Why were you in Poland, anyway?

Well my friends, I'll tell you the whole story. I want you to let your minds wander to the distant past. Travel with me back to a time of innocence, back to fall of 1991. The leaves are starting to turn gold, the air is crisp and the apples are hanging ripe on the tree in my backyard. Inside the house is a flurry of activity. I'm standing in front of a mirror, putting the final curls in my chin-length hair. I fiddle with the brooch on the front of my black brocade dress. I made it myself from a vogue pattern. My little brother, dressed as a waiter, is darting from room to room, pretending to be a spy. In the loft of the sun room, a fancy table is laid, all ready for a homecoming feast. The doorbell rings, my handsome prince arrives in a brand new gray suit. He's tall and blond, with broad shoulders and a goofy grin. This isn't his school's homecoming, it's mine. A year older than me, he'd graduated in June. His eyes are sparkling as I descend the staircase to meet him. No, it's not my beauty that's dazzled him, he's come with news. "I got my mission call today, I'm going to Warsaw, Poland!" It was a brand new mission, exciting and exotic. We talked about his dreams and plans, dancing and holding hands.
Flash forward to summer of 2006
My aunt in trying her best to cajole me into taking an exchange student. "Why would an exchange student want to live with us? We don't have any teenagers!" I reason.
"He's from Poland, L could speak Polish with him."
"Where would we even put him? On the couch?"
"Just think about it," she begged. "No one else will take him. If he doesn't have at least a welcoming family, they won't even let him on the plane." That got to me.
"Fine. If it comes down to him not being able to come, he can sleep on our couch for a week. How's that?"
Well, that was how things stood until I read his letter to his host family. He spoke of his fascination with America, his desire to spread his wings and have an adventure. He told us of his love for his family, and how much he helped out at home. That was it. I called my husband at work, and said, "Honey, I've found a puppy. He's from Poland, can we keep him?" He was thrilled, because he'd wanted him all along. He wasn't going to be the one with the extra burden, though, so he'd let me decide. So Kuba came. We found out later that the touching letter he wrote was all lies, he invented it out of whole cloth because his dad wouldn't let him go to a party until he'd written it. It was too late by then, we already loved him. Ah, Kuba, and his rap-loving soccer watching ways. Kuba's dad was thrilled to learn that he and L worked in the auto industry. They met at an NADA conference and hit it off famously. They attended classes together, and Marek learned more about what L does. He was impressed, and asked him to speak to a group of Polish dealership owners that night. They were impressed. They invited him to come to Poland and put on a seminar and training. Because this wasn't strictly for work, and in order for the trip to be kosher with corporate, I was invited to come along as his pay. We went, had a fabulous time, and I thought that was my first and last encounter with that magical (but very cold in November) land. Now, he's been invited again to do some teaching, and who gets to come? You guessed it, me. Woo hoo!

Our Epic Journey

My neighbor and I have never been to Ikea, and our lives have been an empty sham. Feeling that aching emptiness in the place a trip to Ikea should be, I hatched a scheme. My sister was having a baby, and she lives by a large city. A city with an Ikea. We decided we'd haul all the seats out of my van, take the three hour drive, kiss the baby, and have a shopping trip of dreams. There was one problem though. Her husband wanted to come. If her husband was coming, nothing was going to keep my husband from coming along. So our girl's getaway turned into a double date.

We took off early in the morning, and all was smooth sailing until just before we hit the mountain pass. Then the engine started overheating. Luckily, we were close to a little town with a mechanic.This dude took a look, but was too busy to fix our van.

He sent us to this guy. I'll call him "Belly". He told us he'd take a look, and to come back in a hour or so. So we took off walking.

We spent many a diverting moment in a farm supply store.

We found some fascinating ensembles.

Who knew farm supply stores would be so fashion forward?We went to an antique shop that was really more of a thrift store. I had to drag my husband out of there before he bought the book "The Secrets of Psychic Powers". He sighed, and figured he knew everything in that book already, being a psychic and all. "Belly" turned out to be a really nice guy who fixed our van for cheap. It ended up only needing a new thermostat.
We made it to my Sis's house. I got to kiss the baby.
Isn't she sweet? She never did wake up the entire time I was there, despite my repeated encouragements. Here she is with her big sis. I heaved a sigh, and said goodbye. Then she woke up.
Then we went to Ikea. I was right. I hadn't really lived until that moment. We ate, we explored. We dumped tons of money and got really, really tired. I don't have any pictures of this part of the trip, I was too busy peeking in cupboards and closets.
After Ikea, we stopped at an old fashioned burger joint. My husband must have decided things were a little too quiet, because he told the waitress it was J's birthday. I tried to escape to the bathroom to avoid the embarrassing and fraudulent scene, but no dice. The waitress returned, and directed us to the front of the restaurant.
Yeah. It was loud, and he was embarrassed. But, he got a free t-shirt out of it, so it was all good. We took off, and headed for home. We saw about 20 elk! We also saw some pretty nasty blood stains and splatter patterns on the road that I could only assume were wildlife encounters. We talked, we laughed, it was a straight shot from here to home.Until we got pulled over. Apparently, my tabs had expired six weeks ago. As the cop took my husband's license and papers back to his car, I got a mini lecture on how expensive our ticket was going to be. I kinda remembered seeing the postcard in the mail around January, and thinking, 'wow, I have forever until I need to pay this' then I forgot it completely. Luckily, he had bigger fish to fry. He consented to a quick portrait, and the took off after someone whose tabs were way more expired than mine.We drove, laughed, and talked for hours. Please note that while my husband is posing for a picture and making a silly face, his eyes are still on the road. He's good about things like that. It was really, really late when we made it home. It was eleven, which in parent years is, like, four in the morning. I stumbled into my room, took off my shoes and fell into bed. "Close your eyes," my husband said, "I don't want you to see your Mother's Day present."
I don't remember anything after that. He unloaded the van, hauled the seats back in, picked up the kids from my parent's house and put them to bed. All the while, I was snoring peacefully. Now that's what I call a Mother's Day present.

Redneck Waterpark

Have I mentioned before how absolutely Klassy we are? We may live in town, but we're serious rednecks. My husband once built a swimming pool out of 2x4's and a tarp that said 'Grand Opening'. Yeah, I was mortified, but it was in the backyard, and the kids had fun. Our fire pit used to be an old metal wheelbarrow. An old dead refrigerator once served as a tool chest. It's that bad. If I look out the window, I can see a lovely maroon bathtub adorning my driveway. My husband is waiting for me to sell it on craigslist. That may never happen. Are we poor? No. Ignorant and uneducated? No. We're just, well, us. And we're proud. I used to think we were the worst in the neighborhood. Not anymore.
On hot days, we have our own redneck waterpark. We have an old metal playground slide that goes down on our steps into the orchard. With a little ingenuity, and a plastic sled, the neighborhood urchins have a fantastic time.


When they're shivering and their lips turn blue, they take our old sleeping bags, lay them out on the grass, and catch some rays.

But here's the shocking part. Some people, some ordinarily classy people, let their kids out like this: I don't know about you, but I found this offensive.

Holy Polski, Batman!

This chicky-babe is going back to Poland!

It's crazy to think that I'll be heading back to Europe for the second time in 7 months. If you missed my adventure in Nov, you can catch up on it here. The best part about it, is that this time, it'll be warm. You know what else it means? My great grief and longing will finally end. For as long as possible, anyway. I'm seriously stocking up. This time, I'm determined to learn from a pro how to make their cakes. Cause honey, you ain't never had anything like their cakes. I hadn't, anyway. I had the best idea last night. We won't be there on a Sunday, but I thought it would be cool for the girls in our young women's group to make a care package for the girls in the YW group there. They could write letters, enclose their pictures and email addresses, and send little American girlie trinkets. Wouldn't that be cool?

Sneeking a Peek

Well, I made it to Friday, before I remembered that I do all my banking online. My husband and I were lying in the dark last night, discussing finances in those last few minutes before sleep comes. We couldn't agree about where we were with our accounts, so you see, I HAD to turn the computer on again. It's been pretty great, actually. With the computer and tv off, I suggested we take a break from construction too. We went to the library for Family Home Evening, and got tons of books to read. Reviews to follow. We also lost our two year old. I'm telling you, I'm up for Mother of the Year on this one. Here's the story:
After making a beeline for the kid's section, our group begins to separate. Daddy and I take off in different directions, and the kids meander around. The baby is assigned to the oldest child, who he calls 'Deet'. After finding boatloads of good books, Daddy finds Deet poring over a car magazine, with no baby in sight. We start the concerned but not yet frightened scan of the terrain. We find all four boys intent on their activities. No baby. We get more concerned. We search everywhere. Every corner, every little cubicle. We get a bit panicked. We were just about to enlist the aid of librarians when we hear his little voice scream "DAD!" We all come running to the entrance of the library, where he is standing there in the arms of a few of his brothers. My husband notices a man walking away, and tracks him down, curious to see if he had anything to do with his return. He did.
He was walking through the parking lot, when he found a van with it's trunk open and a kid inside. Apparently, he didn't see any brothers around in the library, and thought we'd left. He walked out all my himself, into the parking lot (!) and found our van. He let himself in the back, and that's where he was found by that nice man. Being a dad himself, he figured someone was probably looking for him. He brought him into the library, and told him to yell 'dad'. What drama. I tell you, my kids have some serious guardian angels. If they had a more safety conscious mom, maybe they wouldn't need so many!

Media Blackout

I just decided that we're spending too much time with electronic media. I'm going to unplug it all for a week. So our house is going dark. Wish us luck, I'm going to have to hit the library! See you in a week.

Hey boys, would you like a lesson on table etiquette?

That's exactly what every gal wants to hear her father ask her kids at the dinner table. I swallowed really hard, and exerted all my self control not to roll my eyes like a teenager. "Uh, sure" was their tepid response.
"Well, it's good manners for no one to take a bite of their food until your mother has taken a bite." The response from my eldest was immediate- "That offends me!" I stifled a snort. (That's his answer to every random observation. For example, "Hey D, I found those shoes you lost today." He'll reply, "You know, that offends me. I think I'll sue." It's his signature phrase right now.) So, back to the dinner conversation. My dad is rather formal where manners are concerned, so I'm curious how he'll respond. He doesn't have a chance. My six year old pipes up with "That offends me too. How about she doesn't get to eat a bite until we're all done eating?" "Yeah!" chimes in my eight year old. "We should start a cult that sacrifices stuff and Mom's have to eat last!"
At this point, self control is useless, and the snort I held in explodes. We all bust up laughing. My Dad's such a sweety, he took it in good grace. My boys just weren't up to that much wisdom at one time.