Run Forrest, Run!

Yesterday afternoon we began, what I sincerely hope will be, a long love affair between my kids and track and field. Our school, wonderful as it is, isn't big enough for many organized sports, so we take advantage of county clubs for flag football and now, track.

Outside of football, track is my favorite sport, which may seem odd, coming from a person who never ran. I went out for track when I was a junior in high school, got bursitis in one of my knees and was advised to quit. I was already a drama-music-forensic geek so decided to do that instead of sports.

As a grownup, er - ADULT, yeah, that's it - I regret my decision not to stick with it. It's inspiring to watch people use the power of their bodies to run, jump and hurdle. Last night there was an older kid helping out, coaching, and when he ran? Pure poetry. He had the most beautiful form - it looked effortless. I couldn't take my eyes off him and it made me want to be fast and strong too. But I'm fat, flabby, post-menopausal and pushing fifty not to mention butt-lazy.

*ATTENTION*

The word "butt" may be used as an adjective to emphasize other words i.e. "I'm butt-tired" instead of "I'm tired". Expert, experienced writers such as myself like to employ these nifty writing techniques to sound more professional. Carry on.

OK, so I'm abandoning my dreams of being a track and field Olympian - you know, the dreams I've had for the last 5 minutes - and forcing them upon my kids. Is that wrong? Is it wrong that I don't care? Is it control-freakish? Is control-freakish a word? Do I need professional help? Er, no need to answer any of those questions. Thanks anyway, peoples.

So, I forced the boys to go to practice last night. Katie was sick but she'll be forced next week. You know why I'm making them run track? Because when I first approached the kids about doing it, they all said, "I don't like track."

Um, you don't like what, exactly?

In your vast 6, 8 and 9 year-old never-ran-track-in-your-lives experience, you don't like . . . what? You don't even know what track IS. Let me tell you, it bugs me when my kids refuse something that they've never tried. It's especially pleasant at the dinner table. Anyway, I digress.

Nutshelling it - they're all out for track and here's what happened. They and the 100+ other kids all did a lap to warm up and then they stretched. By this time, Daniel was already crying. He wasn't hurt so I just hung out with him while he stuck with it, crying. I love that boy. He didn't quit, he just SAID he wanted to. Then all the kids separated into age groups and they worked on form, sprints and some field events. We're in an introductory phase right now and they're letting the kids try different things. You know what? Daniel is a good runner. He stopped crying and started working. He didn't even complain and it was in the 40's, windy and raining. It was cold.

Butt-cold.

What a sweetie. . .

Matthew had a pretty good attitude except after every sprint he would ask me, "Are we done yet? When can we go home?" He was cold and wet and hungry. Uh, Matthew? If you'd wear warm clothes instead of the shorts and t-shirts you insist upon, you'd be more comfortable.

Besides, you're living out my Olympic dreams so quit complaining and start training, buddy.

I think I'll start coaching.

I have that innate sense of how to reach children and motivate them.

I was fine until she handed me the rock salt . . .

It's come and gone - the moment I was dreading. Steph and Tom left this morning for the midwest and it's doubtful if we'll ever see Stephanie again (Tom's sticking around for awhile - I'll be feeding him off and on). The big goodbye was looming all week - like an axe in the ceiling. I knew about it, but if I didn't take a close look I could pretend it wasn't there. We had them over for dinner as much as we could.

Especially since their refrigerator selected this week, of all times, to go out.

Poor Stephanie, Monday morning she called - in the midst of movers, packers, upheaval - to ask if I would come over and take everything out of her fridge. We got a bunch of food that I shared with friends. Wednesday she called and said she was emptying out every single thing in her cupboards, pantry and laundry room and giving it all to me. My friends and I have been totally blessed by this bounty.

Steph, if you're reading this - thank you so much!

There I was, loading up basket upon basket (laundry basket) of her food and cleaning supplies when she handed me a box of rock salt. You use rock salt to make homemade ice cream and we did that a lot with the Dennisons. I teared up, barely regained my composure and moved on, desperately trying to avoid the reason she'd given me the rock salt. She came over to put a couple of things in my freezer, closed the door, said, "That's the last of it" and we both started bawling, hugging each other in the garage. WAAAAAAAH! I'm crying now, just thinking about it.

Cinnamon rolls are another thing we used to do together. Well, I use the word "we" very, very loosely here. I would make them and Stephanie would eat them. I made her some on Thursday morning. My kids woke up to the smell of those babies baking and were like, SCORE! I don't do cinnamon rolls on weekday mornings because it means getting up at 3 am to let them rise (I roll them out the night before and put 'em back in the fridge) then again at 6:15 to bake. You know how I am about mornings - ugh.

This week has brought to light my mature and responsible ways of coping with stress. Ready? I eat and I clean. So now all my herbs are in alphabetical order and my hiney needs its own zip code. And that's on YOU, Stephanie. It's your fault. I refuse to take responsibility for any of it.

Back to the cleaning . . . you know, it would be one thing if I cleaned a bathroom or caught up on my laundry. But no, when I'm stressed out I pick totally obscure, random and impractical things to organize and clean. Things like my boys' underwear drawer or the cupboard under Duane's bathroom sink or the tupperware shelf. Next thing you know I'll be painting my garage floor. Where does that come from? I realize that prayer and taking my burdens to God are better options but the list of Freudian defense mechanisms is a veritable buffet from which to choose. Personally, I like avoidance and denial. They work for me in a completely shallow and immature way. So does wine.

OK, about the wine? That was a hint, people. You know where I live.

WAAAAAAAAH! WA-WA-WAAAAAAH!

That, my friends, is the sound of crying. And I don't mean a ladylike crying with a little sniffle or two. We're talkin' full blown blubbering with lots of snot and used balls of Kleenex. The source of this grief-fest is . . .

. . . this moving van parked in front of my house. I hate the very sight of this truck because it's rocking my world. Every time I walk by the window and see this truck I tear up. I'm not going to get much done today.

The Dennisons, our neighbors and very good friends, are relocating to Ohio. They made this decision WITHOUT CONSULTING ME AT ALL. It is the height of inconsideration but I'd be willing to overlook it if they'd JUST STAY. I mean, I know the truck is here and all but it's not too late to change your minds, is it? This move is not working out for me and it's all . . . about . . . . ME.

I'm not the only one who's struggling . . .

. . . the Ellies are too. We will all be charter members of the we-miss-the-Dennisons-support group (first meeting to be held immediately following Tom & Steph's departure on Friday). Hey, Ryan and Lisa? I'll have the wine uncorked and boxes of Kleenex laying around on Friday. Depending on when they leave, I'll be available for the ginormous boo-hoo fest. We may need to mainline Brian Regan for some laughs.

You know what else stinks? Tom and Stephanie are taking this with them . . .

T.J. - the sweetest, chubbiest, squishiest, smiliest baby. You know, guys, it's bad enough that you're going but COME ON - A LITTLE MERCY. How can you take this guy away from us? I'm dyin' here.

Here are the Dennisons - Tom (doesn't he look like Jason Statham - the "Transporter" guy? Tom loves it when people comment on that) and Stephanie (Stephanie's so pretty - if I were a man I'd totally pick her).

Tom and Steph are the kind of friends who give you their garage code and tell you where the spare key is, in case there's an emergency while they're on vacation. What they really mean is in case there's an emergency in my kitchen and I need to raid theirs. Yeah, that's what they mean.

They're the kind of neighbors who come over when they see your garage door open, because they know you have beer in the fridge out there and you don't care if they help themselves.

They're the kind of spontaneous friends who can call you at the last minute on a Saturday night to come over for s'mores and steaks and a good bottle of wine.

They're the kind of thoughtful friends who make crab cakes for themselves and make extra for you. (Seriously, the BEST crab cakes I have ever eaten in my life - and come on - have the words "extra" and "crab cakes" ever been used simultaneously? Seriously.) I can't even begin to count the times I've asked them to "watch my kids for a couple of minutes" or the times I've borrowed eggs or sugar or onions or . . . .

We're going to miss you guys so much.

A Kogler Easter Recap. Part Deux

Hey - I speak French. See the "deux" up there? Reading my blog probably reminds you of trips to Europe or, as we world travelers call it, "The Continent". Actually, I'm pretty sure people who say "yee haw" would not be considered world travelers. Two more strikes against me would be:

1) I don't know if "deux" is spelled correctly, and . . .

2) I do not use the word "deux" as much as I use the word "doo".

I AM an expert in that particular subject matter. A lame, pathetic, dorky expert, but an expert nonetheless.

On that note, let's talk about some more Easter stuff. (Nice segue, huh?)

The boys conned Grandma into a quick game of UpWords before school one morning. Come to think of it, I don't think "quick" and "UpWords" have ever been used in the same sentence. Have you ever played it? It's like 3-dimensional scrabble and it takes for - ev- er. My family

has played it for years. Once, when my grandmother and I were playing, we decided to kick it up a notch and used only naughty words. The thing that's so funny is that Grandmother was so ladylike. That she would even know any naughty words was shockingly hilarious to me. My sweet grandmother died last May at the age of 92 and she used to love to tell that story.

Hey, uh guys? What words do you have up there on the board? Huh?

Another game (we love games in our family, can you tell?) and it looks like Katie is playing against Grandma's disembodied hand. I promise the rest of Grandma is actively participating in the game. You know what I think when I see this picture? I think, "Would somebody

PLEASE comb that girl's hair?" Good grief. This stage that Katie is in, the stage where she wants to do her own hair and match up her own clothes? I CAN'T STAND IT.

Ready to color some Easter eggs with Grandma and I know what you're thinking. You're wondering, "Where's Grandpa? Wasn't he there too?"

Well, here is the patriarch of the Kogler clan . . .

. . . hearing first hand about Daniel's insect project. That's an ant. We made him out of plastic Easter eggs that we painted glossy black. I even cannibalized an ink pen and got the little bitty spring out. We used the spring for the ant's neck. He was a bobble-head, Easter egg ant.

Pretty nifty, huh? By the way, Daniel got an A+ on that baby. Oh yeah.

And finally, because I have a deep-seated need to show you that my kids do, indeed, clean up well . . .

Here are the kids in their Easter finery at church. I absolutely love it when the boys wear their ties. It makes me happy in a completely shallow and superficial way. I have issues.

Easter Sunday was a busy day. I sang on the worship team so was at church from 7 am till 12:15, when I raced home to put the final touches on our Easter dinner. We ate at 1:30 and had 15 people here. Everybody brought something and it was yummo-yummy. We had ham, asparagus, homemade rolls and hot cross buns. We also ate spinach salad, turnip gratin, broccoli-cheese casserole and Waldorf salad. For dessert Joan and I made a white chocolate-lemon cake that had a lemon curd/whipped cream/strawberry filling. It was yummy. It was also a pain in the hiney to make. The filling squished out from between the cake layers and the layers started breaking apart. I was cussin' and ready to take that cake and chunk it in the street. I'm glad I didn't - once Joan covered it up with frosting it was fa-hab-uloso.

It was a wonderful day and we got to share it with family and dear friends.

Thanks for letting me share it with you, too.

A Kogler Easter Recap. Part One

Sheesh. I don't know about you, but I'm sick of that lego picture. I mean, I love legos and all, but legos staring me in my face for over a week? Breathe, Karenpie, breathe. Ahh, much better.

How was your Easter? Good? I hope you had beautiful weather, loving family and/or friends with whom to share it and - of course I'm going to say it - loads of chocolate eggs and bunnies! My personal fave is Dove's solid, milk chocolate bunny. Mmmmmmm. It's been over 48 hours and I have managed to stay away from my kids' chocolate bunnies.

It's a personal record. Thank you, thanks so much.

We had visitors for Easter - Duane's folks came from Kansas. Let me introduce you to my mother and father-in-law, Stan and Joan (pronounced "Joanne"). We love it when they visit! Joan always does my dishes. Joan, can I just tell you I love you for doing my dishes? Of course, I love you for more reasons than that, one of them being you play games with my kids and another is that you had Duane. My hunka hunka burnin' love. Oh. Are you not supposed to say stuff like that to your mother-in-law? My bad . . . .

Stan and Joan arrived just in time for Daniel and Katie's Easter program at school. Yes, we go to a school where they have an EASTER program. E-A-S-T-E-R - not to be confused with a spring program, which we will have in May. Here's Katie performing her little heart out. The little girl standing next to her is her BFF, Mia.

In this song, they did sign language for some of the words. The word they are signing here is "Jesus", and you touch your palm with your opposite middle finger, signifying the nail scars. Isn't that cool? Sign language is so . . so . . I don't know - creative? Visual? Pleasing to the eye? I just know that I love watching people sign.

Katie sang at the top of her lungs most of the time. She also sang with an intense look on her face, concentrating very hard. . . .

Katie? Are you OK? Honey, are you in pain?

Oh, I guess you're alright because you're GOOFING OFF in between songs, when you're supposed to be quiet and still.

My daughter? Goofing off? *sniff* I'm just so proud!

Daniel was up there too. I just don't think he was enjoying himself as much. However, he did have a part . . .

He was one of the twelve disciples, Matthew. Daniel was Matthew. NO, he wasn't his brother, he was the disciple, Matthew.

You may note the boys in front of him are wearing robes. Those boys are wearing what we in the theater call COSTUMES. Those boys have mothers who actually PAID ATTENTION to every one of the approximately 5 million papers that came home from school in the last couple of weeks.

See Daniel's costume? Really? You can't see his costume? Well, Daniel doesn't have one of those mothers. I think his cable knit, Children's Place Christmas sweater looks very period, don't you? I think it just screams Roman citizen daily attire. Poor Daniel, he'll be trading me in any day now.

I better get to his chocolate bunny while I still can.

It's all about the kids, isn't it?

Before I was distracted by all the poop in my life, (If you don't understand that statement, read this. . . or not) I was going to give you a recap of spring break. Let me start now by telling you about our first adventure. We began on Friday night with a little stair sledding. Hey, when you have a sled but no snow, what's a kid to do? Well, if you're one of my kids you . . .

Bring your sled inside and get on the stairs.

Then, grab every couch cushion, pillow, sleeping bag and blanket

you can find in the house. Make sure you raid all the beds.

Make a giant pile at the bottom of the stairs and . . . .

GO FOR IT!

You can even try a little stair surfing until your mom,

who is on the computer and paying no attention to you,

figures out what's going on and stops you. But, in the interest

of good pictures, she lets you continue until she has a

couple of good shots. Then your mom has to go change

her underwear because you scared the crudola out of her.

If only the kids had a little adult supervision around here.

Now for some more highlights . . . .

Thursday was Lego Day and we began at 11 a.m. when 7 kids

joined us. These were all kids who love legos so I figured it

was a sure thing - that they'd have fun. You know what? They

barely played legos at all. They had Nerf gun wars and played

Mariokart on the Wii. And ate. Oh boy did they eat.

Here is Andrew, Matthew's BFF. He loves legos.

And goofing in front of the camera. Andrew also

loves it when I hug him. He plays hard to get and

runs away from me, screaming, but I know he ADORES

hugs - don't you Andrew? You little ol' sweetie baby

punkie muffin boy.

These fine boys are Max and Colton, Daniel's BFF's

and fellow lego lovers.

This little cutie (if you're smart you'll ask 'which one?')

is also named Katie. She's Andrew's sister and she joined

our Katie so she wouldn't be the only girl in a thundering

herd of boys on Lego Day. Isn't this a pretty picture?

Quiet, sweet little girls, playing Barbies. Unlike . . .

. . . these crazed, nerf gun-wielding boys, bent

on taking me down in a barrage of nerf bullets.

I barely got out of there alive.

The homemade Oreos were great and the

Katies helped me make them. Here's the link

to a cooking blog that I love - smitten kitchen -

in case you want the recipe. The recipe only made

four dozen cookies (2 doz. if you sandwich them)

and they were really good! If you make them, let

me know what you think.

And finally, because I'm a glutton for punishment,

we went to Kids' Club on Friday afternoon. Kids'

Club is an indoor playplace here in Vancouver. We

invited the Harmon boys, the Warren girls and the

Rommel family. Jessica (the Rommel kids' mom)

was there too. Hey, I can handle a lot but I can't handle

eleven sweaty, hyped-up kids by myself. I know my limits.

It was crazy busy at this place, what with it being

spring break for the entire city, but the kids (surprise,

surprise) didn't even notice. Here they are standing by

the snake slide.

And there you have it. Just a little slice of spring break heaven,

don't you think?

I'm Sick of Poop

You heard me. I said I'M SICK OF POOP. I go from the litter box to railroad tracks in the kids' underwear to backed-up toilets to dog doo in the back yard and back to the litter box again. Don't even get me started on the nastiness I routinely find when my kids forget to flush after doing their business. As if I need proof that they remain potty trained.

This morning I got up at the ungodly hour of nine am and went to check on the kids, who were OD'ing on TV.

"Why don't you get up when your kids get up so you can monitor their screen time?" you ask.

Well, because it's ME and I love to SLEEP IN and it's SPRING BREAK so BACK OFF.

Anyway, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, I was walking down the hall to check on the kids when I smelled a smell. It wasn't pleasant and was emanating from our laundry room, where the litter box is located. I went in and started cleaning the box and then noticed . . . it.

"It" being a little present a cat had left me. One of our two cats had diarrhea during the night, missed the litter box and hit the wall. The cat diarrhea had run down the wall, behind and over the baseboard, onto the floor, then under the litter box, glueing it to the floor. Can cats have explosive diarrhea? WELL I GUESS SO, GENIUS.

Right then, for about 2 minutes, I hated my life. It was 9 am, my unfed kids were glued to SpongeBob and I was in my pajamas looking at cat poop dripping down my wall. I started to clean it up, gagged and left it - HEY, at least I turned the exhaust fan on - until 5 pm when I eventually got back to IT. After using 4000 paper towels and an entire can of scrubbing bubbles, my laundry room is now back to its usual smelliness er, Downy fresh aroma.

So, let's talk about lunch time. I fixed lunch for the four of us and stood, eating a leftover taco over the kitchen sink, looking out at my daffodils. I took a bite, glanced down at the grass and saw . . .

. . . this.

Lovely.

My eyes flew over the yard and I realized Lilly, our house guest for the week, had left us many of these gifts ALL OVER THE BACK YARD. (My kids have picked up dog doo one time since Sunday. I'm not a dog owner - do you pick up dog doo more often than that?) When I saw this lovely sight, I was CHEWING FOOD IN MY MOUTH. I gagged for the second time that day and went outside for some fresh air - but not in the backyard, if you get me.

If I didn't know better I'd think I was pregnant. I mean, really folks - I'M A NURSE. I have discussed the most disgusting things known to man while eating a meal at the nurses' station. I've lost my nurse's cast iron stomach and I think it just happened today. However, all is not lost! I figured out a cure and it looks like this . . . .

Hello lover. Come to mama. This is the beginning of a beautiful relationship and it's called Karenpie + Long Island Iced Tea = happiness, peace, tranquility and no-longer-caring-about-poop-in-my-life. OK, I know some of you are not partakers of adult beverages but let me tell you, if you had cat poop dripping down YOUR wall, you'd be on my front porch begging me for a Long Island.

Yes, you would. Would too. Admit it.

Before I leave, I'll share this with you, so you don't think I'm completely gross and inappropriate. Alright, alright, I AM gross and inappropriate but I'm learning to take really cool pictures. There's more than just dog doo going on in my backyard and this is the proof.

Bye.

Send scrubbing bubbles if you think of me.