Jump for joy juice

Ken (5) Sam (4) Georgia (3)

We're jumping to the tune of summer these days -- amid really green grass, thunderstorms, neighborhood friends, and four new trees in our backyard. Ken here -- to report that life is a-okay. (An aside: I love summer. Days are longer, sun is sunnier, birds are bird-ier. I do think this month is the reason most people decide to stay living in Minnesota.)

Georgia scored herself a birthday last week. She's three big ones --

Georgia: Cake batter!

although, when you ask her, she'll tell you that she's five. She positively owned that chocolate batter in the mixing bowl, and when it came time to choose her cupcake, she (wisely) selected the one with the most rainbow sprinkles. Promptly after unwrapping a yarn-haired, ever-smiling rag doll, she embraced its cotton-filled person and aptly named it Joy. Happy birthday, Georgia!

Mom and I are biking together as of late. She on her low cross-bar-basket-sporting-blue-streak, and I on my super-awesome-kid-bike-with-no-training-wheels. We pedal along at a whopping 5 mph and typically cover about four miles with each ride. I'm getting better at the hills; now I simply need a way to go faster.

Sam and G: Finding bugs

Sam's leading the charge on the bug hunts this summer. Spiders don't frighten him the same way they do me [insert high-pitched scream here], and Sam has a knack for finding caterpillars. At first we tried to keep the caterpillars in a bug-friendly mason jar, but after three attempts at storing these furry friends for easy viewing and conversation -- alas -- none survived. Instead, we discovered a local nature center: one that houses all sorts of bugs for our temporary capture-and-chat-pleasure. Totally. Awesome.

Catching bugs

Occasionally, we'll score an evening movie night with Mom and Dad. One rainy week in June, Mom allowed each of us to choose one movie-to-borrow from the library. (Sweet!) I chose Sleeping Beauty. Georgia chose 101 Dalmatians. Sam chose a documentary on birds.

Dad's home-brew season is in full swing. His slightly upgraded brewing equipment is wheeled to the center of the backyard for each 4-6 hour brew session. After it sits for a select number of weeks to properly ferment, the barley pop is kegged at the basement bar (dubbed Conrad's Tavern), and ready for consumption. Currently on tap: A light-hopped session ale, and a summer saison. Yum. (Says Mom), and come on over! (says I).

Dress up!

As the moments are rarely dull around here, Mom asked me to share a few memorable dialogues.

Georgia: Mom, Mom, Mom.
Mom: What, Georgia?
Georgia: I put my nightmare in my PJ drawer.
Mom: Your nightmare? Did you have a bad dream?
Georgia: No, I put my nightmare in my PJ drawer.
Mom: Oh, yes. Your nightgown. That's a smart place for it.

Dad: Yes,when ice gets warm, it turns to water.
Ken: I know. And when water gets warm, it turns to air.
Dad: Um, you're right.
Ken: And that means the whole world is wet.

Georgia & Joy

Georgia: (At the close of meal-time prayer) Scoop in!
Sam: Do you mean dig in?
Georgia: Yep! Scoop in!

Ken: (with Georgia) Mom, mom, mom. I'm good at catching!
Mom: Really? What are you catching?
Ken: I'm catching Joy!

Godspeed, dear reader! And may you also find yourself good at catching joy as we jump into these early days of summer. Until next time --
Ken

Staying a-float up in the air

Ken: Growing sunflowers

Greetings, my fine readers!

Ken here -- assuming my proper penning post as the eldest cherub of the Corrigan Conrad household. I'm feeling like a bit of a shirker in my blog duties, for the pace of this springtime has been one unmatched in recent years. That is to say, we're not overly busy. We're simply working through more than a few transitions as of late. And transitions, I'm told, can leave a body up in the air: lifted a few inches of the ground, searching for the swiftest way to rid the mind and heart of the beat of the unknown, the rhythm of a holding pattern and wait-and-see circumstance.

Bikes!

Allow me to share a few of the more interesting transitions as of late. Some have raced themselves to resolution, others are still floating those precious inches, looking for a landing one step at a time.

The bike: I acquired a pedal bike from the Easter Bunny. Dad acquiesced to the need for training wheels while I learned the finer points of actually pedaling while balancing on a bike. (For, when a guy grows up on a Strider bike, this concept of balance-while-pedal can be a trifle overwhelming.) I'm proud to say that I shed those training wheels faster than a winter coat in July, and the ride's never been more fun.

The book:I can read! The narration is a bit choppy, varies in volume, and sometimes trips over those tricky silent letters, but bit by bit, I'm the master of my own adventure, flipping from page one to page last with ease and confidence. Some favorites: Go Dog, Go, The B Book, Hop on Pop and The Berenstain Bears Tell the Truth. Any other recommendations for me, dear reader? Wait and see: I plan to be a regular at the local library this summer.

L to R: Sam, Ken, Georgia

The nanny: Bria hung with us for 21 weeks and 6 days -- just missing our average nanny tenure of 22 weeks. We just like her. We're transitioning now to new-nanny-Sarah, who seems to fit the bill nicely. Note: The common denominator in almost all nannies hired by mom and dad these last two years: They're rock stars. I know this because -- after a few months on board -- each of the rock stars falls in love with us and then lands smack dab at the start of a dream job. Do you know anyone in search of a dream job? Send them my way! I'll teach 'em how to be my nanny, after-which, all of said nanny's career aspirations will begin falling into place.

Ken & Sam: Swimming

The pool: I'm so proud of Sam. In six short weeks, he's transitioned from a primal fear of water to a regular tadpole. We've been hanging out at the YMCA one night per week in order to improve our aquatic skill, and I do believe we're both fully ready for the water holes of Minnesota this summer. Bring on the sunscreen and the life jackets! We're ready.

Georgia: Age 2

The toilet: The sibling pride extends to my kid sister. Gone are the days of diaper bags and wet wipes, for it's Georgia's grim determination that's transitioned her from the blue potty chair to the porcelain god of body waste. Georgia's the only almost-three-year-old who thinks she's five, and if you tell her she's too little to do what Sam and I are doing, you'd better duck. Far be it for Georgia to be left behind. Buckle up. She's a woman who knows what she wants.

The place-of-employment:These are turbulent times at Mom's place place of employment, and while Mom's still gainfully employed there, she says that it's by far one of the most intriguing experiences in her professional career. While the pundits claim the company's transformation will set a new pace for this almost-international retailer, the current transition leaves those still employed feeling a bit up in the air, wondering just what's around the next corner, and attempting to land one step at a time. 

Sam: Finding caterpillars

And...the season:One full day of school remains, then we'll launch into three glorious months of schedule-free days full of outdoor extravaganzas like picnics in the park, dips in the local pool, and regular searches for caterpillars, lightening bugs and mosquito spray. We'll fill our evenings with new-found bike paths and chocolate dipped ice cream cones; perhaps an outdoor movie or two. Mom says we might even try camping this summer.

Until next time, dear reader, may this note find you working through your own transitions with a skip in your step and a prayer in your heart. And if you're feeling a bit up in the air, a-floating through your own holding pattern, know that you're not alone. What challenges you changes you, and change is the stuff of life. Keep growing, keep going, and know that you'll land on your feet, one step at a time.
 -- Ken

Fast-forward, march!

(L to R: Ken 5,
Georgia 2
Sam 4)

“Mom-mom-mom.” My name has become three syllables. “Mom-mom-mom, did you know? Did you know that the calendar says March?” And, as he stomps rhythmically in place, “Mom-mom-mom, did you know that this is a march, too? Look, I’m marching, and it’s March! Isn’t that cool?”

In all of his four years, Sam continues to march to the beat of his own drum, and regularly makes connections that keep me smiling to myself. Yes, we’re marching – marching through 2015 with eyes wide open: striving to keep the balance of time, health and fun. (Anyone else meet a late March deadline for both their new year’s resolutions and their taxes?) Not pulling any punches here – the last three months have been a healthy challenge. Nothing wrong with a good, healthy challenge. (As long as there’s ice cream.)

Here’s a smattering of lessons learned:

• Lesson one: Nannies can quit with two-day’s notice, pending a decision of a nanny’s fiance to

  

  Sam, Ken, Georgia &
  Class Pet, Fluffy

  move out-of-state.
• Lesson two: Head lice is contagious. The Lice Lady is your friend.
• Lesson three: The faithfully departed are with us always. I miss my mother-in-law. She always said, “Time marches on, and people grow up. And that’s okay.” But watching my husband and sisters and brothers-in-law prepare their childhood home for sale, and care for my father-in-law is not easy on the heart.
• Lesson four: Your place of employment is not a loyal relationship. Always build your network. And update your resume.
• Lesson five: Waiting in the license renewal line at the DMV on a Saturday is more fun when you bring your three toddlers and the class pet, Fluffy (stuffed).
• Lesson six: Spring arrives early, sometimes.
• Lesson seven: A few good friends, a loyal spouse, three hilarious children, and quality ice-cream (Ben & Jerry’s Cherry Garcia or Haagen Daz Dulce de Leche, please) is all that’s needed to make you know that life is good – and it’s best to soldier on -- keep marching.

L to R: Sam, Ken, Georgia

And so, we soldier on -- my hubby, three cherubs and me -- marching forward, heads high, ready for

 what's just around the bend. And in our quest to keep the balance of time, health and fun, we declare our blessings, attempt to slow the pace of each day, and keep each other from taking life all too seriously. For, as any good soldier knows, it's the healthy challenges that make life worth living. Best to keep the wind at your back, an angel on your shoulder, and a swift sense of humor at the ready.

And so, loyal reader, as you march around the next corner, here are a few toddler sayings to keep you ever-light-of heart. 

On sharing:

• New nanny Bria: Today we're going to learn about states! And Georgia, did you know that you have your very own state?
• Ken: Um... Bria, it's not Georgia's state. It's all of our's state. In this house, we share.

On memory:

• Sam: Bria, what's your favorite vegetable?
• Bria: I told you yesterday. Do you remember?
• Sam: No.
• Ken: He's actually so smart that there isn't any more room in his head to remember.

On spooky movies:

• Georgia: The ghost movie is scoopy.
• Dad: Spooky movies are no good. Which other movie should we watch?
• Georgia: Let's watch the boom-pas.
• Dad: Right. The umpa-lumpas.

Until next time,

Molly

Happy new year to remember

Happy New Year's Eve! 

In the spirit of documenting this journey called life, Mom's posted her Christmas letter for ease of access -- and for the enjoyment of those who may not have received a paper copy.

Cheers to 2014, and happy new year!

Ken

Christmas preparation has taken an online flavor this year as we balance the not-so-demanding-yet-ever-constant-requirements of Corrigan-Conrad life. Three cheers for free shipping! I hope this message finds you relaxing amid a handful of Christmas cards – perhaps sipping your favorite adult beverage as you read along.

Five-year-old Ken started swimming lessons. Note: He doesn't love swimming. Just the lessons. This week I watched as Ken and his fellow guppy-level swimmers latched themselves to the pool wall – birds on a wire – each awaiting a rotating 20 seconds of away-from-the-wall-teacher time. Smiling and splashing all the way. Ken saw me watching him and waved wildly – “Hi, Mom!” Beaming. (An aside: When did he get so tall? And, for how much longer can I watch with unabashed adoration before he responds instead with a semi-embarrassed wave and a mumble? I digress.)

His swimming lesson report card reads proficient in all but one guppy-level activity. “Comfortable with his face in the water” – not yet proficient. I don’t blame the kid. Who really wants to hold your breath, close your eyes and listen to the world disappear as you dunk your head underwater? Not unless my feet touch the floor at all times, thank you very much.

Interestingly enough, our 2014 asked us to put our face in the water a few more times than we’d planned.  And, when your feet stop touching the floor, it really doesn't matter how deep the water is. You hold your breath, close your eyes, and learn to swim together.

Four-year-old Sam goes to preschool now. Three mornings per week of school prove to be just the right recipe for practicing his social skills, putting on his listening ears, and solidifying his love of reading, writing, drawing, singing, and talking to anyone who’s ready (or not ready) to listen. His incessant chatter and ceaseless singing keeps us ever light-of-heart. When dressing for school one morning, Sam donned his best church pants and his Beatles t-shirt. Dad, ever the proponent of allowing age-appropriate decisions (and the Beatles), gently reminded Sam that his church pants should be swapped for a school pair. “Oh, that’s right,” Sam smiled and said matter-of-factly. “These are my funeral pants.”

Learning to swim together, we said goodbye to three beloved family members this year: Adam’s mom and brother, and my grandfather. All three lived good, full lives and shaped each of us in ways for which we’ll forever be grateful. Note: Sometimes it’s your children who prove the strongest of swimmers. Ken regularly reminds us that it’s okay to be sad, but God wants us back in Heaven with him, so we’ll see them all again when we get there.

Thirty-something-year-old Adam ended his role as household manager and launched into a full-time job. Having re-entered the workforce for a full year now, he’s traded playdates and walks to the park for spreadsheets, conference calls and a corporate vocabulary. The job is treating him right.

Learning to swim together, I decided to continue working full time, and we sprang into our first-ever search for child care. Two rock-star temporary nannies and one not-quite-the-right-fit-nanny later, we’ve welcomed into our home a full-time, long-term regular Mary Poppins. Ken, Sam and Georgia adore Stacie, and the household runs in a way that makes her another member of our family.

Still on the younger side of two, Georgia is our only two year old who wants to be five. She keeps up with her brothers the best ways she knows how, talks almost as much as Sam does, and steals your heart on a regular basis. Once, while settling her in her car seat on our way to the library – me in my winter hat, tousled hair and yoga pants – Georgia put her hand on my arm, kissed my cheek and said, “Mom. You beautiful.”

And so it goes. While we may not be proficient at putting our face in the water, we’re swimming together this year to more than a few valuable lessons – so grateful for the friends and family with us along the way.

Merry Christmas to you, and may your 2015 be abundantly joyful.

Love, Molly

Don't worry be happy birthday to you

Ken: Pedal bike!

A helluva fall, I say. It's been a helluva fall. Note: This helluva fall might mean a set of 70 degree days through October. It's possibly interpreted as that mean spill that lands you a fat and bloody lip. Even still, your helluva fall may define the progression of a relationship -- a downgrade or an upgrade -- a falling out or a falling in love, if you will. Whatever your definition of helluva a fall, I'm here to wish you a graceful falling, a decent landing and a speedy movement to the upright.

Hello, dear readers! We've had a stretch of a season this fall - with a slew of 70 and sunny all the way through October. It's as if the Almighty said, "Here -- I know I handed you a sub-par spring, a delayed summer. And that most of you slipped into a slow depression this past winter. Enjoy this glimpse of wonder -- free of charge." The leaves, the colors, the sun, the crisp. We're soaking it all in.

Sam: Age 4

You'll recall that I recently turned five. Well, Sam turns four today. TODAY, I tell you! Four! He's forever the sweetest part of our Halloween celebrations -- we opened his first birthday present over Cheerios this morning, as his true birthday party will likely happen a day or so after the Trick or Treat festivities. Nothing like clustering the cake, frosting and small gift-wrapping indulgences all into one season. Happy birthdays to us. The quick ditty on the Trick or Treating: We've taken full advantage of Target's BOGO costume offerings this season. And with Georgia's recent inheritance of cousin Greta's dress-up bin, we're proudly touting a Super Mario Bros. trio: Mario, Luigi and a dragon -- or maybe a princess with her "tune-tune." (She hasn't quite decided yet. That's tutu, for those of you less familiar with toddler talk.) Ready or not, here we come!

Georgia: Age 2

In other news, the three of us are in the business of climbing slides. That's right -- at the park. Climbing slides. Who needs the ladders, the plastic stairs, the rock wall? Sam and I prefer to start at the bottom, dig our feet in, and step up -- one foot at a time. And you know the best part? Reaching the top, crouching sideways, and sliding all the way back down again. Weeee! Georgia's following along, learning as she goes. While the slide trick may have landed her a couple few fat lips, I do think she's enjoying the challenge. I think.

Of course, this relatively harmless children's activity has me thinking a bit. Because Sam -- Birthday Boy Sam -- is the best of all of us when it comes to climbing that slide from the bottom. He inherently has the grit,the gumption, the why-wouldn't-i-give-er-hell-because-i'm-not-sure-what-else-there-is-to-give in him that so many of us have to learn as we live. And yet, as we embark on each climb, we often hear phrases: "Don't climb from the bottom! Take the stairs -- it's easier. Use the ladder; you won't get hurt. Why are you doing that the hard way?"

And I wonder -- why this type of encouragement? For, trying is half the fun. In fact, trying is really

Sam: Climbing slides

all it's about. Why do something if it's easy? Why work at something if you're going to reach the same finish as the next person? Trying and failing -- trying and falling -- doesn't feel good. (Take a look at Georgia's latest fat lip.) BUT, trying, learning, adjusting, moving against the grain, setting up your system in a way that works for you -- so that you can give it all you've got and reach your own finish line -- that's it's about, I tell you. So, the next time someone gives me a ribbon for finishing -- parades a trophy because I participated -- I'll say no thanks. Because, there really is only one reward. And that is the knowledge that I did it. I started slow, fell a few times, wanted to stop, but learned and kept going. And, I did it.

And so, here's to the slide-climber in you. Whether you're just beginning, the climb, picking yourself up after a mid-slide fall, or reaching the top and ready to enjoy the slide back down, keep your grit. Keep you spirit. You can do it. And when you've done it. Step back. Be proud of yourself. Call it enough. And enjoy the slide.
Until next time,
Ken

I think I can, I think I can you find the pattern?

Ken: Age 5

Ken here! To report the latest fall festivities. The mild chaos. The lessons we're learning. And the good, clean fun.

A variety of September life events have passed at the Corrigan-Conrad abode. And yes, it's high time to document them: We've started school. Mom launched into a new job at good ol TGT. Our summertime nanny returned to her full-time fall gig. (We miss her, but schedule regular dinner parties with her -- just so we don't lose touch.) Dad brewed 10 gallons of home brew -- 5 gallons of an IPA and 5 of an ESB -- from the hops grown in the backyard. The annual Conrad Brew Review ensued. Regular visits to Grandpa Conrad's are beginning to heal our hearts.

Most notably -- My fifth birthday coasted to the curb and stayed just long enough to celebrate with a

First day of school

few gifts, pizza and cupcakes with the cousins. Thanks for the party, gals!

That's right! The big oh-5. To which I declare permission to embark on the following challenges:

1. Learn to ride a pedal bike (training wheels optional).
2. Visit the Mall 'Mur-ka (a.k.a. the Mall of America) to ride the bumper car ride.
3. Eliminate all whining from my repertoire when asking for things. (Truth: Mom suggested that one.)
4. Learn to tell time with my cool new Lego watch. (Thanks, G-ma Corrigan!)
5. Begin the count-down to our next parish block party. (I missed this year's block party due to an unexpected fever and weird cold virus. Only 327 sleeps till the next block party!)

While these challenges may seem a trifle minor relative to the scheme of life in store for me, I contend that each is important in its own rite. For with each challenge, I learn something new. And, new is exciting. New is hard. New requires being not-good at something for a bit -- until you figure out a routine. Find your voice. And discover a pattern.

Georgia: Age 2

Dad scored a handful of new coloring books last week. As Sam and I
settled into the business of deciding which pages needed the most work, Sam declared, "Look, Ken! A pattern!" He'd arranged his coloring tools into a row of neatly organized shapes and lines. Impressive.

Georgia's also into patterns. Checkered, spiral, floral, striped -- you name it, she loves it. Her best days entail a mixture of patterns -- ones that she has hand-selected from her collection of articles sized 2T. For an example of the completeness of her patterned paraphernalia, see attached photo.

Sam: Almost 4

Much like little-sister's love for eclectic combinations of patterns, the cadence of our days this Fall are eclectic, new, and not-so-easy. But, we're discovering new patterns together. And I'm finding that with each new challenge, you sort out what's important, arrange your pattern, and weave it all together -- one step at a time. Soon, you're flexing your new muscles, not repeating your mistakes, and rising to the occasion of this not-so-new-anymore pattern.

For now, dear reader, may the patterns of your life be readily arranged and full of enough challenge and color to keep you honest, grateful and striving for even better.
Until next time,
Ken

Spoiler alert: Missing my mother-in-law and order

I've been trying to construct this blog post since ... well ... about August 24. The truth is, I'm afraid to write it. Why? Because I despise the grieving process. Grief has a way of swallowing you. Upon hearing the news, your world tips askew, your stomach starts to roll, and sometimes, a hint of a lullaby begins to sound in your ear. As if the Almighty knows you'll need a heavenly guardian's hum to find sleep tonight.

Despite my despising, it is absolutely necessary that I grieve a bit, and pay tribute to one rock-star mother-in-law in the most eloquent way that I know how. And maybe, just maybe, dear reader, this tribute can assist you in any sort of loss or letting-go that you also may be experiencing. Bear with me as I once again remove my eldest son from the blog-writing seat, allow myself to be momentarily grief-swallowed, and offer you my own voice.

I should have told her how much I admired her, how much I hoped to be like her, how much she made me feel like -- in her presence -- I was home. I should have been more intentional about in-person visits, regular Scrabble games, occasions to let her care for my children. I should have listened more carefully. I want to know more about her childhood, her adulthood, her motherhood. I want to hear her singing voice.

I'd like her to know that her son -- my patient, loving, courageous husband -- is everything that he is because of her care, her humor, her talent, her confidence and influence. For as much as I tumbled head over heels for my Adam, it likely happened because he reflects so much of her compassion, loyalty, and humble strength.

Perhaps this is what it means to be a matriarch. A female leader of a family or tribe, says good ol' Webster -- but a true matriarch is that and so much more. Whether a mother, grandmother, mother-in-law, godmother or mother figure to another, a true matriarch leads her tribe and offers the heartbeat. The order. The model. The strength. The rhythm. We look to our matriarch for wisdom, for courage, for permission and affirmation. We lean on our matriarch when we're searching, weary, sad and troubled. Most of all, whether we know it or not, we emulate the rhythm of our matriarch with each success, milestone and proud life-moment.

So fortunate am I to be a part of her family. For, whether she knew it or not, my mother-in-law was heroine to all of us. She'd guffaw at that, I'm sure, but much like my own mother, Barbara Conrad is the heartbeat of her family. We looked to her; we leaned on her; we laughed with her; we lived with her. So lucky am I to have called her mother.

As it turns out, I can't tell her all of this anymore. And so, I have to show her. Help me, Barb, to grow into the matriarch that you are. Help me emulate your rhythm, so that I can offer your same wisdom and strength to my family. Remind me -- remind all of us -- that no matter what kind of letting-go we're experiencing, that we'll grow through this grief. We'll adapt to our new normal, and we'll once again feel life's constant tug of heartache and hope, and once again discover life's delicate balance of loss and love.

Prayers up, dear matriarch. You are deeply loved and greatly missed.

Love,
Molly