ROLL WITH THE CHANGES

I am not always accepting of change. When I create it on purpose, it's fine. But I instantly freeze up into shock mode when it jumps up, slaps me in the face, and hollers, “HERE I AM!!”
Maybe I'm busy doing something else. Maybe I'm enjoying being where I am. Maybe I don't want to adjust myself to the new.

I feel 12 years old a lot of the time. I won't lie. When I was a kid I thought that I'd be grown up when I grew up. Sometimes, I am. But, most of the time, I am 12 in a 35 year old body. I throw fits, I cry, and I fight with the inevitable.

I remember when I got the “one day you'll be a woman” talk. I listened politely, while playing with my shoe lace and looking anywhere but in the eyes of the speaker of doom. I said what I was supposed to say...sort of...and skipped along my merry little way, back out to the dirt pile I was playing in. And there alone, making roads and dams out of rocks and sticks, I decided firmly and resolutely that all of that “woman” stuff would NOT happen to me. It sounded like a complete and utter nuisance and hassle. I would be the miracle exception and just not have to deal with anything that made my life that complicated. I still had visions of beating the boys in football at recess and winning every race in P.E. And I did, and I would...until about 5^th grade.

All of a sudden it wasn't acceptable to wrestle the boys during gym class. I remember, vividly, ripping off my earrings, handing them to my teacher, tucking in my shirt, and running over to tackle the nearest “enemy.” I was strong. I also had beginner boobs. I had been trying to ignore them, but other people seemed to keep reminding me. I was overly embarrassed when the teacher called me back to put my earrings in and have another talk about this blasted, “acting like a lady” thing. Adults frustrated my world. 

I cried when it all changed and I had to “grow up.” I really thought that somehow I would be able to skip all of it. Jr. High was the worst and best time of my life. Mostly the worst. Boys that liked me were mean to me. Girls that didn't like me were nice to me...at least to my face. And, the hellish hormones, that make me the woman I am today, took over my life like some parasite eating up all of the good stuff. I was half girl and half lady. I didn't know what to do with what I was given. So I tried to hide it away and pretend that maybe it would all get easier eventually. And it did. I got used to being me. In fact, after realizing that everyone was at the same level of “uncomfortable,” I learned to laugh about the changes.

Now, at 35, when the news of the 4^th baby dawns on me like the breaking of day, and there is no way to slow it down and say, “Well, maybe we'll do that later,” I react about the same way I always have. It's called shock. It's called fear. It's called elation. It's called “Motherhood.” I wasn't a natural right away. This profession kind of had to ease it's way upon my just like everything else. But, none of it would I change. And, my 12 year old self can just buck up, because, for all of the uncomfortable changes that I must go through to make a new Hollon, it is MORE than worth it in the end.

But the reality is hard on a parent. I KNOW that I have to give completely of myself to create this new life. It's all about me and not about me at all. To get we have to give. To create we have to become.

It wasn't as scary the first time I got pregnant. I had no idea what I was in for. The second time I would wake up in the middle of the night and shudder to myself thinking of contractions and labor and wondering how I would get through it. Then I would talk myself down from the proverbial ledge and remind myself that I was strong and that I could make it through anything. When you grow up, you have to be your own Mommy. I also had a trick. I would think of the weakest women I knew and say, "If they can do it, so can I” (I know that's mean but misery loves company of the lesser strength.)

Now I wake up in the middle of the night with insomnia that comes with my body preparing for long nights ahead where I will nurse and mutter, “Shush, shush...you're okay...Mama's gotcha.” It's old hat now. It's not taken for granted, by any means, but it's comfortable and understood. It's also even more of a miracle because I see what becomes after ten years of growth and love, change and tears.

We only get today once. We always only have today. That's it. So if I need to laugh or cry or stomp or dance, I'll do it. Because, that's me today. That's the change having it's way with me. To become a butterfly one must sit still and wait. Waiting doesn't come naturally, it must be practiced. We are always hurrying into the next step. But, when we wait patiently for the change to occur and put ourselves fully into the journey...we get off of our caterpillar bellies and we FLY!!

Life is utterly miraculous. I'm glad I can't stop the changes. I'm glad I don't always get to choose what comes next. Because, at the end of the day, lying in bed and looking at the beautiful faces of my perfect girls and my gorgeous husband, makes me feel like I am right where I am supposed to be.

Besides.....all of this Mommy stuff, by far, surpasses the fun of wresting 5^th grade boys!

MOMMY'S ADVENTURE

Flying in an airplane is normal these days. People talk about it like it's an everyday thing, and it is for a lot of them. But it is not for me. I am generally phobic about the entire procedure. Am I the only one that sits in the little seat, that is far too close to the person next to me, and wishes I was not about to shoot up into the air 55,000 miles above the gravitational pull of the earth? Am I the only one that is sitting rigidly, breathing rapidly, and writing a will in my mind, while the pilot calmly drones, “We have a storm forming above Minneapolis, ladies and gentlemen, so we will have some light to medium turbulence.” I think I would rather give birth, than get on a plane.

I had to retrain my mind when I flew to Alaska last week. Because what was waiting for me up there was a sister I hadn't seen in two years, who owns a beautiful restaurant and health food store, and who lives on the ocean where the sunsets are phenomenal and the silence is Divine. And I have a brother who looks like me and he has a baby that won't be a baby for long, that I hadn't gotten to meet yet. I had put off this trip for too long. So when some family bought me the ticket, who was I to say no?
I told myself, “Shoshannah, it is like driving or boating. Air is just like earth and water. It's safe. If it isn't then why do the stewardesses look so happy?”

So, in my life it just so happens that either nothing will be going on, or it will all be going on at the same time. And it was all happening in the land of Hollon. We were changing lifestyles, locations, and Mommy was leaving the tribe, all at once. When the morning came for me to leave I was a mess. I hugged my big girls and told them that I would see them in a week. Being 9 and 7, they are very understanding about the time frame and the reasoning. But being an almost 3 year old, my little one didn't know exactly what was going on. I hugged her and said, “I love you, Tenesee, Mommy's gotta go bye-bye.” She looked at me and told me that she wanted to go too. “No honey, Mama's got to go by herself, but I'll be right back.” (Yes, we all use this phrase even if it's not technically true.)

“But, Mom,” she tilted her head and chirped up at me with her big brown eyes, “I don't want to lose you.” My heart just melted and my knees got weak. I felt like crying, but I didn't. Instead I told her that of course she wouldn't lose me and that I'd be “right back” to see her. I mumbled a bunch of stuff and then jumped in my truck to drive to the airport in Bismarck.

I sped down the road and couldn't get rid of the lump in my chest. I tried to dance and sing it away, but it remained lodged there, stuck like dry bread. I changed the radio station and Tom Petty sang “Free Fallin” and I let out the tears. There is nothing quite as relieving as a well deserved cry. Now I know why kids do it all of the time. It gets the emotions out of the way and deals with issues you never even knew you had. From that point on I let it all go. They would be fine, I would be fine, Daddy would be fine and this was my adventure!

The first thing I learned at the airport was: Don't ever wear Carhartt overalls! I thought I would wear them because they are like a security blanket to me. If I were to crash into a mountain, I would want to go down in Carhartts! So I went through the metal detector, which makes me feel like an evil criminal anyway, and the buzzer went off! Everyone looked over at me. I turned red and smiled at the gal with the magic metal detector wand thing. She flicked a smile at me, and then said, “Please step over here, ma'am.” I did. She pointed to some foot print outlines painted on the floor, “Please stand right here...oh, unless you would like to do this in private.” She snapped on a latex glove. That's when I wished I had on jeans without brass buckles. Oh well. No one said it would be easy. (And, no, she really didn't need the gloves!)

So I chose to stand there in front of everyone, so I had witnesses to the little frisking action that was happening near gate D3, and take it like a real woman. It all worked out. No cuffs, just a, “Thank you, Ma'am.” For what? For not hiding something in my Carhartts? For not freaking out when you got personal? No problem.

By the time it happened at the next airport, I was ready. I held my arms out and said, "Go for it. I'm just going to think of this like a little massage." She just stared at me and then started to laugh. Thank God for airport bars with happy hour!

I got in late to Anchorage. My sissy and I hugged and jumped around like teenagers. I told her all about the funny things that the girls were saying and how my 9 yr old loves to play spy and take pictures of the neighbors. She told me about our plans for the week, the restaurant, and caught me up good on old town gossip. We slept well after catching an episode of the Dukes of Hazard.

I fell in love all over again with the ocean. I remember my school years walking around the small dirt roads of Seldovia and listening to my walkman and mooning over some teenage boy, or another. I remember watching those sunsets go down and the bitter sweet feeling of wanting it all to last forever. I instantly felt 17 again.....in a good way.

To step away from mommy hood and jump back into the world as Shoshannah, was like shedding my skin. It hurt and it felt so great, all at the same time. Life has a way of preparing you for these situations before you even know what you need. And then, BAM, it happens.

I was fine until the first anxiety attack. It's all good to have tons of time to myself and no questions being asked and no butt to wipe besides my own, but when that's what my profession has been for 10 years, it's frankly hard not to be needed. My hands took to looking for a little hand to hold and I had to busy them with artsy things. I drew some signs for my sissy's restaurant and I took a lot of pictures and I ate the best food in all of Alaska.

We saw a bear. We boated across the bay and watched sea otters. We drove to our brother's house and caught the sweetest smiles from my little nephew. I was ready to kiss baby cheeks, by the time we got there. But at every turn I kept thinking, "Wow, the girls would really love these sea shells and they would be picking these fat blueberries like crazy!"

If life has taught me anything, it is to be here now. It is to relish all of the sweetness I can out of each and every experience. It's to slow down and love each moment, because there really is no tomorrow. The little faces of my children, the way my husband looks at me, the sun going down on the river, and the hot days of September hanging on before the fall slowly creeps in and settles over the mountains frosting the Elderberries.

I got back home after so many little adventures, it would take a book to tell. I pulled up to our little camp on the River and those girls attacked me. We all kissed, hugged, kissed again and everybody was talking at once. I showed them my pictures of Alaska and told them all of my funny stories. They showed me bee stings and rocks they had painted for me. They told me about getting wood in the mountains with Daddy and swimming in the Salmon River. We laughed and cuddled and I watched how grown up they all were and I took pictures in my mind and marked them down as EPIC! I do believe the big girls will always remember the time when Mommy went away to Auntie's for a week. And I think Daddy will, too!

MONEY MAKES THE WASHER GO 'ROUND

The laundry money I'm using today has a story behind it. Everything does. I wish I could trace it back to its origin, follow all of the hands it's gone through, and see what has been made and created with it. See who held it in need, used it to make their dreams reality, and what great shoes were purchased with it. I would be amazed at the intricate loom that weaves us all together.
You cannot tell what a person is like by looking at them. I like to think I can, and I try because it's amusing. It keeps me entertained while killing time, stuck waiting on the tires to be aligned or the taxes to get done. In moments like these I do my best work, much to my husband's amusement.
"She's with him for the money." I say as a couple walks by. He looks double her age and she's checking out the construction worker across the road as her man adjusts his toupee, flashing his $1,000 watch in the sunshine.
"You don't know that." My husband replies, barely looking up from the Classified Adds. "Maybe it's his daughter."
"Nope. The body language is all wrong. Hup! I can see the huge rock on her finger from here. Yeah, she's a gold digger." I reply confidently.
I know it's mean. It's even downright a waste of time, but I love a good story, even if I have to make it up. I like to speculate. I am so in trouble on Judgement day....when I get judged for judging.
Well, the other day I went to Williston North Dakota, to do some shopping. I don't like driving up there, because it's boring. The only trees on the prairie, are the ones that people planted there. It's truck, fields, construction, and oil rigs. So I'd already made up some stories about the guy at the gas station. He was about 100, and he had tattoos all over his body. This guy probably invented the tattoo. He had them before they were cool. He was driving an old rusty truck and I'll bet his real stories would have blown my made up ones clean across the prairie.
We pulled into the parking lot of the "Economart" and my heart began to pound with anticipation. Every lady that I'd met in the last two months, had told me that this place was the best place around to shop. Especially for produce. Apparently Walmart Superstore had nothin' on Economart. (I saw the "Econo-Liquor" sign hanging near the far end of the building. Wow, these people could use some help in the catchy-name-department.
I was like a kid with a brand new pogo stick! I jumped out of the truck, grabbed little sticky kid hands, and streaked towards the entrance, Nascar style. I looked at my beautiful little 2 year old, that had just woken up from a nap and was still trying to put together muddled sentences.
“Oh my gosh, Tenesee!” Her hair was sweaty and matted in all of the wrong directions and her face was covered in strawberry juice! She'd fallen asleep after eating half of the package. She looked like a vampire, that needed a shower. For once, I had no brush, and NO wet wipes. I tried to run my fingers through her hair. No use. Now she looked like Ace Ventura, in a bad way.

We hit the produce section first. It's my favorite part. You can tell everything about a store, by it's fruits and veggies. It's like the business card. Disappointment quickly set in. UGH! $2.99/lb for nectarines?? They were .89 cents/lb in Montana. Head lettuce for $3.50!? Where's the Romaine? Are these women from the same produce planet as me? This is lame. Yes, the quality was there, but the prices were for the company men, not the roughnecks.

This is where I will interject a small disclaimer for the Bakken Oil Reserve. There is a nation wide assumption that we are all rolling in the dough over here. Yes, it's true that they pay well, but the retailers also know this. Housing is astronomical. Try $1,500 to $4,000 a month! The grocery stores know it, too. Food is so cheap in Idaho! I take this for granted while I'm there. Go to the store, right now, and buy a loaf of 7-grain bread for $1,69...because you can, people! It's $3.29 here...on sale! When I get home, I'm headed straight to the store, and I'm going to roll around on the floor, and purr.

I was standing in the fruit section, thinking about all of this, and sniffing an apple that was probably worth $2, when an older gentleman caught my eye. He had poofy, shoulder length white hair and was grinning like Buddha. He crossed over to my cart, passed over the invisible line of personal space, and put his hand on mine.

“I like to help people.” He said. His hand was cool to the touch and was still resting on mine, which was now gripping my cart handle in Mama bear fashion. I subconsciously moved my little cubs behind me and slipped my hand out from under his.

“Do ya?” I replied, wondering what was going through his mind. Was he a creeper or a scammer? I was ready for anything....I thought.

“Yes, I do.” He grinned at Tenesee. “Especially people with little kids. Okay buddy, where are you going with this? I readied my self to make an aloof comment and skedaddle down the aisle. He held out his hand toward me again. There were some $20 bills folded neatly in it. “Here you go,” he said.

“Oh, no! I a can't take that! No, you keep it.” I looked at his eyes and saw a warmth there, that I had missed the first time. I looked at the money. Of course I could use it. Who didn't need more grocery cash? Especially those of us that refuse to live off of Ramen noodles and Kool-aide just because they are cheap.

“No, please, take it. This is what I do. I like to give. Please! It's my blessing.” He pressed it into my hand and looked at the kids and smiled.

“Thank you, so much! That's awesome.” I took the money and thanked him again. Well, what could it hurt? I hadn't met him on Craigslist and he wasn't asking for my bank account number. This was just a nice deed and obviously I should take my 2 yr old to the store more often, looking like a wayward orphan.

He walked away, and I half expected him to disappear. Angels have poofy white hair, you know...and apparently very cool hands. I didn't stop thinking about it all day. I am still thinking about it. It is so easy for us to step across the “that's-so-wierd” barrier and do something nice. Just to do it.

CNN should take a week, or even one day, off of reporting all of the filth and nastiness of mankind, and do some stories on the wonderful and the good! I don't want to know about the evil choices that people make because of a series of bad decisions and events that have taken place in their lives. Rape, murder, and violence should not be the news that is spread around the world at mock speed. I don't watch the news. I skip the headlines on AOL that start out with, “Woman convicted of killing her children.” I will not and absolutely refuse to have it in my mind. It does not exist in my world.

“Well, Shoshannah, it happens. You can't ignore it. It's reality.”

It's not my reality. Imagine what it would be like if the news was all about miraculous wonderful acts of kindness and generosity? What would we be spreading then? Instead of going to work and saying, “Oh, man, did you hear about that wacko in Waco?” We'd be saying, “Hey, did you see that thing on the news about the poofy haired angel guy?”

My mantra for the week is: Love creates more love. The good is ever abundant. What I focus on becomes an intricate part of my make up. I want a good foundation to build on. I don't want rot and decay. There are so many great stories and information to pass around.

From now on, my stories that I make up are going to be about good things. That gold digger lady wasn't a gold digger at all. Her car probably broke down on the way to the nursing home to visit her Mother. The guy she was with picked her up because she was walking in heels and needed a ride. He was looking at his watch because he was late for work. Then he gave her his triple A card, as he dropped her off at the dealership, to get her car worked on. What a nice guy.

There are many ways to "fight" against the negative things in this world. If you want to start a campaign against something, then that is fine. It takes perseverance to make radical change. It takes changing laws and advocating the good to bring about better living conditions. But, I personally think it is very ironic, when I hear about a man that hated abortion so much that he shot the abortion doctor.! Isn't that a bit of an oxymoron? To murder so that no more deaths occur? If you don't like something, don't be part of it. Spend time doing and supporting things that you believe in, not hating people for doing the things that you don't.Maybe that guy should have spent a little more time loving the miracle of birth, creating a family, and raising some beautiful children of his own to make good choices and to enjoy LIFE!

We can curse and scream at the darkness. We can beg, plead, rebuke and pray. "Why is it so dark in here!?" But until we turn on a light...it will never go away. It's simple. It's beautiful. And, wherever you are, produce-section-20$-bill-angel-guy....thanks a lot for the blessing. You just made my laundry day, a whole lot brighter!

I NEEDED THAT!

I live in a camper. My camper is not in my sweet home town canyon, of Riggins Idaho, right now. It is in North Dakota. North Dakota is not "home," but it is, because that's where my house is parked. So, last week, when we went back to the Salmon River, we technically took a vacation from our vacation. Whew!
We have been in the Bakkan Oil Fields for two months now.I will always be able to come back here and recognize and remember. I will send Christmas cards to the sweet old couple we had Sunday bbq with. I will Facebook that shy Mama that chased her two year old around the park with me and is due to have a baby in another month. I will be able to see his pictures, and notice how he looks like his brother.
That being said, North Dakota is NO Salmon River Canyon! So last week, at the end of his "hitch," when Travis came home at 7AM off of night shift and announced that we were leaving to Riggins in 45 minutes, we were ecstatic! I have never had a camping cooler that looked that weird. I took, like, 3 lbs of cheese, half a jar of spaghetti sauce (?), kalamata olives, pepperoni, bacon, lettuce, tomatoes, and carrots. I didn't even pack a pan to cook in. I knew in my heart that I would boycott that job as soon as we hit the road. "Here's some almonds! Eat an orange!" I was throwing PBJ at those kids like it was my job...and it was. As Travis always says, "Anything we forget, we can live without!" He's right.
So we drove for 16 hours. The longest break was probably 30 minutes. With three little girls, that is a new record. And, man, do they travel well. (I wonder why!?) We rolled into the canyon at midnight. The breeze was cool and sweet. My skin was so relieved to be away from that muggy, oppressive, sticky Midwest heat.
We hit the beach the next day and didn't leave until Hot Summer Nights, on Friday. I love Short's Bar. It's the closest beach to town and anybody who is anybody goes there. I went through a time where I didn't appreciate it. In between high school and kids, we avoided it like the plague. We went to twin beaches, 15 miles up, or didn't go at all. But, the ease of access and all of the little kids and dogs and yelling and...well, it's just perfect now.
The first morning that I woke up on that beautiful River, I just raised my arms above my head and said, "I'm home!" There is nothing like a sunny morning on the Salmon. (It will forever make me feel like I am 18 and that will be very valuable in the next...oh, 40 years.) Everyone was still passed out in the tent and I stumbled around cleaning up the explosion of the night before. Slowly, the kids made it out of the tent one by one. I dug around in a sand and dog hair covered bag, dragging out cereal and spoons, wiping faces and digging out sweatshirts and flip flops from the depths of the truck. We layed on the beach for three days!
The night in the park came right on time. The beach would've eaten us alive in one more hour. The cooler had been emptied and the sunscreen was wearing thin. Time to hit the town! Hair brush and wet wipes. When I walked into the middle of all of my friends and family and acquaintances, it was like loving arms and a sugared up toddler all rolled into one. I can never spend long enough visiting with one person, in that kind of crowd, without having to run off and hug another one! You know the feeling. I always leave going, "Where did he say he was working? How old did she say her son is now?" It's chaotic and that's why I love it.
We watched the talent show and ate park food and took turns running the baby to the bathroom, constantly asking one another, "Where's Charlee?" She'd bounce in and bounce back out. (I don't know where she gets it!)
The morning after the park shindig, we loaded up all the gear, AGAIN, and headed to the Meridian Speedway with the other Hollons, to watch little brother/cousin in the stock car races! Now, I have never been to the races before. I know. Embarrassing, isn't it? Well, I have to be honest, I'm not naturally drawn to the sound of loud engines and the smell of methanol in the morning. I am not an adrenaline junkie. And still, I must say, EVERYBODY, ought go to the races at least once in their lives. Stepping out of my comfort zone into a world of tattoos and buckets of beer, large amounts of screaming people, fast cars, laughter and smiles...it was quite exhilarating!

It's much more fun if you know the darling dude in the yellow car though. Brother Cade did SO good! They all just kept saying, "He's a natural, that number 18!" And he is. He won his heat and placed 5th in the finals, out of 30! It was only his third race. They start the fastest cars in the back. I am the only one that didn't know that.
We camped out right in the back of the parking lot on a little patch of grass. Technically, the grass was part of a neighboring school's back yard, but we figured no body would mind. Our karma was rewarded at midnight when the sprinklers came on! And, then when they came on again. Thank God for a big tarp and a smart husband. Instead of putting the tarp on the tent, like I would've done, Travis threw it on the sprinkler head! Brilliant. We were dry as a bone.
The plan on Sunday morning unfolded itself like a new flower. Instead of busting through on the freeway until we all begged for a rest stop at the wee hours of the next morning, why be in a hurry? Travis looked over the map and planned us a route through the western side of Yellowstone National Park.

I hadn't ever been there. What a cool place! But, there were no campgrounds available, duh, and Kenny Walters has bigger elk than that! So, we took some photos and did the fast forward version of the tour, promising ourselves that we would come back on the way home and next time make reservations. And, we will.
We fell asleep that night in a campground out of Gardner MT, after roasting, yet another cheddarwurst on a 7$ fire. Life is good. The ground was taking it's toll on my 34 year old hips that night. No giving sand, no foam mattress, and bumps in all the wrong places. But we all slept and were glad that we hadn't been renegades on the side of the road where all of the little signs show tents with red slashes through them. Been there, done that.
"Sorry, officer, but we got tired, and I don't care about your sign right now. You hold the baby and tell her she has no bed, if you are that hard core. Yeah, I didn't think so. We'll be gone in the morning and I promise we won't leave any toilet paper in the bushes. Big rocks and little shovels, brother, I know the routine."
The next morning's breakfast was Rainier cherries, yogurt, and PBJ for the kids. Starbucks in a bottle for us. The girls played "jump on the stump," while Dad and Mom cleaned and packed and repacked and cleaned again. Wet wipes were handed out along with hand sanitizer and we hit the road. By now we were on the countdown to the work week. This was our Sunday. We had planned on being home by now, but what fun is it if you don't push it to the last minute?
I told Travis that the only thing we hadn't done was watch the last Harry Potter movie. The girls and I read the entire seven book series in four months! J.K. Rowling is the best author I have ever read. I was not a Harry Potter geek before reading the books, and the movies aren't half as good. But, none the less, the last movie had come out in theatres only two weeks after we finished the series, and on Charlee Beth's full moon birthday, no less. It was a sign. I figured I would take the girls on our next week off. Again, our trip unfolded itself.
We got to Sydney, MT and needed a break. The baby was muttering something about missing her home in "Norse Datota" and the big girls were slapping each other across her car seat, giggling like loony bin residents. It was time to get out of the truck. We stopped at a laundry mat to check and see if they had "greasers." Now if you have worked in the Oil Field, you will know that this means, washing machines in which you are allowed to wash your nasty oily coveralls and gloves, also referred to as "greasers." They did and we did. But before we unloaded the crazy kids from the backseat, I spotted a theatre. And guess what was playing? Harry Potter, Deathly Hallows, Part two!
The show started at 7:30 and we figured, what better way to end the trip than stretching it out another couple of hours. We had 45 minutes to kill. So the big kids ran around chasing each other and climbing a fence. I lifted the 2 yr old into the bed of the pick up with me, where I was rooting around in the cooler for an ice cold beverage, and she pulled out the camp dishes. She played tea set while I fitted my drink in my coolie. I wish I had a camera that took pictures by itself.
When it was time for the movie, the big girls and I tore off down the street like uncaged animals laughing and running and telling jokes. New, big city theatres have nothing on the old ones that should be torn down and condemned. This place smelled strongly of dog fur, 70's carpet, and stale popcorn. But, the kids didn't mind. They each had their "own" money for candy.
We loaded up on the goods and made it just in time to sit there and wonder if we should go find the bathroom again, or if we should go back and get more candy.
The show was big and loud and we didn't get scared of the bad guy because we had already read the ending. We knew just what was going to happen when it did. When it was over we took another trip to their bathroom, that I hope I never have to use again, and met Daddy and a sleepy 2 yr old, parked out in the street. Night had fallen by now and the "time to get home" feeling had set in.
We were camper bound at mock speed. The lights of Arnegard looked rather sweet. We got the baby tucked into her bed, that she was, by now, fussing and fuming for. The truck was unloaded in a heap in the back room and I made a lunch for the working man. The "weekend" was officially ended. It was midnight by the time I hit my pillow.
I breathed a sigh of contentment. There was no way, humanly possible, that we could have shoved more into that vacation and I relished every minute of it.
I loved seeing old, familiar faces and looking at Grandma's garden. I loved drinking cold ones and stepping on hot sand and taking the 2 yr old to the outhouses, as she wrinkled her little nose and said, "Mama, what's that smell?" I loved seeing the biggest tie dye I've ever made, hanging behind all of my friends that stood on the Hot Summer Nights stage in front of it, singing their ruddy hearts out. I loved limping around with my friend, that also wounded herself, in our midnight staggers to the water while we cackled and tried not to wake up the sleeping kids, so they wouldn't know what fun they were missing. I love seeing my hard working husband sit in his camp chair, with his Margarita in his hand, and a smile on his beautiful vacationing face, that he didn't have to shave for a whole week. I loved the sound of those race cars and watching the little boy, that has become a man, flying around the track. I loved hugging my mama and my best friend while we hooked up the battery that I killed, while forcing Bob Marley to sing "Stir It Up" just one more time, despite my husband's warnings.

I will survive on these memories of our vacation from our vacation. I will feed off of them while we watch the North Dakota summer turn into a dewy fall. And I will be home soon. Because, going away always makes coming home that much sweeter. And as my middlest daughter said to my littlest and oldest, as they muttered longings for their beds at home, while stuffed into sandy sleeping bags with chips and smores on their breath, "We are home, you guys!" She's right. Wherever we are all laying down at night, together, snuggled between all of our giggles and love....THAT IS HOME!

Quit doggin' me, man!

It's kind of ironic that it's the "Dog Days" issue of our dear local paper, The Current, because here I sit at the playground in Arnegard, North Dakota, in trouble with my outlaw dog, Laddy, again.

Laddy is like a hairy stinky family member. He eats just as much as the kids and needs just as much exercise, or maybe more. We take him everywhere we go, without really thinking about it. He just does what we do.....except sleep inside on a pillow.

I was told already once, by the grounds keeper of the playground, that dogs are off limits. He was really nice about it, but for obvious (poopy) reasons, dogs need to stay home. But, for some reason, I always forget that when we leave the camper and head out on our neighborhood walks. Maybe it's because he was faithfully sitting beside us all afternoon waiting for a break, too. Maybe it's because I forget he's even there. But, really and truly, I don't mean to break the rules.

If only the lawn mowing sprinkler guy knew that Laddy had already deposited his prize in that vacant lot on main street, while we purposely looked the other way, maybe he wouldn't be giving me that look out of the corner of his eye, that I am trying to ignore.

It's a good thing it's cloudy and breezy because here Laddy lays, next to my park bench, panting with his lolling drooling huge tongue, covered in mass amounts of Border Collie hair. He looks like a cross between a sheep and a lion. He smells like a cross between a pig and goat. (Oh, I so miss the bathing rituals at the Salmon River: Throw the stick. Fetch the stick. Drop the stick. Quick, Grab him! Soap him up with Bronner's Peppermint soap. Throw the stick. Fetch the stick. Lather, rinse, repeat.)

I am grounded to this park bench in an effort to make Lad blend into the bushes and become less obvious. But, it's a great excuse for a lazy summer Mama to write in her journal and make the big sisters push the 2 year old in the swing.

I gave little Tenesee an "underdog" the first time we came to this playground, two months ago. That was all it took. She's an adrenaline junky, for sure. But, somewhere between afternoon outings, she forgot the proper term and is now sitting in the swing demanding, in her high pitched voice, "GIVE ME A PUSHY DOG!!"

I'm assuming that this alone will scare the playground nazi man away so that I can let Laddy loose, to run a muck between picnic tables and sniff the scent left behind from all of the other rogue dogs in the neighborhood. (You KNOW they all come here to pee.)

In an effort to change the subject, I must say, I have never known what "Dog Days" really meant. I figured it was just the hot time where we all wanted to lay around our yards like our pets do. I'm not totally wrong, as it does refer to the hottest days of the year. But it also means the Dog Star, Sirius, is rising. I don't know much about stars and I don't know the actual dates, and yes, I Googled this information. And, when I read up on something that I'm not 100% interested in, only the most shocking highlights stick with me as I scan the page. I'm sure that in this same issue you will receive the informational side of this historical summer season and all of it's dogma, so I will stick to my opinion. It's what I do best. No one can prove my opinion wrong, because it's mine.

Here it is: Did you know that the Romans actually SACRIFICED a brown dog at the beginning of the season of the Sirius star? Gross. What was with all the sacrifice, anyway? How does killing something really stop evil? Kind of an oxymoron. Now if the dog walked up and barked out his desire to sacrifice his hairy life for the greater good of society, I suppose it would be noble. But to demand a life. That's just weird. No wonder Rome fell. They were mean to their pets.

I've decided that in North Dakota this season should be called the "Raining like Cats and Dog Days." The other night, when the tornado warning was issued and my camper got pounded with buckets of rain, wind, and heavenly chaos, Laddy was probably wishing that Dog Days meant that I would let him inside. He was praying that it meant he could come and lay in my bed with me, and the three girls that jumped in at the first crack of monstrous thunder and flash of mad lightning, while we sang, "Raindrops on roses, and whiskers on kittens, bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens..." Hey, he's just lucky I'm not a Roman and he's black and white, instead of brown. Life is good, and he has no idea!

Well, finally! The lawn man is getting into his truck to leave. With one last glance at me and my fugitive animal, he is pulling away, knowing that I am about to break the law. What he won't see won't hurt him.

"Okay, Laddy, you good boy, get ahead! Go chase the girls and please don't pee on anything. Find a puddle to lay in, go on! I won't tell on you."

I think his new middle name will be Sirius. It's a good name. And, no worries. No animals were harmed in the making of this article. Rest easy. As for me, I'm going to go lay in the grass and enjoy the muggy weather, while I swat skeeters. I love summer!

Count Dracula

I'm a counter. I like to count things. When I make lasagna, I count the noodles, because the batches must be even. When I make bacon, I count the strips, so it'll all work out perfect in the end.

I also count time. Major time counter, here. How long it's been since the two year old went potty. The hours until Travis gets home. The days left on this week's hitch. The hours until the post office closes. The hours until I have to get up. The minutes until my exercise is over. (Not that I don't love it!) I count the days until birthdays and holidays. And I really counted days when I was pregnant. This was especially important at the beginning, middle, and end of the term. Yeah, pretty much the whole time! There is always something to count. "Oh, the baby is supposed to grow it's fingernails this week!.....Aw, another 10 days and little Jr. will be able to hear us! How cute is that?!"

I spend a lot of time counting money. Bills are so fun that way. So are groceries, gas, and outings.
I really don't know why I'm so addicted to all of this counting, because I tend to exaggerate it all in the end anyway.

"You girls have eaten, like, a hundred of those oranges! Leave some for my juice in the morning!" Of course they haven't eaten a hundred. But they get my point.

I especially like the counting game for past offenses from a spouse. Travis does not think this is nearly as effective as I do. I use it because it would work on me.

"No, I do not feel bad for saying what I said, because three months and four days ago, you told me the same thing! I remember because I thought to myself, when you said it, that I was going to remember it, so that you would know how it feels, when I said it to you!" This really doesn't work at all, because I'm not in court. There is no Judge Judy. I'm in my camper, flinging my hands around, and arching my eyebrows, and marching to and fro in my little kitchen. My sweet husband just looks at me like, "I can't believe you wrote that down on your mind calender! Let it go, dude!"

Counting keeps me sane. It's a great mind exercise and keeps the girls sharp on their math, all year around. I should apply it to geographical situations, however, and it would help me out in certain circumstances...like the other day when I drove to Williston.

Every time we left the camper, the first week we were in North Dakota, Travis would ask me, "Without looking at the map, which direction are we going?" I chuckled half heartedly, with a shrug of my shoulders...duh, this is so easy!

"East...we're headed East." I'd sip my Americano with confidence, and glance at him out the side of my sunglasses. I have been right every time. He always looked shocked. (I secretly studied the map when he wasn't looking!)

But, when I am in charge of the driving, that's when things turn themselves around. I have ridden to Williston at least 20 times (probably exaggerating again), but I'm always the co-pilot. My job is water bottle patrol, fighting over the stereo, looking for wildlife, potty breaks, and keeping the shouting in the backseat to a minimum.

So, when it came my turn to drive to Williston, I turned left instead of right. (Which would be East instead of West.) I realized I had headed 14 miles in the wrong direction, when I heard my sweet 9 year old, from the backseat, "Mom, this is Watford City. You have to turn right to go to the big city."

Oh, yeah. I knew that!

I finally made it to town and we had a jolly time doing laundry and grocery shopping. I counted quarters. I counted minutes on the washer, the dryer, and the truck clock, just so we didn't get home late for Travis to take the pick up to his night shift on the oil rig. I counted the numbers on the register as the sweet little lady rang up my groceries. I counted to ten so I wouldn't lose it, as Tenesee Rose fought to stand up in the cart and launch herself at the candy display, with a foaming mouth.

I should've started counting miles, instead of minutes, when we finally headed towards home. You must turn south after about 3 miles...but I just kept driving...with no clue. The stereo was turned up and I was feeling tough in my big diesel dually. I was passing rigs like crazy and making great time, considering the road is always jammed up in the afternoon. I mean, this highway is so busy, there is no reason to pass the three dump trucks in front of you because just ahead of them there are five semi-trucks and an over sized transport caravan slinging mud all over the road! But...as for me....I was having no problem cruising. That horizon was wide open.

Pretty soon I saw a little Casino on the side of the road. That doesn't look familiar! The sign on it read, "State line Casino." Uh oh!! State line?? Just as the question was forming on my lips I saw another sign. It read, "Welcome to Montana." No way!

Sometimes it pays to pay attention. Of course, as I started to get angry with myself and feel totally girly and stupid about driving to Montana....I took a deep breath and counted to 10 for the 100th time. I decided right then and there to pretend that I had meant to take a little scenic drive to the western border. I mean, it's not like we wouldn't just cruise out that way for fun...sometime other than when I was trying to beat the clock home. But still, it worked out. It always does.

I got home and related my story to Travis, after the girls burst in the door and started telling on me. He put his hand over his eyes and slowly shook his head and said, "Did you really?" Oh, yes, I did! But, he smiled at me. And he laughed at me...and with me. And then he said, "I know the feeling. I hate it when I do stuff like that." Aaaahhh, the misery-loves-company feeling. It is so nice to know you are not the only one that gets side tracked. Counting cars you are passing is great on a video game, but it can cost you some time in real life.

I really do count myself lucky. I have kids that are patient and know to, "BUTTON IT!!" when Mommy starts mumbling to herself and flipping the truck around on dusty shoulders of the highway. I have a husband who doesn't call me an idiot (even if he thinks it) and tells me, instead, "You are awesome, Shosh." Even when I'm counting things like mortgages and truck payments, I think about what a lucky girl I am to be driving a rig that won't break down on my long journeys to the "State line Casino"...or other random places that I may choose to venture.

If it were up to me, I'd still be trying to get my stupid yellow van running. But, I have a friend (that just so happens to be my husband) and he likes new vehicles. He likes rigs that are dependable and shiny. And, I've got to admit...even though the Westphalia VW van has all sorts of character...mine had no sorts of heater or AC or Sirius XM or even the ability to make it down the road and back again without requiring new spark plugs.

I should, at any given time, be able to count one great thing about my life, for each finger I have.

1. Healthy, beautiful family that loves me.
2. Healthy, beautiful me, that loves my family.
3. Great place to live and play.
4. Friends that I miss, and that miss me, when I leave home.
5. Food to eat.
6. Sunshine, sunshine, and then rain, right when we need it.
7. Books and music.
8. Movies and the internet.
9. A generator, when the power goes out...for the 5th time.
10. Brand new days, every day, to start it all over again!

And, yes, the list changes. Some days there are twenty great things. Sometimes, I stop at 5...and go, "hmmmm?" Not because the friends or family have stopped loving me, but because sometimes the love is hard to feel and hard to put out there. I know it's in me and around me, but it's disguised as spilled coffee, empty toilet paper rolls, gum in little girl hair, or a pile of nasty dirty dishes that I don't want to look at, let alone scrub on.

Sometimes the couch wants to adopt me and the only things that wants to crawl out of my mouth is, "I don't care, kids....do whatever you want. Yeah, put on that movie for the 20th time and eat some jelly beans." But, instead, I roll off of the couch and start my "great-things" list.

1. I have a couch.
2. It's comfortable.
3. It fits 5 people, almost comfortably.
4. I'm not sleep deprived.....

See how easy it is to count up the good things, even on a bad day? And after a little list counting, I head over and count the dirty dishes, and the white socks that need bleached, and the rugs that need shaking, and then....I'm feeling right perky again! Because, the things that count, can always be counted on, to remind me that they are the only things worth being counted anyway!

Uphill Both Ways

I remember being a kid in New Meadows, Idaho. We rode our bikes over every square inch of that little town. It scares me to think back on the herd of us crossing Hwy 95, back and forth, twenty times a day. Did we stop and look both ways REALLY, every time? Did we pay attention? (I think like a mother now!)
















How did we all make it to the age of 12? I remember the sidewalks, where they met the store fronts, warm in the early summer sun. We'd throw down our bikes and jump barefooted onto the warm concrete. We'd sit down laughing and rip open our Laffy Taffys and pop the tops on our Mountain Dew. We'd get all sugared up and head over to the Pizza Parlor to bum quarters for video games and the bracelets they sold in the machines. I had at least 20 on each arm. The back room was dark and that's where all of the "cool" big kids hung out, snogging in the corner and making dirty jokes. We'd giggle and run out into the fresh sunny air and ride down to the playground.

That grassy park, in the middle of town, is where we all congregated. There was a pump handled water faucet, probably put there for actual travelers that needed to fill water jugs, or for the maintenance man to use while watering the grass. We found another use for it. If you turned it on full blast and then waited while someone took a drink off the fountain, you could slam it shut and water would shoot up into their face! We'd spend long stints trying to convince each other that we REALLY weren't going to do it. "No, I promise. I'm just getting a drink. I won't squirt you." Then you'd build up trust and once they bent down to drink with one eye on you.....you'd SLAM it down and squirt them in the other eye! We spent lots of time fighting about what was "fair" and who "started it."

Then we'd head over to the big water tank and throw rocks at it. They made the coolest pinging noises, depending on the size. We'd roll down the little hill laughing and hoping the boys would show up so we could play dodge ball. That was when they still had the old fire escape set up as a slide. We'd take off our shoes, lick our hands, wipe them on our feet to make them "stick" and climb up to the top. Then we'd slide down and collide into each other and scream and laugh and do it all over again. (Oh, I sure hope I bathed every night, or at least washed my hands...ugh...I doubt it.)

I hear old timers say that, "These times are not what they used to be." I hear folks complain, "What's happening to the world? These are desperate times." I hear stories of the 50's and 60's when soda was 5 cents and movies had no kissing. I hear the wistful longing in the voices dreaming of the "good 'ole days." Well, guess what? They are not gone. There was also a war going on then that was taking away thousands of brothers and fathers. Our country was only 20 years out of a depression that lost homes, lives, and depleted happiness. There was also racial bigotry so fierce that it drove Americans apart! "Hard times" have always been around. There is no new thing under the sun.














Barring some sort of strange abuse or trauma, kids grow up with a halo of protection around them. It's natures filter, if you will. We are built to survive and we are given LOVE immeasurable to sturdy us through the despair. Kids have pure eyesight and nine lives. And, I'll bet when they grow up, they will tell stories of the "good 'ole days!" We must focus on the sunshine and the hope, ALWAYS! We can't let our pessimism, we've attained from being responsible adults, damper the dream spirit that lives in their hearts. We must remember what it's like NOT to worry.


















Remember that? Back when Mom did all the laundry and Dad paid all the bills? Remember back to when your biggest worry was a flat tire on your bike and getting change for the concession stands? I do. And that, as a parent, is what I get to do for my beautiful girls. I get to be the worrier. And as I stress out over the dinner, dishes, laundry, cleaning, noise level, crying baby, and bills...I can watch them run through the grass laughing and chasing each other. I can chuckle as I see them climb trees and play monkey. Yes, they do chores. Yes, they have clean rooms and bathe ALMOST every night. Yeah, they know how to cook and wash a toilet. I am proud that they help me haul groceries and vacuum. I am also double proud that they don't have to think about how hard it really all is. There is plenty of time for that...like the rest of their lives!
























Our vision must be clear and full of promise and strength. Our goals must reach further than what's on the bbq and the price of gas. Life is GOOD! The sun is still rising in the East and settingin the West. Isn't that awesome? The tides go in and out. It's a sure thing. Just because beef is $5.39/lb at Walmart Superstore...I am not going to give up! I'm going to buy chicken for $1.29/lb. Back atcha Wally! Cuz, hey....it's the GOOD NEW DAYS! And I'm just getting younger, richer, and falling more in love every time the earth rolls round. So are you.