Me Time

Ok, so I don't go out quite THAT much...

You'd think after last week -- with my THREE (read it again), I said, THREE -- nights off, by myself sans kids or husband, that I'd be more relaxed this week. But you'd be wrong. Of course, it wasn't a typical week. I don't usually have that much "me time." But the cards just fell that way, and I played them, folks. Tues night = yoga class gets cancelled cause we're locked out of the studio. I dutifully show up, wait intently to see whether we can break in, then head to the Rongo for a few beers with a class mate after all hope is gone. Mind you, I was back home at the normal time -- but still. There goes Night #1.

Thurs night = head to my make-up yoga class, because I won't be in town for my next regular Saturday class. Spend longer out than normal, cause class is yoga for meditation. I stretch, I meditate. I get home after one child is already in bed (Ba-da-bing!). Night #2 done.

Fri night = Drag the husband and kids to our in-laws house about an hour away so I can make a womens' wine tasting night in their town. In-laws are NOT actually in town that night, so DH once again does the whole nighttime thing.

Lest you think I live in a fantasy world, karma came calling Friday night as I arrive home from Night Out #3. Ian had woken up from bed (after crying for a half hour to go down for the night -- not normal), in a fit, and it was now my job to take over and get him back to bed. About an hour later, he was down. Then up again around 2 AM. Then, up again an hour and a half later. Then, awake at 6 AM for good. Ugh.

By Friday, I really didn't feel much like getting out again. I think I'd had enough "me time." The reason is that none of those nights out were really "me times." There was a lot of hanging with friends and socializing. Which is fun, and necessary. Don't get me wrong. But did I spend any time on myself? Not really. I didn't get more into reading my latest book (The Ask), I didn't spend any time updating pictures, or this blog, or trying to finish a guest post for a friend. I didn't even go for a walk alone. And I could tell by the end of the week. I was depleted. But maybe that's the introvert in me talking. The one who prefers curling up with a book to party hopping. Who knows.

All I know is that I'm willing to give up nights out for nights in -- as long as I get some time alone to do whatever floats my boat.

Notes on Life

Ian can "dress" himself too.

As summer fades into fall (yes, already fall up here in the Great White North), I can't help but get that excited first-day-of-school feeling. That new beginnings vibe...

The summer was good, but very busy. With all our recent transitions, things were finally sort of settling down. Until this month, when Will starts preschool and I change my work days -- yet again.

And during that long, warm summer, Ian has changed from a baby to a full-fledged toddler. I don't know when it happened, but it did. He's 17 months now, and is running like crazy, talking and quickly mastering the temper tantrum.

Some highlights:

• Fang-a-licious -- Ian has finally gotten in his canine teeth, and I think he might be getting in his 2 year molars (??) already. He had some rough teething patches, but things seem better now.
• That said, Ian is still not capable (it seems) of taking single bites of any food. If it's a large chunk, he shoves it in. If I cut it into toddler-sized pieces, he shoves them ALL in. If I hand him one piece at a time to eat, he grabs the other pieces from my open hand and shoves them in... *Sigh*
• Apparently for Ian, eating and drinking is like patting his head and rubbing his tummy. Too much coordination required... He will spit out an entire wad of chewed food if offered a beverage to wash it down. Ditto if you offer him something else (better) to eat while he's chewing food. Very gross and rating right up there with "most annoying toddler habits."
• Ian is talking! Some words he says a lot right now: Mommy, Daddy, ball, big, truck (pronounced F*!*k), dog, bunny, puppy, pancake, milk, car (as in "cool car"), motorcycle (believe it or not), bike, golf ball, golf club, barn, ride, stroller, night night, bye, Hi, Nina, Pop pop, No, mine, Mouse, snack, banana, up, down, bagel, Will, etc. Wow! That's a lot of words, now that I write them down..
• And those words are becoming sentences:
• "Go night night"
• "Big ball/barn/book/truck/dog."
• "Don't like it."
• "Want milk."
• "Let's roll!"
• "We made it!"
• "Read book."
• "Cool car."
• Favorite activities: Hitting golf balls; pushing his Radio Flyer wagon; throwing himself off the sofa/stairs/out of the wagon; swinging; chasing our cat, Mouse (he even managed to wedge himself under our bed the other day trying to get him); puddle jumping; playing cars with Will; "reading" books; drawing (i.e. pulling the marker tops on/off many times); climbing anything dangerous; wrestling on the floor, WWF-style, with dad and big bro; giving kisses and hugs and high-fives.
• What he can do: Climb up stairs (working on climbing down); golf!; make silly noises with his mouth; run; dance; clap his hands; use a fork and spoon (sort of); drink out of a non-sippy cup (although messy); throw food with amazing aim and dexterity...
• Fears: Getting his hair cut (note to self, haircuts and screaming toddlers and lollipops DO NOT mix); the vacuum cleaner; brushing his teeth (ok, he's not scared, just doesn't like it).
• Things he loves: His lovey, Moomsy Cow (aka Moo-ey); fruit of all kinds; icecream; bananas; bagels; big board books with pictures/words of tons of stuff  (e.g. My First 100 Words, etc.); throwing things.

I don't have much to report on the growth side of things, since he won't have his next check-up until early October (18 months). But, suffice to say, he's wearing some 18 month clothes that didn't fit Will until he was about 2, and is into a size 5 shoe now (maybe 5.5 soon). He's still small (whatever that means), and much too busy to care about eating sometimes. So he's a slender guy -- but incredibly strong. Strong enough to hold on by both hands to the railing when he steps off the top stair and misses the next two (because we forgot to latch the gate). Thank god.

Ian (right) and his buddy Eutaw. Attitude, dude.

But his personality -- wow -- that is something else altogether. Maybe it's a second child thing, but he is a wild and free creature for sure. Not afraid of strangers (maybe just a little shy), has no fear, and loves other kids. And unlike Will at this age, Ian is more "typical" in his attention span. Will has always been able to really focus on whatever he's doing--to the point where he sometimes gets mad at us for interrupting his "projects." Ian is more apt to move from thing to thing, mostly doing whatever the big kids are doing that looks fun!

Overall though, he's a happy kid who loves to smile, be silly, kiss, hug, and tell you what he wants. Loudly. He is fiercely independent, to the point where I get a little sad that it's all happening so fast. Will is the one starting preschool, but Ian firmly believes he should be going too.

Summer Whine-Down

By luaparrish

It has been a while, dear blog. You have suffered. I have suffered. Not sure anyone else has suffered, except maybe my own family.

It's been about a month since I started my new work schedule, and we are STILL trying to get all the pieces into place. I am working in my garage (fixed up as a work-out room, where no actual working out seems to take place), at a small table with laptop and that's about it. Not so ergonomically correct, but it will do for now. Our childcare situation is in flux yet again, with our wonderful high school sitter starting pre-season soccer practice already (two weeks of practice, twice a day?? gotta be kidding me). And before all this, there was a (very nice) vacation and schedules changing and our house in complete disarray and Ian getting his last teeth in (those canines -- now he truly IS a wild little beast). So it's been sort of stressful for me lately. Putting it mildly.

Ah, stress. Here is the thing ... When things get stressful for me, I completely lose myself.

For example, under extreme whining conditions. Yes, it is the dawn of the whining age. Will has been practicing, and now at almost four, he is quite accomplished.

"Eeee-aaaan, that's MY car!"

"Mooooooo-ooom, I wanna drink toooooooo."

"I wanna peanutbutterandjelly now, Moooooooomm. Peanutbutterandjell-eeeeeeeee...."

It's like nails on a chalk board. Especially during that "arsenic hour" while I'm trying to get dinner ready and Ian is clinging to my leg, screaming.

So yeah, I get a little stressed.

But yoga is helping. Did I mention yoga? I started going to a local studio once a week when Ian was maybe 4 months old. It was therapy, really. I was *told* by my counselor to get out of the house and do something for myself, by myself, at least once a week. I chose yoga. I could walk to class so it was easy. Had to be, cause at that point I had such little energy for much of anything.

I know some folks get turned off by the non-physical aspects of yoga. The Hindu traditions, the language of opening your heart, inner spirals and what not. But not me. I think they are now becoming the reason I show up at yoga twice a week.

Those mantras, the traditions, have been slowly teaching me how to handle the whining. Their whining -- my own whining. Oh, because I do whine a lot. To be sure.

If it's one thing you can't really do on a yoga mat very well, it's forgetting yourself. Losing yourself. Very hard to do when you're contorting yourself into a pretzel and "softening" your heart at the same time. Believe me, I've tried... And yoga has also pushed me face to face with THE FACTS. And those are:

1. We all suffer.
2. Suffering sucks.
3. We all want to be free from suffering.
4. We forget that we already know how to be free from suffering.
5. Let's do something so we can remember.
6. Let's do that something more often, so we don't forget as much, and maybe
7. We won't suffer as much as well.

Simple, to the point. Hard as hell...

Week 2: Update

First day of week 2, and so far I am still mostly sane and the children are safe. Ka-chow! I can't help but feel that the kids are kind of bored, but oh well. I managed to vacuum once, clean two bathrooms, do a million loads of laundry, cook dinner several nights and go to yoga class twice.

Also: forgot to pick-up our meat CSA share this weekend, still have no one to watch our kids the other day per week I'm working, have spent more money on stuff than I usually do in a a month, and have not yet put away said million loads of laundry....

Sigh.

But, we spent a great day yesterday at the park. Hiked to the falls, lunch by the boat launch, and finally Will RAN into the swimming area at the lake. And Ian cracked a grin when we dipped him in a few times. Both kids crashed for a 2+ hour nap at 4:00 PM when we got home -- and we knew we were in trouble. Ah well, can't have it both ways I guess.

Gotta run -- banana muffins ready to come out of the oven. Holy domesticity!! I have arrived....

Lost In Transition

Some things are just really hard for me. Transitions are one of the those things. You know, like from high school to college, or college to real-world, single to married. DINK (double-income, no kids) to two kids, a mortgage, and two jobs that no one really wants.

After Ian was born I started thinking again (seriously) about quitting my full-time job to stay at home with the kids. It was working okay -- the commuting, daycare, pick-up, drop-off, 20 min meals. But I was tired. Sooo tired. And so was Christian. And the kids seemed to be sick ALL THE TIME. And then we both missed work. And I missed milestones, seeing them grow. And did I mention I was tired?

So finally, about 16 months later, I've just moved to a part-time position working from home. I have two days of work per week, and three for my boys and the house. Or whatever... The kicker here is that I have an amazingly flexible department and director who is willing to work with me. And at my current status, I still can get all of my benefits. Say what? You heard me... It's killer.

I kind of took the easy way out though, I guess. Cause I'll be brutally honest. I was scared as hell at the thought of staying home full time with my kids. Scared. Of a preschooler and a toddler. Out of my mind. What exactly I was scared of, I don't know. Scared of the kids getting bored, or becoming "un-socialized." Scared that I wouldn't be able to handle it, and I'd go off the deep-end again into some crazy post-POST partum depression. Scared that I would be bored into a catatonic state. My brain start to slowly liquefy into a Jello-like mass.

Scared I would LOSE FOREVER the career capital I'd built up over the past 12 years in the workforce. That my college degree and work experience was going down the tubes forever.

Scared of so many things, I lose count.

Oh yeah, did I mention being scared of not being able to LOVE staying at home, like I imagined all my SAH friends/acquaintances do? Because really, all you ever hear is how much those moms love it, and how much the working moms are missing out on. Or vice versa. Where did I fit? I had no idea, and that scared me.

Because the truth is, on that first day back to working full-time after my first son was born, I dropped him off at daycare -- wishing I could cry -- and drove away toward my office with a fluttery heart, feeling like the weight of ten elephants had been temporarily lifted off my shoulders.

I was damn near giddy, my friends.

Does this make me a bad mother? Unfit? Surely to stay at home full-time, right? I dunno, but I do know that that is how the transition to motherhood felt to me for those first six months. Like the weight of ten elephants. And frankly, I was slightly suffocating underneath all that weight. Going back to work was MY time. I could eat and pee and drink coffee whenever I wanted! I could take a shower! People listened to me and talked back! I could take a walk by myself! It was a daily retreat for which I got paid. Amen. Don't get me wrong, I love my children beyond reason -- but amen.

And wouldn't you know, almost two and a half years later, I would feel that suffocating weight again when I transitioned from mother of one, to mother of two....

But this time, work didn't seem like a cure-all. It started to seem sort of like part of the problem. Was it all that odd that I was having trouble focusing on anything? For goodness sake, how can it be possible to nurse, pump, change diapers, get dressed, commute, work, pump, commute, cook dinner, clean up, give baths, nurse, laundry, sleep, wake and do it all over again the next day? Again and again? For me, I needed a light at the end of that tunnel. And I wanted to regain some focus -- on my children.

So here I sit, on the cusp of yet another transition. Could go either way, folks. But at least this time I know the transition is the hardest part. From there, it can only get better.

** Photo credits: Migrant mother Florence Thompson & children photographed by Dorothea Lange. Location: Nipomo, CA, US, Date taken: 1936. LIFE magazine Google photo archives.

Cold Hard B**tch

So, two posts in one day is pretty crazy. But Christian told me this tidbit last night, and I had to get it down.

I was at yoga Tuesday night, and Christian was home alone with the boys for dinner and the evening routine. Apparently, the radio was on while they were eating dinner (Christian has this thing for dinner music. Always has to have something.) A song comes on. Not just any song. This song by Jet.

And Will -- who always listens so intently to music of any kind -- listens. Then he says:

"Dad, is it okay if I get down and dance?"

And he proceeds to get out of his seat, rock out (air guitar style), and then get back up to finish eating his dinner.

We may be in for one of these when Will grows up:

Thar she blows!, or Sad Day

I lost it Monday night. It was shades of my post-partum madness, and it scared me a little. Sometimes you just know that you don't have any reserves left at that moment to gracefully handle a horrible, trying situation.

I thought I had moved past this -- I really did. Shows how naive I can be. Both kids just screaming and nothing working to calm them down.

I told Will, "Mommy needs a time-out right now," as Ian wimpered in his crib upstairs for a few minutes.
"Why Mom?" said Will.
"Because I need time to cool off, honey. To calm down. That's what a time out is for, right? When we get really upset or frustrated and need to be alone to calm down."

I sat on the big red chair and breathed a little. Got really angry with myself for feeling this way. Will waited patiently for me to be done.

And slowly, I regained a little perspective. I was tired, after all. I was wanting to sit down and eat a normal dinner, dammit. I wanted someone -- anyone! -- to appreciate the meal I'd cooked after a day at work and not much sleep the past week or so. I wanted so many things...

But I realized, once I got Ian out of his crib and we were all playing nicely on the floor of their room, and I'd stopped worrying about how neither child had eaten anything for dinner (again) -- weren't they going to starve?? -- that sometimes you can't always get what you want. But if you try sometimes, you might find, you get what you need.

And what I needed last night was some perspective. I needed to stop worrying and just enjoy my crazy kids for who they are. I needed to give myself a giant break. I am doing the best I can.

We are all doing the best we can.

Slice of Heaven

 

I love lunch. Sandwiches for lunch, to be exact. Neither of my kids has inherited this trait yet (I don't count PB&J) -- but there's still time. Time to make them wonderful, perfectly-balanced meals lovingly placed between two pieces of tasty bread. Ask my husband, I am incapable of "just making a sandwich." He hates it. But, he loves my sandwiches...

When I worked in a from-scratch bakery and cafe in VA, we had tons of fun coming up with new sandwich combos. We used fresh bread made on-site, and every time we needed to change the menu I got so excited. These sandwiches were, um, gourmet (if you can excuse the term). But all were just good.

On our honeymoon in the south of France, my hands-down favorite meal was a picnic lunch we had on the outskirts of Bonne, in Bourgogne. We bought sandwiches in town before we went (and before the wine). Oh, these sandwiches. I still dream of them:

Fresh, perfect chewy crusty baguette, enclosing fresh sliced local ham on a creamy pillow of real salted butter, and topped with Emmentaler cheese.

GASP! Butter on a sandwich?? My life was never the same... Sip a cool, balanced white Burgundy with that and just let everything else melt away.

So the other day, I made a sandwich for myself for lunch. Toasted wheat bread, deli ham, NY state cheddar cheese, vine tomatoes (OK, these are out of season, but they're better than the mushy bland alternative), green leaf lettuce from my garden, and a slather of mayo and Dijon mustard. Oh yeah, and some S&P on the tomatoes.

And then, folks -- I took a picture of it for posterity, 'cause that's how I do.

The Spice Road

Turns out to be the road less traveled in this house. Last night's dinner was something I was craving. This is usually when I enjoy cooking the most:

Chicken Curry with Tomatoes (Murgha Kari)

This dish from the Punjab takes only 30 minutes to prepare. [Did you read that? Only 30 mins!! Well, ahem. My chicken took a bit longer than 15 mins to cook to doneness. I guess chickens in the Punjab are much smaller than U.S. birds.] In India fresh tomatoes would be used in this dish.


4 medium onions, chopped [I only used 1.5 large ones, Vidalia]
2 tablespoons curry powder
1/2 cup butter or cooking oil [I used about 2 TB butter and 1/4 cup peanut oil.]
1 cup or 1 can (8 ounces) tomato sauce [I used chopped fresh tomatoes, cause I had 'em.]
2 teaspoons salt [or to taste. My opinion was it was a bit too salty.]
1 frying chicken (2 to 3 pounds) [I buy whole organic and cut up myself. Much cheaper...]
3/4 cup hot water

Use a casserole or large skillet with lid. Cook onions and curry powder in butter for 10 to 15 minutes. Add tomato sauce and salt. Disjoint and skin chicken, and place in sauce. Cook, uncovered, over medium heat, turning frequently until sauce becomes quite dry and chicken tests done with fork, about 15 minutes. Add hot water, cover pot, and cook over low heat for 5 minutes. Makes 4 servings.


Fresh local, organic spinach (yum!), sauteed with 3 cloves garic, sliced, in some olive oil

Basmati rice

Both Christian and I really liked this meal. Ian ate some of it (maybe some chicken?), and then had loads of fun throwing his spinach everywhere. Will took one bite of his drumstick (the only chicken part he eats with relish -- just like me when I was a kid), and almost burst into tears. "I don't like this kind of chicken!!" It wasn't even a spicy curry, for heaven's sake.

Sigh.

In the end, Will ate two hot dogs, some corn on the cob and a popsicle for dinner. No spinach.

Oh well, all I can do is expose them to different foods, right? And, frankly, I totally enjoyed my dinner that night. Screaming tantrums, flying food and all.

 

Will you still need me, will you still feed me, when I'm 64...

Today is my eighth wedding anniversary. Eight years ago right now,I was probably getting my hair done in a Burke, VA salon (what? you don't know where that is?), freaking about what the Virginia humidity would do to my up-do. Possibly doo-doo. I may have already carefully self-applied my makeup, or maybe not. I was very concerned with looking "normal," not overdone. Here's what I promise I was NOT doing right now on that day eight years ago: thinking about what it would be like to yoke my life forever to this kind, young man I met at a fraternity date function in 1994. Who at the time had long hair. And smoked Marlboro Reds. No joke.

Now that I write it, that is very odd that we don't really think much about marriage when we take the plunge. We just know what we want when we want it. How very childish of us. Then again, I did look pretty awesome in that dress. And the tiara. And the hair. Did I mention the hair? Think Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany's. Almost. [Would post pics if we had any digital ones. But folks, that was way back in 2002. Who had digital cameras then??]

The fact remains that eight years later--no tiara in sight--I am still sleeping next to this guy. I'm raising kids with him. I'm dreaming with him about our future (in fact, I think we may have actually started dreaming in unison--about the same things). I'm getting really, very pissed at him for leaving dirty dishes in the sink when the dishwasher is empty, and for being more interested in the latest PGA Tour stats than what I was talking about.

But I digress.

In the end, the dishes don't matter and I can deal with the PGA. Here's when those things fall away, completely.

Raising A Winner

Will is very much into "being first" these days. First at getting his shoes on, first at going to the bathroom, first at everything. He gets very upset if he thinks he's been slighted out of his rights to first-ness -- especially if it's for the sake of fairness on our part. I'm hoping this is a stage, because it's very annoying. Just being honest here.

Also, C and I wonder if this obsession with being first is healthy for Will. So, being the good parents we are (chuckles from the peanut gallery aside), we decided to try to insert our own logic into Will's preschooler brain and wait ever so patiently for it to take hold.

And then we had this conversation in the car the other day after a friend's BBQ where a T-ball game was played and a friend Will's age got very upset about not winning, or getting struck out:

Will: "F was really mad about not winning today."
Me: "Well, you know Will, winning isn't everything. It's about having fun with your friends too."
Long, pregnant pause from the backseat.
Will: "No, Mom. You're wrong. It is everything."

Schooled again by a 3 year old in the ways of the world. Because really, he's right. In our society, in his world when he grows up -- it is all about winning. C and I looked at each other and laughed, but inside I was a little sad. Sad that even at 3, Will was already learning the logic of being best, competing for glory, bragging rights.

Maybe it's just gonna take a little more time, and a lot more work, for our other logic to sink in. Maybe.

The New Me

Here's a radical thought. Maybe I should accept my 34 year old body for what it is. Even more radical--maybe all women should do this. Now, that would be a revolution, my friends.**

I've been thinking a lot about this lately. Especially since it's been 14 months since Ian popped out, and I continue to examine my stomach for signs of going back to normal. Whatever that is. And then it hit me (well, kind of came to me over several months). THIS is the new normal.

I could fight it tooth and nail. I could start running 5 days a week, lifting weights, dieting (heaven forbid). I could spend my copious free time obsessing and worrying and looking in the mirror. I used to do that. Maybe I could do that again.

But I don't want to. It was hard to admit this to myself. That I did not want to strive for physical perfection as I have for most of the last 22 years. Yoga has helped. It has opened up a relationship between me and my body. I actually like her some days. This is progress.

I am just starting to realize that my body is the outward expression of what it has done. What we've accomplished. Birthing two children. Living. Eating. All those lowly, dirty, basic things that human bodies do. I used to hate those things. I used to try to push them down, cage them up.

I hear so many women, mothers or not, continually degrading their bodies. Themselves. Our Bodies, Ourselves. I used to think this was normal. Then I met a few women, here and there, who never talked this way. Who seemed to have so much energy to give to other things in their lives. I was blown away.

So, I've decided to become one of these revolutionary women. Those who eat to be full, eat to enjoy, to share. Who move their bodies for enjoyment and health. Who have stretch marks and flabby abs. Who don't aspire to rock hard, synthetic outer shells. Because if our bodies are the outward expression of living our lives, I want mine to be soft, warm, open. The way my children like it.

** I really hope no one is reading this blog, because if they are, things are about to get kind of personal. Consider yourself warned...

Homing Device

Wake up at 6 AM, tiptoe downstairs for some alone time and coffee = check

Do some stretching so old 34 year old body doesn't seize up after challenging yoga class = check

Tear hair out when toddler wakes up 20 minutes after all this, and NO coffee has actually been drunk = check

When they come out, they're implanted with the homing device, of this I am sure. And the device is specifically designed to sniff out your lame attempts at being alone, without them.

Ugh. Now to get said screaming toddler and maybe have that coffee. After husband has cup. And toddler has milk. And preschooler has tantrum...

Mother's Day is for Fathers

I had a wonderful Mother's Day yesterday, complete with flowers and breakfast in bed. I luxuriously finished a full cup of coffee by myself. It was grand. Reminded me of the time I served my own mother soggy Raisin Bran in bed one Mother's Day -- I was so proud of my culinary aptitude.

This year, I think it was a chance for Christian to let Will in on the secret a little bit. I was slowly (very slowly) making my way downstairs when I overheard Christain explaining Mother's Day to Will.

"Today is the day we thank Mom for everything she does for us, and our family."

I'm sure Will said something like "Why?"

"Because she helps us and takes care of us. She really does a lot."

It was a sweet moment. But more because of how it made my husband just shine with fatherly-ness. Maybe yesterday was really more about fathers, or partners, than just about mothers. Since I don't think I could be who I am to my children without this other--who constantly reflects onto them his views too. Good or bad.

So, a belated Happy Mother's Day, to all the moms and dads out there. We rock. We really do.

Will-isms for the 21st Century

These days we alternate between being really pissed at Will for many things, or falling down laughing when he says something so funny -- or true.

On eating only the frosting off Nina's birthday cupcake:

"I like the cup, but not the cake."

On why Macktiti (Will's imaginary friend; the name is no joke), can't come over to our house to play. I asked if he was sick:

"No Mom, Macktiti's not coming because he's not real...."

At any time of day, whenever the mood strikes him:

"She's real fine, my 409... Vrrooom vroom!"

Correcting me on why the sky is getting dark but it's not nighttime:

"No Mom, the sun is UNDER the cloud, not behind it."

On why our cat Mouse walks around meowing annoyingly for hours. Roosevelt is Mouse's late brother:

"Mouse misses Roosevelt cause he's dead."

At the dinner table:

"Couscous is a form of rice."

In the morning, before we have a chance to take off his overnight diaper and change him into underwear:

"I gotta go potty!!!!! Uh, nope. Just went in my pants."

The intro lines to The Beach Boys' 409. That should be dimes:

"Gonna save my pennies, gonna save my nimes....."

After the first Asanimals yoga class for 2-3 year olds, with Mom:

"Next time I'll come to yoga, and you and Dad can stay home."

When Will wants to do something and Ian keeps getting in the way. The "cage" is the pack n' play:

"Put Ian in his cage, Mom."

Snacktime is the new happy hour

Is there really anything better than the eerie quiet that descends on two children as they stuff themselves full of snack? I don't think so. It's not surprising to me that my boys are, how do you say?, a little bit cranky when their blood sugar levels are low. For Ian, it's a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde situation. Very similar to his dad. With Will, it's more a slow and steady decline into LOSING IT -- quite like me. I can get too busy to stop and eat, but never, ever think that means I have FORGOTTEN to eat.

So imagine my surprise to find the boys calmly sitting together at their small table, eating snack and looking all around happy. No kicking, pushing, screaming. Too busy with full mouths to make much noise, I assume. It was blissful, this coming together to break bread -- or cheese sticks or whatever.

And to see Ian sitting there like such a big boy in his little chair? Well really, it almost made me tear up a little. And then I smiled and laughed. 'Cause they're just so darn cute when they're not being annoying brats.

Peace and snacktime to you.

That Old Cliche

Carpe diem. Living every day like it's your last. Don't put off tomorrow what you can do today. No one ever complained on their death bed that they wished they'd spent more time at work.

Yesterday, I found out that one of the professors at my school died at his home on Sunday. Just died. He was born in 1943 -- the year my dad was born. He had beat cancer the year before. He went to the doctor that Friday complaining of a cough and was dead 2 days later.

It's not as if he hadn't led a full life. Grown children, successful career, author, teacher, mentor. But that doesn't really make it alright, does it? He had more to give.

And that's what gets me the most. I have more to give -- and I'm not dead or dying as far as I know. Instead, sadly, I'm living like I've already given it everything I've got. WE'RE living like that. And of course, the reality is that we're already dying, a little more each day. Which isn't a sad thought to me, just a little wisp of tuth. Something to keep us honest.

I didn't know this professor well. Really only by name. But he got me thinking. He is teaching some folks right now, for sure.

The last several years have been full of "wake up calls" and close calls. But I've been too damn busy and absorbed in the minutae of life to listen much. Maybe self-absorbed. Aren't we all to some extent?

We say it a lot, but come on now, isn't the bottom line that we're just all a little scared to sieze the day, live life to its fullest? I know I am. Because living a bigger life could mean bigger disappointments, crises, risks, sadness. It could also -- I really hope -- mean bigger rewards.

Ian at 1 Year + 10 days

First, the stats:

Length = 28 1/2 inches (10th percentile)

Weight = 18 lbs, 14 oz (about 4th percentile)

Head circumfrence = 44 1/2 cm (above the 95th percentile!)

Hmm, why such a big head? Maybe he's just super smart! Why so lean? Guess he has the Thompson genes.

Apparently, Ian is also a little ahead of the curve, developmentally. The doc says he's doing things that are more usually seen in 15 month olds. See? An overachiever already...

Ian has been walking for about a month now, and getting steadier every day. His top left molar is next on the agenda, and with it, I'm sure lots of crankiness.

Since I started this post almost a month ago (ack!), things have continued to move along. Another bottom tooth is coming in and Ian is getting ready to run one of these days. It's amazing, and I'm not completely ready for it. Oh well.

Here's a pic from the birthday bash, with Will being the ever-helpful big brother. Enjoy!

Baby steps

Ian is 11 months, 2 weeks old today. He started taking a few steps here and there last week, and by today (Sunday) is pretty much full-fledged walking. Albeit very tentatively with lots of thrills and spills. His other favorite activities are pointing -- at everything -- and clapping his hands. We've even seen a little bit of dancing. Ian can also throw a ball, play peek 'a boo, and roll a ball back to you. It's non-stop action in the Thompson household these days. Enjoy the video montage of his first steps. Helmet and knee pads not required...

It's coming back.

'Nuf said. Bring back the mustache! Who could forget Magnum P.I.? Burt Reynolds? Yosemite Sam? Your dad in 1976?

This version was the tail end of Christian's successful beard experiment. Quite a specimen. Needless to say, this picture is all that remains of his "mustache for a day." Enjoy.