Alone in the Kitchen

I just started up this blog again, and already I've lost the energy to do it!  In all fairness, this month has brought some crazy-busy times for Krinkeland.  I'll expand upon that at some point, when I'm not so unbelievably exhausted.  One small note on that tonight, however...

Todd and I were talking by phone late this afternoon-- he on his way to put in some office time at work, me on my way home.  Todd exclaimed it was very good that I was on my way home, about 45 minutes earlier than anticipated, because the kids would be excited to see me.  I walked in the door at home to find one kid devouring a plate of leftovers (the good child) and the others huddled around the oven anticipating the timer's bell on a frozen pizza.  We ate together and chatted about our days for, well, I'd say two full minutes before the kids started clearing out for more interesting and exciting activities.  By the time my expected return home time arrived, I was alone in the kitchen.  That is where I remain.

They may miss me when I'm gone, but that doesn't mean they want to hang out when I'm home. #momlife #thatsthestoryofmylife

A Show of Talent and Others

We spent the evening at the high school’s talent show. It’s a fundraiser put on by the music honor society to support the music department. Attending is an annual Krinkeland tradition, at least for the Queen, and the show always has a lot of surprises. What I mean by that, mostly, is there are individuals and acts that typically do not perform at other high school concerts and events. Most are excellent. Some are ridiculous.

My lovelies always seem to land on top of the silly heap. Here are Amanda and Libby performing with the BHS Music All-Stars (a.k.a. their friends):
https://youtu.be/JVQtldJW5Eo

See what I mean? Grandpa said it reminded him of the “shows” the cousins are always trying to put on in his basement— so insulting, and so true.

Amanda and friend Tori, who will star as Adelaide and Sarah in the upcoming high school musical production of “Guys and Dolls,” also had a preview of the show:
https://youtu.be/egkXAaqP490

(Yes, they know it needs work... still five weeks till showtime!)

I will always applaud— well, actually, I typically shout “BRAVO!”— any young performer with the courage and grace to appear on stage. It is not easy... but what a sense of accomplishment they must feel when the audience cheers their efforts. This is true even if the efforts are blown on kazoos, or “gazoos” as Madeline insists on saying.

Lest you think the buzz on Lés Mís was spoofy oddity, I wish to present Amanda’s and Tori’s performance from last year’s talent show, never before shared due to the blogging hiatus... also due to the inanity:
https://youtu.be/U8nyrknRczE

BRAVO!

Taking Care, the Yearbook Edition

Last spring, I sat across the table from the high school's journalism teacher and yearbook adviser.  He smiled his gentle smile and asked, "So, is Amanda pleased with the final outcome of her student life feature?"  My husband always says my face makes it impossible for anyone to not know exactly what I'm thinking, so I didn't even have to open my mouth before the teacher's jaw dropped.  "You don't know about this?!  She hasn't shared it with you-- at all?!"  I shook my head and assured him my oldest daughter rarely shares anything with me, certainly not her writing.

He went on to explain the theme of the yearbook "Out of the Ordinary" and how the book would showcase individual stories of the lives of students in the high school.  Each writer was tasked with finding a story, approaching the subject, getting permission, conducting the interview, and writing the piece.  Most of the features highlighted students who were: athletes with standout seasons, musicians who played multiple instruments, students who had jobs inside or outside of school, high-achieving academics, trendsetters in fashion or some other area.  Amanda's story was about Ruthie and Matthew.  Ruthie was a transfer student to the high school, after getting pregnant, giving birth to her son, and returning to class as a mother.

The teacher told me how Amanda first faced a bit of push-back about her choice of feature.  She next got opposition from her subject, who did not wish to be interviewed, and only consented after a series of conversations during which a friendship was forged.  Then, there was the ongoing discussion of how to present this story of student life.  Was it possible for a peer to tell the story of a teen mom without glorifying her or condemning her?  This educator became more animated as he shared all of this, eventually pausing and asking why I wasn't saying anything.  I said, "I believe you know a bit of my background as a journalist and writer; however, there's no way you could know that in all the years since I elected to be home raising my family, my primary charitable work has been as a resource for pregnant women, struggling families, and foster care providers.  I mostly listen, and tell women I support them in having babies, and then I do whatever I can to actually support them."  The teacher nodded.

A few weeks later, the yearbook was released.  It is a massive tome, impressive and award-winning by all accounts.  Each book also costs about as much as my first car.  Amanda came home from her school day and gushed, "Today was one of the greatest days of my life!"  This, from a girl who seems to do great things every day of her life.  WOW, I thought, and asked, "Why?  What does that mean?"  Amanda said, "Well, this afternoon, all the students got their yearbooks, and, as a staff member, I was working the table distributing them.  It just so happened that Ruthie got in my line, Mom, so I was able to hand her her own yearbook and show her the story, which is right at the beginning.  Ruthie cried, Mom, and she told me this was the best gift.  She was headed straight home to show her son.  Today is Matthew's first birthday!"

I told Amanda how wonderful that was and I gave her a hug.  I took the yearbook from her and read the story for the first time.  She asked me what I thought and I said, "Good job, kiddo!  Now, I've been thinking of Ruthie and Matthew, and I've been meaning to talk with you..."  My daughter cut me off.  "Mama, I already asked Ruthie if she needs diapers or formula or clothes for the baby.  I told her how close we live to the high school, and I offered that I could babysit or Libby could babysit if she ever needs a break and her parents are busy.  I told her you're home during the day to help, too.  She has a good family, Mama.  Ruthie and Matthew have support.  But I know we will always help, too.  I already told her, Mama."

Yesterday, Amanda's high school yearbook staff attended the Minnesota High School Journalism Convention, where this particular student life copy won the Gold Medallion Award, first place, as judged by the Minnesota High School Press Association.  But the greater rewards had already been given.  Yes, I am a proud parent, just as Ruthie is.  Pride, thankfully, is dwarfed by gratitude.  Let us always honor one another, our struggles and our accomplishments, with our care.  The kids are going to have it engraved on my headstone, I swear (as long as I foot the bill for all those carved letters): We are here to take care of each other.

Your Words

I've said it before, and I'll probably say it again, because there just aren't that many new things to say...  But I clearly know some amazing people, with whom I've had wonderful conversations over the years, and whose words echo through my brain-- advising me, comforting me, warning me.  Today, actually, a bunch of those commonly recalled quotes are coming up at once.  I'm not including any attribution here because I don't know if these are original words (though I suspect they all are) and I don't know if the quotables would feel comfortable being named.

"High school is such a short period of time, but so much happens in that time."

"Pain changes people."

"Oh, I don't believe God doesn't intend for us to suffer.  Actually, suffering may be the whole point."

"Some people should not build houses."

"You know that pitted feeling in your belly?  That nag in your mind?  The ache in your heart?  That's your conscience-- it's telling you absolute right or wrong.  No one can ever ask you to go against your conscience."

Scary Mommy

As a follow-up to my previous reference to parent-teacher conferences, I jokingly asked the girls when they got home from school today, "So, what was all the talk on conference night?  Did you teachers all say they loved meeting me?"  The two were quiet.  They looked at one another.  There was probably some kicking under the table.  Finally, one answered, "Uh, no, mine didn't say anything."  The other piped up, "Oh, all the teachers talked about you, Mom.  They're scared of you."  I was indignant: "What?!  Scared of me? WHY?! I'm just a mom who's interested in her kids' academics."  But she held firm, "I know you are, Mom, but that's not how you come across.  They said you are so still, sitting across the table.  You watch them intently and don't say anything; you just nod and show the slightest smile."  The other teen pantomimed her sister's description.

Let me be very clear: Teachers, I support you.  I am on your team.  I show up to parent-teacher conferences so you know that.  I know you don't have much to say about my kids, and that's a good thing, and I'm sorry if you feel uncomfortable and put-on-the-spot.  But, if you're intimidated... if you feel scared?  Well, that's probably because of something you did.

Gratitude Gets You Everywhere

In the middle of Hobby Lobby, my phone dinged.  It was a text from a fellow school mommy friend that just said, "Thank you."  I had done nothing and could not imagine for what she could be thanking me.  She soon followed up the text with, "Hmm.  Sorry, I pocket texted you.  But, thank you for being you."  There were also cute emojis.  It was funny, little thing to happen.

At high school parent-teacher conferences last night. I had quite the rounds to make, what with two students there and wanting all their teachers to see my eyeballs and know I'm invested in my kids' educations.  Conferences went well as, by the grace of God, they typically do for Krinkeland.  I sat across the table from teacher after teacher, who ran down their electronic grade books, displayed examples of coursework, and answered questions related to college aspirations.  Those educators who have taught Amanda and Elisabeth remarked to the letter how different the two girls are.  Most of the teachers' comments were chased by some version of, "But I'm sure you already know that."  I do.

One teacher relayed one child's performance and behavior in her class as all-good-high-achieving-hard-working-helpful-toward-classmates.  Yet, as she took a breath for the wind-up, her eyes brimmed with tears.  "You know what?  At the end of every class, your daughter says 'Thank you, Mrs. (Name), for teaching me.'"  I gave a small smile of acknowledgement and understanding, but she kept staring at me.  Finally, I chuckled just a bit and muttered, "Well, good."  The educator said, "No one else says that."

Say, "Thank you" whenever you're thankful for someone, for something they've given, for something they've done.  It shouldn't be unusual or surprising.  We need one another, and we should acknowledge the value of other humans.  No one does this alone.  Gratitude gets you everywhere.

Making Room

We were a bit early to church this evening, as Benjamin was scheduled to serve mass.  He headed to the sacristy as I found a seat on the end of a mostly empty pew.  As I nodded to those around me, said my "hello prayers" to God, and got settled, an elderly threesome wandered up the aisle looking for a place to sit.  They appeared to be an older, married couple along with one of their mothers. 

I moved way into the pew to give them room and invited them in.  The oldest woman kept going, to the pew in front of me, which was mostly full, and where someone had placed a handbag and overcoat in the remaining empty space.  I said, "I think someone is sitting there, but there's room here."  She wasn't having it.  She moved other parishioners down and motioned for the man and woman to join her.  The man leaned in and said, "Those are someone's things.  It looks like someone was already planning to sit there."  She sat.

I picked up the purse and coat and moved them to the end of the pew I was sitting in.  "Don't worry," I told the couple, leaning forward.  "I'm sure these belong to the sacristan who's helping to organize mass.  She won't mind sitting one pew back here."  They smiled and rested.

Meanwhile, the couple behind me was watching the entire scene, entertained.  The woman leaned over and hissed to her husband, "That woman must be a teacher-- she's a problem-solver," and they chuckled.  No, ma'am, I'm just a mommy.  More than that, however, I'm a churchgoer who has seen lack of welcoming lead to lack of attendance.  I'm not the stinking Welcome Wagon; I'm just a human being who recognizes that everyone wants to feel as though they belong.  Now, be nice!

P.S.  It was fine.  The things did belong to the sacristan, who is a friend of mine.  Her husband and daughter showed up before her pre-mass work was done, spotted the handbag and sat down next to it.  Incidentally, she and her husband are teachers.

Fine Dining, the Krinkeland Way

Some people spend days, weeks putting together a spaghetti dinner.  I got about an hour.  Not bragging-- it's just the story of my life.

I should have known before I answered the phone.  Kids always text.  If they call, it's going to be something.  There was a lot of noise in the background and she was kind of breaking up.  "Hi, Mom!  Just a quick... small... favor?"  Oldest Daughter went on to explain she was a choir rehearsal, as she is every Monday after school, but that the musical directors had also called for Monday evening rehearsal.  So, a bunch of the choir kids who are also in the musical would have an hour or less (and no money) to get dinner between the two sessions, and, since our house is close to the school, and since I'm probably making supper anyway, could the friends just come over and eat with us?  It would only be eight or nine additional diners.

The answer to this question is always YES.

Our home has long been a hub for teenagers.  On the plus side, it is close to the schools and we always have a stocked fridge and pantry.  On the minus side, for the past 10 months, the house has been torn apart in this ever-expanding, never-ending, where's-the-progress renovation project.  On the hilarious side, the kids don't seem to care.  The gatherings and drop-ins usually include a mix of familiar characters with some I've never met-- and I can only imagine what must go through their minds.  On the I-don't-know-which-side-this-is, I am generally home.

I said, "That's fine, kiddo.  We're just having spaghetti."  It was true, all true.  I added some more sauce to the pot, picked out the wilty bits from the backup bag of salad, and had Maddy help me assemble trays of garlic bread, and by "garlic bread" I mean leftover hamburger and hot dog buns, halved and topped with butter, garlic and shredded cheese.  Oh, yes, I did!  ANYBODY, wanna show up in my destitute circumstances and eat whatever I happen to scrounge up?  YOU. ARE. WELCOME.

P.S. While dishing up his plate, one kid remarked, "It kind of feels like I'm back in daycare."  Another picked up a bun and asked, "What is this?"