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.

3, 2, 1.....BLAST OFF!!

When I heard about the oil fields of North Dakota, I imagined a terrain, much like one of an uninhabitable planet. Mars for example came to mind. I thought of men in big trucks with mud all over their tires, spitting chew down the side of their cab as they drove to the big tall towers on the horizon. I thought of greasy roads and trailer houses full of tired guys that ate nails for dinner. I wasn't completely wrong, but I'll tell you, I never expected little town on the prairie.

Yes, we are on another road-trip-adventure-camp-out-Hollon thing. Travis got a job working on an oil drilling rig and we came along for all of the fun...and because we don't like to be split up like orphans. We had a nearly perfect road trip here. We didn't leave at 4am and push the little girls to the breaking point. We didn't eat junk food and throw the baby candy to shut her up.

We left at 9:30am and got some last minute shopping and gassing up done at the lovely Riggins One Stop. Then we made our way up the road pulling our house behind us. (Tenesee, the 2 yr old, kept twisting around in her car seat just to make sure we didn't forget it!)

We stopped at Lolo Hot Springs and took a dip in the pool...aaahhhh! Just perfect for the road tripper's bottom we all get. We ate strawberries, oranges, walnuts, sandwiches on nine grain bread, and pretzels.

We drove across Montana that first day and stayed the night in a rest stop outside of Bozeman, and it IS just like I imagined: high mountain desert, dotted with herds of impressive, perfect, text book looking cattle with blue, blue mountains in the distance.

On the second morning, after some oatmeal, we headed to the Museum of the Rocky Mountains. It was full of dinosaurs! The bones of “Big Mike,” the T-Rex, are on display as they actually found them near Angela Montana. After, having them cast and reassembled on a life size model, they put them back on a relief of mud/plaster and made an archeological dig site replica.
We were most impressed with the bones and models of the earth in it's many former “ages.”

Tenesee was most frightened by the models in actual size. Strange feathered meat eating creatures attacking a huge long neck, complete with fake blood. The room was darkened and filled with moaning dinosaur noises. Our little girl had some huge eyes locked on those models, just to make sure they didn't move. I had to reach past the sign that said, “Don't Touch!” and knock on the hollow plaster, just to ensure her that we wouldn't be eaten alive. (I resisted the urge to scream and act like it was biting my hand!)

After visiting the upstairs level of the museum, where they have a whole section dedicated to kids, we drove until dinner and camped on the border of Montana and North Dakota. We hiked in the big round, red rocks and watched a happy dog stretching out his legs after hours of waiting. The granite was old and weathered and the pine trees were tall and strong. The kids threw rocks and climbed trees and I chased the chubby, clumsy 2 yr old away from the edge of certain death. We found a cactus and a little cave.

Then we woke up and drove the rest of the way to our destination: Arnegard, North Dakota.
Old homesteads dotted the sides of the highway. Ghostly broken windows of old sagging farm shacks were buried in the tall prarie grass. We tried to imagine what had brought them there and what had made them leave. I'm guessing 40 below winters, but hey, that's me! The little town of Arnegard is a mix between New Meadows and Grangeville, minus about 90% of the people and there are no mountains in the distance. “Main Street” has a post office and a bar. And the store?...well, you can get Doritos, Marlboro’s, and a corn dog.

But, it's quaint and we have a beautiful grassy lot to park our camper on. Most of the RV parks around this area are built on mud and packed with roughnecks and dirty trucks. They also cost around $1,000/month!!! That's like a house payment! 6 months ago they were charging $250/month, but with all the drillers coming in they decided to butcher the fat hog.

So, how did we get our little piece of park? Well, before Travis left to come and get us, he asked a gal where the old locals drank their coffee. She told him they all gathered at the City Hall. So he drove the 7 miles and walked into the building, took his hat off, and sat down with a bunch of old ranchers. Some of the same ones that may just cuss the development happening around them, with the overflow of oil drillers wanting to make a buck.

“Hi, my name is Travis Hollon and I'm from Riggins, Idaho. I'm looking for a little piece of ground to park my camper on so I can bring my little family over here while I work during the week. Do you know of anyone-”

He barely finished his sentence when this nice gentleman and his wife said, “We've got a lot, right around the corner. You can come and look at it, if you like.” So they drove down the “main street” (with no paint lines on it) and sure enough it was perfect. He offered to pay them to hold it for us, but they wouldn't hear of it. I just love yes people that trust in a hand shake. It's a good reminder of how to really love your “neighbors.”

There are so many “no” people in this world, that when I meet a “yes” person it reminds me, every time, of why I want to be one. Being a Mom, I have to say “NO” about every 5th word that comes out of my mouth. This is necessary and then habitual. Good to check every once in awhile and see how much is needed and how much is automatic.

So here we are in good 'ole North Dakota. After the first day I found out why there is so much mud and green grass. RAIN! It came down hard and wild and cold. The little propane heater was blowing like crazy and Mama was cookin' up every warm thing I could just to keep us all cozy. After the rain came the wind and we stayed in and watched the trees blow and read our books. That's when I found out why mud puddles in North Dakota can dry within a matter of hours.

But, this morning I woke up to clear blue skies and I announced the end of the school year, to many shouts and cheers! So we went on a picnic at the park complete with lemonade and mandarin oranges. We met kids and moms and grampas and got pink cheeks from all of the sun and enjoyed life.

There are more slides and play houses from every era, than you've ever seen, at this small town memorial park. This thing has been dedicated and rededicated and you can tell that whatever happens in Arnegard, happens at Nelson Park. They even have the original slides that look like they were welded in shop class, and I'm sure have been outlawed in most states. The GOOD slides that take your breath away. The kind of slides that we played on 30 years ago...back when we ran with scissors and our parents smoked to our health in the car, with the windows rolled up, while we bounced around because seat belts hadn't been invented yet.






















So yes, we miss home. Yes, we miss family and friends. Yes, it's all strange and new and scary and exciting and I can just feel the stories brewing! Mommy's mantra today is to remember what it's like being the new kid....and what it's like watching the new kid flounder while your sitting with your homies. Offer the new kid a coke and say “hey,” because chances are that kid is just like you!

Understandabilityness

There is a list of words that need to be in the dictionary. For starters let's just say "funner". I like that word and the fact that it is not a word is annoying. "More fun" isn't near as fun as "funner".

"It was funner bringing the dog on the sled."
"Oh, my gosh, that was so much funner!"

Charlee Beth invented a word when she was about three. I would say something like, "Charlee please don't pull on that." She would reply with, "I amn't". You may need to say this one over a couple of times. The contraction is formed with "am not." Kinda like"is not", or "isn't." A little like "are not," or "aren't." You get the picture. Amn't. It's a good word. I am putting it in my school dictionary of new words.

Who has the power to make words? We do. But who are the dudes who are writing them and making them into real words? Is there a government branch in charge of this? Hmmm. Webster would flip in his grave to see the dictionary now.

My husband is grand for creating wordal novelties. (Hey, "wordal"....that's a pretty good one, too!) But, Travis came up with "rotisserate". This is a verb and you do it while standing around a very hot campfire. It is a combination of the word "rotate" and "rotisserie". This makes complete and total sense and from now on you will not be able to spin around the fire without thinking, "I am rotisserating!"

Aside from being funner, another great thing about inventing words is that you can also invent their spelling. I cannot spell "rotisserate" incorrectly. When I push the spell check icon, do you know how many words are already highlighted in yellow?? A lot. But, guess what....I don't care. I am president of the word bureau right now and I do not have listen to spell check because it obviously hasn't gotten the new updated memo including these fine words.

How about words that babies can't pronounce correctly and we all start saying them because they are cute?:

picey=spicy
bess=dress
peez=please
na noo=thank you
shoshun=lotion
noonees=noodles
wuv ooo=love you
tiss=kiss
queer=clear!
etc., etc.,

In life we cling to these sweet familiar mispronounced words because it stops these babies from aging. The way they see the world also slows us down. Why explain that "arm pat" is really "arm pit" until their friends laugh at them? We love these things that make us all unique. They are our trademark, our tattoo of love from the innocent eyes that look up and say, "Mom, do you have enough engury to make me some smoothie?"

"That's energy, honey, and yes I do!"

The trivia game that I bought the girls for Christmas was purely educational.....I thought. I didn't have a clue that my $7 would bring so much laughter to our home.

Question: Correct this sentence, "She ain't my friend anymore."
Hannah's answer: She is my friend again!

Wow! That's exactly the way to "correct" that sentence. Make up and get over it. You can still be friends even when you don't agree. Who wrote this stuff?

Question: If a man has a wife, a woman has a.....?
Charlee's answer: A baby!

Well, there's no reason to take that one further. I mean that's common sense right there. We did it three times! We have photo albums. There's mom and dad when they were "SO young!" There's mom and dad with their new puppy. There's mom and dad's wedding. OH!!, there's baby pictures, and lots of them! Yes, when and man has a wife, a woman has a baby. That's scientific brilliance, at it's finest.

These times of precious innocence, I cherish. These little glimpses into simple pure thought, unstained by a busy world of, "No, this is how it really is!" I enjoy watching them. I enjoy seeing what they will deduce from a situation; how they will solve the problem. There is wonderment and curiosity in everything. This is how we are meant to be. I want to pick up that flower and look at it for too long. I want to play a make believe game and never leave the beach until it's so dark that Daddy carries me to the car! (But, somebody, has to make dinner and clean the house!) There are things that I KNOW because I'm 34 yrs old, and there are things that I have forgotten because I'm 34 yrs old.

We come into this life as little scientists, ready to learn and experiment and prove, and prove again. "Is the fire really hot? OWWW....yeah, you weren't a kiddin', Mom!" And, that right there is why we are given big, tall, strong, smart parents to keep us ALIVE while we are experimenting with the world. When the experiments fail and the "wings" we built to "fly" off the porch roof didn't work, it's our brilliant parents who are standing there, hands on their hips, first aid kit at the ready to tell us, "WHAT were you thinking you crazy kid?? I told you to keep your feet on the ground!" (Good thing, the Wright brothers didn't listen too closely...thanks for speedy travel, boys!)

















Too many no's upset our growth and balance, as do, too many yes's. We need contraction and expansion. We need chaos and order. We need quiet and noise. We need movies and hikes. We need bacon and grapefruits. We need sleep and wake, up and down to make us learn and grow. What a beautiful thing this life is!! I have a deep compassion for thought that goes off of the mainstream; minds that work on double artistic time. My love goes out to the frustrated hands thrown in the air chirping, "WHY?!"
"Really, kid, I don't know why, a lot of the time! No body does. But, this way works, and if you can show me another way that fits into my slot of safe, intelligent, and timely...then we can work this out!"

For years I would get distracted with my homework. I would be inventing a story next to the history lesson, just to make it even MORE interesting. I still got the work done and I got good grades, but it was boring just following the curriculum. There had to be more to that Columbus story....stuff they didn't know because they didn't have a camera crew. We took the word of some dudes that kept journals and no pictures! So pretty soon I took to doing my homework with my walkman on and Pearl Jam playing guitar riffs in my ears. It took that creative part of my mind and occupied it so I could be freed up to learn about lipids and white blood cells. It allowed my thought to travel and complete itself. It kept me interested. Now, my mother, who is a VERY understanding and excepting woman, questioned this...repeatedly. But, as it proved to work for me, she allowed me to do it. Just because it's not standard doesn't mean it's not right.

We are all unique and beautifully built. And, if I spend my time trying to change the way that my kids think and believe, so much, that I miss what they are trying to show me....then I'm the one being unteachable. It's a creative dance that we do, keeping our families together. We can't read each other's minds. We must communicate. And, to communicate, we must LISTEN. As a good friend once told me...."That's why God gave us two ears and one mouth, because we are supposed to listen twice as much as we talk." That is dang good advice for all of us. Our way is not the only way. The minute I think I'M right....I am missing a golden nugget somewhere. Love passes ALL understanding! Love drives away ALL fear.

So, as the dictionary in my life expands and the collective books of my family are filled I will turn my mouth off and my ears on. I will correct only the mean behavior that stems from some overlooked burden in her little soul. I will hug, and love, and explain, and swat, and hug again. I will listen and try my best to understand. I will not give up when the dark clouds roll in and the wind doesn't cease, because there is a calm after the storm. There is relief and understanding to be had. It's much FUNNER, and I AMN'T gonna miss it!

You're Aiming Way Too High!

To change I must be entirely sick of my current situation. Kind of like a baby sitting in a dirty diaper and crying because she missed her nap hours ago. It's just got to happen. Change for the better, change for self preservation and sanity.

So I have embarked on a mission to be perfect. Yes, perfect. It's already happening. I shaved. I started a workout routine. I am drinking fresh juice and lemon water. I am not drinking beer at noon. I am eating a diet of glowing, fresh vegetables, fruits, nuts, and seeds. I am not eating Doritos with my beer at noon. I have added yoga to my day. I am watching my words and having patience. I am drinking my tea with my pinkie out. I am writing lists and checking them off. Whew! It's hard work being perfect.















But, at every turn of this mission of mine, people are out to thwart me. And they are all shorter and younger than me. They all look a bit Hollonish...yes, they are my little girls.

I was in the middle of my glorious, very serene, yoga session yesterday when I experienced the first attack. The windows were open and the fresh morning breeze was blowing in on me, while I took my deep breaths and stretched my spine. But, I hadn't started early enough to avoid the crowd, apparently. Out of the room walked the 9 year old. She took the seat nearest my mat on the floor and just watched me with interest...about two feet from my face. I was still trying to concentrate but, surely, it was wavering. The door opened again, and out walked the 6 year old. She took the seat next to her sister and stared. My dear little asana began to falter. (It is already hard enough doing my exercise on the camper floor, where I have about six square feet to move around in.) I no longer felt like a swan, but more like an animal behind glass at the zoo.

Then the questions started.

"Mom, why didn't Harry Potter just tell Dumbledore about the book?"

1,2,3,4,5-concentrate, Shoshannah-6,7-

"Mom, can I make pancakes this morning?"

10,11,12,13-breathe deep, now-

"Mom, when is summer warm enough that we can swim?"

"Mom, what is a mammal?"

No proper yogi can endure this barrage of random mind stealing thoughts. But, a perfect person can. Because a perfect person knows that the yoga isn't more important than little sweet girls that need answers to their curious questions. To get frustrated with them isn't a solution to my concentration problem. I just need to take that "relax" part in the yoga book and change the meaning to "help small children start their day." There is no need to fume, "Girls, give me ten more minutes!"

I smiled in spite of myself, as I looked into their glowing wondering eyes. This is why you don't take your offspring to real yoga classes. You wouldn't need the little bell to rouse you from your silent happy place. Tenesee would just holler, "Mom, I gotta poo poo, " and the spell would be broken. A perfect person's solution to the dilemma...get up earlier tomorrow!

There is no way to escape the things that make life "normal." The baby will puke on my shirt. The mail will drop in the puddle. The debit card will mysteriously not work with that pin number that I'm sure is the right one. The gas will run out in the car. The bike will have a flat tire. The 6 year old will spill milk down the entire front of the cupboard and into the drawers. The spouse will say the wrong thing, or the right thing at the wrong time. The toilet will get plugged. The 3 year old will break that beautiful serving bowl. The car will get stuck in the snow. The computer will lose connection right when I am almost done with my application!



















And during all of this "normalness" I will throw my hands in the air and yell, "Ugh! I am NOT my situation. This is NOT happening, is it?!" But it is happening. And I must deal with it. I must smile, laugh and act generally undisturbed by it because I am on the quest of perfection. I can't permit it to unravel my day.

But, back when I wasn't perfect...I just might not have handled it so well. I might have cried. I might have paced up and down the living room randomly muttering a phrase of confusion over and over again until the kids asked tentatively, "Mom, are you okay?"

I might have said something nasty to the phone lady who over charged me for the third time in a row. It might not have been something you would want to repeat with small children in the room...oh yeah, there were small children in the room.

I might have thrown things. Just maybe. I might have given that little toy, that was left on the floor for the 100th time, and feels just like a pine cone on my bear foot at 3 a.m., a severe pelting against the wall.

Wow. It's a good thing that I'll never do that again, now that I'm perfect!

Instead I will analyze the situation and say to myself, "What can we learn from this?" I will speak calmly and firmly to the phone lady. I will wince with pain as I step on the toy and place it quietly in the toy basket with a shaky smile, "Those darling kids." I will breathe deep and patiently set the 2 year old on her bed while she cries because she can't have candy for breakfast. Then I will hold her close and try to understand how hard it is to be a sugar addict!

The sun is shining now and the smell of cut grass is floating through the air. The sound of the birds and the distant sound of the lawn mower are reminding me that summer is just around the corner. The day is new again. What a gift. It's time to practice opening up and letting go. It's time to remember who I was and who I am and who I want to be. It's a day for fresh lemonade and no mistakes!

And perfect?...well, it's in the eye of the beholder. Because, guess what, I already am. Even when I yell and even when I cry and even when I forget to laugh and even when I skip my yoga and drink coffee instead...I am still the me I am supposed to be. Because, I don't believe in mistakes. I don't believe that life is too hard to handle. I don't believe in "Oh, I wish I would've done it that way!" It doesn't exist. The past is passed! There are only the beautiful reminders of those days, that I choose to keep around.

















When I open the boxes of pictures that span over 30 years and when I read those journals I hear the voice of a child, teenager, lady, and a woman in the making. I laugh at the changes I have made and I shake my head in disbelief at the way I am still the same. Because we are all perfect people, just surrounded by imperfect circumstances. We do get to choose our reactions though, and they may as well be good ones, worthy of the history books. I want to laugh at my mistakes and I want to teach my girls to do the same. Life isn't always easy, but, then again, no on ever said it would be!

Rodeo Weekend...Hollon Style!

The sun is out. It went away. It's out again! Oh...is it raining?! Ah, the sun is back and I'm gonna have to take off this jacket. Brrrr, that wind just picked up again...would you hand me my jacket? Riggins in May. This weather can never make up it's mind. I just tell my little girls that winter and summer are wrestling again. Winter will lose and that's called spring.

Every geographical area has their own clock and calender centered around it's celebrated events. In Riggins, Rodeo weekend means more than too many cars parked up the River Road, big trucks cruising Main Street with 14 intoxicated people hanging out of the back, food vendors in every little slot they can fit in and having to quadruple stock the beer order. It really means it's time to plant your tomatoes. You can't go wrong if you put those starts in the ground on the first weekend of May. ALL the old timers say so, and I have to agree. It's a good omen....and you can almost bet it won't freeze again.

Gramma says, "If your plants like you, honey, you'll have a ripe tomato by the 4th of July." Of course, she plants Early Girls and her plants love her and she ALWAYS has a ripe beauty by then. She knows just what to feed them and when. She knows just how far apart to space them so that they don't get claustrophobic or lonely. She knows that they like people and that they don't like cigarette smoke. I absolutely adore watching Gramma in the garden.

Rodeo weekend also means that the morels are out. You can bet your life on it. Just like clockwork every year. In fact, back in the day, we used to make an annual get-out-of-town-to- hunt-morels weekend, on every rodeo. This was in between our stage of party-till-you-drop and the OH!-we-have-kids stage. These days morel hunting is an adventure and a mainstay for all of us. We gather up the baskets and the pocket knives. We load up the dog and three squealing girls with pony tails. We turn the music on and head up "No-Tell-'Em" Creek. We unleash on that hill like no body's business! Daddy always finds the first mushroom and the girls fight over who has the biggest one and then we all whisper so the baby can get her nap in the car seat. Inevitably, we run into friends up there, that are doing the same thing, and we stop for a chat over the hood of the rig. It's good 'ole fashioned fun.




But, on the first weekend of May we do make it downtown for the Riggins Rodeo madness, eventually. The kids know that the parade means candy and pretty ladies on horses. The parents know it means Bloody Marys are acceptable, and even recommended, before noon. Sunday is the day for our family to get over to the Rodeo grounds and vie for a spot on the locals bleachers. It's the day to hope for sun. There are less crowds and most of the crazy youngins are so hungover they don't head out into daylight until noon.




Last year, we had perfect weather for our Sunday adventure. We parked on the outskirts of town, loaded up our picnic basket, and made the trek across the bridge to the Rodeo action. The first thing that happens in a crowd is that the parents panic and the kids turn off their ears and get the blank stare going. We made sure that the girls were out of imminent road danger and that they were holding our hands, while Daddy started herding his crew to safety, all the while balancing the baby in the back pack. We were quite a scene.

As soon as we got to the edge of the moving mass of people, we saw the familiar faces of some of our good friends. The kids ran to greet each other and we made our way to the booth to pay. I quickly counted heads and we proceeded in the direction of the bleachers on the far side of the arena.

As we slowly weaved our clan to camp Rodeo, the deep voice of the announcer came across the loud speaker, "We have a lost little girl up here. She must have been told not to talk to strangers, because she won't tell us her name!" He chuckled at his own joke. Travis and I looked at each other and laughed. What a good kid, we both thought.

"Where's Charlee?", I heard one of the kids ask. And it sunk in....NO WAY! Where is Charlee???

I looked at Travis carrying the baby on his back, he looked at me, "RUN!", he yelled.

At this precise moment, the announcer's voice said, "She finally decided to talk and said her Daddy's name is Travis Hollon!" PANIC!

I darted through the arena dodging horses and clowns and slipping in mud and muck. I panted as I made my way up the steps to the announcer's booth. No Charlee. They looked at me. I looked at them.

"You must be the Mom? Someone came and got her already." I didn't say a word as I fled down the steps and headed in the other direction. I got around to the road side and there she was holding hands with Rhonda Spicklemire, looking sheepishly up at me. Thank God for good people and a small town!! I hugged my middle child, and felt mad and glad at the same time.

"What happened, honey?!" I looked intensely into her eyes and held her close.

"I was following your legs and then they weren't your legs...they were somebody elses," she replied shakily, trying to smile.

So we lost a kid and we hadn't even been there for 15 minutes! I rounded back past the ticket booth, a sheepish Charlee Beth in tow, and the ticket collector said, "You must be hell in Walmart!" I laughed and sighed. I felt relieved and embarrassed and ready for a beer. It was the start of a beautiful Rodeo.

We are more than hoping, this year, to up our odds on making it to the bleachers with all 5 members of the family! And as we all laugh at the cooler races, the bumps and bruises, and as we "ooh" and "aah" at the bull riders and cheer our hearts out for the locals, we will remember that this is the end of spring and the beginning of summer. We will remember how happy we are that we have this day to laugh and cry with our friends. We will enjoy the innocence of the sweet wrangler butted children perched on the fence. We will hug old classmates and kiss their babies. We will try and drink some water in between the cheap canned beer and we will scream and yell and enjoy the comfort of knowing that the tomatoes are in the ground and the morels are drying on the counter. Happy 2011, first weekend in May, Rodeo madness to all!