To cover or not to cover? That is the question

I'll bet you didn't know that just by living here in Wisconsin, my tushie has obviously passed the clean booty test.  Hahaha! Take THAT you Californians!!!!!

Moving to a new city, a new state, somewhere where you've never even visited is always laced with challenges. Along with the usual learning how to get around--where we live there are many back roads with weird names like "BB" and "KE" that aren't really names at all. It can get very confusing and it's easy to get lost. Many addresses like mine aren't even found on your GPS so don't give me that, "just use your GPS" b/s.  Every American city has its cultural mores and even though we all speak the same language, well, different accents are hard to get used to just like certain traditions they may have. Here in Wisconsin, the big things here are Friday night fish fry (bleh! double bleh! explains the obesity factor), deer hunting (you know how I feel about that already) and the Packers. But one of the hardest things I've had getting used to living here is the lack of toilet paper covers in public restrooms.

I am really bothered by this! What is it about Wisconsin tushies anyway? Are they cleaner than California butts? Now I've lived here a little more than a year now, and I can't find a restaurant or store whose bathrooms offer toilet seat covers. I'm appalled by this, and frankly tired of making my own little covers with those flimsy single-ply strips of cheap toilet paper that stick to your bottom when you stand up.  I'm appalled every time a woman goes in and out of a stall without doing likewise. WHAT IS GOING ON HERE PEOPLE?!

Now I haven't done any research on the subject of toilet seats and germs, and frankly I don't see the need to. It's obvious. Have you ever gone into a stall and seen blood or urine on the seat? I know, that's disgusting. It's not as uncommon as one might think. (Major wake-up call to you lucky men out there who get to stand!) So what does a person do in this situation? Usually clean it up yourself with toilet paper if you're in one of those situations where you stood in line for that stall with a full bladder during halftime at a Packer game. If you're lucky and the bathroom's not busy, you just groan with disgust and go into another stall. Thank GOD someone else gets paid to clean up these things.

What about the stuff on that toilet seat you CAN'T see? And don't tell me stuff isn't there. This is NOT rockets science here folks. I don't need a microscope and a laboratory to tell me the person who sat here before me is a complete stranger and God only knows where their rear end has been. A public restroom isn't my home! I am completely aware of where my children's and husband's butts have been so I don't mind sharing toilet seats with them. And I'm pretty aware of how often they get cleaned at home (No, I don't have a worker who comes in every hour and marks a little checkmark on the back of the door--but it's good enough for me). We also keep a canister of those handy disinfecting wipes so if something, um, spills, that person can clean it up nice and discreetly.

Now I haven't travelled much, and the only other place I've ever been that is also a highly industrialized nation that doesn't use toilet seat covers is New Zealand. It freaked me out there too. That was the first time I had to face the fact that the seat covers weren't offered anywhere at all except the airport. Same with Milwaukee's airport. I guess the people in charge at the airports somehow mutually agreed that all those traveler's hindquarters couldn't be trusted to be as clean as they needed to be. If people actually passed the aiport bathroom safety test and went on to visit outside establishments such as restaurants and stores, toilet seat covers weren't going to be necessary. Hmmm! Interesting. Their tushies are considered unsanitary at the airport, but once outside the airport, they are acceptably clean enough. I wonder if this discrepancy ever crossed anoyone's minds?

Well, it's crossed mine, and I'm very disturbed by this. I'm not even a germaphobe--I consider myself to be your every day run-of-the-mill conscientious person but this situation has gotten out of control. It's totally contradictory in that bathrooms have really started to play into the whole germaphobe mindset with all the faucets and towel racks that turn on automatically without touching anything. I know hands are just about the grossest thing out there in the world, we are always touching our noses and faces and doorknobs and all that. Yes, I get that. But what about our derierres? You mean to tell me they're cleaner than our hands?? EW!! Maybe cleaner, but CLEAN?!

And don't even get me going about all those horror stories about countries who don't even provide toilet paper. I'm ahead of you on that one. I will either never visit them or if I do, go armed and ready with a complete supply of everything I'll need when I'm in those compromising situations.

I've actually asked workers in various places why they don't supply toilet seat covers. I get the same dumb blank stare every time. "Uh, I don't know" is the usual answer. If I'm feeling Andy-Rooney-like, and I often do feel Andy-Rooney-like, I'll poke further and say something like, "Did it ever occur to you that toilet seat covers are provided in other states?" (I'm careful not to admit I'm from California because, well, Wisconsinites don't think very highly of us California folk and I'm not willing to provide fuel for their fire).  I'll get another blank stare and a response like, "uh, no, I didn't know that." And if I'm feeling VERY Andy-Rooney-like, I'll poke further and say something like, "Have you ever thought about how ironic it is that their are seat covers in the airport bathrooms but not everywhere else?" It's just this fun thing I do. My life is very exciting.

I think the bidet people get it. We are soul mates. Whoever dreamed up the bidet is my hero. Why aren't THEY standard in public restrooms? Ah, of course, they're expensive. I heard that argument. I actually got my first blast of cold water on my girl parts at an Asian restaurant in Fresno. (My Reedley/Fresno fans reading this are nodding their heads--you know which one I'm talking about!) and it was a fun experience. On my birthday one year, a group of my girlfriends and I went there for dinner and got a little tipsy and took turns going into the one stall that had the bidet just for the fun of it. We howled every time it got real quiet, then we heard the whooshing sound and the giggling "OOOO!" that followed. How fun! We got our business done and bathed at the same time! No germs, no cut-out paper that usually falls into the toilet on the first try and no little strips of paper stuck to our legs!! Yay!!!

I know I'm not alone here. I'm curious to hear your views people. And remember, I took an airplane here when I moved from California, I didn't drive and stop in 10 states along the way. Sometimes I wish I had; I'd know whose got the clean tushies around American and who doesn't.

California, I'm embarrassed now. What can I say? I try to defend you as self-righteously as I can. But I guess our bottoms just don't measure up to Wisconsin's. I feel defeated.

But like you won't be hearing me say, "you betcha" or shooting deer anytime soon, I will not abandon my self-made toilet seat covers. If it makes me different, I'm ok with that.

In my next life, I want to come back as a man.

But Wisconsinites, I just gotta ask ya---where's YOUR butt been today??

Proof That I'm Insane

A miracle happened today. It's only December 14th, and I mailed my Christmas cards today! I dropped them into the box outside the post office at approximately 8:57 a.m. this morning after dropping my daughter off at school. How is this a miracle, you may be wondering??

I love the ritual of Christmas cards. Ever since I was a kid; my parents used to get tons of Christmas cards every year when my dad still worked for the Herald Examiner. Back then, cards were more glamourous than they are today. They were mini works of art; beautiful Christmas landscapes filled with snow, beautifully decorated homes, all resounding with the peace and love of home and family. My mom would tape each one up just tilted every-so-slightly, equi-distant apart from one another, displayed on the coat closet door--in the living room--the first place you'd see it when you entered the room. I wasn't big enough to reach the top cards, but from my small stature I'd revel in the beauty of them as they glimmered in the light. I didn't recognize any of the names of course; I had no idea who any of these people were that were sending all these beautiful cards. I wanted to meet them. They were secret, magical mystical people my dad worked with at his secret, magical, mystical desk in some building somewhere in Los Angeles. It was all very exciting to a small child like me.

Is it any wonder I am just like my mother now with the whole Christmas card business?? I have taken over where she's left off. My parents have been retired for some time; the lovely Christmas cards they used to receive trickled off when my dad was laid off in 1975. In her hurt and dismay, my mother retorted that if they had been "real friends" the cards would still be coming. I didn't know what to do with that.

So here I am, many many years later, stressing myself out trying to get my Christmas cards out before they should actually say, "Happy Easter".  It's all self-induced. I know that. I can't help myself.

I used to do individual Christmas cards, you know, the boxed kind. I felt that a person's choice of a Christmas card said a lot about them, so I took great pains to choose boxed cards that reflected my personality, or rather, our personality as a family. I didn't really care for the religious ones or the Norman Rockwell artsy kind but rather the humorous ones, poking fun at either Santa or his reindeer--you know, the kind you love to get. A card that makes you laugh. That's me. I usually bought them around Thanksgiving, eager to get started. I'd usually do the envelopes first; the boring part. Then, one by one, I'd not only write "Love and God Bless, the Kuckelman's", but I'd write a mini-biography of our year in each one. We have moved so many times, and we have family and friends strewn all over the globe, and honestly, the only communication we have with some of them is the annual Christmas card tradition. Of course I was so worried I'd turn into one of those braggy moms and yes, I admit, I am. Hey, it comes with being a parent, and I'm so lucky to say I've got the kind of kids worth bragging about. Not every parent can say that. But the newsletter is only the beginning.

Don't forget the most important missing ingredient--the ultimate Christmas family photo.

We had a ritual for about ten years, since the year Ian was born, to have a professional sitting once a year. I'd happily schedule it for the Saturday BEFORE Thanksgiving, before the onslaught. I was so proud of myself. My husband would sulk and my toddlers would throw tantrums and I'd ignore their pleas for mercy and trudge us all into the photo studio year after year. I told them, "you'll thank me someday." (still waiting). But the year we stopped was the year the photos turned out absolutely frightening--I think they started hiring unqualified temporary workers for the holidays and I was mortified. I refused to pay for them and gave them back; bawling, I instructed them to just throw them in the trash. I resisted telling them what I REALLY thought of their skills as photographers.

So it became my duty to take our OWN perfect Christmas family photo every year! This was the beginning of the digital age, and it honestly couldn't have been more perfect timing. Instead of an expensive and angry family outing, we had an inexpensive and angry family afternoon trying to capture a harmonious photo of the four of us here at home. Last year was my favorite. Having just moved to Wisconsin from a lifetime of sunny California, I fantasized about a photo of the four of us standing by snowman we'd made ourselves. The snow obliged, but no one told me that Wisconsin snow is too soft to make into snowballs let alone snowmen. All dressed up for the picture and freezing in the frigid air, we were exhausted and my family was beyond annoyed with me. I settled for a pic of the four of us standing in our backyard, snow up to our ankles, taken by a little friend of my daughter's. It was dusk, and we ended up looking more of a silhouette. You couldn't really see our faces, no matter how hard I tried to Photoshop it. It was exasperating. Once again, self-induced. I realize this.

Doing this was so tedious, my Christmas cards never went out before Christmas Eve. It just took too damn long.  Between hand-writing each and every card and the pursuit of the perfect Norman Rockwell family photo, I got wise. Not only did I start writing a newsletter about 5 years ago, this year I didn't require my family to get together for a photo. Yes, it's been sad, sad defeat for me; we can't get all four of us together for even one picture a year. This year I decided I'd scroll through all the pictures on my computer from the year and find of of the four of us and use it, like many people do. We didn't take any vacations, so none there. I was saddened to realize there was not ONE photo of all four of us taken the entire year!!! So what the hell was I going to do?!!?! MAKE A PHOTO COLLAGE, THAT'S WHAT!!!!!

There were so many good pics to choose from, I actually made 2 collages. My husband shrieked at my insanity. "You can't send out two sheets of pictures!" he scolded me. "But I can't decide which ones to delete!" I shrieked back at him. I sighed a big huge sigh, and realized that if I made the pics really small I could fit them all on one sheet!! I was so happy!! Hahaha WINNING!!!!!!!

But my perfect plan hit a snag. I had all the envelopes made out in red Sharpie (festive yes?), actual Christmas stamps (some Hanukkah ones for the Jews in my family. Perfectionist here!), custom Christmas family address labels with our likeness (leftover from last year, thankfully we didn't move again), and cute little stickers on the backs of the envelopes. I sought and sought for the perfect newsletter paper to print them on--40 sheets for about $10.  I STUPIDLY BOUGHT EXACTLY THE AMOUNT THAT I THOUGHT I'D NEED. And lo and behold, wouldn't you know, after printing 20 perfect copies, the ink started to run out and ruined about 20 of the remaining sheets I had. I was distraught of course. Ruined!!! What was I to do?? I didn't have time to go all the way back to Office Max and buy more paper and with my luck, they'd be out of them anyway. So.....I looked and looked online for free borders for paper to make my own. Sure, they'll be different from the rest I'd already printed out, but I was okay with that. As long as they were festive. No boring plain paper for this girl!!! Well guess what?? There weren't any free ones. I am too cheap to even pay a dollar. And now it's December 13th. What was I willing to do?? Time is running out. I want to get these f***ing Christmas cards mailed NOW!!!!!!!

As I drove my daughter to school, went to the gym, and thought about the newsletters that still needed to be printed on my fantasy perfectly festive paper that was expensive and unattainable, I decided to make peace with PLAIN OLD WHITE PAPER. Yes, the bane of my existence--the proof that a person has absolutely NO imagination whatsoever---plain, old, boring, white printer paper.

I've made peace with myself over this. I think about the time and money I've saved, and I've made the best of a bad situation. Even though I was armed with enough replacement ink cartridges to furnish my daughter's school to avoid precisely what ended up happening because I got distracted. The ink ran out, and sparsely inked hieiogyphic ruined Christmas newsletter paper. I relented and used plain old boring white paper for the 25 or so newsletters left just to get them done. I stand accused, tried, and convicted. I sobbed quietly while folding them with my perfect collage into my perfectly addressed envelopes. I just somehow feel like I've let them down.

I gave myself a cheerful little pep-talk about how happy my friends and family will be to receive my newsletter and photo collage, and probably won't even notice the paper isn't Christmas-y. I know, I know, many of you will open the envelope and shriek, "HER NEWSLETTER IS ON PLAIN, OLD, BORING WHITE PAPER! DOESN'T SHE HAVE ANY IMAGINATION AT ALL?? JEEZ!!' And yes, I have to live with that.

And some of you won't even get one. In the move here, I can't find my Official Christmas Card Address List. I'm sorry. I really am. I hope you'll still send me a card so I can send you one back. There's still time!!

Those of you that got the Christmas-y newsletter paper know that you got the best I had to offer. The rest of you, my condolences. I hope you can see past this omission of character and forgive me.

At least I can brag that you got it before Easter.

Why I'm agnostic--Wisconsin style

According to our local newspaper today (the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel), "there are two religions in Wisconsin--Green Bay Packers, and deer hunting." Guess that makes me agnostic.

The front page story had a picture of a hunter crouching next to the nine-point buck he'd just killed. A beautiful, large antlered male deer. It sickened me. What a thing to look at over my morning coffee. I was nauseated.

Being a California girl, born and bred for oh, 30+ some years, I had never seen a real live deer. Once, on a family reunion trip to San Antonio, Texas, we not only saw some deer but fed them. It was amazing. Up close, they are as beautiful as they looked in pictures. Sweet, dark brown eyes, long eyelashes, darling little white fluffy tails, and they are one of the most gentlest creatures on the planet. They attack nothing and fear everything.

So, when we moved here to Wisconsin and heard the stories of all the deer that lived in our area, I was very excited. I couldn't wait to see a real live deer! And lo and behold, we have had some in our backyard. One more than one occasion, we've had deer in our backyard. Deer sightings here are always preceded with insane barking by our dog, who thinks they're other dogs that have come into our yard.  (Of course we don't let him out!) The first time was the most magical--a doe (mommy deer) and her baby (fawn). The white spots on the baby were so cute. It got excited by something and started to leap into the air, bucking like a horse for no apparent reason. Other times, the deer just slowly walk through our yard, grazing on the grass and bushes, disappearing into the brush into a neighbor's yard. It's like a UFO sighting--I run and get my iPhone and take a bunch of pictures because they're usually gone in less than 30 seconds. I gasp and send the pics to my family back in California. I post them to my Facebook.

Little did I realize how much people here hate deer. Live here long enough, and you're bound to have a horror story to tell about how you either hit a deer driving or it hit you. And nearly killed you. Bambi lovers such as myself are a joke.

I'm not going to give statistics here, because I really don't give a shit what the numbers are. You can tell me all about how the deer overpopulate here and how killing them is good for them and all. One thing the good ol' Milwaukee Journal educated me on in their article today is how much money gun manufacturers and bow and arrow people make this time every year. Not to mention money made on hunting licenses, and all those really dorky camouflage outfits. It's big business.

What I really don't get is how this is first of all a sport, and second, a "family tradition", as discussed in the article. This is something families do together??? A "bonding" experience?? Killing beautiful defenseless animals?? This horrifies me.

Our family plays tennis together. Or we rent a movie from Redbox and make popcorn, or play board games. No one has to die in order for us to bond together. I really can't imagine going out and spending precious money on rifles and bullets and driving out to where we could hunt down a precious deer and shoot and kill it. And then what? Celebrate? Carry it home with us? Eat it for God's sake? Put its head up as an ornament over the pool table? How did killing become a "sport"?? Tennis is a sport. No one dies. Killing animals is not a sport. It's not a competition. The deer don't have a chance.

I was horrified when I heard a co-worker tell me he "just missed" killing a nine-point buck. I don't even know what "nine-point" means, and don't bother explaining it to me. I'm assuming it describes some sort of system where 9 is higher that 2, duh, it's probably a more rare type of deer and if you shoot one, you're more of a hero. Whoop-de-do.

I have never seen a buck. If one walked through my backyard, I sure wouldn't have the urge to grab a gun and kill it!!! I'd be marveling at its awesome antlers, and how if there was a daddy, hopefully there'd be more babies soon. I just don't have the desire to end its life.

People that I have otherwise liked have turned out to be deer hunters, and I just can't reconcile it. I wonder what kind of a person finds joy in this. I'm not being facetious. I am serious. It has made me honestly re-think some of my friendships. I just can't fathom the thought of these otherwise really nice and enjoyable people holding rifles in their hands and stalking and murdering beautiful deer.

I have often said that if I had to hunt down and kill my own meat, I'd be a vegetarian. There's no way I could look an animal in the eyes and shoot it. Unless I was literally starving, like on a desert island or something. It comes homogenized and wrapped in plastic in the store, and yes, that makes me a hypocrite but at least I'm willing to admit it. I have never killed anything for food, and if you have, that still doesn't make it something to brag about. How can killing something, whether it be a deer or quail or ducks be something to get excited about?? And the state I now reside in considers deer hunting to be a "religion"?? Wish I could just click my heels and go back to California.

Oh, and that other religion, the Packers? I do know some die-hard Packer fans. You have no idea. At this writing, they're 10-0 and they did win  the Super Bowl last year. AND it's REALLY a sport!!!

At least no one's being shot with a rifle.

Big Girls Do Cry

     Every once in a while, when I'm just be-bobbing along in my life, something will happen that will take me back to my previous life in Reedley, or West Covina, or any one of the many places I've lived in, and bring me to tears. For instance, we took a family trip to Minneapolis to the Mall of America this weekend. As we're walking around the enormous and crowded mall, Ian noticed all the strollers, and was getting annoyed trying to dodge them constantly. Before I could respond to him, I had a memory flash of Ian being the little boy in the stroller, feeling overwhelmed and frightened at being thrust about, zig-zagging powerlessly by his mother who was at the helm. I remembered how he used to cry and wanted out. I didn't tell him all this; it was a momentary memory flash that was so vivid, and so emotional, the tears just started to fall. Thank God for sunglasses.  I blinked the tears away, and kept walking, and muttered, "yeah, they're annoying, huh?"

     Last week it happened again. I just started a new job--bartender at the gym our family belongs to. I absolutely love my job, and being the new girl, I'm constantly meeting new co-workers and being introduced to them or, being the talkative one, I introduce myself. I met a new front-desk girl who the moment I laid eyes on her, the same familiar feeling came over me: a vivid memory flash as if my life in Reedley was a movie I was watching. This girl had welcoming wide eyes and a happy smile, and she was petite and giggly. Melanie. My beloved Melanie, whom I miss so very very much. I gasped, literally, and had to tell her right then and there she had a twin out in California. 

     "Really? I do?" she inquired.

     "Yes! You do! And she was my BFF and I miss her SO much!" I excitedly declared to her. "Here! This is her!" and I thrust my iPhone to her and showed her a pic of Melanie. This girl, whom I just met and can't remember her name right now and another woman working with her, leaned over and glanced at the beautiful smiling face of my Melanie. I was beaming.

     "Eh, different nose," the other woman sort of sneered. Clearly she wasn't impressed. The Melanie-twin didn't say anything. Her face didn't give away any clues either.

     "She's 4'11" and wears a size 5 shoe!" I gleefully added. That was the clincher. Both women looked at me wide-eyed, mouths gaping open. 

     "Really? NO WAY!" they took turns saying.

     "REALLY! YES!" I confirmed. 

     "SHE'S 4'11 WITH SIZE 5 SHOE TOO!!"

    "REALLY? NO WAY!" I exclaimed.

     "Yeah", they quietly admitted. It appeared she really might have a twin after all and it was sinking in. How this made her feel, I have no idea. Maybe I should've just kept it to myself. As it happens, a customer appeared and we all dissipated. I walked back to my bar and the tears started again. I didn't want to get to know this Melanie-twin. I wanted my Melanie.

     And so it goes. I had a moment laying in bed in the middle of the night a few nights ago; I'd gotten up to let one of the cats out and sure enough, I have no idea how or why, but I started to cry realizing how much I missed our old pool. We don't have a pool here, and I just can't get excited about summer coming. What are we going to do? Yes, there's a lake, yes, but we don't have a boat, and it's not like you can just go out in your backyard and jump in. I cried and cried thinking about all the friends we'd entertained, all our kids' friends that went swimming there summer after summer, and I was just so sad. It's all over with, can't go back.

     I know my kids feel the same way. I know it's been hard on Tim too. We see old friends in stranger's faces. We feel lonely, and sad, and we've put up a wall. It's a tremendous amount of effort to make new friends. It's hard not to feel that we're somehow replacing them. Nobody can replace anybody. The friends we made in California are in our hearts forever, and we hope they all know that. Thankfully we've got Facebook and texting and phone calls to stay in touch.

     It's been 8 months since we moved here now, and sometimes it gets easier, and sometimes it feels like we're going backwards. The snow has melted but it's still freezing out.  We see the temps in California and remember what we were doing a year ago there. Ian's in track now, and although daytime temps here are still in the 30's, they are running outside. In Reedley, the track kids are running outside too, but it's in the 60's and 70's. Stay with that for a moment and feel how that must feel to Ian. It's very hard.

     Even the happy moments can be tinged with sadness. Ian's driving now. He's almost 16. Any parent who's been at this moment in time knows what I'm talking about. It's surreal, it really is. He's becoming a grown-up right in front of my very eyes. I'm proud of him and sad all at the same time, as my chauffering days are slowly coming to a close. He will no longer need me in a way that has defined me in a lot of ways. This is not easy to swallow. I'm getting used to it, and I will be happy for him. And scared. It's a scary world out there. I won't be able to protect him like I could when he was that little boy in the stroller.

     Watching a young mom with her toddler daughter in the grocery store, the same thing happens. Even if she's angry at not being able to get her child to stop a tantrum, it's instant tears. I think of my curly-blonde cutie who accompanied me like glue to a stamp. We went everywhere together. Now Jenni would rather stay home and watch TV or play Wii while I go alone. No little hand to clutch onto and make sure she's safe constantly. She's a big girl now. 

     Whether it's moving to a new city, new state, or new country, or the kids growing up,  the inevitableness of change can be so hard and so sad. The circle of life goes on, and with it, new experiences and people come into our lives as we grow and change along with it.  I'm so grateful that my life partner, best friend and husband Tim has been along with me the whole way, and we're in it for the long stretch.

     I know it will get warmer, and we know that we have enjoyed the snow. Like everyone else in Wisconsin, we are sick of the cold and can't wait to be able to be outside in a pair of shorts. And yes, as time goes on, and we say less and less, "I just moved here from California". The newness has worn off and we appear to be Cheeseheads like everyone else. Only we aren't. Our accent gives it away every time. And quite possibly the sadness in our eyes. We are trying, people. I'm proud of us. I'm proud of Tim. We are doing okay. 

     As they say, you can take the Kuckelman's out of California, but you can't take the California out of the Kuckelman's.

Contempt or Comfort? It's All in the Eye of the Beholder

"Familiarity Breeds Contempt", goes the old saying, and certainly I can agree it sometimes rings true. I know that before we moved all the way from Reedley,  California to Hartland, Wisconsin, I was sick and tired of driving down a particular road called Manning. Manning was the main artery that connected little Reedley to big-city Fresno and beyond. It was 12 miles down Manning to get to the freeway. It was another 15 miles via freeway to get to Target, the mall, decent restaurants, and nightlife. You can imagine how many times we went down that 12-mile stretch over the course of the 8 years we lived there. 

Additionally, to get to our kids' elementary school, we had to drive down Manning. About 2 miles. Not far, but a quick calculation of the back-and-forth from home to school multiplied by eight years and yes, you have contempt.  I loved that their school was so close, but there was really only one way to get there, and yes, it involved Manning. 

When our son got to high school, Manning became a street that was basically a skip-and-a-jump over to get to the street it was actually on. It was such a nice diversion! And of course, having one kid in elementary and the other in high school, there was a new back-and-forth routine, picking one kid up and driving to get the other kid at the new school location.

I remember the day we left Reedley, we were so sad, recalling all the things we were going to miss. Our friends---numero uno. Our beloved house. Tied for numero uno. Our favorite breakfast spot--Main Street Cafe. The donut shop, "Donuts to Go", cute little downtown Reedley, the annual Christmas and pet parades. The things we were going to miss were so numerous. To break the sadness and tension, I said to my family as we drove out of town, "I am NOT going to miss driving down Manning! If I ever drive down Manning again I'll stab myself!!" and we all laughed in agreement. Yet when we visited over Christmas, we drove once again down that bedeviled street. It was wistful, not contemptuous. 

We have been in Wisconsin now for five months and two days, and we have yet to feel the "contempt" that too much familiarity breeds. We have our morning routines down, but we see new things every trip. Just this morning my son noticed all the icicles hanging from everyone's roof eves. We commented that people in Wisconsin don't hang Christmas icicle lights because----they have REAL ICICLES!!!  My husband has learned several new ways to get around our little town, so that too breaks the monotony. We have eaten out quite a few times, but nothing has stuck in our craw as a favorite yet like our Main Street Cafe did, or Jon's Bear Club, or The Pub, or Valentino's. Nope. We are trying though, you gotta give us that. There is a pizza place that we've been to twice, and we like it. Maybe eventually it'll replace our Valentino's but you can't force that sort of warm fuzzy no matter how hard you want to feel it. It something that just happens, like a mad crush that comes out of nowhere, or a favorite song. When you feel it, you just know it's right.

We do feel an affinity for our gym---we go often enough to feel comfortable but for Tim and me, we still don't know a soul here. It's really a strange and lonely feeling to never see a familiar face wherever you go. When we were back visiting Reedley over Christmas, I'd barely gotten out of my car to go to CVS when I heard, "LAUREN!!!!!!" I bumped into people I knew everywhere. (Most of whom were confused as to where I'd been the last 5 months they hadn't seen me). You know, acquaintances but not friends who get used to your mug in their daily lives, and you get used to theirs. You don't know their names, but you probably know their kids' names. You sat side-by-side at endless Little League games, and school fundraisers. That's what I miss the most having moved 1500 miles away. The friendly wave when you drive by, and boasting about your kids' grade point average to someone who knows how hard your kid really worked for it, because they've known them since they were knee-high to a grasshopper.

I know it wasn't always like this. When my husband's job moved us to Reedley in 2002, we didn't know a soul then either. I think I pouted then too,  but I'd dug my heels in and got involved in the kids' school. I volunteered in their classrooms, and started the chess club. I was there almost as much as the kids were! I've been a lucky stay-at-home mom for more than 14 years now, so I was able to do all that. I even became a substitute teacher! I was a friendly, reliable, semi-permanent fixture at their elementary school.

Well, Jenni's a middle-schooler now, and Ian's a high school sophomore, so the days of helping in their classrooms is long over. I'm glad I did it then, but how do I make friends now? How do I stay involved now? It's much more difficult, and the first semester has ended and I still don't know anyone here. My kids are doing great---they have settled in and adapted amazingly well. I'm so happy for them.

So, what about me? I'm the new person, the one with the funny accent (hahah, that's funny). I'm the one that's too loud, dresses too differently, wears too much glittery jewelry. I am irritated time and again over how different and new everything is, and I have trouble keeping my mouth shut. Everyone seems to know one another and that's a lonely feeling.  I'm the one that has suddenly become shy because I feel so different. I keep to myself but sometimes I get so lonely I just talk to anyone and everyone. I've noticed how quiet and boring most people here live---and I enjoy being the life of the party. I don't care if people talk about me behind my back---as long as they're talking about me!!

I'm taking private vocal lessons, and my teacher is amazing. Hopefully Tim and I will put a new band together and start performing again. Breaking up our band was really the hardest part of leaving  Reedley. Baseball season will be sad for Ian's former team without him; the boys have all played together for six years. We thought that when we moved away, WE were the ones who suffered the most, but in seeing friends and family again, we realized that our absence left a hole in their lives as well. I hadn't thought of that.

The familiarity of friendships and shared experiences breeds not contempt, but comfort. 

If I hear "how are you surviving the snow?" one more time I'll scream!!!

I and my kids just had our very first white Christmas ever. And it was every bit as magical as all the songs describe it, as all the Christmas cards pictures show, and all the talk about it. It snowed on Christmas Eve, and it was just like a Norman Rockwell painting. We were sitting around the tree in our living room, fire in the fireplace, the dog curled up in front of it, our three cats sacked out in varying places around the room (one under the tree among the presents). I took some pics and we all just for a moment, watched the snow coming down outside the window, and just took a deep breath, taking in the whole beauty of the moment. We laughed and wondered how the heck we ended up here, but glad we were. Then we started tearing open the gifts--and the magic of the snow was soon relegated to back burner status.

We are one month into our first winter here in Wisconsin, and so far so good. We are actually enjoying the snow SO much, the kids and I all commented that we can't imagine not living where they get snow in winter! Seriously! We have a huge backyard, 1 acre, and we have a little hill that's great for sledding. The kids spend hours outside sledding. They have gotten very creative, making jumps and icing their sleds so they'll go faster. Ian took the wheels off his skateboard and made a make-shift snowboard, and he's gone from crashing constantly to being able to stay up all the way down without falling! We think he's ready for the real deal. Jenni has a need for speed and begged us to take her to a REAL hill, so Tim found a couple challenging ones. We all piled in the car and went together. It was snowing hard, which made it even more spectacular. I don't think I've ever had more fun in my entire life than I did that day, watching my kids scream down the hill, sharing a sled with my daughter, seeing Tim on a dinky sled with the biggest smile I've ever seen on him, it was just so so so much fun.

The view from my kitchen and living room is breathtaking. We still don't have any curtains or blinds, so everywhere you are, there's nothing but windows and white snow. We traded palm trees for evergreens, and honestly, I've never seen a snow-covered evergreen that wasn't fake flock. Even Ian can't stop marveling at their beauty. Every time we get in the car, we just still gasp at the beauty of everything covered in white.

I am proud of how we've acclimated. Myself actually. When it's around 24-32, it's comfortable. I'm still wearing jeans and a T-shirt, and just a light jacket. I have traded my Converse for a pair of Uggs, and that's the outfit. Perfect. We've realized that snow, as it's coming down, is not wet like rain. We hate rain now. We prefer snow. Also, when it's snowing, you don't need to use your windshield wipers. It just bounces off the car. And let's face it, snow-covered cars look soooo cool. Like Jenni said, "Mommy! We live in a snow globe!!" That's exactly how it feels. Well said darling.

Now, wind chill is another thing entirely. I have gotten so acclimated, I can guess the temp. We came out of the movies yesterday and it was colder than when we went in. I said to my daughter (who loves to check them temp on her new iPhone), "Hmm, so it's 24 right now? Feels like 15 with wind chill." And guess what???  It was 12! (insert smug face here). Wind chill means if you don't have your gloves on and every inch of skin covered, you will be a popsicle in less than 15 seconds. I had no idea what frozen fingers really felt like. Yikes!

Ian only covers up when he's going outside to play in the snow. He looks absolutely handsome in his knit cap, jacket, ski gloves,  ski pants and boots. His white teeth sparkle and he's got the happiest face i've ever seen on him. Jenni's beauty comes alive with her adorable peach hat with braided dangly things bobbing as she flies down the hill. She's fearless.

Ian turned 15-1/2 in November and got 100% on his driver's permit test, and so guess what?? He's driving! It's been soooo surreal. Any parent who's been through this stage knows exactly what I'm talking about. It's all new to us, and it's exciting and scary. Ian's is a good driver, although he's got his mommy's impatient streak. I gotta work on that myself. It's a reminder how kids really take in what they see and hear on a daily basis.

Driving in snow, no problem. Driving 3 days after it snowed, after a sunny day that melted some of said snow, not so easy. I have been afraid of black ice since we first knew we were moving here.  Tim versed me well in how to cope with different driving situations, but it's not till you actually are IN those situations that you learn how to cope. I was careful, going way under the speed limit, and I saw other cars spinning out of control. It was soooo scary. I only slid once, going downhill to a stop sign. I was already breaking, going like 3 mph, but still my car wasn't stopping. I just came to a stop inches from the other car's bumper so that was scary.

I also didn't know that WALKING was dangerous!! Jennifer had lost her cell phone out sledding in our backyard, and we knew we'd never find it till spring, so we stopped looking for it. Then we had a big rain, which washed away lots of the snow, so smart me decided to go look for it.  I never found it (of course) but while I was looking, my boots slipped on the icy snow and just like a cartoon, they whipped me flat on my butt. Which, if you didn't know this, your butt has a little bone in it called a TAILBONE and let me tell you it HURT LIKE A MF!!! OMG I never knew how important that little bone is to a multitude of activities. Like sitting down!!! Sitting anywhere (use your imagination). Not to mention doing my ab crunches. Yowch!!! It'll be weeks before I can do those. I Googled "broken tailbone" and it says there's no treatment, just basically take Advil 24/7 and it'll fix itself. Psshhhh wonderful. What a dork I am. I can't even walk without hurting myself.

So now, forget fear of driving. I'm scared of walking!!! I look for ice everywhere. Getting out of the car and going to a store or wherever I shuffle like an old man. Pathetic. The farthest I really ever need to walk is the mailbox and the newspaper, and most of the time I just drive to it anyway. Works for me. Will my life really be that affected if I skip reading it a day or two?

Well, it's the end of December, and we've made it this far. When we get back from California, it'll be January, and we've been told the worst is yet to come. That "first snow" is the soft, pleasant snow, and that the rest is going to be cold and miserable. All I can say is, thanks for the heads up people. I'm taking it one day at a time, one snowfall and one icy driveway at a time. This lifelong California girl is doing the best she can, trying to stay optimistic and try to find the joy and beauty. Would I be me if I did it any other way??