Adopting sisters just for the weekend

We are back.

Sigh. There is just nothing like a weekend in New York (or Yew Nork, as my kids like to call it). It is truly my favorite city in the entire world. Had a great time with my sisters-and-mother-in-law. Made some great memories. Ate some truly sinful food. Slept very little.

Some of the highlights were:

• Cold lemon chicken and a black and white polka dot dinner at Gabi's.
• Gabi's choreographed (and costumed) dance number during dinner.
• Heidi's lost luggage saga (never trust anyone named Doogan at the Delta Luggage Counter. He is lying when he says he will wait all night for your lost suitcase).
• Shopping for hours at H&M.
• Giving Marta the "what no one will tell you" speech about child birth at 2 a.m. (and hoping she's now not too terrified to deliver baby Bruce).
• Never getting more than four hours of sleep at a time.
• The Dali Lama cab driver waxing philosophical on gay men and people that need medication in the city (like himself, maybe? Nah).
• Burgers at the Burger Joint in Le Parker Meridian.
• H&M some more.
• Books of Wonder and the Cupcake Bakery inside.
• Talking Oma into returning the $500 worth of exfoliation skin care products she didn't need from Bloomies.
• Laughing at the giant bra Gabi did buy at Bloomies.
• Pashminas on the street.
• Oma's crinkling cookie wrappers during the middle of A Chorus Line.
• More H&M (because clearly, if you don't buy everything in the store the first and second time, then a third trip is in order).
• Sweet potato fries with maple syrup dipping sauce.
• Dinner at Carnegie Deli at 10 p.m., where the sandwiches were the size of our heads.
• Getting dessert after eating sandwiches the size of our heads at 10 p.m.
• Running for the train at Penn Station and hoping Oma doesn't have a heart attack.
• Laughing until we cried.
• Crying until we laughed.
• Having fun, being together, and returning home safe and happy to our families (although some were still without luggage).

Thanks for the memories, girls. It was great to pretend to have sisters for a few days. Let's do it again soon.

Oh, and nothing says 'welcome home, mom' like a child vomiting in the car on the way home from the airport. Remember my last trip to New York when I came home to a vomiting child?

Seriously.

Why can't they throw up on the husband's watch? WHY?!

Vacation Survival Guide

Oh, the pains of crawling out from under a sugar hangover this morning. Why must the Reeses Peanut Butter eggs tempt me so?

And why must I see the need to eat my weight in them, year after year?

But the headache and sugar withdrawals were miraculously cured the minute that I saw this beautiful sight lumbering down the street, carrying my children:

So our little mini-spring break vacation.

What to say?

Well, we took the kids up to Chicago Wednesday night. Left behind the five-day rainstorms that had plagued our town, hoping for sunshine and blue skies.

Which we got.

Until the six inches of snow blew in. And suddenly we found ourselves pining for the wet rains of St. Louis. My life is absolute living proof that the grass IS NOT GREENER. Punch anyone in the kidneys who tries to tell you that it is. It's not.

We did have a great time, but I learned a few things on this trip. Thought I'd share my them with you, my interpeeps, in case you ever find yourself trapped in a tiny hotel room with three children over spring break.

Stie's Spring Break Survival Guide: What Not to Do Edition

When passing through a town with this sign, know immediately that you do not now, nor will you ever, belong here. Accept the fact that everyone you know would immediately laugh at your return address because they know you.

And you are anything but normal.

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When staying at a hotel with your children, never assume there is going to be a pool. Sometimes at big, fancy, downtown hotels, they don't have pools.

But they do have gyms, and you will gladly remember your sudden, extreme need to exercise for the chance of a few minutes to yourself. Even if that means you actually will have to, you know, exercise.

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Hotel beds are perfect for doing things that are not allowed at home. Like jumping or simultaneously falling flat on your face to see who gets there first.


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The Children's Museum at Navy Pier is the absolute coolest museum ever. Plan on opening and closing the place down, with only a brief intermission for lunch. Your kids will not want to leave thanks to the endless hours of learning, entertainment, and play.

And the best part? There are benches and chairs everywhere so you can sit and watch the learning, entertainment, and play. Without having to learn, entertain, or play.


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Standing in front of a fun house mirror will give you insecurities all day that you really might look like this:

Or worse, this:

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Sharpay is fully to blame for the slightly awkward, very diva-like pose that your daughter will strike every time a camera is near. When asked about it, she will proudly say that she looks like Sharpay, but sings like Gabriella.

WhatEVER.

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And when returning eagerly to your non-snowy state, try not to drown yourself in a bowl of cereal when you look outside to see snow falling in droves on Easter morning.


Monday WILL come, and they WILL return to school.

And you might just find that you miss them a little.

The day it all began

Fourteen years ago today, as the early morning sun came up over the Wasatch mountains, the Husband and I were married.

We were young, dumb, and oh-so-in love. He was 21, and I had just turned 20. We had a whirlwind courtship that surprised no one around us. It just felt right. It was meant to be.

As I look back on the last 14 years, I am struck by depth of my heart that he still holds today. If I had known just how lucky I was on that spring day, I would have shaken that 20-year-old girl with a bad perm and told her that this was the first day of the rest of her life. I would have told her that everything she knew about herself to that point would grow and change over the next few years. I would have warned her that she would move somewhere beyond the life she had known, and that it would challenge her to do things she had never done or even dreamed of.

For him. This skinny, shy boy that came along quite by accident.

Him, the boy she loved with all of her inexperienced heart.

But we can't go back and tell ourselves to appreciate it, can we? All we can do is look back and smile at the memories and moments that now make up our history together. And laugh at him because he can't remember half of them.

Like the pans and pans of peanut butter bars I made in the cinder block one-bedroom apartment, and how we wondered why both of us were gaining so much weight.

And the quiet drives up the canyon in the white VW Fox, where we planned and dreamed of our future together.

Or the roller blades we thought would be so practical in Minnesota, and how we only used them twice.

But the memories that most fill my mind are the ones we have made as parents, and as a family. I could not have known what an amazing father you would be. You have made our babies your entire world. You gave up golf, a hobby you loved, because you couldn't bear to spend a whole Saturday away from us.

You are a man who walks in the door, never needing to unwind after a hard day at work. You want us. You've missed us. You are not only ready to just be with your family, but you crave it. We know that we are your whole world, and our children are better for it. Your first thought after a long business trip is of me, and providing me with a break from the kids. It's you half the time who suggests a girl's night out. You, who happily takes off work so I can get away for a few days with my girlfriends.

Your unselfish nature is but the tip of the iceberg.


I love that you would do anything for me, if it made me feel pretty. I want new clothes? Go for it. Make-up and makeovers? Whatever I want. Shopping sprees? You deserve it, baby, you say. I know how lucky I am.

I just want you to know that I know it.

I don't always show my gratitude. I know it's hard to hear me complain when you're in another state, working 90-hour weeks for nightmare clients, and I'm whining about trivial, everyday stuff. Problems you'd love to have right at that moment. But to your credit, you take a deep breath, and tell me how sorry you are that I'm feeling that way, and ask what you can do to help.


You never complain or look disgusted when you walk in the door and I've got yesterday's matted ponytail and a pair of sweats on. You smile, hug me, and make me feel as though I'm the most beautiful woman you've ever seen.

You are always supportive of how I spend my time, even when it's going to daytime movies by myself, reading novels, or spending time blogging. I wonder if the tables were turned, could I be as big a person as you are? Could I work so hard knowing this person was being less productive than they could be?

Whatever I do, whatever I say, I am grateful. I am grateful that you support me staying at home. I am grateful that you never question how I spend my time. I am grateful that you love our kids. I am grateful that you love me, in spite of my many flaws. I am so grateful that you were able to look past the fuzzy hair, terrible clothes, and neurotic insecurities 14 years ago and take me as your wife, your partner. I cannot imagine my life without you.

Chiche though it may sound, you really do complete me.


I love you more today than I could have imagined on that early spring morning. Here's to many more years of adventure, laughs, and growth.

I love you,

Your little Stie

Scrambling for the finish

What happens when bad weather forces your husband to be stuck out of town for two extra days right before the Pinewood Derby, with unfinished cars sitting at home?

Besides a whiny, complaining wife, this is what happens:

Instead of having those two extra days to make the cars all by himself work with the boys, The Husband was scrambling to get the cars finished in time. In his haste, there was an incident with Chase's car.

The unfortunate incident rendered the car completely unusable (unless he wanted to send it careening down the track with no wheels. I thought it might be funny, but Chase didn't really see that as a viable option).

Through tear-filled eyes, Chase told The Husband it was okay. Though his heart was broken, he resigned himself to using McKay's car from last year. I quickly grabbed the spray paint Chase had picked out for his own car, and we went to work, remaking the hand-me-down car. Before long, even Chase began to get excited again about the race.

His entry was The Golden Frog. Why golden? I'm not really sure. Maybe because of his great love for money.

And why frog? Well, because when he's not voluntarily studying Winston and the War, Chase is dreaming, thinking, talking, and obsessing about frogs.

Here were this year's entries. McKay's is the bright orange one in front with a large firebird on the hood. Me thinks his taste in cars is a little too close to the white trash style that I take so much pleasure in mocking. I won't tell him that unless he someday decides to buy a car just like it.

Don't worry that some poor cub scout had to endure the lifelong shame of bringing in the pink car. It was a dummy car that they'd rigged to come in last on every race.

You know, because it's not about winning or losing, right?

Try telling that to McKay, here on pins and needles:

And what sporting event is complete without a gratuitous shot of the hot and sassy cheerleading squad? Here was ours:

The Husband and I held our breath as both cars went down the track for the first time. Much to our relief, neither one lost a wheel.

But much more important was the fact that we didn't take first place (which would entitle us to spend hours and hours at a district competition), and we didn't take last place (which would entitle us to spend hours and hours with sad boys at home).

A win-win for everyone.

All in all, the Pinewood Derby was a roaring success for the boys.

Now we can rest for another year. Thank goodness. I don't know what we'd do if this blessed event came any more often.

Because she's only thinking of me

[ sweets that I made for my sweet]

This morning, when my three littlest valentines came down for breakfast, they found a small box of chocolates by each of their plates.

They squealed with delight and proceeded to tear open the heart-shaped boxes. They smelled and fondled, trying to determine what flavor each piece was. Hannah looked at me, then looked back down at her full box. She gingerly slid a small piece of chocolate across the bar to me.

"Wow, thanks, Hannah. That is so nice of you to share."

Chase immediately opened his box and did the same thing.

"Thanks, Chase."

McKay looks up apprehensively. I smiled and said, "It's okay, you don't have to give me one. I got these for YOU."

"Really? You sure, Mom?" I promised him that I was sure, and the relief washed over his face.

Hannah then reaches over and takes back her chocolate. "Actually, Mom, I think I'm going to let you be really healthy. You shouldn't eat this candy. I'll just take it back."

Thanks, baby. Appreciate you looking out for me.

Trying to break down his genetics

My son Chase has certainly proven to be one of the more interesting children I've ever met. As a baby, the doctors called it colic. I called it simply his personality. He cried non-stop unless he was being held up and shown everything happening around him. He couldn't stand to miss a minute of life. I can remember holding him for hours as I cooked, or washed dishes, or even sometimes put on my make-up. He was unendingly curious from the very start.

And he's never been one to seek the approval of friends or peers. He could care less if anyone thinks he is out of the norm. He can play for hours with a group of boys, or happily get lost in his own imagination. He lives his life doing what makes him happy.

And yesterday, what made him happy was to check out these books from the school library for some light recreational reading:

While most kids his age spend their time giggling over the potty-laced humor of Captain Underpants, Chase frequently picks up biographies or nature-filled nonfiction. He can reiterate the seemingly useless facts for hours.

Days, even.

And within minutes of walking in the front door, he proceeded to update me on the life and times of our friend, Mr. Churchill.

I don't think I can blame his sports/politics-obsessed father for this part of Chase's personality. And I know that People magazine doesn't even count as real literature, so he can't have gotten it from me.

But there is one man who I fully blame credit for Chase inheriting this unabashed love of all things history:

That's right, Opa. This nut didn't fall too far from your tree.

And if Chase turns out to be half the man you are, nothing would make me happier.