why?

I have some friends on Facebook... well, acquaintances really... that utilize their status updates to complain about their kids. Exclusively.

It's a constant stream of meltdowns, tantrums, aggravations, backtalk and general unrest from them, broken occasionally by announcements that they will be going out and drinking with the girls to get away from said children.

There is a huge part of me that wants to find these people in person and bitch slap them. Old school style, you know? Just open up a big ol' can of whoop-ass on them and ask them the one question that I'm dying to know the answer to...

Why did you have kids anyway?

Because really, what did you expect? Did you not discuss this at all with your partner, your parents, your friends who have children? Did you think that your kid would be the one who didn't throw food or talk back? Maybe you did. But it never works that way.

See, children, as you may have figured out, are a little unpredictable and any parent will tell you that. And now matter how good of a parent you are, your children will sometimes do naughty things. At that point, you just remember that you were a little kid once too and you take a deep breath and guide your child back to the path of good behavior.

Oh, I'm not saying you can't rant about it now and again, but keep it in perspective. There are stages in children's lives that make them do stupid shit. Hell, we're all adults here and I can be fairly certain that we've done our share of it, too. But what parent hasn't cringed at the thought of their child turning 2? Or 4? Or 12? Or 14? Each year brings a new stage and a new frustration, but it also brings new joys and new abilities. And chances are, if you kept track, those good things will outnumber the bad.

And having kids is like having a garden. You reap what you sow. You plant beans, you'll get beans. But if you plant beans and then you don't water them, don't give them enough sunlight, don't fertilize them, then you won't get very good beans. Same with kids. If you don't give them all the good things they need in life, they won't grow.

Maybe I'm just cranky because I had to work extra hard to have kids. Infertility and custody schedules have warped my perspective some. Since I almost didn't have the one child I did and since I have to share my other two with another family, I want to treasure every moment I have with them. Even the bad ones, because those are the ones that make us stronger and those are the ones that teach us important life lessons.

And, if nothing else, sometimes they're just so damned cute.

just yesterday

"How old is the Ubergoober now?" a co-worker asked. It was an innocent question, put forth during an animated discussion on children and phases.

"Five," I answered, because he is.

But that number stopped me in my tracks. My baby is 5-years-old, which seems old to me now. He's losing the baby softness in his face and his features are sharpening into what will become his adult face. He's starting to get gangly, with arms and legs that seem to be growing faster than any other part of him. He has fine motor skills that allow him to disassemble the tiniest of toys and put them back together again. He reads. He does math. He knows how to work the computer. He can verbalize his needs and wants and emotions. He can rationalize his actions.

In short, he's going at the same rate as his older brother and sister. He can do things with them now. Oh, he still isn't as coordinated as them, but he can play catch now and run a football down the field and kick a soccer ball. He can work a video game controller. When I describe Ty at 14, I realize many of the same adjectives can be applied to the Goober as well and it's a little... well, sad.

I can't help but think back to when they were all small. When the Goober was a baby and Ty and Sam were 8 and 9. When they all still had baby fat and weren't thinking about boys and girls in THAT way. When the greatest entertainment was going to the petting zoo together or running through the sprinkler in the lawn.

Now the entertainments are getting more complicated. I found out tonight Ty has a Facebook account.

"Guess who your new friend is, buddy," I said. It is my policy that the kids will not have an online presence that I cannot access somehow.

"No way. You'll never find me," he said, in that way that teenagers have that makes you want to gouge out their eyes.

Well, I did. (Please. I'm a journalist. It's my special skill to find people who don't want to be found. I've stalked sources in parking lots before, I'll treat my kids the same way.)

But I'm glad that my kids, for all their teenagerness and preschoolerness, are essentially good kids. And even though I long for simpler days, I'm glad I get to see them grow up. I just wish they wouldn't do it so fast.

happy news

One of the drawbacks of being a journalist is that you're always in the presence of bad news. Some people things we thrive on murders and police chases and fraud, but we really don't. Well, not all of us. Certainly, there is a thrill when a big juicy story comes up, but those stories are difficult.

I had one today. A man, who had recently served as a facilitator for a marriage workshop, shot his wife in the chest. It wasn't fatal, thank God, but it wasn't a fun story to report.

But tonight... tonight I got to report on one of my favorite events: the adult graduation from our local high school.

Our school district has a program for adults who don't have their high school diploma. They can come in, for free, and do whatever school work they need to do so they can graduate from high school. It's not a GED. It's a real diplmoa. And the people who participate in this program are so inspiring.

I talked to one student, Bill, who had dropped out of high school at 16. He got involved with a bad crowd, did some drugs, drank a lot... things that Bill isn't proud of. But he's honest about them.

"I made some mistakes," he said.

Now, 17 years later, at 33, Bill graduated from high school. He has a steady job and has won several awards in his workplace. It's the longest he's ever been at a job. His boss cannot say enough good things about him.

He finished two years of high school in one school year. He wants to go on to school for welding and computer programming. He has dreams. He has hope.

I loved talking to him because he was excited about the future. He reminded me that if we work hard and follow our dreams, really cool things can happen. All it takes is one step. Making that phone call, reading that book, taking that test, whatver it is.

He also reminded me that there is good news. For every person who is shot, someone else earns their diploma. There is a balance in the universe. It's delicate, but it's there and if we get lost in all of the negative we won't be able to appreciate the good. Oh, we shouldn't get all Pollyanna about it all, but we should remember that there are people out there who are doing some really good things and those stories need to be told just as much as the hard news. The bad news.

So find some good news. It's out there, I promise. You may have to visit a high school library in the evening, but you just may see someone get their diploma. And when you do, applaud. For them. For us. For good.

follow through

I have a serious problem of starting huge projects and not finishing them. Heck, I even fail to complete small projects. I just... don't.

I don't know why I do this. I fully intend to clean my closets or scrapbook that event or repot that plant... I just never do.

I opened a Flickr account for all the photos I take... but I haven't uploaded a single one.

The birthday present I made for my sister is still in pieces... and her birthday is in April.

And let's not even discuss the number of blog posts I've started. The e-mails I never sent.

It's strange. At my job, I finish everything. No project goes without completion. But at home, when deadlines are nonexistent and I have all the say... it just doesn't get done.

Maybe it's because I have such a high-stress job where everything has to be finished at a certain time and it's life or death.

Or maybe because I find better things to do. Like playing with my kids. Reading that last bedtime story. Spending time with my husband. Talking with my mom on the phone. Somehow, other things are more important when I'm away from my office.

But isn't that how it should be?

vomit-free since 2006

I remember thinking of my first Mother's Day as a mother when I was pregnant with the Goober. I thought about roses, poetry, cards, breakfast in bed, lazy day. But reality was nowhere near that.

Goober was just about a year old when my first Mother's Day rolled around and he gave me a gift I will never forget: the rotovirus.

That's right. From Friday to Monday, that little Goober puked and pooped and vomited and spewed. He couldn't keep anything in and by Monday, neither could Nature Boy or I. It was awful. The carnage was like a scene from Quentin Tarantino movie. We were so lucky we didn't have Sam and Ty that weekend.

All I could think of was that was a major kick in the pants. What a shitty Mother's Day. In fact and feeling.

So now I think about my friends who have had babies this past year and have great expectations for Mother's Day. One even commented to me that she wondered what her first Mother's Day would be like.

To my credit, I kept my mouth shut. I didn't mention Puke Fest '05. I just smiled and said something non-committal.

But in a way I'm glad the bar was set so low for my Mother's Day celebrations. See, now I figure any holiday without vomit is a successful holiday.

It also showed me how much mothers do. I mean, you expect the sleepless nights and the constant feedings and all of that. But you don't expect the one day in your honor to be filled will illness and projectile puking. And yet, we snuggled with the Goober, we tried to get as much liquid in him as we could without inducing more illness and we did our best to not let our own throwing up affect how we cared for him. It never even occur ed to me to be disappointed that my day was effectively ruined, because it wasn't. I still had my baby, my not-quite-husband, a beautiful house and a mother and mothers-in-law of my own who were on the phone with us constantly, dispensing advice and cooing sympathetically.

And, God help me, I loved it. Oh, it was hell and I hope never to repeat it, but I learned a lot that weekend. I learned how to deal with a very sick baby, I learned that Pedialyte works best when it's cut with a little water and I learned that a holiday is what you make of it.

So Happy Mother's Day to all the mommies out there. I hope yours is vomit-free.

sprung

It was truly a spring day in Wisconsin today. Rainy, wet, dreary, cold. Especially cold coming on the heels of some very beautiful days that were spent inside my office. Dammit.

But the gloom was not going to stop me from enjoying my day. I trolled around some really awesome greenhouses that are farther out in the sticks than I am. We made stops at every non-commercial greenhouse from here to Wittenberg. I picked up four different herbs and a new variety of pumpkins. And then I kicked myself all the way home because I didn't get more.

But then I went to the local high school. The FFA and special needs students do a greenhouse every year and they sell the most awesome plants to raise money for next year's program. I love them. The students are wonderful, the advisor is wonderful and the plants... wonderful.

I checked out the local municipal plant sales, too, and even though I didn't find the plants I wanted, they were still so much fun to browse.

Then I came home and dug up my herb bed in an effort to subdue some rampaging oregano. Apparently, my special skill is turning Mediterranean herbs into kudzu. So I dug and dug, not even caring that it was raining. It just felt so good to be outside and playing in the dirt.

I forget sometimes when I am work what it feels like to be so connected to the earth. At work I'm all about getting the story, getting the photo, making my words count, making a difference. At home, I get to be the Earth mother that grows her own vegetables and herbs and eats the meat her husband and son kill. I get to watch the weather, pray for rain or for sun, dry my laundry in the sun and enjoy the flowers that bloom.

But it's nice to have such a difference from weekday to weekend. It makes me appreciate everything I am.

observant

I got my hair cut on Friday. Not a big deal, just a trim. But Nature Boy noticed.

"You got your hair cut!" he said, five minutes after I walked in the door. "You didn't think I'd notice, did you?"

To be honest, no. I didn't. Not because I don't have faith in Nature Boy's powers of observation, because I do. It's because I would not have noticed myself.

Seriously. Unless it's something drastic, I won't notice change. My boyfriend in college shaved his moustache off once and it took me three days before I noticed. Sam's best friend, who practically lives with us on weekends, got glasses. That was only a day, but still pretty poor observation skills.

And it's not just physical appearances. It's dates and times, too. Birthdays slip pass me without comment. If you get a card from me, it will be at least a week late. I am probably the only woman who forgets anniversaries. Nature Boy doesn't, but I do. Every damn year I forget the anniversary of the day we met. I purposely scheduled our wedding for a major holiday just so I would have a reminder.

The truly embarrassing thing is that I'm a journalist. I'm trained to notice things other people wouldn't. And in a government meeting, I'm all over everything. I'll notice who's shifting uncomfortably in their seat during a vote. I'll see who's sweating, who's laughing, who's winking. I'll even notice shoes.

But when it comes to my personal life? I won't notice. Nature Boy thinks it's funny and goes out of his way to remind me about things, which I appreciate. So, if I have forgotten something, please forgive me. I won't be offended if you send me a reminder.