaper and wouldn't budge from the room until I started the process over again on the left side of the bed.

That crisis conquered, we proceeded on with our day.

While those temper flare-ups (for the stupidest, most asinine reasons ever) happen at least once a day, I'm still bemused by his burst of imagination activity.

Picture this: We're at the breakfast table. He has a PB&J on bread, cut into the shape of a dinosaur (his "roar bread"). I have PB&J on an English Muffin, cut in half. He asks from half of my muffin, announces that it's a lion, and starts the Great War of Dinosaur and Lion at our dining room table. The war raged on in his head as the two parties tackled and fought, shouting toddler-ese obscenities at each other.

Another time, he's narrating the actions of Scoop (of Bob the Builder fame) as he terrorizes a small city of matchbox cars. "Uh-oh! Crash!" as Scoop finally is plunged off of the blanket chest into the abyss below. The trains regularly make runs around the living room of Sodor as they bicker back and forth about Bulgy's errant behavior and Toby's slowness.

When my BFF Mary came over last weekend to take Anna's 1-year pictures, Ben wanted to be the star. Contrary to his behavior from his own photo shoot months ago when he refused to acknowledge the camera, he jumped in front of the lens and started hamming it up with various Vogue-ish poses and grins. My boy. Delightful. I love him dearly.

A Trick of the Eye

If you look at my fishbowl from a certain angle, nothing has changed. I wake up in the morning and hold a crying Anna. Ben sleeps in for an hour longer. I kick my husband's butt out of bed after he hits the snooze button too many times. I make coffee. I drink it. I stay at home and care for the house and children.

It's a trick of the eye and refraction, because something has shifted again.

A couple weeks ago, Chris and I looked at our financial outlook, and it was mightily bleak, especially with the increased utility costs. Either he needed to get a second job or (gasp) I would have to get a part-time job. It would be months until Chris could get a raise, and we can't wait that long. The hole we're digging just gets deeper.

I offered to email the HR department at EB, my former employer, and ask if I could work in the call center on Saturdays and one evening a week. I had started out in the call center many years ago, and I didn't mind the job. Without saying anything to me (but I found it out from my secret sources in the company), someone in HR started digging around to find me a position in the corporate side.

The connect-the-dot picture started coming together. The imaging department always needs help. Before I resigned, the head of that department had written me a letter of reference recommending me for any job in his area based on my impressive eye for detail. Voila.

My dear friend Mary came over that weekend to show me how to do the work (she used to head the department). When I took the Photoshop next a couple days later, I was very slow, but accurate. I was offered the position. It pays more than I was expecting, and I was able to make my own schedule.

When I was a proofreader at the company, I always knew that if I ever had to leave the position, the only other place I'd really want to work is in the imaging department. I knew it would be a good fit for me. I had my first full shift this last Saturday. It was bliss. I was by myself in the cubicle farm, steadily growing more proficient with the work. I was also able to listen to audiobooks while I worked. That's like crack for Cheryl.

I like the job. The kids don't have to go to daycare. I'll be bringing in enough money to start digging ourselves out of this hole.

So really, nothing much has changed. I still use crayons to color at least two pages daily. I make at least one PB and J sandwich a day. I still fold laundry and wash dishes. I still bring the dog outside every two hours. I still nap with Ben every day. Life is good. And I get a small break every week to leave the house and play on the computer, utilizing a skill set that is very satisfying.

Anna and the Horrifying Tonsils

Anna had her 1-year well child visit this morning. She's back on track as far as weight goes, and her exam was perfect ... except for one part. Her tonsils.

"For her size, they are enormous. I was horrified when I saw them," Dr. Sarah explained.

Outwardly, she is showing almost no signs of infection. She's drooling a lot, but she is also cutting a tooth. Her ears aren't infected, and her nose isn't running. Our only concern today was a hacking cough she gets when she lays down in her crib.

The tonsils are causing sleep apnea and obstructing her airway when she sleeps, which is why she snores and wakes up frequently. It's also why she coughs only when she's lying down and why she drools like a Saint Bernard puppy.

The first course of action is two weeks of antibiotics on the slim chance that there's a deep infection in her tonsils that didn't clear on its own. We go back to Dr. Sarah for a re-check in 4 weeks. If her tonsils are a normal size, we're fine. If they aren't, we'll be referred to an ENT. The doctor said that surgeons are VERY hesitant to remove tonsils on a child her age. They prefer to wait until 2 or 3 years old.

Honestly? I'm very worried about her. Chris has sleep apnea and has to wear a CPAP at night, so I know a little about the condition. It's risky territory. But I'm also relieved that I'm not going insane. Whenever I tell someone that Anna is still waking up every 2 hours or so at night even now that she's 12 months old, I feel a bit like a failure, like maybe we didn't stick with sleep training long enough or maybe I'm drinking too much caffeine and it's affecting the breastmilk. Knowing that there's a reason why she's waking up all the time ... well ... it offers some comfort for me.

To Anna, on her first birthday

Did you know that my precious baby girl is one year old today? Hard to believe how quickly this year has gone by. I still remember distinctly what her birthday was like and the crazy week leading up to it. Sigh. She's a year old now.

I wish I had good pictures to throw up here, but I don't. She's having another photo-shoot this weekend, so you'll have to wait for those.

But let me paint a word picture for you.

She's gnawing on the edge of the entertainment center right now. I'm not surprised. Everything gets tasted at least three times. Her first tooth is *this close* to the surface, and the front of her outfits have been soaked for the last two days as the drool flood settles in to saturate our lives and our furniture.

She pulls herself up to standing and pushes whatever she can to get herself across the room on her feet. Such great strides, but she's not feeling confident enough to let go and stand on her own, let alone take more than one or two tentative steps. Soon. The tops of her feet are always dirty as a testament to my terrible house cleaning. She crawls everywhere, and that's where her feet come in contact with the floor.

When she sees Ben, her eyes always light up. It's automatic, and it's such a relief, considering how poorly he treats her sometimes. Watching them play together is one of my greatest joys. She loves to play with his choo-choos, unfortunately only while he's playing with them or right before he wants to play with them. We had to tear down the choo-choo tracks because she thought they looked better in a mad jumble. She drinks his sippy cups of juice, and God help him if he leaves a half of a PB and J sandwich on his table.

Her smile is easy and sweet, and when she finally lets loose a giggle, it's infectious. Her blue eyes sparkle and dance with private amusement long before she actually chuckles. My favorite moment in the last month with her was a private little minute we had while nursing. I was watching her suckle away, and I started tickling her under the arms, behind her knees. She tried so hard to keep concentrating on her task at hand, but she couldn't help it. She began to grin widely, breaking the latch for a moment, then the giggling started. I could feel it rumbling through her body before it escaped her throat. Before long, we were both laughing hysterically.

She's my delight. On Criminal Minds the other day, the hot guy called Garcia his "God-given solace." That's my Anna. She heals the fractures and soothes the friction burns from an abrasive day. I love watching her explore and grow every day, and I'm so glad she's in my life.

Random Thoughts on a Dog Walk

Tomorrow morning we bring Molly Dog to the vet to get spayed. A couple weeks too late. Not that she's pregnant... but she's been in heat for the last two weeks. Let me tell you. That's a nasty, gross situation.

With the weather being rainy and my ears being infected, we haven't gone for many dog walks in the last few days. I needed a break from the mayhem tonight, so I took her for a walk by myself.

The quiet was nice. The fallen leaves still crunched and swirled a bit when I walked through them. Shadows from the trees and shrubs cast long fingers across our path. Cars drove past, and I heard Molly's ID tag tinkling against the collar and the leash.

Did you know that I can see the Dudley Tower from my backyard? It's only 11 stories, I think, but it's tall and it's beautifully lit, and I can see it from the backyard between the odd, mystery structures of the factories along the river. I didn't go in the backyard tonight, but I thought of the Tower being there. Of living within sight of downtown. Of living here in the town where I was born.

It just feels good to me. I'm getting more active in community activities through Citizen Wausau. I'm extending myself and participating. I'm digging down deep in the dirt and sowing my seeds and growing some roots. Because this is what the non-nomads do.

There's a house in the middle of the next block that is always beautifully decorated on the outside. They have a collection of miniature pumpkins out on the porch right now. Very cute. What struck me tonight as I shamelessly gazed through the open, lit window, was that their dining room is painted what appears to be the exact same color as our dining room is painted. And that made me smile.

Separation Anxiety

In two weeks, Anna will be one year old. She took her first step on Sunday. Just one step, but it was enough to make me weepy. She's awesome.

But this post is about Ben. My dear Benji Boy. Oh, how I love him. In the last week, however, he has presented us with new challenges in patience and compassion. He's dealing with some very strong separation anxiety issues. If we're getting ready to leave the house to go to the store or go for a walk, he starts to panic that we'll leave without him, and he screams and wails, running for his shoes and his jacket. We try to convince him that we won't leave without him, but every time he turns around and doesn't see one of us in his field of vision, he panics again.

At night, we'll go through our nighttime routine, ending in storytime with Daddy upstairs. Even if he manages to relax and fall asleep, he wakes up or gets out of bed within 30 minutes, realizes that no one is up there with him, and he has a panic attack. One night we brought him back upstairs 10 times before he finally passed out from exhaustion.

This is a typical developmental phase that kids usually go through before second year. Lots of babies have separation anxiety from their parents. It's a matter of learning object permanence. Ben's issue has such a strong emotional component, it breaks our hearts while it frustrates us. When life is happy and peaceful for him, he's affectionate and funny, playful and charming. I'm always wary for something to set him off.

Last night, we let him sleep in bed with us. Normally, this is forbidden. We were desperate, I guess. Neither of us wanted to sleep upstairs with him, and we weren't looking forward to the now commonplace back-to-bed dance that leaves Ben in gulping sobs. We may be pushovers, but we gave in.

The strong-line-parent in me didn't want to. I wanted to be strong and insist that Ben sleep in his own bed at a time that we set. I told myself he was being manipulative, and that this was a test. But the gooey-intuitive mommy in me felt that this just wasn't so. Something is going on in his spirit, something topsy-turvy, and he is just letting us know. Maybe if I hug him closer and give him as much security as I can, we can help him through this phase, and he'll become the independent and easy sleeper that he once was.

Tonight, we're blowing up our air mattress and putting it next to our bed. It's a compromise. He'll be separate, but he'll still be able to see us and hear us if he needs to. Next phase would possibly be to reverse the baby monitor. Can you imagine it? Setting up the video monitor so that he can see our bed and us in it. That might be a silly/crazy idea, but it might work.

In other news, our dear new doggy Molly is in heat. That's kind of messy and gross. She has her spay appointment at the end of next week, so at least this will be the only time she has to go through this. Behavior-wise, she's not awful. She's better with Chris than she is with me. I'm trying to be the alpha dog, and it's not like I feel nervous or passive around her, but it must be evidencing itself somehow, because she doesn't walk well on a leash for me. I'm trying.

Molly Dog

So we got a dog Tuesday night. I've already been experiencing buyer's remorse, but I hear that's normal, especially if you are not normally a dog person. Dang, dogs are a lot of work! We're house training her, so I have to remain hyper-vigilant about her "needs." I suppose this is practice for pottytraining Ben, whenever he decides he's ready.

She's actually a very nice dog. She doesn't bark or whine. She loves the kids. She likes her kennel. She loves me. She can already play fetch, and she's catching on very quickly to Sit. We went for a long walk to the park yesterday, and she got very worn out. I'd pause to let her go potty in a shady spot, and she'd lay down instead, panting.

I named her Molly. It seems to suit her. Unfortunately, Ben can't pronounce it. He calls her "Wah-ee." Ben loves her desperately, and he can even open her kennel to let her out to play (grrr).

I was very burnt out last night from the kids and the dog, and I was ready to give her back, but I've promised myself that I will wait two weeks before making a decision like that.

In other news, Anna is now 11 months old. Isn't that amazing? It seems like just a month ago, I was hugely pregnant with her. And now, she's cruising along furniture, pushing laundry baskets and trucks across the floor while walking behind, and climbing to the top of our Little Tykes slide and scaring the crap out of me. She's sleeping very well at night, though she still wakes up once for a snack and once for a hug and to be tucked back in. I'm sleeping much better.

It's a combination of the better sleep, physical therapy and more frequent T-Tapp exercises, but I graduated from physical therapy yesterday. I don't have to go back! It's been almost two weeks since I had a headache, and my neck feels fine. It's nothing like it was. It feels wonderful to be pain-free again. That was a rough time.

I'm going to try to get back into blogging again. I turned inward for a while, and I didn't want to push anything out onto the page. I didn't want to share; I just wanted to live in the moment. I'm hoping that I'm phasing out of that. We'll see. I'm not going to force it.

Evolution of a Dog Person

I think I woke up one day many months ago and decided that I'd become a dog person. My infatuation with all things feline has been a theme in my life, but the slinky, sexy fur beasts have lost their appeal with countless pee incidents and my current cat's insistence on biting my children. Maisie Cat will not be the cozy companion for my children I hoped she would be.

Enter a dog. Every boy should have a dog. Every family should have a dog. Right? I mentioned my desire to get a dog to my husband, and he almost fell off of his chair.

"You.... want a .... DOG?!?"

We waited for the right time. Little Anna was too little and too exhausting, so we put off the dog search. Now she's almost sleeping through the night, she's oh-so-close to walking, and Dino sent me a picture of a puppy at the Marathon County Humane Society.

Dang it, Dino.

We knew it was finally Dog Time for the Mathis Family. The search began here at the Humane Society. We met a dog we liked, but he bit Ben right away, so we had to say no. We went home and scoured the internet to look at pictures of dogs at shelters in the neighboring counties. The next day, we mapped out a trek across Central Wisconsin, and we headed out on a four-hour drive to meet some more doggies.

I was waiting for a spark between me and the dog. Something that showed me that the dog connected with me, was interested in me and my family, that extra something special... And we found it in Medford in the lean body of a Boston Terrier. She ran right to us, licking our hands, dancing around our son, running back and forth between us. When I pulled her onto my lap, she licked me and instantly settled down and put her head on my knee.

We'll be bringing her home tonight. I'm a little frightened at the unknown, but I'm reading as much as I can about taking care of a dog, and I know my heart is open and ready to love a new animal. Wish me luck!

Viva la Sobriety!

After the show was over last night, Dino said he couldn't wait to read what I write about my first rock concert. I hope he's not disappointed, and I hope he treats this with kindness.

I went to my first rock concert last night at The Fillmor in Downtown Wausau. The venue is beautiful and large and sparkling. Everyone I met was warm and enthusiastic, and I made new friends and had some fantastic conversations between sets. I even *gulp* drank some alcoholic beverages. My experiences are filtered through that boozy haze, and my head feels like it's filled with angry cotton balls this morning, yet I still have something I need to say.

Years ago, I made the conscious decision to retreat from the social butterfly life of my college years. The drama turned scary, and I needed to figure out a new path for adulthood. I grew introspective and began to live very much in my own body. I spent months invariably alone, listening to countless audio books, working on needle crafts, finding some quiet in my head. The peace I found was pervasive, and it's been very difficult to leave those years behind and move on to the next phase of my life.

I think I expected college-years-Cheryl to stretch out of her self-imposed cocoon and flutter about and party hard last night. It didn't happen that way. My ear drums quickly grew numb, so the music's lyrics blended into the background of loud excellent sound. I felt mute, my voice not reaching more than three inches in front of my face, and I became more quiet inside than ever before.

The music was great. Even I could tell that. Cool Hand and then SUNSPOT rocked that stage until it closed the place down, slamming the crowd with rough-edged rock anthems and what can only be described as superb musicianship. I was fascinated by the display of skill: they made it look so easy and fun! (I had to play piano for more than seven years before performing became easy and fun... I can only imagine what they've done to prepare). The "show" was good, and it was interesting to see the dynamic between musicians and between musicians and the fans.

It felt like pure escapism at one minute, but the next, simply elemental, a connection made between strangers with only a piercing glance and shared sound thumping through our bones. Discarded glasses and bottles littered the stage as that of candles in a cult ritual, the blue, red and yellow lights reflecting off the glass, glimmering like soft moonlight on water, standing sentinel.

I stayed until the end, watching and writing, talking and listening – observing, because that's what I do now, this Cheryl who is not 23 anymore. Me, the mom of two small children, the writerly person who is seeped in sarcasm and spontaneous joy. I tried to find within me the desire to get up and dance like the rest, but it just wasn't there anymore. The alcohol dulled my senses, and I think that was disturbing enough to keep me in my seat, maintaining tentative control over a foreign situation.

The effects of alcohol is an interesting study. To me, it felt like a slow snake venom through my veins. After the first drink, my cheeks went numb and showing expression took extra effort. My brain felt like it was sloshing about in my skull, and I seemed transparent to the crowd of rockers. They were a display of high-octane energy and enthusiasm, shared goodwill and willingness to scream along with the music. Most of the lyrics were seeped in the booze and drug-infused life of the rock and roll star and "living straight sucks" mentality, and near the end of the night, I craved sobriety more than I've craved anything before. I yearned for it, my drunken head ached for it.

I'll go again for the people, for dialogues with people who aren't in my everyday, diaper-changing, crayon-slinging life, people like Billie and Lacy who accepted so quickly for who I am. Friends made in a minute, all these people who came together for a night of communal fun and debauchery. That's what I'll go back for, time and time again, I'm sure.

I'll be going again to see Freedown, Aaron Williams and the Hoodoo, and the amazing Scott Holt on October 10. This time, I'll be bringing the husband, and I won't be drinking. Honestly? I act more like the uninhibited rock and roll lover more when I'm sober, when I'm feeling a serendipitous burst of joy and energy at a funny quirk one of my kids exhibits, more like dancing when I'm in the kitchen in my socks with my hands soaking in soapy dishwater. I'm more likely to start headbanging when a particularly awesome song comes on the radio, and I turn my living room into a mosh pit with the kids.