I hate hunting season (there, I said it).

Hunting season is winding down in the Walla Walla Valley, and can I just put this out there?  YAY!  First, just let me say before there is any confusion, animosity, or accusations of hypocrisy--I don't judge you for hunting.  I don't have any problem with you turning a day out in our beautiful country into a meal on your plate.   I don't even dislike you for posting photos of dead things on my FB feed.   I am an over sharer, I post many things on my FB page I am sure many of you do not want to see or read.  I figure that being on FB at all means that you have given your unwritten consent to, at any point, be visually or verbally assaulted as you scroll.  So, this rant...this rant, isn't about you.  It's about me.   

I hate hunting season.  I hate smiling, nodding and engaging in polite conversation all centered around your thrill of the kill, when inside I know that had I been there I would have yelled "run Bambi! run!" while not so secretly rejoicing in the fact that Bambi might go on living another hour or another day at the expense of your human family going hungry.  I'm not proud, I'm just honest.  

I hate that when I lived on the farm,  large, grown men in camouflage sporting size-appropriate weapons sparkling menacingly in the slight shimmer of dawn, would knock on my door at 5AM after my husband had left for work and ask me (after passing 15 "no hunting" and as many "no trespassing signs") if he promised not to shoot me, if he could ignore all those signs and just hunt my property anyway,  oblivious to the hungry cries of the prematurely awoken infant coming from the other room.  

I hate hunting season.  I hate after turning on Facebook (which admittedly happens too often), oggling a sweet newborn baby, rejoicing in someone's happy news, laughing at a Michelle Connerism, taking a wistful journey through someone else's travel photos, that I scroll just a little further and then there it is!  Death.  A sweet, sad Bambi face gazing mournfully through my computer screen.  I can avoid it, sure.  I can take a hiatus from FB and pretend.  Part of me, I suppose, is a glutton for punishment.  

It's not just the photos though, we live in an area where it's the norm to decorate with dead things.  Friends, family, people I love.  I don't judge.  When I sit down at your table and you serve me the beautiful fleshy fruit of your hunt and then mount it's head on your wall to watch me eat it, it won't be me that's doing the judging.  I become the judged.  This makes me uncomfortable.  I will however 'bottoms up' whatever is in my glass (hopefully booze), enjoy my meal, and then whisper a silent 'thank you' and 'I'm sorry' to those eyes who hold the judgement.  You see, I don't like to see dead things in pictures or on walls, but I DO like to see dead things on my plate after the faces have been removed.  

Thankfully, after nearly 16 years of marriage, my husband has begun to learn what does it for me and what doesn't.  He's getting there after many, many failed learning opportunities such as; taking me on dates to animal morgues (some call wildlife museums or Cabellas), mounting a dead bird on my wall the very same day I called him in tears after unintentionally butchering a small flock of little sparrow like daredevils with my car,  storing undisguised calf testicles still encased in their veiny, hairy sack...in a jar...of blood...in my fridge,  and my very favorite, teaching his youngest spawn to question me every time I have meat on my plate..."Mom, is that a pig you're eating?"  "What part of the body is the T-bone?"  "Why is this called a rump?"  "What part of the sweet little baby lamb is that?"  "This oyster is still alive!?" "Is this the EASTER BUNNY?"....sigh.  "It's meat, Caimbry!  It's just meat.  Leave me alone".   

So, like I said.  It's not about you.  It's about me.   I don't judge, but I do hate hunting season.  (For the sake of full disclosure, I WILL judge you for waking sleeping babies.   I judge you less now because my babies are grown, but still.  Really?) 

Being 40.

I'm only 4 months in, I'm still a newby really.   However, I feel compelled to share what it is like for me...being 40.  

I never understood when people feared aging.  I never quite got what the big deal was about entering a new age with a big zero following the first number.  I've always entered each new decade (That sounds silly, really.  EACH new decade, as if there have been many) with a sense of accomplishment.   I mean, I survived with minimal physical aging and maximum personal growth.  This is bragging, I know, but that is how I felt.  Bring on the next ten. 

I know it seems like I am going to launch into a hate speech directed at my new age, but it's not like that at all.  It's true, I don't like it.  Perhaps though, I just never said a proper goodbye to my last decade.  

My 30's.  I didn't fear those, not at all.  They were supposed to be the best years of my life, and now according to the BTDT masses, my 40's are.   I suspect in another decade, my 50's will be the new best years of my life, but I digress.  My 30's were sure a growing/learning experience.   In no particular order--Caimbry was born, rounding out and completing our little family.  My dad passed away.  Some friends passed away.  I had my first personal bout of cancer-just a simple skin cancer, but enough to become a sunscreen nazi and a more diligent mother.  I celebrated 15 years of marriage, and conquered all of the things that may have gotten in the way of that.  I became a pretty good cook.  I kicked ass at the gym for a solid 2 years before petering out and giving in to the gluttony.  I tried botox for the first time (it didn't work for me).  Taylor became a teenager. We bought our 2nd home and started our second business.  I started crossing my legs when I sneezed (just incase;)).  I started bonding more with women and forming real solid friendships (not to discount the ones I already had, I just got better at caring more about other people than myself).  I found my voice and started advocating for myself, people that I love and even people who I've never met.  I gained weight. I lost weight. I gained weight. I lost weight. I gained weight.  I made it a goal to stop caring so much about my weight and to be happy in my own skin.  A goal I have yet to accomplish.  I cared for an ailing parent in my home before losing her.   I went from being one of "the kids" who still got stockings on Christmas morning and Easter Eggs hidden for me on Easter morning to being the oldest generation left in my small family.   A weird feeling really.  I can't say my 30's were all they were cracked up to be.  But, they were BIG. In my 30's, I became a grown up.  

Now, I'm 40.  I found my first gray hairs and there are little lines that are sprouting from the corners of my eyes.  Laugh lines.  I kind of like them, because they indicate joy-right?  My weight is fluctuating less and is pretty much just on a steady climb.  I now cross my legs every time I sneeze, and it's really not for a "just incase" anymore, it's for a "good lord!  seriously?!  again?".  My knees hurt and playing on the floor with my kids comes with moderate but well founded fear that I won't be able to get back up.  Sometimes people call me "Missus" or "m'am" and now I know exactly who they are talking about.  Me.   I get carded still sometimes but there is always a twinkle in the eye of the asker that looks a little like *gasp* flattery.  Intentional.  My husband has aged beautifully, he is pretty dreamy and sometimes my heart still does a little pitter patter when I look at him.  However, my cholesterol is borderline high so it could just be the beginning stages of heart disease.  Dangit though, he really has aged way more gracefully, and I'm going to be honest....I'm a little envious.  The competitive side of me wants desperately to be the younger, hotter one.  I know, I know these are all physical grievances that come across as plain old ugly vanity.  It's true.  I care.  I don't want to care.  I am thinking though, if my 40's really are the best years of my life-I will stop caring.  I will love my beauty, all of it, and the inner will accentuate the outer and I will feel content, confident and free.  I really can't think of anything else to like about my 40's, so I sure hope this prediction is a sign of all of the great new wisdom that comes with...being 40.  

Goodbye 30's.  You taught me a lot.  40--teach me.  I'm open.  I'm a bit of a sceptic though, so you've got a lot to prove.  bring it on...

Mother's Day

Today is a bittersweet day, emphasis on the sweet.  It's the day where we make an extra effort to honor the mothers in our life.  Today I remember my mother.   She was a caretaker and a giver.   Her life was full of struggles that were rarely voiced and she never sought pity, attention or even understanding.   She moved through life asking for very little, and giving way more than she ever had to give.    She was intelligent and quirky and sometimes infuriating, and I found out too late that she was strong, so strong, and she gave me the greatest gift in her passing--she showed me my own strength.   I honor her, I value her and I miss her...everyday.  Happy Mother's Day to my mom, Jean Marie Kantola Saunders.  I love you.

Today I am the mother to a 13 year old and a 9 year old.  I have the most  daunting and gratifying task of helping 2 young ladies navigate through life with as little scarring as possible, to help lead them towards success, fulfillment and happiness.  To gently nudge them in the right direction while trying hard to  trust the paths they choose.   Sometimes nudge them slightly harder than gently, while careful not to break their spirits or rob them of their originality.  I get to be a cheerleader, an advocate and a supporter while encouraging them to be those things even BIGGER for themselves.  To allow them to feel and to move on through gut-wrenching heartache so their blessings can feel that much greater.  To lead them away from measuring success in "things" and to show them the value in everyday kindness.   To show them that winning isn't in being THE best, it's in being THEIR best, and that is ALWAYS enough.  Anyway-these are the things I aspire to do and to be.  When my children do good, which is frequent, I can slowly measure my success as their mother.   Really though, all I can do is hope, hope that all of the good choices I make will someday outweigh the mistakes I make (which piled on top of each other, feel like Everest)  I can be the most loved and the most loathed person in their universe in the same 10 minute window, loving them through the loathing, that's my job.  It's rough.  Being their mother- it's both terrifying and an extreme honor, and I wouldn't trade it for the world.   
My mother didn't seek understanding, she was far less selfish than I am.  Today, I hope she knows that I finally understand her, I finally GET how hard it was to be my mother ;)  It's not just making sandwiches and doling out the punishments.  Mothers are women who are molded by personal struggles, who are imperfect, flawed and often scarred HUMANS who are given only one chance per child to grow a well adjusted adult.   How on earth can we expect perfection, from our mothers or from ourselves?  It may have taken a long time for me to understand her, but now that I do- a weight has been lifted from my shoulders. Someday, my kids might just understand me.  Understand that my ferocity is molded by my intense desire to get this right, to do right by them, by fear and by hope, a whole lot of hope!  

APRIL TWENTY FIRST TWO THOUSAND AND...

Tonight is the last night I will ever be the mother of an 8 year old, tomorrow my baby will be nine.  NINE.  Everybody says it, everybody knows it-- "Cherish every moment, it goes by so fast".  Fast is an understatement.  Yesterday I had a baby, tomorrow I have a nine year old (and lets not forget the teen).  In another 9 years and the blink of an eye,  if all goes right, I will be an empty nester.  Buying my children gifts for their birthday has always been difficult for me.  Toys don't last.  I don't like to gift toys.  Experiences or memories are better gifts.  This year,  I had a brilliant idea to add a poem of my own to a book by one of the most talented (and quite often high?) poets of all time, Shel Silverstein.  I enjoy writing, but poetic is not how I write.  As easy as it sounded at brilliant idea having time, it wasn't easy, not at all.  In fact, somewhere (in this literary masterpiece below) between 2010 and 2014, I just threw in the towel.  I think she will like it though, I hope.  And I hope she knows that 9 years ago tomorrow, she completed my world.  And I hope she always finds value in the Caimbry that she is, because she really is my sunshine.

APRIL TWENTY FIRST TWO THOUSAND AND...

April twenty first two thousand and five marked the third very best day of my entire life.

Caimbry Elise Kontos was born with fourteen fingers and all ten toes.

April twenty first two thousand and six was a day of celebration with emotion that was mixed.

My baby was one, a baby no more.

A smile brighter than the sun and energy galore.

April twenty first two thousand and seven...

a year that was slightly (or a lot) less than heaven!  

The terrible twos, previously considered a myth, 

started that day and lasted a bit ;)

April twenty first two thousand and eight

My baby was three and 3 days a week of school was her fate.

She learned how to write, count (10 fingers, phew!) color, and sing.

Her gift of humor, wit and sarcasm was developing in full swing.

April twenty first two thousand and nine

A full blown personality, she was named "my sunshine"

My baby was now four, with a genius, snarky humor

that I relish and adore.

April twenty first two thousand and ten,

"I'm a half of a duck egg" she would tell to anyone who'd listen.

She started Kindergarten at Prospect Point, 

and quickly staged "The Great Skittle Debacle" to liven up the joint.

April twenty first two thousand eleven, twelve, and thirteen.

She turned six, seven and eight-scarily nearing her teens.  

She started to dance and play ball, and read books,

She lost teeth, she grew some, went to work on the farm,

grew inches, got braces, made friends and played games,  

developed some accents and dreamed up her fame.

April twenty first two thousand and fourteen

My baby is still my baby, precious and sweet...

smart and witty, beautiful and brave, definitely of my 9 year olds, she is my fave!

She is strong, she is spirited, she's charismatic and kind.

I'm so very blessed with this child who God (and Chris Kontos) made mine <3  

Happy Birthday Baby girl!  Next year--a WHOLE duck egg!  

Love you!!  

Mom

Below are some of my favorite April twenty firsts, and other shots of the days in between...

15 years of better, worse, richer, poorer, sickness and health...

I've spent the last several days trying to think of a way to sum up 15 years of marriage and fit it all in to one single blog.  Should it be serious, sentimental, funny?  I am not sure I can sum it up, and I am positive I cannot stick to a single sentiment.  

The other night , l read through dozens of greeting cards at the grocery store and not a single one of them told MY story, they all told beautiful stories of love, romance, friendship and a just a whole lot of generic cheesiness.  My marriage has all of that, even the cheese, but each card contained at least one line that I would cross out, edit, add a disclaimer to, or follow up with a big fat LOL!   So, Christopher Kontos, husband of mine, instead you get to read my blog.  

15 years ago, I was a girl.  At 24, we think we are adults.  After all, the law defines us as such.  We are full of starry eyed ideals, a picture perfect image of what life, marriage, parenting, etc will all be about.  The idea of marriage is romantic and beautiful, conflicts will be resolved  before our heads hit the pillow, children will come easily and then they will be beautiful, perfectly behaved angels because why on earth would we raise them to be anything but? Heartache will come later in life and will be tackled and conquered together, it's us against the world. 

I'm not sure it's fair to say that the reality doesn't measure up.  In a way, the reality is even better.  It includes the struggle and the battles.  The struggles define us and can strengthen us.  They make us "us".  Somewhere amongst it all, we figure out the romance and the beauty isn't in the ideals, but in the reality.  And I can say, my reality is pretty imperfectly...perfect.  

15 years ago, I married my best friend.  So cliche' and a little cheesier than I am comfortable with, but he is that.  We walked down the aisle just kids, what we knew of each other was still relatively new and without complication.  It was a pretty fantastic day, and the first best day of my whole life!  

These last 15 years we spent growing up together.  We have grown as individuals, as a couple and as a family.  Along the way, we've written our own story, painted our own picture and even learned a little bit about this thing called marriage...

Our marriage is beautiful and really pretty awesome, but it can be hard.  We don't always work through the conflicts by bedtime, sometimes we just have to go to bed angry.   We can fight dirty, but usually we fight funny. Our best fights are those that end in laughter.   Sometimes I even forget that I am mad, say something nice, and then immediately take it back.   Sometimes it's hard staying mad...and sometimes it's really, really easy.  In the moment, it can be hard to remember that it's worth it.  In the end, it always is.  Conflict doesn't destroy marriage, the lack of being able to resolve conflict is what does.  Luckily, we are pretty successful at the resolution part.   I thank you Chris Kontos, for embracing communication.  

Our children came easily but getting through pregnancy was extremely challenging.  Our children are far from perfect.  No children are perfect and no matter how hard we try, we probably will screw them up a little.  In the process, they might screw us up a little in retaliation.  However, they are amazing, imperfect, messy little blessings whose births mark the next best days of my entire life ...and gosh darnit, we made them!  God bless their little souls.   

We don't get to avoid heartache, we don't even get to delay it.  Dang it.  It happens and we do tackle it together, but sometimes the grief can be lopsided and sometimes we can't fix it for each other.   Heartache sucks, and it's part of the package.  If anything good comes from grief, it's the clarity of the blessings that are present.  My life is full of blessings, and my marriage is at the top of the list.  

You can't hide when you are married, the person you choose to spend your life with sees you, they see all of you.  They see you at your worst, they see you at your best.  They see you when you wake up in the morning, they watch you as you age, they see your fluctuations in weight, your stretch marks, post surgical oozing and swelling, they see your puffy eyes when you cry, your snot, your acne, your pinkeye,  your first gray hairs, they see it ALL.  It's pretty humbling.

If you are really lucky, they look at you and see YOU,  just you....and they continue loving you.  

Boys smell, they just do.  What surprised me is that little girls do too, and they think it's HILARIOUS.  Sometimes it's gross living with people.

We had to learn the word "compromise" and we had to get pretty good at it.  It's easy to align your dreams/values pre-marriage, but big things come up post nuptials.  These are tests, they test how well we are at compromise.   This is a hard one for me, sometimes your partner makes choices that effect you (like second businesses & working a gazillion-gabillion extra hours ;)), and you either fight forever or compromise.  Compromise means being mature.  It's really hard to be a grown up.   Someday, maybe I will be one.  Maybe...

Laughter is the BEST,  it really is.  There is nothing better, sometimes I feel like my family is a sitcom, or a poorly scripted "reality" show.  We're weird.  Charming, but weird.  I love it and wouldn't change it for anything.  I hope my kids find weird love,  and can always have fun with the person they marry.   

I didn't only marry my best friend, but I married the best father for my daughters.  They will always know how if feels to be cherished and valued by a man and hopefully they will never ever settle for anything less.  They lucked out.  They should thank me for that ;)  

Someday, our children will move out...or even away (gulp), and it will be just us again.  I'm so lucky that after 15 years, I still LOVE the "just us".  We are pretty good at it.  

I think the most important thing I have learned in the last 15 years is that I am where I belong.  That the fear of failure is far less scary than the idea of missing out on the whole lovely, wonderful and sometime treacherous journey that is marriage.  That I am not alone, I have a partner, one who I have chosen and one who has chosen me.  We made a vow 15 years ago to love each other through better, worse, richer, poorer, in sickness and in health.  We've done it, the better, worse, the richer, poorer, sickness and health thing--and it's only just the beginning.  ( I'm not even going to say that last part, because YUCK!  I am a hypochondriac and it just freaks me out, but you know how the rest of the saying goes  ;)) 

Happy Anniversary Christopher Kontos--I love you even more today, I have cherished our journey and I am so ready for the adventures ahead!

Muah!