Happy Eruption Day, Mt. Saint Helens

Today marks the 31st anniversary of when Mt. St. Helens rocked the world (or at least a small portion of it) with its fantastic eruption.  As Wikipedia tells it:

An earthquake at 8:32:17 a.m. PDT (UTC−7) on Sunday, May 18, 1980, caused the entire weakened north face to slide away, suddenly exposing the partly molten, gas- and steam-rich rock in the volcano to lower pressure. The rock responded by exploding a hot mix of lava and pulverized older rock toward Spirit Lake so fast that it overtook the avalanching north face.
An eruption column rose 80,000 feet (24,400 m) into the atmosphere and deposited ash in 11 U.S. states...

And, because I TRULY know how to make an entrance, today also marks 31 years for me on this Earth.  My dad told me once that after I was born, he had gone out to his car, and there was ash on it from the explosion.  They -my parents- should have seen it as an omen- a sign, if you will- of things to come.

I know I've never been easy.  According to Wikipedia, "The eruption was preceded by a two-month series of earthquakes and steam-venting episodes".  It was longer than 2 months, but I caused a few of my own earthquakes and steam-venting episodes through-out my teenage years.  So, maybe that volcano and I have more in common than most realize.  It had warning pains before it erupted; I caused them after. 

If you look at it, now, the difference in pictures is astounding.  Life in Washington went into rebuilding mode, but there will always be evidence of that awesome/horrible day in history- a flat-top; a hill leading to a crater.

I can only hope that my life leaves an impact on others like Mt. St. Helens did.  I'm not saying that I hope I leave destruction in my path- I did enough of that in high school.  I just hope that, though people might walk away from me and go on living their lives, I leave an indelible mark on their lives; that I touch their lives in a way that, years later, other people can see the signature showing that I've been there.

So, Happy Eruption day, Mt. St. Helens (and mom!).  Thanks for helping me mark my entrance.

Lists, lists, and...cookies???

Why is it we always have the most amount of stuff to do on the days when we have the least amount of time?

I keep wondering this today as I get ready to add yet another item to my 'to do' list; meanwhile, I'm still knee deep in items I've yet to cross off.

I'll admit, a lot of it is of my own doing. I always joke around that cleaning up after my kiddos is a lot like trying to nail Jell-o to a tree- pointless and impossible- but every day, I find myself stressing out over the laundry, the dishes, the crumbs that seem to multiply before my eyes on the counter...

And I'm not positive, but I BELIEVE that the toys have all called in reinforcements.

It just seems like its a never-ending job.

Oh.

Yeah.

It is.

When I add in all the other things- the eye/doctor appointments to schedule, the play dates that keep me and Jacob sane, the cooking (no matter how much I love cooking, its still one more thing)- looking at my list is a lot like standing at the bottom of the Empire State building and trying to see the top.

And yet...

And yet I keep adding to it. Today I chose to make cookies in addition to my list of “musts”. Why? Well, I thought that if I was going to die from stress, cookies might be a nice accompaniment. Because, if Mary Poppins has taught me nothing its that a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down- as well as the stress.

Not to mention, they taste good.

Warm, tasty, chewy stress relievers.

Thank you, Mary, for your flash of brilliance. Sugar- especially in cookie form- really DOES help you deal with the less sweet parts of life.

Ignorance is Paradise

THUD!

I sat, Indian style, on the dryer in the laundry room. The warmth of the room; the pleasant smell of Bounce fabric softener; and the gentle vibration of the dryer was ALMOST enough to convince me that I was on a small island far, FAR away.

BANG!

I groped for my mug of coffee- GROPED, because the light was off. The only illumination was a small stream peeking out from under the door, but this was enough to allow me to see my mug sitting between a box (dryer sheets) and a jug (detergent, most likely). I grabbed the cup and took a sip.

CRASH!

Whatever was going on out there, I chose ignorance and bliss over information and stress. In a house full of boys, moments like these- even stolen ones that occur in a darkened laundry room- are hard to come by. Sure, at some point I would have to come out and face the destruction. Chances are, if it was anything like every other day, there would be a fort encompassing the living room; blocks on the kitchen floor with race cars throughout; papers, pens, pencils, and crayons strewn all over the dining room table; and all of it being neglected while one or both of the older boys stands on the couch ready to do a pile-driver to their brother.

Given the fact that I already had a rough idea of what was awaiting me, I sat there and sipped my coffee in peace. I couldn't help but feel thankful that my husband bought me a coffee mug that was insulated and would keep my coffee hot for 2 hours or more. If I drank slowly, I could draw out this quiet time until...

“MOM!”

Oh well. There goes the island.

Living with kids- its not for the weak

"I think I can, I think I can, I think I can..."

These are the words that keep flowing through my head as I find myself going through the motions today.  Its just another one of those days that has decided to zap the last of whatever it is that keeps me going.  Let me take you on a mental tour of my home right now, shall I?

As you walk though the front door, you're greeted by something that's akin to Hurricane Katrina with just a hint of "God, what's THAT?!"  You check the address outside the door in the hopes that you've made a mistake- this cannot POSSIBLY be the right place.  But it is, so you attempt to trudge on.

Easier said than done.

You wade through the mounds of toys and -God help you- empty boxes that you realize were SUPPOSED to be turned into cars, trucks, playhouses, etc., but have now been broken down into unrecognizable forms.  You look around, wondering where FEMA has disappeared to, because this should most definitely qualify as a state of emergency... and then you realize that if they ARE there, you couldn't find them anyway.  Suddenly, it hits you that you've only made it through the front door, and the rest of the home is waiting for your inspection.  After trying -unsuccessfully- to brush off the shudders that are now coursing through your body, you put one foot in front of the other.

In the dining room, you look under the dinner table and you see crusty breakfast cereal that was never cleaned up and has now permanently attached itself to the carpet.  No need for a baby book, here!  Dynamite will not loosen it!  You'll be able to point out to the kids -once they're grown ups- the ACTUAL food they used to eat.  Astounding!

You walk- well, you shuffle, anyways- into the living room, scream, and search for another room -ANY other room- to run to.  You at once think about attaching yellow caution tape to section off the unnatural disaster, but in the end, all you REALLY want to do is find a safe zone.  Every man for himself- if someone else is crazy enough to enter, that's THEIR problem.  You hurry past the living room, trying desperately to rid your mind of the horrors you just witnessed, as well as trying to find your footing on a floor you cannot see.

You say a small prayer and work your way toward the kitchen- or, what, in an ideal setting, MIGHT be a kitchen.  You know that before this place was inhabited there was a sink.  You look to where you saw it last and gasp- a pile of dishes 50 feet high now engulfs the entire left side of the room.  No wonder you couldn't see the kitchen through the pass-thru- the pass-thru is now a wall consisting of dirty cereal bowls, pots, pans, and the rest of what must surely be all the dishes and utensils the home holds.

What's that smell?  Oh, GROSS- one of the kids must have found a moldy sippy cup and set it on the counter.  Better late than never; and at least it shows that they were cleaning out their room, right?  RIGHT?

To keep from gagging, you hurry on your way to check on the rest of the apartment.  First stop?  The guest bathroom- a.k.a. the Boys' Bathroom.

Upon entering, you pause at the toilet- can males NEVER learn how to aim properly?!?!  You feel a need -an uncontrollable URGE- to get clean, but that's not going to happen in THIS sink.  Somewhere along the line, the middle child felt the need to squeeze out an entire tube of toothpaste into the sink.  The bathroom is smelling minty fresh, though, so you thank God for the little things and back on out.

That's when you feel the need to run.  To run fast and hard and long to escape what -in some distorted definitions- might be described as a room, but OH NO!  Not THIS place!  Much like a 20 car pile up or a nuclear explosion, you want to look away, but can't.  As you gaze from the door -because that's as far as you can make it- you think you see the faintest of outlines of a set of bunk beds and possibly a small table and -HA!- and organizational device that must have been left for comedic purposes because its OBVIOUSLY not in use...

Did something MOVE in there?!?!?!?!?!

You slowly creep away -to avoid being attacked by whatever is currently occupying the space- and turn to head toward the master bedroom.  You want to wash your brain to get rid of the scenes you've just encountered, but you can't.  You realize with a resigned feeling that once you're out of here, you will need to undergo therapy for PTSD.

The master is the only room where you aren't scared.  The bathroom is clean!  The bed is made!  No toys to be found!  Serene music coming from the iPOD set up, and...

-what's that rocking back and forth in the corner over there?

THAT would be me, people.  And, let's be honest now- if you were living in the place I just described, wouldn't you be going a little crazy, too?