That Was Never There

In the Pfaff family it has been a long-standing tradition to go on 'the tour' whenever my mother visits her sister Jeanne near Chicago. What tour, you say? A tour of the historic city of Chicago? Perhaps a tour of the Chicago Art Insitute or some of Frank Lloyd Wright's beautiful creations? Well, Frank Lloyd Wright is certainly involved, but I don't think he ever intended his masterpieces to be viewed in this particular fashion.

'The Tour', as it will always be referred to, is an experience unto itself. It always involves my mother and my Aunt Jeanne...laughing hysterically (And maybe just a bit sadistically). It also always involves one or more of the Pfaff grandchildren and miscellaneous hapless victims of their acquaintance. Really, it's anyone those two can fit in the van under the pretense of going to get ice cream.

While on the tour one of the aforementioned nutballs will drive at an embarrassingly slow speed around the Pfaff children's childhood haunts: their old house, the alleyway behind their old house, their friends old houses, supposedly haunted houses, their old schools, the fireball factory, the cemetery they had to walk through to get home from the movie theater, and yes, a Frank Lloyd Wright house which is never open for tours at the hour we visit, yet a tour is attempted all the same. This may sound tame, but please bear in mind that the hysterical laughter emitting from my Aunt and Mother only ceases to point out yet another attraction on the tour or to explain, yet again, how we might actually be Jewish. There is a definite sense of being trapped defenselessly in a moving vehicle (however slow it may be) Putting aside the horror stories and nostalgia, there has always been one predominant level of confusion for me while on the tour; the number one uttered phrase (aside from 'Can we just get ice cream now?') is: "And you see that? That was never there!" A phrase which, until recently for me, comically made little sense.

Luckily, my epiphany came in the form of cherry jello. As we all know, any good story stars with a sugar high, and that, my friends, is why you are now being unwittingly dragged into a tour of my childhood home. Just feel lucky I didn't canvas all of Mtn. Home.

Here is the cherry jello I grabbed out of the fridge and unrepentantly ate out of the storage container. It is no longer with us. May it rest in peace.

This is the cabinet over my parents island in the kitchen. That? That was always there. So was the painting of mushrooms and the old bottle of 'medicine for the heart' on top which I am told simply contained ketchup at the time it was marketed for such purposes.

This shelf has also always been there. Those are replicas of buildings from Oswego, where we lived before moving to Arkansas. That hanging apple ornament and the cinnamon heart decorations? Also always there.

This is my parents fridge. This particular one was never there...but the pictures, well, there were always pictures there. Lots and lots of pictures.

In fact, there were so many pictures on my parents fridge that there were also pictures on the insides of the cabinet doors. Those were always there.

My mother will probably kill me for posting this, but this is her dresser. That dresser and mirror and lamp were never there. But the pictures always were there and I love them. They're there because they're all the people she wants with her.

Now I'm moving on to some of my favorite pieces of art; note there are no pieces by Picasso or Van Gogh. This painting is by my Mother. It sums up a few of my favorite things: dirt roads, dense trees and water.

That mirror is just one of many beautiful pieces in our house made by my Uncle Jim. And the painting is by my Great Granny Gamelin.

I can't get enough of this one.

Or this one either. I used to stare at it for ages when I was a kid; it's a scene at a wedding. The newlyweds are saying their goodbyes just before they depart.

Anyway, gooey sentimentality aside, that is my childhood home to me; the things that were always there and now the increasing number of things that were never there. I think I've uttered that phrase more this past week than any other in my life. Mom and Jeanne would be proud.

I hope you enjoyed the tour. Trust me, it was much quicker and less painful than the ones I've been duped into. To my knowledge, no one was almost accosted while driving slowly through a remote cemetery or brought to tears by either laughter or pain. Consider that a victory, because I'm definitely not taking you out for ice cream and all the cherry jello is definitely gone.

More Updates Than You Would Ever Want

Summer in the Tri-Cities is pretty much the busiest time of year for us here at the Schweighardt Complex. Forget Christmas and Thanksgiving, or even the birth of children, these three months consist of the most travel, company and celebration we'll see all year. Did I mention Steve, Julie, Isaac, Lucas and Uncle Joe all came to visit? Well, before we met up with them in Portland, we spent a weekend in Vancouver to see D'Arcy debut on pointe. I've said it before and I'll say it again: Duck is an amazing dancer! I so look forward to getting Audrey involved in dance. Judging from the private performances she gives us at home, she'll be nothing short of a natural.

That weekend we got in a lot of quality time with the Moore kids and also got to pick up Uncle Joe in Portland. Before heading home through the Gorge, we decided to take a side trip to the Oregon Coast to see Haystack Rock. Uncle Joe had never been to Cannon Beach and he was excited to see the notorious formation from The Goonies. (Never say die!!) As always, Audrey was super stoked to see the ocean. I wish we lived closer!


Steve and Julie caught up with us in the Tri-Cities a few days later; we had a great time showing them around the area and attempting to convince them to move to the Northwest. Audrey and Isaac amazingly got along very well while they were here. Isaac has had a tendency to deny Audrey's existence while they're in the same room, so I was floored when they started giggling, and chasing each other around the house. Luke and Bailey really just sat around smiling, getting tickled and being cute. It's a rough life.


I've appeared to somewhat drop off the radar since then because we spent the rest of the month of June trying to get ready for the Annual Schweighardt 4th of July Extravaganza. We had the fence replaced, hauled off all the old wood, ripped out plants, planted new ones, assembled lawn furniture, swept, cleaned and hosed down every surface and then played some bocce ball. In between all that, I tried to fit in all the birthday celebrating I could. I've been eating steak, (really, really good steak) and drinking wine, getting my toes painted, helping Audrey make birthday cake, drinking lots of coffee, shopping at my favorite kitchen store and picking out new running shoes. Let's just say I take the Gamelin motto of "Celebrate early and often" to heart.

All too soon the 4th of July was upon us! It's not only our Country's Birthday, but Tina's birthday as well! Between prepping for the party and greeting out of town guests, we had a birthday celebration for Tina complete with fairy cupcakes. I think she's starting to understand what those Christmas babies are complaining about.

The 4th ended up being an uncharacteristically cool windy day in the Tri-Cities and we had a record number of people over at the house. I made a 14 lb. brisket that was so yummy, I've decided to make 30 lbs. for next year's celebration. Add 36 hamburgers and 90 hotdogs to that and you've got one heck of a celebration.

For entertainment this year we filled close to 400 water balloons for an incredible battle between the kids and a few young-hearted adults. Jeff also was in charge of our private fireworks show and after that we settled in to relax and watch the City of Kennewick's show from our back yard. It's a tradition (for those of us who are so inclined) to smoke cigars during the Fireworks show; I've been pregnant for the past two 4ths and have had to abstain from this particular indulgence, so man, oh man, was it a welcome respite from all the hard work we'd put in to sit back with a beer and a cigar and just relax for a while.

Needless to say, this morning we woke to a house that looked like it had hosted a frat party and even though we had lots of help cleaning up the night before, it was time to start prepping food to do it all again for Granny's 70th Surprise Birthday Party! We spent the morning tearing down decorations, putting up new ones and cooking food to celebrate one heck of a Grandma. The surprise, by the way, was a complete success...maybe too much of a success. We're just glad we didn't give her a heart attack.

Now we're looking forward to a visit from my buddy Jessica and a trip with the girls back to the North of the South. Then my parents are coming back with us to celebrate Audrey's birthday and do some camping and climbing at Mt. Adams. I love this picture of them together at the airport when they flew in for her 1st birthday last year. I'm thinking this year she'll actually eat the cake.


Here are some videos for your viewing pleasure too: Audrey running to the ocean and Granny's reaction to the surprise!

On Balance

I've been writing a lot of posts lately that don't get published. Occasionally I start writing about what's been going on around here the past few weeks, but most of these posts end up as a diatribe about finding balance in parenting. And if you're interested, here's the summary: It's not possible to obtain balance as a mother...yet I'm obsessed with finding it.

It's finally summer in the Tri-Cities and we have been doing a lot of hard work in the yard, traveling and generally having a good time. Needless to say, the laundry is never done. But I try. It is also physically impossible to get dinner on the table before 7pm. Yet I try. And I also feel the increasing need to spend every waking moment showing those two girls all the love I have in my heart for them. But there's the laundry and dinner to make. It's a vicious cycle.

John has been giving me the old wary eye the past week or so and asking me more often than usual if I'm okay or telling me I work too hard. Apparently I've been giving him the old I'm-exhausted-and-don't-have-time-for-this-right-now look more often than not. I also happen to have a stye on my eyelid the size of Texas that popped up and won't go away. I hear these things are caused by stress. Apparently it's a physical reminder that I'm trying a little too hard to make things balance.

Anyway, the observation that I'm visibly stressed out kind of came as a shock to me since I feel like, personally, I'm making a lot of progress in my efforts to take it easy; I'm trying to be slower to anger and faster to forgive, I let situations with the girls that would normally make me want to rip my hair out wash over me instead. I try to find God's grace in the seemingly bad things and rejoice in the unquestionably good. And then I look in the mirror and see that horrible bulging red bump on my eye screaming to the world: " she's falling apart!"

Listen up, unsightly stye, I'm just trying to do it all here. Is that so much to ask?

Let's just say I haven't grown in the area of giving up ridiculous aspirations.

While I may not be good at giving up things like letting anyone else fold the laundry, (lest the world should come to an end without my shirts folded uniformly) one big thing that I have recently conceded is that having two kids might actually make our family complete. This is a huge departure for the lady who wanted nothing more than to have her own personal soccer team of children. I love being pregnant and for the longest time it just felt like my default state of being. But pregnancies most often result in an infant that you're expected to love and shower with kisses and pay college tuition for. That's a heavy burden of responsibility, especially considering it takes more time and energy to take care of my oldest than it does her baby sister.

Audrey is fantastic and hilarious and generally a real treat to be around, but she's challenging. That kid lobs curve balls at me every day--sometimes they make me laugh, like her demanding I stop driving and get out of the car. Other days I struggle to keep sane when she suddenly decides she's not potty trained and wets through four outfits in one morning. Yet every day I find myself amazed by how beautiful, intelligent and special she is. A kid like that requires a lot of attention, especially as she's struggling to understand her wild emotions.

Now, the Gunni? She loves her sister just as much as I do. The two of them are already in cahoots; Bailey loves wrestling with Audrey in bed, grabbing at her face and trying to eat her hair. It makes Audrey laugh hysterically which in turn makes the Gunni gurgle. There's a lot of love between those two. Bailey has a tendency to get fussy at the dinner table (I think she's starting to feel a bit of jealousy about table food) and when bouncing her on Mama's knee doesn't help, her big Sis can always make her smile. A few nights ago while we were eating Audrey told Bailey she smelled like a monkey and kept waving her hands in B's face yelling "Pee Yew!" Much laughter ensued.

So what does it all come down to? I cannot describe how fulfilling it is to be the mother of these two girls. I am constantly challenged and in awe of how amazing God has made our lives. I feel like my life would be perfectly whole if we weren't blessed with more children yet I'm keeping my mind open to the possibility of more. I also should resolve that I will stop trying to be a super mom, expecting balance in my life...but I just can't let go. There's a reason Audrey has a stubborn streak a mile wide--she's learned from the best.

For The Addicts...

Because I just recovered from weekend of traveling with two little ones and an amazing migraine headache, I'm taking the lazy way out--here's a video from last month. I'll post some newer ones in my next post.
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It's About Time!

I have been slacking. But I'm not really going to offer any apologies because I've been busy...busy grocery shopping. And cooking. And cleaning, cooking some more and then loving on my babies. But don't ask about the laundry. The horror!

Anyway, the girls are now officially 4 months and 22 months old. That means my little Dragon is almost a two-year old! How did this happen? I remember going to the hospital and then bringing her home, but this all seems so sudden. It really is surreal, even though hearing Audrey bark orders at everyone in the house (including the dog) should remind me that she's growing up. And man, oh, man do I have my work cut out for me. I can already see the little seed of teenage rebellion planted in that kid's head. She is constantly testing every adult figure she comes into contact with to see what she can get away with. And here I thought I had gotten off the hook with a kid who doesn't leap into parking lots without a thought or try to climb the drapes. I've always found joy in how advanced Audrey has been cognitively and verbally, but now I'm starting to see the challenges of having a smart kid who can talk. John and I joke about it, but she has already mastered the art of diversion.

Mama: "Audrey, we need to go get ready for bed."
Audrey: "Mama, I need to go potty bad!"
Mama: "Ok, let's go to the potty."
Audrey: " I see Caba!"
Mama: "We're going to the potty."
Audrey: "But I see phone!!"

It's not working kid. Mama's impervious to shiny objects.

In addition to trying to distract us to get her way, she just outright orders people around. I can't tell you how many times I heard her yell "Seth, come here!!" this past weekend. We're working on manners.

Little A is also experimenting with temper tantrums, especially when she's tired or hungry or needs to go to the bathroom. It's loud and emotionally draining (for all of us) , but we're working on nipping those emotional breakdowns in the bud. Sometimes I forget how difficult it is for kids to figure out emotions. Heck, I feel justified biting anyone's head off who looks at me funny before I've had my coffee in the morning. I figure not being able to work out what intense emotion you're experiencing is much more frustrating than just being a sleep-deprived crank.

In the mean time, Bailey is still my super chill baby. We went in for her four month appointment and she now weighs 16 lbs. 6 oz. and is 25 inches long. That means she's made the jump to the top of the charts in both height and weight; there's no way she's gonna let her sister out-do her just because she's younger.

The Gunni is really just a happy kid; she loves lots of attention and will reward you with the world's cutest shy smile if you give it to her. She's also showing much more interest in moving than her big sis did as a baby; she's already rolling over, almost able to sit independently and she loves to pull up on my thumbs to stand. She's ready! Even Dr. D said she'll probably be an early crawler/walker. I know most parents shudder at the thought of another mobile child, but I like the idea of taking a step toward independence for both of us.

Life at the Ranch has been busy as usual; we had the Moore kids over for the long weekend and we had a fantastic time. The women-folk had a ladies tea (complete with scones and cucumber sandwiches) on Saturday and the boys barbecued and camped out in the back yard. Sunday was the Indy-500 (an institution in the Schweighardt house) and I was so busy cooking and *cough* shopping *cough* that I didn't get to see it. shame.

Marlene is staying with the kids in Vancouver for the next few weeks and we somehow convinced her to let Hannah stay with us until the 11th when we'll drive over to see D'Arcy debut on pointe. I'm so excited to see Duck dance again and I cannot wait until Audrey is old enough to don her own little tutu and flit about stage. The tippy toes don't lie; that girl's going to be a dancer.

The same weekend we're going to see D'Arcy dance, Steve and Julie are going to be in Portland for a conference. Joe has decided to fly out too and then they're all driving over to spend the rest of the week with us in the Tri-Cities. Having company that loves food really is dangerous; I'll probably be about 10 pounds heavier by the end of this visit.

The rest of the summer is going to go by in a blur of travel, celebration and food. Coming attractions include: Father's Day, my birthday, Marlene's 70th birthday!, the Schweighardt's annual 4th of July crazy extravaganza, a visit from my best buddy Jessica, a trip back to the Midwest with the girls, my parents flying back to the Tri-Cities with me, Audrey's birthday and a camping trip to Mt. Adams. somewhere in there I have to convince my sister to come to the Benton-Franklin County Fair; it just feels wrong to go without her now.

I'm exhausted just writing that out. I think I'll take a nap now while I can.

What a Bunch of Lazy Bones

We've been having a lot of fun around the Schweighardt complex this week. Most weekends we try to accomplish something productive around the house or at least have goals in mind for projects we'd like to complete. But not this weekend.

Instead:

Audrey taught me how to hula as only a future cruise director can

Lil A's original crib was recalled, so we bought a new one and Papa put it together for her. Right here she's saying: "I'm bouncing!!!!"

We got a matching crib for Bailey too!

We went to Reagan's first birthday party; Bailey charmed everyone in attendance.



While Audrey made herself at home in the kitchen. Soup, anyone?


We napped...

And the girls played

while I folded a metric ton of laundry

Then I got to take it easy on Mother's Day. I couldn't ask for two more amazing girls.

Oh, and Monday? I'm pretending you don't exist. Please feel free to comply with that delusion. I'll be lounging in bed if you need me.

On All Things Controversial

To begin with, the only reason this post has come into existence is that my daughter, the angel baby, is currently sucking on a pacifier in semi-content sleep while I remain awake unable to keep from writing this entry in my mind. (Feel free to pick your jaws up off the floor; I promise I'll try to keep her from becoming the 4 year old with a binky)

Not that I've ever been concerned with the readership this blog garners, but I've found myself afraid of sending posts like this out into the blogsphere. I'm going to be preaching (oh, yes! It's gonna get preachy up in here) about trying to spread tolerance in a very controvercial light. That's right: Let's talk about religion! I would promise I'll try to keep money and politics out of it, but as long as I'm potentially offending people, what have I got to lose?

And that brings me to my main point: Why are Christians so dang offensive? And why am I afraid of being seen as one of the offensive ones? I think it's fair to say that most people who know me are aware that I'm a 'God-fearing' woman. I hope I give credit to the Big Man upstairs enough for people to realize I'm in love with Christ. But it doesn't stop there: I want everyone to know that he's my everything. My relationship with God comes before the relationship I have with my husband and my children and my family--because they are all His children as well. I believe he has control of those relationships; that he brought John and me together and made us one unit because there's no one else in the world I could fit so seamlessly with, that he gave me those two amazing girls to take care of for Him because he knew I could love them more than anyone on the planet and that he gave me my parents and my siblings because he knew no one else could love and influence me in the ways they have.

I feel like I just came out of the closet and I'm thinking I probably just lost quite a few people with those statements. Is it because I used the cliche phrase 'All His children'? Are ya still at least with me Mom? Ok, good.

That's exactly what I'm afraid of; I know I can't get away with using phrases like 'His children' or 'non-believers' without offending people--I know because I used to be one of those people rolling their eyes. Let's start with a little background, shall we?

I grew up 'in the church'; my parents attended, so I attended. As a child I remember vividly latching on to the idea of the ever-loving God and, oh, what blind faith I had. It was beautiful. And then I grew up. And somehow I lost it. It probably got mixed in somewhere with the teenage angst and my concern with my own appearance. I grew up in a beautiful area in Arkansas, but the unfortunate thing about that half of the state is there are a plethora of racist, bigoted, intolerant people. And I know that can be said for pretty much any area of the country, but speaking from the crunchy side of the fence, I see the other side to be my hometown. Don't get me wrong, some of the most loving, caring beautiful human beings I know also hail from Northern Arkansas, I just particularly remember the amount of intolerance and prejudice I encountered; the KKK held a public rally in our town square for pete's sake.

Needless to say, there weren't many non-Caucasian people in my town; instead there were kids flying confederate flags the size of Texas out of their trucks, slinging verbal vomit around to anyone who'd listen. Amazingly, they didn't manage to run everyone off; I had several gay friends in high school whom I loved dearly and had to see them struggle not only with the rightness of their own sexuality, but with the intolerance and persecution of others. This made me question religion. A lot. Because those confederate flag waving folk? Those people judging and persecuting my friends for feelings that felt wrong for them to suppress? The kids going to the Southern Baptist youth group and then getting high, drunk and gettin' jiggy with it on the weekends? They were all adamantly Christians. And I sure did not want to be one of them.

That's not to say I lost my faith over those issues, I was more afraid, having shed the beautiful skin of child-like, blind innocence, that being a Christian meant I had to find fault with others and seek to right it as my service to the Lord. I was confused. Meanwhile, I had a heck of a lot of tolerant, well-meaning, God-lovin' folk around me; they just weren't my peers--they were people like my parents who, at the time, it was un-cool to model myself after. So, I went to college and drifted farther from God.

I definitely won't go into detail, but I made a lot of dumb decisions in college. I also tried to make 'good' decisions by doing things like attending hip college-kid Christian jam sessions and I sat in those coffee houses, listening to Phil on the djembe, slurping my smoothie, thinking I was lost because my connection with the Lord no longer felt tangible. Lost was definitely the word.

Luckily among the poor decisions I made was one to become a German major and to spend a year abroad. All the paperwork was filled out, filed and approved and then a letter came in the mail requesting a signature that would commit me financially to this decision: after I signed that paper, there was no going back. And my heart sank; my stomach felt like it was simultaneously trying to escape via my throat and my butt. I've never been so physically ill over a decision in my life. I stared at that paper for days and tried to purge my body of the feeling that something was so, so wrong.

And then I realized that I didn't HAVE to go. I could risk humiliating myself and just choose not to leave. And that, my friends, is the best decision I've made in my life. If I had gone to Germany I never would have become a Hospitality major, married John, and had those two amazing children. But most importantly, I stopped drifting from Christ and began a series of never-ending steps to try to become closer to him. That sick feeling that wouldn't go away had been a slap in the face telling me to just let him take the dang reins already. And the decision to let him lead my life felt good; my stomach stopped trying to make an exit and instead my heart rejoiced.

So, that's where I come from. Are you still with me? Mom? You're probably the only one who's made it this far...especially considering that whole blip was only the beginning.

That brings us to today: God-loving Jesus freak that I am. And I want everyone to know it. More importantly, I want everyone to experience the love and tolerance and grace that is living your life for Jesus Christ. And you know what Christians call it when they try to get others to see that?

Witnessing.

A word those redneck, intolerant folk made seem dirty and offensive to me.

So when Pastor Keith says I should be witnessing every day, I start to cringe. And it's not just because I'm technically sitting in a church belonging to the Southern Baptist Convention. Until two days ago, I truly believed that witnessing was forcing your religion on someone you saw as a sinful 'non-believer' like the clerks trying to get you to sign up for store credit cards. It only served to push people further from Christ in my mind. So I prayed. And I felt guilty for not witnessing. And then I prayed some more. But God is good. Oh, is he ever good.

I was fortunate enough to extend a general invitation for a Mom's night out that only one other person attended. Most people would see that as a failure. At the time, I did. But God made sure no one else wanted to go, because He wanted to show me what it really meant to witness to someone in the most beautiful sense of the word. At this Mom's night out I met with a woman I would have called a mere acquaintance. She had previously told me that she was, if not a non-believer, then at least confused, and for now she had chosen not to believe in God. That struck me hard. Because she's been through a lot of hardships and struggles that I can't imagine dealing with while feeling like Christ was not at my side. Being a member of MOPS with me (a church-based Mom's group) and being open about her religious disbelief and confusion, she has experienced 'witnessing' in the harshest sense of the word. She felt outcast and set-upon by these well-meaning people and ended up hardening her heart toward the church because of it.

Luckily, for both of us, after all of those lost attempts by people trying to 'fix' her, God sent me just to tell her that I knew where she came from; that our pasts were not identical, but our views were alike; that she had an ally in me not because I pitied her or wanted to save her soul, but because more than anything, God wants us to love and tolerate one another as He has chosen to create us.

For the first time in my life I felt the Lord actively using me--to call this woman to him. And it didn't puff up my ego and make me pat myself on the back like I saw those Christians of my youth doing. Instead, it was the greatest high I've ever been on in my life; I literally had to stop myself from singing and dancing and screaming praises to the Lord. Because I eventually had to go home and it would've woken the kids. But God could hear my bursting heart. And if you haven't already, someday I want you to feel that too.

So, after all that initial frustration and prayer for guidance, the Lord answered my prayers in the coolest way possible; he filled me with his spirit and allowed me to realize how he works through me. But more than the amazing high I felt from speaking with my friend, it made me realize that the most effective way for me to 'witness' to others is simply by living my life for Christ every minute of every day; by doing that, I am daily witnessing to everyone around me that the Lord is my life and my salvation.

Now go get a snack and take a potty break; you deserve it for sticking with me to the end.