Most of us are Normal

Minnesotans are not known for their strong fashion sense or their refined taste in cultural pursuits.

Some of us even like a good tractor-pull now and then. (I did as a kid. Hanging head in shame.)

If you look at pop culture, you probably think that Minnesotans are quite eccentric, although I'm fairly certain that there is no greater percentage of weirdos here than, say, L.A.

Hollywood doles out movies about Minnesotans like Fargo and Drop Dead Gorgeous. We look like a bunch of idiots, but in reality only half of us are imbeciles. The other half of us are Grumpy Old Men.

The celebrities that have hailed from Minnesota prove just how normal we are:*

There's the guy who sings songs but no one can understand what he's saying.

There's the guy who sings songs who was first known by a royal name, then by a symbol, then by a royal name again.

There's the girl who is named after a town who likes to get things at the five-finger discount.

There's the guy who was a wrestler when they insisted it wasn't fake, who then turned to politics.

Um. Okay then.

Maybe we are kind of strange.

*Who are they?

My Olympic Sacrifice

I would like to offer some parental insight, some morsel of advice you haven’t heard before, but instead what I’ve got for you is this:

Michael Phelps.

Matt Grevers.

Aaron Peirsol.

Yes, girls, I’m in deep. I am absolutely exhausted because—imagine—NBC has the nerve to air the Olympic events live, which means that I am up until almost midnight waiting to see our American boys swim. I keep planning to TIVO it—just go to sleep and let the TV do the work. (Truly, I just like saying TIVO. What I mean is that I can tape it, yes, tape—that ancient but highly effective and inexpensive technology.) It only makes sense. Tape tonight, watch tomorrow. But no. I sit through the gymnastics or beach volleyball or whatever—all of which I like, but, truly, I am here for the swimming—and then can’t seem to click the tiny little button that turns that bright screen OFF.

Please note that this is extremely unusual at my house. It’s the other people who live here who watch television. Don’t misunderstand--there are plenty of TV shows I enjoy, there just aren’t any that I watch on a regular basis. I can’t seem to find the time. I’m well aware that this makes me a bit odd; with three boys I have plenty of reminders.

Sports, however, are an exception, the Olympics in particular. I can remember watching as a child, way back when, and being entranced by Nadia Comaneci. That dates me, I know, but I was as amazed by her then as I am by the young men and women today. I’ve been an athlete for as long as I can remember, and have always been intrigued at the depth of these young men and women. It’s a life I can’t imagine, one totally dedicated to a single pursuit.

Watching and cheering will keep me up at least until midnight for the next week or so, but that seems little sacrifice compared to theirs. Go USA!

homegrown

I am not sure why it has taken me so long, but this summer I have really learned to appreciate things that are homegrown.

Maybe it is because quite a few of my friends & family have gardens this year, and I have been able to share in their bounty. Maybe it is because of the econmony, and how great it feels when I buy homegrown fruits or veggies - knowing that there is little cost to the grower, so the people make good, honest money for their efforts. I can not pinpoint exactly why the change has occured, but it has, and I feel great about it.

The kids & I visited the local farmers market on Saturday. It was our first time, and I had plans to stock up on some summer fruits, and some corn. Oh my goodness, the corn. My family LOVES sweet corn, and we eat alot of it this time of year.


So, we go to one of the larger farm stands at the market, and the family working there looked to be German Baptist. There was an older couple, and a younger woman I assumed to be their daughter. They had so much stuff there, it was hard to choose what we should buy. We chose some blueberries, peaches, some yellow plums, cherries, tomoatos, and the corn - and the older man was the one bagging up our things.

There was something about the sweet, gentle man packing up my stuff. I watched his hands as he bagged my fruits, and he took a second to pick a bluberry from the pint for each of my kids. I melted. His large hands pikcing up those tiny berries one by one. I imagined him planting, and nurturing and picking each of those berries, each of those fruits, and I was completely sold on homegrown all over again.

*picture found at www.healthycactus.com

Third Time's a Charm

Well, this little conundrum has been effectively settled-- I am pregnant with our third child. And with the discovery of our March blessing to come, I have entered into an era of motherhood that is strange and foreign to me.

I have entered the land of The Last.

This is the Last time I will pee on a stick and celebrate, worry, cry, and giggle. It is the Last time I will tell my husband that our love made a child (I know, gag me, right?) It is the Last time I will carry that particular secret, doling it out carefully to the need-to-knows, and letting others discover only when my belly is too large to ignore.

Some of these Lasts are welcome. Hopefully, it will be the Last time I spend entire days nibbling on crackers and rushing to hover over the toilet bowl every ten minutes. It will be the last time my body is stretched to popping, the last of the stretch marks, the last of the attempts to sleep around a bowling ball.

Most of these Lasts are bittersweet. When this baby is finally felt, it will be the Last first flutter I feel of growing a life. It is the beginning of the Last of so many firsts-- first breath, first smile, first steps. While each of these milestones will be met with pride and a smile, they will still be the Last time I watch my baby do those things for the first time.

I am blessed in this pregnancy in a way I was not with my daughter-- I wasn't sure if she was last, and I had a one year old at the time she was conceived. I missed so much. I just didn't pay attention like I wish I had now.

But I am paying attention now, you'd better believe it. I want to remember all of this, this Last time.

A Reason for a Wienie

K, D and I went to a local grocery store yesterday afternoon to see the Wienermobile. (M was at school...first day!) K wouldn't stand by the big dog alone and would only consent if I said D would be in the photo too.
Although we went for a hot dog lunch and a glimpse of the goofy Wienermobile, we also went for a less frivolous reason.

Ann Peterson is a mom, like me, but she has four kids. A six-year-old and 2 1/2-year-old triplets. She was at the grocery store today. She sat quietly with her family and took in the hubbub that surrounded the giant hot dog. Her eyes were proud.

Ann Peterson sat in a wheel chair. Just seven months ago she was diagnosed with Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis (ALS), also known as Lou Gehrig's disease. ALS is a neurological condition that affects the nerves that control voluntary muscles. Ann's muscles are deteriorating. Her speech is being affected.

The family needs to modify their home to accommodate a power wheelchair. They also need a vehicle that will do the same.

That's what brought us to the Wienermobile. Those hot dogs they were selling were for Ann.

There were many people who came out to help Ann and her family. This photo only shows the beginning of a long line. But even if all of those people bought a $1 hot dog, there would not be nearly enough to pay for these things that Ann and her family need.

As I stood nearby Ann, urging K to eat his hot dog, I thought about how I would feel if I were in her chair at a benefit for me. I assume I'd feel gratitude, but also humbled.

My heart breaks for her kids.

If you're so inclined, you can help the Peterson family with a donation:

Peterson Benefit fund:
- Using PayPal: annbenefit@gmail.com-

By Mail: THINK Bank
Ann Peterson Benefit Account
ATTN: Nicole Ganrude
25 2nd St SW
Rochester, MN 55902
OR
Peoples State Bank
400 Division St
Millville, MN 55957

You can read more about the Peterson family and other upcoming fundraisers here. There is also a beautiful photo of the family.

Sprinkler fun

Swing, Batter, Batter, Swing...

It's birthday time at my house, and you know what that means?

Hit that piñata!

Again!

One more time!

Ahhh, the sweet taste of success!

Because, apparently, the cake just wasn't enough...