Today was packing/cleaning/organizing day. It happens once a year.
Sometimes I think we should do it a bit at a time - but the ONE day method works well around here. Works well, but is VERY tiring! VERY.
We leave on Thursday for Hawaii. Actually, I leave Thursday. Nolan to follow in 9 days, Duncan in 16 days. Our annual house swap. Yes, just like the movie "The Holiday". We trade lives for a summer. That is what the blog was originally about. Stories from our adventure.
Not that the house is super dirty or super cluttered - we just box up some things - move clothes around. Then wash the stuff that doesn't get washed on a regular basis. Like: The duvets on the beds, the shower curtains, the baseboards, the tops of the ceiling fans, and on and on and on......
At the end of "cleaning day" the first summer, the boys said "I'm not sure this is going to be worth it". They had been in Hawaii less than 12 hours when I heard "It was SO worth it".
So today, we cleaned. We organized. We did lots and lots of laundry. The last load is drying now. The repairs have been done around the house. The car still needs a tune up and an oil change. We still have to "un clutter" the kitchen" But today, there was not ONE complaint. Not one gripe. We had music playing. We worked as a team and are almost there. This time we all know, it will be SO worth it.
Aloha!
Saturday, June 15, 2013
Tuesday, June 11, 2013
Wrong Numbers
This isn't my story. I have to share though, because it's good story.
My mom calls on Monday and says "you have to hear this story. It's a YOU story". A friend of hers for YEARS, at least 30 - her daughter is one of "mine" so, well, we've all known each other for a very long time.
The friend receives a text saying "You can have the Professional League Baseball tickets and the parking pass if you want them". It was from a number she didn't recognize. She texts back with the reply "You haven't reached the person you thought you were trying to reach, I just wanted to let you know. " She sends the text. The random phone number replies: "thanks for letting me know".
She then replies, "well, if he doesn't want them, well, I will take them." Smile now.
See, now isn't that 90% of life??? Taking ONE more step. What is the worst thing that could have happened? Random ticket person wouldn't have responded.
Yes, they met at a Starbucks and Random Ticket person gave her the tickets. My mom called from the game to tell me the story. They were sitting on the 25th row behind the dugout.
Take chances in life. There is no such thing as a wrong number.
My mom calls on Monday and says "you have to hear this story. It's a YOU story". A friend of hers for YEARS, at least 30 - her daughter is one of "mine" so, well, we've all known each other for a very long time.
The friend receives a text saying "You can have the Professional League Baseball tickets and the parking pass if you want them". It was from a number she didn't recognize. She texts back with the reply "You haven't reached the person you thought you were trying to reach, I just wanted to let you know. " She sends the text. The random phone number replies: "thanks for letting me know".
She then replies, "well, if he doesn't want them, well, I will take them." Smile now.
See, now isn't that 90% of life??? Taking ONE more step. What is the worst thing that could have happened? Random ticket person wouldn't have responded.
Yes, they met at a Starbucks and Random Ticket person gave her the tickets. My mom called from the game to tell me the story. They were sitting on the 25th row behind the dugout.
Take chances in life. There is no such thing as a wrong number.
Friday, June 7, 2013
I don't remember loving you
A funny thing happened on the way home from New York.
This trip was booked last minute. And guess what? The flights both ways were sold out. So, booking last minute, guess where I got to sit?? Yes, the middle seat. Both there and back. I can't even remember the last time I sat sin a middle seat? At LEAST 15 years. AT LEAST. The nice thing about traveling with kids, is, well, you get your own row. Guess what, I'm not sitting in the middle with my kids. I'm an aisle kind of girl. I have long legs. I do miss the view from the window. There are moments I wish I was in a window seat (now that has happened before), but I'm usually quite content in the aisle seat.
The flight out was uneventful. Couldn't even tell you what the people looked like whom were sitting with me in my row. Take that back, the guy sitting next to me was Middle Eastern - young, and both of us kept falling asleep. You know how when you doze "in and out" your body sometimes "jerks"? That kept happening to both of us. Once, he hit me.
The flight home? The adorable 23 year old girl (born in 1990) sitting by the window proceeded to tell me her life story (imagine that!). Summary: She was adopted, living in a very wealthy part of New York (my knowing where that was - I have friends from there), flying to spend a week with the woman whom gave birth to her. This was her third trip (So, very glad it wasn't her first trip by herself - otherwise, I would be in Wyoming now, being the support she needed). I digress.
The guy to my right? Business guy. Sales guy. Lives in Denver. (And I know where you are all going now, but hang in there...) We start talking. "What do you do?" , I ask him. He goes on and on and I reply "now does your company do all of that or do you outsource the "extra" services? He replies " No, that's us". I say, "Oh, blah blah blah services, as in X company?" "How do you know X company" "I've recruited for them for the last two years." We continue our conversation and knew many common people (only I only know them via phone and e-mail). I did ask if he was someone I might have met. He wasn't. I didn't have the heart to ask if he needed help recruiting people to his team.
In fact, for the last two years, I've HATED recruiting for his company. I don't like them. We broke up.
We have more conversations and it turns out he's a nice guy, been with the company 15 years. I've never even heard his name. He's pretty high up there too. There offices are moving - we were talking NYC real estate. Oh yeah, their headquarters are in NYC.
I knew this once a upon a time. Once upon a time, I would have remembered that, and even though I was there on someone else's dime, I would have gone to see them.
This time, I didn't even remember ever loving them.
This trip was booked last minute. And guess what? The flights both ways were sold out. So, booking last minute, guess where I got to sit?? Yes, the middle seat. Both there and back. I can't even remember the last time I sat sin a middle seat? At LEAST 15 years. AT LEAST. The nice thing about traveling with kids, is, well, you get your own row. Guess what, I'm not sitting in the middle with my kids. I'm an aisle kind of girl. I have long legs. I do miss the view from the window. There are moments I wish I was in a window seat (now that has happened before), but I'm usually quite content in the aisle seat.
The flight out was uneventful. Couldn't even tell you what the people looked like whom were sitting with me in my row. Take that back, the guy sitting next to me was Middle Eastern - young, and both of us kept falling asleep. You know how when you doze "in and out" your body sometimes "jerks"? That kept happening to both of us. Once, he hit me.
The flight home? The adorable 23 year old girl (born in 1990) sitting by the window proceeded to tell me her life story (imagine that!). Summary: She was adopted, living in a very wealthy part of New York (my knowing where that was - I have friends from there), flying to spend a week with the woman whom gave birth to her. This was her third trip (So, very glad it wasn't her first trip by herself - otherwise, I would be in Wyoming now, being the support she needed). I digress.
The guy to my right? Business guy. Sales guy. Lives in Denver. (And I know where you are all going now, but hang in there...) We start talking. "What do you do?" , I ask him. He goes on and on and I reply "now does your company do all of that or do you outsource the "extra" services? He replies " No, that's us". I say, "Oh, blah blah blah services, as in X company?" "How do you know X company" "I've recruited for them for the last two years." We continue our conversation and knew many common people (only I only know them via phone and e-mail). I did ask if he was someone I might have met. He wasn't. I didn't have the heart to ask if he needed help recruiting people to his team.
In fact, for the last two years, I've HATED recruiting for his company. I don't like them. We broke up.
We have more conversations and it turns out he's a nice guy, been with the company 15 years. I've never even heard his name. He's pretty high up there too. There offices are moving - we were talking NYC real estate. Oh yeah, their headquarters are in NYC.
I knew this once a upon a time. Once upon a time, I would have remembered that, and even though I was there on someone else's dime, I would have gone to see them.
This time, I didn't even remember ever loving them.
Thursday, June 6, 2013
Shoes
Shoes are fun. There are the expensive shoes. The Jimmy Choo's, Manolo Blahnik's of the world. Then the cheap shoes. Payless. Target shoes. Everything in between.
Me personally, I like fun shoes. Cute shoes. Comfortable shoes. Shoes that match my outfits. Not my purse. THAT is just too much for me. Always has been. I'm not that girl. For years, I've always been a "seasonal" shoe kind of girl. I've worn boots in the winter, sandals in the summer. You don't wear white shoes before Memorial Day. Every Labor Day, I TRY, to just throw those shoes away. Get rid of the temptation to wear them later or even worse, earlier than Memorial Day.
Confessional: I've been pretty strict on the whole white thing, but well, the other shoes - they tend to cross seasons. As for example, I've been know to show up, with snow on the ground, in flip flops - during the day. At night, those dreaded heels, with open toes - I wear those too. Boots are for the day. Or for other people at night.
I was in New York City yesterday and today. My feet are swollen from all the walking. My toes are perfectly pedicured - only every toe is a different color. I had to buy a pair of flip flops at the bottom of the Empire State Building. They were $9. I thought that was a great deal. They are actually comfortable.
As I walked around the city this morning. Me in my sundress and flip flops. Curly hair - slept on wet, no make up on. Avatar sunglasses on. I felt like a movie star. The girl whom landed amongst all these "real" people". Watching the people chase their dreams.
Could have I been that girl? You know, the one whom walked past me in the designer suit. With the $700 pair of shoes? No. Yes, I could have tried to be her. I would failed miserably. I was never that girl. Thankfully, I never tried. I can see why we would want to try. Isn't that "the dream" "I'm going to make it in New York City" "If you can make it there, you can make it anywhere"
Not only would I have failed miserably. The world would be short two incredible people. My life would be short many incredible people. Yes, I know, I would have met other incredible people. No, I wouldn't have. That wasn't me. This is.
As I the career woman/hockey mom woke up this morning in New York City at 6 am, ready to take on the world. The gypsy girl quietly whispered in her ear "Shhhhhh, soon enough. It's only 4 am in Denver. Go back to sleep. You have plenty of time. And your flip flops are by the door"
Me personally, I like fun shoes. Cute shoes. Comfortable shoes. Shoes that match my outfits. Not my purse. THAT is just too much for me. Always has been. I'm not that girl. For years, I've always been a "seasonal" shoe kind of girl. I've worn boots in the winter, sandals in the summer. You don't wear white shoes before Memorial Day. Every Labor Day, I TRY, to just throw those shoes away. Get rid of the temptation to wear them later or even worse, earlier than Memorial Day.
Confessional: I've been pretty strict on the whole white thing, but well, the other shoes - they tend to cross seasons. As for example, I've been know to show up, with snow on the ground, in flip flops - during the day. At night, those dreaded heels, with open toes - I wear those too. Boots are for the day. Or for other people at night.
I was in New York City yesterday and today. My feet are swollen from all the walking. My toes are perfectly pedicured - only every toe is a different color. I had to buy a pair of flip flops at the bottom of the Empire State Building. They were $9. I thought that was a great deal. They are actually comfortable.
As I walked around the city this morning. Me in my sundress and flip flops. Curly hair - slept on wet, no make up on. Avatar sunglasses on. I felt like a movie star. The girl whom landed amongst all these "real" people". Watching the people chase their dreams.
Could have I been that girl? You know, the one whom walked past me in the designer suit. With the $700 pair of shoes? No. Yes, I could have tried to be her. I would failed miserably. I was never that girl. Thankfully, I never tried. I can see why we would want to try. Isn't that "the dream" "I'm going to make it in New York City" "If you can make it there, you can make it anywhere"
Not only would I have failed miserably. The world would be short two incredible people. My life would be short many incredible people. Yes, I know, I would have met other incredible people. No, I wouldn't have. That wasn't me. This is.
As I the career woman/hockey mom woke up this morning in New York City at 6 am, ready to take on the world. The gypsy girl quietly whispered in her ear "Shhhhhh, soon enough. It's only 4 am in Denver. Go back to sleep. You have plenty of time. And your flip flops are by the door"
Tuesday, June 4, 2013
An IRONMAN would be easier than this
I thought I was exhausted last summer. Every December, I think I'm exhausted again. But, this time I know, truly, I'M EXHAUSTED.
My house is dirty. So is my laundry. Thank goodness, my kids can bathe themselves - or we all know, they would be dirty too. Scratch that, they are dirty. No, not really. They are not smelly, but their rooms are a mess.
My mom and my sister have been in town. Nolan's continuation was on Monday. Friday night was the "end of the year party" down the street. Seven boys spent the night. I went to bed early. I woke up at 1:30 and asked if they wanted pizza. I turned the oven on and poured myself a bottle of wine..... ;-) Oh, I'm sorry, that was a glass of wine. At 4am, it was bedtime. I slept til 8. They slept til 10.
I"M TIRED. I'm also not complaining. Well, yes, I am, but I'm thankful I can complain. I do love the chaos. The craziness. This last year has helped put it all in perspective.
For continuation, this group of kids, actually planned ahead - TP'd the school - and slept on the field in their tents. Quite honestly, it was a proud, sad, happy moment. Wow. What a great group of kids. What a great group of dads whom volunteered to chaperone.
School is over. I have to go to New York tomorrow for A DAY. Seriously? A four hour flight for a two hour meeting??? Who is this girl?
My mom is here. My sister is with my cousin. I have an intern in the office. Boys to dads. Leaving in the morning for New York. I'm TIRED. OF ALL THIS.
Oh Gypsy Girl where are you????? I didn't miss all this. Or maybe, I did. For a moment.
It's all going to be worth it. Right? If you are unsure of what an IRONMAN is - look it up. Because, that would make my life look like a walk in the park. And, I wouldn't trade it for anything.
My house is dirty. So is my laundry. Thank goodness, my kids can bathe themselves - or we all know, they would be dirty too. Scratch that, they are dirty. No, not really. They are not smelly, but their rooms are a mess.
My mom and my sister have been in town. Nolan's continuation was on Monday. Friday night was the "end of the year party" down the street. Seven boys spent the night. I went to bed early. I woke up at 1:30 and asked if they wanted pizza. I turned the oven on and poured myself a bottle of wine..... ;-) Oh, I'm sorry, that was a glass of wine. At 4am, it was bedtime. I slept til 8. They slept til 10.
I"M TIRED. I'm also not complaining. Well, yes, I am, but I'm thankful I can complain. I do love the chaos. The craziness. This last year has helped put it all in perspective.
For continuation, this group of kids, actually planned ahead - TP'd the school - and slept on the field in their tents. Quite honestly, it was a proud, sad, happy moment. Wow. What a great group of kids. What a great group of dads whom volunteered to chaperone.
School is over. I have to go to New York tomorrow for A DAY. Seriously? A four hour flight for a two hour meeting??? Who is this girl?
My mom is here. My sister is with my cousin. I have an intern in the office. Boys to dads. Leaving in the morning for New York. I'm TIRED. OF ALL THIS.
Oh Gypsy Girl where are you????? I didn't miss all this. Or maybe, I did. For a moment.
It's all going to be worth it. Right? If you are unsure of what an IRONMAN is - look it up. Because, that would make my life look like a walk in the park. And, I wouldn't trade it for anything.
Friday, May 31, 2013
Snooze
For the alarm setters of the world, I've determined there are two types of people:
Which type are you?
I'm a recovering snoozer. I was a snoozer once upon a time. I remember my dad had this clock on his bedside table. It was gold, round, battery operated. It had this tiny little button that turned the alarm off. There was no "snooze" option. I SO remember asking him how he didn't fall back asleep. He answered, "you just wake up". This made NO sense to me. No sense at all. For years. I was young when I discovered this (elementary school age).
Yes, I set an alarm for years. I was scheduled. Programmed. Reactive. Reactive to society. Reactive to the way you are supposed to live your life. Alarm goes off, hit the snooze. Sleep another ten minutes. Then get up.
Then the logical Leasa somehow woke up. Literally.
Now? I don't even have a clock in my room, much less an alarm. I'm a recovering alarm clock addict!
For some reason, I just wake up. Granted, we have a corner house. There is a window open year round. I think it's the traffic patterns. Yes, I do set my phone alarm - if I HAVE to be some place. Otherwise, I just seem to get there. On time. Truly though, I'm always laying there in bed when the "phone rings"
Duncan, Carolyn and Joellen are all "snoozers". Really? Just set your alarm for 30 minutes later, then you can enjoy those 30 minutes. No. Oh, no. They love their snooze button. Joellen snoozes for at least an HOUR. Seriously?
I get why we are all friends. Still not sure how Duncan is my son. I get up, get the world running - they need their rest, they then have to spend the rest of the day keeping up with me.
Those whom set an alarm for a certain time, when the alarm goes off, they wake up
Those whom set an alarm for an early time, so they can "snooze" their time away until they wake up.
Which type are you?
I'm a recovering snoozer. I was a snoozer once upon a time. I remember my dad had this clock on his bedside table. It was gold, round, battery operated. It had this tiny little button that turned the alarm off. There was no "snooze" option. I SO remember asking him how he didn't fall back asleep. He answered, "you just wake up". This made NO sense to me. No sense at all. For years. I was young when I discovered this (elementary school age).
Yes, I set an alarm for years. I was scheduled. Programmed. Reactive. Reactive to society. Reactive to the way you are supposed to live your life. Alarm goes off, hit the snooze. Sleep another ten minutes. Then get up.
Then the logical Leasa somehow woke up. Literally.
Now? I don't even have a clock in my room, much less an alarm. I'm a recovering alarm clock addict!
For some reason, I just wake up. Granted, we have a corner house. There is a window open year round. I think it's the traffic patterns. Yes, I do set my phone alarm - if I HAVE to be some place. Otherwise, I just seem to get there. On time. Truly though, I'm always laying there in bed when the "phone rings"
Duncan, Carolyn and Joellen are all "snoozers". Really? Just set your alarm for 30 minutes later, then you can enjoy those 30 minutes. No. Oh, no. They love their snooze button. Joellen snoozes for at least an HOUR. Seriously?
I get why we are all friends. Still not sure how Duncan is my son. I get up, get the world running - they need their rest, they then have to spend the rest of the day keeping up with me.
Tuesday, May 28, 2013
Driving
I don't really like to drive. I live confined within a 6 mile radius. My life is just fine within this radius. I don't understand it when people commute 40 or so minutes to work every day. That's almost two hours in the car - round-trip! LOTS of people commute, every single day.
Just not my thing. I would be the PERFECT person, to live in a little village, owning a scooter and a bike. You know, the kind with a basket on the front (yes, both the scooter and the bike) with fresh flowers and food in the basket.
Road trips. Road trips are good for about 6 hours. I can make it seven or eight. Anything more than that, well, I'd rather fly. I've done all this. Well, if it's over 8 hours, I guess I could ride a bus or a train, but I don't want to drive.
I'm a HORRIBLE parallel Parker. Once upon a time, I owned a Mazda Miata. I could park that thing anywhere. Any place. After that - well, not so much. Side note, I drive one in Hawaii - I can still park that thing. Although, the guy I'm working with? He owns this truck - I'm determined to learn to parallel park it. If I can park that, I can park anything. I've only driven it once.
Which brings me to my oldest son receiving his learners permit on Friday. I've determined it would just be better if I shut-up and shut my eyes. If he's going to wreck, well, he's going to wreck. Actually, he's not going to wreck, he's going to side-swipe a car. I'm just closing my eyes.
Yelling at him - scratch that - I'm not a yeller. Besides it's not going to help. It's just making me nervous. It's making me want more wine.
Granted, he could have received his permit 6 months ago. He finally made up his mind. He completed the online written portion last week. He now has his permit. He hasn't been in a hurry. Everything, so far, I'm fine with. In fact, as much as I'm ready for him to drive himself places, if he's not comfortable, well, I'm not pushing him. I get it. I don't like to drive either. I like my bike.
For now, I just close my eyes. Hold my breath. Drink more wine (outside of the car. Although, I'm thinking a wine bottle in the car would be great!). And hold on. After all, I've always been about the ride. And usually, the ride has nothing to do with driving.
Just not my thing. I would be the PERFECT person, to live in a little village, owning a scooter and a bike. You know, the kind with a basket on the front (yes, both the scooter and the bike) with fresh flowers and food in the basket.
Road trips. Road trips are good for about 6 hours. I can make it seven or eight. Anything more than that, well, I'd rather fly. I've done all this. Well, if it's over 8 hours, I guess I could ride a bus or a train, but I don't want to drive.
I'm a HORRIBLE parallel Parker. Once upon a time, I owned a Mazda Miata. I could park that thing anywhere. Any place. After that - well, not so much. Side note, I drive one in Hawaii - I can still park that thing. Although, the guy I'm working with? He owns this truck - I'm determined to learn to parallel park it. If I can park that, I can park anything. I've only driven it once.
Which brings me to my oldest son receiving his learners permit on Friday. I've determined it would just be better if I shut-up and shut my eyes. If he's going to wreck, well, he's going to wreck. Actually, he's not going to wreck, he's going to side-swipe a car. I'm just closing my eyes.
Yelling at him - scratch that - I'm not a yeller. Besides it's not going to help. It's just making me nervous. It's making me want more wine.
Granted, he could have received his permit 6 months ago. He finally made up his mind. He completed the online written portion last week. He now has his permit. He hasn't been in a hurry. Everything, so far, I'm fine with. In fact, as much as I'm ready for him to drive himself places, if he's not comfortable, well, I'm not pushing him. I get it. I don't like to drive either. I like my bike.
For now, I just close my eyes. Hold my breath. Drink more wine (outside of the car. Although, I'm thinking a wine bottle in the car would be great!). And hold on. After all, I've always been about the ride. And usually, the ride has nothing to do with driving.
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