Courtney Cook Hopp

Tag Archives: Family

Attention! Attention!

September 12, 2011

Please, circle your calendar, notate your ical, squiggle a doodle on your pad because it is official — I have finally sent the children back to school!

PHEW!

I realize I’ve been slacking in my writing as of late, but rest assured, that the chaos that has been my life for the past three months is coming to a screeching halt (I hope) and I am determined to find a semblance of routine (if that is remotely possible with a preschooler, a kindergartener, a husband who works from home, and a nutty dog — oh, and those silly clients that actually want me to work).

But we all need dreams to strive towards, right? So here’s to dreaming for peace, even-keeledness (a “Courtney-ism” as the husband would say), and a drink if it all blows up in my face!

Cheers!

Also tagged chaos, dream, routine, Writing – 4 Comments

4 Decades Plus 1

May 17, 2011

Decade 1: I was a Navy brat—the kind that was born on one coast and a year later lands on the opposite one. I lived in three cities and four houses. I remember slumber parties, beach vacations, singing, clogging, tire swings, pageants, and severely burned feet. I played endless Barbies and baked cakes in my easy-bake oven. The years were filled with family and friends, picnics and church, roaming an island and piano lessons. Yellow. My bedroom was yellow.

Decade 2: I learned the harsh lesson of being on the in and being on the out. I serenaded a boy over the phone. I experimented poorly with fashion. Braces. I took my first computer programming class, perfected calligraphy, danced, and performed in my first musical. I moved away from home. College, sorority, drinking. Bought my first car—a 1970 VW Bug.

Decade 3: My twenties were a mix of light and dark. Of finding myself and being found. I immersed myself into the Seattle nightlife—The Off-Ramp, The Color Box, The Phoenix Underground. I held a day job to pay the bills while I experimented, created, sang, worshiped, hurt, laughed, and spiraled in and out of control. I discovered the power of women and sisters, and became an aunt.

Decade 4: Patrick. I met Patrick golfing. He made me laugh. He always makes me laugh. We discovered the joys of homeownership and the ups and downs of negotiations. The “Dude” bound into our lives. Freelancing. Disheartened by a church. The births of my beautiful boys Rylan and Kincaid, showed me there is no end to love. My posse of moms—my sanity. Many sleepless nights and my first triathlon. Writing.

Plus 1: Strength. That’s what I take away from my plus one. With each year, I find more and more strength. And each year keeps getting better. I expect the same for plus 2.

So I ask, what is your favorite decade?

Also tagged college, decades, Dog, mom, navy brat, singing, strength, Writing – 11 Comments

Where to Begin?

March 16, 2011

My mind is murky at best as I try to comprehend the tragedy that has struck so many in Japan. To truly understand the continual anguish our neighbors are going through.

For the briefest of seconds when I woke to the news early Friday morning, my heart dropped into the pit of my stomach. The tsunami was moving toward Hawaii. My parents were there. A frantic text message and phone call determined in less then a minute that they were not in any danger. Less then a minute to ease my anxiety while others are going on days of anguish. Of loss. Of grief on a scale I cannot begin to comprehend.

And my sensitive five-year-old, trying to make sense of the pieces of conversations he is hearing. The images he is catching glimpses of. And us, trying to carefully explain the irreversible course these lives have taken, in a way a five-year-old can digest without being fearful of tomorrow.

And I fast.

And I pray.

And I begin by holding my family a little tighter.

Also tagged confusion, tragedy – 6 Comments

A Moment of Peace, An Hour of Clean-up

March 9, 2011

I finally understand. It took me having two children under the age of five to truly appreciate a scene from my past. To understand the desperate lengths a parent will go to for a precious moment of peace.

The year: 1978
The location: Bathroom
The activity: Hair Salon
The perpetrator: Me

Now, I can’t say for sure that my mom was pretending not to hear my friend and me pull towels from the hall closet, drag chairs down the hall, or run an endless supply of water and hair dryers, but I know that is exactly what I was doing.

The year: 2011
The location: Bathroom
The activity: Car Wash
The perpetrator: My 3-year-old son

I sat at our kitchen table, pretending not to notice the car tower being dragged down the hall. Pretending not to hear the back and forth ferrying of cars. Pretending not to hear the linen closet open and close. Pretending not to hear the splashing and clunking of “something” into the sink. But for a moment, everyone was content. Playing on their own. Happily. And no one needed me.

For a moment, I had peace.

But like all blissful moments, it had to come to an end. No longer able to ignore the warning sirens announcing the three year old’s path of destruction, I got up and searched him out. The scene, as you can imagine, was wet. Everywhere. Lines of water trickling down the mirror. Puddles on every surface. The car tower strategically placed for full launching impact. And in the middle of it all, one giddy boy, dripping like a wet dog.

So I ask, what will you ignore for a moment of peace?

Also tagged bathroom, car wash, clean-up, hair salon, kids, kitchen, peace – 6 Comments

Testosterone in High Gear

January 26, 2011

For the record, I chose the first one, and I guess since I picked-up the second one, I chose him too. But the last two were a 50/50 gamble coming out the shoot—a gamble that landed me smack-dab in the middle of four males.

Male #1: The Husband
A fairly obvious choice, but a great choice none-the-less. Without male #1, I would never be able to survive #2, #3, and especially #4. He is risk to my safe, rational to my sudden impulse, and comfort to my love.
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Male #2: The “Dude”
I’d like to blame male #1 for male #2, especially since he’s the one who scoured the pet finder websites and showed me (a highly visual person) a picture that pulled me through my computer and transported me to an animal shelter three hours away. (see pic to left) But, in the end, it was me who signed on the dotted line and brought home a highly neurotic, testosterone driven beast, without a lot of street smarts.
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Male #3: The Sensitive Jedi
If “the force” could be utilized to alter the minds of others, male #3 would have it mastered. His debating skills are sharp and his ability to change minds is uncanny. He’s like a dog with a bone— relentless, and yet, sensitive when the mood strikes. But all of these skills come with a dark side. He is known for convincing male #4 to do things he knows they’re not suppose to do or casually walking by #4 and knocking him over on the sly when he thinks no one in watching. But his true dark side emerges when he spends five minutes convincing me why I should not give him a time-out and almost wins. Almost.

Male #4: Captain Danger
Ask anyone who knows me, but high-risk, physical adventures are not my ball of wax. That is all male #1. Which is where funny man #4 gets his innate drive for . . . da, da, da, da DANGER. The first warning bells went off two weeks after he’d learned to walk and came waddling out of the kitchen sucking on the tip of a steak knife. (My heart still pounds thinking about the what-ifs.) But red flags started waving frantically when he was two and a half and shimmied up the hood of my tall SUV, scaled the windshield to the top, where he proceeded to stand and pump his fists in the air, shouting “Yes,” as if he’d just climbed Mt. Rainier. We weren’t sure whether to laugh or freak-out.