But It Was Only Ornamental Plums!

And then there was the time I got a call from the garbage disposal service about two little boys throwing things at the garbage truck... 


Me:  Hello

Garbage Disposal Service:  Is this Mrs. Villarreal?

Me: Uh... (now I have a choice to make)

• Should I lie because my sons did warn me that such a call might be coming... "No, she's not home right now, may I take a message?" -- What values would I be teaching my boys?

• Or maybe I could say, "No hablo ingles"-- But what if the person speaks Spanish? AND then again, what values would I be teaching my boys?

• Or  BETTER YET I could revert to my Tongan roots and say "ikai mahino" -- I don't understand... But then there's that little issue of values I'm teaching my boys.

• OR I could hang up and just not answer when they call back... or I could accidentally drop the phone and break it into a thousand tiny pieces... or I could succumb to the primal urge of fight or flight and take off to run the ten miles I run every day in preparation for the Seattle Rock 'n' Roll Marathon...                                                             

(Oh, wait -- now I'm mixing reality with fantasy -- I only run in my dreams.)

Gone

Just revisiting an old favorite...

"Gone like a freight train, gone like yesterday.

Gone like a soldier in the Civil War -- bang, bang.

Gone like a '59 Cadillac,

Like all the good things that ain't never coming back.

She's gone, gone, gone, gone... she's gone!"

From Gone by Montgomery Gentry

I have a problem. It seems that I have misplaced my waist. I’m not sure how long she has been missing, but today it was quite evident that she is gone. I searched everywhere -- behind the dryer; underneath the pair of college jeans still hanging in my closet; between the pretty PJ’s so neatly tucked in my most bottom drawer; and even in that vintage cheerleader outfit hidden away in the old cedar chest. Still, I could not find her.

So, how does one go about filing a missing persons report when the subject is one of such sensitive matter?

It's All Coming Back to Me

"It was gone with the wind,

But it's all coming back to me now..."

Celine Dion 

Oh my! Was the last time I wrote really January 2012?  Holy chalupas!!  #%@##.... (and a bunch of other words that I will not print in a family-friendly blog).

Thank you to my friends who asked me what in the world I've been doing all this time and why I haven't been writing...  So good to count you as friends!

Pieces

"On Monday I am waiting,
on Tuesday I am fading, 
on Wednesday I can't sleep...
and then the darkness is clear 
because you've come to rescue me."

A. Simpson

She hardly recognizes the woman in the mirror anymore. The woman she once knew – the one full of life who loved to travel and try new things… the one who turned heads, who was not afraid, who did what she wanted because she wanted. She is gone. Lost in crow's feet that sit on the edges of her eyes; lost in an expanded mid-line and streaks of gray that peek from dark strands she wears pulled back these days.

Turning Away

** It has been some time since I last wrote. Somehow five kids and a full-time job leave little time for such things as writing…

"FACT IS, we can't fully be at home and fully at work at the same time -- not even if work is in the next room. Work and life don't overlap so much as they collide or intersect -- leaving us to sit in our ergonomically correct swivel chairs and pivot between the two. And each time we turn toward one, we are, in that moment, turning away from the other."

From Life's Work: Confessions of an Unbalanced Mom by Lisa Belkin


5:00 a.m. -- I have been up several hours in the night with a sick child. As I lay awake I wonder, “Is he too sick for daycare?”

I make the phone call and send the e-mails – I won’t be in today. Classes are cancelled. Teachers are notified.

Pablo The Pet Chicken

You know you live in the sticks when your child has a pet chicken.

I heard the door open, shut, and then the sound of footsteps move quietly across the floor. He was whispering, "It's OK sweetie..."

Puzzled, I wondered, "Who could he possibly be talking to?" (certainly not one of his siblings).

To my surprise I found the three-year-old standing in the livingroom holding a chicken. He must have sensed my confusion because he quickly blurted --

"This is Pablo... He's a Mexican chicken.... No, he can't go outside because it's too cold... No, he doesn't want to see his mommy... I don't want to take him outside... I just wanna watch TV..."

And so, the three-year-old and Pablo the Chicken watched Sponge Bob for a time until I finally convinced him to take his feathered friend back to the coop.

Soon after I looked out the window to see the child on the swings (with Pablo in hand) singing at the top of his lungs, "Twinkle twinkle little.... underwear!"

Farm Etiquette 101

“Were you born in a barnyard?... No, but
I have one in my front yard!”
A. Villarreal

Rule #5: When you live on a farm it’s OK to pee outside… even in below freezing weather, but be careful NOT to pee on the electric fence.

Things were quiet – much too quiet – a sure sign that someone was certainly up to no good. The silence was broken by the sound of muffled amusement which quickly escalated to waves of uncontrollable laughter.

I looked out the window to see the two little boys (three and five years old) standing on the edge of the trampoline trying to pee on the dog.

Aghast, (remnant of my suburban upbringing) I yelled to Mr. V. “Dear, the little boys are trying to pee on Bella’s head!”

Without missing a beat or even cracking a smile he replied, “Did they get her?”

Remembering Montevideo

“I like him because he smiles at me and means it.”
Anonymous

It was an unlikely meeting in an unlikely place and yet, in that moment things were forever changed.

Now, I don’t consider myself a hopeless romantic, and I am certainly not an expert on commitment, but I can tell you this. There are times when the most unlikely becomes the very thing that fills the empty spaces of life.

And, so in this moment I am feeling a bit sentimental. It has started to rain and somehow, the smell of rain reminds me of tortas fritas, dulce de leche, cobblestone, and mist.

Baby Sister

“People have been asking me if I was going to have kids,
and I had puppies instead.”
Kate Jackson

Lately, the kids have been asking for a little sister. It first started as comments slyly thrown into everyday conversation – “Hey mom… did you know that Jacinto has a new baby sister?” or “Mom, last night I had the weirdest dream… I dreamed we had a baby sister!” and (my favorite) “This is a picture of the family – there’s dad, you, my sisters, my brothers, the goats, the cats, the chickens… and this is our new baby sister!”

I was not overly concerned (thinking this was just a passing whim) until the five-year-old proudly announced at church that his “mommy is having a baby” and the congratulations starting coming my way. At that point I realized that something had to be done.

“Mr. V.” I said, “Do you realize that the whole church congregation thinks we’re adding another child to the Rancho?”

Without looking away from the TV he sarcastically replied, “If that happens we will have to name her Milagro (Miracle).”

Tell Me Why

“A year, ten years from now, I’ll remember this;
not why, only that we were

here like this together.”

Adrienne Rich

I love being a mom. It was something I always hoped for, and something I truly enjoy. It is, however, something for which I was not fully prepared. Despite the countless hours of child development classes, babysitting seven younger siblings, and reading Parenting Magazine I still had many questions.

Even now, fifteen years later, I find that one question continues to resonate within my brain – Why?

Why did you tell our church clergy that “Mommy has a boyfriend named Jack”? Why did you fill the living room with water? Why did you stick a rock in your ear? Why did you eat the dog’s thyroid medication? And, why did you pluck ALL your eyebrows?

Nature vs. Nurture Revisited

“Our birth is
but a sleep
and a forgetting:
The Soul that
rises with us,
our life’s Star,
Hath had elsewhere
its setting,
And cometh
from afar.”

William Wordsworth

Scientists have long debated whether it is nurture or nature that makes us who we are. Do we come to this earth as a clean slate to be shaped into the person we are by our environment? Or are there parts of us that have always been and cannot be changed no matter what we face?

Lately, at the Rancho we have had this very conversation. Our concerns stem from an incident with Child Number Four (the Kindergartner).

The other day he sat eating a plate of nachos with chili con carne when he enthusiastically exclaimed, "Dad, this is delicious! These PEANUTS are fabulous!"

Mr. V had to stop and process this for a moment and then asked, "What did you say?"

"I said," responded Number Four, "These PEANUTS are actually fabulous!"

When Mr. V came to me I could see the deep concern on his face. "Dear," he said, "I have failed as a father."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

He replied, "I have failed to properly teach my son how to be a Mexican. He doesn't know the difference between PEANUTS and BEANS!"

Small Town

“The nice part about living in a small town

is that when you don't know what

you're doing, someone else does.”Unknown

I grew up in the city. It was nothing in comparison to the millions of Mexico City, but it was a city. It was a place where we knew only some of our neighbors, locked the doors each time we left the house, and relied on public transportation to get anywhere my mom wouldn’t drive us.

The day Mr. V announced that he had been offered his first teaching job in Warden, Washington was the day my dreams of urban bliss wistfully floated away into the ozone above. As you can imagine, I did not come willingly to the Basin.

I will never forget my introduction to rural life. Early one morning Mr. V informed me that we would be “changing water”. As a newlywed I still believed in my spouse’s perfection, so I willingly followed.

Time Revisited

"Tomorrow, and tomorrow,

and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty pace

from day to day."William Shakespeare

The older I get, the more I realize how fleeting life is. When I was younger it seemed that time couldn't move fast enough. I was always in a hurry "to get there" -- to grow up, to finish school, to get married, to buy that first house... Now, I find that time moves so quickly that I cannot seem to hold on to any one moment, like sand sifting through my fingers. I have often told myself, "I must remember this moment," only to find that the moment becomes buried and lost in time.

Not long ago I changed my last diaper. You would think that after fifteen years and more than 27,375 diapers (and yes, I actually did the math), this would be a momentous occasion. In truth it was quite the opposite -- rather anti-climatic and a little bit sad. Within that instant I suddenly realized that there were moments that would never come again. Call me sentimental, but the realization that no more diapers meant no more babies touched something deep within me.

Early Morning Run

“It is not the mountain we conquer
but ourselves.”
Sir Edmund Hillary

Some months ago Mr. V excitedly announced that he had registered us to run a race. “It will be fun!” he said. “We will run every morning and …”

Upon hearing the words “run” and “morning” in the same sentence I started to feel faint and began to teeter on the brink of hyperventilation. You see, I have never considered myself a runner.

My mind immediately took me back to Dixon Jr. High and Miss Roland’s gym class. It is one of those moments forever engraved upon the walls of my mind. I can remember every detail -- the feel of my blue polyester gym shorts; the boy staring at me because he wanted to “be more than friends”; and the sweet sounds of the Doobie Brothers’ What A Fool Believes playing somewhere in the background. It was the day of the mile run and I knew for certain I would surely die before ever reaching the end. And so, I hid behind the big pine tree and watched the other kids run, joining them on the very last lap. I am convinced that Miss Roland’s mind must have been elsewhere that day as she didn’t even notice, and happily called out, “Seven minutes and three seconds!” as I crossed the finish line. That day I joined the prestigious ranks of Presidential Physical Fitness Award hopefuls.

Confessions Of A Perfectionist

Lately, I have had a hard time sitting down to write. Part of it has to do with summer and the laziness of this time of year, and part has to do with writing for a deadline. And so, since I have not posted for quite some time, and have been using old posts for my column, I decided I needed new material. Despite my most creative efforts, nothing came to mind. I do have a few projects in the works, but true to the spirit of this post I decided against perfection. For now I'm giving you my revision -- the one for this week's column. I promise to soon get back into the routine, but not until after a few more dips in the pool.

"Homes are for free expression,
not for good impression."

Helen North from the movie Yours, Mine and Ours (2005).

I have come to realize (OK, so I realized this a LONG time ago) that I am a perfectionist. I am somewhat embarrassed to admit that as a young bride I prided myself in the fact that my house was immaculate to the point that even the patterns from the vacuum cleaner lined up perfectly in the carpet.

Oh, how things have changed over the years! It might have something to do with giving birth to five kids, Mr. V's pasture full of farm animals, or the lack of sleep. Somehow, along the way I realized that perfection is just plain HARD WORK! And so, I now view life a bit differently.