Jen's Column / 5.31.06

This morning, my four-year-old son, Bergen, bounded up the stairs and said, “I need a jar of mustard.”

Then smiled.

After a beat, six-year-old Christian yelled up, “Did you get it yet?”

Bergen smiled, again. Then said, “I just want to look at it.”

I’m writing at the dining room table as the scene unfolds. Seeing that I’m only half paying attention, Bergen dashes to the fridge, opens it, and runs.

I hear a distant, “I got it!” as he bounds down the stairs.

Most women would run now. Take the steps three at a time to save their furniture. Mustard, of course, has magical staining properties making it impossible to remove from any surface.

Frankly I’m surprised they even dare broach the subject with me. I thought my mustard stance was well known. I’ve all but issued an all-out ban in our house.

Shortly after we bought our first home, my husband spilled a bowl of mustard on the new carpet. I found it three days later when I returned home from a business trip.

I’m pretty sure it was the whole first-house thing, but you would’ve thought he drove his car through our bedroom wall the way I carried on. Not only would we never get the stain out, I assured him, but our property values would plummet, we’d never be able to sell our house, and MUSTARD IS EVIL.

The experience is still raw enough that it sends my husband yelling, “Don’t touch the mustard! Mommy will get angry!” when our children, or even guests, reach for the sauce within a 30-foot radius of our home.

But today, Bergen and Christian’s antics are amusing me. So instead of panicking, I go to the top of stairs to listen. “Good job!” I hear my oldest son say. “Now go get the tape.”

Feet patter across the floor, my office door opens, the desk chair rolls out, the heavy tape holder clunks to the floor. “Oof,” Bergen says. He picks it up and feet patter back out to the living room.

“We can make our mustard blaster now,” Bergen announces, excitement mounting.

Obviously, it’s time to step in. One can only imagine what a mustard blaster might do microfiber — and I’m having company on Saturday night.

I’m down the stairs in three seconds flat. “What do you think you’re doing?” I ask in my take-no-prisoners, mommy-knows-what-you’re-up-to voice.

Too young to have developed any kind of poker faces, two telltale smiles and sparkling eyes stare back at me. “Nothing…” says the six-year-old.

“We have mustard!” the four-year-old screams, caving.

I confiscate the wayward condiment and return it to its rightful place in the very back of the fridge — where, I hope, it might be forgotten. I giggle in relief — because not only was the whole thing kind of cute, but the mustard cap was still on tight. We’re safe.

An hour later, strapping Bergen into his car seat, I’ll see it: A quarter-sized yellow stain on his shirtsleeve. And, because I will be unable to remove it, it will mock me for the rest of my days.

Welcome, Geneva Maria

Great news!

Angie and Andy (Jen's sister and her husband) had a baby girl on Sunday morning! Stats: Geneva Maria Peterson, 5 lb., 15 oz., 18 inches, light brown hair, itty bitty toes, perfect rosy skin, very proud big brother Ben.

Jen and Bergen made the trip to TRF to see the new little peanut on Sunday afternoon (we were at the cabin) -- and she's a beauty. Just a precious little girl, and now Jen has baby fever.

The Big 3-6

No, we're not turning 36, thank you very much. We have years and years before...

err, well, Jay has a year. And Jen has almost two. Don't hurry us.

What we're trying to tell you here is that Jen's parents are celebrating their 36th wedding anniversary today. Woohoo!

To make the day even more special, our nephew Ben (Jen's sister Angie's son, for those in the dark) turns FOUR today. And, if you've ever spent time with a preschooler, you know that four is indeed a very big deal!

An exciting day all around. Congrats, Mom and Dad. High-five, Ben, you big four-year-old!

Jen's Column / 5.24.06

Hello everyone! The column that's running in today's paper would actually be of no interest to you. It's a big debate about whether Rochester has worthwhile activities for families and children and blah blah blah. So I'm reprinting a column I wrote in March. Enjoy! :)

* * *
It sounded so promising. “Pamper yourself with a home spa night,” the magazine invited. “Relax, renew and rejuvenate in the comforts of your own home.” It outlined all the steps necessary — an indulgent bath, a facial, a manicure and pedicure — for “two hours of bliss.” I was in.

I announce to my family at dinner that Mommy will be having spa night – and I am not to be bothered until 8 p.m.

“OK,” my husband says, a smirk on his face. “Good luck with that.”

I roll my eyes. I don’t need luck. I just need two hours to myself. And besides, the kids haven’t given me a second look since he came home from work. They won’t know I’m gone.

“Luxuriating in a relaxing, aromatherapy bath” is first on the agenda. So I run the water, pour the lavender oil, light the candles. It’s almost perfect — but I’m missing one thing. I dash downstairs to get my fuzzy bathrobe.

Thirty seconds later, I return to the bathroom to find my sons, ages 3 and 6, stripped down to their grundies. “No, no, no,” I assert. “Mommy is taking this bath.”

Begging (the 6-year-old), crying (the 3-year-old) and whining (both) ensues. Not to be swayed, I usher them out and lock the door.

I ease into the bath to the soothing Celtic sounds of Enya… and the not-so-soothing sounds of two children pounding on the door and screaming, “I want Mommy!” There’s the sound two small children being dragged down the hall by my husband… and then it’s quiet. Ah, serenity.

I try to read my magazine, but the pages get wet and stick together. I try shaving my legs, but remember that soaking in a tub littered with little pieces of hair and shaving cream grosses me out.

I move on to the facial. Smoothing the cucumber-melon gel onto my face, I think, “This is nice. Calming. Peaceful—” But my thoughts are interrupted by the sound of 3-year-old fists on the door accompanied by the words, “I need to go potty!”

“Go downstairs,” I counter.

“Noooo! I want to go in THIS bathroom!”

“Go downstairs!” I yell back. “MOMMY IS RELAXING. I’M BEING CALM AND PEACFUL! I AM HAVING SPA NIGHT!”

Once again, my husband comes to the rescue. Silence is restored. And it’s on to the mani/pedi. I file. I condition. I’ve just started painting when a piece of notebook paper slides under the door. “Let me in,” demands a 6-year-old’s handwriting. “I wont tel Bergen. It’s a sekrit.”

On the other side of the door, a conversation starts: “Daddy said ‘no talking to Mommy, Christian.’”

“I’m not talking, Bergen. I’m giving her a note.”

“I’m telling!”

“I’M NOT TALKING TO HER!”

There are sounds of a scuffle. “He hit me!” and “I did not!” are thrown in with a “Mommy! Help me!”

I sigh. They win. I surrender.

My next spa night will have to wait until bedtime… 2008. It’s going to take some time to recover from this one.

Jen's Column / 5.17.06

The following column was 932 words in its first draft. But seeing as my word limit is right around the 520 mark -- it had to be cut considerably. Here's where it ended up -- with a story many of you know! :)

* * *
Back in March, the P-B ran a story about a retiree who left his wife at a Wal-Mart when he drove away in the couple’s motorhome. Hours later, he realized she wasn’t sleeping in the back, after all. Outrageous, right?

Not exactly.

It was 1996, and my parents were driving across Minnesota in their ‘86 Pace Arrow RV. A couple hours into their trip, my dad pulls over to check on his Harley, which is strapped on the back. My mom decides she could use some fresh air, too — so, unbeknownst to my dad, she hops out her side of the rig. She reaches the back of the motorhome just in time to see her husband jog up the other side — and pull away.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” she thinks as she watches the RV fade on the horizon. “He’s got to realize I’m gone; I was sitting right next to him when we stopped!’”

But, of course, he doesn’t. My father, the career cop, assumes my mother has headed to the bedroom for a nap.

Back on the road, my mom’s assessing the situation. It’s about 9 p.m. on a moonless September night. Best as she can tell, she’s somewhere between Perham and New York Mills on Highway 10. This is, by the way, the definition of the middle of nowhere. She has no cell phone. No purse. No one to turn to to say, “What just happened?!”

So she starts walking. Certain my father’s returning for her any minute, she keeps potential rescuers (and “crazy people”) at bay by pretending to be out for a power walk — swinging her arms wildly whenever cars pass by.

About two hours into her hike, she’s passed a potato plant (no phone), a farmhouse (big dog), and spent a good hour walking the meridian (skunks in the ditch). At long last, she takes a ride with a truck driver who drops her at the first open gas station, about 20 miles down the road.

“You won’t believe my story,” she says to the clerk as she walks in.

Meanwhile, just north of St. Cloud, her husband and his brother, who he’s been following, pull their RVs off to the side of road. My dad decides it’s time to wake his wife.

Except, as you and I know, she’s not there.

This is where all hell breaks loose. When he doesn’t find her in the bedroom, my dad checks the bathroom. He looks under the table. He tries the bedroom again. As he tells it, “Honest to God, I was looking in cupboards.”

He calls 911. Admits he’s lost his wife. They’ve no one available to look for her, but they do have reports of a woman wandering the meridian on Hwy 10.

Commandeering his brother’s Ford Escort, my dad drives 90 miles per hour back up Highway 10 in search of his wife. (The poor car would rattle until the day they sold it.)

At about this time, my phone rang. “Have you heard from your dad?” my mom says. “I’m in Wadena and I can’t get his cell.” The story unfolds. I call an uncle, another cop, who promises to reach my father.

As it closes in on midnight and he speeds up Highway 10, my dad gets a call. “Is that motorhome so big you could lose your wife in it?” my uncle asks.

The rescue was swift. But the teasing and ribbing went on for years. In fact, it’s reached epic proportions. My parents were on vacation a few years back when a new acquaintance started telling a story. “Did you hear about that guy who left his wife on the side of the road…?”

MyFussyBaby.com is live!

Exciting news!

Uber-designer Jay completed www.MyFussyBaby.com today! (Well, completed it for all intents and purposes. He'll add some additional pictures and Flash animation next week -- so download Flash in preparation!) It looks great!

I would LOVE it if you'd recommend the site to your friends -- anyone you know who has, is having, is caring for, or may someday have a baby!

You can use the link to the right of this page to visit the site. Explore it a bit and let us know what you think!!

Sasquatches Online!

Jay's movie is now showing!

To see it, go to www.rochester411.com/ff-films.php and scroll down to "Sasquatches." You might want to take in a couple of the other films, too -- "Bananas" is fun. We liked "Death of a Dream," too -- and the infomercial film about becoming a black belt. Funny.

So go on, check out www.rochester411.com/ff-films.php -- and don't forget to vote for your favorite film! (That'll be Jay's, of course, right?!) Voting is quick and easy, and it'll give Jay warm fuzzies!

Jen's Column / 5.10.06

Hey everyone!
For those who don't know, I have a weekly column in Rochester's newspaper, the Post-Bulletin. Appears Wednesdays. Thought I'd post them on Haugenkoski's Blogski in case you non-Rochesterites are interested in reading them. Here's today's column -- in which both Jay and Christian (kind of) get a mention:

Short Films Get Big Laughs
I’ve always been short. And I try to be festive. But last weekend, I got independent, too. At the First Annual Rochester Independent Short Film Festival.

Making its debut at RCTC’s Hill Theatre, this first-ever film festival was the baby of MLT Group and the RCTC Digital Arts Club. According the program, they designed the festival to “provide creators of independent short films a venue for showing their works while simultaneously enriching the local community arts scene through public showings of these intensely individual projects.”

And “intensely individual” is dead-on. Ten films were featured — with topics ranging from M&M trails to demented roommates. And with a time limit of just 12 minutes per film, even the ones with shaky camera work were fun to watch.

In “Instant Black Belt,” filmmaker Jared Patterson spoofed infomercials with a martial arts product that turns lowly yellow belts into instant black belts. Just wrap the Instant Black Belt around your yellow belt — and suddenly you’re invincible. Never mind, of course, that the “Instant Black Belt” looks suspiciously like a garbage bag.

In “Bananas,” one of my favorite films of the evening, a man becomes obsessed with hand-feeding bananas to his roommate. Created by Christopher Yocum, the short ends as the main character stares open-mouthed into the mirror, trying unsuccessfully to feed the golden fruit to his own reflection. Twisted? Oh yah. But funny? Absolutely.

Another favorite, “Death of a Dream,” features a screenwriter who imagines himself as the hero of his “terrible, cliché-driven, paranoid thriller.” The best part of this film for me was when filmmaker Reed Rasmussen played the part of the screenwriter’s wife — her face covered in cold cream as she lies in bed demanding her husband get up and make hash browns.

Of course, I’d be lying if I didn’t admit my favorite film, “Sasquatches,” was submitted by my own husband. A mockumentary about a team of misfits assembled to capture the elusive sasquatch, the film even had a part for our oldest son. Seeing as he played the role of “bait,” however, we probably won’t be showing him the film for some years.

At the end of the Saturday evening screening, after much laughter and encouraging applause, awards were given in several categories, including Best Picture, Best Audio, Best Visuals, Best Special Effects, Best Screenplay, Best Male Performance, and Best Female Performance.

I felt like a starlet at the Oscars, albeit in jeans and a black T, when my husband’s name was called — first for “Best Male Performance” and later for “Best Picture.” I beamed as my naturally shy counterpart whispered in disbelief, “Do I have to go up there?”

Still, one of the best parts of the evening was witnessing that creativity, individuality, humor and independent spirit is alive and well in Rochester. I applaud MLT Group and the RCTC Digital Arts Club for launching a program that celebrates the talent in our backyard. (And for supporting the local arts scene by establishing a $250 scholarship for the digital arts at RCTC with funds from ticket proceeds.)

If you missed the festival, you can see the films at www.Rochester411.com. All ten films will be available for viewing starting this week.

It's a Spitup Revival!

Some of you may remember "Spitup" -- our little Web site that kept friends and family connected and updated a few years back.

Well, it's back! Only, well, no one's spitting up at our house anymore. And, despite what the grandmas would like to hear, no one's going to be spitting up at our house again!

It's safe to say life is different at our house since Spitup originally debuted. Christian is now 6 years old, with a 7th birthday just around the corner at the end of June. And he now has a Bergen -- a little brother who, somehow, is already 4 years old.

Christian is finishing his first year of kindergarten, Bergen will start preschool in the fall, and Jay and I are just trying to keep up with it all!

But enough about us... we also want to hear (and post lots o' information) about you. We'd like this Web site (blog, to those in the know) to serve as a family portal / meeting place / spot-to-go-to-get-everyone's-news kind o' place.

Titles of new posts can be found in the sidebar to the right. Just click on a title, and you'll be transported there. Or, you can just scroll down from here -- and read them all.

The cool thing is that all you have to do is log in, register your profile, and then you, too, can contribute messages on this site for everyone to read. You just have to pick a post to respond to, and add your comment. Isn't that cool?

If you have your own topic to post, you can send that info to us -- and we'll add it to the blog for you. (But even if you don't have anything to say just yet, please add your comments to this post so we know that you've been here!)

If you have questions about any of this, give us a holler at koskifamily@charter.net.

We hope that everyone will get involved. After all, what would a family Web site be without Auntie Geneva's latest misadventures? Or Alexa, Chloe & Kaela's progress at school? Or Grandpa Mickey's success stories?

We'll aim to update the site at least weekly. So check back regularly, and log on now and let us know what you're up to! -- Jen/Jay

Fussy Baby is Done!

Jen's first book, "50 Ways to Calm Your Fussy Baby," is back from the printer and sitting in boxes in our office! In about a week, the Web site (designed by designer extraordinaire Jay) will be done -- and I'll be sweetly begging you all to forward it to everyone you know! I'll send a post out when the site (www.myfussybaby.com) is up and running.

The book's a 32-pager outlining ways to calm fussy (and colicky) babies -- and yourself when you have a fussy or colicky baby. It includes sections on whether colic medications work (they don't), whether diet plays a role (it may), and more -- AND it includes lots o' cute pictures of crying babies! Bergen and Christian are featured repeatedly, of course!

Putting together this little book was the first official project of Over Dinner Media, Inc., the company I formed late last year. Jay designed "50 Ways...," and he did a beautiful job. (I feel so lucky to live with a graphic designer! Jay, on the other hand, probably dies a little inside each time he hears me talk about my "next big project....")

Jay Rocks

Exciting news! Jay's short film, "Sasquatches," won top honors at the 1st Annual Rochester Independent Film Festival last night! And Jay won the award for "Best Male Performance" for playing the character of team leader Bergen Jenklovosky. (By the way, he thinks this is hilarious -- winning an acting award for, umm, Best Male PERFORMER, if you know what I mean.)

Jay had to go down to the stage and accept his awards after the screening and everything -- so fun! In addition to the awards themselves, he also took home $300 in winnings. And a box full of cookies. (Really. They had lots o' cookies left after the closing reception.)

The festival featured 10 films from area filmmakers. Some were good, some not so good. You can see for yourself, if you're interested. All films, including Jay's big winner, will be available for viewing on www.Rochester411.com later this week. We'll throw a post up when they're live.