Kindergarten Days

Tony Bennett may have left his in San Francisco, but yesterday, I left my heart in a Kindergarten class, with a beautiful blond.  I packed her lunch in her monogrammed lunch box,  attached it to her also monogrammed book bag, and left her in the care of a fun loving teacher who seemed to be more into the characters of Winnie the Pooh than Jack Mitchell.  And that is saying a lot.

The world of a stay at home mom is hard.  Don't let the Bon Bon jokes fool you.  The only Bon Bons that we are consuming, if any, are to keep the sanity between wiping dirty rears and refereeing between sibling wars.  They are rarely eaten while watching Soaps and sipping on ice tea.  (Or in my case, I prefer the News and world events).

So as I have observed, many a Mom seems to find themselves upon this first day of Kindergarten with a bit of a sense of shock.  Shock that it came so soon, shock of the emotional distress of a "baby" growing up, and shock that the last 5 years went so incredibly fast.

We have been in the trenches, sometimes unable to look out and see past the current meal that we are preparing; past the missed nap schedule, and past the embarrassing grocery trip that we just endured.  Then, as soon as they become somewhat refined members of society, able to tie a shoe and maintain manners during an entire meal, they are off on a bus, on their way to a life of learning, and away from us.  

No, I'm not naive to believe that this transition is harder than graduation, college, or that walk down the isle.  But it is in the sense that it is the first  in a series of milestones.  Milestones that only lead to the larger ones that will only lead to my heart being broken again.  And that is why it hurts.  That is why I put her on the bus this morning and preceded it by a long crying walk back to the house.  And that is why I may have consumed more cake than usual for lunch today.  Because if I can't have my heart in tact, at least I can have a treat. 

Where the Heart Is...

Designing my house has been my hobby, enjoyment, sometimes obsession over the last four plus years.  It has, at times, consumed my thoughts with paint options, when I maybe should have been concerned with what movie my kids were watching.  It has been the source of some of my ultimate highs, in terms of problem solving, and ultimate lows, in terms of marital compromise.  I have learned that my husband is a master woodworker, and that the first can of paint will never be the right color. 

Yet through the learning curve of what is being a home owner, I have discovered that making this house my home is so much more than paint and pillows. 

I walk the fine line of remembering that while my treasure is in heaven, this house, I do treasure.  That while God is the ultimate Creator, he has instilled in me a creative spirit that I am proud to display.  That while inviting new faces into our home to show Christ, is priority, inviting them into  a place that is, Inviting, is important too. 

So now, as we begin to contemplate the next step in our family's future, this house might soon become part of our past.  The walls that I painted  with my sister, while both fully pregnant might be enjoyed by someone else.  The light fixture that I taught myself electricity on might be used to light up someone else's bed time routine.  The ceiling that was painstakingly scraped clean of it's odd popcorn texture might be forgotten during someone else's Thanksgiving dinner.

I am realizing that the small touches placed in this home, seen often as frivolous design elements mean so much more to the person who put them there.  They are memories, rooted deep in one's thoughts, only to be covered over with the transfer of a mortgage. 

Ask an interior designer about a wall, and I'm sure there is a story behind it.  Ask them about a woodwork chip, and there is probably a child's name that is brought up.  Ask me about my pillows, and I could talk to you for six months straight.  

These walls have seen four little people grow from babies to kids.  They have heard more crying than one house should be able to endure, but it did.  They have heard fights, laughter, early morning prayers, and late night friends. They were once a little ugly, and now thanks to Sherwinn Williams, are quite the beauty.  

We will miss this place.  I might even stalk it.   If my kids forget it, I had professional pictures taken.  My home was where my heart was... and part of it will be here forever.  At least that's what my etched name in the closet woodwork would have one believe.  But we will just keep that between me, and these walls.  Turns out, Celine, they don't really talk after all.

Milestones, Girlfriends, and Bling

As of a week ago, I can better relate to our favorite country love song, Alan Jackson's, "Remember When."  We used to laugh at the, "Remember When, 30 seemed so Old, Now Looking Back, It's Just a Stepping Stone."... Yep.  I jumped over that stone last Wednesday.  I am now 30, and I'm now thinking that maybe I'm not so old, anyway.

It was a whirl wind couple of weeks, as our 10 year anniversary and my 30th birthday both descended upon Kevin in a big, pressure cooking, throw eyebrows to the wind, kind of way. We celebrated the anniversary with a surprise (for me) trip to NYC.  While there, we took in some Phantom, ate deliciously over priced, fancy dinners, and I successfully got my wine glass removed from the table for too much "happiness" before dessert.  Who knew when you start laughing uncontrollably, the server gets all kinds of nervous about whether or not you will be able to walk out of the restaurant.  It was 10 years, people.  I blame it on their New York state of minds not understanding a long lasting relationship.

This was the only picture we took of our trip, and although my favorite, I'm sad that my Banana Republic, bought especially for this occasion, dress, didn't make it into any of the pictures.  It was lovely.  And divided out by how many years we have been married, it was really a steal of a deal:). 

Central Park French style lunch date.  My favorite shirt on my favorite Man

A few short weeks later, as Kevin was still anticipating the bill for the anniversary, my huge milestone birthday of 30 screamed for attention.  Really, I have started to feel bad about the planning of these dates as I get older.   Getting married so young guaranteed huge pressure points in 10 year increments.  We could have waited a year to get married, but I **think** it was still worth it to him to move ahead with the nuptials.

We had a getaway to Chicago planned for the weekend after my birthday, thanks to Kevin's gracious brother, sister in law, and parents watching our kids.  So on my actual day, I requested a dinner out with my girlfriends.  It has been a wonderful summer spending time with all of them and our kids, and I didn't want to celebrate without them.  Luckily, someone reminded me that I did have a camera, so we captured our after dinner ice cream stop.

When I look at this picture, I am reminded that moving to Indiana 5 years ago, all I wanted was close friends.  I prayed and prayed, and prayed some more.  I joined random mom's groups, went to weird churches, invited strangers over, all to just have some lady friends to do life with.  And the four ladies pictured with me are the ones who were brought into my life, and have changed it, forever.  They are my kids hero's, my close confidants, and my Godly remodels.  Together, we have a total of 16 kids; a basement full for a Mom's group.  But worth every crumb, every tear, every "She hit me"... and much more.

And speaking of more, I should probably mention that Kevin came through in a big way too.  He's good with gifting me properly.  And he was generous in his understanding of the big deal that these events were to me. Let's just say I have started to enjoy reading a bit more on my new Nook, which is lit up by the new sparkle on my finger:).  Yes, he escaped the pressure cooker with flying colors, and now he can relax for the next 10 years.

A Harry Situation

Kevin and I differ on our opinions of hair.  He longs for a bit more wisp, catch the breeze type of hair, while I remind him that many a female would pay big bucks for his richly (naturally) dark, stick straight like it was just on an ironing board, shiny, hair.  I'm still confused as to why God blesses men with better hair than us women.  Maybe it's because back in His time, long hair was in, in a big way.

So lucky for us, he has once again passed the great hair genes onto one of our boys.  Of course.  Ironically enough, Harry, seems to have gotten the best strands out of any of the kids.  But with a name like that, you better not enter the room bald. 

Random women have come up to me in grocery stores simply to touch his hair; describing it as halo-ish.  I can't argue with them.  It does have a beautiful glow when it catches the light.  Harry has the perfect hair that can go to sleep messy, and wake up looking salon styled.  It perfectly sticks straight up for volume, while falling nicely into rear layers.  It has recently been described to me as nearing the verge of a mullet, but as his mother, I don't agree.  I will not take scissors to that hair.  This kid has a happy personality to match that party in the back, so my vote is to let grow what God gave him.  And now,  to show it off to the world in all of its blonde glory.

A Photo Update

I am going to do some updating of our events in picture form.  It's quicker than typing long paragraphs that bore everyone, even the Grandparents.  So without further use of the English language, here is our week(s) in review:

Harry is the happiest baby I've ever known. Even more when he is jumping.  His quads are massive.


                                              The boys successfully completed their first

year of preschool without being kicked out or injuring another child.  Which I consider a win.  Callie also graduated, and is now on her way to kindergarten, of which I am proud, and also terrified.

My nephew Gavin Michael was born on June 6th.  He is adorable and sweet, and tiny.  And if I didn't already have a full van of kids, he would make me want another one. 

Big proud sister, Norah, who thankfully loves babies. 

Callie was big stuff getting to come to the hospital. 

Big bro Eli and John

Grandpa Bob started training Jack on catching a ball.  To set the scene, the Bob Johnson tongue was in full force, as was Jack's, and Twila Paris was playing on Dad's Pandora in the background.  That should explain everything.

The boys played endlessly with the Jeeps at Mama Jan's house.  I wish I had a picture of Charlie, but he takes driving so seriously, that I couldn't bother him for a photo opt.

Harry was introduced to the pool.  And couldn't have had a better swimming partner than Grandma De

We had a cousin swim party (Mitchell's) at Grandma Jan's. 

And miracle of all miracles.... Jack and Charlie both, enjoyed the pool.  Hallelujah, they are my boys!

And that's what has been happening lately in the Mitchell House. 

Feast. Your. Eyes....

Back when I grew up, before the days of huge SUV's and Suburbans, there were Vans.  Full size, large capacity, survive a nuclear attack, Vans.  Every family who was anyone, drove one.  Including mine.  In fact, some of my best childhood memories are in that car.  If I'm reliving a memory, I'm probably in our Ford Van, listening to Psalty, on an adventure to somewhere.  The day my parents bought the van, I swore they were the richest people in the entire world.  How could I be so lucky to have a van with leather seats, a built in TV, and a personal rear radio.  Yes, they had arrived, and I was on my way to a sweet road trip. 

Fast forward present day, and I am officially becoming my Mom.  In my driveway there currently rests a 2002, Full size, Chevy conversion van.  Complete with everything except the kitchen sink. This thing could travel the Continental United States gathering every Craigslist find from California to New York.  It's got a TV/DVD, pleather seats able to house a 300 lb man, mood lights, running boards, and an automatic fully reclining back seat. We've already determined that Jack, AKA, the best bet to become a Frat Boy in College will not be inheriting this car.  For the sole reason of that back seat.  We didn't fall off the dating train too long ago.

The Saab sadly had to be traded in.  It was not large enough for our wanna be Catholic family, even though it was magnificent for dates.  So practicality won out when we spotted this beast of a van, and they offered an equal trade for the Saab.  Financially speaking, it was a win win.  Socially speaking, I'm afraid I may have hit rock bottom.  Or given over the last of my youth.  Nothing says Welcome to 30 like 2 vans in the driveway.  I'm on my way to creating my own bumper stickers to add a final seal to this deal.  Here are some of my favorites so far:
1. Go Big or Go Home
2. You can Judge a Mom by her jeans, but not the car she drives
3. I've Simply Given Up
4. At least I was cool in High School...
5. We're not Catholic, Just Passionate Protestants
6. Bigger Is Better
And my Favorite...
7. My other car is also a Van

So there you have it.  Don't be jealous now.  I'm sure there are Conversion Vans for sale wherever you may live.  At least it can't get any worse.  I still buy name brand jeans, and spend a fortune on my blonde hair.  And speaking of becoming my mom:  our kids now think we've arrived.  They've already planned their trip to Disney and are requesting to blast some Psalty.  This is going to be an intersting ride; Literally.

Bumper to Bumper

I noticed a snippet of American Exceptionalism this weekend while Kevin and I drove to a much needed movie date.   And because the season of political mud slinging is upon us (at least in my house).. I was grateful for the reminder that a civil society, no matter the party affiliation, is a great  thing to experience.

A rain storm had knocked out all traffic lights for a good one mile span, in one of the busiest sections of town, on a Friday night.  A recipe for disaster in anyone's mind.  It was slow, bumper to bumper, organized chaos. Organized being the operative word.  You see, in America, as Americans, we know the rules of the road.  A light is out, and a once speedy stop light becomes an automatic four way stop.  An invisible stop sign appears, and we know to yield, wait, and drive.  It really is amazing to think that a society often coined for it's selfish ambition and individualistic tendencies can instantly become a patient, other driver focused community.  The destinations of each take a literal back seat to the safety for all.

Traffic is annoying, irritating, and usually brings out the worst in us all.  But last Friday night, I was reminded through the delay how a country built with a moral compass, pointing to a selfless God, can still reflect his humanity.  So the next time I find myself in bumper to bumper, I will sing the Stars and Stripes instead of the whining blues.  Because if I'm going to  be late for my date, the least I can do is appreciate the road that got me there.