To the moon!

I'm not a scientist or meteorologist and I don't read the Farmer's Almanac. I just need to spend a day with the Up North folks to know when there's been a full moon. Yep, there's definitely been one in the past few days!

The Reader's Digest condensed version is that my dad, who turns 80 next month hasn't been doing well. He especially has aches, pains and minor injuries to his foot and leg that, due to his diabetes, aren't healing well or at all. He's getting around with a cane these days -- when he does get around.

A few days ago, he got a big load of firewood dropped off that needed to get hauled into the basement for winter. Since my weekend with the college girlfriends was called off for a family emergency, Jim and I decided to head Up North early Saturday to haul that wood! And so we did. Jim, Carter and I, along with a future, potential brother-in-law, hauled and got it done.

Then three other sisters show up and, while they were too late for the wood hauling, they were just in time for what I call a "come to Jesus" meeting with our parents. In a nutshell -- Mom and Dad are both getting old and it's hard for them to maintain a house, and we kids have concerns about the safety of them burning wood with a not-so-wonderful chimney. We relayed our concerns but Dad, just like a scene from Grumpy Old Men, stomped his cane and basically accused us of trying to kick him out of his house so we could throw away his stuff (which we view as "junk," but Mom and Dad don't!).

Talk sort of ran in circles between the house and plans for his upcoming birthday party. It was sad that there was actually yelling going on -- you know, you have to yell to get your point across, right? The louder you get, the much clearer it should be. It's not, though.

By the time we left, the hot topics had simmered down and I think things were OK. I know I'm not perfect and just as guilty of contributing to the bicker-fest. I realize, however, that even though we tried to express our concerns to Mom and Dad in at least 4 different ways, they have their perception that we are just telling them what to do. As frustrating as it is, I can't change that. And I can't change them -- any of them.

On the way home last night, I was physically and emotionally drained ... but not so much that I couldn't say the Serenity Prayer.

I was thinking ahead to when I'd see the family again in a few weeks and how things would be. I concluded I wouldn't be surprised if Dad sends us all "to the moon, Alice!" when we show up at his birthday party. Though he wouldn't say Alice actually, since we all start with R ... But I suppose the moon is a bit cooler than that other place ...

Grey's Day

We pretty much declared Thursday as Grey's Anatomy Season Premier Day ... all day! It was McAwesome!

A group of us played the new Grey's Anatomy Trivia board game at lunch time. That was cool! It made us realize Katy has the gifted memory for trivial facts, that's for sure! I don't know if it's age or what, but I couldn't remember squat! (Perhaps I just pay attention to the important things -- not the trivial ones!)

For the last 90 minutes of the day, I emailed more trivia questions to a larger group, about every 10 minutes, to see who would chime in with the correct answer first! Yep, that's right. So not a productive day!

Last night, 4 of us gathered at Jana's house to watch the season premiere together. We thought the Izzie-Deer story line was a bit out there, but we loved the ending. Meredyth and McDreamy broke up and made up -- all in the course of about 30 seconds -- and George came to his senses (sort of).

It will be interesting to see where those story lines go next ... to keep us interested. Not that I'm ready to give up. I need to pay attention this season in case they come out with another edition of the trivia game next year!

Only 148 hours until the next episode ...

House call

I'm deeply indebted to my son Carter. Or I should say deeply in debt with him. But I don't mind a bit.

We were chatting at the dinner table about school and work. Sometimes it's just like conversing with another adult. Sounds strange but I've come to realize (and appreciate) sometimes he is 9 going on 90.

So I was talking about how I was a little bit nervous about an upcoming one-on-one meeting with the CEO of our company. (As I was trying to explain: the boss' boss' boss -- like a grandpa boss.)

Carter told me not to be nervous. "Just be yourself, Mom, and don't overdo it. Try to think about something else, but don't forget to stay on the right topic."

I smiled and tried not to laugh because I can't help it when he sounds so grown up. So he says, "Mom, don't laugh. I know you're gonna say you don't know if I should be a psychiatrist or a scientist. Well they're practically a homophone so they must be close!"

I said, "Oh, should I call you Dr. Austin then? What do I owe you for this house call?"

"Uhm," he said, thinking it through, "I think about a million lovin's. And you can take your time paying me!" Sounds like a super deal to me. Good advice at a great price! Paging Dr. Austin ...

Back to school ... again

I'm proud to say I'm a lifelong student. In a good way. No I'm not stuck in school as a 5th-, 6th- or 7th-year senior. I am learning in the school of life ... lessons that will advance my career and lessons that will advance me as a fair and friendly human being. And for every class, there is a different teacher -- or mentor, if you will.

I've been fortunate the past two years to have a publisher who has respected my knowledge and pushed me to learn more. In fact, Kevin was just grumbling in a meeting the other day that he has imparted so much wisdom and still hasn't made the blog! Well he's making it today ... and it's not for a good reason.

Kevin announced today that he is leaving our company and moving on to something that will be better for him -- probably physically, emotionally and mentally. I was stunned but not surprised. And selfishly I was ticked off that he was deserting me. (The nerve!)

Trust me, those of you who have had "bosses from hell" know how good it feels to finally get a "good one." I've had bosses who mimicked Hitler, one who did crossword puzzles at his desk and one I affectionately called "The Load." Kevin was like a breath of fresh air.

Yes, he challenged me outside of my comfort zone but he respected my opinion and had faith in my abilities. As I result, I have learned a magnitude about the ins and outs of publishing, not to mention managing. I'm almost embarrassed at how little I knew 5 years ago when I was running a newsroom at a daily newspaper. For this I am eternally grateful.

Of course, now that I don't report to you directly, Kevin (yes, I know you're reading this in your new-found free time), I am free to blog away about your wisdom and clever corporate-speak we'll never grow tired of.

I'm "giving you visibility on this," I hope in your new career path there will be an abundance of "low-hanging fruit" and that you'll "take the lead" on this business of having some fun! Best, Robyn.

The funny bone

When I still lived at home, I always looked forward to reading the new edition of Reader's Digest. (OK, that just made me sound like a first-class geek.) I'd always turn to the "Laughter is the Best Medicine" section, then "A Day in the Life" just to see how witty people could be. I was too young to understand a lot of it, but today I bet I can relate!

Doesn't it feel good when something makes you chuckle or giggle or guffaw? I love that word guffaw. It just sounds like you're laughing your backside off. A big, hearty "ha, ha" from the depths of your belly.

I always feel good after a good belly laugh. Something strikes you as funny and you laugh out loud at first, then the laugh gets quieter and quieter, then you can hardly breathe so your shoulders are sort of shaking and your belly is, too, then the tears come and your face is red as a beet. When we recover, we always say, "Man, that felt good!" or "Boy, I needed that!"

It's the truth. We might find things amusing most days but some days, when it hits you at just the right moment, your laugh bubbles float right to the top and they need release.

Today Jana and I were working on some signage for an automotive promotion we are going to do at an upcoming old car show. The premise of the program is that people can stop by our magazine booth, show us their great find from the parts swap meet and we'll take a picture of it. We're calling it a Swap Meet Showdown because when we thought of the name "Show us your parts," we couldn't get past the image of some guy in a trench coat stopping by to flash us.

So I'm proofing this ad and Jana was very careful to refer to this as the Showdown. But at the bottom, she mentions "Stop by our booth, we may take a picture of you and your part." Just reading it out loud struck that darn funny chord and I had a big, belly-aching laugh. Dang, it felt good, too!

My sister Rayna commented this morning that sometimes my blog makes her laugh. Hey, that's great, but all I'm doing is sharing snippets of my ordinary life ... from the perspective of an undomestic goddess who occasionally finds the positive among the dysfunction. If we can't laugh at ourselves, who can we laugh at (I mean, besides family)?

That's what life offers us. Moments to either growl at or guffaw at. It's your choice. Since I'm on a health kick, I'll choose the latter. Laughter is the best medicine after all -- and it's free!

Holy cow!

Some people are afraid of roller coasters. Some people fear enclosed spaces or heights. I'm afraid of getting trampled by a cow.

I had the strangest experience on my walk yesterday. I was walking past this farm like I normally do. Usually there are several cows milling about, chewing their cud and talking about the fluffy female walking by. Yesterday, though, they were inside the barn -- all but one that is.

This black cow was on the other side of the fence in the next pasture. He was standing their bellowing, like he was lost or mad or something. (Trust me, we don't want mad cows around.)

When he saw me he broke into a run toward the fence next to the road. He stopped at the fence and bellowed in my face. Then as I walked, he trotted on the other side of the fence next to me, keeping pace and bellowing all the way (this loses something without the sound effects).

I was a little freaked and found myself talking back with "what?!" and "sorry, cow." I picked up speed, just hoping there was not an opening in the fence further down. There wasn't. When he couldn't go any further he bellowed out a "thank you very little" and I said another "sorry, cow" and did double-time down the road.

When I was a kid, our land was surrounded by pastures and some woods. When the cows were by the pond, Mom, Raylene and I would venture into the woods. When the cows were back in the woods, we'd take walks down by the pond and sometimes go around it.

Once in awhile we'd come across the cows. Then my heart would stop. We'd quietly back track then book it home. I was always so scared those big, snot-nosed cows would run us right over some day. Of course, they didn't.

Yes, it's a silly fear but yesterday's mad-cow incident brought back some weird memories about those lovely walks in the woods, balance-beam walking on broken logs, side-stepping cow pies and occasionally running for our lives.

Even if I think I can run today, I have this sinking suspicion those cows are a heckuva lot quicker than they look. I mean that's where they get the lean ground beef, right?

Fall-la-la-la-la

I noticed this past week that the drive to work was a bit more colorful than usual (I mean the trees, not the language!) I kept wondering: Why are the leaves turning so early this year? Then I see on my calendar today that autumn has officially arrived! Apparently I have been in denial -- I am not ready for summer to truly be over, nor is my list of things to do this summer even close to being checked off. Sigh ...

Don't get me wrong, I do love autumn. Days like today are what I consider the perfect fall day. It was warm (high 70s) and sunny. I was able to sneak in a long walk after church and before football kicked off at noon.

Today the Vikings were actually on TV, which is rare in our area. Since we scored right after I got home from my walk, I wasn't allowed to change clothes until after the game. I might jinx it, ya know. So I sat out on the deck at halftime since it was so nice out. Then I must have done something wrong the second half because we lost. I bet it was that darn pillow that was in front of me instead of in its place behind me -- like in the first half! I'm sure it has nothing to do with our pathetic offensive line. That's OK, there's lots of season left -- and hopefully a lot of days like today.

I don't mind the chilly days, though. It gives me a chance to wear one of my 438 sweatshirts or perhaps burn one of my 378 candles! What to choose? Pumpkin spice, coffee cake, apple pie? Oh my! (It's no wonder we fatten up for winter. I just want to eat those candles right up! I mean, I don't actually eat the candles. I likely find an unhealthy substitute, though.)

One thing I do like about the mild weather is that I can resume running again. It has been too dark already to go in the morning and too hot at noon. Soon I can rejoin my lunch-hour posse and we can make tracks around Iola. Or I could dust off the treadmill and go in the morning. Why do I always forget about that? It's not like I don't trip over it just about every time I'm in the basement!

The thing I like best, though, is the splash of color every where. The leaves are beautiful on the trees and, I have found, can be a gorgeous blanket covering the ground. It's one of those things that I can never quite capture on camera. But that won't stop me from trying it again this year!

It goes without saying that I always look forward to our annual sister weekend in the fall. In mid-October will be our ninth annual Wild Women's Weekend, which really requires a blog of its own (or two).

This fall, I have another special event to look forward to. Next weekend I will be getting together with a couple of college friends I haven't seen in more than 10 years. We realize that since we all live in Wisconsin, it's ridiculous we haven't done this sooner. I mean that's why they invented roads!

Of course, sometimes life just gets in way. I'm going to vow not to let that happen anymore. To me autumn is a signal for change. As the leaves find a beautiful new wardrobe to slip into, so should we. Who do I want to be? Where do I want to go? It's never too late to travel the colorful paths that lead back to old friends -- or perhaps new friends, new challenges, new blessings. I can't wait to get started.

The McCountdown

Jim has today off so I drove to work on my own. You know what that means ... MY music at MY volume. So naturally I listened to my new Grey's Anatomy Soundtrack for probably the 10th time since Volume 3 came out last week. (No exaggeration.)

Next week is the season premiere for Grey's and its new spin-off show, Private Practice, which I haven't decided yet if I am going to invest in. Yes, invest. I really don't watch TV except for Grey's and, of course, football, baseball and occasionally golf. But boy did I catch grief about it last night.

I was mentioning to Jim that I was planning to go to a girlfriend's house next Thursday to watch the premiere. Carter pipes up, "Mom, why does your life revolve around Grey's Anatomy? I just don't get it!"

First of all, it's hard not to be mildly obsessed with McDreamy and McSteamy. (Can you blame me?) But, wow. I can't believe I have to defend watching just one hour of television a week. Thankfully, Daddy came to my defense, too. We had to point out Carter watches TV every night -- shows he's watched a hundred times (OK, maybe a little exaggeration but we had to get the point across!).

So I wonder what will happen if I do start watching the spin-off show, too. I mean that's two whole hours of MY time a week. Then, according to the 9-year-old, I will probably be completely obsessed.

Funny how he doesn't say that when we spend two hours at church and Sunday School each week. That's probably what we should be obsessed about ... though I can't imagine calling Ken and Steve my McPastors ...

Right now!

Sometimes I think I should have named this blog the Gratitude Gazette or something of that nature. Every day I find something to be grateful for -- and I don't forget who to thank for that. God has a way of putting people in my path who remind me I've got it pretty good.

Just this morning I was crying to a friend about an issue I can't control. Something that bothers me, disappoints me and upsets me, but certainly isn't the end of the world. Not when I see what others are going through.

One friend of mine is losing his dad to lung cancer just months after his wife, a very dear friend, lost her mother. Tonight, I got an email from another friend whose boyfriend was killed in a motorcycle accident last month. "I guess you never know how much someone means to you until they're gone," she wrote. Isn't that the truth?

I recently read the book For One More Day by Mitch Albom. The story tells of an alcoholic man whose life is spiraling out of control when he suddenly gets to spend one day with his mother -- who died years earlier when his priorities weren't right and he couldn't have cared less. He treasured that unlikely second chance to make things right with her.

It certainly made this reader think about where my priorities are today. Am I placing people first? Do I tell them I love them? What if I was the one who died today -- would they know how much they meant to me? Unlike the book, we don't get those miraculous second chances. Today is the day.

There's a song by Van Halen called Right Now that I like to run to. I like the upbeat tempo and the message in the lyrics:

Right now, hey
It's your tomorrow
Right now,
C'mon, it's everything
Right now,
Catch a magic moment, do it
Right here and now
It means everything.

This song speaks to me of urgency and action. Is there something you are waiting for? Is there a reason you can't do it right now?

I know right now I have to thank God that my loved ones are still here on this earth ... they aren't suffering from cancer and haven't been stolen from me on the highways. Right now I have to pray for comfort and strength for my friends who are grieving. Right now I have to be thankful God hasn't given me anything I can't handle. Right now I have to sign off and tell my guys how much I love them.

What can you do right now?

Apple of my eye

We've heard that phrase, "The apple doesn't fall too far from the tree," when it comes to our dear Carter. They say it when they see how closely he physically resembles Daddy. And Daddy says it when he sees Carter being a worry wart like Momma. Sometimes the "tree" is not either/or, it's both.

Last night I realized both of our "trees" bear some good fruit.

I was looking through Carter's Monday Folder, which includes homework and classwork from the previous week. I was pleased to see he got 15 out of 15 on his spelling test -- including the word chrysanthemum!

Then I see a couple English worksheets with a 2 or 3 out of 5 score and I wonder why there's this inconsistency in basically the same subject matter. Then I take a closer look ... and smile.

The assignment was to find the punctuation and grammar errors in the sentence. Then, the directions said, write out the new sentence correctly. Only Carter didn't do that. Instead, each sentence was marked up with proofreader's marks -- just like Mom and Dad the editors would do! The teacher's note in the margins said, "Write out the new sentence." So that's why he got a low score. He marked them up and moved on.

All the proofreader's mark were correct, by the way. How do you like them apples?!

Decisions, decisions, decisions

Nobody puts the FUN in dysFUNction like my family. Oh, don't even try to think you can compete. You'll be embarrassed by the effort. Oh wait ... I should probably be embarrassed myself even admitting this. Probably.

The thing is we are a stubborn lot. We are opinionated but yet can't make decisions. And yes, all of us 8 kids are like that ... to varying degrees. How did we get this way? Do we blame Mom? Dad? Our Scandinavian heritage? (Possibly, but I know some stubborn people who don't have any Norse running through their veins.)

This weekend, while I as Up North, this dysfunction reared its ugly head. It wasn't a fight. It wasn't wicked. It wasn't hostile. It was just, well, a waste of time, really. My Saturday evening with three of my sisters was lost to a conversation that had no end. Like a dog chasing its tail, at some point, we had to surrender and change the subject.

I'm embarrassed to say what we were talking about. My dad turns 80 next month and there seems to be a upwards of 10 ideas how that momentous occasion should be spent. The sisters I was with had close to the same idea on the opposite end of the spectrum as my parents. The siblings not present at the impromptu round table didn't get a vote (sorry)!

My task today, if you will, was to meet with Mom and Dad and find a middle ground. I was the only one at their house, but I sat there feeling like something between a federal mediator, a referee and a lawyer. First, I realized Mom and Dad weren't on the same page with this event so it's no wonder the rest of us are scattered in our opinions.

If I was a lawyer (and I just might change my profession after my success today), the questioning on this deal would sound like this:

"Dad, regarding your children, did they or did they not say you could decide how to celebrate your birthday?" They did, he responds. "Then you shall have your party."

"Mom, regarding making and decorating a cake, do you or do you not always get extremely stressed out about baking and creating the perfect cake?" I do, she responds. "Then we shall call a bakery."

And so on and so on. I was successful in finding a compromise of sorts that I hope pleases (or a least appeases) every one.

Now the next points of dysfunctional debate will include, but not be limited to: So who's going to order the cake? Who's going to decorate the hall? Who's buying the buns? Are we giving a present besides the party? Should we have punch or just have soda? Should we do black balloons or will that look like a funeral?

Decisions, decisions, decisions. Good thing we can all agree on one thing: We love each other. "And can you confirm for the court that indeed that is all that really matters?" Yes, I can confirm, I said.

Case closed.

Reality check

This business of trying to lose weight has turned into a situation so pathetic that it's laughable. And I mean truly laughable.

Today is Thursday so that means it's weigh-in day for Weight Watchers. The last two weeks I finally broke through my plateau and lost some poundage for the first time in 2007. That fact alone is a bit pathetic (just a bit, huh?) -- considering a group of us started the year gung-ho with the Biggest Loser contest, then Weight Watchers and more Biggest Loser. (I mean, did we think the fat would just fall off by reading Self magazine or Women's Health?)

One of us had a great week this week, losing nearly 5 pounds. Way to go, Karen! We were sitting at our desks talking about her success and she mentioned the key was that she quit drinking soda of any kind and is mainly drinking water and milk.

Give up soda? Wow, that sounds like a great idea, we said. We should try that. That's when Sara (who is not on this weight-loss quest and doesn't need to be) says: "You know you guys were talking about doing this on my first day here last Dec. 4."

Oh wow. The reality hit us all. We've ingested all this great advice and knowledge about weight loss -- and have shared it freely with each other -- but have not taken our own advice and taken action. "Sara, I'm sorry we've all let you down!" I said. "We're so pathetic!"

And then we just started laughing. Laughing at ourselves. Laughing at how we always KNOW the solution to getting healthy but don't act on it. Laughing at how pathetic our progress has been in all of 2007. I was laughing so hard I was crying.

It was a good, healthy laugh session. I don't know if it burned any calories but it felt good. Sometimes we just need to laugh at ourselves. Then get off our butts and do something about it! Let's go, girls!!

Bouncing back

I'm a big fan of watching football but sometimes I have to cover my eyes when they replay a play that resulted in an injury. I just have to close my eyes and I can vividly recall quarterback Joe Theismann snapping his leg in half. And that was more than 20 years ago!

Just this past Sunday, Kevin Everett of the Buffalo Bills appeared to jam his head and neck -- and ended up sustaining a life-threatening spinal cord injury. I couldn't watch it again, knowing how serious the situation became. The doctors doubted he'd ever walk again but thankfully -- miraculously really -- he is showing signs of improvement.

Those things happen so quickly. In less than the time it takes to snap your fingers, a career can be ended. But more significantly, there is pain ... and plenty of emotional strain for those mothers watching. We don't want anything happening to our baby boys!

Today at work I held a vigil of sorts for one of our co-workers we feared was seriously injured while playing hoops over the lunch hour. Just like Kevin Everett, he apparently jammed his head a bit and then lay unmoving. He had to be strapped to a back board and carted off via ambulance to the hospital.

Having had my share of "back board" ambulance rides myself, I know how scary it is -- but also know it's usually just a precaution. Unfortunately, with the Kevin Everett story so fresh in my mind, I feared the worst. I thought "what if Dean really is hurt?" Dean, so full of life. Dean, who bounces around work like a gerbil on speed. Dean, who spares no one from his joking and kidding.

I found myself praying silently at my desk. We certainly don't want something bad happening to a good person. And we immediately think, too, what would I do if that happened to my husband or one of our boys? Sometimes I think I am such a strong person but then when I think of things like that, I wonder how I would handle witnessing a loved one in pain.

Thankfully, Dean was OK and actually returned to work later in the afternoon... in good spirits, naturally, and grateful to be alright. I'm grateful, too. Grateful he's going to be fine and grateful for the reminder there is a someone out there looking out for us.

Are you smarter than a 4th-grader?

Don't you hate those stumper jokes? Like how can you find a black car without headlights parked in the middle of a parking lot with no street lights on? Easy. It's daytime!

Oh the joys of logic!

Tonight Carter was doing his spelling homework, which included a worksheet with word exercises. On one of them, you had to answer the question, using one of the words from a certain list.

The question was: What color is between black and white? The only logical choice on the list was "gray." Carter says, "Mom, that doesn't really make sense does it?" I asked why. He says, "Well if white is the lightest color possible and black is the darkest, then every color is between black and white. There must be thousands of them. Gray is actually combination of the two colors. Man, I should be writing these questions!"

Oh the joys of logic!

The latest 'buzz'

It wasn't so long ago I wrote that summer was basically over now -- no matter what the calendar says. Case in point: At this moment I am waiting for the electric mattress pad to warm up my side of the bed!

Another sign is that soccer started yesterday and tonight we said goodbye to the summer Mohawk. Both were experiences I was glad to put behind me, believe me.

The first soccer game had both Jim and I shaking our heads, wondering how Carter forgot so much about the game over the summer. He wouldn't stay in his position and wondered why, after running up, down and all over the field, he was tiring out. We finally quit yelling and let the coach take over. Sometimes kids don't listen to their parents anyway (wait a minute, now I know I've written that before!).

We honestly didn't care if they won the game. We just wanted Carter to learn something from it -- like the need to do his part for the team. The thing is, he has this incredible kick. That ball flies after leaving his foot. So of course, some teammate tells him after the game: "You're good!" Then I wonder if he remembers what the coach told him about playing his position. Stay tuned. More games to come ...

This week is school pictures already so Carter asked me to shave off his Mohawk and even out his hair. It was his idea, honest! As much as I fought the idea at first, it kind of grew into a stylish look on him. He didn't really spike it that often anyway. So now it's nicely trimmed and he's back to "normal."

I will have you know that while I was buzzing it, he asked, "What's a mullet?" I swear it's true! I bet my sister heard my groan all the way down in Texas! Needless to say, I kept on buzzing and there will be NO poll about whether Carter should get that 'do!

Ain't too proud to beg

Children seem to have the gift of persistence -- especially when it potentially can get them what they want. They will beg, plead and beg some more -- trying to break down our resistance as parents. Some times we give in (well, at least I do) and sometimes we are pretty good about standing firm on our answer.

Carter's babysitter has 5 teeny tiny adorable kittens -- and Carter wants one in the worst way. It seems logical to us that the answer is no. I mean, he already has a cat that Santa caved in and gave him 3 years ago -- beautiful Sylvester. The way it is now, Carter often has to be reminded to feed her and has respectfully turned down the job of cleaning her litter box.

He's not seeing the logic in our answer and the begging and pleading have persisted all week. "Maybe we can bring one home and if it doesn't get along with Sylvester, we can return it," No, Carter. No way. I am not a cat person. Trust me, we are not relenting on this one.

It does remind me, though, of the one time (of course, there was only one time) I recall really begging in my childhood -- and it was a tag-team effort with my twin no less. The summer we turned 15, Raylene and I really wanted to go to the county fair with these Cushing boys -- Scott and Tom. Naturally, we were going to die if we couldn't go, BUT Mom and Dad said no "dating" until we turned 16.

It was at that same time that our parents took us on vacation -- a camping road trip up through northern Wisconsin and Minnesota and into Canada (just as far as Thunder Bay). Did you know it takes probably 5 hours to get from International Falls to Thunder Bay? Do you know how many times we asked: Can we go to the fair with them? Why can't we go to the fair with them? We'll be 16 next year! Can we go to the fair with them?

Ohmigod. How we came out of that trip unscathed is a miracle! How or why did our parents put up with us?! They never changed their mind either. They stood firm on their "no." I can't believe they didn't dump us on the side of the road to let us fend for ourselves in the Canadian Wilderness!

I'm ashamed to admit that in the end, with our sister Rachel as an accomplice, we did manage to sneak some time with those boys at the fair. (Don't you dare tell my mom!)

Carter will not have the same luck sneaking a kitty, though. After all, we didn't have to feed the boys or clean up after them ... that all comes later in life!

Stranger Danger

While the world jokes about Sen. Larry Craig and the bathroom sex sting operation, it scares the crap out of me (pun intended) as a parent.

Seriously, it does take "stranger danger" to whole new level -- and it's frightening. We used to think nothing bad happened in Smalltown America. Trust me, as a former cops and courts reporter, there are a lot of bad things happening behind closed doors ... some so bad we couldn't even put them in print.

Perhaps we were trying to shield our readers but maybe we shouldn't have. People should be aware that there are bad things happening in our homes, on our streets and yes, in our public restrooms. If people don't know, how can they protect themselves or, more importantly, their children?

I get nervous when Carter and I are alone somewhere and I have to send him into the bathroom by himself. The restaurants don't concern as much as the ballparks, the roadside rest areas and the airport. I do say, "Carter, remember 'stranger danger.' No one here knows you no matter what they say." He'll say, "Mom, I know." And I pray to God he does.

I hate that I have to even worry about that. But I can't forget about boys like Jacob Wetterling and Adam Walsh, whose sad, sad stories gained national media attention in the '80s. I thought it was tragic then and now I'm a mom and I think I would just die if something like that happened to my angel. I get a lump in my throat just thinking about the possibility.

Schools today are doing their best to teach young children about "stranger danger" -- not so they live in fear, but so that they have awareness. Kids don't always listen to Mom and Dad (news flash), but they will take seriously what is being said by a police officer or a firefighter.

As parents, it is our job to remind them about those lessons now and then. All bathroom humor aside, this really is not a laughing matter. Hug your kids today!

Back to School

As usual in the Austin household, the first day of school was greeted with a restless night's sleep and a very anxious 9-year-old up at the crack of dawn.

Carter's a bit of a worry wart (hmm ... wonder where he gets that from.) He couldn't fall asleep last night. What if I miss the bus? What if my teacher is mean? And on and on.

This morning he had his shoes on and his backpack on and was ready to go an hour before the bus was due. "Carter, you haven't even showered yet!" "Oh, yeah."

He's the first one to the bus stop so he puts his backpack at the edge of the road to ensure his place at the front of the line (at least for this day). The other kids and their camera-toting moms join us moments later. As we snap individual and group shots, the one mom says to her daughter, "See it's not just me. This is just what moms do!"

Carter did allow me to give him a big hug and kiss but whispered, "Mom, you're embarrassing me" when I reminded him what bus he needed to ride after school. Oh he's growing up so fast. I don't think I told my parents they embarrassed me until probably 8th grade!

I see him off on the bus. As I'm driving to work, I am astonished I didn't have a tearful goodbye. I wonder, am I getting used to this? Then, it hit me -- at a really odd time and place. As I pull up to a stoplight, I glance in the rearview mirror. In the minivan behind me, I see a mother "signing" to her school-aged daughter. I start to cry. I look up and say, "Thank you God for my healthy child ... my normal 4th-grader."

When I picked Carter up after school, I asked him what his favorite part of his first day in 4th grade was. He responded, "Everything!"

I guess we all found something to be thankful for today. Perhaps there will be some restful sleep in the Austin house tonight!

"No Return" policy

We've all been schooled since we were children that "It is better to give than receive." At what point do we believe it, though? It's tough to buy in to as a child and oftentimes as an adult -- I mean I still love Christmas and my birthday!

Yesterday my pastor had a good sermon about this basic principal about giving and not receiving. He shared the lesson about not just inviting your friends over for dinner because you know they'll invite you over the next time. Invite someone over who you know will never be able to return the favor. Do we ever give without expecting something in return?

That got me thinking about how selfish we are by nature. I am as guilty of this as the next person. I do often give freely of my time and talents, but what if I never got recognition for it? Would I still do it? I would hope so, but I don't know. I like doing things for people, but I also like the warm-fuzzy feeling of their heartfelt thanks. Deep down, I guess I want credit for it, too.

You've heard of "random acts of kindness" right? You do something nice for someone but don't let them know you are the person who did it. Just enjoy the fact you could brighten their day. It's a wonderful concept to get us out of ourselves. A friend of mine mentioned recently he strives to do at least one random act of kindness every day. I admire that and wonder if I could do it.

Today Carter and I cleaned his closet and dresser and filled up two bags of clothes he can give to someone smaller than him. In this case, the recipient will know he is receiving the "gift" so to speak from Carter, but we expect nothing in return. That's a great place to start. As selfish as Carter (and most kids) can be at times, he does enjoy giving to others. "I think XX will love this shirt like I did," he'd say. He enjoyed our project today -- just not enough to do my closet as well (which is next on the list!).

I think I will have to start this "no return" policy with baby steps. Can I decorate that co-worker's desk for her birthday without trumpeting to the world that I did it? Can I drop off clothes at the domestic abuse shelter without taking credit? How hard would it be to just give some money to the church once without having it in my personalized envelope?

I challenge each of you to think of some way to give without demanding or expecting something in return. If you need some inspiration, watch the movie "Pay it Forward." Just think for a minute how pleasurable it feels to get something unexpected (whether it's a material thing or the gift of someone's time). Doesn't it make you want to share that feeling with the next person down the line?

I think it's worth a try. How 'bout you?

Putting it in gear

Most women change their last name when they get married. Some change their address or even their religion. I became a gearhead. And I must confess, it hasn't been that bad.

Before Jim, I had been to maybe three local stockcar races as a teen. I had heard of NASCAR but never wasted, err ... enthusiastically spent a Sunday afternoon, watching it on TV. I didn't know there were "road courses" that aren't shaped like ovals. I certainly didn't know what "going three wide on turn 4" meant either. Should I be embarrassed to say I know now?

Jim introduced me to racing when we got into a NASCAR pool at work where we had to pick two drivers each weekend that we thought would win. First I picked based on names I liked, then I became a fan of Jeff Burton because his birthday is the day after mine. Then I latched onto Tony Stewart because I love orange (and Jeff's car is orange now, too). Of course we all cheer for Matt Kenseth because he is from Wisconsin and we saw him race back when they called him "Matt the Brat."

It's hard not to catch racing fever in the Wisconsin Rapids area, home of legendary Dick Trickle, billed as America's winningest stockcar driver. (Don't laugh at the name, either. It demands serious respect around these parts!) They love racing here.

Jim's sister Sherry married into a big time racing family. Her father-in-law Tom Reffner often raced against Trickle. Her husband Baird raced locally and her brother-in-law Flyin' Bryan Reffner raced stockcars and trucks (you may have seen him on TV in the Craftsman Truck Series). Her son Colin holds honors as the youngest racecar driver in Wisconsin to win a feature.

Last night we went to watch him race. By winning heats and features and such, drivers accumulate points throughout the season and, as with any sport (except golf), the one with the most points at the end wins. Going into last night's racing, Colin was only 8 points behind the leader so we knew it could have the makings of a big night. We were all there to support him -- our three boys and Jim's parents -- sporting our "Reffner blue" #87 Colin Reffner hats.

Colin qualified with the fastest time in his division (4 cylinders), something he has pretty much done every time he's raced this summer. He didn't win the heat race, but neither did the points leader. Because of his fast qualifying time, he and the leader started in the back of the pack for the feature. Colin has done this before and eventually has passed everyone to win. Last night, however, it was not to be.

It wasn't too far into the race, when suddenly a car was on top of Colin's and he literally gave it a ride around a quarter of the track before that car "disengaged" itself. I think each one of us said a big "Oh no!" We felt so bad. We knew he had to win that race. His car was still OK to drive, but he never was able to catch up like he needed to.

We can only imagine his disappointment. But as a 13-year-old, he'll have a lot more chances, I'm sure of it. And as a third-generation racer, he has nothing to be ashamed of. His family is incredibly proud. And I'm proud to be a fan!

It almost makes it OK to be a gearhead, doesn't it? I said, doesn't it? Sigh ... Maybe I'll see ya in the pits!