Miracle of Life, Horror of Reality

Last night, we took the boys for a trip to the Minnesota State Fair. And no, that, quite, frankly isn't my favorite thing.

But this year, we made an attempt at doing it in a more palatable way. We went on a Monday night, on a day that it was 75 degrees, and limited ourselves to three hours.

We topped it off with a visit to the Miracle of Life barn. The concept is pretty cool. You get to go see baby animals be born and visit the teeniest piglets, ducks, bunnies and cows.

But back to that whole get to see them being born deal.

We should know better really. Nine-, eight- and three-year-old city boys have little to no interest in seeing things be born.

At least mine don't.

Caleb? He was just horrified.

Elijah was equally horrified and yelled, "Mom! There is something coming out of that cow's butt!"

And Noah yelled, "So mom, did we come out of you the same way these guys are coming out?"

I laughed and said, "Well, sort of Noah, but thankfully I was neither in a barn nor was anyone eating corn dogs and cheese curds waiting for it to happen."

Well there might have been people doing that, but they weren't in the room with us.

He then yelled over the crowd, "So where does the baby come out of?"

I leaned over, in a lame attempt to dissuade him from yelling and said, "The same place it does on an animal."

He yelled back, "Oh yeaaaahhh, right, the weenie."

And then we were done. Off to wash hands and distract their attention with more ice cream.

Child Hunger Ends Here 2011

Nearly a year and a half ago I had an amazing experience. It opened my eyes. It affected me. It altered how I looked at things. It changed me.

Over the span of several weeks, I had the opportunity to partner with ConAgra Foods on their Child Hunger Ends Here campaign to benefit Feeding America. Along the way, I learned firsthand the realities of childhood hunger. In my own neighborhood. At my kids' own school.

As a part of that effort, I had a chance to visit the Los Angeles Regional Food Bank. Not only was I struck by the incredible work they do every day, but more than anything I was struck by the size. The sheer size of the facility.

By the enormity of the problem.

Did you know that since 2006 Feeding America has seen a 50 percent increase in the number of children relying on Food Bank services? And that every day in America, one out of four children doesn't know where their next meal will come from?

I went, I worked, I came back to Minnesota where, joined by the Minnesota blogger community, we collected food, we raised funds and we tried to make a difference. Because when it comes to the issue of hunger in America, the reality is that anything we can do really does make a difference.

Let me be honest. And then, I, like so many of us do, found myself going back to life. I donated when I could. I talked about the issue to those I knew. I advocated at our school.

But somehow, somewhere deep I knew I wasn't doing enough. No one of us ever can.

And then ConAgra reached out again. They let me know their efforts are continuing. And with all of the amazing things they have done over the years, all of the impact they have had, the statistics are still staggering. There are still 17 million children here in America who struggle with hunger.

I am truly honored that ConAgra and Feeding America have reached out to me again. Honored to not only be able to help spread the good work they are doing, but honored to again wake up my own call to action.

Today I am headed to Los Angeles. Back to the Los Angeles Regional Food Bank. I wish I could say that it will be smaller when I get there. That their operations have shrunk in size. That they no longer need forklifts to move all of the food.

But I know that will not be the truth.

Over the coming weeks, I will be sharing more information about how each of us can do things -- big and small -- in our own homes and in our own communities to help make a difference. Things as simple as clipping labels and entering UPC codes or as asking your own local school to join in the Schools Fight Hunger initiative to help donate 5 million meals this year.

I hope you will join us.









*ConAgra Foods is covering the cost of my trip and providing compensation to cover additional costs I incur throughout my participation in this program. As those of you who follow along here know, I only partner with causes that I truly believe in and am passionate about. This is one.

Ceasing to be a novelty

I remember back when we first graduated from college and I started working. I was a novelty. I would constantly hear things like, "I can't believe how young you are!" or "You have so much maturity for your age."

At the time, I found it alternately complimentary and annoying.

Along the way, I aged. (Don't we all.) And knew that at some point that novelty would fade. And ultimately end. Because, after all, you don't stay young forever.

People stopped making those comments about four years ago. And that was okay.

Until this week. When I traveled with someone who is now at the novelty stage in her career.

At the airport in Atlanta, she boarded the plane ahead of me. The gate agent greeted her and as she walked away called out,

"Have a great day lovely young lady!"

I then gave him my pass. And I know, I should take what I can get and be thankful and blah, blah, blah. But what did he call out after me?

"Have a great day lovely lifetime lady!"

Lovely lifetime lady? What the hell is that? He might as well have called me Betty or Blanche. Cause I was totally feeling like a Golden Girl. And the fact that I am citing the Golden Girls right now makes me all the older, I know.

We landed in Alabama and headed off to get our rental car. As the agent there checked us in, he handed me the contract and said in the kindest, southernest accent there was,

"Well here you go Mrs. Snyder, I am happy to tell you we have a Chrysler Town and Country Minivan for you two today."

Screeching halt. I became semi-irrational. Which was better than bursting into tears.

"Please, can I not get a Chrysler minivan? That is what I have to drive at home. With three little boys in it. And one has very smelly feet. And I have a love-hate relationship with my minivan. Do you have something just a little but cuter? And smaller?"

He said they'd find something but that we'd have to wait. Leading to small talk while we did. Leading to him asking,

"So where are you dropping her off for college?"

Picking my chin (and ego) up off the ground, I responded,

"Wait, do you think I am her mom??!!"

It didn't go well from there. He tried to pretend that he really thought I was her sister dropping her off for college.

I just wanted to walk through the streets and yell, "SOMEBODY CARD ME! JUST HUMOR ME! PRETEND YOU THINK I AM 20!"

But that would have been just plain crazy, so I resisted.

This is it. The novelty is gone. I look like a 23-year-old's mom.

So for now, this lovely lifetime lady is signing off, rubbing some Bengay on my elbows, taking out my teeth and calling it a night.

But not before I watch the 10:00 news.

Harumph.

Responsibility

Each night, hours after the boys have gone to bed, I make my way upstairs.

Usually with a basket of laundry on my hip, I haul my tired self up the stairs.

It's an almost rhythmic routine. Walk to my room, put the laundry down. If it's summer, turn on the ceiling fan. Shut the shades. Pull back the covers.

Walk to Caleb's room to shut off his lava lamp and music and tuck him in. Walk to Noah and Eli's room to do the same.

Except that night was different. As I walked into Caleb's room, the lava lamp and music were already off. As was his fan. The room was still and dark and quiet. And Caleb was not in his bed.

I turned and walked into the other boys' room. The thunderstorm continued outside. Eli hates thunder.

I looked down and saw it. Saw them. In the midst of the storm, Eli had called Caleb in to sleep with him. There they were, cuddled up. Big brother looking out for little.

Not only did the gesture itself touch me, but, strange as it sounds, I was also impressed by the simple responsibility. Caleb had turned off his light, his music and his fan.

Maybe it was the talk we had about not giving away non-perishable items in their lunches. About being smart with our money. About not wasting. Maybe it was hearing us say "turn off the lights" for years. Echoing the time-honored phrase, "We don't own the electric company." Or maybe they are picking up on the stress associated with going to one salary at this point.

But whatever it was, it registered.

My biggest boy was both empathetic to his brother and to us. And I was proud.

Just a few more miles

Yesterday, we hit the trails for a family bike ride.

Armed with granola bars and some chips and waters, we headed out.

We rode. We scooted over to calls of "On your left!"

We groaned with the hills and "wheeee-ed" on the downhills. We marveled at the homes. And even more at the lakes.

We just were. I didn't do a stitch of laundry (a stitch of laundry, seriously, how old am I?) We didn't pay any bills. We didn't fight over any Legos or play a minute of Wii.

We just biked and biked and biked.

I tended to bring up the end of the Snyder family train with Noah in front of me. I do hope I never forget the image of his little hamster legs spinning and spinning and spinning. Just out inhaling every moment that was this day we had in front of us.

Before we knew it, we had gone a whopping 21.4 miles.

Longer than at least four of us had ever biked in our lives.

I had friends afterward ask how in the world we got the kids to bike that far. For the most part, I have no idea.

Of course, the promise of ice cream at mile 19 didn't hurt.

But I don't know. Part of me has to believe that it was something more.

That maybe, just maybe, they got it, too. Got that we had set aside this day to chuck all responsibility. All monotony. That today was the day we were going to bike as fast as we could with the wind in our ears and under our helmets. We were going to be. As good and as much as we could be.

We weren't going to care how much our legs hurt. Who rode faster. Or how sweaty we got.

We were just going to go and go and go.

Perfect.

Are you going to try for that girl?

There are few questions that drive me crazier than that one. Ca-rah-zee. Itchy, twitchy, crazy.


I love my boys. I get boys. And no, we never did (nor will we ever) "try" for a girl.

Tried for a baby, yes? Would I have been disappointed giving birth to a gorilla or a puppy? You bet. Because I certainly didn't try for either of those. But there were never gender hopes or goals in our family.

That said. I'd by lying if I didn't admit I have moments when I wondered what it would be like to have girls.

You know, girls who wanted to play with my hair and not just cut it. ("No Mommy, not with the be-tend scissors, let me cut it with the real ones!")

Girls who didn't laugh inappropriately every time you were in a public restroom and the person next to you was, well, you know, being in a restroom.

So when your sweet little boy decides he wants his toenails painted...You know, sometimes you just go with it.

Afterall, he wants to match Mommy. And dude, that can't last for long.




And then when it's all said and done?

He realizes that it's not all it's cracked up to be. And demands a polish removal. And goes back to making armpit jokes and crashing into things.

Topping it all off? The next day he pulls the ultimate in boy moves and decides to get a wart right on his cutest little toe.

That'll teach me to paint his nails. Karma payback.

No. We didn't try... And won't try for girls. The boys we have a perfectly delightful in all their boyishness.

Warts and all.

4:00 Laugh

Just because this gave me a good laugh on a Friday I had to share it.

Each week, Caleb and Noah's summer day camp sends out an email to look at the week ahead. For some reason it was jumbled in my email today and here is how it read:

(hint: read it with great enthusiasm for extra laughs)

We will FINALLY We will POM POM FIELD TRIP WATER DAY!

get to make a rain learn about monsters!

We DAY!  Don't forget a forest in a jar.  the culture will make our swimsuit! in Peru

and own little Elm Creek Park

make our monsters to

Please wear own beads.

bring home your Field Trip shirts and bring a bag lunch and drink!!!!

Happy Friday everyone. Hope you have a great POP POP FIELD TRIP WATER DAY! And don't forget to make your own swimsuits and monsters. But by all means, wear your own beads.

Walk in my high-heeled shoes

On the first day of summer, I began to write a post.

It began with this image.

But I never got back to write the post. The idea has been hovering around ever since. The idea that summer is hard when you are a working parent.

That while I watched other parents celebrate the first day of summer... Reveled in the sleeping in... In the lazy days at the pool... Embraced the walks to Dairy Queen... Cheered their kids from the sidelines of baseball in shorts and tees and not suits and heels... And sure, dealt with the moments of "you're driving me crazy!" But still, the families who inhaled summer...

When your parents have traditional, work-outside-the-home jobs, summer just isn't that. The kids have great daycare and camps and summer experiences. But they also have alarm clocks.

The post never got written. It sat there as an idea.

And then the birthday party invitations came. One after another after another.

Every single birthday party the kids have been invited to this summer has been held on a weekday and during the day.

Pool party Tuesday from 1-4!


Water tubing Friday from 2-5!

The kids get that Mom and Dad work. That we have relatively traditional jobs. That our jobs are what we want to do professionally and what make us, as a family, able to do what we do personally. However, their ability to be logical only goes so far.

And that logic ends at birthday parties.

I have never been one to pick sides or judge or make assumptions.

However. However. However. Here we are in the year 2011. We are so fortunate that many of us have the choice. To work. To be home. To do some of both.

We have choices.

But these kids of working parents? I feel they often get stuck. The cool, unique summer camps? They run from 9:30 a.m. - noon. The golf lessons? They are at 11:30 a.m. And now even the birthday parties are during the day.

I don't have the answers. In this thing called life, I rarely claim to.

But I have long believed in, or preached, or hoped for understanding.

For owning the shoes you walk in but taking a moment to think about the shoes that others are wearing.

I get these are just birthday parties. But when you are 8 and you have been invited to the "best party evah!" ... and your mom has to work.

It just isn't fair.

Again, I have no answers.

But, please, can we all go back to scheduling parties on the weekends?