Thursday, October 27, 2011

Another pink posse pose




I forgot to post this last week. Here's the whole JV team posing with their pink pom poms in support of breast cancer awareness. 

Allie's in the front on the left. Note: pink bows in hair as well. 

I thought the pink was a one time only deal, but I hear they will use the pink poms again at this Saturday's game in Marin. 

Go girls!

Monday, October 24, 2011

Homecoming dance

Aunt Jane happens to be visiting during Homecoming so she stopped by to see Allie before she left for the Homecoming dance.

Allie poses before we leave for the pre-Homecoming dinner in Fairfield. Dress by ModCloth. Shoes and bag from Mom ;) 


Jill, our nieghbor, and Allie meet outside... Jill's dress is VERY sparkly!

After we arrive in Fairfield, Allie attempts to pin a boutonniere on Jack, her date.

This was for show only.  Jack's mom did the actual pinning...

Jack and Allie.

The girls...

The girls and guys...

Flowers!



More pics from Homecoming game...

Allie between games on Homecoming night.


Csilla, Erin and Ava pose at Homecoming. The football team got new jerseys so the kids could buy the old jerseys for $5 each.

Sisters...

Homecoming game 2011

video
Allie cheers at the homecoming game...
(that's her on the far right)

Monday, October 17, 2011

Read all about it.

I  love my family, but there are some days when I cannot wait to go to work.
Let’s face it — as a mom of three girls ages 11 to 17, it’s easier to be at work than at home. At work my days can be measured with specific results: you’re holding it in your hands.
They don’t print a daily newspaper about mom’s accomplishments from the previous day. “Extra, extra, read all about it: Mom makes dinner!” wouldn’t sell papers.
At my job, I get paid — by the hour — to ask people nosy questions. I could close my eyes for one minute and get paid for it! Not that my boss wants to pay me for sleeping on the job, but a mom certainly does not get paid if she closes her eyes at home. If a mom closes her eyes at home for more than five minutes, there’s no telling what she might find when she opens them.
When I’m at work, I’m writing about someone else’s drama. It has nothing to do with me and best of all, I’m not responsible for fixing any of it. It’s so refreshing.
When I sit down at my desk in the morning, everything is exactly where I left it the night before. I don’t need to track down my scissors, my tape or my calculator. No one has changed my computer screensaver, cluttered up my desktop with ambiguously named homework assignments or left the mouse sticky from some late-afternoon snack.
I can eat my lunch without someone sharing her opinion of what I’ve made for dinner, complaining about something her sister did, or listening to SpongeBob Squarepants in the background.
When I’m at work, I’m not refereeing arguments between three adolescents. (Some news story subjects may be acting like adolescents, but that’s another column.) I don’t have to break up fights. I just have to report on them.
I love getting lost in my job, moving quickly from one story to the next. When I do get a personal call in the middle of the day, I sometimes get confused for a split second. Who is this kid calling me and asking about a lunchbox she forgot at home? Oh yeah, now I remember.
My coworkers don’t have temper tantrums at their desks, they don’t stomp their feet when they don’t get their way, and they don’t slam their office doors shut. They may want to, but they can control themselves. That’s why they are called grown-ups.
Do I sound a little cranky? I probably am. A mother doesn’t get much time off. There are no paid 15-minute breaks. We don’t accrue sick time, holiday or vacation pay. A mom is always on the clock. You don’t punch in or out.
It’s like working at the fire department — you’re on call 24/7 but the shift never ends.
Last year I received a crystal paperweight in recognition of a job well done at work. As we moms know, there are no crystal paperweights presented at home. Motherhood doesn’t have performance reviews, promotions or pats on the back from the boss.
Actually, I take it back. There is one kind of promotion we moms are eligible for.
Grandmotherhood.

Saturday, October 15, 2011

Cheer team goes PINK

The JV cheer team goes pink for one night...

 That's Allie on the far right with long brown hair... 
 They were using pink pom poms and wearing pink bows for a breast cancer prevention fundraiser...

 Check out that high kick on the girl next to Allie!
 Mom is kind of glad Allie is the "base" for this move...

Go girls!

Halloween goodies...





Super cute Halloween gift bag and frame designed by my friend Mrs.White.

The bag has been preserved and will go on display with the frame ;)



Thursday, October 13, 2011

Pumpkin patch!

From our annual pre-Christmas photo session at the pumpkin patch....

The photo session started with some complaining about sun in eyes but we managed to turn them a bit and the mood improved....



 Dad attempts to organize positions...
 Allie wards off sibling attack...
Ava gets bored...

Sleeperman...

Annabelle's Super Hero. 

Sleeperman has the power to make you drop to your knees... and sleep. 

His kryptonite? Starbucks. Owls. 

His girlfriend?  Sleeping Beauty, natch.

Tuesday, October 04, 2011

Walk on...

Our first daughter was a newborn when a mom coworker gave me this little bit of advice:
“Welcome to motherhood,” she said. “From this day forward, you’ll never know a day without fear.”
I was stunned. This wasn’t exactly the new-mom advice I had been expecting.
What? I said.
Fear for your child, she said. Worry about their safety, what could happen to them, where they are and what they are doing.
As a new parent, and therefore know-it-all mom, I shook my head.
Wow, I thought. How cynical. How jaded.
How about, “You’ll never know a day without joy?”
How about, “You’ll never know a day without love,” or “a day without the happiness only children can bring to a family”?
I’ll never be like that, I said. (This was coming from me, the person who had been a mom for all of 84 days.)
What can I say? I was young. I was innocent. I was clueless.
A few years ago, two of the Huffman girls asked to walk to the Register after school. Some of their classmates had walking rights, and they wanted to walk, too.
You would have thought they were asking to walk from school to the North Pole.
I agonized over their request.
How long would it take? What route would they walk? Would they get lost? Were there crosswalks? Would cars stop for them?
Never mind that when I was their age, I would take off on my red 10-speed Schwinn for hours, almost days at a time. I was on that bike from 8 a.m. to well after dark on some nights. I rode to the mall, to my friends’ houses in the country, in and out of city streets — cars or no cars.
There were no cellphones, bike lanes, GPS tracking or buddy systems. When I got home, no one demanded to know where I’d been or what I’d been doing. I was home in one piece, that’s all that mattered.
The week before “walk day,” I drove the girls the route they would walk. Never mind that we’d driven to and from school on almost the same route 8,347 times. This was different. This time they’d be on their own.
After you leave school, turn at the eye doctor’s office, I told them. Then cross at this crosswalk, the one at the four-way stop. Even though it’s a one-way street, look both ways. You never know when some tourist ends up driving up First Street the wrong way. Would it be too much to ask them to wear those neon orange safety vests? Hard hats?
Do not stop to talk to anyone, I said. I don’t care how innocent those tourists look. First they’re asking for directions and next thing you know you’re hopping into some rental car headed Upvalley, going wine tasting and pointing out your favorite restaurants.
I purposely mapped a route for them that made them pass both the police and fire station. You can never be too safe, I figured. Maybe a friendly officer could stop traffic while they crossed the sidewalk between the police station and the Register.
Three years later, the girls had successfully conquered walking from school. The big bad wolf did not get them. No one got lost, kidnapped or ended up in St. Helena by accident.
While they sometimes balked at walking on a hot day, I could usually entice them with quarters for the vending machine and instant hot chocolate in the break room.
Now that they’re older, I like to think I’ve mellowed out. A little.
Recently, I had what I thought was a great idea. A classmate of the youngest Huffman rides her bike to school. Maybe our daughter could meet her at her house and they could ride to school together.
I told my husband about my plan.
Are you crazy?, he said. Ride her bike to school? I don’t think so.
I thought about our oldest daughter, who is well on her way to getting her driver’s license. In my mind, riding a bike to school pales in comparison to teenagers driving real cars.
It’s not safe, he said.
What about cars? They won’t see the girls, he said.
And backpacks? Their backpacks are way too heavy.
Would they ride on the street or the sidewalk?
I think they could do it, I said. I’ve seen her friend riding her bike to school, I said. She stops at the crosswalks. She keeps both hands on the handlebars. She’s not weaving in and out of traffic or riding with no hands down the middle of Jefferson Street.
I don’t think this is a good idea at all, he said.
Sheesh, he really needs to stop worrying so much, I thought.
Yeah, easy for me to say.