Fingers and Paws

Time IS On Our Side

2012-01-16T06:35:00.000-08:00

Hi, beloved readers. And accidental blog-finders (those are the best.) I don't blog a lot. So, when I do, I try to go for a "Silent Bob" kind of angle.

It's hard, when you're in the thick of something, to really step back and appreciate what it is. But I've discovered something.. something amazing, and fun, and just astounding.

Aging is FUN!

That's right! Getting older. All those anti-aging creams, potions, lotions, pills, and the multi-billion dollar Entertainment industry that would have you believe that aging sucks - is WRONG!

Here's why. You just can't get this one thing from anywhere else BUT from getting older.. perspective. It's impossible to get anywhere else. Only time gives it to you. And here's the funny thing, even when you think you have it, you don't! Maybe a little, but not as much you think you do. My freshman year in college, I was strolling around the main quad at UNC-Chapel Hill with a few Seniors who were about to graduate. We sat down on the steps of Wilson Library, gazing out at the campus, which is stunning. It was dusk, quiet, beautiful. One of the Seniors sighed, deeply, and said, "man am I going to miss this. All of this." I looked out, nodding. Trying to understand. And I thought I did!

The semester after I graduated, I really understood him.

Now, I understand him even more.

Perspective gained from time is different from a huge loss. OR from grief. Perspective from grief is like tripping and falling into a hot tub. Not the way you planned to get in that deep. Not at all comfortable. Actually, very painful. And, probably, you don't want to be there. (When you figure a way out, you're very cold. And that's not comfortable either.)

Let's back up a bit. Why is perspective so important? Because, in the grand scheme, it gives us freedom. Freedom to think of the "big" picture.. the giant, time-filled picture of our entire lives.

Those of you who are older than me reading, congratulations! You have more of it than I do.
Those of you younger than me: you have less. You just do.

That's why aging is fun.. getting older is a gift, a gift of perspective which gives clear-headed thoughts on a muddled world.

One more thought.

This morning, my son invented a new kind of vacuum, pictured below. It runs on solar power (the first Stackadoo), it sucks up dirt which is then converted to energy (second Stackadoo), and it sucks up water which is then converted to energy (third Stackadoo). Last Stackadoo is the battery charger.
What does this have to do with Perspective? Nothing. It's just flat-out the most adorable thing, ever.

And in time, I'll have more Perspective to appreciate it even more.

This Day: to My Beloved

2011-12-11T15:24:00.001-08:00

Such a long road to get here
Let it go (surrender)
Don't judge it later
I want to remember this day

You're a baby! It's exciting and new
We got all of the things, the emotions
We got all the bling, and the blue
You ripped my iPod out of my hand at 13 months
And I knew.

You challenge me. You push me.
Test me. And learn.
I want to remember these moments.

You're a big brother! It's exciting and new.
New competition, new challenges.
New tests for the Mommy patience.
I want to remember this phase.

Channel my Mom. Converse with God.
Channel my inner artist. Get creative.
You question. You reason. You resist reason.
I want to remember your mind.

Push it away. Go away for an afternoon, see an orange moon.
Make sense of why you. Why now.
What happened to the old me?
I want to remember this.

I want to remember this post.

I want to remember this role. My role.

I want to remember this.

I want to remember my everything.

Just Like Heaven (You Know, The Cure!)

2011-08-16T11:19:00.001-07:00

Whoa, is that Fingers&Paws on my Google Reader / FB News Feed /(fill in blog reader here)? Why, yes.

I had a flash of brilliance on the treadmill today. You are about to read it, and you'll leave breathless, amazed, and exhausted, like you just read a novel.

Maybe not. But I had the opportunity last weekend to fly off to Sanibel Island, FL, with several girl friends (I am a girl.) It happens that I am married with children. Those hangers-on were not with me. It was five days of just worrying about myself. No nap-time, no snack time, no meal time, no breaking up sibling fights or picking crushed blueberries off the tile floor. Just me. I got a chance to LOOK UP. Otherwise known as

Perspective.

Other Moms know how it is. The daily drudgery, 12-plus solid hours of child-rearing, day after day.

Here's how I imagine it is, to run a marathon. Not that I've actually run a marathon. I have, in fact, run two Half-Marathons and I doubt I have to do the math for you. There are 25,000 people around you, you are all standing and waiting in line for an eternity in your corral. The gun goes off, the fun begins. You feel great, life is good! Your body is a fine-tuned machine, and the sky is clear and blue. Feet turn into miles, everyone is happy and smiling.

This is what it's like, right?! You had the baby shower. You are SO PSYCHED to have a baby, you cannot believe it. And then you got through the agonizing last three weeks where you listened to the clock tick off every minute of every hour, because sleep wasn't happening.

Around mile 5-6 your body starts to remind you that there's hard pavement underneath. It's hard. Your body begins to feel soft.

Then you decide--this kid needs a SIBLING! So, on we go to having #2. You've read the baby books, you had the shower so your family and friends ain't throwing another one of those. You're on your own.

Mile 7-8-9, and your shoulders start to droop a bit. Your body is trying to conserve energy as best it can, but it's dying for some water and--face it, some walking. You focus on not shuffling your feet, try to imagine picking them up a bit more off the ground. Your breath is coming harder now.

You make it through that impossible first six months where Older Brother (or Sister) just wants to TOUCH the baby, and HOLD the baby, and ROCK the baby, and FEED the baby a raisin or other suitable choking hazard. Or, my favorite, PUSH the baby down some steps in the stroller. Ok, let's all try to survive this until baby is at least able to crawl away.

You can feel your head hanging a bit lower now, your breath is decidedly uncomfortable. When did breathing get this uncomfortable? Short puffs. Focus on the feet. Try to lift up those shoulders. Keep running!

The baby can finally stand up, turn around, and walk.. and then RUN away from Big Sibling. Doesn't change or alter the Sibling Rivalry, in any way. Big Brother still knows how to get a hold of each and every mound of Play-Doh, Lego, block-o, name-it-o. Mommy attends a Sibling Rivalry parenting forum.

Man, around mile 13.1 (I know this from experience), your Body, your Brain, and your Soul scream out, "THIS SUCKS!! WHY DID I DO THIS?" and Oh my Good Gosh, I have so much further to go.

Well, here's what I THINK happens from here:

You are tired. Really tired. C'mon, you've just run a Half Marathon for Pete's Sake. Your body is crushed, spirits are down. But you want to keep on, and plus.. there are all those people cheering for you! Look at them, waving flags, jumping up and down, ringing bells and donging things. They know you can succeed! Do it for them!

There are days you grit your teeth. Frantically call a babysitter for a chance to go to the bathroom. You educate, entertain, educate, pacify, take care of. Take them to a park, to an indoor gym, to an outdoor theater. Take them on a trip, or two. Notice it gets easier (hey! Now we can hand them things, and drive during the day!) You help out watching others', and they help you out back. You are even able to look up, take a sip of your Starbucks, and wonder at the Mom you've grown into. A loving, caring, albeit tired, but really great Mom. You get tears in your eyes typing a blog post. You go home to relieve said babysitter or Mom friend. Older Brother pushes Younger Brother, the young Jedi fights back. All-out War begins.

You don't want to admit it, but you COULDN'T CARE LESS how many people are up against the ropes, cheering for you and all these other Schmucks running with you. They aren't running 20+ miles. You are. How did "marathon" get its name again? Some dude ran 26.2 miles and then.. your thoughts wander off. Thoughts are too hard now, like the ground. All you want to do is lie down on the cold hard ground and take a rest, and have nobody speak to you for about a year (these are the teenager years.) You take a turn too hard and turn an ankle but.. MY GOLLY, keep on truckin'. Running hurt is the perfect metaphor for this metaphor.

Things do get easier, as kids grow.. and get taller and less likely to drown in the 3-FT end of the pool. Eat more things and play with other children more nicely, and learn things and then do things all on their own. They grow and grow until they are the little people they always were deep down in there, just bursting to come out. And then they start to drive you around, picking up your Starbucks and texting you to let you know they are fine. And college is great.

And all of a sudden, it hits you. You were waiting for it, maybe for miles now. The last water station didn't do it, the thousands of cheering fans on the sidelines didn't do it. Your body did it. You hit the runner's high. You feel like a million bucks, because you are a million bucks. You could literally do anything right now. You have run 25.5 miles and you OWN this whole TOWN. The steps come easier, and easier, and you run a bit faster. You almost don't want the finish line to appear because it's gotten so easy.

I'm telling you what. I know there must an Afterlife, because one lifetime is not going to be enough with these children of mine. These boys, they are Heaven.

copyright 2011 Colleen D. Bucher

No Day Like Today

2011-03-21T16:18:00.000-07:00

I'm grabbing it.. the one minute I have. It's so important to me at this moment to write (with whatever time I have. Or lack thereof.)

I realized something important about myself today. Kind of simple, really. I realized: I am compelled to write when I am unhappy. I am compelled to take photographs when I am happy. I am passionate about both mediums, I truly am. And I feel equally alive, communing with my creative spirit, when I am doing either venture. Especially when I match the amazing, perfect image that has formed in my mind with the correct setting on my camera to.. capture it.

However, it is on days like today, when I have no choice but to organize my thoughts into words, my words into emotional responses, those responses into coherent sentences, and type.

It's so easy.. it's like it's all sitting out there for me, basking in the sun (or darkness) and all I have to do is wander out there and pick it up and devour it. Like my black Lab watching me now, glancing up at the open door of the pantry; all that food, just sitting there, within his reach.. all he has to do is just devour it.

Today was one of those days that was so horrible at times that it was impossible to imagine a day could exist that was unlike any other day like today. This type of day, today, has always existed, exists today, and will always exist. No matter what external factors change. The fact that it is means that it will be.

This is preposterous, of course. No such thing is possible, in an ever-changing world as mine currently is. Happier times are behind and ahead of me, at the same time. And, what compelled me to write here and now, is the other: equally sadder times are behind and ahead of me as well. That is life. That's what we signed up for, when we became grown-ups.

The very short way of paraphrasing that long last paragraph, is to say, parenthetically:
Life is not that hard at all right now. It just pretends to be, on days like these.

The Present

2011-02-02T12:12:00.001-08:00

They say it's all prioritization, this thing called life. How do we do it, as Moms? How do we keep them fed, and entertained, and educated, and confident? And shuttle them to preschool and playgroups, but make it home in time to nap? How we have dinner ready for everyone at the same time, but have the toys picked up off the floor so the early walker doesn't trip (or the eager-to-please Labrador pick it up to present it to us?)

How do we juggle all that.... and also dive off the bridge into Start-a-Small-Photography-Business waters far below?

Well, we have to sacrifice some things. Reading. Writing. Arithmetic. Strike that last one. Writing on one's blog, for which one was so faithful, for SO long.

I had an epiphany, in the midst of various parenting crises this week. I realized they are living their childhood--and it's RIGHT NOW. I realized my childhood was what it was, for better or worse (mostly better.. really, and I'm lucky) and that their childhood is happening right in front of me! This is the one that they'll remember for the rest of their lives, that will shape them into the people they will become. Right now! And they're happy!

Right before my eyes, little minds are being shaped, little hands are playing and having fun, little ears are listening and understanding the love that I give them. Love that I show them.

I have a Junior League newsletter to edit. Photos to go through for a client (two, actually), but a great song came on that spoke to me.

It told me to write on my blog today. Capture it all. Remember it all. The song? "Polaroids" by Shawn Colvin.

It's over now, and the kids are up.

NOte: I'm shutting down my 365 blog soon, as it served it purpose, but I'll continue to write on here as I have time. Ha.

Roads Less Traveled

2010-12-19T20:09:00.000-08:00

I am still here. I'm no longer standing at the 'Y'. I am too busy to blog (who isn't?) and have written this post 1,000 times. In my head.

Promise, I really have. I blog every day, as I make and eat my breakfast. Shoo the dogs away from the fallen Cheerio's. I just don't always get it down on screen.

Anyway, there's a poem by Robert Frost. You may have heard of it. It starts out,

"I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference."

That's it. In a nutshell, that is what I've done. What I'm doing. It's thrilling, and confusing, and frustrating, and limiting at times. But I've chosen to remain at home with my two young boys, during the formative, challenging, so-impressionably-young years, and start a portrait photography business.

Corporate America-->Small Internet Startup-->Hard Right Turn, Pause in the Y. The Y of the path (in the woods, silly.) I've been standing here for years, at the Y. And someone finally nudged me down the less-traveled path.

Let's see how it makes a difference.

Shock and Awe

2010-10-13T11:30:00.000-07:00

Today I want to talk to you about the "emergency key word." If you're a parent, you get it. You need no further explanation. Skip paragraph two and read on.

The Emergency Key Word is something, as protective Moms and Dads, we all cling to as insurance. It's one word, or maybe two together, that you can state (yell, scream, shout, grunt, plead or otherwise communicate) QUICKLY to your child in an urgent situation that requires attention. Their attention. On you. Keyword here is 'quickly.'

It's easy to imagine what some common Emergency Key Words likely are, for the typical parent off on a woodland stroll that falls and twists an ankle and needs his/her child to come back to him/her, while laying helplessly in pain on the ground: Look, Suzie! A SQUIRREL! (Stop and stare.)

Or you have an infant sitting on the sidewalk and a toddler wandering around.. a bee comes by and lands on your infant at the same time the toddler starts to toddler off the curb into a very busy street. Look, Johnny! An AIRPLANE! (Stop and stare.)

Or, let's say your child is old enough to swim, and standing next to a pool in their freshly changed, totally dry clothes, and a friend is urging a dry-clothes jump in the pool. Look, Billy! BROWNIES! Stop and eat.

Different motivations for different kids. Every child has his or her favorite things they are drawn to.. toys. Animals. Fancy things that fly. Tiaras. Whatever.

Now let's talk about what my Emergency Key Word has become. He's about to run through the "exit only" automatic door at the store. He's about to walk into someone. He's wandering down the sidewalk away from me. "PLUGS."

Yes, that's right. The kind that are attached to a cord, and plug in. My 3 year old is obsessed with nothing other than the one thing every grown-up he has ever met has told him to stay away from, lest he meet his death via electrocution.

(Luckily he's obsessed with the plug side, not the outlet side. For now.)

A quick mention of whether the building, store or home we're standing in has a plug. Where they are. What kinds of things would possibly need to be plugged in? Why do they need electricity, do they have a motor? Or an engine? Et cetera.

Yes, we have engineers in the family. And yes, he might certainly be headed that direction. But in terms of "normal" emergency key words, my son shocks most everyone that overhears us. (Get it?)

I'm Back, With Foamy Gratitude

2010-09-24T11:56:00.000-07:00

My blogging strike is over! At last! You may have noticed that I have not been blogging for about a month. (Or, maybe you haven't.)

I have been striking against the inequity and injustice in the blogging world. The glaring reality that Mom-bloggers are now growing at a faster pace than any other type, and yet, Mom-bloggers have the least amount of time to spend on it. Unfair.

(Yes, that was a blog joke.)

With that, I want to tell you about my hair cut this morning. It's a small, locally owned salon. Hyper-locally owned, meaning that the salon is named after the owner, who has owned it since it opened, and he (the owner, and namesake) actually cut my hair. I know, pretty kuel.

But first, the hair-washer person (we'll call her "Mona") took me back to the sinks to wash my hair. Pretty typical.

And anything but. I leaned my head backwards, at that awkward angle that salon sinks necessitate during the washing part. I wasn't sure if I should cross my legs or not; I picked something in between. I thought about my book that I'd bothered to bring, and the Book Club members that I had begged for more time from, since I don't have any, to finish the book. I thought about my 3-year old in preschool close by, the other 3-yr old that we had carpooled with, and my cherubic 10-mo old that was back at the carpoolee's Mother's house, happily napping.

I was by myself, during the day, for the first time in a long time.

Then, Mona started scrubbing. Washing my hair. She got her perfectly-sized nails in between the follicles and scratched all about my head, rubbed my temples, got the shampoo to a thick lather, just like they tell you on the back of the bottle. It was heaven.

When she paused, I took the moment to communicate to her how much she was making my day more relaxing.

Then, as if her life purpose had been fulfilled because someone thanked her for doing something she did 40 times a day, every day, Mona really scrubbed. She really took her time, allowing me to actually process the fact that I was becoming more relaxed. At one point, she even pressed the ends of her fingers into the back of my neck. You know, where you might rub if you were sitting at a desk all day, straining to see your computer. Or where you might rub if your neck and back ached all day from changing potty-training 3-yr olds and picking up toys all. Day. Long.

The scrubbing probably only lasted all of 6 minutes. But sitting there, legs half crossed and half not, thinking of nothing else besides gratitude for this person, this salon, this carpool, and this beautiful Fall day, I decided to hold onto the moment.

And, of course. Blog about it.

CDB, Phone Home

2010-08-09T18:46:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking lately a lot about connectedness. Being and staying connected to those we love, used to love, hated to love, or love to hate. It used to be a simple phone call, or a Christmas card (or letter) received out the blue. Right? Like from the next door neighbor 10 years ago that you once shared deep secrets with over the kitchen counter, that later moved away and was never heard from again. Until the random phone call.

Nowadays, it’s much more than a simple phone call. I guess it could still be as simple as a phone call, but tell my Mom how to text, and she’ll forget what you’ve told her the next day. (This is nothing on my Mom; my next door neighbor would also forget, and she’s young.)
When you have very little, no, zero alone time to think…. and analyze… And allow things to sink down to the bottom of the pot and simmer there for a while, life seems to take off much more quickly.

Tonight I had a chance to sit on a runway for three hours. There’s so much information in that sentence, if you look. It means I traveled (well, not necessarily!) “Runway” implies flying.. flying implies far away from my regular dwelling place. “Sit” indicates I had nothing to do but think.. read.. look out the window at the various and sundry groups of hundreds of people, leaving for various and sundry destinations. And—you guessed it. “Three hours” is a very long time.

Back up an hour.. I get dropped off at a major airport in Washington DC. Race to my gate, which is also inhabited by 300 of my closest strangers, since this the gate for Very Tiny Planes to Very Tiny Places. People are waiting. Everywhere. They’re waiting in lines, as long as Disney World’s coolest new ride. They’re waiting in crowded seating areas. They’re standing and waiting, sitting, slouching, leaning up against walls, other people, sleeping against the hallway. You get the picture. And I’m looking around, just watching the people. I’m that girl, just watching. (I even pulled out my little blog notebook and made some notes, if you want to know the truth.)

Almost without exception, everyone is on their phone.. “i” or otherwise. Blackberries, Droids, old-school PDAs and regular old texting phones are out in force.. flights are cancelled, phones are out. I’m watching the people in line, strangers starting destinations or connecting here—but Lord help us, not ending here, frantically try to beat each other to reach an Airline Representative on the phone before getting to the counter. Several waitees are in front of me, sitting on the floor, alternatively on the phone.

There’s the obligatory conference call. There’s the guy on his iPhone, clearly keeping up with a conference call whilst checking flight status, and OH YES! Also reading a book. This guy fascinates me no end. At one point he gets up to pace around (perhaps he needs to focus by pacing) and leaves his backpack and his open book, where he was sitting. People do strange things when their flights get cancelled.

So we are continually connected to each other—instantly, simultaneously. Waiting in line, all talking to the same 800-number, but not each other. Texting across the country to our friends who might be picking us up, but not to the writer cautiously watching you from behind. Are we more connected? Perhaps. Do we feel more closeness, among ourselves? With Social Media keeping us updated on each others’ lives more than we ever dreamed (did I really imagine I’d know exactly when Sally from 5th grade Science would give birth to twins?), what’s the next step for us? Will we all eventually start living the same life, unaware of it until we bump into the Older version of ourselves, the Younger version of ourselves, or the Black or Brown or Asian versions?

Ok, so that is far fetched. But it’s interesting to think about, right?

Vacating Success

2010-07-16T12:14:00.000-07:00

Measurement is a funny thing.

For example, how do you measure waiting? Not time, but waiting. And love? And how in the world would you measure vacation success?

I'll tell you how. An easy way to tell if a vacation is a huge smashing success, is by how much time is spent in Emergency Medical care. The more time spent, the more successful the vacation.

We had just landed in Denver. Land of the Rockies, sunshine, exciting hikes, open air. 24 hours pass, the sun shining, picnics had and playgrounds visited, mountains viewed and smiles turned somber. My toddler started getting sluggish, lethargic, didn't want to walk.. then didn't want to talk, eat. Or drink. Or do anything. (You understand if you know him. If you don't, this is NOT NORMAL.)

Altitude sickness, we immediately think, seeing as we haven't spent a single hour in medical school or done an internship in pediatric care. We bribe him to try liquids. It blows up in our face (just use your imagination with that one. I don't want to discuss vomiting.)

Something is terribly wrong with our otherwise perfectly healthy angel, so we decide he needs care. Off to Urgent Care we go, to see a PA who has--allegedly, as much time in medical school as we have. (But he was a Dad. So, there's that.)

Then, 24 hrs later, my sweet, chubby faced infant, with the dark eyes and lashes that draw you in and hold you there for as long as he cares to gaze, got hot. He started to cry.

An adorable baby is still that when he's crying. But when he's wailing, whimpering, wallowing in the midst of sleep, grunting with discomfort, and looking at you with tears squeezing out of the corners of his eyes, it literally makes you want to reach down and lift up a Rocky mountain to make him feel better. So, we did.

Off to the pediatric Emergency Room we went, just me n' my miserable cherub. I rocked him in triage. He cried. I rocked him in the ER waiting room. He cried. I rocked him after the triage nurse told me to lay him down on the exam bed. He cried. Pink cheeks, scared eyes, in only a diaper, he cried and I rocked.

Upon check out, the girl was nice enough. We had to stay a long while after we were done, since they got us right in, cared for, and discharged. And then .. the paperwork. She entered information in her computer as fast as the very fastest paint can dry, but we didn't mind waiting. My cherub and I. She collected what she needed and said I was all set. "Have a good night!" She said brightly. She was nice enough, but I couldn't resist:
"I really can't imagine anything else I'd rather be doing on vacation then checking out of the pediatric ER." I was joking, lamely. I should have resisted.

So, first ER visit? Check. A baby hospital band for the baby book? Check. Vacation? Check. Sleep, relaxation, rest, exploring new places, basking in the glow of nothing to do but relax? All banked for next time.

**Note: the most important element of our vacation was that we stayed with and had incredible support from two very understanding and very good friends, for whom we are very thankful!! Thanks TKB!!!

Constant Gardening

2010-07-05T19:11:00.000-07:00

Remember that fish (Nory?) from "Finding Nemo"? The one that couldn't remember anything?

"Just keep swimming, just keep swimming... Just keep swimming, just keep swimming..." This is my theme music this week.

When I was out in the neighborhood for a run this weekend, in between dashes to the shady part of the street and wiping of sweat out of my eyes, I found myself noting something important.

Some of my neighbors keep incredible gardens.

Some are in front of the house, right next to the sidewalk, so all passers-by can enjoy the color. Some of them are side yards, or a carefully tended patch of flowers by the front porch or walk. Name it, and I saw it. And these gardeners, mind you, range from original owner (from the 1950s) to the young couple who moved in last week, still trying to conceive their first child and kiss Previous Listless Life goodbye.

There is one particular flower garden of spectacular hue, with a half dozen rose bushes bursting with light, color, delicate petal tips, and thorns, just next to the sidewalk on a fairly well-traveled road, for all to enjoy. I've marveled at it many times on family walks. My husband and I have commented how amazing the roses are. My toddler has pushed thorny branches out of the way of the stroller's path. Never knowing the danger of a tiny pinpoint prick on his little finger.

To my surprise, along my run this weekend, I saw the toil. The tired shoulders. The sagging sunhat. The work. I ran past the set of multi-colored rosebushes as the owner of the house was out among the bushes, tending weeds. Plucking unwanted visitors. Examining leaf health. Trimming back unwieldy branches. Tending, tending, and tending. I smiled at him, knowingly. He nodded in agreement. I ran on.

As I ran, I realized the significance of what I'd viewed, what I'd seen on this blinding hot day.

Tending a garden is much like raising children. Time. Attention. An amazing end result, blinding in its beauty.

Frenetic Calm

2010-06-26T19:32:00.000-07:00

Fascinating.

I approached the Giant food store, recycled bags in hand, free as a lark with no larklings. As I approached, heading towards the front door, something struck my eye that was fascinating. A woman.. girl... lady? An ageless female, who had clearly and very recently purchased quite a large number of items at said store, was outside with her cart of groceries. And oodles of plastic Giant bags.

Someone had forgotten her recycled bags.

She was pacing. Literally pacing. Hands in her pockets. Back and forth, forth and back, back and forth again, from her own made-up starting line to her turnabout spot, back to the starting line, and repeat. As I approached, I was struck at this shark-like behavior.

For what was she pacing? Was she nervous? Bored? Scared? Were her feet asleep, was she was trying to re-engage them in the world around them? I got so taken in by this steady, pragmatic foot-falling, I completely lost track of myself and wandered into the store, bypassing the carts.

I went back outside. I needed a cart, duh. But the shark, clad in her yellow v-neck and large, dark sunglasses, was impeding the way. I arced widely around her, as I noticed others did.

Other people, strangers to this strange dance, were avoiding her. Her shark infested waters.

How delightfully bizarre! I couldn't get over this conundrum.. people needed carts. She was impeding access to carts simply by pacing back and forth in front of them. I love the study of human behavior. I silently cursed myself for not taking more sociology courses in college, and got a cart. Finally.

Once the cart was gotten, I then needed to go through her pacing path to gain access to the Giant store. I had a twinge of guilt, then sudden excitement as to what her counter-move would be.

She paused in the pacing. Stepped back, tilted her chin slightly down. I, and another lady who didn't share my curiosity, curtly walked past.

I went inside and immediately looked for a window, to gaze out into this other seemingly tormented soul. Or, at least the soles of her shoes.

For my good fortune, and for everyone who later had to deal with me on this important day of my eldest son's 3rd birthday party, there was a Starbucks inside this store. And it was just inside the store, affording me the opportunity to check out the Mystery Pacer's next move.

She was still pacing!! What--in the world, could she be so anxious about? And who was she waiting for? And where were her recycled bags??

Then, I kid you not, what happened next was the most unexpected turn. As I pulled over to a Starbucks table, grappling for my pen/paper to make some blog post notes, as we all know I did, I glanced up.

She turned her head and met my gaze.

I was flabbergasted. The pacer knew her pacing was being tracked. I had the sudden urge to race outside and join in her pacing, up and down, back and forth, just for the pure and simple freedom of it. Freedom Pacers. And also, mostly, to find out why the hell she was pacing.

It was so deliberate. So unnatural. So .. creepily calculated. Every step was purposeful.

And only she, Yellow-Shirted Mystery Pacer, held the key to unlock those steps.

If my toddler had been with me, he would have fallen into step alongside her, looked up, and instantly unlocked the mystery. As he, as a general rule, holds all those keys.

Painting a Revelation

2010-06-10T18:21:00.000-07:00

I know there are so many blogs to read and so little time. But I had such a revelatory moment today that I had to share.

Six or seven years ago, I was in an elevator. I was in a high-flootin' finance job, up to the 8th floor in a somewhat respectable high-rise building, in the somewhat-respectable field of corporate&investment banking. I was probably dressed in a blue button down and gray pants. It was the uniform.

The elevator was packed, and, as was customary on a busy morning, stopped at nearly every floor on the way up. Two people were talking behind me, a man and a woman. They were talking about painting. I got excited and nearly turned around.. painting? Was there a budding Van Gogh behind me? What did she paint? When did she paint? Was she in an artist's body, or did she just hide this side of herself? How cool was that? What kind of medium, I wanted to ask.

"Yes, we've finally finished the guest room. Now I have to get the kitchen and dining rooms done... arrgh, it just takes forever to paint a house."

Oh. (sigh)

Fast forward to today. I am walking back to my car after picking up some delicious Lebanese food - with a 7mo-old infant and 2-3/4 yr old in tow. Yes, my toddler ate it too. There were two women, dressed in casual yoga gear, chatting just behind my car, blocking our entry back into the car. I said "excuse me" as I inadvertently heard most of the end of their conversation. One woman was cajoling the other, saying,
"You need to get back into that!"
"Oh, the painting? I am! I started a few weeks ago. Ah, it feels so good." I happened to know that they were talking about art.

Painting, for the beauty of it. For the pure joy, the unfettered feeling of creating something beautiful with every stroke of the brush, of pausing, reflecting.. clearing the mind. Making art.

A beautiful thing. **

** For the record, I do not paint. I'd rather create beauty through words. Plus, my brother got that talent in the family.

Time. A New Frontier.

2010-06-04T11:22:00.000-07:00

I know. Seriously. What could I possibly write about time that is new, different, innovative, obscure? We'll see. Keep in mind, there's no guarantee in the blogosphere.

But here's what struck me: In no other time in life than after having children, does time forever change. It speeds up, it slows down, it pauses and waits for you at times... other times leaves you on the side of the road with the car door open, speeding away. Taillights in the dust.

When I was charging through my 20s, time was just time.. it kind of ticked away. I looked forward to things, I looked back fondly on things, and everything seemed appropriately spaced. I'd say things like, "in a few months, we're going to the beach." Or, "in a few months, I think I have a doctor's appointment." "In a few months, I think my parents are coming to visit."

"I think", because who cares? It was a few months away!

Now a lifetime is contained in a single, solitary, well-chosen moment. In a moment where my almost-3-year old bends down to help his baby brother pick something off the floor, then hands it back to him, sealing my faith that he does listen. If a single moment can contain such magnitude, imagine a whole day?! A week? A month?

And whereas a few months previously might mean a different number of miles on the car, or temperature outside, or a different vacation destination, now it's the difference between my baby squirming helplessly on the floor and being able to give me high five.

That's right. Baby A gave me high five yesterday, for the first time ever. (For those who've lost track--and trust me, I get it - he's 7 mos old tomorrow.)

And what got me - really got me, about him doing it, is that I was just kidding! Time has done a number on me, too, and I forget how fast they change. I was joking! I sat him up, grinning from ear-to-ear just to be alive, and held up my hand and said in a voice excited enough to wake Sleeping Beauty, "GIMME FIVE!"

He looked at my hand. He looked at me. He raised his little hand and met mine. Ka-Ching!!

You could hear our collective giggles four miles away.

This is the thing. A few months isn't what it used to be. It's so much more...time. It's so much more documented. It's so much more change. It's the change of change, the derivative of life itself. Interestingly enough, when you derive a life equation, you get a more concentrated life.

And time is the remainder.

Life. In A Painful Nutshell.

2010-05-21T11:52:00.001-07:00

I really don't have time to post now. Naps are being gentled tugged away from my little guys... I should be doing prep work for the cookout I'm hosting. But I just really need to write this post. And I think I'll be glad later.

In the College of Arts and Sciences, we were treated to a whole neat selection of electives like "Asian Religions" by incredible professors. My Asian Religions class had a profound effect on me.. especially the section on Buddhism. Imagine, life being All Pain? Really? Like.. ALL life is suffering. Just have to get through the suffering; without it there would be no joy.

When I was gazing at my adorable cherubic infant who is currently experiencing sharp little razor blades coming through his bottom gum, I thought.. this is fitting. Isn't it?

Here is this little guy, just barely here. Barely six months old. He looks around, he sees a brand new world. Everything is great. Everything is fantastic! Everyone is so nice. Everyone is so accommodating. Everything I need, I am given!! Such joy, in this place called The World.

And then.. the pain.

It starts, probably, as a faint little ache in the gums. (Right? How the hell would we know?) Then it probably moves up to the jaw a little, a constant, dull aching.

Cutting teeth. Ouch! How painful is that? Imagine for a minute how that must feel. Didja ever get your wisdom teeth out? Yeah.

You just barely arrive here, happy as a baby, and then the pain begins. (And then, later, it really begins, when someone steals your toy and won't give it back, or you fall off the playground, or nobody wants to be your friend, or you get your heart broken. Or you forget you left the emergency break on when you start to go and smell an awful burning rubber smell.)

But look. We get through the pain. The constant-ness of it. Never ending, never a break until that tooth pokes through and one kid goes off to school (or college.)

The pain... then the joy... we like all of it.

Timing is Everything

2010-05-15T07:49:00.001-07:00

As the moon waxes and wanes, so goes my impulse to write. I feel sudden urges, much like my toddler who is learning how it feels when he has to "go". And I do believe this is a learned behavior, a skill, he is developing.

Take yesterday. On a generous whim, I decided to let him make the decision whether he walked through the grocery store (as opposed to riding in the cart. A much safer enterprise. Less bolting. And broken ketchup bottles. Et cetera.) We piled up the stroller basket with items, my infant eagerly watching how this was to unfold. All was going great. We had probably, oh, 20 or 25 or 50 items in the basket including all the baby food jars.

Time to check out. I was nervous. With my attention focused on loading all the grocery items onto the little conveyor belt, my toddler could seize upon the opportunity to bolt back into the store ("I'M FREE!!! I'm FREEEEEEEEEE!")

But, I come from a strict "Don't Fire Until Fired Upon" Philosophy, so I held the whistle and waited patiently while the chatty, well-meaning grocery clerk checked out the person in front of me. Very. Very. Slowly.

The Chatty, Well-Meaning grocery clerk finally looked up and started checking me out.
Beep! Beep! She starts scanning the items, bagging them, chatting all the way. Beep! My toddler looks up at me, and starts crossing and criss-crossing his legs.

Uh oh.

"Mommy, does this store have a bathroom, do you think?"
Hoo-boy. "Yes, sweetheart, they definitely do. Do you need to... ?"
"Yes, I need to go potty." Legs criss-crossed again. I glance at the conveyor belt. Only 49 items to go.
He shifts his weight and looks up again. "Mommy, I need to make a 'whoa'." That is his word for #2.

We are trapped in the grocery store checkout line with 3 people behind us. And my toddler has to go make a whoa. Right then.

I rattle off the situation to the grocery clerk. With lightning fast reflexes, she speeds up to 100X her previous speed. I run my card through the thing, pick up my toddler, push my infant in the stroller to the back of the store; way, way back. Where he does go. And wow, did he have to go.

Then, (and I'm sweating now) I race back to the front of the store to find out what happened. Do other people do this? I wonder as I run past shelves of cereal boxes I forgot to buy. Am I the first? I think to myself, knowing I am not.

Finally, we make it. Back to the line. Back to back of the line. The Chatty, Well-meaning grocery clerk recognizes me and smiles.

"Did we make it?" She winks.

We made it.

Unbending the Straw

2010-05-04T12:24:00.001-07:00

Life is so unfair sometimes. No, really, it's the clock that's unfair. I do not have time to post, yet it's all I want to do at times, write. Lunch is unfinished. Naps are over. I still have applesauce on my shoulder.

So the question really becomes, for me: Does not blogging kill brain cells?

I say yes. All day long, I have to maintain the highest energy level possible, explain every nuance of life from why strangers smile at you when they walk by, to why a cement truck turns the big thing on its back, to what constitutes a picnic.

None of these tasks are difficult to explain to an almost-3 year old. But sometimes I find myself diving a little deeper into the concept, like when I was trying to emphasize why the washcloth sank after it got wet. Or how hot food cools off, the principle behind this. Or why heavy things fall faster than light things. Or why Mommy doesn't want to prop the door open at Starbucks longer than one or two full minutes while my toddler casually saunters through, carrying his milk cup all by himself.

I do feel cliche, at times, especially when I'm rushing around. To fight feeling cliche, I find myself doing things that could only be categorized as uncliche. Or... another word might be... crazy. Wanting to avoid a nearly unavoidable toddler tantrum, I didn't let us sit down in Starbucks recently, instead telling my toddler that we could have a car picnic with our drinks! A picnic in the car! Allll we had to do was get back to the car. Ya with me, parents?

I loaded us in, infant in infant seat. Toddler in car seat. Stroller away. Library books away. Phew. Then, a little voice called me out on my own innovation:

"Can we have a picnic with our drinks.. in the car?"

Of course we can. I got everyone out. I popped the trunk. We spread a blanket in the bed of my (mini)SUV's trunk. Had our drinks (and our pound cake.) A picnic. I answered many questions that came up.. like the foretold cement truck.

Maybe it's cliche to attempt the uncliche. Yet, I feel it's my greatest endeavor to educate my young mind(s) at every opportunity.

And keep educating my own.

Catcher in the Wry

2010-04-25T12:03:00.000-07:00

I figured it was time for a fun story. Well, it's a story. And .. I'll make it fun.

And a word of warning. I just finished Catcher in the Rye for the first time in my life. It's my new lifelong favorite and he is my new hero, Holden. I'll try to limit the references, but can't be held responsible for what comes out of my fingers. If you want to know the truth.

Where was I? Oh yes. Being funny.

We try to mix it up around here, in terms of playtime. I took my toddler out to a little kid's play place for drop-in play, and he played and had fun. Didn't want to leave. I finally got him to leave by suggesting we go out for a boys-n-Mom date to a little local pastry shop that happens to serve sandwiches. All you have to do is mention "pastry" to my eldest. He gets it.

We made our way down to said pastry shop (that happens to serve sandwiches.) I have my toddler, who has promised me he'll stay with me. I have my infant, too heavy to lift in the car carrier, but loaded in the car carrier. I'm not Super Mom, you know. I need carrying vessels for the ol' out-and-about.

I order us some sandwiches, my toddler and me. Let me take a moment and set the stage. It's a nice pastry shop, in fact it has "European style" in the heading of the store name. It's locally owned. It's close by. And it has pastry. Did I mention that? So it's popular, but not popular with the toddler-set. Popular with the gray-haired and retired set. Not that there's anything wrong with that. They're just a bit more...demure, that we are.

We take a seat, my toddler, infant in car carrier, and me. It's not a big place. But all the tables are full. You know, with the quiet, demure, retired folks. Who are quiet.

They are quiet and my toddler is tired from the playtime. Do you see where this is going? Oh, just fasten in.

The chairs are gorgeous. They have a beautiful little design on the back, which happen to be wrought-iron, and the design includes a little circle. Our sandwiches come. I get my toddler to take a bite. I take a bite. My toddler is up on his knees, relatively safe. (Relative to, say, the elder statesmen nearby.)

My infant squeaks. I bend down to tend to him. At the same time, my toddler sticks his entire arm through the little hole in the back of the chair. He then shifts his weight back, and CRASH!--over goes the chair. But remember, his arm is stuck through it. So his little arm is pinned under the chair, which is knocked over backwards. He starts screeching. I would too, but remember the demure setting I described? Shattered. I'm that Mom.

I jump up, to right the chair as I disentangle my toddler's arm from the hole in the back of the chair. I don't care what everyone thinks. He's screaming, really in pain. I'm thinking of taking him to the emergency room. Then, several things happen.

I examine the arm, which does not appear to be broken. Several pastry shop workers rush over, one with ice, one with a towel. A towel, she explains politely, to mop up the water gushing over the table?

Wait. Water? What water?

Oh, the water that gushed out from the vase of flowers that got tipped over when I jumped up. The same water that is gushing over the edge of the table and into the car carrier, where my sweet, innocent infant is strapped in. Helplessly trapped. The nice, calm pastry shop worker mops up the table, then smiles at me and mops up infant. And his car carrier.

Back to the arm. I'm holding ice to it, and the owner steps out from the kitchen, where she single-handedly made the hurt go away by presenting four delicate little butterfly cookies. Just for him. He takes one, and stops crying because he no longer remembers he is in pain. I check the arm. It's a little red, and they'll probably question my mothering skills at preschool Monday when they see the bruise, but he's okay.

He's okay. I'm okay. My infant is okay, smiling actually, and the butterfly cookies are good.

I don't actually remember leaving. I'm pretty sure we did, though. And I'm pretty certain my toddler got whatever else he wanted that day.

In Memory

2010-04-15T19:51:00.000-07:00

Three years ago today, we lost a dear friend of ours to a tragic and sudden car accident.

Just a moment. And all the world changed, forever.

I'd like to observe a moment of silence, virtually and reality. (No comments here please.)

We miss you Rachel.

The Sands of Time

2010-04-06T18:43:00.000-07:00

At the risk of sounding like a broken record, sometimes life is funny. There are ups and there are downs. Everyone has periods of self-pity. Self-doubt. Self-reliance. Periods where it seems like life is easy street and there can be no easier way to live, and periods where it becomes difficult to look past the end of the day. And it cycles back onto itself and repeats. Wash, rinse, repeat.

Time is at such a premium in my life right now, that I cannot think back to a time when I valued a few "free" minutes as much as I do right now. Minutes or hours, or weeks for that matter, seem to flee from me like their lives were in danger. And they are. Those minutes don't stand a chance with babies to feed. And toddlers to entertain with rice and sand soup, which is what my toddler treated me to this afternoon.

I had those free minutes last week, when we were on vacation at the beach. A few, glorious, unadulterated, breathtaking minutes. I think it was around 45, in total. I had many pairs of arms around to help with the various and sundry tasks that are usually mine alone, and I was told to "Just Go" (for a run.) But--what if he gets hungry? (Go) What time is dinner again? (Go) Where did I stick the iPod? (Go!)

And so I went. I ran with a strong tailwind behind me, pushing me, lifting me further and further from my daily obligations, my 2.5-foot high charge and my cherubic, demanding infant. Pushing me further from my origin, my home base, my known quantity. Clear thoughts pushed their way through my foggy, sleep-deprived, career-confused mind as the music grabbed hold of my feet pounding along the sand. I stole glances at the ocean, which seemed simultaneously demanding, and demure.

I thought about the past, major life choices that I made in a 30-second conversation with a co-worker. I thought about mistakes, broken promises to myself, and the New Year's resolution I was just starting by running. I thought about my heart, and what it was telling me, and the future. What was important, and what was not. I thanked God for the Present moment, the ability to recognize the moment for what it was. And I ran.

And at some point, I had to turn around. I had to return from whence I came, and ... I was tired. I headed back, only then realizing how far I had run. Turning around, I was hit by a very strong headwind.

A strong headwind called Reality.

Bamboo Shoots the Breeze

2010-03-17T10:41:00.001-07:00

I'm averaging just a post a week now, with kids taking over daily life, and photoblogging pulling me in another direction. But the written word keeps calling as well.

Having children is overwhelming, for so many reasons. They become our world, and ours theirs, and, rather than re-creating another episode of Toddlers Say the Darndest Things, I'll simply get to my point: Children enrich our lives in a way not possible by any other means.

I think, these days, Stay-at-Home-Moms feel pressure to return to work outside of the home, even if we don't have a job to return to. Many Moms I know work part-time but remain the primary care-givers and attendees of playgroup, shuttling everyone around and registering for music and sports programs. Oh yeah! And working. We really try to do it all, and if we don't do it all, we feel pressure to do it all.

At playgroup yesterday, the hosting Mom was explaining what all the treats were she'd laid out.. then she got a call about the deposition she had to do in the morning. Another Mom I know was in Mexico City last week for a conference.

I suppose I've made a certain kind of peace with my status. I suppose. But not enough to keep me from writing about it.

Back to the overall point. I've been making a point to point out things to my 2.5 year old. How big the yellow school bus is up close. How the sky is cloudless now and there's no snow or rain, and little green shoots are popping up. Garbage trucks (okay. He points those out.) I've noticed the careful way he listens to me, looking off toward the horizon, and I can actually see the thoughts tumbling around in his head starting to form structured patterns, ideas, and conclusions. And it's amazing.

A few minutes ago, I was reading him passages from two grown-up books he snagged off our bookshelf: one on Marcus Aurelius of Roman rule, and a book about the inspiration and act of writing (Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott.) He, being a toddler, got bored after a page or two, and said he had an email from Papa (Grandpa.) Absentmindedly putting the books away, I said,
"You know, email wasn't even around when Mommy was a kid."
He looked up at me, understanding completely, and said, "And when I was a baby it wasn't around. A long, long time ago."

When Mommy was a kid was a very long time ago, and when he was a baby was a very long time ago. By the transitive property of equality...

There are those that would still argue with me that this is just a fun twist on an otherwise really boring lifestyle. And that may be true. But just now, when I went in to remind him one more time what we do at naptime, he asked me if I knew what Pandas eat.

"Do you know what they eat?" I asked, knowing the answer.
He beamed at me. "Bamboo!"

Right again.

The Big Push

2010-03-04T17:57:00.001-08:00

Ugh. This life thing is really getting in the way of blogging. Anyone else feeling that pain?

The other day, when I was released to the wild for a blissful 2.5 hours for a lunch downtown in Northwest D.C., I got to ride home. All... by... myself. So, I cranked the radio (of course.) Sang like nobody could hear me (nobody could.) And thought free thoughts about my life (for a period of minutes which felt like days.)

For too long, I've been making excuses. I've been on the edge of the bridge for some time now, looking down into the gorge, which--trust me! Is steep! Like, picture.... a bungee jumping commercial. Or Victoria Falls.

But I'm tired of hanging on to the edge of the bridge. I came from one side of the bridge.. where there was money and prosperity, a big city with nice restaurants, neighbors that drove Ferraris and constant conspicuous consumption. Trust me, it's so easy to hop back up on the bridge and start trucking back into town. I could hitchhike with the next 7-series I see.

Continue on the other direction over the bridge and you find...maybe a calm, peaceful pond with a few frogs croaking, crickets chirping. Many crickets, actually.. similar to the noise used on cartoons to denote exaggerated silence.

[cue crickets]

So, with a deep breath, one last look in any direction but down towards the roaring rapids, I go! Why not? Nobody's going to push me. I keep looking behind me for that push, and nobody's there!

For further explanation, see my photo blog, where I have begun portfolio building betwixt life chronicling. Portfolio building-->shooting friends-->shooting clients-->starting small business of my own. That's the rub.

A-B-Charming

2010-02-26T11:44:00.000-08:00

If Calculus is the study of change, then toddlers are the study of discovery.

A little while ago, my Mom introduced my toddler to a website that helps preschoolers learn their ABCs, "Starfall". He loved it and asked for it often every time he caught sight of anyone's laptop. Many times I found myself explaining that you had to "go" there, it was a "website", it wasn't always on as soon as we looked at the computer.

Many weeks have passed since he's last played it.

This morning, I was checking my email while eating breakfast (while doing four other tasks, a necessity to which any Mom can relate.)

My toddler sidled up to me and asked to play the ABCs on the computer. I managed to rebuff him for a moment.

"I want to play ABCs!"
"Not right now, sweetie, we have to get dressed."
"I want to play ABCs! Please!"
"Not right now, sweetie, I'm almost done here, it's time to clean up breakfast/get baby A up/[fill in normal task here]."
"I want to play ABCs dot com! Pleeeease!"
"Did you just say 'dot com'?"
[Smile]

He got to play. For a toddler minute.

Adventures in Storage

2010-02-22T10:59:00.000-08:00

Everyone that has a toddler knows the challenges of having a toddler.

And everyone that has a toddler knows the joy. The question is always, does the joy become the bridge over Challenges River? Can you learn to love something as simple as say, discovering you have pockets?

On Sunday, we went for a very enjoyable, albeit lengthy brunch with a dear friend of mine. All four of us.. baby and toddler in tow. We stayed a little longer than we'd planned, so when he ran out of food, toy trucks and other people, my toddler started entertaining himself with the little packets of jam and jelly on the table. He'd twirl them around, try to open them, guess what was inside... and I'm sure many other pretend things we weren't privy to.

His Dad was a co-conspirator, I found out later.

So we're in the car on the way home. He was tired. Very tired and worn out. After a few minutes of a quiet ride, from the back seat, we began to hear a very faint, quiet toddler voice say:

"I'm.........Not..........Saying anything. I'm not........Saying anything. I'm not saying..... Anything."

My husband and I exchanged a glance, both puzzled. Then we glanced back at my son, and burst out laughing. My husband held out his hand, and asked for my toddler to hand him the packet of Strawberry jam that he'd made off with. Unbeknown to us.

He'd stowed it in his jacket pocket.

Thanks Be to the Moment

2010-02-16T09:46:00.000-08:00

I've been thinking a lot lately about what life was like before I had kids.

I'm having a lot of trouble.

Did it exist? Was I really like these 20-somethings I see frittering away their time at Starbucks, and the bookstore, and on their iPhones, on blogs? (I realize I sound like I'm 100.) I'm sure I did my fair share of frittering. I was probably a master fritterer. If they offered a Master's course in How to Effectively Fritter, I'd have been the TA.

I'd fritter and waste the hours in an off-hand way. (Roger Waters, Pink Floyd.)

I think I thought more about what kind of shoes to wear with my new jeans than I did about whether I could stomach a minivan purchase. Or whether I'd actually wear the black leather pants from Banana Republic. I'm pretty sure I never got the "Dora the Explorer" map song stuck in my head. Or ground-up Kix on my car seat. Or distraught that a minivan purchase would be determined inevitable, once we checked the "more than one child" box.

I definitely didn't jump when I heard my infant on the baby monitor. (Just did.)

But I have two unbelievably beautiful sons. I have a husband so amazing that poetry and all the words in Webster's dictionary wouldn't explain it. And sometimes, with amazing gifts as these, it's easy to get caught in the day-to-day.

So, recently my husband and I have been doing something fun to remind each other of this fact.. to bring us back to this critical recognition.

Last night at dinner, our 3-month old baby was sitting on his lap, watching my husband's plate and moving fork with acute concentration. Our toddler, when he determined (himself) to be done with requisite "eating", got down and started playing on the floor.

My husband, with a wink, said to me, "do you remember when baby A would sit attentively on my lap, just being adorable, and our Toddler would entertain himself while we quietly finished dinner?"

Immediately I relished the moment. We both did. It was [relatively] quiet. Calm. Peaceful. Joyful. We seized upon this and each, in our own way, thanked our lucky stars.

Reversion to the Snow

2010-02-10T15:13:00.000-08:00

Ok, strap in for this post. Try to follow my logic.

It's commonly known that toddlers revert to what is familiar when faced with an uncertain situation. Something scary. Or the Unknown. My toddler is the perfect example of this. When he isn't feeling well, like this morning, and I move, for example, the humidifier from across the room to a new spot, he demands that it be put back where it was. It's rightful spot.

A new music class might land him sitting in my lap (instead of bolting away from me, his normal modus operandi) or begging to be "UP!" He is the most independent little man this side of the Mississippi. Except when the unfamiliar rears its ugly head.

Totally understandable, and normal, you understand. His world is pretty safe and secure, when it's predictable. We can all relate to that. Our.. Reversion to the mean.

Here in the Washington DC area, we've had one massive snow storm (past tense). Like, pounds and pounds of snow. Our gazebo is crushed, the glass table underneath shattered. Historic snow. Now, at press time, we are in the midst of another massive snow storm of historic proportion (present tense.) Once again we had fair warning, so back out to the stores, everyone in the Washington DC Metro area yesterday went. Including me.

Nary a gallon of milk was there to be found. Shelves empty, fervent store-goers with packed carts made their way furiously around the store, grabbing items they may or may not need in the next four days. And amazingly, among the desperate grabs for leftover turkey legs, corn relish and faux sausage that nobody really needs, there was a community.

Three other women were gathered around me in the store's elevator (this was an Arlington, VA store, which makes it fancy, which means it has two floors) and we all eyed each others' equally packed carts. There were friendly exchanges, smiles. One woman rolled her eyes and commented on the unbelievable amount of snow. Another woman said with kind eyes, "at least we're not in Haiti right now."

Checking out, I made affable chatter with the manager bagging my groceries (yes that's right.) We were from the same town. We started talking Carolina basketball (he went to rival NC State) and two other Dads from another aisle turned around and engaged us in basketball conversation. We were like family (since they brutally teased me about our lack of wins this year.)

All over our neighborhood, for the past four days, neighbors have helped neighbors. My husband was digging out a spot for my mother (the Saint) who came to help. The man who lived in the closest house came out to help him. We have a friend who helped countless passers by whose cars that got stuck outside their house, as we my husband has. Neighbors going out of their way to dig out an elderly person. Reaching out to those who lost power. People meeting those that live in very close proximity to their own home.. for the first time in years.

It's amazing, the human connections that have been made. The kind souls going out of their way to help others in need. Big catastrophes bring out the worst of the weather, and the best in us, it would seem.

I like to think this is the true nature of Man. That when faced with adversity, or a little snow.. or a whole heck of a lot of snow, we come together to help each other. Through it, around it, keeping our cars and roads dug out and spirits lifted. I like to think this is our own way of retreating back to what is natural.

Our Reversion to the Mean.

Blogging: Better for Aging

2010-02-03T11:39:00.001-08:00

They say using your brain, as you get older, helps your brain. Makes sense.
Improves memory, mental agility, yadda yadda.

I'm here to say that blogging, when taken as directed, greatly improves memory and brain function. Why? Because all day long, when you have a tremendously epiphanous thought, and immediately think, "I must blog about this thought," but are, say, in the middle of a shower.. Or racing to get the potty under a toddler bottom when he needs to go. Or balancing Starbucks while climbing your steps with a babe-in-arms. Or walking around, patting him on the back, until he begins to close his drowsy eyes. When those moments happen, it is imperative to file away that momentous thought!

So will I? Can I? Is it possible to relate that great thought from this morning? Let's try.

I wasn't born to be a Stay-at-Home-Mom. I just wasn't. Some mothers were.. and it shows, in their uncanny ability to weave a handmade basket while knitting a scarf, scrap-booking with their other hand while cooking dinner and helping their toddler(s) make play-doh sculptures.

I feel proud when I get my teeth brushed, and it's before 9:00 AM.

But here's how I know God had a plan. When we moved away from promising careers working in banks (oh, WAIT a minute) in 2004, I had a few offers of employment in Charlottesville, VA. Our new town, for two years. I had an offer from a large-ish, reputable financial firm, and it was generous in salary but weak on time off.

I also had an offer from a non-profit. Working for the CFO. A very interesting job with very interesting people with illustrious backgrounds in enjoying life and being intellectual.

Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.
Money, or save the world? I chose to save the world.

That didn't work out. It did lead to another venture, working for a small Internet start-up in the finance realm, but was destined to end when we moved away. Then I got pregnant with our first son. Upon having him, I also didn't so much.. have .. a "job". Not exactly the time to go look for one, eh? And now t'ain't either.

It will be another blog post where I describe just how incredible this little tiny 2-1/2 year old mini-adult human really is, and how much he's changed our lives. Our goals. Our attitudes. What's important in life.. day-to-day, and as the weeks stack up on each other, leading to months and years.

But for whatever reason, God intended for me to be home every single day with this adorable and brilliant little man, and his adorable, cherubic baby brother. I can't question that, now or ever.

It's No Sacrifice

2010-01-31T06:45:00.001-08:00

I know, now you'll have that Elton John song in your head. There are worse things.

I've been diligently posting photos to my photo blog, nearly every day, which of course, entails 1) finding the shot, 2) taking the shot, 3) downloading the shots, and 4) posting one. How do I possibly find the time to do this, you ask? (You don't have to ask, I've been asking myself that lately.)

Well, the truth is, I don't. I do it while I'm holding a nearly 3-month old baby. While I'm convincing my toddler to use the potty to make his whoa (don't ask.) While I'm eating over the counter, paying bills online, inhaling lunch/breakfast/dinner, and collapsing on the couch at night.

And, at the sacrifice, I'm afraid, of this blog.

The funny thing about passion is you don't always know it's a passion until it starts to define you. And I suppose, in a way, the visual representation of life has always defined me. In high school, I wanted to be yearbook photographer (wanting to achieve goals without actually achieving them has also always defined me. If I can't say it on my blog..)

In college, I was a film major. Of all the thousands of things I could have chosen to focus on, I chose the one path in which it was absolutely necessary to move to L.A. upon graduation to pursue. Practical? No.

I have now, finally, after much deliberation, consternation, fascination, and absolution, begun my own photo blog. To further delve into and define my passion.

That is where I begin, and I hope--let's all hope, for the continuity of passion in this good World, that I wind up somewhere completely different.

There's Really No Time for THIS

2010-01-25T12:50:00.000-08:00

I'm drowning, I'm suffocating, at times I cannot breathe..

Or move, or stop moving, in some cases free.
Move the blanket the wrong way and he wakes up.
Stop dancing him around to my iPod, he wakes up.
Chants of 'keep going' in my head
Toddler indignant yells from his wakeful toddler bed.

I would say I'm losing my mind
But I'm not fully confident that it didn't
already happen.

Keep me going, keep me running, keep me coming back for more.
My cherubs, my charges, my glorious core.

The Perspective of Tone

2010-01-18T11:27:00.000-08:00

Lately I've been thinking about perspective. How much it changes with time, how much it changes us. It's impossible not to have any, yet very difficult to summon. Especially when trying to live at the current moment; of which, not doing so, of course, is impossible.

As an interesting side note, I started this post on 1/12/10.

I think I lost it for a while there, Perspective. Just before I had my 2nd son in November... my whole life was Life As Mom. I never had a great surprise party for turning 30, no collegial late 20s--that glorious Purgatory before a serious mortgage but after the impressionable early 20s. I was never in college, in teenage angst, and certainly not listening to Pink Floyd as a precocious pre-teen. My entire Being was always centered around shuttling someone around and being at a little person's beck and call.

Wait, that's not right, is it? Have I always had someone else in the #1 spot? Of course not. But it seems that way sometimes, the reversal of life's focus so complete. So complete that not one square inch of my car interior doesn't show some effect of a toddler being captive inside much of the time. So complete that phone conversations with friends invariably involve the mysteries of the toddler mind, and denigrate to poop. Lack of sleep means I hang up without ever saying the reason I called.

Even my brain is unrecognizable. I used to remember stuff. I used to think about subjects like economics, and statistics. And going out at night. And .. I wrote more regularly! (Though, ironically, in an actual diary.)

A good way to bring my Perspective, that elusive and eloquent elf, back in the foreground, is music. A song from a particular point in my life can bring me right back to the exact moment in which I had the luxury of time to enjoy it. Listening to Pink Floyd in my bathroom growing up. To Live in my first-year college dorm room. To something poppy, like Puff Daddy, in my early 20s. Dave Matthews can bring me back to many various late-20/early-30 situations, like dancing around my living room with wild abandon and flying arms and legs. Small, unknown alternative bands like Carbon Leaf can take me back to Charlottesville in 2005.

Most importantly, Van Morrison and Into the Mystic can transport me, emotional and pregnant for the first time into sitting at my desk, working from home in Fall 2006, and to two weeks ago. When I held my toddler tightly in my arms and danced him wildly around the kitchen, to squeals of laughter.

It's just that I hadn't had the chorus of laughter until now.

A Formal Invitation: F&P365

2010-01-12T13:27:00.000-08:00

I have a new project. Not my newborn, though he is very much a project. Not myself. Though.....

Please, please come visit my new photoblog, Fingers&Paws365. I'm not begging, but I will promise you that for every comment, I'll exchange one quality visit and comment on your blog in return. And $500. Just kidding.

I do thrive on feedback, so please... help a sister out. And subject ideas welcome!

http://fingersandpaws365.blogspot.com

I Blog, Therefore I Am Sane.

2010-01-08T11:32:00.000-08:00

Or, am I? Just a quick poem about the week from hell.

Snow Shine

Welcome winter doldrums
With open arms
Ne'er grow shall the green grass
How many times:
This too shall pass?

Unholy melancholy melts
The aftershock of leftover snow
Biting tongue at toddler crass
How many times,
This too shall pass.

Wake up and begin anew
Reminders of forgotten hues
Congratulating temper-less feuds
Too many times,
This too shall pass.

Bright sun gleams, reflects
Mirror-like on blinding snow
Easing pains relinquish teeth that gnash
It is true.
This too, shall pass.

Welcome to Decade Deuce

2010-01-03T18:53:00.000-08:00

A lightning quick post, just to get the "2010" added to my archive list.

Just kidding.

Another resolution. To be true to my original intention in starting a blog, and actually write, regardless of what is going on in life that might prevent that. Twice weekly, as a minimum. I know blogland will hold me accountable; even if I cannot be accountable to myself.

And - news flash to my Facebook friends; though posts are automatically imported into Facebook, this is actually a real blog. Check it out!

Happy Trails, Decade!

2009-12-31T12:19:00.000-08:00

It turns out, it's pretty easy to get one's family to read your blog. Just blog about them!

The fallout from my last post was far-reaching.. extended family far. So, not that far. But I'm glad for the discussion; it was healthy. And it's nice to know my family will be faithful readers now. You know. Just in case.

It's New Year's Eve, and that means one thing. Many things! Another year. Another decade, gone. Vapor. I could talk about how hard that is to believe, how time starts to sprout wings and fly when kids stamp out time for you. I could talk about my resolutions, all the things I resolve to do for 2010. Lose the baby weight. Remember my coupons. Repay the kindness the friends and neighbors have showered upon us for our newborn treasure. I could talk about whether we'll say "Twenty-Ten" or "Two-thousand and ten."

But that would be boring. Let's talk about... something much more pleasant. Hopes and dreams.

In my life, in my mind's eye, I'm constantly capturing mental snapshots of little moments, big moments, the light in my toddler's twinkling eye, the colors of the sky just before the sun goes down, my husband's grin when he's made me laugh so hard I can't speak, the love I see looking back at me from my parents' eyes, our wedding guests' faces, beaming at us. To reference the last post, the way my brother stopped my self-pity in its tracks when he stood stoic on my sidewalk, telling me to stay happy in the face of whatever life throws. Pausing in the chaos that is my family, allowing me once again to be thankful from whence I came, and the family that loves me.

Mental snapshots are fine. Are important, to draw upon whenever needed. But every now and again, you want the real thing.

Now, I will have that chance. For Christmas this year, the angels (and my husband) heard my pleas and answered them.. in the form of a digital SLR (single lens reflex) camera. The kind that can capture what the eye really sees. When you see a great photograph, it was probably taken with an SLR. I've been using [real] film until now, and the 90s called. They wanted their pains in the asses back.

So, with that. Here is my boring resolution. I resolve to release those hopes and dreams from their metaphoric cages, and start shooting. Really shooting. I resolve to begin a Photo365 project, form a partnership with the network of photographerbloggers out there who inspire and critique, celebrate one anothers' work. Hopefully I'll follow a different inspiration every day, but certainly, my adorable cherubs will adorn the digital walls.

Come visit. Tell me what you think. Including you, O Facebook Friends! I'll post the url in my next post here. Maybe that will make me feel free. And official.

Click!

Family Ties

2009-12-02T12:00:00.000-08:00

The thing about family is you can't choose them.

You might be tempted to choose differently, at the moment when they drive you the most insane, at the height of the insanity, when the emotions are high, nobody is listening to anyone else and above all else, nobody cares what anyone else is saying (just that they themselves are heard.)

I was listening to an interesting interview on the Diane Rehm show on NPR, when she asked the inviting question, (paraphrased) "why is it that we can pour our hearts out to our friends, but when it comes to family members, it's so much harder?"

My family is a little crazier than other families. Take the morning after Thanksgiving, for example. Let me rephrase. The morning after hosting five adults and a couple of small children in a one-bathroom house for 24 hours. Let me rephrase. The morning after five adults and two small children and two 70-lb dogs crammed into a tiny kitchen around a tiny round table, feasting on turkey, memories, and each others' company. Let me rephrase. I had a glass of wine for the first time since February of this year.

I come from a very unique family. Everyone loves to talk, hear themselves talk, and espouse on various scientific and sociological theories. Don't get me wrong - it's generally very stimulating conversation. Often heated. Seldom quiet.

When it comes to the "day's plan", it tends to be a free-for-all at holiday gatherings. Okay, at all gatherings. Thanksgiving Day is no exception, nor, to bring us up to speed, is the day after. My father disappeared and re-appeared. My brother made off to the nearest Starbucks for a cup. I was at my wit's end, trying to nurse a newborn baby, entertain and calm an increasingly desperate-for-attention 2.5 year old toddler BOY, whilst keeping voices down so as to not wake the baby. And we're still in the post-postpartum stage, remember? Meaning... my emotions are still a bit fresh.

I wanted to get out of the house. I needed some human interaction (besides that of a 3-week old.) I hadn't exactly chosen this path, of playing hostess after playing patient after playing I'm-more-pregnant-than-anyone-should-ever-be bit role in my family's chaotic drama. Why didn't anyone understand that?

They did. They got me out of the house. To Starbuck's, and, mercifully, to a Tall (Skinny) Light-Whip Mocha. Apparently I wasn't smiling a whole lot through the course of the morning. I did have a lot going on, and sleep is sort of a thing of the past.

But all good things must end and brothers must be driven to the airport. It was the far airport, and he was leaving on Black Friday. Biggest shopping day of the year. My parents couldn't agree on which was the best way to take him, even though neither of them knew and needed for me to tell them. My father decided he had to take my brother to the airport, to ensure he was there three hours early. My mother decided she had to go, to ensure my father drove the right way. I bid them all farewell.

My brother grabbed me for one more bear hug and pointed at me and said, looking forcefully into my eyes, "You. Stay Happy."

I made my way back up our steps, back up to our temporarily smaller version of chaos of just managing two kids. I had tears in my eyes. He did get it. They did get it. My family did understand, and more importantly, they loved me.

The thing about family is you can't choose them. But I come back to the same truth, over and over again.

I'd choose them every time.

These Are the Moments

2009-11-11T18:33:00.000-08:00

Anticipation
Frustration
Anxiety
Reservation

Waiting, subdued, in and out of reality
Surreal, frail, in anothers' hands
Presuming finality

A moment
One moment
Quiet - too quiet
Another moment
The earth pauses.

God works again. And again.
You cry. Cold room, warm hands.
Then -
Voices you recognize.
Quiet. One more
moment.
Looking into our eyes

For the first time.

A baby boy! Born 11/5/09, 8 lbs, 9 oz and 20 in long.
Healthy. Full head of hair.
More soon.

Hawk-Like Zen

2009-10-27T19:05:00.000-07:00

Contrary to what you, oh loyal readers (and Facebook friends who happened to catch this on your news reel) are thinking, I do blog every day. Lately it's been just in my head, but nevertheless! I am "mind" writing. It's something!

I was filling up my car with gas a few days ago, toddler in the back seat chatting away at how blue the sky was, and I had the thought that the exercise I was currently engaged in would be a raging success if I just managed to put regular gas, and not diesel, into the car.

I am one week and two days away from having another baby. November 5th, my husband and I will be getting up miserably early to check into the hospital, bitterly without our adorable but banned-from-the-hospital-because-of-H1N1-fears toddler, and hours later our 2nd child will be brought into the world by the very modern c-section. He/she is ready now. That has been made clear.

So, I sleep (not really.) And I wake (not very well.) In and out of consciousness. Most of my waking toddler-free moments are being spent on a very large fundraiser for a very large non-profit volunteer organization, which, at times, I curse is not paying me for my solid part-time-job hours. Other times I'm thankful I have the privilege of working with such amazing and quality women.

Amid the sleepless nights, the massive volunteer hours, the preschool back and forth, and general running of one's own massive frame and a 2+ year old's life, we decided to throw construction and finance into the mix. We did some renovation on our house to add a nursery, and decided a last-minute refinance was within our capacity.

In between, we've gotten nursery walls painted. Toddler beds purchased. Baby clothes and gear set up. Fundraising. Cooking. Hosting. Cleaning. Okay, that last one is a lie, which I have to admit since my husband reads my blog.

We've been eating meals with a side of crazy.

But a week ago, my toddler, now a wise old 2-1/4 years old, and I were sitting on the front porch, just having some fun with bubbles. Dipping, blowing, making bubbles and giggles appear out of nowhere. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a hawk soaring over our heads, and brought my toddler's attention to it.

He looked up, and I caught the wonder in his sparkling blue eyes. He watched the hawk soaring, circling, looking for something. The sky was crystal clear blue, the bubble wand motionless in mid-air. I followed his gaze and watched the delicate balance of wind, the twitching of a wing feather. It was a complete moment. A moment without rush, or cause, or ability to be undermined by chaos going on around us. Swoops, gentle arcs, a slight dip of a wing. Were they figure eights? Just above the tops of the gorgeous trees, ever-changing with Fall.

Watching him, watching the hawk. I saw him connect in that moment, learning, experiencing something new that I had shown him, and was momentarily overwhelmed with the emotion that is parenting.

It was Zen. A perfect moment, shared fully, quietly, completely. I looked over at a nearby bush, and the bubbles had settled on the top, watching.. waiting. Quietly.

I Write. Therefore, I Am.

2009-09-30T08:05:00.001-07:00

I crumple up the little brown bag containing the rest of the cranberry muffin. How dare I eat even that much of it? The door behind me swings open again, tiny bells jingling. Footsteps across the raised hardwoods remind me of something distant, probably a childhood memory of some retail store of my youth. People traverse the well-worn path from the door to the register, back and forth, either scurrying off in a respectable hurry or resting with a friend.. or an associate.

Something has been in the back of my mind lately, something bugging me. I can never quite pinpoint its exact location in my brain long enough to grab hold of it. It slips away again and I move on.

The skinny decaf Peppermint Mocha is doing its trick for me. The smiling baristas greet everyone with renewed enthusiasm upon each new encounter; perhaps giddy from working for a locally owned coffee shop and still in possession of their soul.

The quick-paced conversation going on directly ~~in my left ear~~ behind me has veered off of its professional course and is focused on the gathering of acorns. This is so refreshing. I pause to think about the squirrels gathering acorns in our yard (at the present moment only. They are given a dog-free chance to gather but a few hours a day. The dogs, definitely ticked off and mildly defiant, are no doubt counting down the seconds until they reunite with the squirrel population, once again safely overhead in the majestic trees.)

Something I must do. What was it? The 20 or so hours a week I'm putting into this volunteer fundraiser already has 15 reminders popping up, can't be that. I remembered to set up a scandalous baby #2 registry yesterday (scandalous because how dare we purge the house of larger gear after baby #1? Should we not be prepared this time?) When, in fact, the easy answer to that is.. NO.

My three hours of freedom are nearly up. I look up and around, holding on to each moment of clarity. I focus my attention on the energy slowly building back up within me, propelling me forward to lift my toddler from the ground into the air. Enabling me to lavish my entire energy stores on his happiness. Forging me through the pregnancy-induced sleep deprivation, the lonely 4am hour of the night, chasing me into submission of putting on -- and believing -- the smiling happy face to my smiling happy son.

The baristas have caught a break. A lull in the constant flow of footsteps across the hardwoods. I pause for a moment to quell the myriad of importances in the forefront of my mind. What was that thing I needed to do?

Ah yes. Write about it.

La Vie Boheme

2009-09-17T19:12:00.000-07:00

I've written this post so many times, over and over in my head. I like to think that's how writers "think". But most writers follow that with actual writing. I've continued to blog in my head, the obvious issue with that being that all of you are not, sadly and joyously, in my head. Imagine that ~~living nightmare~~ , if you would.

And, for my Facebook readers, please know you are reading my BLOG, it just so happens that I embraced our A.D.D.-generation and it automatically imports to FB for you. No clicks necessary! But (warning bells), I'm thinking of changing that.

Today I can wait no longer. Why have I not put ink to paper in so long? Or fingertip to delicate tapping sound?

I need to write that post on our vacation in Ithaca. How it wasn't all that I'd planned. How life happened, and the extra appendage known as Toddler was still that. How I still felt that need to break free of... my own life. When my Mom took us to see Rent, and, upon watching the stunning closing number, feeling the sudden rise of emotion, uncontrollable, unfettered emotion, upon realization that life really is measured in love? That above all else, no matter the frustrations and agony that is the human existence, love is what is measured? What else do we take with us?

My frustration of late, which I share so readily here, has been the one-ness of my life. The constant-ness of being solely in charge of a two-year old life (okay, not solely*. But I don't always have The Village around me when I need it!)

There have been few times in my life when I wanted to be alone. As a kid, I was never alone. I didn't live alone in college. I hated living alone for a two-month period after college, and bent over backwards to get out of that house, and town, to have a roommate again. I wouldn't go get a bite to eat by myself. I would never consider going to see a movie alone. Never, ever. Death!

I have been, and until recently believed myself to always BE, a true Extrovert by Myers-Briggs standards. Preference: People.

Having a constant, two-foot high companion (at times, appendage) definitely has made me yearn for the times when I am completely. And utterly. Alone. Being bossed around by a two-foot-high stack of concentrated energy actually takes a lot out of a person. Let alone a person carrying another person around in utero.

Don't get me wrong. I always respected those confident-looking coffee shop dwellers engrossed in their books. I just wanted to be engrossed in conversation with them.

On Wednesday this week, otherwise known as NewFreedom Day, my toddler went to preschool for 3 hours in the morning. Ironically, as duty would have it I had to appear at the doctor's office, where I jubilantly read the paper in the waiting room. The paper! But in running my requisite solo errands thereafter, I found myself on a bit of a high. An alone high. Happy to just be. Alone. Inconceivable!

The Moms are supposed to hide as the two's come down the hallway from the playground, so we don't distract them from their line-forming concentration. We hid. I peeked. I spotted my toddler, following the direction of the teachers, in a line of two-foot high people. Looking up at times, bewildered. Furrowing his brow, making his miniature way in the world. Obviously pooped from the stimulation that is toddler-hood.

It happened. Tears came to my eyes. I missed him. I missed him so much, in my alone-ness. My reconvening with my independent Self. I couldn't wait to catch up with him. After three hours.

* Because my husband reads my blog.

Why Sleep Deprivation (Like Drugs) Is Bad

2009-08-21T10:44:00.000-07:00

So, yesterday, the absolutely unthinkable happened to me. Whenever 911 is involved, I tend to think it's "unthinkable".

I'm not one of those people that loses her keys. Ever. And I'm certainly not one of those people that locks her keys in her car. Ever.

It had been a rough morning. My little guy was being a bossy, demanding two-year old, as two-year olds will. I decided the cure for what ailed us what getting out of the house, maybe a zip of caffeine. I decided to meet a Mom for story time at the local library, but I was exhausted and tired from lack of sleeping at night. My toddler and I ran into Starbucks to get my something with zip (Vivanno), and a kid milk. Once outside, I proceeded to toss his kid milk onto the sidewalk, and was instantly furious with myself; there was 1/2 inch left in the cup. There was a quintessential hangs-out-a-lot-at-coffee shops dude with his laptop, surveying the damage. I stuck the two drinks on the car hood, strapped Toddler into his car seat and was going to offer the last 1/2 inch of milk to him.

Because, you know, couldn't waste a penny more than had already been splattered over the sidewalk.

I fumbled the two drinks, local paper, and my purse.. then proceeded to throw what remained of the milk onto the passenger side seat and door panel.. milk was everywhere on the passenger side, all over the glass, all over the seat, and most importantly, the door panel. I tossed my purse and keys, Vivanno, and paper onto the passenger seat, grabbed some napkins and started wiping down the car. I was so furious with myself, so I wiped it down hard, setting in motion the next chain of events.

I had no idea what was coming.

I finished the wiping, and someone was trying to pull into the parking spot beside me, so I slammed the door shut. I tried my toddler's door, to check on him. Locked. Tried the passenger door. Locked. Raced around to the driver's side, locked. MY TWO YEAR OLD WAS LOCKED INSIDE WITH MY CELL PHONE AND KEYS. It is probably 89 degrees outside.

I started repeating the mantra "OHMIGOD, OHMIGOD, OHMIGOD" loudly, and out of nowhere, like an angel, a Mom appeared with her cell phone, muttering something about how it was falling apart, telling me to call someone. It was pink. The back was falling off. The words she was saying barely registered.

I called my husband. We figured out it would be a minimum 30 mins for him to make it with the spare key, so I called 911. As I dialed, crazy, irrelevant thoughts raced through my brain. The only other time I'd called 911 was to report a smoking vehicle on the highway. Would they think this was, in fact, an emergency? Or some crazed overprotective Mom who was two shots short of a latte? Was this phone going to hold together? Why was her phone pink?

The fire department and police showed up in about TWO minutes. I watched the big red shiny fire truck pull up and told myself this wasn't happening. Then I told my toddler, through the window, helplessly strapped into the carseat, that there was a big red shiny firetruck behind him. He raised his eyebrows, tried to crane his neck.

Every minute that ticked by was an eternity. The firemen worked like clockwork, gathering a group on each side of the car, each with a slim jim, successfully getting the wire into the car, but unable to pull the locks open. I parked myself outside my toddler's door, shielding him from the sun, began to sing him "Twinkle Twinkle", and then I saw it. The open mouthed, noiseless wail of a hot, scared little boy. He looked at me in panic. "What are these men doing? Why are you out there? What are they doing to our car?"

I put my hand up on the glass, and really started to lose it. He was hot. He was really hot; little bullets of sweat were forming, breaking on his forehead, trickling into his open mouth. He kicked his shoes off, furious at his entrapment.

Something happened to me then. I cleared my voice, wiped my tears of helplessness, and said in a very loud, clear voice to the fireman with the slim jim exactly what the lock button looked like, where it was located, and how you must push it. A calm came over me that I still cannot explain. Enough was enough, we needed him out. Now.

They took 20 minutes to get the doors open, right as my husband showed up. The look I got from the husband was not one I wish to relive, that of pain. Tormented relief.

The very scary thing, and why I decided to share this, is how quickly my toddler got hot.. really hot. I was shielding him from the sun, and we have tinted windows in the back, and he was still sweating. PSA: Now you know why you have a duty if you ever see a kid locked inside a car on a hot day.

After the whole ordeal was over, a Mom that had witnessed it came over and gave me a hug and kiss and said she was there, crying with me. I hugged all of the firemen. It was quite a scene. Everyone was fine, including my toddler, whom we took inside Starbucks to get cooled off, where they gave him a free sample of sticky bun. Swinging his shoe-less feet, on my lap, sipping water.
He was good. It was ME that still needed to recover.

I didn't get him another kid's milk.

The Truth About Bees

2009-08-07T12:12:00.001-07:00

Have you ever watched a honeybee die? It's the saddest, most logical, sensical thing in the world.
Yesterday, I sat in an Adirondack chair, overlooking a gorgeous glacier-made lake, and watched a beautiful bumblebee die. Or, I can only imagine it was dying, it was acting strangely enough for anyone to misinterpret it as dying.. or crying, or possibly praying.

My family spends the summers on Cayuga Lake, in the Finger Lakes of upstate NY. This area has been described many ways by many people, but it is definitely gorgeous (to reference the bumper sticker.) So, sitting here with a good book during the Toddler's nap is actually a difficult venture.. do you watch the lake? Or stare at your book, thinking of watching the lake?

In this case, I watched the bumblebee, fully aware of the sheer luxury that is sitting in a chair and watching something for any amount of time. Trust me, I'm savoring it. I've had several Zen-moments on our trip up here, and this was one of them.

The most curious thing he (or she) did, as he was dying, was pause. S/He would stumble around, the very tip of the bee tail would slowly lift up, then down. Pause. Then quickly up and down. The wings would spread out, gather, spread out, as if searching for something; and just when he saw it, and was about to take flight after it, fatigue would set in and the search would begin anew.

For half an hour, I watched this dance. The invariable Dance with Death. Life as he knew it was ending, and it seemed a welcome change from the busy duties of beedom. But it made me immeasurably sad, to witness this slow demise, the creeping around, the slower flicks of the tail. At one point, I looked down, and I could see both giant bumblebee eyes, staring straight into mine. I know this seems a bit alliterative, because of the obvious: bees have no conscience thought, or wisdom, or ability to look us in the eye. Do they?

He crawled, wiggled, spread wings, danced, flicked tail, turned in circles, raised his antennae dutifully in attention, and I played his witness. The whole process seemed tragic, yes, very sad, but also redemptive. Logical. He had accomplished what he'd set out (let's assume), he had played his role in the great Universe with grace (let's presume) and - once the World was without this particular bee, life would resume.

Such a sadness, I felt, in watching him die slowly. To have the knowledge that this made sense, of course he was dying, that was bitter sweetness in its truth. I think we both came to the realization gradually, over time (since thirty minutes is quite a lot in bee-time.)

I found myself staring at the lake again. Thinking about the length of time we're here, about the life cycle of a bee. How much ground had he covered in his short time? My mind, wandering, immediately drew several connections. I'll share those another time. The lake was still a deep blue, the sky mirroring the color.

I looked back and he was gone.

RTT: Ruptured Toes and Tumbling

2009-07-28T12:36:00.001-07:00

Yes, I broke my left pinkie toe on Sunday. How random is that?! I actually did it just so I'd have something to post about for Random Tuesday thoughts. Um, no.

Let's recap a little. I'm pregnant. 25 weeks or so (I think? Who keeps track of these things,) which means my belly is OUT THERE. I have a two-year old toddler boy. Who likes to run away in the opposite direction, especially towards oncoming traffic.

We are leaving on our summer vacation on Friday.

So yes, this really could not be better timing, with the broken toe and all. I'll share a funny story about taking myself to the doctor for it on Monday, which all of you busy Moms (and everyone) can relate to.. since when we become adults, there just is not enough time to take ourselves to the doctor. And then we'll move on.
Primary Care Physician: "So, how did you do this?"
Me: "Welllll, I'm teaching this tumbling class to preschoolers on Sundays... and... "
PCP: "I see. Does this hurt? Yes? Okay, it's broken."
Me: [Under my breath swear word. Toddler is present. Taking the air vent out of the floor. Putting it back.]
PCP: "Since we don't cast for toes, no point in doing an x-ray. What you do, is just take an ice cream cone..."
Me: "Ice Cream Cone?" (She's Iranian. I know what she means, but want her to work for this co-pay today.)
PCP: "Yes, you take the thing, the stick, and put it behind.. then wrap the toes with the medical tape.. "
Me: "Do you have any of the medical tape here, we could wrap it now?"
PCP: [Laughing] "Oh, no. We aren't orthopedic surgeons." Silly patient.
Me: "Aha. So I get some medical tape and wrap the two toes? Anything for the pain?"
PCP: "Ah yes. You may take the aspirin."
Me: "Um, isn't it .. the Tylenol, I take, now that I'm close to the third trimester?"
PCP: "Right. Tylenol. NOT ibuprofen. In case you delivered today, you wouldn't stop bleeding."

Hm. I'm pretty sure there is a very rare but serious condition involving a hole in the fetal heart that will prematurely close if a pregnant Mom takes Ibuprofen, but I say nothing. Who am I?

In other random news, Jillian chose Ed. ED? Jillian, really? Ed, the cheese-face that wears tight green shorts from a 70s basketball team? Aarrrgh.

In other random news, did you all know that 'pinky' toe is actually spelled 'pinkie'? Fascinating.

Go see Keely for more actual randomness. My toe hurts too much to generate more randomness.

Writer's Workshop: Giddy as a School Girl

2009-07-23T12:08:00.000-07:00

3.) What are YOU giddy about? Mama Kat's third prompt was written for me today. I'm as giddy as a school girl.

Yesterday, I got a phone call that made me very happy.. excited.. ecstatic.. and, well, giddy. I have been chosen to be a Discussion Leader at the new Mom's social networking site, Moms Like Me. It's a pilot program, with localized Mom's sites up in cities all over the country, with topics geared to us, the Mom, and is just the perfect extension of my life. Check me (us) out!

My role will be to start discussions, reply to ongoing discussions, help users out with the site, welcome new users and help with site management monitoring. In short, it will be like breathing for me.

What do I do all day long? Check email. Talk to other Moms. Check blog comments. Talk to my toddler. Talk to my Mom friends' toddlers. Check the market. Complain about pregnancy discomforts. Chide the dogs for nabbing the pita bread off the counter while we were at the park. Eat. Talk about eating. Potty train. Play.

Ok, ok. I do other stuff too. But the point of all this is, I'm extremely excited to forge this new partnership, and yes.. I'm giddy like a school girl.

Full Disclosure: I am being compensated for my role at MLM.

That's right!!! Comp-en-sated! Let's just call it my first book deal!!

No, on second thought, let's climb back down the reality pole. But hey, it's a start!

RTT: It's Tuesday! (Is It Only Tuesday?)

2009-07-21T12:13:00.000-07:00

It just feels like more week has passed than that. I guess that means we have lives.

They say that when you have kids, life is never ever (ever) the same. I would surmise most new parents fight off this inevitable truth, but in our case, I would absolutely confirm it. Yesterday, I realized it's just not worth fighting. And we can all agree on how stupendously wonderful and worth it parenting is, but yes. We hand over the keys to our lives and our child promptly begins teething on them. Then hiding them. Then tossing them into drain covers. Then using them to drive the car.

Take yesterday, for example. I had three very in-depth, very detailed, very lengthy conversations about potty training with three people from very different aspects of my life: one near stranger, one new friend, and my husband. The conversations were essentially around the same theme: "Potty training is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you're going to get." Our lives really are not our own.

Have you ever seen that bumper sticker, "Commit Random Acts of Kindness?" What a Disaster if the K was rubbed off, and a passerby interpreted this as "Commit Random Acts of Blindness", walking out into oncoming traffic.

My husband and I got into a debate last night at dinner over what year the Challenger disaster happened. I was referencing the event as "the event" that my generation remembers from their childhood, like the Kennedy assassination for our parents. Where we were sitting. Whom was around us at the time. What we thought about it. Just thinking for a moment.. do you remember what year the terrible Challenger tragedy happened? I'll give you the answer at the end of the post.

Every morning for the past week, I've been waking up with a different random song in my head, some for no obvious reason. Yesterday was "Don't Speak", and I ~~blame~~ credit Keely with her No Doubt references.. check her out today at Un-Mom.

So, the answer. What was your guess? Was it January 28, 1986? Then you're right.
I guessed 1984, having pictured the classroom I was sitting in at the time.

State of Blogging

2009-07-16T11:55:00.000-07:00

When I started blogging, like everyone else, I stalked my email to read each and every comment the moment it came in. I counted comments like a dieter counts calories.. they meant everything to me. Every time I gained a Follower (oops, now inextricably called "Members".. more on this opinion later,) I sat atop of the Blogging World.

Boy, was I drinking the Blogging Kool-Aid.

Well, a few things have happened since then. Life has gotten busy and my blog has taken a hit as a result. Translation: I lost a follower. Er, a member. My membership declined this week. And I didn't expect it to, but you know what? It bothers me.

I've also held off posting certain ~~needy~~ emotional posts while at my most pregnancy-infused hormonal. Enough holding back.

When I wrote and posted Pacing the Cage last week, the supportive comments (and emails from those of you that have the ~~chore~~ joy of knowing me in real life), and of course the comments from all my Facebook friends who lazily read my blog on FB instead of coming to taste the "real thing", were exactly what I needed.

They were the chords of Hope, Joy, Love and "I'm Here" sung to me from all parts of my life. The elixir of friendship, of compassion, of empathy. Of therapy.

In a word? My blog, and by extension all of you, became my saving grace.

So I'm here to say that I'm back. I'm going to crawl out of this deep well of blogging slump that I've found myself in. One rock (post) at a time. Can you tell that we just checked out "The Frog in the Well" from the Library today?

Oh, and Thanks.

RTT: Bad Drivers and Other

2009-07-14T13:01:00.000-07:00

The cool thing about blogging is you keep doing it. No matter your mood (swings), habit-forming complaints or hormonal shifts. You get to piece together your own roller coaster before everyone's very eyes!

Tuesdays are one of my favorite days thanks to Keely at the Un-Mom. This is the way my brain functions anyway, so why not drag you all along for the ride?

I got rear-ended. Craziest thing. Pulling out of the supermarket parking lot, focusing on the traffic to the left, then to the right, then BAM! (Really loud BAM.) It took me a second to register what had just happened, then to shift into park, then check my toddler. Oh! And then check myself because I'm pregnant. The culprit came careening around to the driver's window, asking if I was okay and begging me to let him go, he had no insurance, there was no damage, please ma'am, just let me go.. I'm really sorry but I really need to go.

Hm. Well, think about that the next time you forget where your brake peddle is. I checked the bumper. I checked his face for the desperation index. It was pretty high. I let him go. Drove home. (We're fine though, no damage. Yet. I'll let y'all know if my bumper falls off tomorrow.)

We put another offer on a different house! A better house. More on that later.

I taught a couple toddler classes this morning at our local Rec Center and was bushed. My toddler wanted to play with the vending machine buttons. Perfect! I put a dollar in and he chose a Gatorade for me. It was a Gatorade AM. It is called "SHINE ON". I'd like to adopt that as my new motto, as my emotional turmoil of late keeps me guessing daily.

Shine on, you crazy diamond.

Pacing the Cage

2009-07-09T11:15:00.000-07:00

I recently heard a song that spoke to my heart. It broke my heart, and whispered it back into repair. Every now and then, you feel as if an artist is speaking directly to your soul when their voice comes to you over the airwaves. This was one of those times.

I was on my way from somewhere, or maybe to somewhere, and it stopped me in my tracks. Not literally, since I was in the car, but the toddler knew right away something had just dawned on me. He probably sensed I didn't quite know yet myself what exactly I had stumbled upon, but the look in my eye, catching his, told him something. And, me too.

It's an artist called Bruce Cockburn, and the song was "Pacing the Cage." This is me, a lifetime leading up to this point, in three words. Pacing the cage.

I've been pretty emotional lately, which is why I've been holding off blogging about life while under the influence of pregnancy hormones. But this morning, after hitting what we'll call "really hard bottom", a trip to the gym to 1) take advantage of dirt-cheap childcare, 2) run the body ragged and 3) cleanse the mind, I had a bit of a turnaround. I believe it's an opportunity to write while I'm under this influence, because I'm at such an interesting crossroads in my life. How could I not?

So, I'll write about my days. My sleepless nights. My emotional misery and my ecstatic highs. Thing is, I do feel like I'm caged in this current "stage".. "occupation".. "job". What is this? Staying home to raise a child? Of course it's a job. It's something to occupy one's time, so, an occupation. It's brutal for an extrovert. It's heaven on the good days. It's a form of inhumane torture for an addict of human companionship on the bad.

But why can't I just .. enjoy it? Because I'm human. And I had an exciting, blurry, stress-ridden quick ride up my career ladder, a pleasant plateau, a sudden wish to dabble into the artistic side of my brain, and.. had a child. Here I am. And here you are, reading me.

My emotions are there for the taking, you can turn and smile and bring them out of me. You could take my parking spot, glare at me across the aisle, miss the potty and pee on the floor, walk out of the room before I'm ready, make an offhand comment about how perfect your life is, or become my family and break my heart into a million pieces with nary a backward glance.

It's with this emotional context that I fill my head, my heart, my days. It's why I wrestle with the "what am I doing?" question.

I want to start another blog, a local resource for stay-at-home-moms in Northern Virginia. I want to go back to working on a trading floor. I want to write a book. I want to be paid for my photography. I want to learn another language. I want to quiet these emotions. I want to destroy all emoticons. I want to be a better wife and mom. I want to put it all out there, and I want to hide it all away.

So, here I am.. pacing the cage.

RTT: True Random Tantrums

2009-07-07T12:00:00.000-07:00

I've never called one of those "How Am I Driving?" numbers on the back of random trucks, buses, 18-wheelers, soccer moms and cell phone drivers. But today, I came close. This auto-parts store truck had a bright yellow one on his bumper. He wasn't going fast enough to keep up with my next destination, and I couldn't get around him. I caught an air of smugness in his rear view mirror and nearly picked up my phone.

I once rode horses in my younger "free time is free" days. I knew you were never to feed a horse while he/she was still hot, lest bad things happen. I've always assumed this was true with large breed dogs as well, because of bloat. So, I make my two Labs wait until they've cooled off a bit after they come in from the heat, before having dinner. Tonight, we were running late and I sat them down to begin the dinner routine (after the toddler was done. What kind of mom do you think I am?) They were sitting in their spots, my female yellow Lab perfectly still, while my male Lab, Echo, was panting his black-furred butt off.
I swear I saw her nudge Echo:
"Dude! Shut up! She's never going to feed us if you don't shut your damn snout!"

Watching reality television usually winds up making me feel better about myself/my life. Is that bad to admit?

I have begun writing some seriously deep, soul-seeking posts lately...then never posted them. I think I'm getting ready to ramp them up soon. So... strap in! I at least will commit to write more than 1X/week!

Go visit Keely at her place, it's much more random than here. Though, this was pretty random.

RTT? Potty Mouth

2009-06-29T19:31:00.000-07:00

I have something random for ya. We are deeply in the throes of potty training at our house. Rock the House.

I had such a dearth of good, interesting, funny stories on my blog last week, that I plan to more than make up for it this week. If you've never had a child, or your potty training was seamless and easy, you may want to skip this post. I just can't relate.

On Saturday morning, I heard my newly-turned two year old alternating between crying, and talking to himself. Gentle crying, then yammer yammer to (conceivably) his various animals and blankets that accompany him in his crib nightly. It was early, I still had sleep in my eyes, but I was intrigued. He doesn't normally alternate crying with jabbering.

I opened the door, and subtly contained my shock, disgust and dismay as I found my toddler, buck naked in his crib, holding on to one of his poops.

That's right. Holding on to it, as if he just wasn't ready to let that one go.. yet.

I quelled my guttural reactions (puking, acting nauseated), and whisked him to the toilet next door, explaining where it is we go poop. I then scrubbed his hands for ~~about an hour~~ several minutes, while my bleary-eyed husband stumbled in, still half-asleep, asking what was going on. I actually didn't have to say anything. The naked hand washing gave it away!

We started officially potty training last week, at the encouragement of our pediatrician, who told me that 1) because our toddler is interested, 2) because it's warm and summery, finally, and 3) I'm not due until November, now is the time.

We've had a few other acrimonious accidents. He peed on the ottoman. He peed on his brand new MegaBloks tractor. He pooped on his toddler chair. Okay, so they aren't that funny. But he is getting it. He understands the need to go, just can't always make it to the proper spot to do it.

Hey, that's happened to the best of drunk college students. Just.. can't.. quite.. make it to the toliet.

So, if you are easily grossed out, pass out at the sight of words referencing defecation, you might pass on my blog this week. Otherwise, all help and advice, book recommendations, and sedative prescriptions are welcomed! Let 'em rip!

C'mon.. give us your best potty training story ever. Dare ya!

And go see Keely for better random number generation. She's better at it.

RTT: Remembering, Tragedy, and Toddlers

2009-06-23T11:03:00.000-07:00

I'm late, but at least I'm here. I miss Keely and her Random gang over at Un-Mom, so I'm joining in today. Go see her here.

Please send your prayers out to those who were killed, injured, or lost a loved one in yesterday's Metro rail crash in Washington, DC. The Washington Post's headlines indicate the crash was "not supposed to happen" and is the "worst in Metro's 33-year history". There are many tales of heroics and good Samaritans helping their fellow man, but sadly, there are also devastating tales of those who were not able to go home yesterday. Loved ones who waited, unable to find out information. Waiting for those who boarded the train as he/she always did, day after day.

It is often in times of tragic random circumstance that one identifies with the victim's families, thinking, "what if my husband was riding that particular Metro that day?" You feel a little more lucky, perhaps, that you can live on to continue another day.

It's difficult to imagine what those family members are actually going through, but my heart, my thoughts, my mind and prayers are with them.

It's difficult also, to try to randomly include a light-hearted story in light of yesterday's very sad news. However, I will share just one:

My toddler and I were playing in his room yesterday morning. He left suddenly, I heard him toddle out to the kitchen, and I turned to put some things away. When he returned, he was beaming and said what sounded like:
"Go kitchen! Fill wawa up to tup? Wawa into tup? Kitchen!"

He pulled me, by the hand, into the kitchen and there, in the middle of the kitchen floor, was a sippy cup, no top, filled to the brim with cold water.

He'd opened the fridge and filled it with the Pur water filter.

Lil' water-maniac, that one.

The Paradox of Parenting

2009-06-19T11:25:00.000-07:00

As my Mother-in-Law said, "this was the longest and the shortest week ever."

I agree. From our four-day break last weekend, I gleaned peace.. I gleaned some calm.. I gleaned some precious time with best friends that I rarely get to see in the hurried waters of life.

And a funny thing happened, on the way back to the Forum. Traveling back from the wedding festivities, we were heading down a gorgeous, scenic North Carolina byway on our way back to Chapel Hill to pick up the kiddo from the loving ~~exhausted~~ grandparents.

As we emerged into the final stretch of the open road, surrounded, summoned, by Piedmont rolling hills, green fields, and cows with a Southern drawl, I felt the strangest emotional tug I'd ever felt.

I wanted that road to stretch out further and further in front of us, each bend rounding a little longer and keeping us away from our goal. I wanted each hill to climb a little bit higher, allowing us a generous view at the peak, dropping us gently down towards our sleeping child. I wanted to never get there.

Yet I wanted to get there so badly. I wanted to open the door to his room, peek inside the Pack 'n Play at my adorable, cherubic napping son, and be there in front of his adoring eyes when he awoke. I wanted him to jump up to his toddler feet, open his arms wide, and say, "Mama came back."

And in the tug, the emotional roller coaster that is pregnancy got the best of me. I had had a myriad emotions over the course of the wedding weekend.. oft to be expected when good friends get married. Expected when you're surrounded by good friends that are already married, with whom you've spent years.. decades getting to know individually as humans. Then, as one unit in marriage.

All of this. The generosity of time, allowing us this many memories and mental snapshots to live by. The reminder of good friends.. old friends.. friends that have known you through incredibly rich years of life. The shred of peace I obtained while being simply by myself (if not just for a few hours.) My husband and I, as one unit, no hangers-on, alone with just the open road ahead of us to share.

I wanted to hold onto these untenable things, yet I wanted to whisk them away with one wave to reunite with my one-and-only, turning-two toddler. To look into his blue eyes, watch his grin grow, then listen to him as he told me all the ways he loved, learned, played, missed, and grew. Without us there.

I think this is the paradox of parenting.

Happy Birthday, Big (Little) Toddler!

2009-06-16T13:04:00.000-07:00

(Pretend today is Monday, June 15th. That's just how this week is goin'.)

Happy Birthday, big C!

(Yes, I took these photos. And more about the trip to come, promise!)

Leaving... On a (Ground) Plane

2009-06-09T19:13:00.000-07:00

Right, just a car.

I'm only writing once this week, as we are departing for an illustrious and exciting weekend of kid-free wedding fun! So you have to sit through a long post, like my long car ride. Tomorrow, we leave. We're dropping the adorable but often demonic cherub off at Grandma's house and then skipping on to Charlotte, NC, where we spent the early years of our marriage.

Ah, the early years.. no sippy cups falling out of the cabinet when you open it. No diapers stuffed into my Coach bag. No peeling a melted-down toddler off the CVS floor.

Back when going "out" meant to the bars, not dashing out for dinner while the babysitter watched TV for two hours as our son slept. Going shopping meant for ME, with the girls, where I could try on the black leather pants from Banana Republic for an hour without gentle (then increasingly demanding) moans from the stroller. Going to the grocery story meant walking across the street, buying a few items that usually included wine or beer, mixes, or possibly all three, and then going and imbibing them.

It never included my toddler reaching over and grabbing a Kix box on the cereal aisle and opening it himself while my head was turned.

And last but not least.. when we were really feeling like hermits, or just plain lazy, we might catch a last-minute summer blockbuster. You know, on a whim.

Needless to say (or did I say it?), I'm greatly looking forward to this trip. I need a break from my toddler and he needs the intensity of Grandma Can't-Get-Enough-Of-Him Love for three days. Ironically, I'll miss the heck out of him. You can have too much of a good thing. And I have a good thing nearly 24 hours a day, almost 7 days a week.

So, while wallowing in my own (ridiculousness), I'll leave you with an interesting read. I'm sure a lot of you heard on the news that there's a homeless man in D.C. that is blogging.. and tweeting, facebooking, about the homeless condition.

I may talk a lot about feeling sorry in my current (bloated, tired, sick, isolated and whale-like) condition, but this stopped me in my tracks. He really has something to blog about.

Check him out here.

See you next week!

Writer's Workshop: Finally, I Said It

2009-06-04T10:42:00.001-07:00

1.) If you could cut back on something in your life that takes up your time what would it be? And what would you prefer to spend that time doing?

I would stop feeling sorry for myself. There, I said it. That is what I need to spend LESS of my time doing.

I've been a blogging slacker lately, and my only semblance of an excuse has been this insanity with housing searching, contract signing, and subsequent voiding. That's over now. Now we're refocusing our energies. On what, you may want to know.. and so do we. That will be the subject of many blog posts to come.

Or, are we? I've realized lately that I spend way too much time feeling sorry for "having" to stay at home all the time. Are you kidding me?

My Mom was just here for a quick two-day visit again. My parents spend the summers in the Finger Lakes of upstate NY, and live in North Carolina most of the year. So, a few times during the summer, we are treated to "You are smack dab in the very center of both of those places and it's a really, really great break to stop and go the bathroom. Oh and see our adorable grandson who loves us to pieces"-stopovers. You know what? I'll take those stopovers.

Anyway, she doted. She played. She gave him kisses and hugs and pick-ups and so much love&energy that I've just run out of lately. It was fabulous for my son; it was more fabulous for me. But then, she had to leave.

And in her wake, I've realized that we don't know what turns life will take. We don't know what's ahead, or, unfortunately, if it's good or bad. But we can choose whether we smile or frown and to make ourselves happy.

In short, we can choose to enjoy our charmed lives, even if they don't seem so at times.

RTT: Random Turn of evenTs

2009-06-01T19:39:00.001-07:00

Have you ever been heading down a road, on a trip, and, maybe you've never been there before or you've spaced out for ten minutes and missed your exit and.. eventually you realize you've come a realllly long way out of your way? Like, it pains you to think about turning around and heading back to the one spot you know, simply because it's so freakin' far behind you?!

Yeah. Well, we did our inspection for this other (bigger, much bigger) house that we were previously under contract with and.. not happenin'. We voided the contract, getting out via the inspection contingency. (Thank goodness for contingencies.)

You know, because it's so easy to make these large, life-changing events while one is pregnant. We've already gone over my confused state of being as late.

But, this is Random Tuesday so we can't dwell on things. I just finished addressing the invites for my son's 2nd birthday party. The big 2.0. Unreal.

I've never been a fan of reality TV. Until "The Bachelorette". And "The Apprentice." And "The Office". (Just kidding.) No, really. I have a serious Bachelorette addiction. Who can blame me? I love seeing a bunch of manly men acting like girly-girls. Good times.

Not that the GM news surprised anyone today, but I just wonder.. is anyone out there seriously considering buying a GM car right now? I'm wondering how that psychological impact will impact the employees, the shareholders, the Board, the suppliers, and the very big multiplier effect of the American auto industry. A Saab is still a Saab, right? A Cadillac.. a Caddy? Right?

I really love corn on the cob. What I love even more is watching my toddler hold an ear in each of his hands, eye the ear carefully from end to end, pick the perfect spot to start, and then CHOMP with as much gusto as little two-year old jaws will allow. Ah, childhood.

Lost and Found on U Street

2009-05-28T10:59:00.000-07:00

I've talked a little bit about my volunteer work on here. I've spoken a fair amount about my latest habits of pregnancy (getting sick) and having a new house to close on soon and another to list (getting committed.) Well, I've failed to talk about the most important theme going on of all: pregnancy confusion.

I had an end-of-year party last night in downtown D.C. for my outgoing committee in my major service organization that I often reference. It was a fun way to close out a great year, I've made good friends on this Committee that I won't get to see as often next year, so I made the effort to get my butt down to the U Street corridor and make myself seen. Via the scene.

And what a scene! Going out in D.C. is much fun; it's a shame bars aren't more kid-friendly.

So, I caught up and I munched on the leftover mushroom ragout/toast points while everyone else ignored them. I drank cranberry and club soda so nobody would guess I was non-alcoholic, but then they just pointed at my belly and called me out on it anyway.

But then it was time to leave. I had to go, as difficult as it was to check back into motherhood, out of the D.C. singles', doubles' and really cool rooftop bar scene. So, I went.

I walked down U Street for a pleasant 10 minutes. Wandering through the cool early-summer air, I was struck by how good it felt to walk. And after my initial stroll pace, I decided I was ready to be feet-up again and upgraded to a full-fledged charge. When it seemed like I had walked for an hour and many blocks, I looked up and the bars and clubs were thinning out.. I was nearly to 10th street. Where the hell was my car? I did have a car, right?

I hadn't parked this far.. had I?!

I must have. I did the only thing I could think of to do without seeming totally lost to the lines of folks waiting to get into Hot Club A and Hot Club B: I called my husband.

"So.... you can't find the car. And you're calling.. me?"
This is actually what he said.
We re-traced my steps. I literally. He listened empathetically, from the couch and PTI. I turned around and walked back from whence I'd come. I think I walked exactly halfway back to my starting point, every block frustrating me more. What in the world was wrong with my brain?

Oh, right. I'm thinking for two here.

I did find it. I did get in. And it started. And I drove home, giving myself a little tour of the Nation's Capital by night as I drove.

Tell me this doesn't get worse.

RTT: Rushed, and Terribly Tardy

2009-05-26T10:43:00.000-07:00

I meant to post my RTT post last night, but my Bachelorette addiction got in the way of that. So I'm late but I'm here. Let's party.

I think God is mad at me, or if not at me, then someone who lives in the Washington, DC Metro area, because it is raining YET AGAIN. It doesn't seem meteorologically possible that we could get more rain in 2009. But here we are. Flash flooding an' all.

A few updates. The nasty horrible nauseous feeling that everyone has had from a few too many the night before? Yeah, that's me all the time right now, only I'm not allowed to just crack a beer in the morning to chase the Spring Break-esque hangover away. This pregnancy couldn't be more different, which is ironic.. because upon finding out, I was immediately pure bravado about it, "eh, this is old hat. I've done this before. NO big deal." News flash: they aren't all the same.

A few updates, in random order:
- still congested, can't hear out of either ear, and still refusing to take anything for it.
- we got the house. Not "new" by any stretch. New to us. Our offer was accepted last week, and we're set up for closing and everything.
- that means we'll be putting our own house on the market after the first one closes. That means you can commit me now.
- simple math will tell you that, yes, we have a lot of stuff to do around here. And the new (old) house that we don't own yet, but soon will. It's enough to make me throw up. Wait, I've already done that today.

I've been really beating myself up lately about my lack of blogging forte. I miss the community; the camaraderie, and mostly I miss laughing at the foibles that are oft discussed, celebrated, and ~~taken back~~ .

But I wanted you all to know, I am here. I am surviving, some days just barely. I am reading, when I can. And I am making attempts to reconcile this game called "life" with this game called "blogging."

RTT: Ruminations Titillating and Tumultuous

2009-05-19T08:07:00.000-07:00

I've decided to go pamper myself today. It was our last day of "mom's morning out" preschool today for the summer, so I took FULL advantage of the 2.5 hours of free time. Mostly turned the radio up full blast, rolled down every window, and sang at the top of my lungs, among ~~a top notch pedicure~~ other things.

Just DON'T tell my husband about the pampering. His Midwestern values don't jive well there.

("CDB, he reads your blog, stupid.")

That's right, well.. let's change the subject. And don't call me stupid. 'Baby', fine, not 'stupid'.

How is swine flu back in the news?! Have we all learned more about the spread of infectious diseases than we all wanted to know? Don't the WHO participants want to get out and be tourists while in Geneva? It's really a beautiful city, gorgeous waterfront, great restaurants..

My black lab is posted outside the kitchen cabinet where we keep the trash. Motionless. Just staring at the closed doors. He thinks he hears a mouse (he did once, about a year and a half ago. We.. ahem. Caught it.)

Oh, all my Facebook friends that live in maintenance-free condos and townhouses just got grossed out by that last admission. JUST WAIT.

I think this recovery will take some time, in terms of general economic activity, because I think it will be a while before it's "cool" to spend money again. Sure, ladies will still shop, but we're also clipping coupons now with abandon, and those habits will stick around for a while. My theory is housing will turn around much faster, as those of us living in teeny tiny dwellings JUST can't take it anymore and begin to churn the market with housing sales and purchases. (Note: our region is already turning around, but it was predicted to be one of the first. BOO YAH.)

Grab the button, do some random churning of your own, and tell Keely she looks AMAZING without those last three pounds. (Just kidding. Don't say that.)

The Baby Grows Up

2009-05-18T10:47:00.000-07:00

Let's continue with the "baby of the family" theme.. and then quickly leave it. Youngest kids always have the worst A.D.D.

What was that noise?

Oh yes. As the 3rd of three kids, I was always surrounded by people.. and activity.. and people. So as I grew up, I grew into a strong preference to have people around. To need them around. In my adult years, those of you familiar with Myers-Briggs personality test will know what it means that I was "off the chart" E--for Extrovert. Strong preference for people.

I've found that being a Stay-at-Home-Mom, unlike a lot of other occupations, can often be very isolating. This is something I didn't expect, and the one thing I'm having the most trouble with.

That, and the fact that I can't hear myself think over the Vivaldi. And can't control my A.D.D.

This morning, we had our big "preschool is ending"/graduation/last week of the session/wasn't it great/won't we miss our sporadic 3-hours of freedom two days per week- picnic party at a park.

People and Picnic Party at a Park.
PEOPLE=makes me very happy to be around friends. Those with whom I can chat with endlessly. About endless topics.
PICNIC=food. Makes me very happy. Very, very happy. See pregnant post.
PARTY=see "People"
PARK=makes toddler very, very happy. He has sand in the sandbox. Equipment to climb. Slides to slide down. Running around to do. Arms to wave in the air.

So, there we are, in our Utopian park village, among people. We were doing well, eating, chatting, climbing, and being happy. It was chilly 55 degrees, but the sun was out. Then the coughing started. He was getting over a cough from this weekend, and I'd thought he'd kicked it. He had what I can only summarize as a very uncomfortable (for him and for me) coughing fit, and for a 2.5 minute period, the poor guy could barely catch his breath.

I knew we had to leave. I gathered our stuff, and, clutching my Tupperware, said some quick goodbyes, and we walked out toward the car. The coughing stopped. He complained about leaving. Sometimes Irony walks up and socks you in the jaw. And then runs away, really fast.

As I walked, tears began to well up in my eyes, knowing we were going home to an empty.. isolating.. lacking of people.. house. (That seems really silly now, in hindsight. But it happened.)

Even when I worked in an interior cube in a big Bank, surrounded by introverts as an Analyst, I would still pop out to visit other Bank friends, or pop downstairs for a coffee or smoothie.. or chat with my therapist-dry cleaner. I could satisfy the need to see people if I needed.

Now, it's not always an option. Nothing has really prepared me for that.

Why I'm Such a Baby

2009-05-14T12:42:00.000-07:00

I'm the third of three children. I'm the extreme third. That's not like three cubed, but the inverse, squared. Got it ?

My sister is ten years older than I am. My brother is seven years my senior. So I am, what was and is, frequently referred to as, the baby. (With emphasis)

As such, I've always been close to my parents. I remember having a mostly happy childhood, with very big people around. My older sister and brother, I found out recently (last night), would try to push me along in my development as a baby, hold me up to help me walk early, to beat the other impending-toddler that lived down the street. I remember my brother holding me up on the bike, telling me I didn't really need training wheels.. I could do it!

But, eventually, they got older, and went off to college. I was still at home for a longgggg time after that, putting me squarely in middle and high school as a practically only child.

I didn't have to share a bathroom with any other kid, in those formative years (a fact that haunts my husband, as I kick him out of the bathroom at night). It was nobody else but me on the upstairs floor of our house. I had no other kids to contend with, for my adoring parents' attention. Truly the baby.

When I left to study abroad in London the summer of '96, my parents sat with me at the bagel shop in the airport, shared a bagel, and listened to my concerns about the flight. The curriculum. My plan to stay there and find a job, a flat. I was scared, and they could tell. When they hugged me goodbye, I sobbed, and I didn't think I would stop. I cursed myself for being a little girl, as the flight attendant pressed her lips together, bowed her head and smiled, knowingly.

My parents just came through town last night and today, for a quick visit on their way from North Carolina to Pennsylvania, where they will be attending my Dad's 50th college reunion in Bethlehem. We're about halfway. I got over my resentment about the cause of the visit not being JUST to stop and SEE ME, but because we're halfway, and really enjoyed their quick trip.

My son loves my father, and it floors my mother, who works so hard f0r each giggle and grin. I loved watching them interact, I love that my Dad asks my son a question and makes him figure out the answer.. not giving it away until it's right. I watch him instilling the same curiosity he did in us, and I know that will last a lifetime.

I even got a kick out of cooking them all a gourmet breakfast this morning, while I had Grandma watching the toddler.

When they pulled away today (the first time), I started to get a little weepy. Misty. I was holding my son, who was saying, "buh bye, Gammaw, buh bye, Gammpa," and I looked at him, wondering if he could sense the transformation back to "little girl" that I feel when my parents leave and I'm not ready for them to yet.

We got a call 15 minutes later. They couldn't find my Dad's wallet.
"Where was Dad's sweatshirt.. is his wallet inside?"
"Yep, got it here."
"Oh, geez, we need to turn around. Okay, be there in 15 minutes."

Come Out, Come Out

2009-05-12T11:21:00.000-07:00

I know, it's high time.

Some of my friends in real life know. Some of my bloggy-friends know. Some of my relatives know because I told them, some know because I didn't tell them.

But when I dropped my nearly-2 year old son off at his Mom's morning out preschool program this morning, it was all I could do to stoop over and put sunscreen on his little baby face. I nearly passed out. Then, as the often jovial, always cordial Moms chatted away, I had to make a break for it. I raced to the car through the brilliant luster of sun-filled morning, felt the cool morning breeze on my face as I admired the no-rain status of the day. Made it to the car. Whew, now everything would be okay, right?

Wrong. Unwrapped the Chewy Granola Bar. Took a bite. Turn up that NPR report, get your mind on other things. The world was spinning a bit, I rolled down the windows. Then it happened. I thought I had the urge to sneeze but... alas.

Let's review.

I'm parked in the preschool parking lot. Happy, lark-like Moms and Dads are all around me, dropping off Joe and Suzy and (let's be more trendy) Madison and Allister.

I race around to the front of the car, bend down next to the front bumper and... YIKES. You guessed it. Got rid of every single item in my stomach including the acid, and my body wasn't quite done. I heaved until I was begging for mercy; it's not like I was in the comfort of my own bathroom here.

A parking lot puking. And you all know what I was thinking, as I clutched onto that front bumper for support.

"Gonna have to blog about this."

There ya have it. Pregnant with a capital P. Heaving with a capital H. And eating like there's no tomorrow.

I'm sorry for my absence as late, but I think this explains a bit more fully where I've "been".

Writer's Workshop: Overachieving and Believing

2009-05-07T11:48:00.000-07:00

I feel, in my job as a blogger, that I must entertain every once in a while. So this week, I'll put on my circus-poodle hat and answer MOST of MamaKat's prompts. Which are:
2.) Do you want a baby?
3.) Who got in big trouble this week?
4.) Write a poem for your mother.

2) I do want another baby. I should, right? (: Considering my eating habits as late? Though our little tri-family equilibrium is nicely in balance, I must say. It would make sense, after all, and that makes for a nice explanation as I polish off my third helping of esoteric pasta/ground beef mixture, washed down with my second helping of pomegranate tea (yes, that's right. Today, I purchased, on two separate occasions, tea with pomegranate juice.) But why I was craving it? Let's add it to the list.

3) I got in big trouble this week. Because of my short (and ill) temper. Let's Blame It On the Rain (that keeps fallin', fallin'.) Everything my toddler and husband did was just over the edge for me, and I communicated that effectively. Especially when Toddler bolted out of the kid's room in the Library this morning during toddler story time. The ingrate.

4) Ode To Me Mum

It's not fair, how we glare, what would we think
In twenty years' hence
Looking back at ourselves, our emotions and elves
Knowing we wouldn't trade for a sixpence?

The glint in the eye, from the kiddo with ire
As he zooms from the room with gloom
N'er the defeated, I give chase, uncleated
And continue my glare with more Vroom.

Fast forward through time, I see how, I see why
The unrelenting love of a mother
It's not possible to understand, nor be warned, nor canned,
What I do can't be done by another.

So on this Mother's Day, my dear Mom, my hero
Understand that it took me three zeros
And as many decades to get it once and for blind:
There is no greater love,
There is no greater love,
There is no greater love than our kind.

(Yes. I'm sending this to her now.)

Tuesday Thoughts of Randomness

2009-05-05T07:20:00.000-07:00

I'm late! I'm late! For a very important post! Let the games begin!

You all know by now to strap in and hold on, because my brain on RTT is like an ~~acid trip~~ roller coaster; but not a new, cool roller coaster. One of those crotchety old wooden ones that you think you'll get stuck on forever. But trust me, we won't be going upside down.

I've been eating myself out of house and home this week. And last week. And 10 weeks prior to that. I can't eat enough. I just polished off an egg/cheese/bacon on a bagel that someone else prepared for me. It was delicious and my first thought upon last bite was, "I ~~should~~ could eat another one of those." (Addendum: someone next to me just had pancakes and sausage put in front of him, and I'm about to reach over and take a taste. Dare me?)

For those that know me in real life, it's fun knowing why I keep referencing these random things, isn't it?

I really hate white potatoes. But sweet potatoes are totally my thing. And my son's. He can eat the heck outta some sweet pots. Our white potatoes consistently go bad.

I taught my son a new concept, and I was super proud of him for getting it. At first, he took the empty bottle of Aveeno soap and stuck it, open top side down, straight into the water. It did not fill up. I then showed him how to hold it under the water but at an angle, so it filled up with water. It took him one try, and he filled it up. Then he dumped it on me.

It's funny to me that media has started calling it the N1-H1 flu virus, seemingly due to the fact that every one of us can't stand the word "swine".

One of my favorite past times is to people ~~judge~~ watch. I love to make up little narratives about their story. Why she is yelling at the person on the phone. Or why he is yelling loud enough for everyone in the restaurant to hear him chewing out the line cook. Or why the manager always has a smile on his face, no matter how tough things seem to be. Or what the young blonde chick's texts are all about, or why she has her text-message sound setting on her phone set to DEAFENING. These three mystery guys with the pancakes, reading the newspapers. Are they just carpooling, and don't really know each other that well? Are they in a fight? A bitter family estate battle? (Oh. I looked. They're just watching CNN.)

I really need to go on a trip somewhere, soon. I don't care where (and the upcoming wedding my husband is in does not count.) (Be honest, here, CDB.) Okay, the wedding does count I guess. But I want another one.

Speaking of trips, head on over to the Un-Mom, and enjoy her brand of random!

Parenting Traps

2009-05-03T19:30:00.000-07:00

Every weekend, I teach a kid yoga class at a nearby community center. It's fun, it's high-energy, and a packed morning of 3-5 year olds doing yoga with Mom (or Dad!) Every week, I learn of new parenting styles I wasn't previously aware of. And it's FASCINATING.
:

The Helicopter Mom
Hovering over her charge, the Helicopter Mom pulls, pushes, prods, pokes, holds up and scolds her youngster into each and every pose. When doing introductions, the kid barely has time to get out a syllable before the question is repeated: WHAT IS YOUR NAME, ______?
:

The AH-64 Apache Mom
AH-64 Apache is the Army's primary attack helicopter. It is a quick-reacting, airborne weapon system that can fight close and deep to destroy, disrupt, or delay enemy forces. 'Nuff said.
:

"Hold the Whistle" Mom
These Moms have overactive preschoolers who don't want to sit. Or lay down. Or do the pose. Or listen. But they really want to work on this "autonomy" thing, so they sit back.. for a time.. and let the kids do what they will. Before stepping in to call foul.
:

The "Really Want to Hold the Whistle but JUST CAN'T" Mom
These Moms are beside themselves, trying to sit back for a time.. but they JUST CAN'T. They might let 'em try to get into said pose themselves, but more often than not, they're going to reach over and yank the back up, or the legs down. These tend to be the "constant chatter" moms, who are telling their kids what is is they should be doing differently.

:
The Sweet Lovin' Mom
These Moms are all love, all the time. Granted, they tend to have the sweetheart kids who do exactly what they are supposed to be doing, most (if not all) of the time. I would like to order one of these children for my next child. Please.
:

The "Let 'Em Ride" Mom
I once had a Mom who would leave her child in the room for quite a few minutes while she went to the bathroom (and, I assume, make a few phone calls and perhaps, run a few errands.) The child seemed used to this casual abandonment, so I assumed this was their mother-daughter M.O.

The Creator of Doubt Mom
Sometimes, we go around with cards or animals and the children can choose which pose they want to learn together. The child selects a card and..
"Do you really want to choose that yoga card to do? Wait! Don't you want this one? Do you really want to choose that animal pose? But you like froggies!"

We all do it. Some of the time. Well, maybe that's just me. What kind of style are you?
(P.S. My son loves to show off his yoga poses. I might share one of these days.)

Writer's Workshop: No, I Would Not Give You False Hope

2009-04-30T11:48:00.000-07:00

Every week, I check out MamaKat's writing prompts, and yet another week appears with a prompt perfectly suited to my needs today. Actually, a 2-for-1:
4.) Have you thought about shutting down your blog? Why haven't you and what would cause you to make that decision final?
5.) Today I will...

Today I will shut down my blog. No, wait, that was just a comment I left recently. I will not be shutting down, sorry to disappoint. However, I have been reading quite a bit lately about those out there that are shuttering blogs, or are debating so.

Today I was barreling along, in between one mundane appointment to another mundane errand, toting along my 22-mo old toddler who was very bitter about being strapped into his stroller->carseat->stroller, ad infinitum.

My toddler does not prefer to be tied down. Strapped in. Told where to sit, and for how long. He resents being told where he needs to be, for how long, with whom he can play, that he must not climb over the baby gate, change his wet socks, when he must eat, and that he can't go outside when it's 50 degrees and raining. HE would prefer to make all of those decisions himself, thank you.

I totally understand his plight.

Back to barreling down said road, pacifying said bitterness; "Mother and Child" by Paul Simon came on.

No I would not give you false hope On this strange and mournful day But the mother and child reu-nion Is only a motion away, oh, little darling of mine.

How could I possibly be bitter myself, about this new "occupation" that I've been tasked with? How could I possibly resent the place I've found myself in at times? How could I be jealous of working professionals? It's unfair and un-motherly and unnatural, to resent one's own stay-at-home-station. Right?

I've been rather emotional lately, or at least today. My eyes welled up with tears. I fast-forwarded 13 years. I don't know why I chose thirteen, but just go with me. I pictured a bitter, resentful teenager, who constantly wanted to be away from me. Hanging with his friends. A young man who picked up on his Mommy's own bitterness and chose not to hug and spend time on lunch dates with Mom, but instead head towards the skating park/soccer field/ice rink/you get it.

I know I can't control everything. Least of all these emotions. But it made me realize that I can control my focus. And if I continue to focus on what I don't have (job out of the house) and what I do not get to do (lunch with friends) and instead decide to cuddle, hug, have dates with, and generally fall in love with spending time with my firstborn, adorable little cherub of a son (see? I can do it), then my attitude will change.

So you see, I want to blog about this. I need to blog about this. I need this outlet, and I need the will to get it out there. Thanks for listening.

(Wait, CDB. This wasn't funny today. I want my money back.)
Trying to talk a toddler into eating something he has just spit out is like asking for your sandwich on regular bread at the bagel shop. It doesn't make sense, it won't work, and it will just make everyone uncomfortable.

RTT: Random Tuesday Trips

2009-04-28T10:41:00.000-07:00

I had a dream last night about a poisonous bird that got into our house and was going around, trying to "peck" everyone...my Mom was there, simultaneously consoling and warning everyone, which is so true-to-life. What does this mean? Is there some "poison" in my life, running after my sub-conscious? Is someone in my life trying to "peck" me to death? Do I have a deep-seated fear of beautiful birds?

Or, it could just be that "fancy" parrot picture in our Spanish "Mis Opuestos" board book? Hm.

I'm ashamed how late my RTT is this week. I blame it on the high pollen count. My punishment is keeping it short. (Should I repent too? Sheesh, you can tell I grew up Catholic.)

I truly love blogging. But I read a comment recently about the possibility of us all needing to do it during the cold, dreary winter months. Now that Spring and 90 degrees are here, are we all finding a few more projects that have been sitting around? Opening doors to new found sunshine, revealing old forgotten dust? (P.S. That was an analogy.)

Warm weather makes me crave fresh fruit and veggies. I'm still fascinated by vegetable packaging, but don't have any psychosis-inducing questions on it this week. However, I'm convinced the bottom of our fruit bowl is a wormhole that leads to a parallel dimension, so we've never reached the bottom of it.

This post is trippy!

Head on over to Keely's place, grab the button, and let her know how fabulous she looks today! and tell her I said so. (:

Yes, this counts as "short" in my blok. Everything is relative. We've talked about this.

When Brains Shut Down: Next on Fox

2009-04-26T19:12:00.000-07:00

Something about blogging just makes it an honest sport. There's nobody across from your laptop, checking your facts. Nobody is standing over you, arguing that the story you just typed out did not go exactly as you'd described it. It's a free-form creation of art, each little piece you choose to drum up, craft, create, and push-button publish.

It's sitting in a roomful of strangers (or, happily, former strangers,) confessing, guessing, undressing (?) and blessing. Very liberating, indeed.

Which is why I find it easier to confess my greatest faults on here. At the two 2nd-year old birthday parties we attended this weekend, upon meeting new parents-o-toddler friends, I didn't break out with, "I really don't ever finish anything that I start." Or, watching the happy kiddo chomp his first bite of yummy birthday cake, I didn't make the announcement, "the less productive I am in my life, the harder it is for me to get anything productive done."

Lately, I just don't feel like a productive member of society. Sure, raising the next generation of responsible and self-respecting adults is an important task, but really.. does it matter if it's me all the time?

Don't get me wrong, I really and truly love being home with my son, and I'm (honestly) grateful ~~and not ever bitter about thrown wet food, crayon markings and Diaper Champs~~ that I can.

But I constantly ask myself if parts of my brain are shutting down their operation, either for 10 weeks this summer, or for forever.

So, I've gotten myself on a very busy volunteer committee for a service organization I'm a part of. I'm in charge of the raffle at the MOMs club picnic. I'm still teaching yoga. I trade stocks during our most volatile moves in the market.

And now, I've set my sights on finding the next great deal in real estate. We live in a real estate market that is predicted to rebound more quickly than other areas of the country. With rates low, and some opportunities out there, I've designated myself the temporary real estate Queen of the house. (With a roll of the eyes):

We'll see how it goes.

::
"It leaves ya baby, if you don't care for it.."
One, U2

See? Too Busy To Title.

2009-04-23T12:21:00.000-07:00

I lost a follower. I'm trying to keep my perspective as I refresh the tissue box.

It happens to the best of us (and the worst of us, I suppose.) You're running along at full speed, maxing out life capacity, and decide for some ludicrous reason that makes sense at the time, to ramp it up a bit.

I've decided that we just can't fit in our house any longer and must find a new domain, and quickly. (That's literal. I'm not searching for a new domain name, techies. A house.) Since this is such an EASY thing to do, find a house that is bigger and better in a down market, settle on it and try to convince someone to buy your own ~~minuscule~~ house for at or more than you paid, then pack all of your ~~useless, hardly used~~ CRAP and move it all, all while entertaining a toddler and two increasingly bitter and bored dogs...should be no problem. Are you tired yet?

So am I.

The problem is, more and more research time means less blogging, which is totally unacceptable. But I'll admit it. I'm overwhelmed. And nobody is even paying me to be stressed out all day long at a ~~real~~ job!

So! Look forward to some fabulous guest posting soon!

In the meantime, a quick funny.

I can be a bit of a Primadonna. I got sick yesterday. Yes, in the disgusting way. Many reasons that this happens to people, and that's not important now. What is important is that I told my husband the story, including the horrible part about heaving so violently that toilet water splashed up on my hair/face. He was laughing so hard, he could barely ask, "well, did you wash your face?"

Oh! Good idea....

RTT: I Missed You, O Blogging World!

2009-04-20T17:37:00.000-07:00

What is up with celery half-bags? Have you seen these? Where the bags only cover the ankles and upper calves of the celery stalks? Who decided that celery was relegated to the life of the half-dressed, like a generic Playboy model, or .. hairy topless male sunbathers in St. Maarten?

(Welcome Back, CDB! Gosh, we missed your pointless drivel about vegetable packaging!)

I didn't take any photos of the Dave Matthews concert on Saturday; NOT because there were huge signs that said "NO CAMERAS". Because I forgot it. But, suffice it to say, it was awesome. For you Dave fans, "Two Step" was off the hook. But we only got two songs for the encore, and after breaking in backstage, storming down Dave and demanding a personal serenade of "Crash", I woke up.

A note on our getaway: my husband and I got to sleep in, then go downstairs and eat a full breakfast that someone else had prepared for us. Then THEY cleaned it up. Heaven? No, just life PreK. (Pre-Kid.)

I hadn't gotten on a single blog until this evening, so I'll be catching up for a while. But I will be there, commenting and reading. Oh wait. Not in that order.

Today was a very special day. Today, the blogging world COLLIDED with the real, when, out of the pouring rain, my toddler and I walked up the front steps to find TWO packages awaiting my excitable hands.. both from the blogging world. That's right! I received TWO packages from two of my fellow bloggers, one prize, and one thank-you gift. More, including pictures, later.

What is all this talk about nationalizing banks?! We are so far away from that and yet we keep hearing about it. The government buying non-voting shares of a bunch of stock is NOT nationalization. When we get closer, I can understand pundits on both sides freaking out, but we are not there.

Moose Trax ice cream is the best. Little nuggets of choco-peanut butter heaven waiting to surprise you at every turn of your spoon. Mmm.

Spin Cycle: A Different Celebrity!

2009-04-16T19:00:00.000-07:00

I know, I know.. all of you Spin Cyclists that read my blog are justifiably expecting the Kevin Costner story. But I tried that once, remember? Yes, I had the chance to go out to his place in Colorado, twice, yes it was fabulous, yes I loved it, yes he's fabulous for letting us, no he was not there, blah blah blah. Let's not go there (again.)

BUT! Casey reminded me, I did have a brush with celebrity prior to this. In college. And it was WAY cooler because I actually met the celebrity. As opposed to just staying in his house, using his kick-ass Keurig Coffee (I met my) Maker and his snowmobiles and sledding hill.

This is a little less glamorous: I was invited to a friend's wedding her Senior year in college. They'd been dating since High School, he went to Duke (blech) and she went to Carolina (yay) and got married in Duke Gardens (blech) and had the reception at an old historic Inn in historic Hillsbrough (closer to Chapel Hill..yay!) I rode on the Equestrian team with her, and she was a very cool chick.. pretty laid back, concomitantly ditzy and smart, and hilarious.

I didn't know her well enough for her to break out with, "So my aunt married Michael Mann."

Let me pause here and give you Michael Mann's filmography:

Frankie Machine (2010) (in production) (rumored)

Public Enemies (2009) (completed)

Miami Vice (2006)
Collateral (2004)
Ali (2001)
The Insider (1999)
Heat (1995)
The Last of the Mohicans (1992)
L.A. Takedown (1989) (TV)
"Crime Story" (1 episode, 1987)
- Top of the World (1987) TV episode
Manhunter (1986)
... aka Red Dragon: The Curse of Hannibal Lecter (USA: TV title)
The Keep (1983)
Thief (1981)
The Jericho Mile (1979) (TV)
"Police Woman" (1 episode, 1977)
- The Buttercup Killer (1977) TV episode
17 Days Down the Line (1972)
Jaunpuri (1971)
Insurrection (1968)

I'm standing in the historic grass, in the beautiful May sunshine, and someone casually mentions there's a major Hollywood producer/director/writer standing over yonder. I was a flim major, so my heart missed a few beats. We all wound up surrounding him, like a gaggle of eager boarding school girls around the sole male, but only one guy could think of a brainy question to ask him.. about the sub-plot of the driver in Heat (1995).

Mr. Mann was intrigued, and took his time answering. I was so insanely jealous of that question. All I could stammer out was, "I'm a film major! But oh well. We are in North Carolina."

He corrected my assumption and said North Carolina's film industry was really ramping up. Not to count it out. Pursue all projects.

(Well, if I HAD taken his advice, do you really think I'd be writing this blog right now as opposed to the next screenplay he directs?! )

Michael Mann was one cool cat. Married to an aunt of a friend of mine. They go to family weddings. I met him once, had casual conversation. And he has every Hollywood A-list actor on speed dial.

This was years before the Kevin Costner "event". Is God trying to tell me something?

Writer's Workshop: Dave-style Getaway

2009-04-15T22:36:00.000-07:00

MamaKat's chosen prompt works perfectly for me today, it's almost unfair: 1.) If I sent you four hundred dollars today what is ONE thing you would spend it on and why. PS. I want my change.

I felt the need to make you laugh today, and, I'll be honest, I needed to laugh myself, after the emotionally charged remembrance of which I shared. We are heading out of town tomorrow, ironically to the same locale of which I spoke; the very locale which conjured up such bittersweet memories as late.

We're heading to the Dave Matthews Band show in Charlottesville, VA. By ourselves. NO kid. NO ~~pains in my asses, stuck inside and all the more bitter for it~~ dogs. The very definition of... THE GETAWAY.

It's okay.. the dogs will look after the 22-mo old toddler just fine. And toddler knows how to feed them. And I've previously stated he can get his milk out of the fridge, so what does he need us for? (In-law Grandma is heroically stepping up.)

We saw Dave in 1999 when we'd just started dating. We chose "Two Step" as our wedding entrance song. Our first dance was "Where Are You Going?" We saw Dave&Tim Reynolds in 2003 on an acoustic tour and listened to the live recording every car ride for two years.

So, yeah. Kind of a big deal to us. (That, and we haven't been to a concert since the Rolling Stones in 2005.)

Clearly you can see what I would do with the wad of cash MamaKat handed me, since tickets are a ~~ridiculous~~ nominal $65/ea. Hotels are an average of ~~an unconscionable~~ $200/night, and I we have ~~very expensive taste~~ nice favorite restaurants. She is not getting change. In fact, could I go time-and-a-half here?

Where's the funny? To save a few extra Benjamins, I've been looking into cheaper hotels, and reading their reviews. I think you'll appreciate these anonymous guest reviewers' honesty and attention to detail as I have:

:: Actual comments from the reviews on EconoLodge (if you don't believe me):
"In our room there was a used towel left on the bath door hook, the cold water in the sink did not work, and the phone did not work. The pool, although open in Sept., was murky. The bed was clean and comfortable and the location was good for us, but I would not go back."

"The expectations weren't high going into this as we were staying at an Econo Lodge. These low expectations weren't meet. There was no hair dryer, no iron, and a weird white film on the rug. The shower switched from cold to hot and back. This place was awful."

"This was probably the most dilapidated hotel I've ever stayed in. It's probably 15 years overdue for a renovation. We stayed two nights, but the housekeeping service never came to our room between the two nights. The towels were threadbare, the pillows were just collections of lumps inside a pillowcase, and the matresses were nearly crushed."

"1. The pillowcases were wrinkled, and unattractive on the bed. 2. The box spring had visible cigarette burns on it. 3. There was obvious lint & dirt behind the night stand and on the side of the bed closest to the wall. 4. There was no accessible outlet near the coffee pot, so I had to move it over to the next available outlet, which was very close to the sink. 5. The sheets didn't appear to be clean--there were brown spots on the top sheet."

"Do NOT stay in this hotel. It is dirty, the tub even had a ring around it, the towels were tan with dirt, carpets were dirty, PLUS we even had a bug, (I didn't see it, my daughter tells me it was a roach), crawl up our wall."

So, MamaKat.. send all $400, and send it quickly. The Omni's a bit more, food and gas are not cheap, and let's build in a little for parking tickets.

On second thought, don't worry about the cash. This getaway will be priceless.

In Memoriam: Remembering Rachel

2009-04-15T00:00:00.000-07:00

Please, no comments (see note at the end.)

Two years ago today, April 15th, 2007, the world lost a beautiful, amazing, kindred soul, and we, a friend. Two years ago today. I'd like to set aside this corner of the blogosphere for her today, and share with you a little bit about Rachel. As I type this, I'll try to hold back the tears.

Every now and again, you meet someone that reminds you of yourself.. a little bit. And, that person reminds you of what is potentially better about yourself, that you weren't aware of.

It was 2004, and all the Fall '04 Darden students and their spouses were gathered on the top of a parking deck, waiting to load up for the big Camping Trip that would kick off our two years in Charlottesville, and forever bond us to one another through tents, hiking treacherous terrain, flip-cup, campfires, and speed-friending. My husband ushered me over to meet Rachel and her husband. She smiled shyly, and I remember thinking how sweet and nice she seemed, and yet.. there seemed to be so much more.

There was. Over the course of two years, we "partners" (some weren't spouses yet) grew close. We met for weekly knitting and wine (mostly wine. I never did get the hang of knitting.) We traveled together. We saw each other weekly, bi-weekly, often several times a week with various events, get-togethers and parties (both obligatory and not.) It was a very condensed, but very real bonding of friendships.

No, I didn't have the privilege of knowing her my entire life, or even most of my life. But I feel as if I met and got to know Rachel in the stage of our lives where we finally discovered who we were becoming, as women, as wives, as people. That delicate stage between "single working" world and "now kids have taken over" world. The beautiful place called (spouse is in) "graduate school."

If you'd met Rachel on the street, you might notice a few things right away. . that she was beautiful. She was probably smiling. She empathized with your situation-whatever it was, and that she cared. But what you couldn't see from the outside was her tremedous selfless spirit and generosity. In her own time of need, she reached out to comfort others. She sought the good in people, and reminded you, by doing so, to do the same. She asked the best of herself.

She had an amazing singing voice, could beat the pants off of any man playing soccer, ran marathons, was a very serious student who went on to get a graduate degree in Social Work, and she loved her dogs. More, she loved everyone with her whole heart.

That, really, is what brings tears to my eyes while I type this. I feel like there are a few other people in my life that love with every fiber of their beings.. who are truly alive because of it. Rachel was one of those people.

Two years ago today she was taken from us forever, a fact alone that took a very long time to register with me.

The phone call started out harmlessly. It was a mutual friend, a good friend I hadn't caught up with in a while. I was yammering on about how our baby shower had gone, how everyone was so happy, things were great, wonderful. Pause. She'd asked if we'd talked to Rachel's husband? No, why? She didn't know how to say it, and I didn't know what was coming.

It was a driving rain.. there was very little visibility. Another truck involved. A car accident.
"Colleen... she didn't make it. She died."

We had just seen her a few weeks' prior. She was 31.

I remember thinking, as my hand was caught in mid-air, that I was looking down a tunnel. I could see all the way through the tunnel to the end - the grief, that I would someday, at some point, understand. Accept the gravity of what she had just said. But right now they were just words.

Just words hanging in mid-air, nobody really understanding what meaning they had. Nothing made sense and there was nothing anyone could do about it.

I would estimate 1,000 people came to the memorial service, held at the chapel where she was wed. I tend to exaggerate, but there were people from all over her life, far and wide, by plane and by car, any means necessary. It was a celebration of a life full of beauty, full of happiness, full of the richness of life. The true richness of a life, celebrated, mourned, and never forgotten.

The most remarkable thing, as I wet my keyboard with tears, is that her memory will live on in her giving spirit with the Rachel Haberkern Sherman Memorial Scholarship, for which hundreds of thousands of dollars has been raised. If you've been moved by what you read, please visit the site. Her memory will live on in perpetuity because of generosity.

PLEASE READ:: I would like to do something a little different. Please honor a moment of silence with me by not commenting on this post today. You can use this post to comment. I would like to honor her memory with our collective silence. Thank you. ::

and May flights of angels sing thee to thy Rest.

RTT: Inextricable Velcro Kix

2009-04-13T22:20:00.000-07:00

Soggy, milk-laden Kix become the strongest balls o' Velcro in the world. You could use these to hold a cement block on the ceiling.

Why are toddlers so fascinated with bee-bo's? Oh, that's belly buttons, for those of you beyond the "Belly Button Book" phase of life.

Flat Pellegrino tastes like.. well, regular water from Italy. Ok. Fine. Just regular water.

No matter how much of a SuperMom you think yourself to be, don't ever, EVER, walk into the grocery store at 5:00 PM with a toddler and proceed to set grocery-store shopping records by purchasing one thing on every aisle and a dozen in the produce section. Inexplicably.

Especially, if, when you get home to unload the 143 bags of groceries you just cursed yourself for buying (inexplicably), it starts to rain. This does not score you bonus points.

Enough toddler talk. Have we really gotten so far away from the actual origins and modern-day manifestations of piracy - real pirates, that when I walk up my neighbor's stairs to deliver our neighborhood newsletter, I read a sign posted on the door with a skull/crossbones that "PIRATES ONLY... ARRRG" are allowed?

================================================================
Lighter note! A lighter, lemon-ey note! Thanks, Kelly, from My Voice, My View! I really appreciate it! Further award information will follow.

Happy Tuesday, everyone! Don't we all so much look forward to Tuesdays now that Keely turned us on to being random? Go over, grab the button, and by all means, turn on your own random-word generator.

As Fleeting as Blossoms

2009-04-12T16:33:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking a lot lately, about this inability of mine to absolutely embrace the stay-at-home-mom life. I never thought in a million years, deep into my "illustrious" career with banks and internet start-ups, that I would "stay" home with my son. Quotes are "sarcastic." I thought I'd BE home a lot, working for project A or starting up that new endeavor B. And I may still (stay tuned. I've been doing a lot with the 35mm lately.) WILL SHE get SERIOUS, folks?
As I was passing by two gorgeous previously-in-full bloom cherry trees in our neighborhood, admiring the scattered petals over the ground, it occurred to me how similarly fleeting childhood years are. We get busy, we turn our heads, and tiny fingers, toes and curly locks grow, leaving an older, different child in his place.. much as the wind blows the blossoms from the branch.

Delicate intricacies of rose, red and pink
Look up, look about
Delicate stoop for Cheerio; pause and think
Catch that baby pout

Sunshine and springtime and growing in full bloom
Now big, ever stout
Like birds of a feather in full-spectrum plume.
Childhood years, now in doubt

Far more delicate, our time spent together
Always know his whereabouts
Fleeting and flying and enduring all weather
I'm the one who must pout

Sunlight filters the whites and pinks of soft hue
Wind blows and -- watch out!
Slowly, inevitably, becoming unglued.
Look up, look about

Blowing and flying, catching wind, catching breeze
These miraculous years are, I know, but a tease.

The 35mm pictures I promised of said cherry blossoms (from a Japanese weeping cherry.) More 35mm to come!

Happy Easter, everyone!

Spinning: Mystery Post

2009-04-09T19:00:00.000-07:00

This week it's a free-for-all, over at the Spin Cycle hub, Sprite's Keeper. I like free form writing, clearly, since I subject you all to it every week.

But this week is a "Mystery Post" for my Spin. Why do I always ask so many questions? As in, what is going on with these random things with me?

1. Why am I dusting and cleaning spaces in my house that rarely see dusting and cleaning?
(Spring time? Warm weather back in season?) There must be dust in my head, so when I look around I see it, like dust-colored glasses.
2. Why do I still have this danged head cold, going on two weeks now?
(Stubborn? Won't take anything? Went to the doc and didn't take what they gave me?)
3. Why am I oscillating between irritation and tearing up at car insurance commercials?
(Ah. PMS? TMI? LOL?)
4. Why do I not feel any motivation to do anything, at times?
5. Why did I fall off the wagon just days before a true commitment to participation in Casey's HASAY project?
6. Related, why did I spend 20 minutes trying to choose between Butter Pecan and Moose Trax ice cream, when my favorite flavor is Mint Chocolate Chip? (I wound up getting both.)
7. And please tell me, someone, why it is that I forget where I'm going the minute we start driving somewhere? The poor toddler is running out of back-up plans. And "Toy Store" is getting redundant.

For what this post lacked in humor, it made up for in mystery. Now go check out the better Spins at Sprite's place.. her Keeper is pretty hilarious.

Writer's Workshop: Horrid Tastes from my 20s

2009-04-08T20:00:00.000-07:00

From MamaKat's Writing Workshop, my chosen prompt: 5.) What is an unpleasant experience you had eating? Write a poem, paragraph, or something else about the experience.

How 'bout a novella? I'm going to share this story with everyone, in the hopes that I might save someone else the horribleness of it. And if you're reading this on Facebook, there is a minute chance you are in this story. Minute.. say.. one-half of one percent. 50 bps for you finance folks. 50 pts if you figure out who you are.

My first job out of college. Ah, what an adventure. I was recruited by a large wholesale plumbing distributor for their "Management Trainee" program, which is a pseudonym for "bitch" and "do whatever anyone tells you to do" and ridiculous crazy things like lift 135-lb Kohler sinks and drive forklifts (withOUT knocking down a pallet of bathtubs.) What I ~~struggled, whined, got dirty and foul-mouthed from~~ did at this job is irrelevant, the important point is it was nearly 99% MALE. Men in the warehouse, men in inside sales, men in outside sales, men in management. This was good training for later in my career, when I'd work on a testosterone-crazed trading floor.

We'd all hang out a lot, the trainee guys and me. We'd have little happy hours with the ONE or two other ladies and all the guys.. going to relatively nice places with pool tables and quality beer. At one relatively nice place that we frequented, one night I was surrounded by a bunch of my male colleagues, and shots were ordered. No, I didn't become the drunk victim of shots.. it's so much worse than that.

There is a shot called a "Cement Mixer." Have you heard of this? I had never heard of this. One was ordered, a challenge was presented, and attention was being paid. And, since I'll do anything for attention (see: blog creation), I was game.

This particular shot is two shots.. (Bailey's Irish Cream and lime juice); you take one just after the other. Then, in some nightmarish scene out of a horror chemistry experiment, the liquid solidifies in your mouth.. .curdled Bailey's. All eyes were on me as I choked, struggled, became increasingly confused, and then... yep. Shot it back like a pro. Swallowed.

HUGE cheers erupted. "You guys suck," and "what a horrible prank," and "never coming out with you guys again", were barely audible. I think I actually got slapped on the back, like this was some sick, twisted initiation rite for being able to sell plumbing equipment.

So, my 20s were filled with learning experiences. No matter how much someone bets, cons, pays or bribes you, under no circumstances do you EVER do a Cement Mixer shot.

Ode to You, and You and You

2009-04-07T19:43:00.001-07:00

Just a quick note tonight, to let y'all know that I'm thinking about you. Literally. Thinking about you all, in your glory and honor as ~~stir-crazy soldiers of the written word~~ fellow bloggers. In your written splendor and photographing genius, which beauty and thought-provocation keeps me coming back, again and again.

I do get obsessed easily. When I joined Facebook, I stayed on it for about 14 days straight (didn't everyone?) But still.

Driving down to the airport today to fetch my husband back to the real world, I heard "Tangled Up in Blue" by Bob Dylan, and was immediately taken to Blicky's analytical mind (games.) Frustrated with myself mid-day for failing (yet again) to get my 35mm roll developed to share the cherry blossom explosion, I thought of myself standing on a riverbank, like IB. Just.. waiting my life out. Waiting to really get serious about photography; waiting until the right ending "hits me" to finish that short story. Putting off April is Poetry Month reminders.

Thinking about all my new friends in Canada, (who thought the Final Four was a band!)

Cheering a fellow bloggers' 200th post in all its simplistic glory. Recognizing the joy of a blog post from real life, since I was at the party. Sparring with others on the "big games" of this weekend, reliving college rivalries again. Watching a community come together with amazing support for a fellow blogger when the unthinkable happens.

Getting caught in the beauty of a new Followers' profile picture, full wind in the sails. Laughing at Jeanne, laughing at Jenners. I even cooked a recipe straight from Buff's description! And it was fabulous!

All of this and more. It's support. It's caring and consideration. Not to put too fine a point on it, but .. a lot like family.

You all are with me, truly. Madly, deeply.

Random Tuesday Thoughts: Obsession

2009-04-06T20:59:00.000-07:00

I can't think of ANYthing else besides the Final game tonight (NCAA championship, for those of you NOT following along at home.)

Some might call it an obsession. Some may call it loyalty. I just call it passion.

Somehow, watching the Heels warm up, watching the Carolina fans in the crowd, I am instantly, immediately connected to my 1) undergrad years in Chapel Hill and 2) every year since the year we graduated which is.. (ha! Wouldn't YOU like to know.) There really is an undeniable tie that binds in sport. It's true.

But I do feel random, as usual. I'm really surprised Kevin Spacey sold out and did an Infiniti commercial. He is one quality actor. Can't his agent get him some better gigs?

Half-time: UNC 55, MSU 34

There is more drama in one casual late-afternoon outing with a toddler than in all the daytime soap operas on at the same time.
Why don't the writers of those shows just observe an average 22-month old at the Barnes&Noble kids section, surrounded by competing bright colors, board books, other ~~targets to take trains from~~ kids around the train table, and multi-level climbing opportunities not designed for that purpose? You've got your mystery. Your comedy. Your bait-n-switch. Your betrayal (Mom beckons you over to show you the book she found. You walk the other way.)

The cherry blossoms have bloomed here, and are already blowing off the trees, leaving a gorgeous rose-petal like mosaic in the wind's path. We're walking up an altar-like sidewalk of dropped petals upon the approach to the house. Like the royalty that we are.

Final score: doesn't matter. THEY DID IT! I'm so proud of these guys, I feel like they are my own kids. They deserve it. GO HEELS! (And for anyone who cares, 89-72!)

And my husband was there to witness it.
(Don't worry. I'll get a SWEET trip out of this.)

I Do It For Love, Love, Love

2009-04-04T10:05:00.001-07:00

I might have missed it by a mile, but I'm still responding to MamaKat's prompt from Thursday:
1) WHY DID YOU DO IT?

WHY, pray tell, did I get on the phone to the North Carolina booster club and Ticket Office in an undeterred effort to get TWO tickets for the Final Four?

WHY, pray tell, did I then book a frequent flyer ticket and stick it on hold, ensuring the husband could physically get out there?

WHY, pray tell, did I sign up to take him to the airport and take care of our toddler for four days while he's gone? (Thanks be to MOM for offering to come up and help out!! Moms are the best. Aren't we?)

WHY did I stifle my jealously that he'll get to see the Final Four live, next to his best friend, while I stay back and watch it on TV?

Here's why. And I don't say it often enough. Because I love my husband more than anything else in the entire world. Because he asks for nothing, but provides everything in return. Because he is content to live in a ~~cardboard box and eat Ramen~~ minimalist state, operating for his entire life as if we are, indeed, in a Depression, and saving. Because he plans ahead for the future. Because he looks out for his family. He's careful, he's scrupulous, he's rarely indulgent, and passionately loyal. (Yep, he's a Scorpio, too.)

Because he's exceptionally spiritual, without imposing any value judgments on others. Because he's just a genuinely nice guy, that people like. Because he fought me tooth and nail, initially, saying there were so many reasons it wasn't practical for him to fly off to Detroit to watch a bunch of college basketball.

(Oh.. but not just ANY college basketball. This boy bleeds Carolina blue. Chapel Hill is literally in his blood. He would cross oceans in order to watch a Carolina basketball game [on time] and the world actually stops when he is. I call it his 'addiction', but mostly, it's just.. his thing.)

Because he's all of these things, and more. And I love him.

And I'll be thinking all of this while scanning the television tonight for his face in the crowd! GO HEELS!

Our "Big" News

2009-04-01T11:02:00.000-07:00

I wasn't going to post today. I was giving you all a break, visiting and commenting, reading and tearing up and laughing. You all really are the best.

But! I must post this story today. I recently discovered "irony"; just after posting what a cheerful fellow Elmo is, I have to stop my arm from launching our Chicken-Dance Elmo across the room. (Oh! Just wait! I'll post a video soon and then you'll launch your laptop across the room!)

The story is simple and uncomplicated. I am WIFE OF THE YEAR. Let me tell you why.

I got my husband Final Four tickets. Then, I booked a frequent flyer ticket for him to Detroit. That's why.

I called yesterday morning to request tickets from our school's booster club, of which we've been loyal ~~high~~ acceptable paying members for seven years. They took my information and said we'd find out later in the day.

In the meantime, I got onto Delta.com to check flights using my own frequent flyer number (this way I could check seat availability.) One or two left, here or there. So, I booked a flight and put it on hold (using HIS frequent flier miles this time. Right? At least I did that.)

I got a call mid-way through the day from an 18-year old kid at the ticket office, asking for my credit card info again; why? I wanted to know. "Because you're pretty much good.. to get tickets."

Really?! Seriously?!! We're getting the two tickets that I requested on a whim? My husband, the fanatic, the addict, the college basketball guru that would live only for March Madness if that career option were open to him, is going to get to go see his Heels in the Final Four?

(Before you act glum and start telling me how lucky I am, just know that 1) we have a toddler, 2) we have two b-day parties this weekend and 3) I am not going. No, the other ticket is for his best friend, who, with a flight booked and no ticket, is delighted he's not spending $1,000.)

The clincher: What day is today?! April Fool's Day, hello! Here's your irony... this is a TRUE story. Ask my facebook friends.

So, for April Fool's Day, I called my mother and left a message that we're pregnant and having twins.

Random Tuesday un-Thoughts

2009-03-30T08:32:00.000-07:00

I think Elmo is about the cheeriest fellow around. I mostly love his chuckle, and that it's generally about something dumb or inane he just did in the third person... "OOPS! Elmo just flushed his bunny down the toilet.. UH oh! Hee hee hee."

I can't win with this head cold that (YES), I still have. I can't hear anything, my voice is still hoarse, and I'm starting to sound really whiny. What's that? You noticed? Guess where you can stick those powers of observation?

UNC is in the Final Four! UNC is in the Final Four!

My 21-mo old toddler can open the fridge and get his own milk out now. He says, "MILLLLL--? MILLLLLLL--?" exactly TWICE, and if unanswered in 14.2 seconds, goes and gets it himself. I'm waiting for him to be able to drive me around and cook me breakfast, too. Maybe that's when it will dawn on me why I had kids!

I wish we'd get a sustained market rally. Then I could really earn my keep.

We had friends over this weekend that have a new (10-month old) puppy; she is a bird dog pedigree and they were still deciding whether to have her fixed. All of a sudden one day, her "glands" were red and swollen "back there," and she started "leaking". They realized with horror and sudden anxiety, that she was in heat. So they got advice from a humorist, who told them to put toddler underwear on her with several pads, which would then have to be changed daily. As soon as I heard this story and stopped laughing, I informed them that I had to post this on the blog. Pictures to follow. (Her appointment to be fixed has been made.)

My toddler calls the television "Tivo". As in, "turn off Tivo? Turn on Tivo?" He calls this thing I'm banging away on 'puter. When it dings for a new email, he says, "Uh oh, 'puter."

This Thursday, the greatest television series of ALL TIME will be ending.. the series finale of ER.

This post reminds me of every phone call with my Mom. Apple doesn't fall far..

Feeling random? Reading this post got your Random Post Generator revved up? Go check out other randoms at Keely's place, the Un-Mom. Tell her she looks really fit today.

Speed of Light and Other Constants

2009-03-29T17:58:00.000-07:00

First, I must apologize for the SNAFU with my 100th post; somehow, it's fitting, for me, to have such a dramatic 100th. Nothing I do is short in the drama department, I'm not exactly where this originates.. probably from my being very dramatic. Anyhoo, when I initially posted the Kevin Costner post, it was picked up by a couple fan sites that have major worldwide exposure and it quickly overwhelmed my sense of a 'private showing' to my loyal blog readers. Naive? Sure.

But the more important moment of clarity I experienced was the why. Why in the world was I prompted to post something I knew, deep down, would generate some attention? Even if I promised some readers, (so many posts back that there was no hope they'd remember) that I'd tell that story?

Because I'm an attention hound, always have been, and always working on counteracting this. I'm the youngest of three children, in fact..my siblings are seven and ten years my senior. Making me the doted-upon, attention-lavished, never taken seriously child that has always been viewed as "the baby" in my family.

Ever since I could remember, I would struggle to get a word in edgewise, in heated family dinner table debates (normally centered on physics, quantum mechanics, and other ~~useless~~ useful Laws of the Universe. I appreciate my Dad making us think. I really do, especially since he'd never give us the answer. He made you think.

If you're standing on the end of an accelerating train, and you have a flashlight, and there is someone out in space with another flashlight, shining the light towards you, and you both have a clock, and you look down and read the clock at the same time...

When I was mostly concerned with getting a boy to notice me, or keeping all my friends in middle school, I was hardly worried about what Einstein thought, or how he proved light as a constant. But that is what we talked about. Ideas. Theories. Everything is relative. It's hard to get attention as the youngest in that mix.

Even now, as a 30-something adult, lavishing my own attention upon my firstborn, my beloved mini-masterpiece of a Toddler, I see him hamming it up for the crowd when we're out to lunch. Or showing off in Hola Baby spanish class. Or parading around with the drum in music class. I see the twinkle in his baby eye when he gets the teacher to notice him, flashes his toothy grin for the camera.

I was the star in the school's 2nd-grade play, Peter Pan, when I was too little to understand showmanship (or, was I?) The entire family went berserk with the idea that I was bound to be an actress after that performance. And maybe I've been playing that role ever since.

Big 100: Costner is Still the Coolest, Ever

2009-03-27T15:17:00.001-07:00

I had to take the original post down. This in itself might make an interesting post at some point. But I felt the need to explain a litte.

For my loyal ~~confused, misled~~ readers of this blog, you have heard me yammer on about how great KC is for a while now. And he still is. I simply had to take down the post detailing all the reasons I think so. (Hours after initially posting it. Can anyone say "internet" and "fanatical?") For you all, just the basic facts: Yes, I did get to visit his place in Aspen (twice) with some fortunate others. That is still true.

(And sorry, to my previous commenters!) I had more hits on that post than.. well, than all other posts combined. I had included pictures of the inside of the house, other cool details like the hot tub pool, the snowmobiles.. you get it.

But, in an important moment of clarity, I'm going to grow my blog readership through my own content; not piggyback on someone else's. And thank you, SiteMeter, for letting me know how this here "internet" works.. connectivity abounds.

Still go out and Netflix EVERY Kevin Costner movie you can get in your queue.

The Guardian

Before you ask.. no, he was not there. It's way cooler that that .. at the time, he was off filming The Guardian ('06) with Ashton Kutcher.

And if this isn't all enough to make you click the link to buy the Guardian, then on to Netflix to get every KC movie into your possession, let me show you, my fellow bloggers, why he is the coolest celebrity alive. Really.

The Kicker
Now click here (do it! You'll be glad!). (Hint: it's a BLOG.)
Look closely, and I promise: you'll agree with me.

He's just the coolest.

Tuesday's Random Thoughts: #99

2009-03-23T12:50:00.000-07:00

This is my 99th Post!! Brought to you by Keely at the Superheroine blog, the Un-Mom. And brought to you by the letter 'R'. And the smiling cherub at the end.

I have completely lost my voice. This isn't a random thought, it's a random fact. I sound like a barking seal when I talk. The ~~machine-like robotic~~ grocery-checkout-gal did a double take. On the phone, my mom didn't know who I was. The worst part: it is physically impossible to sound threatening when every other word is a whisper. The dogs and toddler have completely lost respect of my authority. I saw my yellow Lab roll her eyes at me today. (But she is really insolent sometimes.)

Don't buses have the most unusually unique braking sound? They do. When you hear it coming, careening around the corner, you just know it's a big yella' school bus.

Is it just me, or does it seem like most technological innovation has stalled in the U.S. for a time? Let's not count the iPhone, or Wii. Those are fun toys. We're still behind in cell phone banking, unlike Western European countries, and nearly all of Asia. Social networking/media seems to be the most significant innovation stateside in some time.
My husband insists that I include his addendum to that last point: do we really need to BANK on our cell phones? Can that transfer really NOT WAIT, that we have to do it on our PHONES?

Speaking of lightening fast banking needs, hip, hip, HOORAY for the market rally today! And hooray for me selling my winner (BAC two weeks ago: $3.65; BAC sold today: $7.40.) I do NOT recommend putting any capital at risk that you can not risk losing. At least short term.

Grocery store chains seem to be doing more lately to win my business. I have my pick of at least 10 major stores within a 2-3 mile radius, and each time they have new and innovative ways of winning my loyalty. I got five bucks off my bill today, for some Safeway game they were playing!

He did this himself. Then let me know how pleased he was with his innovation.

I think we're going to have to suck it up and buy a minivan. END OF POST. END OF YOUR LIFE. THANKS FOR PLAYIN'.

Spin on My Quirks

2009-03-22T18:00:00.000-07:00

Quirks, not Quarks. We'll leave physics and math for another post.

You may not have noticed my being MIA from your comment fields (or maybe you have!) But I got sick. Then, taught my kid yoga class anyway, took a 2-hour nap, got a little better, went to a friends' going-away party/stayed out too late, fell a few rungs on the wellness ladder, napped, got better, went to brunch, fell some rungs, you get the pattern. Oh! Then my laptop decided to crash.

But I'm back to Spin on my own quirks, because I have so many. Not all of them are funny, so I'm warning you now. Check out the other quirky Spins while you're at it!

:: I once bought new underwear in college, because I ran out of clean and wasn't doing laundry often enough. I was traveling on the weekends for the college ~~drinking~~ ski team, and our apartment didn't have a washer/dryer. Worse, I went to a CVS/Pharmacy to buy them.. discovering that CVS does not, in fact, sell undies. Don't ever tell undergraduate friends this, if you try it. (I still hear about this.)

:: I must remove my shoes and put on my slippers immediately upon entering my house. Not everyone else's house, just mine. We bought a 1949 Cape Cod house with no basement, which means it's close to the cold ground, which means it's a little like walking on a giant, flat iceberg. Not one of the melting ones, though.

:: I stand on one leg when getting ready for bed. I don't always know that I do this. Often, my husband will come in, laugh, and make a comment about my being a flamingo, before I realize I'm doing it.

:: I can only whistle by sucking air in. The toddler loves it. No, I will not be posting a video of this. Also, just one tone.

:: When cleaning up play-doh, I separate the colors out and try to find the corresponding top. For those of you that have been away from toddlers for a while, this is IMPOSSIBLE.

:: I prefer to have the radio news on (NPR) when I'm cooking dinner/feeding my son. I have to. Often I talk back to what it's telling me. Part of the conversation.

:: If my son gets a puzzle out, then his toddler A.D.D. kicks in before he does said puzzle, I must stop everything and put the pieces back in. I cannot walk away. Let alone put it back on the shelf incomplete. What if we lost a piece?!

:: When eating pancakes, waffles or french toast, I spread the butter and add the syrup, then cut the entire entity into 1,000 tiny bites before taking a one. This is the only example of cuisine for which I fail to cut five pieces of an item, pause, pass fork from left/cutting to right/eating (authentic American style) and polish off before cutting the next five. Pancakes bring out the worst in my table manners, it would seem.

Spin on Creating: Flying Blind Pt. 2

2009-03-20T11:30:00.000-07:00

Previously posted: [Her head was pounding. A thick, clouded pounding that can only result from days of dehydration, being elevated several atmospheres above the Earth, and some mind-numbing alcohol. Not that she really drank that much. It was just hard when you went all day eating nothing but pretzels and chewy granola bars, and an occasional half-can of diet Coke.

The 5:00 AM Charlotte flight was bound to be on time, so she indeed had to wake up to the first alarm. Struggling through her dark blue polyester pants, she tried to clear the clouds from the two previous evenings. When she got to the precipice of her memory, where she might jump off the cliff, and, in falling, suddenly remember all the various horrid things she had done on the stage, in the spotlight, and under the table, she decided to hold back. Hang on to the edge of that cliff, too scared to look down and too strong to let go.

She sighed, brushing her teeth. Thank goodness she had packed herself last night; the silver lining in the midst of a solidly dreary morning. Soon that would change, and she hoped her outlook would change with it. But it was doubtful.
:

Stepping across the threshold onto the Boeing 747, her hair was still slightly damp, something the airline had made clear was not acceptable in its latest internal “grooming” memo, and she tossed it back over one shoulder as she quickly loaded her carry-on into the attendants’ space. This was going to be a long day.

Nineteen hours ago, she was blissfully caffeinated, and five hours after that, blissfully drunk. Drunk on liquor, drunk on love, and not knowing where the two blended. This was typical in her secondary profession. But she rarely admitted it to herself. Nobody else in her life knew about her dual worlds, and there was no reason to change that now.]

She flitted among the seats, among the suits, never losing her stride or allowing herself to jump off that mental cliff. A tune was playing somewhere in the background of her mind, which she had chosen to finish her set with two nights ago. Dusty Springfield, "Son of a Preacher Man." Benny had turned it up as loudly as the system would go, and the blur of tequila and limes stung her lips now, memory defiantly reminding her.

Benny had been threatened with a trademark-infringement suit on two disparate occasions, over his naming of the establishment "The Hardrock." Apparently, the real Hard Rock didn't like a "gentleman's" club being of similar vestige. But he ignored them, and, after pursuing a visual inspection of the aging, nondescript white cinder block building, the law firm representing the real Hard Rock dropped it. Apparently they were satisfied that their restaurants were not "so similar that it was likely to deceive or to cause confusion or mistake on the part of the average purchaser."

She paused and looked up at the man requesting an apple-cranberry juice. His face was familiar; he traveled this route frequently, and she'd smiled at him before. And been smiled at.

"We have apple. And we have cranberry. I could .. mix them for you," she said breezily.
"Please. That would be refreshing." He had dark, serious eyes. Probably an attorney. Maybe a consultant. But they looked kind when he smiled.
"Sure," she elevated her voice above the noise of the jets. Her mind was reaching, farther back into her memory. Was it just from this flight that she recognized him? She passed him the drink, and his eyes met hers one more time. He was having the same struggle, and her heart leaped, unexpectedly. Surely he wasn't one of her regulars, down at the Hardrock?

"Miss?" A man was motioning from two rows down. "Miss, I need help." Her thoughts shifted, attention re-focused, back on auto-pilot. Her mystery man would have to remain that for now.

:
* "flying blind" has been continued as part of the weekly Spin Cycle, over at Sprite's Keeper. Check her out!

Writer's Workshop: Keep it Clean!

2009-03-18T20:47:00.000-07:00

This is a perfect day; this has been on my mind to write, and it fits perfectly into Mama Kat's third prompt for Writer's Workshop this week;

3.) Describe a time you allowed your child to do something that you normally would not let slide.

I work in my son's co-op preschool classroom once a month or so, and Tuesday was my last day as "lead", which means two things, 1) I cherished this last little nugget of time being his "teacher" and observing how he interacts with the other toddlers, and 2) I'm FREE, FREE, FREE and FREE for the rest of this session. Next Fall, he'll go to a 'traditional' 2's program, no co-oping.

We Moms do the curriculum, and the suggested craft activity for this, my teaching Tuesday, was fingerpainting! "Oh, crap," I thought as I read the suggestion to get out the smocks, the finger paints, and have each very busy, very unsteady set of toddler fingers paint a Rainbow.

"Go for it," said the unaffected, will-be-far-away-at-work husband, with a grin.

Always the ~~under~~ overachiever, I announced to the permanent teacher my intention for the craft that day. She gave me a long look. Then, as if resigning herself to not roll her eyes, got out the table cover, smocks, large sheets of paper. We started with 2-3 kids at a time, quickly whittling it down to 2, while the other Mom watched the balance of the kids.

The result amazed me. Each kid was tentative, at best, to the idea of smushing his/her hands into some kind of paint, and getting messy! Before my disbelieving eyes, each child reluctantly dipped one finger, or two, into the gloppy paint, then delicately put the finger to paper and wiped it around a bit, as if to rid the clean finger of said gloppiness. We encouraged, we incented, we even demonstrated. My own mess-loving toddler took a moment to verify I was "okay" with his fingers (and subsequently, clothes) getting completely bamboozled with bright red, yellow, blue and green.

Once they understood that this kind of atrocious messying-up of their fingers was allowed, they got into it. Really into it. The youngest one, at only 14 months, wouldn't STOP once he got going, and kept sneaking back over to our half of the classroom to begin getting brightly colored again. With joy, I saw my own toddler's independent use of the "handprint" style.

But...One child in particular wouldn't do it. He was the oldest, at 2.5 years, and said, "No, Thank you," when told it was his turn to make a picture. We sat him down and convinced him that Mommy might truly enjoy a picture, or at least a little handprint. He dipped one finger, no more, and slide it across the paper to get it off. When he was done 4.5 seconds later, he popped up, hands straight out in front of himself so as to not touch anything, to get his hands washed. His face, clothes and psyche stayed relatively unmarked. Well, I can't vouch for his psyche.

The thing is, kids are supposed to get messy. And we, as parents, are supposed to clean them up. But I saw first hand how much they have been trained, encouraged, educated, prompted and threatened, to stay clean at all costs! We wash their hands to prevent germs. We wash hands after coming in from outside. Touching someone else's toys. Sneezing. Petting the dogs. Farm animals. Our own butts.

I'm the worst offending OCD-Mom there is. I wash my hands just after I've washed them. The point is.. how much are we stifling our kids' creativity? By just... keeping them clean, at all costs?

Now. If you'll excuse me. I need to finish scrubbing the dirt out from under the dog's paws.

Riddle Me This Pt. 2

2009-03-17T18:50:00.000-07:00

Jenners is at it again, Fun and Games with Jenners, except THIS time, she got the idea from this very blog. Since we here at Fingers & Paws are so easily swayed by flattery (try me,) I must immediately participate in said game. Go check her very cool riddles out, make your own, and link up!

The game is a riddle. I post pictures, forming a riddle. You guess in comments. I'm going to make this one a lot tougher than LAST time though, because everyone got it right away.

Photo credit

I don't think this is any more tough than last time. I'll keep working on it. I'll stump you guys one of these days.

Random Tuesday Thoughts

2009-03-17T01:00:00.000-07:00

: I'm guest posting over at What It's Like to Be Mie today, so go check ~~her me~~ us out! Happy St. Patty's! It's her Terrible Two-Versary. Wish her luck.. Terrible Two's are YIKES. (And my son is 22 months old.)

: Everyone knows about those "My Child is an HONOR Student at Superstupendousamazing Elementary School." I've been wondering lately, what is the checks-and-balances system behind this bumper-sticker distribution? If a class slips through where she/he just couldn't quite cut it and got a 'B', God forbid, do they come through the parking lot and remove said stickers off the offending vans? Do the parents protest the removal, or hide shamefully in the bushes? Are there fights? Teacher on parents? Principal on parent? B.F. Skinner on Homer?

: I really love Random Tuesday Thoughts. It allows my brain to act naturally. For example. Ben Bernanke is kind of cute, in an erudite sort of way. I'm going to pretend he doesn't resemble my Father-in-Law.

: After teaching my kid yoga class Sat., I was starving. My husband I agreed to meet out for lunch near the house, he'd bring the toddler. (Lest he fend for himself at home.) Chipotle near Home Depot. Ok. So, I'm sitting at the Chipotle near Home Depot, waiting, by myself. Ordered, sitting, still waiting. Problem is, he's at THE OTHER Chipotle near THE OTHER Home Depot, across town, waiting. At a TOTALLY different restaurant near a totally different Home Depot.
This is how the phone call went:
"Are you at Chipotle?"
"Yes! Are you here?"
"The one near Home Depot?"
"Yes!"
"Which Home Depot?"
"The one near our house!"
(Sigh)

: Chocolate chip cookie dough, frozen, is quite possibly the most addicting food that exists.

: My yellow Lab's butt is starting to stink. Because of the blogosphere, I think I need to have her anal glands checked. She will be absolutely furious with me for telling you all this.

: I asked my husband for a completely random thought, as he was extending his hand to me, in a loving pitch to get me to come to bed. His response: "Yesterday was Monday."
(I'm typing this today. As far as I know, today is Monday. He's way ahead of himself.)

: Happy Random Tuesday! Go check out more Randomized Randomness at Keely's place.

My Letter to Jon Stewart and Jim Cramer

2009-03-15T18:55:00.000-07:00

Jim Cramer (Mad Money, TheStreet.com and Jon Stewart of Comedy Central went head-to-head late last week, and here is my letter to both networks in response):
:::

I'm a huge fan of both shows. You entertain me. And I'm talking years here.

I'd like to think that both Jon Stewart and Jim Cramer are in this position, of collecting 2,000 comments on the blog immediately following the airing of their toe-to-toe battle interview, because they want to be. As willing, educated, brilliant and active participants in our democratic process and civil servants to the debate of the free market system. And, a little bit because they both love the limelight. As entertainers.

Certainly, both men have impressive resumes and historical measures of their respective brilliance. Big brains. There is no denying that. However, both of them failed to place blame on where Wall Street bumps into Main Street, and the Universe collapses on itself: Original Sin.

Isn't, to a certain extent, human nature to blame, in this current debacle? Aren't we all pleased when we find out a stock we bought yesterday went up 30% due to some unexpected news? And likewise, isn't a 7-year old selling lemonade just delighted when the heat index breaks 100 degrees and there is no other liquid to be found nearby? Aren't all of loyal Cramerica fans dedicated to the idea that with sane, thorough, fundamental analysis of stocks, you, too can profit handsomely with your investment dollars?

Don't we all like to laugh at Jon Stewart's brilliant rhetoric?

Yes, yes, and oh by the way--we're all a little greedy, too*. Who didn't appreciate their home increasing in value (an unsustainable) 20%, or their stock portfolio increasing four-fold over the same number of years? Nobody wants nothing for their work and labor. It's called Human Nature.

I believe that those who have more, should give more, and those who don't, can get help. I strongly believe Jim Cramer and Jon Stewart, deep in their hearts, feel the same way, ideologically.

However! There are very complex financial instruments out there, which beget complex financial markets. I only understand a tenth of it having worked on a trading floor in MARKET RISK MANAGEMENT. I was measuring Market Risk for equity derivative trading portfolios.. and.. guess what?! Traders are smart. Traders are sneaky. Traders like to WIN. And they like to make money. And.. add some overleveraged banks, not enough capital, mortgages defaulting and de-valuing assets across the board, credit seizing up, commerce halting, the People getting caught in the middle and... here we are.

Jon Stewart asked the excellent point-question: "What is our role as journalists, if not to reveal the very shenanigans going on behind the uninformed Public's back..if we know about them?"

Certainly, Jim Cramer is not the face of whom we blame. His network? Could they have done more?

One of my favorite quotes:

Integrity is what you do when nobody is watching.

What about when we are?

* Note: NOT that I blame what has happened in the current crisis on the People, per se, simply that it was too easy to allow current market conditions to be ripe for bankers/traders/etc. to reap the benefits of (us) it in the capital markets.

Time to Be Honest

2009-03-14T10:56:00.000-07:00

First, please offer up your prayers, your positive thoughts and your kind words to Braja in her time of healing.
:::

Let me be honest. I'm way too honest. To a fault.

I went back through my "Edit Posts" feature, and found that some posts that I had drafted had never actually been published; but they "count" in the post "count". Point? I'm more like nine or ten posts away from my 100th post. Some of you that are the very sharpest tacks in the drawer picked up on my late "makeup" posts that I posted deep in the Archives late last night. Good catch! I even made up my own meme because I'd said that I would (honesty thing again.) Examine your heart at your own risk!

It was my husband who said, "100 Posts? Really? Is that possible... already?"

Time does fly, my friends. Birds are starting to visit the new birdfeeder; my toddler has learned to say "I seeeeeeeeeee you," whilst hiding; my yellow Lab is not racing in a mad dash up the back yard steps to chase squirrels with her brother. Spring is trying desperately to sprung. My legs are still sore from the run on Thursday, so that I had to explain why I was adding extra stretches to my kid yoga kids this morning. (Embarrassing.)

Time marches on. Sometimes slipping by, unnoticed, until we look up from our intensely busy days. Sometimes with the exacting barometer of a child, who seems to transform into a new version of himself overnight...advancing his knowledge, language, and dramatic acting skills daily.

And, finally... this blog. Your blogs. Look over at the left-hand side of mine, and whichever side your archives are on. How much has been written! How much sharing has been done! How much time have I stolen from you while I riff about life? How many moments have flown by, while life is desperately beside us, trying to keep up!

Hold on, tightly. Savor those moments until they slowly dissolve, leaving a whole new flavor in your mouth.

Friday Favorites

2009-03-13T04:00:00.000-07:00

I hopped aboard the VentHardNow Train yesterday, and now it's time to hop off and head for that greener pasture. It's time for optimistic, numbered joy-sharing. Friday Favorites, sponsored by Janna Bee (in her words, "Friday Favorites are the things that got us through the week, big and small.") Lezzgo.

1. Absolutely, positively, without a doubt, policeman and firemen and civil servants have the roughest, most thankless jobs for which we should be MOST thankful. And I really am**.

2. So, this is a makeup post, then? (No!) You felt a little bad, though, right? (Yep.)

3. My husband.

4. Gifted French Truffles from my adorable Aging Asian Yogi.

(Yes. They are open now.)

5. All the new Followers* of Fingers&Paws. Strap yourselves in!

6. Black Mountain Pinot Noir.
:
7. The nursery at the gym. See #4. And every previous post referencing Thin Mints.
:
8. Ad-hoc post-meeting Happy Hour with the girls, where I picked up the phrase, "That REALLY flipped my pancake". Also, much sex talk. Also, $2 drafts.
:
9. Being a guest poster at What It's Like to Be Mie on Tuesday.
:
10. Coming up with a brilliant, enlightening post for my 100th post.. which is coming up next week. (Finally. The Kevin Costner post.)

:

IF I come up with something brilliant for OMW's Friday Fiction, I'll post it for the weekend. Let's ask the Magic Eight Ball...

"Looks doubtful."

* Capitalizing F makes you sound like Disciples, and I PROMISE that is the furthest thing from this raised-good-Catholic-and-still-tries-hard-to-make-Mass-though-lack-of-a-nursey-and-screaming-toddler-just-does not-work Mom.
** I have a lot of people in my life that have dedicated their careers and lives to serving the needs of others in the form of federal government, law enforcement, intelligence, and .. my Mom. They can never know how much I appreciate and admire them.

Writer's Workshop: Crime and Punishment

2009-03-11T12:52:00.001-07:00

Mama Kat's Writing Workship (workship? What is that? Are we all out to sea? A ship you work on? Like a navy ship?) Workshop chosen prompt:
4.) What inspired you? Write about a time when you were impassioned to write.
(writingfix.com)

Dear Mr. F'x County Police Officer Who Gave Me a Parking Ticket In Front of My Own House Last Week:

I understand there is a budget shortfall the likes of which you've never experienced in the County. I understand better than anyone Sir, because I bought a HOUSE in this County. That makes me a TAXPAYER. That means I pay YOUR salary. And just because harsh reality bites, and there is no more money in the police budget for doughnuts, it does NOT mean you get to go around ticketing random cars. In the rain. At 7:30PM at night. All sneaky, when we didn't see you do it and the ~~useless~~ dogs didn't alert us to the moonlight sanity RAID.

It was bad enough peeling the wet ticket(s) off our TWO cars that were sporting TWO tickets... God forbid we see any curtains peeled back for idle snickering from neighbors.

We had a lot of SNOW last week, and our road was covered in the white fluffy stuff ALL DAY because the COUNTY did not come to plow it. This has been the case the past two winters, and up until now, has been acceptable. Because I did not have to PAY to park in front of my own HOUSE. This is no longer acceptable.

Honestly, if I saw you do it, I think we would have had a raucous laugh:
"Oh, what in the world do you think you're doing? I live here, Sir!"
"Oh, ma'am, do you live here? What a nice place. Listen, I need ya to swing her around for me."
"Swing her around?"
"You're parked facing the wrong way."
(Here, I would pause, with a half smile creeping over my face.)
"Oh, you're KIDDING! You don't ACTUALLY spend POLICE time keeping track of which way people are parked in their NEIGHBORHOODS, when bad guys are out there STEALING CARS and FIRING UNLICENSED WEAPONS! Right?"
"Ha, ha. Yes, ha, ha. Got me. I was only joshing. But it woulda sucked if I'd given ya a ticket! Yeppers!"

That could have, would have, and should have, been a funny story for my blog. INSTEAD, I am forced to write this nagging letter explaining to you why you are wasting valuable tax dollars using up gas to patrol around looking for CRIMINAL PARKING ACTIVITY.

Because this crime was so ludicrous in nature, and because other crimes I have committed that went unpunished were SO MUCH WORSE, I have decided to write my Congressman and tell him that we need you to direct traffic at the preschool for the next nine years.

Sincerely,

Mad, Mad Ma'am

Spin on Surviving Madmen in March

2009-03-10T23:59:00.000-07:00

A recent, actual conversation involving college basketball, about which my husband feels more passionately than ~~the three S's~~ virtually anything:

Me: "So you must be pretty psyched about the Tournament this year, huh?"
Husband: "YES."
Me: "And if we win all our games, leading up to the Final Four?"
Husband: [quivering] "YES! Very excited."
Me: "And our TV will be only allowed on...."
Husband: "College basketball, baBY!"
Me: "And what if we are IN the Final Four? Where is it this year... in Texas, right?"
Husband: [pause] "Yeah. Right. In Texas North."
Me: "Texas Nor..."
Husband: "Otherwise known as Detroit."
:

So, where's the survival part?--I'm being totally serious here, I finished the last sleeve of Thin Mints while my husband was working late. Then I emailed him to let him know.

Payback is hell.

For newer, shinier Survival stories from the street, visit Jen at Sprite's Keeper!

St. Patty's Day Post

2009-03-10T12:01:00.000-07:00

Today I'm guest poster (3/17/09) at What It's Like to Be Mie. Mie graciously asked me to guest post in honor of her Terrible Two-year old Blogoversary. I think this is a fantastic accomplishment and cannot imagine why she would allow me to take over her blog for the day. But! It's her party and she can cry (later) if she wants to. Plus, she's a nurse, and can likely handle any minor skin irritations I present.

Getting started, we've already established that I am:
guest posting, right. And as a circus poodle, I'm prone to any number of entertaining qualities (keep it clean, fine readers!) Though, you would not believe the porn out there when "Kiss Me" is typed into Google Images. Suffice it to say, those ladies didn't even look Irish.

It's a good thing poodles are hypo-allergenic, because Mie is having issues with her allergies right now. I would not want to send her into a sneezing fit!

Anyhoo! I promised poetry, already provided pictures, and perhaps a peck of ~~alliteration~~ prose. Since it is St. Patrick's Day, a limerick (or two) seems most appropriate.

There was a young lass called Mie
Who caught the blog bug and named Me
Her guest poster du jour
By consequence I adore
Her every word, post, tweet and feed!

St. Patrick's Day came with a hurry
Spring attempting to chase away flurries
Wear some green, if you dare
Don't get pinched anywhere
Bottoms up that Guinness in a fury!

Mie's blog is about to turn TWO
It is read by the masses, and you.
We celebrate her success
But to come is the best
When it's back to Mie crafting, adieu!

Kiss Me, I'm Guest Posting!

Tuesday's Random Thoughts

2009-03-09T12:24:00.000-07:00

It's so totally random that Keely chose Tuesdays to share random weekly thoughts. It's all part of her master plan. Go check out the other RTT posts.

Why are oyster crackers called oyster crackers? Do they contain evaporated oyster juice? Do you have to have them with oysters? Was the inventor just looking for a catchy cracker-phrase, and happened to be eating oysters at the time?

Every time I gain a new Follower, I feel as if I have a new ~~best friend~~ lease on life. The highest of the highs. Everything is coming together, exactly as it should. I am where I am meant to be. The sky is blue, the sun is shining. And then I go back and read my last post and think, "what are they thinking?"

When I see that a fellow blogger is holding a giveaway, and that they chose their winner based on a Random Number Generator, I always, without fail, think to myself, "Why didn't they just ask me? I can pull random out of my ____!"

You can't always get what you want. But if he could, I'm pretty sure my husband would quit his job, forward his phone, toss his laptop, hole himself up in front of a large HDTV and watch the entire college basketball post-regular season including every conference tournament and NCAA tournament coverage non-stop without eating. This scares me.

Roses are Red, Violets are Blue. When will we get out Of this economic gloom?

Apparently, I have a deep-seated sense of entitlement about Girl Scout Cookies (don't worry, it doesn't go further than that.) At Trader Joe's this weekend, the little cherubs were camped outside, calling directly to me as I left the store. I bought a make-up box of Thin Mints, (and makeup Tagalongs) which I proceeded to plow through even before arriving back home. Note: when I said you can't always get what you want, I did not mean me. As I type this, I'm finishing my husband's Tagalong.

Wait, not ready to dump that subject yet. Last time I mentioned my pummeling of a box of Thin Mints in three days, I got "amateur." "Shows restraint." "Talk to me if it's three hours." What I failed to mention, joyful commenters, is that after said Thin Mints, I finished an entire bag of Mint Milanos, package of frozen cookie dough (had help there), and nearly the balance of playgroup brownies that my husband didn't off.

One of my Asian Yogis gave me a present after class today! As I took the shiny gift bag from the adorably sweet 76-year old, I had the thought that it could be a bag of rancid bananas, and I would still be so touched and thrilled. (It wasn't. Apparently even my Asian Yogis know about my growing addiction. See below.)

Doesn't this just describe your addictions perfectly? It does mine!

Joy Is.. Hungry, Hungry Hippos

2009-03-08T12:44:00.000-07:00

I feel like I haven't posted in DAYS. That's because I haven't. Count your blessings.
But! I am a total freak and had to share why. Yesterday, it was 70 degrees after a millennium of cold, freezing dreariness. I don't know how my Irish ancestors dealt with clouds. So I'm coming home from Trader Joe's ~~avoiding the return home back to my visiting mother-in-law, taking a detour to take further advantage of free babysitting~~ and rolled down all the windows, opened the sunroof, cranked up the Yes song that was on XM ("Roundabout",) not generally a groovin' & cruisin' song, but hey. This is my high that we're on. And I proceeded to sing, careen around corners, unable to see for the hair blowing in my face, and ~~swerve around children~~ it was grand.

In other joy news, we are lucky to have a kick-a** zoo down the road, where the elephants are trained, good sports that they are. Joy is... being a kid again while watching your own revel in his youth. Amazing, these giant ton-weighing hippos eat the same thing for snack as we do: apples!

There were also gorillas and orangutans hanging from the rafters.Speaking of apes, don't miss watching Dook crumble under the pressure of our Carolina Tarheels this afternoon! A more suited rival we couldn't have..

Friday Favorite: Loyalty

2009-03-06T07:23:00.000-08:00

(Today's photo on Pictures, Poetry and Prose is mine!) Thank you Laura Jayne! Here is how it inspired me:

Soulful
and appeasing
Dying to be
Pleasing
Please, toddler,
Stop teasing
I really want to rest.

To avoid all the
Wheezing
And cold outside
(It's FREEZING)
Carpe Diem, my
Seizing
Gazing up: you're the best.

I intended to do an entire list, but, in his quiet resilience to all that is hardship, his undying love for his patron Toddler, and his steadfast sureness of foot and playful of heart, I give you.. my Echo.
Friday Favorites is sponsored by Janana Bee, check her out! And her cool button:

Writer's Workshop: All of That and More

2009-03-04T18:58:00.001-08:00

Start: 10:18 PM
My evening was pulled out from underneath me ~~through no fault of my own~~ because I procrastinate. Something about a college basketball game, tomorrow's playgroup brownies being attacked by my husband (guess he's bitter about the Thin Mints), and a Lifetime movie based on a book I just finished (Memory Keeper's Daughter. SKIP IT. READ THE BOOK.) That's right. Lifetime. We ALL watch it. Only I admit it.

Check out Mama Kat's Writing Workshop, rocking it on Wed. night! The prompts:

1.) Write a limerick; 2.) Normal is...
There was an attention-starved Lady from Normal
Dressing up and then down for the formal
Pretty lace that she wore
Fluttered fast to the floor
With the help of the gent who had scorned her.

3.) Describe a memorable camping experience.
Set up the tent two feet from the banks of a gushing river in CO, thinking that would be a nice sleep aid. It kept me up ALL NIGHT because I kept having to pee.

4.) What's the best thing that has happened this week?
I went with my 21-mo old toddler to a friend's house to play this morning. It's been a rough week, he's getting over his fifth ear infection and was a total ~~peanut-sized a**--~~ train wreck every day. One or two of the days I'm pretty sure he was trying to kill me. This wore on my nerves and started to grind me down, causing me to revert to my childhood where things were solved by yelling, making menacing faces and exasperated, drawn out sighs.

This friend was a quiet, calming influence, everything smooth, nothing is that big of a deal. Her daughter is a quiet, calm sweetheart. In one powerful moment, I saw my child growing up to be a yelling tyrant if I didn't change my actions and - more important, equal and opposite reactions. Starting today and everyday thereafter. And that's what I've done. I brought the savasana back to our daily lives. Focus on the breath.

5.) Did you have a childhood hideout? Where? Describe it.
My diary.

6.) Words that hurt me.
I'm a red-headed, fiery-tempered, mostly Irish, partly (1/12th) Cuban, youngest of three, female Scorpio... everything bothers me!

(But what doesn't kill you... makes you smarter.)

End: 10:48PM

Random Tuesday Memes

2009-03-02T23:59:00.000-08:00

And thoughts. Vodka Mom passively-tagged everyone to post 10 Random Things about themselves, as she did (in 8.) This fits perfectly with Keely's Tuesday Random Thoughts. I realize I posted my 25 Random Things meme just a month ago, but if I hadn't said that, you'd never have known. Plus, this one is intended to make you laugh. Let's see.

1. When I was 10, I was skiing all day with a friend near where I grew up in Upstate NY. I had to go to the bathroom very badly, but was stuck in the middle of the mountain, waiting for her. Since it really helped me to do the "pee dance" when I had to go ~~even now~~ as a kid, I wriggled and wriggled my butt back and forth, trying to focus my attention on my skies instead. So, I was bent over, literally wriggling my ass off , when I heard shouts from behind. I turned and was astonished to see the entire lift line above me, previously undetected, laughing their asses off.

2. Continue the theme. The thing that freaked me out the most when I was pregnant was, henceforth after the delivery, peeing a little when I laughed. I read this in one of those make-you-laugh-even-though-pregnancy-is-way-freaking-harder-than-anyone-warned-you books. An easy thing to obsess over!

3. Just after we'd adopted our two crazed, mentally-unstable, anxiety-ridden but adorable Labrador retriever ~~mixes~~ ~~mutts~~ Meritage blends, my husband, in grad school and "studying" from home, brought them to meet me for lunch. We tied them to the leg of my stool, where we were sitting outside the sidewalk cafe. When a man slammed his door shut a very scary 10 feet away, both dogs FLIPPED out and bolted, knocking me off and dragging said stool behind them. The line snapped, the stool bounced off of a nearby (newly dented) Explorer and the dogs went running around downtown Charlottesville. Traffic stopped, I ran after Echo, hubby ran after Cayuga, passersby pointed. "That way!" I nearly despaired several times, broke down to a traffic cop, followed the pointing. Broke down again, ran more, nearly got struck by several vehicles. And FOUND THEM. Scared, but safe.

4. I'm tired after all that running. Love Thai, hate Brussels sprouts.

5. I finished an entire box of Girl Scouts Thin Mints in three days while my husband wasn't home. (That's not funny, is it? That's disgusting.) 'S ok, I weigh less now than before my child was born and before my wedding in 2003.

6. This past Saturday, at the kid yoga class that I teach, we had an energizing, somewhat chaotic class and were in the middle of our imaginary "trip" to the "Magic Forest." Since it was Magic , anything was game. One kid said a frog prince. Another, a princess. A talking horse. Then, there was a quiet beat and one little girl said with a deep sigh, "a BED?"

7. I have very poor vision (-7.0) that only gets worse. I have always been self-conscious of this. At my last eye exam, I ~~lead the witness~~ teased my eye Doc that I was legally blind, "Right?" He said, carefully, "well.. the definition of legally blind is that you are not able to see 20/200 without correction. But you can be corrected!" Sweet.

8. Between this blog, your blog(s), comments, email, comments to email, Craiglist, freecycle, cyber stalking, trading alerts, playgroup reminders, writing, editing, re-writing, Mom's club listservs, "Hookah Times", Nigerian email scams, Facebook alerts and my Mom, I could spend all day long on the internet. And usually do.

9. For a short time, I worked at Monticello, the home of Thomas Jefferson. One day, Caroline Kennedy Schlossberg* made a surprise visit and the Director at the time asked me to take some photos of her around the grounds--incognito, as a tourist. This after several other employees turned down this hot, sought-after job. He handed me a disposable camera, and I started hiding, like regular paparazzi. When I spotted secret service types in the bushes spotting me, I turned the camera around and acted like I was taking my own self-portrait. To make this act more believable, I half-heartedly joined a group of tourists grouped, listening to a guide.. I never figured out if it was Japanese they were speaking.

10. Growing up, we had a wood-paneled Chrysler station wagon which, by the time I was 11, only had one door that was operational - the driver's side. Various incidents and accidents, mostly my Mom, were responsible, including the time my brother left the back left door open and she backed out of the garage, wrenching the door beyond its flex. Once crammed shut, never to open again. Thus, every time we went somewhere, we'd climb in and hop over seats. This is also the car whose engine we discovered a raccoon hiding out in. We kept him and named him "Bandit." (True story. I fed him hot dogs.)

* NOte: UNauthorized use of her name. She did really visit, and is a lovely person. But doesn't like cameras.