Three for three

Posted on May 14, 2012 by Justine Wettschreck

I went three for three on Mother’s Day, which means I heard from all of my children. Unfortunately, I didn’t get a chance to see any of them, but they all called to wish me a happy day. I didn’t feel too bad about it, since I had gotten the opportunity to see all of them a few weeks ago.

Kid 2, otherwise known as Nicholas, called first. I was out to breakfast with my husband Eric and my parents.

“Hey, Mom. What’s up?” he said when I answered the phone. He always says that. It’s his standard greeting.

We chatted a bit, and he thanked me for giving birth to him.

“Um, no problem,” I answered, because what else do you say to that?

We didn’t talk long, because he works nights and hadn’t been to bed yet.

After breakfast, Eric and I headed to the grocery store. While standing in the frozen food section contemplating ice cream flavors, Kid 3, also known as Matthew or Crayon, called.

“Heeeey,” he said. “Whatcha’ doing?”

Again, standard greeting. He asked what we were up to for the day, and said he was heading off to work in a little bit. He didn’t sound very enthusiastic about the idea.

We talked for a bit, and he thanked me for not letting him die over the past 19 years.

“Yeah, well, I did what I could,” I replied, deciding not to mention all the weird scars he carries from the times I didn’t catch him when he jumped or scoop him up before his bike/skateboard or swing/tree tossed him to the ground. I should have covered him in bubble wrap at birth.

While putting away groceries, Kid 1, Maggie, called.

“Hi Mama,” she said. Wow, I had seriously never noticed they each have their own special greeting for me every time I talk to them. “Happy Mother’s Day!”

“Happy Mother’s Day to you, too,” I said, then laughed. “That sounds way different when I say that back to you. Your brothers found it weird.”

Maggie was celebrating her first official Mother’s Day. She is such an enthusiastic, loving and down-to-earth mom, and Eric and I have enjoyed watching her first five months of motherhood.

She had made me laugh the day before by calling to inform me that my granddaughter Layla was in a “ridiculously good mood,” cooing, chatting and giggling at everything. She is so eager to share all of her own daughter’s accomplishments with us, which we find delightful.

Eric and I spent the rest of the day doing odd chores outside because it was so beautiful out, or just standing around soaking up sunshine and chatting.

All in all, it was a great day. I don’t get the macaroni necklaces anymore, or little hand-printed signs stuck up all over the house proclaiming it my day, but it was great to hear from all of my children. I’m glad they took the time from their often hectic lives to think of me and call.

They make me smile. Especially since they all moved out.

 

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Thank you, Mr. Sendak

Posted on May 11, 2012 by Justine Wettschreck

Shortly after I found out I was pregnant with our first child, I went out and bought a hard-cover copy of the best children children’s book ever, “Where the Wild Things Are.” Written in 1963, it was a book I loved when I was young, so I wanted my child to have it as soon as possible.

I’m sure most of you have heard by now that the book’s author, Maurice Sendak, died the other day at the age of 83. I was saddened to hear about it, because that book has had such an impact on my own life. I read it to little kids when I was an older kid and spent countless hours reading it to my own children. We had many a wild rumpus while we were supposed to be settling down for the night. There were many times I jokingly called one of my three kids a “wild thing” and was told “I’ll eat you up!” in response.

Another book by Sendak that I loved was “In the Night Kitchen.” The books appealed to my sense of fun, and I had a great appreciation as an adult for Sendak’s understanding into a child’s imagination. The monsters were mostly fun, but just a little scary, and the kids would snuggle around me on whichever bed we were sitting on so they could look at the beautiful illustrations. It seemed like every time we read the book, one of my little monsters would notice something new about one of Sendak’s little monsters.

When my daughter was in elementary school, she and I had the opportunity to attend a performance of “The Nutcracker” in the Twin Cities. All of the backdrops were painted by Sendak, and it added a great element of fun to the show. Maggie recognized his work at the time, which made me smile.

Several times since my granddaughter was born, I’ve meant to purchase the book for her, but haven’t gotten around to it yet. I suppose because I knew she and her parents were moving by mid-summer, and I figured if I keep giving in and buying Layla all the things a kid needs to be a kid, it would give them more stuff to move. Don’t worry, I’ll get to it after the move.

My husband, who appreciates “Where the Wild Things Are,” is more partial to Virginia Lee Burton’s “Mike Mulligan and His Steam Shovel.” Even older than “Wild Things,” Mike Mulligan’s story was published in 1939.  A steam shovel operator, Mike and his steam shovel Mary Anne were getting fewer and fewer jobs because of diesel engines, so he made a deal to dig a new town hall in the country in one day.

It is a very cute book, and kids who love tractors and engines will enjoy the dilemma Mike and Mary Anne have to solve.

I was lucky enough to find a very old copy of it several years ago at Read It Again Books in Slayton, and bought it for my husband. He was quite happy, and the book landed in the shelf full of kid books kept upstairs. A few weeks ago, Layla came to visit, and Mike Mulligan made his way downstairs and into the living room. As I read it outloud to her, I looked over and noticed Eric listening with rapt attention, just as caught up in the book as he had been as a child. He smiled at the silly jokes, laughed aloud a time or two and waited with anticipation to see what would happen.

Our copy of Mike Mulligan ended up on top of the entertainment center, leaned up against a stereo speaker. My son Nick was visiting a few weeks later and saw it there.

“Is that Mike Mulligan?” he asked, getting up to examine the book.

“Yes,” his father replied. “It’s mine. You can’t have it.”

Another classic kid book I always loved, “Harold and the Purple Crayon,” I found a reprint of in a Scholastic Books magazine when the kids were still pretty young. Originally published in 1955, it was written by Crockett Johnson. I found a 1991 reprint, I think. It’s the story of a young boy who creates his own world by drawing things. I remember reading it to my little brother when I was barely more than a baby myself, and seeing the way his eyes lit up at the fantastic adventures Harold drew.

Books like these encourage a kid to put down their computer games, Ipads and fancy electronic crap, and learn to read and imagine.

Huh. I just Googled Harold and discovered that an interactive book for Ipads was developed in 2011, and a computer-animated film adaptation was being produced by Will Smith, James Lassiter, and… wait for it… Maurice Sendak.

So, thanks, Mr. Sendak, for all of the enjoyment, giggles, sweet moments and wild rumpuses our family has experienced over the years. I hope that when you got home, your supper was still hot.

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Not winning

Posted on May 9, 2012 by Justine Wettschreck

My husband walked into the bedroom the other night to find me and the wondermutt Jeffrey in total face-off mode. A big hairy dog was lying on our bed, where he is not allowed, and I was trying to glare him down.

I won, because Jeffrey had moved into “I’m uncomfortable with the angry way you’re staring at me” mode and was trying to valiantly look away from my glare. The key here is to not say a word, because he figures one good perk of being a dog is pretending he doesn’t understand us. He gives you that doe-eyed, head-tilted look of “I’m just a simple dog. Your companion. Your friend.” Then he flops back across the bed like the subject has been handled.

But if I walk in and say non-challantly, “You know you aren’t allowed up there,” he has to acknowledge it. Then he gets the hang-dog sorrow-faced sad look. It works on Eric every time. I’m a mom, and made of sterner stuff.

So Eric walked in on the face-off, while Jeffrey and I were waiting to see who would break first. He (Eric, not Jeffrey) ruined it by laughing at us and placing odds on who would win. Dude needs to understand I spend way more time actually communicating with his dog than he does. I never spoke a word, I just gave him my best Mom evil-eye. And won. Jeff slumped off the bed groaning like he was dying. I heard him get up on the couch before we had finished getting into bed.

He is not allowed on the couch.

Jeff and I have understandings about a lot of things. He gets thrilled whenever I pull in the driveway, even if I’ve been gone five minutes. So thrilled, in fact, that he has to get in the way of my car. He gets thrilled if I have to carry more than one load of groceries into the house, because he knows I bought him a treat. He’s the center of the universe, after all.

When I’m vacuuming the house and Eric isn’t around, I can barely get the big lunk to move. I have literally vacuumed over him and he just gives me a baleful look but seems to enjoy it. But if Eric is here, Jeff acts as if I’m trying to kill him and hides behind furniture or Daddy. He’s also nervous about the broom if Eric is around, but wrestles with it as I’m sweeping if Dad isn’t around to witness the situation.

On the other hand, if it is nice out but getting late and time for Jeff to come in, Eric has to literally drag the dog in the house. If Eric isn’t home to show me how to do it the right way (yes, that was sarcasm), I walk outside and call his name, then tell him to get his furry butt inside. Then I give him the “Mom look” and he slinks indoors. Then gets excited because I left nibblies in his food bowl.

I like to think I’m winning when it comes to dealing with Jeffrey behavior, but I can’t fool myself. Eric certainly isn’t winning, and I just treat the big monster like one of my kids, picking my battles and moving on.

The real winner here is Jeff, who knows how to play it and to whom. He does his moan and groan routine to me and I just roll my eyes. He keeps Eric jumping up off the couch to let him out when he clearly just wants some attention. I give in to his big brown eyes while making supper.

That dog has us pegged. And it ain’t pretty.

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Sweet satisfaction

Posted on May 7, 2012 by Justine Wettschreck

Before, after and between storms this weekend, I mowed the lawn. Not that big of a deal I know, unless it has been a long while.

When we first moved to Avoca (16 year ago) we only had a push mower. After the first acre, that pretty much had to change. So we bought a used riding mower that was small and bogged down whenever you hit thick grass. But after 10 years of military life, it felt good to have a lawn so we put up with it. After a year or so we upgraded to something my husband Eric bought new somewhere, but it wasn’t a huge machine, just better.

I put in a lot of time on that mower. Usually with a kid in my lap. Or two. And men think their life is hard.

A few years back, Eric traded off that mower to a neighbor, and brought home one of those zero-turn things. I hated it from the first. It had about 43 belts, and one was always breaking, and you couldn’t just relax and mow. You couldn’t even get the darned thing started half the time. It was a 12-step process involving tools and way more patience than I have. I had a heck of a time getting the hang of that zero-turn stuff, probably because the stupid thing quit so much, so I gave up on lawn mowing. I let it be Eric’s job, or a teenager’s.

Which is a shame, because I like the process. You can see what you’ve accomplished just by looking behind you, and if the job feels too big, you can divide it up in pieces. You get to see snakes, hang out by the apple trees, and take a good look at your lawn. And with a good MP3 player, you can bellow along with whatever catches your fancy at the time.

So about a month ago, Eric bought a different mower. An orange one. Same brand as his chain-saw. Husqvarna or something like that.

I spent several hours out there on Sunday afternoon. I started Friday, but then the rain came. I even kept going in the rain at first, but then it started to hurt. Whooeeee, it poured.

I finished it up on Sunday, and it felt nice to be outside and doing something useful. I think most days I’d rather be doing that than sitting in the house or the office or a courtroom.

Nothing smells better than fresh-cut grass, and in a few months I can snack on apples I snag from one of our seven apple trees while mowing .Plus, it is something I don’t have to make my husband do.

It really is a sweet satisfaction.

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Another day at the office

Posted on May 2, 2012 by Justine Wettschreck

I was having lunch with two co-workers Wednesday and they made me chuckle when they both remarked with verve that they wouldn’t want my job. No way, they said, would they want to cover the crime beat.

I don’t get it. It is usually really interesting and I get to see some pretty funky things. And I get to shoot guns and stuff every now and then.

Trials are a mixture of interesting and “I’m doodling,” mostly because there are some things that happen during a court hearing or trial that are repetitive. For instance, if I’m at a plea hearing, the judge is required to give the defendant the same spiel every time about his rights. While these things are important to the defendant, I’ve heard it so many times before that I tune it out or doodle or study whoever is sitting at the defendant table. DNA day is usually mind-numbing, just because the forensic scientists are required to give long recitations about their backgrounds, which are generally not pertinent facts in the article I write. But because I have nothing better to do, I write them down, adding to the pages and pages of notes I have to go through at the end of the day.

Otherwise, court is fun. You never know what a person is going to say. Sometimes I have to stifle the urge to ask my own questions, though, when someone is on the stand.

I do miss Judge Flynn. He added an element of sarcasm that I greatly admire.

Granted, there is what I call an “ick factor” sometimes. I read things in criminal complaints that most people don’t like to acknowledge happens in real life. Luckily for me, I have a supportive husband who is always willing to let me just lean on him for a moment when I get home from a tough day.  It helps a lot.

There are some pictures in my head that pop up from time to time, surprising me at the oddest moments. Most of them come from crime scene photos or autopsy pictures that are shown in court. The ones with children are always the toughest for me.

Some cases are heartbreakingly sad, but it is impossible to avoid sad as a reporter or person.

Stupid criminal stories are my favorite. Well, according to what gets read the most on our website, they are everyone’s favorite.

Today was kind of fun, tracking down rumors of a drug bust and chatting with the drug task force guys. They’re fun guys. Well maybe not if you’re a criminal, but they are generally quite nice to me. Days like this can be a little frustrating when I’m trying to track down reliable information instead of rumor, but for the most part, I like it.

I even got to walk around outside a bit while taking pictures of the Buffalo Ridge Drug Task Force trailer at KFC, and it was such a pretty day that I wandered around snapping pics from several angles.

Then we had fun in the newsroom making jokes about getting the munchies at KFC, or having them serve pot pie.

What’s not to love about that?

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Mother’s Day came early

Posted on May 1, 2012 by Justine Wettschreck

I know Mother’s Day isn’t for a bit, but I feel like this past weekend was for me. I got to see all of my children except son-in-law Luke, spent time with my parents and snuggled the dickens out my granddaughter Layla.

My youngest child Matt showed up at about noon on Saturday, just minutes ahead of his sister Maggie and niece Layla. It’s a good thing he was already there when she arrived, because traveling overnight with a baby requires about 3 tons of equipment in this day and age. I came out and got the baby and left the rest up to them.

I got the carseat in the house, tugged the blanket off and was greeted by a wide-mouthed drooly grin from my little angel. While the kids toted baby things, Eric and I sat on the couch and laughed at Layla as she made funny faces and talked to us. She’s a well-socialized little puppy, so she had no qualms about being tossed around by the grandparents she hadn’t seen in over a month.

After all of the baby equipment had been carried inside and piled in the living room, I handed Layla to Matt. He hadn’t held her since her baptism several months ago, so he was a little cautious. She’s almost five months old now, so she holds herself up a bit better than last time he saw her.

Within an hour or so, Matt was pretty comfortable with the baby. She was lying on her back on the floor, and he was sitting next to her chatting. He stood up and swept her up in his arms on the way, and she promptly spewed all over him. The look of horror on his face was quite funny, as was the look of angelic pleasure on hers.

He got over it quickly enough, and a few hours later was playing with her on the floor once more, tossing her around gently like he had been around infants every day of his life.

Our big old mutt Jeffrey got to renew his acquaintance with Layla. She has a wonderful dog at home, so it doesn’t faze her much when she gets a slurpy on her face.

Later that night, as we all talked and chatted, Maggie asked me what I want for Mother’s Day. Looking around the room at my mom with a baby snuggled on her lap and my father, son and husband involved in some man discussion, I couldn’t think of a single thing. What more could a person want?

Matt stayed the night, but had to leave in the morning because he had to work at noon in Sioux Falls, S.D. About 15 minutes after he left, his brother Nick showed up with girlfriend Jess.

I was sad that they missed each other, but what can you do? Work is work.

We played with the baby, talked about wedding plans for Maggie, teased each other and laughed a lot. My folks came over again (it is hard to keep my mom away from a baby) and we got to visit some more.

I had a somewhat strange shock —for the first time in several years, Nick is letting his hair grow out into his natural color. Last time I saw his real hair color it was blonde, but now it is a medium brown like his dad’s hair. Odd. Both of the other kids are still blonde.

We had a great laugh at Layla, who has a rather Pavlovian response to cameras. Every time a camera gets in front of her face, she cracked a big, toothless grin. We all had fun with that, trying to see how tough it was to sneak up on her with a camera. Nick especially got a kick out of it and had to video-tape the phenomenon.

Nick, who is even less comfortable around babies than Matt, was snuggling her and trying hats on her head by the time he left. Jess mostly backs carefully away.

Neither of the uncles responded too badly when Maggie approached with the drooly-faced baby for good-bye kisses when the boys had to leave. Funny, but my little boys, after all of these years of knowing how their minds work, can still surprise me.

Nick and Jess stayed a few hours, but then had to get going. Nick works nights and hadn’t been to bed, and he was fading fast. Then Maggie started the long process of tracking down all of Layla’s stuff, which was kind of all over the house by then. Since Matt wasn’t around to carry it all out to the car, we made Eric do it, while I stocked up on Layla snuggles.

Pretty soon the girls were gone, and Eric and I were looking around an empty house —no signs of the chaotic weekend other than a forgotten baby bottle and a few dirty dishes. Within a few minutes I was handling a city council issue up at the city hall and Eric was over at his friend’s house, and by evening I was helping a neighbor with a speech project. Then we just ran out of steam.

Around 8 p.m., the house was still, Eric and I were in the living room in our usual chairs —he was on the computer and I was reading. Ahhh, quiet once more.

Except for the icky weather and knowing my boys didn’t get a chance to see each other and not seeing Luke, the weekend was perfect. Like an early Mother’s Day.

I still want presents, though. I like presents.

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Get dirty!

Posted on April 18, 2012 by Justine Wettschreck

I love the movie “A League of Their Own,” but strangely enough one of my favorite lines (besides the “There’s no crying in baseball” one) comes toward the end, when little sister Kat signs an autograph for the some little girls and tells them to go play and “get dirty.”

I’m a firm believer in kids getting dirty, and a new report from the National Wildlife Federation agrees with me. Letting kids get dirty is actually good for them.

“Children who spend the better part of their free-time in the company of their high-tech gadgets rather than playing outside are more vulnerable to obesity, ADHD, vitamin D deficiency and depression,” the report states. “Activities kids love such as making mud pies, splashing in puddles and rolling down hills are actually a grubby prescription for health and happiness.”

Parents who spend their days trying to avoid every germ on the planet have a greater chance of children who have allergies, asthma and other autoimmune diseases, the report states. It makes perfect sense to me. How can a child’s body learn to fight off germs if they are never allowed near one? I’m not saying you should roll your children through nasty garbage cans, but you also can’t wrap them in bubble wrap or freak out if they get a bit mucky. After all, how will they know what a maple leaf tastes like if they never take a nibble from one?

I had a neighbor once who never let her kid outside without being more than an inch from his side, freaked out if a dog licked his face and want totally insane if he tried to taste a leaf or some dirt. Poor kid. I used to bring him out to the ball field and let him yell at all the trucks going past and eat grass.

Kids, after a good day, should have to be hosed off outside or make mud in the bathtub. They should be a bit sweaty, have hair sticking out in strange directions and have a few new scratches or dents. It just means they have played hard and will sleep. And the goal of play for any parent should be sleeping kids.

According to this study, there is a friendly bacteria found in dirt that helps produce serotonin, which enhances a feeling of well-being. With that in mind, anyone who wants should feel free to come help weed my garden this summer.

Also, children’s stress levels fall within minutes of seeing green spaces, the study says.

I think another upside to children playing outdoors, jumping in puddles and creating roads in the dirt is that they learn to amuse themselves. In this age of electronic gadgets in their hands by age two, many children never learn how to use their imagination or try to be creative. But what a sad world it would be if we all stopped creating and imagining. Where would inventions come from?

I see parents who have their kids’ lives so structured that the kid never has to think for themselves. Without that next karate class, piano lesson or play date, the kid hasn’t a clue how to entertain themselves. So what happens?

“I’m bored…,” comes out in a whiny voice, and the nearest adult is supposed to relieve that boredom.

I was watching TV the other day and saw a commercial encouraging children to go out and play for one hour a day. The commercial was sponsored by and paid for by our government. How pathetic is that? The government had to put together an ad campaign to get kids to go screw around outside or get up and move.

Maybe parents contemplating the latest video gaming device or Ipad for their 3-year-old should consider getting the kid a bike, some Tonka trucks and a package of Band-Aids instead.

Talk them into climbing a tree, jumping off a rock and heading across the monkey bars. Let them scuff themselves up a bit in the process. And consider joining them in their outdoor endeavors.

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My side of the camera

Posted on April 6, 2012 by Justine Wettschreck

I was cleaning some of the photos off my phone the other day, and couldn’t help but laugh at some of the strange things on there. The experience also drove home a very important fact I tend to forget now and then – my family is certifiably crazy.

I found a photo of my son’s and husband’s legs hanging out of the trunk of a car. A baby lounging against a case of beer. My neighbor riding a little kid’s bike. My husband cutting down a tree. My mother smiling at the camera and giving my dad bunny ears. A dog sleeping next to a roaring bonfire. My son with his hair sticking straight in the air.

Half of the photos I took and forgot about them.

Since my granddaughter Layla was born, my daughter Maggie sends me a photo every couple of days, usually sent from her phone to mine. In the pictures, Layla is sometimes sleeping or sometimes smiling, sometimes frowning and sometimes staring intently at something I can’t see. Since the baby was born, Maggie has become almost as much of a camera-hound as me.

I’ve always been the same way. My kids saw spots for the first few years of their lives, and as they got older, got used to me snapping off photos at every opportunity. After video cameras became small enough to fit in my pocket, stills were augmented by moving pictures. I have a 30-minute video of Maggie playing Nintendo when she was 5 years old. And Nicholas singing every song from “The Lion King” while covered with chicken pox when he was about 3 years old. And Matthew scooting through the house rubbing his head on the carpet when he was 4 years old.

But I still tend to stick to my still camera more often.

I have numerous photos of Eric napping with various babies and toddlers, because nothing is as comfy as Daddy. Except maybe Grandpa, since I have photos of Eric napping with Layla.

I have video of Matt’s various musical performances, Nick’s plays, Maggie’s living room dance routines. I have photos of kids wearing new outfits, kids covered with mud wearing big smiles, dogs passed out on couches, kids on trampolines, first days of school, last days of school, and lots of photos of various Wettschrecks holding freshly-caught fish.

I have a picture of Nicholas as an infant trying to get at a chess set that’s under glass. I have Matthew as a fifth-grader in the regional spelling bee. I have Maggie on the back of a Harley-Davidson at age four, and dancing in the backyard in a pink bathing suit at age three.

What I don’t have is photos of me. As a kid, maybe, but not many as an adult. Very few of me snuggling babies or playing with toddlers. None of me cleaning house or gardening or making supper or sitting at a computer writing stories. Pretty much nothing of everyday life. I’m in a few posed group photos of Avoca Fire & Rescue, but none of the action photos. There’s nothing of me shingling roofs or cutting down trees or hanging drywall.

Not that I mind much, but it’s going to frustrate someone someday.

“Where’s great-grandma?” a voice will ask, viewing a group photo of his or her ancestors. “She’s not in any of these!”

“She’s probably the one taking the picture,” someone will answer.

And they will be right.

Looking back, the only thing about any of this that bothers me is the moments I didn’t think to photograph – chubby cheeks with fat tears making tracks through the layer of dust when the 5-year-old is told he has to come inside and take a bath before bed, the stoic and confused look on the faces of three young buddies banded together to approach a coffin and view a dead friend at a funeral, an entire family sitting around the dining room table talking about nothing and everything, handing plates and dishes back and forth. Those are things I will always have in my head, but never on film. They are lost moments that will never be recaptured.

Wow, does that ever make me wish I could draw or paint, just thinking about it. Then I’d have the distinction of being on the other side of the palette, easel or sketchbook.

Here’s some irony… while I was writing this I got an email from the Daily Globe’s Community Content Coordinator Aaron Hagen. He sent me a photo of myself interviewing Sen. Al Franken.

Interviewing Sen. Al Franken at Minnesota West
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There’s no place like home

Posted on March 23, 2012 by Justine Wettschreck

Included in Saturday’s Daily Globe is a special section which features a variety of stories about a variety of things in our coverage area. The theme we used this year is “Hometown Proud, Familiar Faces.”

Interviewing so many people who made a point to end up in the area they grew up really got me thinking about where I came from, and also where my kids say they came from.

I grew up in Forest Lake, which was a rural area back then. Now it’s a suburb of the Twin Cities and being there makes me a bit twitchy. It certainly doesn’t feel like home. It mostly just feels crowded. The fields where I used to help bale hay are now housing developments that I just don’t understand — they are so close together and look exactly alike.

My husband and I wanted to move back to our home state of Minnesota after 10 years of Navy life, we just didn’t like what Forest Lake had become. We wanted space.

Both of us were rural-born kids, used to having fields and woods to wander through, and we thought our kids deserved the same. In fact, I had to laugh last week when co-worker Julie Buntjer referred to her newsroom co-workers as “citified.” I lived on a farm with cows, chickens, horses, geese, gardens and a goat named Corky. Not exactly citified, in my book. I feel like I spent half of my youth watering animals and plants or stacking firewood for our woodstove. Every now and then my three brothers helped a little (they are so going to beat me up for that comment).

We lived in several cities while my husband Eric was in the Navy. My three kids were born in three different states — a direct re-sult of being a military family. When it came time to leave that life behind, we stumbled upon a funny little town we grew to love.

I left Forest Lake when I was 18 years old. We moved to this area a little over 16 years ago. To me, home is Avoca.

My daughter Maggie was a couple weeks away from turning 10 when we moved there, but if you ask her where she’s from she says, “Avoca.” My boys were 2- and 4-years-old when we moved there, and also claim Avoca as their hometown.

We live in town, but because we’re on an outside road we have a field beyond our backyard. We have a couple of acres with apple trees, a garden, horseshoe pits, a rhubarb patch and a big swing set. We have a fire pit and have spent many evenings sitting around a bonfire watching the kids play outside. Our yard has served as partygrounds for three graduations and many neighborhood get-togethers.

In September, we’ll have our biggest challenge yet. Eric and I will be hosting our daughter’s wedding in the backyard. She called home this fall and said she and Luke had decided to get married in 2012.

“In Rochester?” I asked, since she has lived there for several years and it seemed like a legitimate question.

“No, at home in Avoca,” she replied.

“At the church or the community center?” I asked.

“No, Mom, I want to get married at home,” she said. “In the backyard.”

Egads. Deep breath. I was sitting at a picnic table by the fire pit at the time she called, and I looked around the yard. Deep breath. Another deep breath. Egads again. OK. We can do this… I think.

We’re getting things worked out and I’m not in “all out panic” mode any longer, but still tend to hyperventilate every now and then when thinking about the details.

A few weeks ago, I asked her why she had chosen to have her wedding in our yard. She summed it up rather well.

“It’s home.”

I’m glad she feels that way. Eric and I have waged war with our house, an old schoolhouse moved into Avoca in 1955, and will probably never be done fixing things. There’s always something else needing changing or updating or painting. I need new linoleum in the kitchen and new carpet in both the living room and dining room. Eric wants to move the laundry room up into the seldom-used computer room. After our kids all moved out, we went to work and are still in the process of redoing the upstairs playroom and bedrooms. It will all get done eventually. We will continue to plug away at it. After all, it’s home.

Winston Churchill said something a long time ago that still holds true to this day. I’m not sure if he meant an actual building, or if he was talking about an area, a neighborhood, or a town.

“We shape our dwellings, and afterward our dwellings shape us,” he said.

Yep. Still true.

So, enough of these deep thoughts for me. As I’m writing this, it’s the end of the day and I’m going home.

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I know, but how can you not mention it?

Posted on March 14, 2012 by Justine Wettschreck

There’s nothing drearier than talk of the weather, but seriously, how can you not mention this? It is still March, right?

It’s been a strange winter — disappointing in some ways, but wonderful in others.

My husband and I went toSioux Falls,S.D.last weekend to attend the Sportsman’s Show at the Arena and Convention Center. We wanted to look at boats. Not that we can afford to buy one, but it is nice to dream. We had complimentary tickets and it gave us a chance to hang out with our youngest kid, who attends Southeast Technical Institute and actually had time to hang out with his boring old folks that day.

While we were wandering around the arena, I spotted a stand with little kid fishing poles and had to stop by for a look. My husband Eric has already bought an ice fishing pole for our granddaughter Layla, but we haven’t gotten her a regular pole yet.

Our daughter Maggie said we can’t take Layla out ice fishing until she’s too big to fall down a hole, so she never got to use the one we got her this winter. All the regular kid poles they had at the arena were too boyish — Spiderman, Cars, that kid that hangs out with Dora the Explorer. I’ll have to keep looking.

I only went ice fishing three times this winter, which is very sad, but life and a lack of actual ice got in my way. And now that it is beautiful out, I have the urge to start some seedlings, open windows, roll in the grass and have a bonfire. Not all at once, of course.

These warm days make me want to pull the 1968 Fury III out from behind the garage and cruise the streets. I want to peruse the plant offerings at greenhouses and start mapping out my garden in my head.

I did talk to Eric about expanding the garden again this year. It’s kind of weird, when you consider there are no kids left at home, but I need to grow more and more each year. More tomatoes, more peppers, and this year I’m going to put in tomatillo plants. I was going to do that last year, but couldn’t find seedlings. By the time I got seeds, it was too late to start the babies.

I have to plant more tomatoes, though, because I promised my son-in-law a row of his own. He goes through as much salsa as Eric does. I told Luke he has to buy me a couple dozen jars this year.

And yes, Jar Wars with my children rages on. They snatch things out of the pantry faster than a starving Wookie, but when it comes to getting jars back to their mother, they move slower than icicles on the frozen planet of Hoth.

(That was for you, Nick. I expect applause for the references, which I did not even have to look up.)

Here’s to hoping for a quick and painless spring, without all the teasing Mother Nature usually taunts us with. And here’s to a great growing year, so I can keep the men in my life full of salsa, spaghetti sauce and pepper sauce.

All I really need now, besides getting Eric to till up the garden, is a food processor, so I don’t have to spend countless hours cutting up tomatoes.

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