tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-75947504735585767262024-03-13T08:32:37.390-07:00Sterup PantsErika Steruphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10663376261432482866noreply@blogger.comBlogger84125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7594750473558576726.post-60638623528615533552012-08-16T12:27:00.000-07:002012-08-16T12:27:06.298-07:00What I Did on My Summer VacationIt's that time of year. Yesterday we packed the lunches, combed the hair, and took the obligatory first-day-of-school photos:<br />
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It's at this time, then, that I'd like to join elementary school students everywhere in the age-old tradition of the "What I Did This Summer" essay (because, if you've been following this blog, you KNOW "writing on my blog" did not make the list). Here are some things that I actually DID do this summer:<br />
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<b>Nerdy Teaching Stuff</b><br />
Kyle taught summer school, I taught summer school, and we made Daniel attend summer school. There's nothing like having two teachers as parents to doom you to the summer writing and math enrichment program. <br />
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I also taught my regular Zumba class, and a week-long Zumba camp for kids at the Y. This helped serve as a good reminder that teaching large groups of small kids should never be my full-time job.<br />
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<b>Montana</b><br />
We went on a family vacation! We've never really taken the kids anywhere other than to friends and family's houses, so this was thrilling for us.<br />
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The kids got to experience airline travel:<br />
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(See how excited they are?)<br />
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We rented a cabin in Big Sky with Kyle's mother and with Kyle's sister's family. I think it's safe to say we will probably never stay anywhere as rustically well-appointed as our cabin ever again. Everything was wood and stone, and there was a giant moose head over one of the fireplaces.<br />
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We did a little hiking:<br />
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We went to the 4th of July celebration in Big Sky. Turns out the only thing more fantastic than fireworks is fireworks over a mountain skyline:<br />
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We spent a day in Yellowstone, starting with the Bear and Wolf Discovery Center near the park entrance. We saw some bears:<br />
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There are lots of Bison in Yellowstone:<br />
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We went to Old Faithful:<br />
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Let me just pause here to point out that Old Faithful actually starts out spraying much higher than in these photos. Our children, however, were much more interested in petting the dog of the couple sitting behind us than viewing one of our nation's treasures. In fact, they had NO interest in humoring us by watching this mere 60-second spectacle. If these photos were videos with sound, you could hear me lecturing, "We brought you all this way to see this and you want to pet a DOG?! There are people here who have traveled from other CONTINENTS to see this! Some people put seeing this on their list of things to do before they DIE! You are going to stand here and get your picture taken in front of Old Faithful, and you are going to SMILE!" You might also hear my sister-in-law teasing us for actually going there with this speech.<br />
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It rained in the afternoon, but we still stopped to see some other geysers and Yellowstone's Grand Canyon:<br />
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It was pouring rain when we saw the canyon, but it really was one of my favorite parts. Of course the pictures can never do it justice, but it was amazing, and Kyle and I vowed to go back there to hike the canyon some day when the kids are a little older.<br />
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After dinner the rain cleared and we went back out. We had the Norris Geyser Basin practically to ourselves, and even though we were all soggy and tired we were so glad we stopped there. Eva said this was her favorite part, mostly because there were bear tracks everywhere. It was like being on a whole different planet:<br />
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The rest of our trip we relaxed and hung out with Kyle's extended family, many of who had rented cabins nearby. We went horseback riding and were so proud of Daniel for riding his own horse. We even saw a moose on the trail:<br />
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In the end, I'd say fun was had by all. We left reluctantly, wishing we could just move to Montana.<br />
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<b>Ankle Sprain</b><br />
Shortly after our return from Montana I sprained my ankle. How, do you ask? Was it during my high-impact exercise class with all the sideways jumping? Or on my nice long trail run through the woods, with all the tree roots and uneven terrain? Nope! Just everyday walking down two porch steps on the way out of a friend's house. I was carrying Eva at the time, and Kyle likes to point out that at least she broke my fall.<br />
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I contemplated taking some photos of my injury, as it was awesome to me in both its size and color. But then I thought about whether I'd really want to look at pictures of someone ELSE'S giant black nasty ankle and decided to pass.<br />
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It's been four weeks since I injured myself, and I'm learning that I am not super-patient when my body doesn't work the way it's supposed to. The irony is that I spent most of my life wishing and trying to become the kind of person who exercises regularly, who actually enjoys some kind of physical activity and longs to go exercise. I realize now that in the last year or so I've become that person, and so of course it's now that I would sustain one of the only major activity-limiting injuries of my life.<br />
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For the past week or so the weather has been beautiful; cool in the mornings with just a gentle breeze. I hobble around my house and gaze bitterly out the window, jealously grumbling at all my friends' facebook statuses about the great run they had today. Grrr...!!!<br />
Melodramatic of me, eh?<br />
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<b>Watching Swimming</b><br />
One of the things about being married to Kyle is that the only sport he's really interested in watching (or DOING, really) is swimming. And I have to admit that during our engagement and the first year of our marriage, I came to really enjoy watching Kyle's swim meets, and swimming in general. It's difficult to find televised swimming any time other than during the Olympics, though, so every four years we have a swimming binge. It's really been wonderful to watch Michael Phelps the past few Olympics, and I hope the US will continue to dominate in the pool even after his retirement.<br />
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This year, however, my favorite moment was watching Chad Le Clos of South Africa BEAT Michael Phelps. If you didn't see that finish, you really must watch it. He started crying almost the moment he realized he'd won, and continued weeping through interviews and most of the medal ceremony. The camera flashed to his parents in the stands, and both of them were crying like babies (as I'm sure we would be if Daniel had beaten Michael Phelps). There's even a shot where you can see Mr. Le Clos wipe his eyes on the South African flag. The BBC got such a kick out of the dad that they had an interview with him. There's just something endearing about a family that is so totally and adorably excited about winning:<br />
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At the same time, our kids were participating in their annual month of swim lessons, and making great progress. Daniel started to learn the front crawl and backstroke, and even got into doing a kind of mangled version of a cannonball off the diving board:<br />
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By the end of the summer, Eva was willing to swim in the deep end, though she continues to insist that the diving board, "is really more for 5-year-olds." She has a wicked back float, though:<br />
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Maybe the Sterup genes will pull through and produce another swimmer in this family. I'll wait to work on my Olympic television composure until we're a little more sure...<br />
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And that's what we've been up to. In some ways the heat made it seem like the summer would never end. In other ways, though, the time just flew by. I think the kids were ready to get back to school, and even though it means Kyle and I have to actually attend jobs on a daily basis, the school year does provide us (or at least me) with some much-needed structure. <br />
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So for now... Onward into fall adventures!<br />
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Erika Steruphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10663376261432482866noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7594750473558576726.post-74008965361620365552012-06-11T18:19:00.000-07:002012-06-11T18:19:30.478-07:00A Bat and Fish Kind of WeekendSo I have to say, being children of teachers makes for a very charmed summer. Even though Kyle and I are both doing a little summer school teaching, we're definitely in the vacation mindset around here. We're staying up later, swimming several times a week, reading Harry Potter before bed, and eating more hot dogs than I maybe should admit in an online forum. <br />
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This past weekend we were invited to an afternoon wedding near Hannibal, MO (boyhood home of Mark Twain), and so we took the opportunity to tour the Cameron Cave (part of the cave system of Tom Sawyer's Injun Joe fame) there in the morning. Daniel's class did a unit on caves this spring, so he was very excited at the prospect of "going spelunking" and seeing some bears and bats. Our assurances that there are no bears in this area, or that a guided tour could hardly be called "spelunking" did nothing to dampen his enthusiasm. Our tour was decidedly bear-less, but we did see a number of bats, and a good time was had by all.<br />
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One of the (thankfully) small, mostly sleeping bats we encountered. Even the flying ones stayed a good distance away from us.<br />
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We attended the wedding of one of my sorority advisees in the afternoon, which hopefully cleared up some of the kids' misconceptions about what "getting married" means. There seems to be some confusion in our house about whether wearing fancy clothes and dancing together makes people married. A few weeks ago Daniel asked if getting married involves showing up to a banquet hall in formalwear and selecting a spouse from all the other partygoers (I can only assume there would be some sort of mass ceremony after all the couples have paired up). Either way, Kassie's wedding involved a full Catholic ceremony and a dinner/dance reception, and only one couple was wed during the process, so we're hoping that several-hour process really drove the concept home for them. I still have my suspicions that the most memorable part of the whole event for them was the cake, though...<br />
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On Sunday we took advantage of the free fishing weekend. Daniel had never been, and recently asked us when we were planning on teaching him to fish. "Good question," we muttered amongst ourselves, since Kyle had never caught a fish at all and I haven't been fishing since I was 10 or so. Let's just say that neither of us felt too keen about touching either worms or fish, much less bumbling around trying to figure out what we're doing with the pole and hook. Thankfully, our friends John and Madeline Nash were willing to join our expedition. We bought a simple little pole and used hot dogs as bait, and John took care of the location-scouting and fish-touching for us. Kyle caught his first little sunfish, and we all laughed in surprise when Daniel hooked a good-size catfish. Of course, he was too scared of it to properly pose for the picture.<br />
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Here is Daniel attempting to hide behind Madeline, as she attempts to move the fish closer to him.<br />
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Of course, Daniel had no problem telling everyone at the dock about his catch last night, as well as everyone at school this morning. When we asked him how big the fish was, his first estimate was this:<br />
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Then it was this:<br />
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Once again, a good time was had by all, except maybe John, who got bitten by the catfish and spent most of his time dealing with the four of us and our fishing pole.<br />
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Don't we wish we were all as rugged as John Nash?<br />
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And then there's the food... Between our church's day camp, the summer school program, and the summer reading program at our library, the kids have managed to walk away with coupons for 3 free McDonald's ice cream cones, 3 free Wendy's frosties, a free doughnut, 2 free kid's meals at the local steak house, 2 free pizzas at Pizza Hut, and one kid's meal at Ruby Tuesday. They're saving some of their birthday money to buy popcorn at the movie theater later this month, when we plan to go see <i>Brave</i>. Add in all the leftover birthday cake and the post-t-ball snacks and juice pouches, and I think we might be able to get away with not buying any groceries at all in June. Of course, their insides might just rot away from all the junk, but theirs will be a blissful wasting.<br />
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In short, our kids are making out like bandits so far this summer. Next weekend is a visit to St. Louis, where Eva will have a pool party with Grandma Jan and Daniel will go to Six Flags with Uncle Ian. Soon after that they'll have their first airplane ride on our vacation to Montana with Kyle's side of the family. Of course, doing all this stuff for the kids means that the grownups get to do it, too. Not too bad of a deal, if you ask me...<br />
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<br />Erika Steruphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10663376261432482866noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7594750473558576726.post-71596902565005552412012-05-02T18:49:00.002-07:002012-05-02T18:49:33.678-07:00Things I Did Today in Order To Avoid Gradingtook Eva to school<br />
had breakfast with Madeline<br />
cleaned both the bathrooms<br />
scrubbed the grout around bathroom faucets with a toothbrush<br />
made brownies for the babysitter<br />
made a cake for Kyle and the kids to take to church<br />
called my friend Jennifer<br />
magic eraser-ed the walls and nightstand in Daniel's room<br />
swept the tile floors<br />
washed all the rugs<br />
washed all the towels<br />
washed all the sheets<br />
folded a load of clothes from the dryer<br />
dried and put away the humidifiers for the summer<br />
returned emails<br />
caught up on my blog feed<br />
arranged a meal for a couple in our church<br />
arranged another meal for a couple in our church<br />
called our pastor about contact information for another person who might need meals<br />
found a babysitter for Eva tomorrow <br />
called my mom<br />
called the doctor's office<br />
emptied the dishwasher<br />
refilled the dishwasher<br />
handwashed some bowls from last night's dinner<br />
picked Eva up from an after-school playdate<br />
read books with Eva<br />
cut up and packaged the brownies for the babysitter, and wrote a note to go with it<br />
got Eva to draw a picture and write a note for the babysitter<br />
delivered the brownies<br />
made copies of the kids' chore charts<br />
watched the new Rihanna video<br />
reviewed a cover letter for a friend looking for a job<br />
made a grocery list<br />
went to the bank<br />
removed all the loose papers from the backseat of our car and recycled them<br />
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I think this was the most productive day of procrastination I've ever had. Maybe what I've been needing to do all semester is assign papers in ALL my classes. I could have been getting so much more done around the house!<br />
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And the really funny thing is that after all that procrastination, I actually managed to finish all the grading I needed to do while my night class took their final. In fact, I'm writing this blog post to kill the last 15 minutes of class time before I can give up on all the last-minute people who are pushing the 9:00 paper deadline. I wonder if they all had really productive days, too?<br />Erika Steruphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10663376261432482866noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7594750473558576726.post-36106474681872340972012-04-24T15:05:00.000-07:002012-04-24T15:05:58.968-07:00FrugalFor some time now, I've been considering writing a post about being tight with money. Because the thing is, we as a family do quite a few ridiculous-sounding things in the name of saving a buck. And sometimes in the middle of, say, cutting my dryer sheets in half, I step back and think about how funny I must look, considering I bought that box of dryer sheets on sale with a coupon for a quarter in the first place. <br />
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And so it goes. CFL's in all those light fixtures! Thermal drapes on those windows! I hope you brought your sweater, because we're keeping the heat under 65 this winter! We make our own super-cheap laundry detergent, rinse and reuse plastic food-storage bags, and I've been known to cut the containers of our toiletries open in order to scrape the last little bit out of the bottom of the bottle. Our poor kids may not recognize the existence of professional barbers and beauticians, because everyone in our family but me gets home haircuts. The kids' clothes are purchased a year ahead, at the end of the season, on clearance, with a coupon, and probably a promotional code for free shipping. Which means that, fashion-wise, they're both SO last-year. And the instant they outgrow those outfits I'm gonna yard-sale them for as much as I can possibly squeeze out of them.<br />
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Why do we do this? That is definitely a question Kyle asked me after hanging a load of clothes out to line-dry one 100-degree day last summer (Seriously, people, do you know how much energy that dryer uses?!).<br />
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Sometimes, it's just kind of a fun game. I like to say that if shopping were an Olympic sport I would totally bring home the gold. It feels nice to get a good deal, and pasta that cost 8 cents a box really does taste better somehow. I enjoy the challenge of seeing exactly how long I can go without paying real money for toothpaste, or trying to beat last April's electricity usage. And it's a game that allowed us to live debt-free on just one teacher's salary in the first years after the kids were born.<br />
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Sometimes it makes for an interesting experience. This past year, on the evening of Thanksgiving I took my mother-in-law to a doorbuster sale at Walmart so I could get Eva a $4 Princess Belle doll. Just seeing that circus, and the totally incredulous look on Barb's face, was a story worth way more than the 11 bucks I saved. And she got into it as well, sweet-talking all the people with loaded carts into letting the crazy lady standing in line for one doll (that's right, Lady Behind Me, I heard you whispering) go ahead of them. The year before, I introduced our international student to Black Friday shopping, and got such a kick out of watching him exclaim in disbelief over the things Americans are willing to do to get a good deal.<br />
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Sometimes, though, I do it because it kind of hurts not to. My friend Madeline and I were talking last week about our dishwasher-loading philosophies, and she tends to take the side of my husband, claiming that if it's too full or not loaded in a systematic way the water cannot get to all the dishes. But me? I must fill that washer until there's not room for even another spoon, because I cannot stand the fact that we would spend the water and the soap pod on just a small amount of dishes. In the same way, I cannot bear to pay full price for clothing, knowing that in just a few weeks it will go on sale. <br />
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I think being tight with money has just been ingrained in me my whole life. I spent much of my childhood making fun of my dad for saying things like, “Do you think I own the electric company? Turn that light off when you leave the room!” The air conditioning was kept at 80 degrees (78 if we begged). He fixed things around the house himself, even if that meant he had to "fix" it several times to get it working again, and scoffed at our requests for fancy or frivolous toys and clothes. But he made converts out of my brother and I, who are now as adults fairly conscious spenders (we'll forgive Ian's recent sports car purchase). We are definitely members of the 79-degree air conditioning club, and when I see a light left on I have to admit that I catch myself muttering under my breath about the need to buy Ameren UE stock.<br />
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Last week, my father's mother passed away. In discussing her death with my brother, he said something like, “You have to admit, we probably owe our money management skills to Grandma in a way.” And as I thought about it, I realized that this was true. My grandmother lived during the Great Depression, and was one of those people who never threw anything away. As kids we would laugh at how she saved the wrappers from loaves of bread (“...that will make a good lunch bucket for somebody...”) and baby food jars (because what else would she put all the old screws and nails and washers she was saving in?). She gardened and cooked from scratch and cut around the bad spots in her fruit instead of tossing it. She didn't wear fancy clothes or drive fancy cars or probably ever say anything like “Oh, let's just splurge!” <br />
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Also last week, I happened to read something about the difference between being cheap and being frugal. The author argued that there is a difference, and that cheap people save their money not for enjoyment, but to feel superior or secure in having saved it, while frugal people save their money in order to funnel it toward better things, like having fun or being responsible and generous with others.<br />
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Growing up, I always thought of my father and grandmother as cheap, but now I must revise that and say they are frugal. Because as practical with money as they are and were, they've always been generous with their family in terms of both money and time. My grandmother sent me and every other member of her large Catholic family a birthday card with 20 dollars every year for most of her life. She set aside an inheritance for all her kids and grandkids. Growing up, my father always got me what I needed for school and for sports and extracurricular activities. He helped pay for my first car, my education, my wedding, and a thousand other things. I've never been made to feel guilty about taking money or asked to worry about where the money was going to come from.<br />
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One of my favorite childhood memories involves the end of practically every visit we had with my grandmother. She and my father would have the gas-money argument. She would offer him a few bills to offset the cost of the visit, and he'd wave her hand away. "Naw, you keep your money," Dad would say. "Ohh, now! You just take it. Buy some supper with it if you don't need it for gas." "Nope. No, thank you!" Back and forth they would go. On at least one occasion Dad saw Grandma coming out to the driveway with money in her hand and said, "Run, kids!!" As we dashed to the car she would stick the cash under the windshield wiper. Dad would roll down the window to pull the money out and throw it back at her, and she'd grab it and shove it through the window before he could get the window back up. And so it went; two people who wouldn't spend money on themselves trying to ensure that the other had what they needed.<br />
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Unfortunately, I think that many times “cheap” is the better word to describe my behavior. As I left my father's house after the funeral this weekend, I just accepted the gas money he tried to put in Eva's pocket. Maybe I've learned that my father is more stubborn then I on this issue, and am just resigned to the fact that he'll hide the money in my car if I turn it down. But part of me knows that it's difficult for me to adjust our budget to account for the unplanned trip, not because we can't afford the extra money, but because I'm too rigidly attached to our spending plan. <br />
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As recession-trendy as it is right now to use coupons and be resourceful, I find that it's not always the best for my state of mind. I sometimes catch myself plotting about how I can save money so I'll have all this security, as if money will save me from all ills. I can have a difficult time buying gifts for others, because my standard of how much is appropriate to spend on a friend or family member is influenced by my always-scrimping mindset. It's hard for me to allow myself something I want that is full-priced, even on my birthday with money I've received as a gift. Our oven actually started on fire last week, and our water heater is on its last leg, but taking the money for replacements out of our savings account (specifically designated for emergencies like these) is so stressful for me that I feel I must read every review and pour over ever price at every store in order to save even a few dollars and make the very best decision. I often pay a fortune in time and stress in order to save a little in cash. <br />
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And so I find myself, the queen of saving money, learning how to instead let it go a little.Erika Steruphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10663376261432482866noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7594750473558576726.post-27181848438831425082012-04-06T20:04:00.007-07:002012-04-12T12:30:56.755-07:00TaggedOne of my favorite blogs to read is <a href="http://www.tarabeingtara.com/">Tara Being Tara</a>, so imagine my surprise the other night when I saw her link to me here! Basically she described being sucked into an online chain letter, and then sucked me in, too. Basically I am supposed to:<br /><br />1. Post the rules (these are them)<br />2. Answer the 11 questions the tagger posted for you and then <br />3. Create 11 questions to ask the people you've tagged<br />4. Tag 11 bloggers and link them in your post<br />5. Let them know they've been tagged!<br /><br />So, Tara, here are my answers to your questions (and if you're not already reading Tara Being Tara jump right on over <a href="http://www.tarabeingtara.com/">there</a> and check her out- she posts way more regularly than I do!):<br /><br />1. If I were in the same city as you, the first thing we'd do together is... a tutorial on how to quilt. Seriously, you have some mad quilting skills and I have none, despite the fact that I love to snuggle under quilts a lot. I have an old quilt made by the sister of my great-grandmother that is falling apart and needs to be repaired. I've always thought it would be cool to know how to do that. While we were quilting we could discuss running or being really excited about too many things at once or other things we seem to have in common.<br /><br />2. When I was 6, there was a three-way tie for what I wanted to do when I grew up. Either a farmer or a truck driver or a Dallas Cowboy cheerleader.<br /><br />3. My favorite summer dish is this lemon garlic chicken pasta recipe my friend Madeline's mother made up. Basically you soak a clove of garlic in some olive oil and lemon juice all day, and then toss it over some rotini pasta, grilled chicken, zucchini, broccoli, and red onion. So good it makes me hungry just thinking about it.<br /><br />4. If I could be anywhere in the world right now, it would be in Paris with my husband Kyle, eating delicious food and drinking wine. He and I were discussing last week how eating good food is one of our favorite things. Eating good food in Paris would be even better.<br /><br />5. Clearly the most challenging part of maintaining a blog for me is posting on it (as evidenced by my lack of recent entries). Usually I have 3 or 4 ideas for posts in my head at any give time, but it's difficult for me to find uninterrupted time at the computer to actually spit them out. And ignoring the blog has a definite snowball effect, in that the more time that goes by the less I think about how guilty I feel for ignoring it.<br /><br />6. There are so many random things in my purse. There has been an orange M & M floating around in the bottom somewhere for several weeks. Every time I find it I am in the middle of the grocery store or about to start class, and since I'm not in a position to properly dispose of it, back in it goes.<br /><br />7. We have no DVR, but <span style="font-style:italic;">Breaking Bad</span> is at the top of our Netflix cue so that we can easily feed our nightly obsession with watching it.<br /><br />8. To be really honest, I have not taken that many vacations. Our honeymoon was pretty great, though. We stayed at a little bed and breakfast in Keystone, Colorado during their off season, and went hiking and biking and out to a different restaurant every night.<br /><br />9. Something about me that most people would never guess? I thought seriously about being a police officer. I guess all the other Justice Systems majors at my college might have guessed that... I suppose maybe that I always wish I could have learned to play a musical instrument more proficiently than an 8th-grader.<br /><br />10. I love my birthday. I meet my mother halfway between her city and mine and we go out to lunch and go shopping (there are no malls or Targets where I live). I almost always end up with a frivolous but fabulous pair of shoes. I do try to stretch it out for a full week around the house in terms of getting out of chores like letting the dogs out or wiping children's bottoms.<br /><br />11. We watched the new Muppet Movie this weekend, so the song stuck in my head is <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8N_tupPBtWQ">this</a>.<br /><br />Okay, so those are my answers to Tara's questions. Now for the bad news. And that is that there is no way I can think of 11 blogs to link to. I only read a handful, and some of them are the same ones Tara tagged (we're on a blog network together, so we read several of the same blogs). Others are large, professional blogs by people who make their living at it, and I don't think they respond to chain-blog appeals. Here are the few that I think might participate:<br /><br /><a href="http://whimsy-ma-blog.blogspot.com/">Janice @ Whimsy-ma-blog</a><br /><a href="http://kbkubin.blogspot.com/">Karen @ Dreamer</a><br /><a href="http://fivefitzs.blogspot.com/">Brittyne @ Five Fitz's</a><br /><a href="http://matnmarb.blogspot.com/">Marbree @ matnmarb</a><br /><a href="http://blessings1000-amj.blogspot.com/">Melynne @ Blessings<br /></a><br /><br />And since those are only 5 bloggers, I feel I only have the right to ask them to answer 5 questions. Here they are:<br /><br />1. What is one skill you wish you have but don't?<br />2. What is your biggest pet peeve?<br />3. What is your favorite book?<br />4. If you could pick your name, would you pick the one you were given, or something else?<br />5. What is your favorite thing to do in the city where you live?<br /><br />Good luck, everyone! And thanks again to Tara for getting me out of my no-blogging rut!Erika Steruphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10663376261432482866noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7594750473558576726.post-41984693189660107312012-02-29T18:13:00.003-08:002012-04-09T14:46:20.617-07:00Things I Don't NeedThe other day I heard a radio blurb about someone who had an idea for a store full of, basically, things nobody needs, like Ugg boots for dogs and a doodad that gets the lid off your can of tuna so you don't get tuna juice on your fingers.<br /><br />Later that day I noticed that I have tampons with inspirational sayings on the wrappers. Worse, the brand advertises itself as some kind of "sport tampons" (whatever that means), and so the sayings were I guess what I'd characterize as nonspecific-athletically inspirational.<br /><br />Some examples of the phrases (because honestly, once I noticed it on one wrapper I had to look through the entire box):<br />-Go, Fight Win!<br />-You can't win if you don't play.<br />-Just go for it!<br />-You go, girl!<br />-Let's get out there and show 'em what we've got!<br /><br />And it's this last one that's the most disturbing to me. Mostly because it begs the question, "Who is <span style="font-style:italic;">we</span>?" Me and the tampon? 'Cause that's a little weird.<br /><br />I'm just sayin'... If I were running that store of things nobody needs, I'd totally put these inspirational-phrase tampons in there.Erika Steruphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10663376261432482866noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7594750473558576726.post-60197008825357462132012-02-29T17:56:00.002-08:002012-02-29T18:09:42.813-08:00Ask JeevesThe other night at dinner Kyle and I were talking about the fact that there are two different plays called <span style="font-style:italic;">The Butler Did It</span> running in our town right now.<br /><br />Daniel asked, "What is a butler?" <br /><br />We tried several different explanations, including the Tim Curry character Wadsworth's explanation from the movie <span style="font-style:italic;">Clue</span>, which is "The butler keeps the kitchen and dining areas tidy."<br /><br />"The butler takes care of things around the house, like answers the door and gets you things," Kyle offered.<br /><br />"The butler is like a waiter in your house. If we had a butler, we'd just sit down to dinner, and he'd bring food to us, and then when we were done he'd clean up for us," I explained.<br /><br />"So does that make sense, then? Basically, a butler takes care of cleaning up and answering the door and getting you things when you want them," we concluded.<br /><br />Daniel lit up. "Oh, so like <span style="font-style:italic;">you</span> then, Mommy!"<br /><br />Yep. Just like me.Erika Steruphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10663376261432482866noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7594750473558576726.post-85170813158801504092012-02-01T12:50:00.000-08:002012-02-01T18:46:46.884-08:00Dan the Flying ManTwo conversation-starters from my week:<br />"Mom, I really need to figure out how superheroes make their suits, because when I become one, and am in charge of all the armies, they need to be able to recognize me."<br />and<br />"Okay. Here is a question I have: How do superheroes fly? I REALLY need to know so I can start practicing."<br /><br />Our son Daniel is the kind of kid that really <span style="font-style:italic;">gets into</span> things. When he gets on an idea, he really does it all-out, talking about it and drawing about it and writing about it for weeks/months/years. Clearly we are in a superhero phase right now, but the interesting thing about it is that he is able to juggle several different topics of interest simultaneously, sometimes in combination. He also has an amazing ability to create gobs and gobs of themed pictures, crafts, stories, and questions about his subjects of fascination. He is frequently able to drag our whole family, his friends, even all his classmates into it in the process, so that everyone is, say, deciding on a superpower or making a holiday decoration. <br /><br />He must get this creativity from his father, because honestly there is no way he gets it from me.<br /><br />So today I want to share with you some of the things we've been into lately, thanks to Daniel:<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Superheroes</span><br />For a long time, Daniel has enjoyed making up stories about himself as a superhero. Sounds developmentally appropriate, right? Lots of kids imagine themselves saving the day and having amazing powers... Again, though, I'm impressed with his persistence and detail in regards to imagining what exactly he'll wear, how exactly he'll fly, and what kinds of rescue situations he expects he'll need to be prepared for <span style="font-style:italic;">exactly</span>. His teacher has tried to use this as a springboard for some art and creative writing at school. Here is a storyboard for his soon-to-be-famous <span style="font-style:italic;">Dan the Flying Man</span> comic/movie/novel/real-life adventure:<br /><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-K4Rzvk-aO7I/TymmCAs9moI/AAAAAAAAAPc/IN4mPRrD6qc/s1600/Dan%2Bthe%2BFlying%2BMan.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 233px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-K4Rzvk-aO7I/TymmCAs9moI/AAAAAAAAAPc/IN4mPRrD6qc/s320/Dan%2Bthe%2BFlying%2BMan.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5704272956519979650" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Wolves</span><br />We also seem to have a lot of discussions of wolves and (of course) werewolves in our house. We recently read a very informative library book all about wolves, which (of course) included pictures of what werewolves might look like. Here is Daniel's picture of a "half werewolf/half rocket:"<br /><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0ij8EEHX2AA/TymphkQnZLI/AAAAAAAAAQY/p1gZMhT4Jj4/s1600/DSC_0128.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0ij8EEHX2AA/TymphkQnZLI/AAAAAAAAAQY/p1gZMhT4Jj4/s320/DSC_0128.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5704276797175588018" /></a><br />Kyle insists that a 50% werewolf/50% rocket is 100% awesome. It is hard to argue with that.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Dragons</span><br />The thing that Daniel has been into the longest is most certainly dragons. It seems like he's been on the dragon thing since he's been able to talk. The movie <span style="font-style:italic;">How to Train Your Dragon</span> only fueled the fire, and the marketing machine behind it has made it convenient for us to collect a wide variety of plastic Viking and dragon action figures. But even before we saw it, Daniel was talking about dragons, reading about dragons, and drawing dragons. Here is the Thanksgiving project he made at his preschool last year:<br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ABnu0B6eY14/Tymp-mRQPdI/AAAAAAAAAQk/1OavZe_zmhs/s1600/DSC_0132.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ABnu0B6eY14/Tymp-mRQPdI/AAAAAAAAAQk/1OavZe_zmhs/s320/DSC_0132.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5704277295931342290" /></a><br />Note that there is no mention of his family, his comfortable home, or any other stereotypical childhood object of thankfulness. Just dragons.<br /><br />This year's kindergarten Thanksgiving picture was a bit more flattering:<br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Pik1ZXiVUBw/Tymm5P5ey-I/AAAAAAAAAPo/4kCKUokdnQM/s1600/Daniel%2BThankful.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 233px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Pik1ZXiVUBw/Tymm5P5ey-I/AAAAAAAAAPo/4kCKUokdnQM/s320/Daniel%2BThankful.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5704273905491823586" /></a><br />For those of you who don't read 5-year-old handwriting well, that's "me" on the first finger, "snowmen" on the second finger, "dragons" on the third, and "my mom" on the last. I was just so honored to make the list, even if I am (understandably) behind dragons.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Holiday Decorations</span><br />Just before Thanksgiving this year, someone reminded Daniel of the classic handprint-with-legs turkey craft. Before we knew it, he was requiring everyone who visited our house to make a handprint turkey to hang on our dining room wall, which he insisted was drastically underdecorated (truth be told, his original goal was to decorate every wall of our house, but we really tried to focus him on just one room). And so we got this:<br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YeH1bohDJqY/TymoEb5zraI/AAAAAAAAAQA/LvVGWgxlfeI/s1600/DSC_0015.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YeH1bohDJqY/TymoEb5zraI/AAAAAAAAAQA/LvVGWgxlfeI/s320/DSC_0015.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5704275197204606370" /></a><br />He also started a movement to cover the (already REALLY decorated) walls of his classroom at school, and got several classmates in on the action.<br /><br />And then, of course, at Christmas someone taught him about paper snowflakes and we had this:<br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Nl-cvpffwKA/TymrQrSIXvI/AAAAAAAAAQw/gOeeF1UlVq4/s1600/DSC_0133.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Nl-cvpffwKA/TymrQrSIXvI/AAAAAAAAAQw/gOeeF1UlVq4/s320/DSC_0133.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5704278706026471154" /></a><br />We also had some paper Christmas trees, but I didn't get a picture of these before we took the Christmas-specific winter decorations down.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Brevity</span><br />A few months ago, Daniel informed us that he would like to start going by Dan instead of Daniel. His reason? It's just <span style="font-style:italic;">way</span> faster to write Dan. So we've indulged him, and he's started going by Dan and Daniel interchangeably now. But this morning we found this in his backpack:<br /><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-RpJkG0qihFc/TymnNMRHVnI/AAAAAAAAAP0/F16LASAsiH0/s1600/Danster.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 233px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-RpJkG0qihFc/TymnNMRHVnI/AAAAAAAAAP0/F16LASAsiH0/s320/Danster.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5704274248114591346" /></a><br />He decided that maybe an <span style="font-style:italic;">even shorter</span> way to write his name would be to shorten our last name, too. Kyle spent a few minutes explaining how we just don't really do that with last names. I'll be spending the next several weeks calling him "the Danster" behind his back.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><br />Back to Dragons</span><br />So what is the Danster up to now? It seems they had a lesson at school last week about the Chinese New Year. <br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Z8e3Ja63Nfg/Tymo91c7daI/AAAAAAAAAQM/02GQIqLoNAQ/s1600/DSC_0127.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Z8e3Ja63Nfg/Tymo91c7daI/AAAAAAAAAQM/02GQIqLoNAQ/s320/DSC_0127.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5704276183315346850" /></a><br />Let me just be the first to wish you a prosperous Year of the Dragon, from the entire Ster family.Erika Steruphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10663376261432482866noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7594750473558576726.post-41950009756478454372012-01-16T06:25:00.000-08:002012-01-16T07:44:16.226-08:00InterruptionAs much as I hate the blog post about how someone has not been posting on their blog, I see no other way to stop the cycle of not posting than to acknowledge it publicly so I can move on. The thing is, I have really no good excuse for avoiding writing lately. In fact, I'd say I have a confession to make:<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">I have been doing nothing. For days at a time.</span><br /><br />Those of you who know me (heck, even those of you who've only read my <span style="font-style:italic;">very last</span> blog post) know that I just don't go through a day without doing something, many somethings, a long list of somethings. I like to keep busy, and can only feel relaxed when all the work is done... and as we've all learned by now, all the work is rarely done.<br /><br />Now while this whole setup makes me very productive, it makes me very cranky about being interrupted. I don't like it when the kids get up during rest time, interrupting my grading. I don't like writing half a blog post and having to come back to finish it later. I am not the kind of mother who stops in the middle of making dinner for an impromptu game of Old Maid. I sigh heavily when I must stop what I'm doing to tie shoes or clean up spilled milk, so much that my oldest has learned to start requests with an apology, which makes me cringe a little every time I hear it.<br /><br />My friend Janice wrote a few months ago on <a href="http://whimsy-ma-blog.blogspot.com/2011/06/interruptibility.html">her blog</a> about a conversation we had on this very topic. At the time I read it originally I remember feeling that I should probably be convicted about my own crankiness at kid interruptions, but then I got busy and forgot about it. <br /><br />My husband Kyle, on the other hand, is much better at interruptions than I am. He is able to take breaks from his work, to stop what he's doing to read someone a book, or to spend a Saturday afternoon listening to music or playing video games. Sometimes I catch myself feeling resentful over his relaxing while I run around the house doing chores, even as I recognize that my list of tasks is self-imposed.<br /><br />But one of the benefits of being in a family where all the parents and children work on an academic calendar is that we get long summer and winter and spring breaks together. With no work obligations, no sports practices for the kids, no sorority advising duties, an amazing thing happens: the "to-do" list actually gets to-done. And so here we've been, at the crossroads where a person who can relax at any time and a person who can only relax when work is done are fighting for a place on the couch. We've been reading books, watching movies and TV shows, and playing games with the kids. We even had a party, and lived off leftover appetizers and snack food for a dinner or two afterward. I must admit, it feels good to be "interruptible" for a while. I have colored and made paper snowflakes, played school and Memory and cards, and read stacks and stacks of picture books.<br /><br />And so I've been reluctant to get back to real life, where I feel obliged to do anything regularly, like change sheets or go to work or post on my blog. It's as if relaxation has cast its spell on me and now I can't get back to the land of productivity. I'm hoping that admitting I have responsibilities will be the first step in overcoming my denial that the semester is actually starting, and that it's going to be a doozy. If nothing else, I have now interrupted the ignoring of my blog, and maybe it will be difficult to find my place with that again.Erika Steruphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10663376261432482866noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7594750473558576726.post-7986169121747094942011-11-11T21:36:00.000-08:002011-11-11T21:52:19.605-08:00A Great Many ThingsRecently, a friend of ours asked me what career I'd choose, if not the path I've taken. It was difficult to come up with one solid answer at the time, and it got me thinking, not just about careers, but about the people and places and even hobbies not chosen. It's something, actually, that I think about often in one context or another, as I encounter the limits of my time or situation.<br /><br />I've realized that my greatest disappointment has been the gradual realization that I cannot do everything I want to do. This may be obvious to some, but for me has been something that I have been denying, struggling against, most of my life. I have always been a person of many interests, who feels that there are just too many interesting and worthwhile things to learn and see and do, too many amazing people to get to know. Maybe this is how everyone feels, and I flatter myself imagining my uniqueness. Maybe I'm only unique in my stubborn refusal to accept this fact and move on.<br /><br />In high school, I was a cheerleader, and I was also on the debate team. There were no other cheerleaders who wanted to do debate, and none of the forensics crowd wanted to be a cheerleader. This frequently presented a conflict, not only in the sense that I couldn't physically be at a debate tournament and a basketball tournament at the same time, but also socially, in that lots of people in either activity looked down on me for doing the other. Now, it was high school, for goodness sake, so I don't want to make it sound more dramatic and oppressive than it was, but the point is that I could have made things a lot easier for myself by just choosing one activity and going with it. But I didn't. I really put my all into both those activities and a dozen others, because I just wasn't willing to miss out on anything.<br /><br />In college, things just got bigger in terms of the opportunities that presented themselves. I found that the less-structured class schedule allowed me to cram in even more activities, and before I knew it I'd found research and waitressing jobs, a sorority, a handful of honor societies, a peer-education group, the Student Activities Board, intramural sports, and so forth. Oh yeah, and I had a double-major, of course, because I couldn't limit myself to just one field of study. Looking back on my college experience, I'd still rate it as fantastic- I had lots of friends and got to do so many wonderful things, but if I'm honest with myself I know that I was stretched way too thin. I barely slept, my grades were good but not great, and though I held lots of leadership positions I was never able to do any of them as well as I'd initially hoped to.<br /><br />I used to believe that things would change as an adult, that you pick your spouse and career and then things just play themselves out; you get more focused and your path is clearer. But it's not that way at all. There are more and more opportunities all the time, and I find that I am to the point where I can no longer choose "all of the above." I cannot take every job opportunity that comes my way, develop friendships with all the really neat people I meet, enroll the kids in all the sports or music lessons available to them. Because now the sacrifice is not just a few hours of sleep or some time to read magazines, but my relationships with my kids and my husband. And if I don't actively choose, sometimes the choice is made for me: having a second child means the distancing of a close friendship, teaching another class schedules me right out of a meaningful church activity. I'm being forced into depth of fewer experiences rather than breadth of many, and it is a difficult fit for me. I'm lucky to have a husband with great discernment about when to remind me of my limits and when to just quietly let me go.<br /><br />I don't mean to imply in any way that I feel regret over any of my choices; I accept full responsibility for everything I take on or let go. I'm very happy with my life, my job, and my family, and I recognize the blessing of opportunities I have and tough decisions I'll never have to make. It's just that I can see the potential for equal happiness in dozens of other careers, cities of residence, and recreational activities. So many cool people I'll never make friends with, books I'll never read, offices I'll never run for... Sometimes I feel a longing for all the many things I won't choose, and am sad.<br /><br />In the movie adaptation of <span style="font-style:italic;">Little Women</span> I grew up watching, someone says to Jo March, "You should have been a lawyer." She answers, "I should have been a great many things." Another mom I met recently at Daniel's school mentioned this on her <a href="http://www.serenitybohon.com/2011/08/caught-up-in-the-swirl.html">blog</a>, about how this strikes her as a statement of all the possibilities this character sees for herself. I agree, and think that it doesn't just represent the recognition of possibilities, but a wistfulness for all the things she's passed up to do just what she's doing. It's something that shows her great passion for who she did choose to be, and I can really relate to that.<br /><br />As frustrating as it sometimes is, then, to be excited about more things than I can accomplish in one day or week or lifetime, I do enjoy being a passionate person. In fact, I'd say there are few things I value as much as enthusiasm. I care so much about this hypothetical debate resolution that I want to have an elaborate argument with you about it. In my cheerleading uniform. Because right after that I'm going to go out to the football field and yell vehemently, jumping up and down in support of my friends' sporting event. I am going to try to keep a cleaner house than is realistic for me, overfill my weeknights volunteering for one more thing, and seriously consider setting a book-a-week reading goal. I will shoulder my father's longstanding accusation of having "too many irons in the fire," and allow my Gen Psych students to snicker when I open each chapter's lecture with a brief word about why <span style="font-style:italic;">this </span>topic in psychology is truly one of my favorites. Because enthusiasm is what makes me who I am, and because the alternative, being apathetic or lukewarm or bored, is one thing I <span style="font-style:italic;">don't</span> want to be.Erika Steruphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10663376261432482866noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7594750473558576726.post-29579106056066588162011-11-01T20:50:00.000-07:002011-11-01T21:47:13.076-07:00Halloween 2011First we had pumpkins...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VSu-ctvjV8k/TrDKDcBzENI/AAAAAAAAAOo/dzcYbXjsMkM/s1600/DSC_1487.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VSu-ctvjV8k/TrDKDcBzENI/AAAAAAAAAOo/dzcYbXjsMkM/s320/DSC_1487.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5670254091271606482" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zof-y2_XW5E/TrDKDu6U3JI/AAAAAAAAAOw/t-0i1SSYyvg/s1600/DSC_1497.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zof-y2_XW5E/TrDKDu6U3JI/AAAAAAAAAOw/t-0i1SSYyvg/s320/DSC_1497.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5670254096340540562" /></a><br /><br />Then we had costumes. Here are our little superhero and princess, keeping it nice and gender-stereotyped.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LKJWUd32H9U/TrDEefB7qLI/AAAAAAAAANg/U5cOuEIzmzM/s1600/DSC_1504.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LKJWUd32H9U/TrDEefB7qLI/AAAAAAAAANg/U5cOuEIzmzM/s320/DSC_1504.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5670247958864177330" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-rdwMRjrNyk0/TrDEfEZBRGI/AAAAAAAAAN4/k2VEVBr-MVA/s1600/DSC_1514.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-rdwMRjrNyk0/TrDEfEZBRGI/AAAAAAAAAN4/k2VEVBr-MVA/s320/DSC_1514.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5670247968893125730" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-qwTVzoJh2GM/TrDEegGJ_kI/AAAAAAAAANs/RwIrGApbom4/s1600/DSC_1512.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-qwTVzoJh2GM/TrDEegGJ_kI/AAAAAAAAANs/RwIrGApbom4/s320/DSC_1512.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5670247959150329410" /></a><br /><br />And we had good friends, the Downings, who invited a bunch of us over to trick-or-treat and then have cupcakes and hot chocolate afterward. The kids had a blast running from house to house together.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-yfiVpv_LMvU/TrDH7DInBxI/AAAAAAAAAOc/qhicJ5kU2Tk/s1600/DSC_1539.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-yfiVpv_LMvU/TrDH7DInBxI/AAAAAAAAAOc/qhicJ5kU2Tk/s320/DSC_1539.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5670251748127082258" /></a><br /><br />So then we had candy.<br /><br />In case anyone has forgotten how very difficult it is to get a group of kids to all look in one place for a picture, we had a reminder:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-15DtNkl4m5Q/TrDEfQ90qDI/AAAAAAAAAOE/-gm95B28who/s1600/DSC_1518.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-15DtNkl4m5Q/TrDEfQ90qDI/AAAAAAAAAOE/-gm95B28who/s320/DSC_1518.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5670247972268714034" /></a><br /> <br />At some point during the taking of that photo (and about 10 others like it) I heard one parent comment that "with all these cameras, surely someone will get a good one with them all facing forward." Or maybe not. So that was one thing we didn't have.<br /><br />Still, though, I'm glad we have the camera to prove that Eva is actually a vampire in disguise.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DmjSJFTPuqM/TrDEf-vEJXI/AAAAAAAAAOQ/gi_ymbd6Wdo/s1600/DSC_1498.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DmjSJFTPuqM/TrDEf-vEJXI/AAAAAAAAAOQ/gi_ymbd6Wdo/s320/DSC_1498.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5670247984554845554" /></a><br /><br />Hope you had a spooky Halloween!Erika Steruphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10663376261432482866noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7594750473558576726.post-12802363103890399172011-10-24T18:59:00.000-07:002011-10-25T13:55:15.393-07:00The Thing About Exercise...Yes, yes. It's good for our physical health. It's good for our mental health. I know all these things. And don't get me wrong; we've been doing a lot of it lately. But I have a few beefs with exercise, and I think it's best to just get them all out there on the table. So the thing about exercise...<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">...is that it takes a while to get the hang of it.</span><br />I've written in the past about Daniel's <a href="http://steruppants.blogspot.com/2010_07_01_archive.html">foray into organized sports</a>. The first year he was less than enthusiastic about things like running, paying attention, or touching a ball in any way. This year was quite a bit better, in that he did some actual fielding in t-ball and even ran after the ball some in soccer. I wonder, though, how long it will take before he can get through a game without multiple reminders to continue playing.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xX9Kpnv5UMQ/TqccPIhzBSI/AAAAAAAAAM0/6I_Lye2BN3I/s1600/DSC_1413.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xX9Kpnv5UMQ/TqccPIhzBSI/AAAAAAAAAM0/6I_Lye2BN3I/s320/DSC_1413.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5667529702381913378" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">...is that it does funny things to your body.</span><br />Oh, not the good things that you expect to happen, like getting muscles and having more energy. I mean all the crazy pains and conditions and things not otherwise specified, like blisters and sore muscles and joint pain. From running, Kyle has developed hip pain, of all things, and therefore spends lots of time stretching and saying things like, "Ow! My hip!" like we're 75.<br /><br />For my part, I have on-and-off pain only in the back of my left knee. I have a shin splint only in my right leg, callouses only on my right big toe. In addition, I have experienced a bizarre transformation in body shape. The more I exercise, the thinner my arms get. But nothing else. In fact, it's as if the fat from my arms has run down into my stomach, hips, and thighs, as I suspect they are getting larger. It's as if my body has decided it can give up a couple of limbs, but it's going to really insulate all the vital middle parts, which leaves me trying to propel my ample booty around with just these little chicken arms to balance everything out on top.<br /><br />Here is me a little over a week ago, managing to look slightly chubby even as I finish a 4-mile race:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WxqEAfn5q9M/TqcdMn80rfI/AAAAAAAAANA/56NDHyC3Dzw/s1600/DSC_1452.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WxqEAfn5q9M/TqcdMn80rfI/AAAAAAAAANA/56NDHyC3Dzw/s320/DSC_1452.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5667530758788787698" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">...is that you have to keep doing more of it.</span><br />This is a complaint that is about to reach the tipping point around our house. This summer Kyle kept increasing and increasing the length of his runs, until he decided that maybe he should just do a half marathon. In training for this he would literally run from one end of town to the other and back some days. Now a 5-mile run, which used to sound like an impressive workout, has become chump change, a "short run." Pretty soon we are going to run out of time for each of us to get in all the running that we want to do in a week without abandoning the kids.<br /><br />Kyle finished his race this past Saturday, a trail run through the local State Park. Despite the hip thing, he finished right around his goal time. He writes about his race and, uh, <span style="font-style:italic;">training </span><a href="http://www.brendoman.com/kyle/2011/10/24/how-not-to-do-a">here</a>. I have to admit that I spent the morning pushing aside fears that he'd sprain an ankle or be attacked by some woodland creature, so I was equal parts relieved and proud when he made it to the finish line. Even though he's making all the rest of us look like slackers.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-A7d2swhFs_0/TqcfII9RMhI/AAAAAAAAANM/85DSACjZgMU/s1600/DSC_1465.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-A7d2swhFs_0/TqcfII9RMhI/AAAAAAAAANM/85DSACjZgMU/s320/DSC_1465.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5667532880772936210" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">...is that eventually your coach, instructor, or trainer will move or retire.</span><br />This was true in the case of Kyle's swim coaches, and it is true of my favorite Zumba instructor Claire, who is graduating and moving away in December. And if you are a sucker like me, you might be tempted to say something to the YMCA staff like, "If you don't find anyone else, I could maybe lead the class." And they might say, "Yeah, okay." And before you know it you're listening to Latin hip-hop during nap time, trying to figure out how you're going to pull this one off.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">...is that eventually everyone wants their turn.<br /></span>Eva just passed the minimum age for tumbling at our YMCA, so we've been taking her to Tumbling Teenies. She really gets a kick out of the class, which is basically a minimally-organized free-for-all with trampolines, springboards, and giant wedge mats. By t-ball season she will be old enough to play anything that Daniel plays, which means we will have double the number of games and practices each season. We've already limited Daniel from doing fall tumbling because the older kids' class time conflicts with my Zumba. Seriously, we're having a hard time fitting dinner into our schedules some nights. I wonder how it will be in a few years when we're all having to advocate to fit in our favorite practices or classes.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">...is that it creates one heck of a lot of laundry.</span><br />Between the leotards, the soccer uniforms, the Zumba outfits, and all the running duds, I feel like we are doing piles of sweaty, stinky laundry every week. And don't even get me started about all the showering. Gosh, add in all the water we're drinking after exercising and we might be really exceeding our fair share in the utility usage department.<br /> <br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">On the other hand...</span> I'm sleeping like the dead every night, Kyle's lost 20 pounds, and they're gonna pay me to do Zumba. So maybe it's not all bad, but I'm keeping my eye on it.Erika Steruphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10663376261432482866noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7594750473558576726.post-73096608655868158052011-10-04T11:15:00.000-07:002011-10-04T13:03:53.279-07:00Funny Things are Everywhere (Fall Edition)Recently there have been all manner of funny things going on around here:<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Eva Sees Dead People</span><br />A week or so ago the kids and I were driving to the YMCA, past the Catholic cemetery in town. Eva looked over and very matter-of-factly said, "I see a ghoost." <br />"What?" said Daniel and I, looking out the window.<br />"A ghoost. Over there (pointing). Between those big stone things."<br />"I don't see anything," said Daniel.<br />"Ghost? Are you saying ghost?" I asked, a little creeped-out, craning my neck to look among the gravestones while driving.<br />"A ghoost. He looks all lonely."<br />"Well, we must have missed it, whatever it was," I said, trying to dismiss the subject.<br /><br />But in my head, I was thinking this:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YLlHke3qwUY/TotSJMARTEI/AAAAAAAAAMY/hAksyBdh8sw/s1600/the_sixth_sense.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 180px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YLlHke3qwUY/TotSJMARTEI/AAAAAAAAAMY/hAksyBdh8sw/s320/the_sixth_sense.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5659707674515819586" /></a><br /><br />On the way home, Eva looked over at the cemetery and said, "The ghoost is gone. Maybe it wanted to be a mommy ghoost, so it laid an egg and when it hatched it had a friend and was NOT LONELY anymore!"<br /><br />So really, what I should have been thinking is more like this:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8PFHnhZWg8M/TotUlG5r3wI/AAAAAAAAAMg/5VnhLO1dtBU/s1600/goose.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 203px; height: 152px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8PFHnhZWg8M/TotUlG5r3wI/AAAAAAAAAMg/5VnhLO1dtBU/s320/goose.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5659710353205616386" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">...and the Silver Spoon...</span><br />When Eva goes to bed at night, she likes to sleep with a lot of "friends." Her usual crew is a water cup, a stuffed elephant, three stuffed monkeys, a pillow-pet unicorn, and one or more baby dolls. Oh, and Eva squeezes in there. A few weeks ago she won a beanie-baby cat from the prize box at her school, and this joined bedtime gang. The problem with small toys, though, is that they tend to get lost in the night or fall through the bars of the back of the crib, and 2am finds Kyle or I pawing around in the dark under the toddler bed. This usually leads Kyle to some sort of proclamation about the small toy and where it should "keep watch" while Eva is sleeping. After a few days, then, Kyle pronounced that the cat should sleep in the doll cradle next to Eva's bed. Stifling my instinct to keep a cat <span http://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gifstyle="font-style:italic;">out </span>of a baby's cradle, I got on board with the new location for the cat.<br /><br />One night, soon after the ghoost incident, I was putting Eva to bed and having an argument about where the cat would sleep. Eva was proposing putting it in various locations around her bed, and I was getting increasingly frustrated. Finally, I just said, "Eva, the cat's in the cradle!" and then immediately burst out laughing at myself. I came upstairs shaking my head, and Kyle said, <br />"Did you just yell 'The cat's in the cradle?' You know what that made me think of?"<br /><br />I know, it makes you think of <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zH46SmVv8SU&feature=related">this</a>.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Just in Time for Hunting Season</span><br />Over the weekend I was in Walmart, which is generally a bad idea, but especially so on Saturday or Sunday. I was kind of in a hurry, but as I booked it across the store I saw something that just made me stop dead in my tracks. <br /><br />Camouflage lingerie.<br /><br />At the time, I thought to myself that maybe this would be a good way to get the attention of a hunting-obsessed spouse. Or maybe some women want to look <span style="font-style:italic;">really </span>sexy while hunting. <br /><br />But then I had the mental image of some man looking frantically for his wife, unable to find her anywhere because she's blended right in to the background. <br />"Honey?... Honey!!" he'd call.<br />But she wouldn't hear him, because she'd have drifted right off to sleep, totally unnoticed. Which makes this the perfect backfiring, sex-avoidance lingerie.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">I am Cornholio!</span><br />Today Eva got up in the middle of lunch to use the restroom. After a minute or so, she called out my least favorite phrase of parenting, "Mom! I'm ready to wipe!"<br />When I went into the bathroom, I found her sitting on the toilet with her longish shirt pulled over her head like this:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ok_aaJYaBqk/TotjHlut1eI/AAAAAAAAAMo/wanYZvn2790/s1600/corn1.gif"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 187px; height: 230px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ok_aaJYaBqk/TotjHlut1eI/AAAAAAAAAMo/wanYZvn2790/s320/corn1.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5659726338759448034" /></a><br /><br />"What are you doing?" I asked her.<br />"I'm trying to keep my shirt from getting poop on it."<br />"Okay, I guess that's one way to do it."<br />"Will you please wipe me now?"<br /><br />And all I could think was, "So what you're saying is you need TP for your bunghole?"<br />Huh-huh. Huh-hu-huh.<br /><br />I hope everyone out there is having a funny week!<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">From there to here and here to there, funny things are everywhere. - Dr. Seuss</span>Erika Steruphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10663376261432482866noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7594750473558576726.post-18137358066920561192011-09-26T20:08:00.000-07:002011-09-26T21:59:20.757-07:00The Dairy Queen Abdicates Her ThroneMy daughter Eva is a fairly adventurous eater. She has always been willing to try things like salmon, edamame, gyros, and curry, usually with a shrug and a pronouncement like, "Yummy!" This is convenient for me, but I suppose not unheard-of amongst preschoolers. <br /><br />Slightly more unusual, though, is her outstanding attachment to cheese. It's often one of the first things I hear her tell people about herself, and even one way she categorizes people ("Daddy and Daniel DON'T like cheese, but Mommy and Eva DO like cheese"). She has the uncanny ability to sense when I'm about to grate some cheese, and before I've even closed the deli drawer I can hear her running from the other end of the house to see what she can mooch from among the dinner ingredients. She's willing to eat feta straight from the brick, and when I built our container garden the summer before last, she insisted that she wanted to use one of the plots to grow cheese. It's not surprising, then, that she also enjoys sour cream, cottage cheese, yogurt, ice cream, and just plain old milk by the glass.<br /><br />A few weeks ago, we took Eva to the allergist. There were a lot of reasons we finally went, including congestion that coincided with ragweed season, her <a href="http://steruppants.blogspot.com/2010/05/rash-thinking.html">history of breaking out in spots</a> after taking penicillin, and her daily complaints of stomachaches (and okay, let's be real here, mostly it's that we've already met our deductible this year). They tested her for dozens of things, and when it was all over I saw the doctor make only 2 marks on his paper. Some kind of outdoor mold, and... cow's milk. I gasped a little when he said it, and looked quickly at Eva to gauge her reaction, as if at 3 she could really grasp the ramifications of such a pronouncement.<br /><br />The doctor explained that this meant no milk, cheese, yogurt, or any processed food containing cow's milk of any kind for one month, at which time we could check in with her symptoms and consider gradually adding back limited exposure to some cooked milk products. Eva continued playing in the exam room, but seemed to be slightly more interested in our conversation now. I started kicking myself for promising to get her ice cream if she did a good job at the allergist. As we walked to the car, I explained that we'd have to find some other treat, and Eva was pouting and yelling as she stomped, "I. Am. Not. All. er. gic. To. MILK!"<br /><br />We went to the store to buy some soy milk and to look for a treat, only to find out that there is pretty much milk in EVERYTHING. I was a little overwhelmed when our first half-dozen label reads turned up milk in the allergy warning section. I also felt like THAT MOM the next day at her school, asking that my child be given special treatment in the breakfast menu department. Eva seemed a little bummed out that first day, but the idea of having her own special milk in a pretty container perked her up a little.<br /><br />The thing about this whole story, though, is the way Eva adjusted in a heartbeat. She pouted in the parking lot, let out a disappointed groan in the grocery store when she learned chocolate is now out, and then woke up the next day a new kid. Bam! No more asking for cheese, no hard feelings when other people get ice cream, no trying to sneak things or push limits. Nothing. Now, before eating any food she asks in a deadpan voice, "Does this have any milk, dairy, mold, or cheese in it?" despite my reassurance that milk, dairy, and cheese all mean the same thing and that mold is not really a food allergy. This morning she corrected me when I sleepily poured cow's milk on her cereal. She is becoming a connoisseur of milk alternatives, and claims that soy milk tastes like marshmallows while some brands of almond milk taste "like icky."<br /><br />This is not the first time Eva has reacted this way. She practically emerged from the womb sucking her thumb, and as soon as she had hair she began using her other hand to engage in the simultaneous hair-twirl/thumb suck maneuver. When her hair started falling out Kyle and I launched a full-out intervention, with lectures, restrictive hairstyles, continuous daytime parental nagging, and nighttime mitten-wearing. We didn't even attempt to address the thumb-sucking, we just wanted her to stop pulling out her hair. And it was a terrible, losing battle that left all three of us frustrated.<br /><br />Until this summer, when we went to the dentist. He took one look at her mouth and said, "I see we have a thumb-sucker here." That dentist explained ONE time that she needed to stop doing that, because it would keep her teeth from working properly and make her look less pretty in the long run. That night I found her digging through her sock drawer, looking for something to put over her thumb to stop her from sucking it at night. She wore the socks on her hands for about a month, but I honestly never saw her suck her thumb again after the first day or two. It was Kyle and I who suggested she stop wearing the socks at night, so thoroughly did she stop both the thumb sucking and the hair-twirling that day. Completely cold turkey.<br /><br />And this is one of the most amazing things about my daughter; that she is able to use her stubborn will of steel to just let things go at the drop of a hat, even when that thing is something that is such a part of her that it's practically a defining characteristic. More than anyone I know, when she decides she's going to do something she just <span style="font-style:italic;">does it</span>. I am both awed and scared to death by this quality, and what she may be capable of in ten years.<br /><br />Mostly though, I'm just impressed. The other night she and I were driving back from a road trip to Columbia, and I was listening to an old Sarah McLaughlin live album. Before it even came on I realized that <a href="http://www.metacafe.com/watch/sy-23635788/sarah_mclachlan_ice_cream_official_music_video/">this </a>will be my song to her. She is already learning the words.Erika Steruphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10663376261432482866noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7594750473558576726.post-23015642503548183482011-09-22T12:35:00.000-07:002011-09-22T14:09:47.392-07:00Things Unlikely to Happen at My House (That Have Nonetheless Happened Recently)Either we are evolving as a family, or there is a whole lot of crazy going on around here. A sampling of some unusual occurrences at our house this fall:<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">1. Allergy medicine for dogs</span><br />We love our dogs. They are surely a part of our family, and we take seriously our promise to love them and feed them and generally keep them healthy and happy. We even took them to doggie school back when they were young and we had no children. However... we are not the kind of pet owners who buy our dogs Halloween costumes (or clothing of any kind, for that matter). We do not make our own dog food or bake them cakes for their birthday or take them in for fancy grooming. We have lots of friends who do these things, and we fully support their right to do so, but we are just no-frills dog owners. Until recently, when poor Barney's fall allergies became so bad that we noticed him spending most of his days sneezing, scratching himself, biting his toes, and losing hair in big clumps.<br /><br />And so we did some online research about the relative benefits/risks of giving dogs Claritin and Benadryl, talked to our vet, and eventually settled on Benadryl. I knew we'd gone over the edge when my grocery list included, "Kyle and Barney's Benadryl." Unfortunately for Barney, the benefit seems minimal, at best.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">2. Regular free time</span><br />This fall Eva went off to half-day Preschool and Daniel to full-day kindergarten. I put in a request to teach an extra class, and entertained a potential part-time therapy job, but neither of those things worked out. So now I have two mornings per week to be at home, <span style="font-style:italic;">by myself</span>, cleaning or grocery shopping or exercising in quiet. I am able to have coffee with Madeline, or to get through Walmart in under an hour. It truly is an introvert's dream. It also gives me time for the not-so-unlikely inevitability of volunteering for the PTA (or PTC, as it's called here) at Daniel's school. <br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">3. Daniel kicking the soccer ball. A lot.</span><br />I love Daniel dearly, but he's not exactly a focused, competitive athlete. He spent most of last year's soccer game-time standing in one place on the field, looking at the clouds or the grass. Sometimes he would saunter around the field behind the pack of kids, bobbing his head around as he moved. At one point, we tried to motivate him by offering him a piece of candy for every time he touched the ball. This backfired, though, when he kicked the ball once and then immediately turned around to run over and claim his prize. <br /><br />So imagine our surprise when, this year, he's suddenly willing to run all over the place, actually trying to kick the ball. I'd estimate that he's made contact with the ball dozens of times within the first two games of the season. He's still shy about kicking toward the goal, and still should probably be the last choice for goalie, but I'll happily spend 6 of my Saturday mornings watching this. It sure beats paying $15 for him to pick clover all season. <br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">4. Running for relaxation</span><br />About 18 months ago, I started running for exercise. This is unlikely in itself, but Kyle (whose running during college swim practices made him the object of jokes) started running too, and just to top off the unbelievability,<span style="font-style:italic;"> we're both still doing it.</span> Now the problem in our house tends to be that we're each trying to run in the afternoons, after school and before dinner. That's a narrow window, and as we're both able to run farther and longer it's just hard to find time for both of us.<br /><br />This week I identified a perfect hour-long gap (during the aforementioned free mornings) between volunteering at Daniel's school and Eva's pick-up time. There's a nice bike path around the public schools, and I've been using it to run. Yesterday, as I put on my headphones and started trotting along, there was a perfect cool breeze and one nice puffy cloud in an otherwise blue sky. I ran past kids at recess who waved at me, two moms who cheered for me, and a senior citizen loudly singing to the music on her headphones as she walked. I found myself smiling, <span style="font-style:italic;">beaming </span>even, as I jogged. If someone had told me two years ago that I'd be running around town, grinning like a weirdo about it, I'd have never believed it.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">5. Kyle singing</span><br />Last year I sang in our church's Christmas Cantata. Practices for this year's performance started last night, and on the way to church I chided Kyle about joining in this time around. He shook his head when I brought it up, but then after the meal really did make his way upstairs for practice. <br /><br />Who knows what will happen next around here?Erika Steruphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10663376261432482866noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7594750473558576726.post-30574955949857600252011-09-11T07:41:00.001-07:002011-09-11T09:16:26.237-07:00Just Call Me Lois LaneThis weekend is formal recruitment weekend for sororities at the university in our town. For most normal 30-something Kirksville couples with kids, this means nothing. But in our house, the second weekend of September is always chaos. As the Recruitment Advisor for Alpha Gamma Delta sorority, I spend Thursday through Monday galavanting around town with a herd of nervous college women. Most nights I am not home until after midnight, and in the mornings I am usually engaged in some kind of excessive-grooming-while-frantically-texting kind of activity. By lunchtime I'm back out the door in my matching outfit. Yeah, that's right; I said <span style="font-style:italic;">matching outfit</span>.<br /><br />For Kyle this means he gets to step around boxes of centerpieces, tablecloths, sweaters, and other party planning materials for most of August, then gradually help move those boxes to my car over the course of recruitment weekend. In exchange for getting our guestroom/study back, he is asked to help protect a delivery of 10 dozen flowers from our kids for three days (while they "perk up" in preparation for use on Saturday). He agrees to be a special kind of single parent for five days; the kind who has an anxious, overtired, coffee-swilling debutante breezing through the house from time to time.<br /><br />Some years, this does not go so well. Like the year Kyle and both the kids got a stomach bug in the middle of our preference party, and I ended up having to explain to the dry cleaner why there were vomit stains on my formal. Or when Kyle put his back out and crying infant Daniel had to hang out in an alley behind a banquet hall with Aunt Madeline.<br /><br />This year, though, I must admit that things have gone remarkably well. I was able to sleep in until 8:00 this morning (a feat in our house). The house is clean, the laundry is done. Children are well-fed and rested. They went off to church on time and in appropriate clothes this morning. Yesterday, <span style="font-style:italic;">without being asked</span>, Kyle retrieved all the empty food containers and boxes and aprons I'd left in the car when I'd returned home at 3am, washed and put away or disposed of everything. This weekend he has listened to me discuss my frustration with Panhellenic Coucil, my reflections on the decorations and venue for Open party, and a full oral dissertation on whether it would be more tragic to have more people than we can seat and feed at Invite or too few people to set us up to make quota.<br /><br />One thing I love about the advising position I have is that I get to help in lots of practical ways that people don't always see. I enjoy thinking about little details, and keeping things running behind the scenes so that everything goes smoothly for the people who are in the spotlight. Many of the ladies in the organization have no idea how much work I do, but there are always those who do and who remember to recognize that and say thank you. I never, then, come out feeling unappreciated.<br /><br />Kyle, though, probably deserves an honorary membership for all he's done over the years to support Alpha Gam recruitment. He has brought babies to me to nurse between parties, has managed mealtimes and bathtimes solo, made coffee and kept children quiet. He has hauled things and solved computer problems and put off going jogging and had some lonely nights at home, all after working a full week of his own. I'm certain that he's never gotten a thank-you note or an advisor appreciation gift. It's also pretty clear to anyone who knows us that things like matching outfits and party planning, cardigan crises and bid signing are about the last things in the universe Kyle would be interested in. But he never makes jokes, never accuses me of being petty, and never questions my priorities as I run off in my matching t-shirt.<br /><br />And I think to myself, "So THIS is what it's like to be with Superman..." <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eToleZLwgas/TmzbX9TX6GI/AAAAAAAAAMQ/a4K7V5Tdlp4/s1600/IMG_1107.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eToleZLwgas/TmzbX9TX6GI/AAAAAAAAAMQ/a4K7V5Tdlp4/s320/IMG_1107.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5651132837082425442" /></a>Erika Steruphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10663376261432482866noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7594750473558576726.post-33308098629706809002011-08-19T07:18:00.000-07:002011-08-19T07:32:45.469-07:00What Grandma Has Been Waiting ForOkay, okay already! Here's the first day of school picture:
<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lYM6B9a3cDU/Tk5xZpW12oI/AAAAAAAAAME/dWH8D9w5nqM/s1600/DSC_1399.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lYM6B9a3cDU/Tk5xZpW12oI/AAAAAAAAAME/dWH8D9w5nqM/s320/DSC_1399.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5642572068554136194" /></a>
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<br />This is not, by the way, the outfit I picked out for Daniel's first day of school. He decided that he really needed the Batman shirt instead. Eva's eyes look a little sleepy still in the photo, but she perked right up soon after this.
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<br />Both kids had good days. Daniel told us that he, "had fun all day" in kindergarten. His teacher this year is my friend Teresa. She is very experienced and someone I'm already in contact with often, so this is great for both Daniel and me. I am very glad there are people in this world who are willing to spend their entire day in a room with 20 kindergarteners.
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<br />Eva was excited that she got to pour her own milk during breakfast on the first day of preschool. May the Lord bless those preschool cafeteria workers and their nerves of steel.
<br />Erika Steruphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10663376261432482866noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7594750473558576726.post-19082980463975424612011-08-19T07:01:00.000-07:002011-08-19T07:12:24.250-07:00And You Can Tell Everybody That This is Your SongThis morning Eva was using the bathroom (with the door open, as usual), and she was singing a song she'd made up. It went like this:
<br />
<br /><span style="font-style:italic;">"I love my mom-meee!
<br />Yes I do, I love her very much!"
<br /></span>
<br />At this point, I was thinking how sweet she is.
<br />
<br /><span style="font-style:italic;">"I also love poop and pee,
<br />but right now I am only going pee!
<br />Actually I love everything in this whole world!
<br />Except monsters."
<br /></span>
<br />At least the part about me was first.
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<br />Erika Steruphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10663376261432482866noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7594750473558576726.post-28439715231503119492011-08-07T18:26:00.000-07:002011-08-07T22:42:16.718-07:00FickleThe other day I was running on the treadmill while Eva was in tumbling class at the Y. I was thinking about how it was a pretty passable alternative on days when it's too hot or cold to jog outside. Then I had to laugh at myself, remembering a day this past winter when I ran in the very same spot, cursing the <span style="font-style:italic;">oppressiveness </span>of running indoors facing a cinderblock wall. As I ran I began counting other issues I frequently go back and forth on in my head, and could barely keep track of things from the past week alone. I had to conclude that my internal monologue could be accused of being a worse flip-flopper than anyone who ever ran for political office. <br /><br />To make things worse, there is the matter of what I like to think of as my "passionate verbal style." Others might call this being "dramatic" or "prone to exaggeration," but no matter how you characterize it the end result is that I not only seem to change my mind frequently, but to <span style="font-style:italic;">really strongly</span> do so. For the most part I think I keep this to myself, but surely those who know me well have caught on.<br /><br />For instance, this week I alternately had the following thoughts:<br />-I love my body. I am healthy and strong. I can easily run 4 miles, and I do a decent Cuban Salsa. Not bad for 33!<br />-Wow, I should not exercise where there are mirrors, as it highlights the fact that my thighs are both large and pale. I need to shape up immediately or else stop leaving the house in shorts. I look (gasp!) <span style="font-style:italic;">middle aged</span>!<br /><br />-I can't wait to have more free time this fall when the kids go to school. I can have some time to myself to grade and clean the house. Then I can focus all my attention on the family when they get home, which is really what I love.<br />-I hope I can pick up some more hours at work this fall. There is no reason to sit around when I could be using those school hours to work back toward a professional career. We'll find time to clean the house on the weekends, and I'll feel so satisfied to be doing what I love.<br /><br />-We are so blessed. We live in luxury compared to most of the world. How lucky we are to have plenty of delicious food and a beautiful, comfortable home. It's noble to be teachers, and good that I can be at home with the kids. We have plenty of money, and God has always provided for us. We should buy generous gifts for each other and all our friends and family.<br />-Money is so tight. It's shameful what we pay teachers in this country; we should have been doctors or lawyers. We really need to be saving more, but it's hard enough trying to keep us on budget all the time. We need to STOP spending so much money; I should identify some kind of homemade item to give out as gifts to our friends and family.<br /><br />-Seriously, what is with all these women who do their hair and makeup to work out or to go to the pool? I have WAY more important things to worry about than how I look during the summer; I'm so glad I can feel free to get dirty at the park or get my hair wet at the pool. When I work out I'm there to exercise, not impress people.<br />-Wow, those moms in the wading pool look so <span style="font-style:italic;">together </span>with their designer sunglasses and perfectly-styled hair buns. And look at how that substitute Zumba instructor's lip gloss matches her little workout outfit. How cute is she? I look like a disaster; hair flying everywhere and mascara smeared around my eyes... I need to look like I have a little more self-respect. <br /><br />-Sunscreen for the whole family! No way am I gonna fall for that "tan is healthy" myth of my parents' generation. I'm just gonna pack that SPF 100 in my purse so we can reapply all day, 'cause nobody's getting skin cancer on my watch!<br />-Vitamin D deficiency is a serious problem in this country. The people of my generation are just suncreening ourselves to death! Outside in the sun, Family, 'cause nobody's getting Alzheimer's/autism/diabetes/depression/rickets/Parkinson's/cancer on my watch! <br /><br />-I love having a garden. It's so important to me that the kids know where their food comes from, and I love that we're eating chemical-free food right from our backyard. I think I learn something new every year.<br />-I stink at gardening. I hate watering it, I don't know when or how to harvest anything... I never make time to look up the answers to problems with pests or plant diseases. I think I kill a new variety of vegetable every year. <br /><br />So, I'm wondering, do other people do this? Is this constant internal struggle normal? Or is it a manifestation of some kind of rampant insecurity? I don't know; I just keep going back and forth.Erika Steruphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10663376261432482866noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7594750473558576726.post-73942534160857604812011-08-06T22:14:00.000-07:002011-08-06T22:25:01.610-07:00Why I Love CoffeeRecently, our daughter Eva (3) has figured out that she can get herself out of bed in the morning instead of waiting for us to come get her. She has also figured out that if she stands on the side rail of our bed, she can get her face right over my ear as I sleep on my side. <br /><br />A sampling of whispered phrases that have abruptly started my day this week:<br />"Mom... Can you get me some Raisin Bran and juice?"<br />"Mom... I have pee in my pants."<br />"Mom... Daniel is up already and he won't share the green crayon."<br /><br />Of course, this is preferable to her previous strategy, which was to lie in bed, yelling into the monitor, "Mommy and Daddy, I want to get UP now... Mommy and Daddy, I want to get UUUP now..." over and over until one of us lost the game of Parent Chicken and went to go get her.<br /><br />Of course, when it's 6:11 in the morning, there really isn't a GOOD way to wake up, is there?Erika Steruphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10663376261432482866noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7594750473558576726.post-87989536032926864202011-08-02T20:10:00.000-07:002011-08-02T21:46:14.374-07:00Funny Things Are Everywhere (Summer Edition)<span style="font-weight:bold;">Kirksville Signage</span><br />There is a baseball card store in town that, for years, has had a sign in front of their store, right near the road advertising a "Really Big Sale!" Kyle and I like to joke that this is the longest-running sale in the history of baseball cards. Well, last week, they replaced the sign with one that says, "Really Really Big Sale!" <br />It's like they were lying all those other weeks.<br />This is almost as good as <a href="http://www.brendoman.com/kyle/?s=KFC&disp=search&submit=Search">Kyle's favorite Kirksville sign ever</a>.<br /><br />Also, the electronic sign in front of our Walgreens scrolls through a number of messages that change every week or two. The other day I noticed this advertisement:<br />"We now sell hair feathers!!!! Only $4!"<br />Good thing they put four exclamation points after that, because I don't think three would have accurately captured my excitement over this joyous news.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">The Significant Lack of Napping in This House</span><br />Daniel is very talented at coming up with excuses to get out of his room during rest time. One day, about 5 minutes after his last trip to the bathroom, he asked if he could get up now. When I pointed out that he'd done more getting up than resting so far, he said he'd been asleep just then, and had just woken up. <br />"So you mean to tell me that in the last 5 minutes you fell asleep, napped enough to be rested, and just woke up?"<br />"Yes."<br />"Daniel, do you think I'm dumb?"<br />(looking at me like he's not quite sure what to say) "Yes?"<br /><br />When Eva can't fall asleep, what she usually does is attempt to sneak out of her room, which has the noisiest door ever, and sit on the stairs. When we ask her why she's up, she says, "I just want to sleep a little bit." When we tell her, "Good. Our goals are the same, then. Go get in your bed and sleep a little bit." she gets really upset and cries that she's just not tired. I don't think that phrase means what she thinks it means...<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Musical Comedy</span><br />Early in the summer, at one of Daniel's t-ball games, Eva stood up from her chair on the sidelines, threw her hands out jazz-style and broke out with, "I love to SING!!" Indeed she does. The private speech she uses to talk to herself is often sung, as well as a good portion of her communication with us. Some notable ditties include:<br />-(as I sweep the kitchen) "Wow, these floors are DIRTY!... There's lots more dirt over heeere!"<br />- (in the car one day) "I've got sunglasses and a pony tail... Sunglasses and a pony tail... Sunglasses in the front. Pony tail in the back..."<br />- (calling from the bathroom) "MOM! I just went POOP! Pooo-oo-ooop! Poo-oop in the POTTY!!... Can you wipe me, please?"<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Speaking of Poop</span><br />On another poop-wiping occasion, I commented on the enormous dropping that had come out of my tiny daughter, and Eva said, "I know! Holy Smokes, right?!"<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Dental Drama</span><br />Last week Kyle was brushing Daniel's teeth, and Daniel was crying loudly over Kyle bumping a mouth sore on the inside of one of his cheeks. Kyle asked him how long he'd had that sore spot there, and he exclaimed dramatically, "90 YEARS!"<br /><br />There is a lot of debate in our house over whether the phrase is, "You get what you get and you don't throw a fit." or "You get what you get and you don't make a fuss."<br />One night I was trying to convince Eva to let me have the first turn brushing her teeth (instead of letting her go first), so that I could move on to Daniel.<br />"You get what you get, and you don't make a rude, Mommy."<br />Alrighty then.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Heat-Related Humor</span><br />Like most of the Midwest, we've been in the middle of a massive heat wave. Our strategy for this has been twofold: <br />-First, we've abandoned the 30-minute per weekday TV limit, and have been sitting in the dark cave of our house, with the thermal curtains shutting out the cruel sun, watching TV and videos and enjoying the Wii.<br />-Second, we've been to the pool nearly every day. Twice, oftentimes, when you account for morning swim lessons. Our deck is always full of towels and swimsuits, hung out to dry.<br />Yesterday, we tried to change it up a bit by washing the cars in the driveway and letting the kids play with the hose. It didn't take long for things to go downhill, and pretty soon Daniel was screaming, "Eva! Eva! Spray my BUTT!" He also followed me around, trying to spray MY butt.<br />Eva kept coming up to me, spraying me point-blank in the face, then saying, "You better watch out, Mommy!"<br />Daniel kept begging Kyle to spray him full-on in the face. It's kind of hard to want to spray water right up your kid's nose like that (when they're being good, that is), even when he's asking for it. We were trying to imagine what a neighbor driving by might say...<br />"Geez, that crazy hermit family turned off their TV and came out of there... Wow, the boy seems to be obsessed with butts... I see they torture their kids, too. Do they own <span style="font-style:italic;">anything </span>other than swimwear?"<br /><br />I hope everyone else is having a funny summer!Erika Steruphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10663376261432482866noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7594750473558576726.post-6523283442064706742011-07-22T10:47:00.000-07:002011-07-22T11:18:12.564-07:00Big<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NiiHE8GEPZI/Tim9LkYOHxI/AAAAAAAAAL0/Rk6LOhVyCqk/s1600/Eva%2BBig.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 283px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NiiHE8GEPZI/Tim9LkYOHxI/AAAAAAAAAL0/Rk6LOhVyCqk/s320/Eva%2BBig.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5632240815444991762" /></a><br />As I mentioned in my last post, we went to visit friends in the Chicago area last weekend. While we were there, we went to Ikea in one of the suburbs. For those of you not familiar with this store, it is a three-floor wonderland of practical, inexpensive Swedish housewares. Because I am cheap, married to a man of Swedish descent, and interested in clean lines, I like to think this is really my kind of store.<br /><br />Usually I try to make the biannual Ikea trip a childless one, because this just makes the whole thing go faster (and those who have shopped for anything with me know that including any form of the word “fast” is laughable to begin with). This year, though, my friend Melanie mentioned that they have a really fantastic play area at this particular branch, and that you can leave your child there with attendants for an hour. Combined with the cheap kids' meals in the in-store cafe, this was enough to convince us to bring Eva and Melanie's kids Aidan and Catie with us.<br /><br />When we got there, we waited in line to check in at the (objectively super-cool) play area and talked about all the fun things we could see there would be for her to do. While we stood there I reminded Eva to be sure to tell the lady if she needed to go to the bathroom, since she is occasionally too shy to ask strangers in time. I'm not sure whether it was because she overheard this exchange, or because she is truly a lazy child-hater, but when we got to the front, the exchange with the childcare worker went like this:<br /><br />“Yeah, she needs to be fully potty-trained to come in here.”<br />“Yep! No problem.”<br />“No Pull-ups.”<br />“Right. We're good.”<br />“She seems a little short. She needs to be 37 inches to be allowed in. I'd better measure her.”<br />“Oh, okay. I think she's right about 37 inches, actually.”<br /><br />The worker and I lined her up next to the ruler, and she was 37 inches on the dot.<br /><br />“Actually, she's pretty close. I don't think she makes it.”<br />Pointing at the ruler, and demonstrating her 37-inch height, “No, she clearly does.”<br />“Actually, that 37 inches is supposed to be without shoes. I think you need to take her shoes off so we can measure her again.”<br />“Okay, fine.”<br /><br />Without shoes Eva is still about 37 inches if she tilts her head just right, but if not is about 36 and 7/8 inches.<br /><br />“Yeah, I'm going to have to call my manager over here to look at this.... Hey, can you come here for a minute? This little girl is too short, and I just want to make sure.”<br />“Yes, I'm sorry. She is too short to play here.”<br />“Wait a second. She's right on the line. She's fully potty-trained and is mature and independent. She'd have her two older friends with her. Can't you just let her in?"<br />"No, Ma'am. There are regulations put forth by our insurance company for her safety. That ball pit, for instance, is really deep."<br /><br />Let me just stop here to point out that she ACTUALLY used drowning in a ball pit due to a 1/8-inch height shortage as her excuse to exclude my now-teary child from the visibly awesome play area. It was everything I could do to avoid making a very rude comment as we took Eva and walked away. If I thought sarcasm would in any way improve her chances of getting in or be any kind of good example, I would have really gotten on a roll. Instead, I bit my lip and let Eva pick a pity toy from the stuffed animal bin in the kids' furniture section.<br /><br />The next day we all took the train downtown, where we took our collected four kids to the Chicago Children's Museum. The first activity that we came to was a rope tunnel leading up from the first floor to the second, then across the stairwell to a bridge on the other side. There was a sign that indicated the activity was for children five and up, but that younger kids would be allowed at their caregiver's discretion. Everyone wanted to go, and I hesitated for a second, worrying that it was very high and maybe Eva was just too little. But Kyle said he thought we should let her try, and of course she booked it right up that tunnel, pushing Daniel to move it along a little faster because he was holding her up. I have to admit I cried a little as she pulled herself out the top.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LErBAwQki6k/Tim92APkJwI/AAAAAAAAAL8/BIHfukFoZ2o/s1600/DSC_1350.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LErBAwQki6k/Tim92APkJwI/AAAAAAAAAL8/BIHfukFoZ2o/s320/DSC_1350.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5632241544479385346" /></a><br />Man, I love that kid.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_MNbQZu4iBg/Tim5BEiNdsI/AAAAAAAAALk/7AVx333pK8M/s1600/DSC_1231.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_MNbQZu4iBg/Tim5BEiNdsI/AAAAAAAAALk/7AVx333pK8M/s320/DSC_1231.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5632236237051754178" /></a>Erika Steruphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10663376261432482866noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7594750473558576726.post-81830731942506964482011-07-21T20:49:00.000-07:002011-07-21T20:58:37.431-07:00First-World ProblemsLast weekend, we visited our friends Melanie and Andrew near Chicago. We only go every other year, and they visit us here in Kirksville in the off years. Though the exact nature of our plans change somewhat each year, there are some constants to our traditional visits: <br />1. When in Chicago, we always go to Ikea and we always take the train to the city one day. When in Kirksville we visit (the recently defunct) Washington Street Java Co.<br />2. We always hire a babysitter and go out on a double date to dinner.<br />3. We use the visit as an excuse to make special breakfasts, like quiche or souffle or homemade waffles.<br />4. We usually unintentionally develop some kind of phrase for the weekend; usually some inside joke that is repeated amongst us several times over the course of the few days.<br /><br />This last part of the tradition is nothing that we plan, but is something I've noticed over the years. One year, during a game of Taboo, Andrew kept insisting that the answer to Melanie's clues about a party thrown by Mexicans was a “festivo.” This is funnier when you know that Melanie is Mexican. The rest of us spent the remainder of the weekend trying to work “festivo” into the conversation as frequently as possible. One year, someone was relaying a story about Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger where he had concluded a meandering list with the phrase, “...and things such as this.” Try adding that phrase (in the Arnold voice, of course) to the end of all your lists. We enjoyed that joke into the ground for a full weekend.<br /><br />This year, there were a number of times where one of us (usually Melanie, actually) punctuated the end of someone's complaint with the conclusion, “Ah, first-world problems...” For instance, any complaints about smartphones freezing up, what someone doesn't like about this Wii game, or old Teva sandals not feeling “squishy enough anymore” was met with this reminder.<br /><br />The interesting thing about this is that it really resonates with what I've been thinking about myself lately, only with different words. See, recently I've been noticing that the things that make me crabby about my day-to-day life are those middle-aged suburbanite kinds of things that the idealistic, high-school-aged me would be mortified to see the present me complaining about. It's embarrassing, quite frankly. Really, there are people starving, being opressed, dying, and THESE are the issues that consume my thoughts? <br /><br />On the other hand, though, they seem so VERY IMPORTANT to me in the moment, and have just been adding up until I feel like I want to explode in a petty, spoiled combustion. So, for the sake of avoiding that, please read now my list of first-world problems, so that I can get them off my chest for good:<br /><br />-The lid on my washer has stopped staying open alone and slams (hard, and loudly) any time I make the mistake of leaving it open without my hand on it. It hurts my ears, and sometimes my arm or fingers, and loading my laundry one-handed while holding the lid makes me seethe and curse my top-loading, non high-efficiency laundry existence.<br />-I'm pretty sure that the brown in our family-room curtains is a warm brown, while the brown in the rug is a cool brown. Nobody else notices or cares, but it quietly mocks me every time I walk by.<br />-No matter how many coupons I clip, I just don't think we have the money in the grocery budget to have a glass of wine with dinner every night. There are health benefits to doing that, you know...<br />-The filters in my vacuum are always clogged. There are three of them, and their constant maintenance prompts me to avoid vacuuming our house, which used to be one of my favorite chores. Also, one of the attachments is broken. Also, I have a favorite chore. I'm quite sure a Dyson would be so much better.<br />-The kids won't jump off the deck into the pool at swim lessons. For some reason, this is the issue I've decided to enter a power struggle over. It just irks me, because I've seen both of them do it before, when their teachers and I weren't asking them to do it. Seriously, that three-year old is not watching ANY videos until she just JUMPS IN on her OWN when I SAY to!!<br />-The (non-chemo) treatments for my (not-life-threatening) skin cancer are expensive. Paying those bills is infringing on the back-to-school shopping budget.<br />-My favorite Zumba class at the YMCA is right when we'd really like to be eating dinner.<br />-The shelving unit that I wanted to buy at IKEA does not fit into our car with car seats and luggage, so I could not get it. I will have to pay outrageous shipping costs, convince some childless truck-owner to road-trip to Chicago, or forget about it. And it really would have tied the room together. <br /> <br />So that's it for now. Some of you have already opened another window in order to quietly de-friend me on facebook. For those of you who decide to hang on, I promise that this is a regular cycle for me, with a period of adding to this list, then days later feeling grateful and content and subsequently ashamed about it. Maybe rereading <span style="font-style:italic;">Freedom of Simplicity</span> again is in order. Let's all hold our breath and hope I move back into the grateful phase as soon as possible.<br /><br />What are your first-world problems?Erika Steruphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10663376261432482866noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7594750473558576726.post-26513053700572176182011-06-29T18:09:00.000-07:002011-06-29T19:15:09.733-07:00Powerless<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3GSQqZA7GoU/Tgva71PR__I/AAAAAAAAAJw/IAnLX-6p9Wo/s1600/DSC_0834.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3GSQqZA7GoU/Tgva71PR__I/AAAAAAAAAJw/IAnLX-6p9Wo/s320/DSC_0834.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5623829281140506610" /></a><br />Last night our electricity was restored, after being knocked out in a massive, windy thunderstorm Sunday night. It's funny how attached we are to our electricity, and how many times I forgot and flipped a switch, opened the fridge, or even tried to make coffee these past few days. <br /><br />It was the same way two years ago, when we were without power for three days after a tornado flattened the next street over and did some moderate damage to our house (see that story on Kyle's blog <a href="http://www.brendoman.com/kyle/2009/05/16/the-kirksville-cyclone-of-aught-nine">here</a>). This time, though, it was a little less depressing, since the damage to our house was minimal by comparison, and the weather in the days after the storm wasn't dreary and rainy.<br /><br />Because of our experience with the tornado, we are not a family that takes bad weather lightly. Sunday night our weather radio was only talking about a thunderstorm warning, but when the rain started blowing in around the cracks in our (closed) windows and doors, we decided to wake the kids and go downstairs anyway. Only after we'd settled into our basement bathroom did the weather radio begin instructing people to take shelter. By that point, we could hear glass breaking somewhere upstairs in our house.<br /><br />Let me just say what a terrible feeling that is, to think that something is going very wrong and that you are required to just sit there and let it happen, because there is nothing you can do to stop it.<br /><br />The funny thing is, even though my nerves felt like they were on fire, in the back of my mind I really feel like somehow we cannot be hit by another storm, as if our past experience must have inoculated us against all further inconvenience and homeowners insurance claims. Like we are invincible somehow, since we already had our turn. As we sat there, listening to the storm blow and blow our house and imagining all our belongings getting soaked, all I could think was, "<span style="font-style:italic;">Seriously</span>? Again? No way."<br /><br />Just as we did after our last basement party, we sent Kyle upstairs to survey the damage. He returned with the happy news that everything was dry, and that it was only a couple of storm windows that had broken. This did NOT help me overcome my denial, as I hardly felt surprised.<br /><br />In the past few days, I've been thinking that I need to get past this feeling. I know that sometimes more than one bad thing happens to a person or a family or a neighborhood. I need to remember that there are people in the world who endure one hardship after another after another, and many of them don't even get a nice house like mine to be concerned about. How spoiled am I that I complain about having to drive up the street to McDonald's to use the internet? Really, it could hardly be said that I've experienced my share of hardship in this life.<br /><br />I am grateful that, this time, we are back to normal barely 48 hours after the storm. No chainsaws or insurance adjusters or contractors were required. All the meat from our deep freeze got a trip across town to our friends Madeline and John's house (seriously, they should start charging us for our bi-annual invasion of their freezer space). The kids were overjoyed that we broke our fast food ban in order to use the internet Monday morning (really, with all the downed power lines in the roads, the internet was the best way we could think of to check whether our classes were canceled). We really don't deserve much sympathy for this storm.<br /><br />It is nice, though, to recognize how much power we take for granted in our everyday life.Erika Steruphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10663376261432482866noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7594750473558576726.post-29495336597951528802011-06-23T13:19:00.000-07:002011-06-23T13:28:44.206-07:0010 YearsSo today is Kyle's and my tenth wedding anniversary (it's traditionally the Tin Anniversary; try to make a good gift out of THAT). In some ways it's hard to believe it's been that long (I guess time really does fly when you're having fun). In other ways, though, I think we've come a long way since early in our marriage (It feels like I should put something in parentheses here).<br /><br />To celebrate, this past weekend we dropped the kids off with my parents and spent the weekend in St. Louis. We did things that childless people do, like shop and sit in bookstores, stroll leisurely through the art museum, and eat dinner after 8:30pm.<br /><br />We went back to the hotel where we stayed on our wedding night, the Millenium Hotel near the Arch. While I don't feel that the hotel itself is anything super-special, the Sunday brunch in the revolving restaurant at the top of the building is really fantastic, and we've always cherished fond memories of gorging ourselves there our first morning as man and wife.<br /><br />When we attempted to check in this weekend, however, we learned that the cleaning staff wasn't keeping up with the number of guests checking in and out. So, being one of the few couples not wanting to get to the Cardinals game on time, we agreed to wait for a bit. Turns out that "a bit" was actually two and a half hours. During that time we had some drinks and free appetizers in the lobby, and entertained ourselves by talking about how we think each other has changed or stayed the same in the past ten years. Really, though, I think the most telling example of how we've changed is made by comparing this anniversary evening to one we had nine years ago, celebrating the end of our first year of marriage. <br /><br />That year, we were in downtown Chicago. I had just finished the Avon Breast Cancer 3-Day, a 60-mile walk to raise money for cancer research. My feet were blistered and my legs sore, so we decided to eat at the restaurant in the hotel where we were staying. After being seated, we realized the following:<br />-We were the youngest, least well-dressed people there (and we were wearing our nicest clothes).<br />-There was not a wine on the wine list that we could afford.<br />-We couldn't comprehend anything about the menu. At all. I don't even know what language it was in.<br />Did we leave? No. Did we tell our Fancy Waiter that we were clueless and needed help? No. We were so young and self-conscious, and so in denial that we just tried as hard as we could to look like we belonged there. <br /><br />We stalled for as long as we could, then each took a stab at ordering something we thought sounded like something we could eat. I'd identified a word that I thought suggested a kind of pasta, so I ordered that. Kyle ordered something that he thought included a word for beef, only to receive a condescending look from Fancy Waiter. "Are you sure, Sir? That is an appetizer." We fumbled a bit, and told the waiter that he would get that to start, and then Kyle pointed to something else on the menu that turned out to be a main course. Fancy Waiter then asked me if I'd like an appetizer, and then barely hid his sneer when I said we'd just share the one. Looking back, I'm pretty sure he was thinking, "This isn't Applebee's, Lady. We don't share here," as there was no stack of little plates on the table. We tried to play the wine off kind of cool, by asking Fancy Waiter to suggest something that paired well with our meals. He asked us what kind of wine we usually drink, like did we like dry or sweet, or something with "a nice oaky flavor?". What I was thinking at the time was, "Earnest & Julio Gallo, Buddy. Five bucks."<br /><br />In the end I don't remember how we played off the wine question, but I don't think we fooled him into thinking we were connoisseurs. He ended up choosing one that "just happened" to be already opened but mostly full, that he could give to us at a special, lower price. We muddled through that expensive, uncomfortable dinner of tiny, fancy food as quickly as we could and then debated over whether we should attempt to locate a nearby Burger King or hope that we could find some filling desserts on the menu. We stuck it out to the finish and did have some decent desserts, if I remember correctly. What I will never forget, though, is how timid and embarrassed and out-of-place we felt, but we were too young and proud to admit that we'd wandered into a situation that was over our heads.<br /><br />Fast forward to the present time. At our hotel this weekend we agreed to wait for our room not because we were too timid to refuse, but out of genuine sympathy for the clearly harried staff we'd seen being yelled at by other guests. We asked for a restaurant suggestion from the hotel Concierge, but decided the menu and decor in the brochure wasn't really our style. So we went against her warning and took our chances reservationless on a Saturday night. We walked into and back out of a restaurant that we thought looked too stiff and fancy and empty for us. We ended up going for a nice but VERY long walk from our hotel to get to a place my brother had shown me online called <a href="http://www.copiaurbanwinery.com/">Copia Urban Winery</a>.<br /><br />And it was perfect. The decor was nice, but comfortable; our waitress was great; our meals fantastic. We looked at the 12-page wine list for a few minutes, but still asked for a suggestion. This time, we were able to say, "We like dry, spicy, reds, nothing over fifty dollars," and then reasonably discuss different varietals until we arrived at something we thought sounded good. I nursed a couple of terrible blisters I'd formed walking to the restaurant in my strappy shoes, and decided to just walk barefoot back to the hotel. The next morning, when we were told that the Sunday brunch was full and that we needed reservations, Kyle talked the host into letting us have a table anyway. Once again, we indulged in the fabulousness of mimosas, made-to-order omelettes, and a full table of dessert options (That's champagne AND cheesecake! For BREAKFAST!).<br /><br />Reflecting on this weekend, I think the moral of the story is that now, ten years after being married, I finally feel like we're grownups. We are not embarrassed to admit we aren't familiar with any of these wines or too proud to let all of downtown St. Louis know that my feet hurt. We don't care as much what other people think of us. I think that getting married so young has caused us to be adults that really just GO together. We like the same things, and we know what those things are. We are both happy to have ended up with someone who does not get bent out of shape over a little hotel mismanagement (which turns out to be very useful in getting a fancy suite, comped by the apologetic front-desk manager). We're satisfied with an overnight getaway instead of a fancy cruise, with living in a small town, with our dogs and our kids and our house.<br /><br />It's been a great ten years.<br /><br />Maybe in another ten years we'll be better at picking hotels, and hopefully by then I'll have learned to wear more sensible shoes.Erika Steruphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10663376261432482866noreply@blogger.com5