Uncle Ken

Me and my brother, Ken 1974

(UPDATE: See the bottom of this post)

I have hosted this blog for ten months now, and I usually try to keep my topics fairly upbeat and lighthearted. But I can't deny what is in my heart right now, and I want this blog to be honest. Anyone who knows me also knows the one topic I rarely discuss but that always shapes my perspective on life. Friends send me cards around this time of year -- those real, true friends who never forget no matter how hectic their lives are. And it is so important to me that they still remember. Especially since this event happened exactly twenty years ago on Halloween.

I was one of those girls who needed a boyfriend or I questioned my self-worth. So silly to think of now, but I am being honest. In seventh grade, I met a boy named Blaine* who I thought was the equivalent of heaven on earth. And in a shocking twist, despite my total insecurity, he became my first boyfriend in eighth grade. I was smitten with him as only a young teenage girl can be, and this first love lasted well into my high school years. Only it didn't last that long for him. We had a strange on-again, off-again sort of relationship. But during one of our on-again moments, I came back from a short vacation to my grandparents to the phone ringing. It was my friend, Hannah.* She called to tell me that I should brace myself because something happened while I was away. Blaine was now off the market. His girlfriend? None other than Hannah herself, gleeful to tell me of her apparent victory.

* Names have been changed to protect the guilty.

I hit the lowest point I can remember in high school. I had known many of my friends since nursery school, and I couldn't believe that a "friend" or a boyfriend who I thought was so amazing could be so completely disloyal. And the best part was that I got to watch them hand in hand, smooching, and Hannah deliberately eyeing me while she pulled Blaine closer. I felt like I was starring in a really bad remake of a John Hughes film. And while I can make fun of myself at how much I allowed my self-esteem suffer over a ridiculous high school romance, it really felt like the end of the world to me. I started to think terrible thoughts, and those thoughts consumed me.

Ken and me, 1984

What pulled me out of my rock bottom existence? Well, I had friends that didn't give up on me, despite how miserable I was. But my brother and a few of his football friends really helped the most. My brother, Ken, and I didn't usually discuss the nitty-gritty details of our respective boyfriends or girlfriends, but one day, Ken sat down and asked what was going on with Blaine. We were receiving endless hang-up phone calls night after night, and it was driving all of my family members crazy (remember, it was pre-Caller ID). I told Ken that I thought it was Hannah, and then explained the chain of events. In his big brother way, he was furious that a) Blaine would break my heart -- again, and b) that my "friend" made me question so many of my values. To get even, Ken -- a towering 6'3," 200-pound football player whose build was so muscular that the arms on his shirts didn't fit -- walked me down the hallway to one of my classes every day. When Blaine crossed our path, Ken and his football friends would make snide remarks or step in his way. I know; it wasn't very nice, but I appreciated them sticking up for me and my fallen self-respect so much. And speaking of respect, Ken was extremely well-respected by both his peers and his teachers, not only for his athletic talents, but for his unbelievable SAT scores and his famously witty (albeit goofy) sense of humor. He was honor society president and graduated at the top of his class with a scholarship to an extremely competitive college. In my mind, he personified success. He had everything, and even when we had our typical sibling squabbles, I was so proud he was my brother.

Fast forward a few years to Halloween night of my first semester in college, many hours from home. I came back from choir and band rehearsals to my phone ringing as I opened the door. I didn't make it inside in time to answer, but I listed to my answering machine and had several messages from campus security. OH NO! I thought. I knew what had happened. During one of their routine freshman room checks, they had found my toaster. We had been warned that such items were strictly off-limits and that they would be confiscated and the owners would receive appropriate punishment. I was certain I would have to beg them to allow me to stay in college and not expel me. What would my parents think??? Just then, a friend came by as the phone rang again. It was security again, and they needed me to report to their office immediately. I convinced my friend to accompany me for moral support.

When I got there, I met two security guards who escorted me in another room where my resident advisor (whom I had talked to about twice) was sitting. I was handed the phone.

I still wish it was the toaster.

On the other end of the phone was my mom. I was very confused. I don't remember the conversation. I only remember the news.

My big brother had committed suicide.

I still can't say that -- or write that -- without tears. My world was shattered. Twenty years later, my feelings are not much different. My childhood hero and my only sibling is gone. How could he have helped me through my own depression, yet never told anyone about his own? My family and I have been deprived of so many moments we should have shared. Every milestone is difficult to achieve without him: my college graduation, my first teaching job, my marriage, and, of course, my children. My husband would have bonded with him over Monty Python, horror films, and 80s heavy metal. And my boys would have loved their Uncle Ken, his silly jokes, his made-up songs, and his infectious laugh more than I can imagine.

After every store puts away their back-to-school merchandise, I dread the constant reminders of the day that is looming. And turning the calendar over to October year after year has never gotten any easier. I often wonder if it would be less ominous if Ken's death had not occurred on Halloween. The anniversary of anyone's death is difficult, yet every year, when the leaves begin to turn, I am met with an increasing supply of ghosts, skeletons, and dead creatures seemingly reminding me of the day that is quickly approaching. But this year is even harder. Ken took his life when he was twenty. This year marks the twentieth anniversary of his death. That means that after this Halloween, with each day that passes, the amount of time Ken has been gone will outweigh the days Ken spent here on earth. I have difficulty writing that, too.

If you saw my last post, there is evidence that I have come a long way. Before having children, I would have never even considered donning my doorstep with pumpkins or any festive decorations -- most certainly not a ghost. But my needs take a backseat to my little boys' needs, and I understand the childhood excitement and anticipation of Halloween. But my Halloween will never be a "happy" one. It will always be a reminder of the loss of all that once was and all that could have been.

And Big Brother, you would have made a terrific Uncle Ken.

And I still love you more than words can tell.

To read more about my brother, Ken, you are invited to visit his memory blog here.

UPDATE: You can also read my anniversary post on Ken's memory blog here, which includes the story of the original song I wrote about him when I was eighteen, which you can listen to here.

Pumpkinland (May contain added Peanuts)

We went to the most kid-friendly orchard recently to pick out some pumpkins with the boys. One of my friends suggested it, and she was right! There was so much to do and see:

Peanut loved the painted pumpkins. He picked a small one for himself and a miniature pumpkin for his little pumpkin of a brother.

This was a corn husk tee pee. The boys enjoyed running endless circles in it. Our apologies to the nice family who was just trying to capture a serene moment with their own children in the tee pee while our children attempted to crash their photo-op.

Yes, of course I dressed my own pumpkin in a pumpkin outfit. What you can't see is the best part; the hood has a green leaf with a stem at the top. Pumpkin flatly refused to wear the hood, despite the cold wind that day. I guess there is only so much a mommy can get away with in the boys' cute department.

They also had several of these wooden cut-outs which were a big hit...

...with all three of my favorite boys.

Then we paid a whopping fee (!!!) for each of us to go through the hay bale maze. It's for little kids, so how hard could it be? We stopped asking this question after running into the same two families over and over again. I think we were in there for a good forty minutes when we decided to go out the entrance because we were afraid we would end up sleeping in the maze that night. With a few cheers and claps when we exited the entrance, the kids were none the wiser.

Another great part of this orchard was this adorable playground with wooden apple carts, tractors, and castles to climb and play in. Don't ask how fast Peanut got to the top of this castle and how long it took him to get down. Apparently, I passed on my fear of heights and inability to slide down fireman poles.

Even our lunch was entertaining. They had numerous choices of foods and snacks, and we were serenaded by a band as the kids marveled at this juggling clown on stilts.

Oh, and there is one piece of evidence that I was there, too. But every pic of me and the boys turns out like this. Hello...the camera is over here, guys.

When we got home, Peanut wanted to decorate the house with pumpkins and the silly ghost he picked out. (The painted pumpkins are decorating the dining room.)

It was a great time! I can't wait to go for Easter when they change Pumpkinland into.....Bunnyland! :)

Serves me right...

...for trying to get another sweet picture of the boys together.

First, this happens:

(Check out Peanut's "mean face.")

And then, this happens:

(I don't think I have to explain the issues I have here, do I?)

Oh, well. Our boys are obviously not lacking little personalities, right?!? Besides, if all I had were pictures of them both looking angelic, they would certainly not have genuine momentos of their respective childhoods. Just remember that I am trying to preserve their true characters if you get a Christmas card photo with a grimace or a belly shot, okay?

Boys will be (sweet) boys

On our trip home from the in-laws this weekend, my husband and I heard some delightful words in the backseat:

Peanut: I love you, Pumpkin.*

Pumpkin: I love you, Peanut.*

Peanut: Wanna share my helicopter?

Pumpkin: Sure! (Peanut gives Pumpkin his helicopter.)

Peanut: Can I see your car?

Pumpkin: Okay! (Pumpkin gives Peanut his car.)

Peanut: We just shared, Mommy and Daddy.

Mommy: Great job, guys!

Pumpkin: Cough, cough.

Peanut: Are you okay, Pumpkin?*

Pumpkin: Yeah, I'm okay. Wanna see my helicopter?

Peanut: Okay! (Pumpkin and Peanut trade toys again.)

Peanut proceeds to sing his made-up counting song that begins at one and ends at ten thousand. Pumpkin joins in to the best of his ability.

I bring this perfectly sunny example of their loving brotherly relationship to you not to brag or to bore you with happily-ever-after stories, but rather as proof. Sometimes, when everything gets incredibly hectic -- when Pumpkin is cranky and has thrown the millionth Thomas the Train track while Peanut is patiently trying to put it together, or when Peanut trips on a leaf in the grass and Pumpkin laughs which upsets him even more, or when the boys decide that it's time to jump on Mommy's back while I am trying to play with them after a rough day at school -- it's good to remember that these times do exist. It's good to think back to a sweet sitcom-esque situation and remind myself that -- whatever the dilemma -- it will not last forever, and we will indeed get "back to normal" (whatever that is) soon. Today, when I was listening to their exchange, I couldn't help but imagine them as older boys, with Peanut sticking up for his younger brother and the two of them still the best of friends. I realize this is awfully idealistic of me, but it is a wonderful possibility to daydream about. And I just had to put it in writing as proof to me, their daddy, and perhaps --someday -- even proof to them that they were often this sweet to one another. Please try to remind me of this the next time I am in the middle of calming a nasty tantrum, okay?

*My children actually call each other by their real names (in case there was any doubt), even though Mommy often uses their nicknames (and many derivations of those nicknames).

It's hard being five and a half...

That's right, just around the corner of the calendar from his little brother, Peanut is five and a half today. And it's not that easy being five and a half. For example:

• Even if the character from one of your favorite shows is making an appearance at your local zoo, that doesn't mean you actually want to meet said character.


• You have to share all of your toys with your little brother, but when you want him to share a toy with you, he throws it across the room instead.


• Every day at recess, the same kid pretends he is shooting you, and you know that playing that you are shooting isn't allowed. You tell the teacher but it still happens every day. Then when you shake hands too hard one morning with the "shooters kid," you get in trouble and have to sit in "the thinking chair."


• You wanted to shop with Mommy for your Halloween costume, but the stores with the costumes are all too scary.


• If you do the same thing your little brother does, it's not okay because "you know better."


• Your parents make you eat your food at dinner and not just the butter on top of the food.


• Your mommy wants to kiss you all of the time and you want to wipe them off, but you know that makes her sad.


• You are too big for your parents to carry you around now, even when you are really, really, super tired.


• Your parents get annoyed when you get out of bed for the third time, but this time it was just to remind them that you love them.

Happy 5 1/2, Peanut. Despite all of the hardships of being a kid your age, you are a great big brother and a bright kindergartner, and we love you soooo much. (Just don't tell anyone how many years-and-a-half Mommy is today. Your great memory is dangerous!)

Two and a half today...

Don't let this innocent-looking, lollipop-gooped sticky face fool you.

When Peanut, his older brother, was turning three, I remember thinking, "Wow....The 'terrible twos' weren't so bad. Whew! We made it through unscathed!" When I voiced my relief to a girlfriend, she quickly shot me down. "Oh, 'the twos' are nothing. It's 'the threes' that are the worst for a boy!" So, while at the time I truly did not appreciate her candor, "the threes" actually were a bit more tantrum-filled for Peanut. (Although I really have to wonder sometimes why moms constantly feel the need to "one-up" each other. Can't you just allow me to enjoy my ignorant bliss once in a while?!?)

Anyway, let's hope the same does not prove true for little Pumpkin up there. Because, in all honesty, if his "threes" are worse than his "twos," we may need to call for backup. At times, my precious silly boy is the most loving little toddler on the planet. And then, with virtually no warning, he morphs into a flailing, shrieking, throwing maniac whom we barely recognize.

And today, Pumpkin is officially 2 1/2. I could look at that two ways: 1) I am in the throes of the total tantrum stage, and I had better just accept it and pray, or 2) I only have six months left of the "terrible twos," and the threes have just got to be better, right? Just don't tell my aforementioned friend that second philosophy. I'd prefer to remain in my happy place right now and keep hoping that Pumpkin is just mature for his age and that my kindhearted second-born will reemerge without his evil twin someday very soon.

Until then...if you need me, you can probably find me presiding over the third time-out before dinner. Happy 2 1/2, Pumpkin! :)

The Sailboat Sandwich

Update: No one really guessed, but I have to share that my husband did not learn this trick from his mom, either of his aunts, or from reading one of my many parenting magazines. No, my husband learned this from....his college fraternity. One of his tasks when he was pledging was to make this sandwich for a frat brother. Just visualize that for a second. Other guys had to do goodness-knows-what, and he had to make a sailboat sandwich. Just when you think you have guys all figured out, they do something unexpectedly cute like this. :)

When Peanut was old enough to begin eating sandwiches on a regular basis, my husband began a staple in our household known as "the sailboat sandwich." While making one recently, I thought I would share this fun tradition with my nice blog readers. So, here are the easy steps:

1) Make whatever type of sandwich your little one desires (Peanut --no shock here -- prefers the classic PB & J, but most sandwiches will work. I don't think I would recommend it for hot sandwiches like grilled cheese, though.)

2) Cut off the rounded part of the sandwich to make the boat, like this:

3) Then cut the leftover rectangle to make two triangles, seen here:

4) Flip the triangles so that they form two sails, like this:

5) Add Goldfish crackers (or whatever your kiddo likes) and enjoy!

Do any of you other moms out there do this? And do any of you have any sandwich or lunch tricks up your sleeves that you haven't divulged yet? I would love to hear them!

P.S. You may be as surprised as I was to hear that, no, my husband did not learn to make this adorable sandwich from his mom. Bonus points to anyone who correctly guesses who taught him this toddler trick. :) (And stop right there, Honey; you are ineligible.)

My Kindergarten Kid

(Alternately titled Better Late than Never...)

Peanut is a kindergartner. It's hard to believe, especially since it seems we just took these first day of school pictures....

Preschool, Age 3

Preschool, Age 4

Kindergarten, Age 5

But here he is going off to kindergarten, and pictures don't lie. I guess it is also now an obvious fact that Mommy associates green and navy blue with the first day of school. I had no idea I even did that until now, but my excuse is that Peanut's favorite color is green. I'll have to remember to continue the tradition next year. I am also continuing the tradition of taking Peanut's picture by the front door as I remember my mom doing. It's easy to see how much he has grown just in two years based on the door panels; I hope we don't throw all of that off by eventually buying a new front door as we intend to do in the semi-near future. Anyway, I'm off to say a little prayer for my peanut that he doesn't have to "go sit at the table" tomorrow at school. Apparently, the transition into kindergarten has caused much discussion with my son (i.e. he talks too much). His teacher was very encouraging about his adjustment and reassured me that most all of the children have been sent to the table at some point. But since neither my husband nor I were talkers in school, my mother-in-law has offered to take credit for this trait. Whew! Thanks, Gemma. :)

Bug Me, Please

Another tradition around our house this summer was bug hunting. I think I have made my feelings on this topic explicitly clear, but we have had many bug excursions in the backyard in the past few months. My boys are such bug enthusiasts that we even got them these shirts which tout their love of many-legged creatures (Peanut's says "Insect Inspector" and Pumpkin's says "I dig bugs").

The boys enjoy searching for little critters together.

Those poor bugs never have a chance when they meet this one. He has been known on several occasions to come running at me with one dangling from his just-slimed hand: "Wook, Mommy! A worm/swug/centipede!" In case you were wondering, slug goo requires many minutes of heavy-duty soap washing to be fully removed from the hand of a toddler.

Peanut is quite serious about his bug treasures.

Do any of you have these all over your trees like we do? My boys can't get enough of them. They are exoskeletons of a cicadas (but we call them locust shells). I guess I should be thankful that they aren't still creeping and crawling; seriously, I am itchy just writing about them. But what a talented Houdini-like feat for these insects to escape the "shell" and leave it all intact! Peanut has recently learned that you can hook one right back on a tree (where Mommy prefers) or to someone's shirt. My apologies in advance to the first innocent little girl whom he tries this trick on in the future.

How I Spent My First Week of School

Okay, class...raise your hands if you remember this post. Yeah, I thought so.

I guess my appendages had rested long enough. And not to be outdone by their sister, the right baby toe, they decided to act out and rebel.

First, it was my right index finger. You know, the one you do everything with.

It was my first teacher day back to school. (No, I am really not kidding.) When the summer rolls around, the school custodians wax the classroom floors. As a result, the desks, file cabinets, tables, and everything that comes in contact with the floor sticks. I decided my first order of business was to move the furniture back where I wanted all of it. I attempted to move my desk first, and it refused to budge. Just then, I spied a friend walking down the hall and asked for his assistance. He helped me move it and reminded me that I was not actually a complete weakling; the wax just makes everything difficult to move. So when he left, I thought myself quite capable of moving my many student desks alone. But desk after desk was stuck to the floor, and it became frustrating. So, a little more elbow grease couldn't hurt, right?

Wrong. It did hurt. Badly.

I managed to push so hard on that desk that it practically flew backwards...into the one behind it. Except my index finger was still stuck there in between them. Yeah.

And then I went for a double feature. The very next night, I stubbed my fourth toe on our cat's scratching pad. The thing is made of cardboard, so it couldn't have been that bad, right?

Ahhh...wrong again. It hurt pretty badly. Again.

The good news is that, while I managed to bang up my finger and toe in two days flat, neither of them could hold a candle to this debacle of a toe injury. And since I know you are dying to know, that little piggy has not been normal since. While obviously no longer discolored, it now no longer resembles a piggy, either, and looks rather like a little sausage.

I'll try not to injure myself again for a few more months. Apparently changes bring on severe cases of klutziness for me. And while I would love to change back to my summer schedule again, I don't think my fingers and toes could take it.

Goin' Dutch

As our last hurrah before school began, we decided to take the boys to their very first amusement park. Peanut had been on the rides at the beach, and after Pumpkin's first partially-successful attempt at the beach rides, we figured it was worth a shot. Many of my friends recommended we try Dutch Wonderland since it specifically caters to young children, so away we went!

We're here!

In front of the castle entrance...

Peanut's first ride at the park. Think he liked it?!?

Pumpkin got excited when he saw the monster trucks (his first ride there) and threw a fit when it was time to get off (so the nice people at the park let them all go a second time).

Peanut's first pony ride...

...and Pumpkin's first pony ride! He was a very proud li'l cowboy. (And yes...I was crying. Again.)

Peanut's first kiddie roller coaster! (I think Daddy had as much fun as Peanut did, considering how many times they went back on!)

Our first Thomas the Tank Engine live show!

And after sitting down for some yummy Dippin' Dots for everyone, we headed back home after a great day of fun.

And Pumpkin showed his utter appreciation about ten whole seconds later.

What an amusing day filled with firsts!

A Summer Tradition

Every summer, we make sure to visit Pop Pop and Grandma (my dad and his wife) and go to our favorite beach with them. They live a lot closer than we do, and it is a fun way to incorporate a visit with them while hittin' the sand. They came up with a great idea this year to go to a much less-populated part of the beach and then walk the boardwalk and ride the rides as usual. Here are some highlights:

Peanut is happy as a clam!

Pop Pop carries Pumpkin back from chasing the seagulls (his new favorite beach activity).

Pumpkin's first ride EVER (at age 2) on the same boat as Peanut's first ride EVER (when he was 2, too!) P.S. I am fairly sure this was my first ride ever as well. Why yes, of course I was crying.

Well, now Pumpkin is crying...he definitely liked the boats better. I took him off the Merry Go Round after this picture (and before the ride actually began). He was content for the rest of our visit in my arms or in his stroller. But isn't this a cute picture of Peanut and Daddy?!?

Our grandparent beach trip was a lot of fun, and we plan to do it all again next summer!