Bring on the fear!

"Do one thing every day that scares you." ~ Eleanor Roosevelt

Since one of my resolutions this year is to do at least two scary/crazy activities with my dad, I should really start thinking of what I want to do.
We did our annual ice dive into Lake Minnetonka on New Years Day. That's pretty crazy, I think. And it almost didn't even happen.
After a long and booze filled evening bringing in the New Year, I showed up at 7:15 am. My mom ended up crawling back into bed, so it was just me and my dad in the kitchen.
"I don't really wanna do it," I told him. "It's too cold and I'm extremely hungover."
"Oh c'mon," he admonished me. "You already paid your registration fee online last night."
I rested my head on my arms, on the counter. "I'll just write it off as a donation."
I tried to close my eyes, hoping Dad would take the hint and go back to bed with Mom. Oh no...he brought out the big guns instead.
While my eyes were still closed, he rattled a prescription bottle. "There's a Vicodin in here for you. C'mon, girl, you can do it...yes you can...good girl."
I sat up and smiled. "Gimme 5 minutes."
Not too much longer we were on the road. He was driving, because I wasn't even sure I should be behind the wheel. At one point I let out a huge belch.
"Good god, Vanessa," Dad said, waving the air in front of his face. "What were you drinking last night?"
I thought for a moment. "I think a more appropriate question would be, what didn't I drink last night? There were shots, and champagne..."
A few more times that morning I would breathe in his face and I think his eyes almost watered. "Seriously," he told me. "I could probably light a match in front of your mouth."
Fast forward about 45 minutes and there we were, standing on a makeshift stage on Lake Minnetonka, getting ready to dive into the water. As I do every year, I started to panic. And get angry.
"I'm not doing this ever again!" I told my dad. "I mean it. Don't even ask me because I will say no. This is bullshit. I hate this!" I was ready to start crying. Then the announcer did the countdown and in the water we went. I give him the same speech every year.
After we warmed up and were heading back to the car, I said, "Hey, Dad... where's that Vicodin? I wasn't messin' around when I said I wanted one."
As we were driving back to River Falls, I mentioned that I had done one scary thing with him, and that meant I only had one more to do to fulfill my resolution. "Yeah, but that doesn't count what we just did," he told me. "We already had it planned."
"Oh yes it does!" I turned to him and said, not caring if the booze on my breath would make him drive into the ditch. "You can't make up rules for my resolutions!"
He was quiet for a minute. "What about skydiving?"
I shuddered. "No way. I don't want to do anything that causes a fear of death. Or could result in my teeth breaking."
He said, "Well if you want to do something scary we could take a math class together."
I laughed. "I would rather jump out of a plane than take a math class."
So now I have 11 1/2 more months to plan another scary thing. I suppose I could count the Polar Plunge in White Bear Lake next month as another one, but I've done that and it's not nearly as freaky as the Ice Dive in Lake Minnetonka. I have no idea what my scary thing will be, but it will be a good adrenaline boost, that's for sure.
One of my friends has a wall of photos that she's called: "Crazy Shit Vanessa Makes Me Do." There are pictures of her doing the Ice Dive and of us participating in the Breast Cancer 3 Day walk (where we walk 60 miles in 3 days to raise money for breast cancer research). Talk about a love affair with Vicodin on that walk...
So now I need to think about what I can do that's crazy. And coming from my family, that's a high bar to reach. My family is the example of extreme athletes. Not me. It's like that song from Sesame Street: "One of these things is not like the other...."
But this year, I'll show them.
2012 is going to be a year of adrenaline producing events.
I just don't want to end up like this poor little egg...

Champagne, Sequins and Resolutions

"Cheers to a New Year and another chance for us to get it right." ~ Oprah Winfrey

Ever since I can remember, New Years Eve has always been one of my most favorite nights. One time in the early 80's I spent New Years Eve at my cousin Chanda's house, and we burned up the phone lines to KDWB and begged them to play "Mickey" at the stroke of midnight. When they actually did, we jumped up and down screaming, convinced we had altered the history of pop culture somehow. There we were, surrounded by balloons and our card games, with smug smiles on our faces. Damn, we knew how to party.
Fast forward several years and I still love everything this night brings.
Just going through the racks at the stores, looking at all the sequined shirts, blinged out jewelry and accessories gives me chills. It's one of the few nights of the year that my alter ego "Excess Vaness" can wear the glitz to her hearts content.
I think another reason why I love tonight so much is the fact that tomorrow brings a whole new year, a brand new beginning. We can all start anew. Whether we keep our resolutions or not, just making them can  fill us with hope.
In the past, I've done all the typical resolutions...
Lose weight
Join a gym
Eat more vegetables
Yell at my kids less
And truth be told, those resolutions were usually squashed by the second week of January.
This year, I am going to declare more meaningful resolutions. I'm going to work hard at things that might hopefully have a chance at lasting longer than Ground Hog's Day.
I am going to bake with more butter and less margarine.
I am going to try and not swear on the same days I go to church.
I am going to have dinner with my grandma Tillie at least once a month.
When I'm with my kids, I'm going to be with my kids. I'll let them teach me how to play some of their board games and video games.
I'm going to read more of what the Republicans say. I already know what my side, the lefties, have to say.
I'm going to do at least two crazy activities with my dad.
I'm going to learn to cook some of my mom's recipes.
I'm going to try and curb my tendencies to hold up my daughters' bras and call them little slingshots. At least in front of their friends.
I'm going to make sure my friends know how much they mean to me.
And most importantly, I'm going to enjoy what life has to throw my way. Because that's what it's all about, right? Getting a good story out of it.
So cheers to you, and cheers to us. And as Oprah says, here's to another chance at getting it right.

The Price of Christmas Happiness

"Probably the reason we all go so haywire at Christmas time with the endless unrestrained and often silly buying of gifts is that we don't quite know how to put our love into words."
~Harlan Miller


This is it. We're in the final stretch until the the Big Day. You know what day I'm talking about. The day that makes our kids turn into complete crazy, they've-lost-their-mind, foolish beasts.
When all they can do is the slow walk past the Christmas tree, giving calculating glances toward the loot piling up.
All while twiddling their fingers as they plot on how to successfully get permission to open a gift early.
For our children, it's a simple example of tunnel vision. They're focused on one thing and one thing only...
How do they get to open those darn gifts under the tree.
At some point, maybe during the transition into adulthood, we lost that sole purpose of Christmas. We quit reveling in the miracle of all our traditions, our family get-togethers and of course - the anticipation of presents.
Now its a matter of making sure our wallet stays full and open, as we watch the dollar bills just fly out of there.
"Mom, I have a gift exchange at school..."
"Don't forget my teacher's gift..."
"It's time for secret Santa...."
"Hey, should we all draw names for a neighborhood gift exchange?"
"Remember you signed up for the cookie exchange and need to bring 11 dozen kinds of cookies, preferably in 11 different decorated tins."
Huh?
I think as adults we can all remember that one incredible gift we got one year, and how we never, ever forgot it. The one gift that made every thing right in the world. Like when Ralphie got his Red Ryder BB gun with a compass in the stock and this thing which tells time. I got a gift like that one year; they were called White Leather Nikes with the Red Swoosh. I can still remember how happy I was when I opened that box.
As parents, we all would love to be able to present our children with that one perfect gift. But how do we do that while not making ourselves broke, and instilling a sense of gratitude and wonder in them?
How do we teach them to be gracious when they turn into "I want I want I want" little maniacs every time we pass a Nintendo display at Target?
Is there a special secret to getting them to be just as grateful when they get a $5 book as they would if they were to receive a $300 gaming system?
I suppose it's up to us as the parents. And my wishes for them are pretty simple...
I want them to feel gratitude with simple things.
I want them to know love.
I want them to understand life's greatest gifts cannot be wrapped with a bow.
I want them to feel that even though they get in fist fights and hair pulling wrestling matches with their siblings, no one on this earth will have their back like a sister or a brother.
I want them to look forward more to our family traditions on the holidays - like bowling and Chinese food - than to what's underneath the tree on Christmas morning.
And finally, I want them to keep a light heart and find humor in everything, even during the holidays. Because we all know how stressful this time of year can be, especially when we want everything to be perfect.
And let's face it... if Mary can smooth things over with Joseph and that whole virginal birth thing, I think the rest of us can survive most anything.

Divorce, Dating, and Humble Pie

"Being divorced is like being hit by a Mack truck. If you survive, you start looking very carefully to the right and to the left." Anonymous

The other night I was talking to my two oldest daughters when one of them casually mentioned their dad had a date.
"Oh really?" I asked. "That's nice. Good for him."
They looked at me skeptically, and I knew they were wrestling with some feelings.
"Well..." asked one of them. "What if we meet her and she tries to be our mom or something like that?"
I smiled. "You guys already have a mother. No one's going to waltz in and try to take over my role. All I ask is that if your dad does introduce you to someone that you have an open mind and show her some respect. Because some day I might meet someone and introduce you to him."
They laughed. Then they realized I was serious.
"You mean there are people that want to date you?" one asked incredulously.
I stared at them for a beat. "Shocking, I know."
I don't think there is a more humbling demographic of children than teenage daughters. Just when you start to feel even a sliver of self-confidence, they will give you a quick appraisal and blurt out, "Oh god, Mom... you're not going to wear that to the store, are you?"
Putting my toe back into the dating pool after all these years has been an eye-opener, to put it mildly. I am not kidding when I say I haven't had to worry about dating since before Vanilla Ice had a number one hit.
Things have really, really changed.
Now internet dating is completely acceptable. At least to most people. I still run into friends or relatives that give me a look and say, "Oh, you don't need to do that. You're not desperate. Find someone the old fashioned way."
And how, pray tell, am I supposed to do that?
I work 40 hours a week.
I have 4 kids that I co-parent.
I have a 45 minute commute each way.
I think internet dating is fantastic. One of my friends described it as shopping. "Seriously," she told me. "Pour yourself a glass of wine and start putting your favorite items into your checkout cart."
The last time I dated, in the 80s, there was no texting. You had to give someone your home number and hoped to god you answered the phone instead of your dad. Or worse, your younger brother.
Now, you can have full-blown relationships just by texting. And my generation missed the entire sexting thing. It's not just a teenage activity. I've been a little shocked by how bold some of my dates have been. The anonymous nature of hiding behind a phone must give people unbelievable courage. After a couple dates with one guy, he started sending me a deluge of unbelievably vulgar, x-rated texts of what he wanted to do the next time I saw him. I was horrified. And those that know me, know I am rarely shocked by stuff like that. But this guy's texts made me want to go on antibiotics immediately.
After I read his last message, I simply responded: "U must have me mistaken for an eastern European hooker."
I never heard from him again.
This morning in church my daughter leaned over and whispered, "Mom, when you go on dates, do they want to kiss you sometimes?"
I nodded.
Her face screwed up, like she had just swallowed expired milk. "Like on the mouth??!"
I rolled my eyes and pointed to the pastor, and indicated she should just be quiet and pay attention.
After church, she brought it up again. "So what do you do when they try to kiss you?"
I put out my arm, like the guy on the Heisman trophy. "I hold my arm like this, to keep them away. And I always leave room for the Holy Spirit."
"WhatEVER Mom..."
So this next phase of my life should be interesting to say the least. As much as it completely astounds my children, adults in their 40s DO date. And some are even wildly successful.
I just need to make sure I trust my instinct and not cringe when my kids give me their "honest feedback."
Because the next time I hear "Who do you think will ever ask you out?"... some heads are gonna roll.

Mom, Is Santa Real?

"You smell like beef and cheese, you don't smell like Santa." ~ Buddy the Elf

All parents dread the question..."Is Santa real?" How do we answer that? What do we say to keep our children young at heart without sounding jaded or cruel? How do we keep ourselves young at heart?
As parents we have such a short window of time that I like to call the Magic Years at Christmas. Those precious years between children being absolutely terrified of Santa, and when they start suspiciously checking out the name tags and trying to compare Santa's handwriting to your own. Those wonderful years that they just love to believe.
I found this picture of me and Santa in 1971, when I wasn't quite two years old. Obviously the Magic Years hadn't started yet. I have a feeling Santa probably had a wet lap and smelled like toddler pee shortly after this photo was taken.

And to be honest, I have a picture of each of my four children, all shrieking in fear from Santa at various times in their lives.
"Perfect!" I'd tell the nervous photographer, as she hesitantly clicked away on her camera. "Make sure you get her picture with her mouth open, terrified like that..." I'm sure my kids will thank me for those funny pictures years from now.
I can remember when my oldest daughter Frankie was about 3 years old, and she was just slowly transitioning from the scared-of-Santa to the absolutely-love-Santa phase. We were tucking her in bed on Christmas Eve and made the mistake of saying something along the lines of, "... and if you feel a kiss on your forehead when you're sleeping or hear a noise later tonight, don't worry. It's just Santa."
She looked at us, completely petrified.
"I don't want Santa in my room kissing my face or being in my house! I wanna sleep with you guys!!!"
When it came to the rest of our kids, we made sure to make Santa sound a little more wonderful and a little less creepy, cat-burglar like.
I love those years of being awake on Christmas morning and lying in bed, hearing the kids wake up and exclaim, "Oh my gosh, Santa came!" I would just lie there and smile.
One year the kids were still a little afraid of actually seeing Santa, so they did the army crawl down the hallway into our room and then breathlessly piled into bed. "Um, we were too scared to look into the living room in case he was still there, but yeah... can you go check to see if Santa came?"
Christmas is one of the absolute best times in the world to be a parent. It's like the universe's way of equalizing out the fact we have to deal with teenage angst, potty training and temper tantrums. It makes up for the times we have to wash markers off the walls, unclog the toilet because someone shoved toys down there, and catch their barf in your hands. Watching their faces and hearing their voices on Christmas makes all of the other stuff just disappear. At least for that morning.
Last year my youngest child was in the back seat as we were driving, and he was listing off all the toys he was going to ask Santa for that Christmas. I started to get a little nervous (having been out of work for over half the year) and tried to get him to scale down his list.
"Don't worry, Mom," Wyatt assured me. "Santa doesn't have a budget, so you don't even have to worry about it!"
Ahhhh.... I would really love to have Santa's financial peace of mind during Christmas. It would make things so much easier, don't you think?
This year my children's ages run from 7 to 14. The youngest two, 7 and 9, vacillate between questioning me about Santa's existence and assuring me they still believe. I know they're hedging their bets.
I don't blame them.
When they asked me about it the other night, "Mom, is Santa real?" I took a deep breath and told them the truth.
"I'll tell you what, kiddos. As your Mom, I just love believing in Santa. It makes Christmas so much more fun and wonderful, don't you think?"
They nodded furiously in agreement, and I smiled.
Dear Universe...Just give me another year or two of these Magic Years. That's all I ask. And that would be the best Christmas present ever.

Thanksgiving Gratitude

"Thanksgiving, man. Not a good day to be my pants." - Kevin James

With so much negativity in the media, and so many doomsday announcers out there, I'd like to take this opportunity to proclaim what I'm truly thankful for this year.
First and foremost, I'm grateful for my children and everything they bring into my life.
I'm thankful...
~ They still occasionally bring me breakfast in bed, which consists of a bowl of Cap'n Crunch on a pizza tray
~ No teeth have been broken this school year so far
~ Once in awhile, maybe when they're barely recognizing it, they will still hold my hand when we cross a street
~ They will still kiss me when I drop them off at school in the morning
~ My bed is the first place they scamper to when they've had a nightmare
~ Once in awhile, I still get called Mommy
~ They watch TV shows with me at night, and let me play with their hair
~ They're not afraid to yell out "I love you!" in public
~ Even if they fight like cats and dogs, they're also fiercely loyal to each other, and not afraid to beg for clemency when they feel I'm being unfair to one of their siblings
~ They notice when I wear perfume
~ They get excited when I get new shoes
I am also very grateful for my family.
I'm thankful...
~ I have a mother that always seems to know that when my work day is running long, the most wonderful thing she can do is make dinner and feed the kids
~ I have a dad who still fills my gas tank up once in awhile and checks the air in my tires
~ I have a brother who is always there for me, and laughs at the same ridiculous stories over and over again
~ I have cousins who are like sisters to me, and guard my secrets close
~ I have aunts who cheer like a parent and step back when I bare my teeth
And also, so very, very grateful to my friends.
I'm thankful...
~ They are quick to pick my kids up and drop them off at their activities when I'm running late. Because yes, it truly takes a village.
~ They accept my faults and my quirks and my outbursts and my tantrums. And love me anyway.
~ They recognize that true friends can go months without seeing or talking to each other, and we can pick up right where we left off.
~ They don't gloat (in front of me anyway) when the Vikings lose another game.

So you can see, I'm not only thankful for the big things I've been blessed with, but also the little things. I will leave you with one of my favorite quotes:

Enjoy the little things, for one day you may look back and realize they were the big things.  ~Robert Brault

The Nervous Trepidation of School Conferences

Walking into my kids' school conferences for me is like walking into a dentist appointment. I truly hope for the best, but mentally brace myself for the worst. It's always a crap shoot; I can never get too cocky. Sometimes I think that one of my kids is doing extremely well and I get blindsided with news.
"Yes, um, your daughter threw corn at the lunch lady."
Really? Fantastic. How do you convey to the teacher that you don't condone vegetable tossing in your own home in just a 20 minute meeting with the teacher? Sometimes I feel like a public defender when I hear news like that.
I sigh deeply, lean forward and look the teacher in the eye. "Your Honor, I would like to go on record and state that while my client fully acknowledges inappropriate behavior in the past, she categorically denies assaulting anyone with canned corn."
Last night I went to conferences for both my 9 year old daughter and my 7 year old son. I put a smile on my face and walked into the classroom and took a seat in one of those tiny, little chairs that are unbelievably uncomfortable. Who likes to sit there for 20 minutes with your butt cheeks hanging over each side of the chair? Only an Olsen twin could comfortably sit on one of those.
And over the years I've gotten very good at deciphering "teacher code" and what they're actually trying to tell me without using certain words.
For instance, last night I was told: "Chloe is very social and precocious."
(i.e., she talks non-stop and sometimes exhibits inappropriate, grown up behavior)
I also heard, "Boy, your son is full of energy. I wish I could bottle it up for myself sometimes (nervous laugh)."
(i.e., he often runs around like a fool with his head cut off and the teacher has a hard time preventing him from colliding into a drinking fountain when he runs down the hall)
When I hear news like this, I realize my kids can be a handful. My mom will remind me of what it was like when my brother was in school.
"I was at the high school so much meeting with the principal that one time the school secretary asked if I was the new substitute teacher. And one time he was serving detention in high school and I got a note from the teacher saying that your brother was corking off and passed gas three times in there, making everyone else laugh."
See, the genetic trait of misbehaving to get a laugh must be in our family's DNA. I wasn't the best behaved child either. I was always a little impatient. One time in 5th grade I called my teacher at home and asked, "Mrs Wolf, can we rearrange our desks tomorrow? I'm sick of sitting where I do."
And for the record, last night's conferences weren't all bad news. Thankfully neither teacher informed me that my child liked to fart, do the fist pump and high-five their classmates. My kids have definitely had their challenges in the behavior department, but luckily no guidance counselor had to sit in on the meeting (which has happened before).
So for now, I will do a silent prayer of gratitude that my children don't need to come up with an Action Plan. I will be thankful that no one has found it acceptable to throw food at the lunch lady.
I will be happy that no one got into a physical hitting/kicking/slapping match with another child at recess.
I will be grateful that no one pulled their pants down in line at lunch, pointed to their butt and yelled to the other students in the cafeteria "Hey everyone, check it out!"
And yes, all of these things have happened before.
I am grateful that for now, nothing has been happening.
Because as parents we all know that can change in the blink of an eye.