Yes, I would like a non-fat mommy, extra hot.

Lately I have been asked how I stay in shape.  I assume that the question arises because as one can imagine, I don't have a lot of time. It could also be because I have had four babies in 8 years, work full time, and some how manage a house ( kind of).
I should let you know that I do NOT have a degree in nutrition or exercise science. I don't have a story about how I lost 100 lbs. or that I was an overweight kid. I did however, work in a gym for 7 years and have had a gym membership at various gyms since I could drive.  In addition to that,  I like to think I have some knowledge of how the female body works (at least mine). I gained 40 lbs with each pregnancy and lost it between each baby.
Its not easy. 
If anyone tells you it is, they are lying.  Also, its not about the number on the scale.  That is a good way to gauge it if you need to, but if your goal is a number, pick a new goal.  I am 5 ft.5, and I had the number 125 stuck in my head. The last time I weighed this was in 5th grade.  Its not possible for me, at least in a healthy way.  I am a size 4 and at Ann Taylor a size 2 (size-conspiracy).  My pants don't care how much I weigh.
I have heard every excuse ever made, and some are extremely tempting. The hardest thing to do is get started. After I had 3 c-sections, I was not allowed to exercise for at least 8 weeks.  I whined about how I "wanted" to, but little did I know, that when the 8 weeks came around my mind came up with some really creative excuses as to why I shouldn't start. "I'm tired." "My boobs hurt". "I feel ugly." Knowing I had done this before I set realistic goals. I went 3 times a week and eventually worked my way up to 6 times (granted this is 20 months later).  I had a friend tell me that she hated me for being so "skinny".  I wanted to tell her that she would hate me even more if I called her at 4:55 a.m. when I got up to work out.
Here is my advice, take it or leave it.

A cleanse with a famous person's name in front of it does not work.  Have you ever noticed that people that do cleanses do them 3 or 4 times when if it worked in the first place they wouldn't need to. And I can't think of anything more disgusting than cayenne pepper and lemon juice.

Do not eat birthday cake at every birthday party. I have 1 husband, 4 sons, 2 siblings, 1 dog, 2 parents, 2 in-laws and 12 nieces and nephews. Not to mention the minimum 2 parties per month per son. If I ate cake at every party I would be as big as the bounce house. And resist guilt or the hostess pressuring you to eat it, she only wants you to eat it so she doesn't have to take it home with her and be tempted by it.

Don't rely on a product because some day it won't be there.  Does anyone remember Dr. Phil bars? I do, and guess what?  They are off the market.

Replacing real food with a liquid lunch may work at first but will have horrible ramifications later. Remember Oprah and the wagon of fat? Enough said.

Pack your lunch and don't bring your wallet to work with you.  If you stay at home, pack a lunch too, and just eat whatever is in it until dinner time.

Weigh and measure your food at least once. When I discovered what the actual serving size of grilled chicken was vs. what I was eating they were two very different things. Portion size is very important. And for the record, a 1/2 cup serving of ice cream is pretty much the size of a pudding cup...lame.

Some supplements are good. I don't think they are absolutely necessary, but if a few energy supplements give you the motivation to work out, than go for it, just make sure to do your research and be confident that they are safe. Remember the one Anna Nicole Smith endorsed before she died? Point taken.

Eat.   A huge pet peeve of mine is sitting in a salon listening to a woman brag that all she has eaten is a carrot all day. Guess what ? When you starve yourself your body goes into starvation mode and will store all the fat it can find..forever.

Eat good food and don't give up anything you love. I tried this once. Sure, I used lent as an excuse to give up complex carbs. You can use God as an excuse for just about anything. It lasted about 2 weeks and ended very very badly with an entire loaf of french bread and chased with a dozen chocolate muffins.

Don't drink...a lot. Time and time again I have told myself that I just need a glass of wine to relax, but it dulls my inhibitions and I end up needing a cookie to go with that wine and then I forget about the cookie and eat dove chocolates and forgot about them until I find all the wrappers in the couch the next morning.  Leave the drinking for celebrating or for when your boss treats you like an idiot.


Try not to eat and watch tv. And for the love of God, if sweets are your weakness, do not watch Cupcake Wars, Cake Boss or Ace of Cakes.

If you say you don't have time to exercise, you are full of it.  Here are a few scenarios for you.  You are like me, work 40+ hours a week and have a million after school activities, not to mention laundry, dinners, lunches etc.  Get up early. In every town across America there is a gym that opens at 5, if not there is a YMCA. If you are a single mom, find a gym that has child care. If you are broke, find a 6x6 foot space and do push ups and burpees.  Your tired, well first of all, aren't we all, but I promise you will have more energy if you work out in the morning than if you don't.

If you have to choose between lifting weight or cardio, pick weights.  Remember, cardio burns calories only while you are doing it and helps your heart and lifting weights burns calories all day long and helps your muffin top. No spot training required. And,  no you wont look like Kim Chizevsky. (if you don't know who that is, google her)

Be anti-social at the gym. If you saw me at the gym you would think I was a hermit. I don't make eye contact, I don't engage in any conversation whatsoever with anyone. Why? I have learned that if you form friendships at the gym you use that as an excuse not to go. You can't avoid people you have never met.   Plus, you tend to work out as hard as your workout partner, if your partner is a puss and suggests you go out for margaritas instead, that is just one more excuse. Find an online support group. There are several, and they have great weigh training suggestions you can print off.

Drink coffee.  I mean black. Not Mochachinofrappelattes. I mean coffee. It has caffiene which is your best friend with 0 calories.

Don't finish your kids food. Yes, it does seem like a waste to put all that macaroni and cheese down the garbage disposal, but it is more of a waste to put it onto the back of your ass.

Once you find that you like working out, don't post it on facebook everytime you go. People don't need to know about something you should be doing everyday anyway, like brushing your teeth. 

Find one thing you really like that is exercise but not at a gym. I like soccer, so I found a team. If you like to dance, do Zumba.

Don't think you can do something you know you can't. I love the idea of yoga. I love the feeling I get after it to, but I suck at it. I could continue to try or I could find something I am good at, like soccer. 

Don't fall back on the "men find _______ women sexy" routine. Who cares what men find attractive? Seriously.  My husband finds Japanese women attractive and I look the opposite of that, but you won't find me dying my hair jet black and straitening it for him. Its not me.  Plus size women claim that men love curves, Skinny women swear that men like twigs..my point is, we don't let men decide what car we drive, why should their opinion determine what our body should look like?

Do it for yourself.  Not to live for your children, or live for your family but just for you to live happily.

Don't become a trainer. As soon as you make it work, it will feel like it and not something you enjoy. Have you ever noticed that most trainers are younger than 25? There are a select few that dedicate their lives to it. But people choose trainers based on their looks and chances are, a 22 year old will beat out a 60 year old even if the latter is 100 times more fit.

Your body will take care of you if you take care of it.  Just like a retirement account, keep depositing your money into it so at some point you can sit back and live comfortably. Keep taking care of your body day after day and when you are old you can be a little chubby huggable Great Grandparent.  That is the way it should be. Can you imagine Betty White with a six pack? She put in her time and she is perfect just the way she is.

Chicka the China the Chinese Chicken

Disgust. Anguish. Shock. Dismay. Agony.  These are all emotions that my boys have expressed when learning what we are having for dinner. That doesn't stop them from eating it however. Each night when they learn that they are not going to be having pizza or macaroni and cheese its as if I have taken the wind out of their sails,  ruined not only their day but their life.  Like any good mother, I don't enjoy seeing my children experience such heartbreak so I decided to publicly post our dinner menu for the week. That way they could air their complaints and begin to face the harsh reality that we will be having Chinese Chicken on Sunday.  My son recently complained to me that I was a health nut. I asked what he thought a health nut was. "Someone who doesn't eat junk food and doesn't pack Doritos in my lunch" Yep. I guess I am a health nut, but what he doesn't know is I eat ice cream most every night that has been conveniently  hidden under the frozen Brussels sprouts after he is in bed.  I'm not closet eating, I just don't want to share it. He said that his friend Kaden always has good lunches. Like, ho ho's, chips and kool-aid. I asked if his friend was tubby, and by the look on his face I knew he was. I'm not only a mom but I'm psychic too.
In the boys opinion they have lost in the parental lottery when it comes to food. My husband may also feel that way too.  I prepare healthy meals that always have a vegetable, protein and healthy carb.  I flourish the name of the meals like "Chinese Chicken" when the only thing that makes it Chinese is the soy sauce I put on their brown rice which is buried under the steamed broccoli and chicken.   I have gotten better though and have been incorporating an enticing dessert only to bribe them to finish. But little do they know its also healthy. Parfaits, apple crisp..you get the idea.
As long as I am cooking thier meals they are going to be healthy, and by the looks of their attendance record, they are too.
My 4 year old, Jack, thought he had found an out to this prison of "gross" dinners. He told me he was a veggie-tarian.  I asked him what that was and he explained that he won't eat animals. So he can only eat pasta, cookies and ice cream. So for clarification purposes I reminded him that veggie-tarians eat VEGETABLES and asked him if he was a vegan. " What is a vegan?" Well, a vegan doesn't eat anything from an animal, milk, eggs or cheese. I think I shot myself in the foot with this one because he seemed appalled when he learned that milk comes from a cows utter. This traumatized him and reminded me of when my brother told me I was eating a baby cow when I had a mouth full of veil.   To this day, I have never eaten another piece a veil.
Jack quickly decided that he would stomach the Salmon Asparagus Tuesday in order to not eat only vegetables for all eternity and this morning he had oatmeal with milk, so I guess he got over the thought that a milk is a cow's pee. But he did say he would only eat the chicken that is round and not the animal kind.  I let it go to not repeat the veil trauma.
My crusade may be a bit selfish or better yet time saving. Don and I have agreed that we will never make more then one dinner per night. Because we want to eat adult food and we are the ones that shop for the food and prepare it, I feel that I  have earned the right to be the Commander of consumption.I will over look the treason that I find in the form on McDonald's wrappers in Don's car.  We are a united front..or at least appear to be.
Perhaps this will backfire.  Being the youngest I grew up in the car and we had a lot of fast food dinners on the go. Thankfully I was athletic, but if I wasn't I could see where it may have resulted in me looking like Natalie from the Facts of Life.  As an adult, I decided to take the opposite approach.  My best friend was brought up on carob rather than chocolate and rebelled when she was in high school. In an afternoon trip to the gas station one day after school she picked up a chocolate milk, m&m's and a cookie just for the ride home.
I do allow my boys to indulge every once in awhile as a reward an to redeem a positive  approval rating.
We teach our kids what is right and wrong and it is just as important to teach them good from bad food. I ate well when they were inside of me, why would I stop wanting to when they are on the outside? All I want to do is provide the foundation for them so that they can grow up to be healthy men. And don't think the only reason I eat clean is to look good in jeans...although that is important, my greatest motivation is that I  want to be around to see them become men, even old men. 

So, when you see one of my boys eating a turkey sandwich with carrot sticks for lunch remember that their mom may be healthy, but is certainly not a nut...at least when it comes to food.

How did I get here?

The other day I zoned out. I don't know if it was complete sleep deprivation due to my recent obsession with the show Homeland and my decision to watch an entire season in 24 hours or the fact that a night has not gone by in 8 years that I have slept 6 hours in a row.  As I looked beside me I watched Don as he ate a bowl of ice cream.  It was as if the past decade had just flown by so quickly and I had abrupt realization of my current situation. My mind started wondering all sorts of things, but mostly how did I get here?


How did we meet at just the right moment?
How did we make it home on most nights?
How in the world did we plan a wedding?
How did I graduate college?
How did we manage to put useless gifts on our wedding registry?
How did we get a mortgage?
How did we end up in the midwest?
How did this living being get into my womb?
How did I become worthy enough to become a mom?
How did my skin (among other things) stretch that far?

How did my entire outlook on everything change when I met the person who had been kicking me for 9 months? 

How did I learn to sleep sitting up?

How did my boobs become an all night milk bar?

How did I learn to love the sound of baby snores?
How did the number 102.5 cause me to call a doctor in a panic?

How did we survive the first 3 months?
How did all my clothes shrink?
How did I become a homebody?
How did my shoe size go up 2 sizes?

How did a fruit loop get in the tub?
How did crayons get in the heating vent?
How did the dog get a play-doe beret?
How did a sharpee get in the dryer?
How did a dvd get stuck in the piano?
How did I get so desensitized by poop?
How did I become over sensitized by any child in the news?
How did a superhero get in my slipper?
How did a puzzle piece get in the toaster?
How did a diaper get into my purse?

How did all the door knobs get so sticky?

How did we go through 8 gallons of milk last week?

How did I know to marry a guy that would morph into such a good daddy?
How did the liquor shelf become the formula/bottle shelf?
How did a paper full of scribbles become my prized possession?
How did I become ok with driving a minivan?
How did my lap become a hot spot?
How did my house seem empty when only 1 child is in it?

How did I get so lucky?
How did my heart get placed on the outside of my chest?

Within moments of these thoughts Don turned to me and asked me why I was staring it him. I just smiled and said " I just was going to ask you a question". Before I could tell him what it was he was getting me a bowl of ice cream.  And with that, my questions were answered. How did I get here? I just went with the flow, I didn't fight where my life was taking me.  There are times when I felt that things were happening that shouldn't have, but looking back a result of those things brought me right here.
My safe haven.

Hoarders gives Mothers Hope.

Yesterday morning as we were getting ready to leave I noticed that the house was unusually quite. I could hear the faint noise of the ending credits of Yo Gabba Gabba and as if DJ Lance himself was summoning me to the kitchen I entered with caution.  There, I discovered that the baby had taken an entire bag of  Bob's Red Mill Flax seed and spread it along the floor. As I went to the garage to find a broom (unsuccessfully) I discovered I didn't need one. Like white on rice our lab had devoured every last seed.  I think he has been anticipating that opportunity for, well, a lifetime. He is a water dog after all, and we all know flax seeds are packed with Omega 3 fatty acids.  He exceeded the equivalent of an entire school of fish, actually, he ate a University of vertebrate.
I wish I could have warned myself of the result of his overindulgence but it was probably best that I didn't know.  It was just one of those days that I felt that our house must be on a fault line and slightly shifted causing everyone to spill everything.  I left the house a mess and closed our front curtain, just in case the mailman peeked inside.  When we are gone, I suspect the papers in our house mate and have clutter babies. Bowls are horny little buggers to and by the time the boys go to bed we have enough dirty bowls to fill a soup kitchen.
By 8 PM on any given school night you cannot see the wood on our dining room table. It is covered with crayons, superheros, permanent markers or as Jack calls them "kermit" markers. He also calls hand sanitizer "hannatizer" and we continue the facade so much that our other boys are unclear of its correct name, just because we can.
When I finally collapse on the couch, I turn on the TV. Don and I sit like zombies.  After 10+ years he has surrendered the remote to me and as a result he has become very familiar with the OWN and TLC networks with E! being a close third.
I turn to Hoarders. As much as I want to turn away, I cannot. We bond over our disgust and we openly judge these people. How can you not know your beloved cat has been so dead that it mummified itself underneath the pile of the drink carriers you have been saving.  Suddenly we look like neat freaks.  As I walk to the kitchen to get another glass of wine I am in awe of the fact that I have a clear path and I don't have to step over a pile of diapers or cat feces.  A good housekeeping point for me.  Next up is Supernanny.  I suspend my empathy just long enough to see a little boy launch a chicken nugget at his mother's face. Next a father who is allowing a girl to color on the walls and this is after they refused to eat anything other than fruit snacks. We give each other a glance as if to say "amateurs". Without this window into others homes we would feel like we were failing. Just the other night it occurred to me that the our i-son4 has evolved. He has built an immunity to discipline and at 21 months he couldn't care less if he is scolded for feeding the dog his lunch. I think he waits for us to see him, maintains eye contact and drops the broccoli right into Grahams mouth. I think I just realized that our dog eats healthier than we do. There are nights when my attempt to make healthy eatable meals fails and results in a dinner of hot dogs, green beans and pasta wheels.  But seeing these decelerated parents actually makes us feel good.
Hoarders is a show that with every episode fuels my self esteem and makes me feel like a modern day Clair Huxtable. I suppose these people are desperate for help and that is why they contact the show producers. I cannot deduce because I have actually contacted Supernanny. It was a low point when I had 3 boys under the age of 4. And guess what? They called me back. But when I told Don he was violently opposed to inviting strangers into our home to film our parental short comings. Especially since he is a teacher and felt that if it was exposed that he couldn't control his own kids how could parents have confidence in his teaching their own plus an additional 29 kids?
Reality tv is as real as a real housewife's marriage, and not any more realistic than friends or strangers putting on appearances or worse, facebook that their homes are harmonic.  What you don't see is the effort that goes on to make it look like their home is organized and their kids love each other.  There is a reason that our Christmas card this year didn't feature all 4 boys sitting in a row smiling. It wasn't an artistic choice, it was because it was not possible. Instead I took an action shot of them walking down a hill (fun!) and individual shots. What you didn't see is Don losing his temper because someone was tattling, Parker doing his fake smile where he squints his eyes and shows his teeth, Fin pinching Jack, Jack crossing his eyes and Oscar running for the hills. ( hence the hill shot) and me tearful asking if it was too much to ask for just one good photo.
Once in awhile its just nice to feel that we aren't doing so bad, even if it takes a bratty kid chucking a chicken nugget or a 40 year old cat woman who hoards Q tips.

A soft place to fall.

As far back as I can remember I have been a sounding board.  By this, I mean that friends, family and even strangers confide in me.  I clearly remember being in preschool when the boy sitting next to me spilled his gut over the anguish he was feeling about a fellow student's resistance to share any other crayon then the white one.  We all knew that the white crayon didn't work, and it hurt his feelings.  I listened, and traded my crayon with his and made a nice invisible drawing on white paper.  In grade school I needed tutoring and by the end of the hour, I knew more than I cared to about the teacher including her spouses name and husband's daily ritual of leaving the shampoo lid open in the shower.
Cyber space isn't big enough for all the information I have soaked up in my sponge.  My problem is, is that I cannot just wring out everything I have heard.  When I was 13  a my "boyfriend" told me that he loved my eyes because they reminded him of  big brown cozy sofas.  I think he was right, and so comfortable that people see them and want to take a load off on my face. And they do.  It can range from useless information from the checkout person, to a deeply personal crisis from the Starbucks lady.  My mother has told me it is a gift, but if that is the case, there are days I would like to return it.  Is there a group for over-empathic's? If not, I may start one, but then again we may never leave the church basement.
Just today (and its only noon) I have had an email therapy session with a friend, heard about a my son's pre-school teacher's struggle with dyslexia, my mom's distress over her friend who is old and dying and her kids won't care for her, (my mom also needed cell phone assistance to set her phone to vibrate). An exhausted friend sought "veteran" mother advice because her son won't sleep through the night.  A co-worker who was at the receiving end of our bosses wrath needed reassurance that he did not deserve it. The lady who walked in ahead of me this morning shared her distain for the sidewalk salt and lastly I listened to a friend who just two months ago lost her 11 year old daughter.
This is where my "gift" becomes more of a curse. I don't even know if I would have called her a friend prior to this conversation.  She is a woman who works at a place that I get coffee everyday. She just returned from a bereavement leave.  I cautiously approached her to acknowledge that she was back and that I was happy to see her.  There was a brief moment when I was teetering on the next question. Her eyes seemed to be pleading with me. So rather then avoiding a huge elephant in the room, I asked the dumbest question I could. "How are you doing?"  What a stupid question.  Obviously she couldn't answer me and asked if we could go talk somewhere.  Prior to this I had only spoken to her for 5 minutes at the most. I followed as she lead me to a table.  Like some people view men who have been prisoners of war and returned, I view her as someone who is experiencing a hell on Earth, which is also my biggest fear. There is a sick curiosity that I need to know how she is still surviving, because she has been to a place that I don't believe I could go and come back alive.  As she was sharing how angry she was I could feel her pain.  I wanted to cry too, but I felt that I had to be a sponge and absorb her anguish, in hopes it may give her some reprieve, even just for a moment. I had a flashback of the way I felt when I thought I lost Jack and how the hug of a neighbor had made me feel a brief solace. That was nothing like this and I soon realized that there was nothing I could say that would give her any relief and that my purpose was just to listen. I lost track of time and 30 minutes had passed, it would have gone on but I told her I needed to go back to my office. She understood and I left, now with the elephant that was in the room, sitting on my chest.  I felt guilty that I would get to go home and hug my boys and she couldn't.
What do you say to someone who has lost a child? I thought back to another friend who had a lost a son at an early age.  He was an adorable toddler when he died in an accident.  I remember avoiding her because seeing her caused me so much pain. At one point I had pulled the car over and sobbed because I couldn't imagine how she was feeling, especially because my first son hadn't been born yet.   Finally, after several years we sat down and talked.  She told me that she knew I had been distant. She moves through life now on a day to day basis, has faith that God would not give her more than she could handle, and she is certain she could not handle losing another child.  Her strength was admirable and I think of her as a solider also, but fighting extreme despondency that could never be measured with rank.
I didn't want to be distant this time, selfish because the mere thought of losing a child made me feel uncomfortable. Like the hug from my neighbor, nothing was spoken but standing heart to heart I knew she understood. And that is the simple reality.  There are no words that exist that could console someone dealing with such a tragedy and there is no reason to try and find them. Its far better to just be there and listen.
Sometimes gifts don't fit, or you don't like them, but in my case some people just need a soft place to fall and I will offer my cozy brown sofas any time.

Purging out the busy body

The great thing about my job is that I get a week or more off for Christmas. I rounded it up to two weeks because I found it useless to go to work when there was nothing for me to do but play cards with my co-workers... and I don't play cards so I would be double-y useless.   Don is a teacher so he had the time off too. So here we are two weeks of togetherness, with nowhere to go. I even cancelled piano lessons, Karate and the cleaning lady (I kind of regret the last one) and we settled in for a nice time at home.  

What I realized in the first couple of days is that I do not know how to 

a. relax and 

b. be with my boys.

It sounds terrible but it is true.  When you go from spending 5 1/2 waking hours with them to 12+ waking hours with them you learn a lot about each other. Things that you should know, but don't.   Don and I got some kind of crazy bug that caused us to organize everything in the house.  And I mean everything. Purging old clothes, toys and finding the long lost elephant puzzle piece that we had been missing for five years.  Its hard not to be a bit nostalgic when going through boxes from when we moved here from California (11 years ago) and when we were childless. It took hours to go through all of our possessions.  The result however is an über- organized home that we can find everything.  Don took on the hallway closet, the closet that housed towels, t.p and pretty much everything else. 

He was flustered at the boxes and boxes of things I "have for my vagina" as he so bluntly put it. "Stop buying these things!, we have enough to last you through menopause!" Little does he know. I must give him a break, being one of 3 brothers with no sisters, going to a military high school and then joining a fraternity, he hasn't had much exposure to menstruation. But, he did organize the boxes by flow, and I'm proud of him for that.

Once the house was organized I still had the problem of relaxing.  When you are on the go all the time, its just so hard to sit.- Just as I wrote that I got up and made an Americano. ( We finally found the Starbucks espresso pods we had been looking for). 

In the time of this vacation, we watching a movie every single night and played a board game, as a family.  I cannot begin to express the complete feeling of wholeness these simple activities have given me.  It occurred to me that we have never spent this amount of concentrated time at home together as a family..ever.  We usually go to Florida to visit Don's family or Illinois to visit my brother's family. But after last years road trip we needed an entire year brake. 

I discovered that I take really good care of the boys but in doing that, I have lost who I'm taking care of.  Our oldest is changing, and I know its just a matter of time before he learns about the two S's. Santa and Sex.  I don't know which one I dread explaining more.  He actually likes to do things for himself, if I would just let him.  Our 2nd son is very smart, but emotionally still just a 7 year old and can take losing a game of Uno as a personal attack on his character.  Our 3rd is following everything that they do, but can hold his own in creating imovie's. They all find the word "ass" to be very funny and say things like, " I like to feed my big fat ass hay"  They learned that word, believe it or not, from church. I also came out of a fog and realized that my husband can still make me laugh hysterically, when I listen to him.   Lastly is the baby.  I haven't spent this much time with him since he was nursing.  We had been concerned that he wasn't talking, that he was still drinking from a bottle and that he wasn't sleeping well at night.   We even contacted an outside therapist to address the speech issues. By the end of this vacation, he is now saying several words, drinking from a cup and sleeping through the night, and on many occasions, singing.  Maybe our presence and attention is what he was lacking. And I think I had missed him just as much. For a baby, he can be pretty funny, he must take after his daddy. 

Granted, I have eaten more than my weight in chocolate and could be found in my pajama's at noon. I watched the Today show until the end every day. ( That's four hours folks)  I also learned that the boys eat and eat and eat. And after days of eating junk they craved fruit and even made me a fruit salad (hint hint) They called me out by saying things like, " I haven't seen you wearing your work out shoes lately" That is the only way they know I work out because they are asleep and when they wake up, they see that I have my Nike's on. 

In all the organizing that I did, I discovered what we have and how much stuff we don't need. Its actually quite alarming when you discover that you are contributing to the epidemic of hoarding.  Tomorrow I go back to work.  Its something that needs to be done, and I'm sure I will fall into the same pattern of the non-stop busy body. 

If I learned anything, its that I actually have the capability of not doing a thing, and can add that to my growing list of talents. More importantly, after days of going through stuff, it actually took away from what we really do have. If our home burned to the ground I can honestly say that would still feel like I possess everything.  

That, and I can play a pretty mean game of Headbands. 

What I really want for Christmas

This time of year I feel that my senses are overwhelmed with images, smells, music telling me what I should want for Christmas.  The truth is, I don't want people spending money on me.  Its a painstaking task to go through my closets, shelves and drawers bi-annually and donate all this "stuff" we have accumulated. Our house is pretty much to maximum capacity with things and I would like to simplify.   But if you are wondering what you could give me that would last a lifetime, please check my list.

Son #1- Hold my hand when we walk into a store. Now that you are 8, I know its just a matter of time when you will feel awkward doing it. So please just hold it a couple more times before you grow out of it.
Son #2- Do your loco dance even when I tell you to stop being silly. What you don't realize is that when I turn away I'm actually laughing.
Son # 3- Draw another picture with you and me on a field. Even though I have an enormous potato head, and I already have 130 of this same drawing, I know you will move on to drawing super heros soon. Also- keep coming into our room at night and sleeping on the floor, I find comfort in hearing your little snores.
Son #4 - Keep your word du' jour as Mama.  Even at 3 a.m. It feels good to be your first choice.
Husband-  Remember what it was about me that made you propose. Especially when I have gone completely off the deep end about the cereal bowl you left in the sink.
Graham: Keep guarding the house. And don't die.  I know you are going to be 12, but I have heard of labs living to be 16 or even 20.
Starbucks Lady-  Stop calling me hon.
Biological Clock -Please stop ticking. You were a great gift, but we both know its not possible anymore, so stop sounding your alarm me every time I see a baby.
Colleagues -  Send me another funny youtube video, its a welcome distraction and makes the day go by faster.
Neighbors:  Delete the images in your mind as to what you have seen when I have forgotten to close the blinds.
Nanny: Keep shutting the door before I hear my baby cry, that  simple gesture makes it just a little bit easier to leave him every day.

Boss: One day say that you are glad your hired me. Or at least imply it.  (I would also accept a salary increase).
My Bosses Boss: Please stop calling me by the wrong name.
Cleaning lady: If you could do our laundry and put it away too, I would be your personal PR person and get you more business than you could imagine.
Best Friend: Give me examples of what to wear. Your emails with complete outfits keep me from looking like a soccer mom.
Republicans:  Stop BS-ing.
Democrats: Stop BS- ing.
Body: Stay Healthy, and forgive me for insulting you or giving you a nasty look in the mirror. (If you want to become resistant to sag that would be ok too.)
Brain: A little bit more GB would be great.
Dad: Give me another one of your paintings.  Every day that I look at one on my wall, it inspires me to be creative.
Brother:  Make me another dirty martini....and  keep knowing when to cut me off before I start dancing on tables.
Sister:  Bottle your endurance to run marathons, and then give it to me.
Hot Guy in the suit: Give me a double take, it makes my day.
Skin: Stop with the zits already! I'm 34 for Gods sake.
Mom: Keep telling me I'm a good mom. Even though I brush it off like I don't care, I do.  And its your voice I hear when I feel like I'm not.

Yes, I know my list is written to some people who don't know me, or some that can't read  or are inanimate objects. That's ok. Someday you may be able to read it and you will know just what to get me, because trust me, it won't change.

In my next life I want to be a single lesbian.

I came to this conclusion last night after a particularly drawn out  argument with my husband that seemed to go into extra innings, respectively pausing for a seventh inning stretch. When it should have been over it just kept going and going and retreated back to arguments that happened a decade ago.
I kept coming up with fantastic metaphors and since I was on a roll I didn't want it to end.  I knew that my metaphor about life long learning and soccer was going to change Don's life and forever go down in history as the best realization he had ever heard. Apparently it wasn't, because Don had shifted into husband-auto-pilot and was just nodding his head in agreement with everything I said. Not what I wanted and it pissed me off even more so I decided to just call the game. 
We were arguing about our oldest son. I was not happy with something his teacher said. Being that Don is a teacher (at the same school) he feels that he is in the middle. After hours of arguing, he admitted that he may not have quoted her exactly and that some things may have gotten lost in translation.  This is known as the Bermuda Triangle of the Dad/Man information feed.  Information goes in, and it processes and  IF it is delivered, it is delivered with out much thought, or emotion (or accuracy for that matter.) What was said, might have been perfectly polite but what I heard was a personal attack of our son's development, and in-turn my parenting, which leads to the conclusion that I didn't breastfeed long enough, which is a sensitive subject for me anyway.  After this argument Don has put in his resignation as the middle man for anything regarding our boys and teachers.  He said I need to go to the source.
As I drifted off to sleep I said without thought, "In my next life, I'm going to be a single lesbian".  I must have been repeating it all night because when I woke up my feelings hadn't changed.   I have had it with men and boys.
I'm just so tired of poop, the reference to it, the smell of it, and the pride that goes along with creating it.
I feel that if I were a lesbian, I would not risk even the subliminal attraction to men.  I mean a 10 on the Kinsey scale lesbian.  I also want to have a defective biological clock. I want to live in the mountains and work as a reclusive lumber jack where the only wood I encounter is in the forest.  I want to chop things.  I want to wear flannel, and Uggs and grow a beard.  There is something about Uggs that just promote laziness.  (Funny, I wore mine to work today.) I will live on a diet of chocolate,  french bread and tortilla chips.
  My son Jack has always said that before he was a baby he was a happy old man. He also has said that when he dies he will go back to being a baby.  I would like to think of myself as a Christian who gave birth to a Buddhist.  I'm not a religion flip flopper, however I do like to remain as open and non judgmental and accepting of all religions, at least the ones that promote acceptance, (which, not surprisingly are few and far between)
But if my son is right, then I want the opposite of what I have now. I have been given the gift of testicles tenfold. I live eat and breath men from the moment I wake up until I go to bed.  I wouldn't trade this gift for the world, but I would like to make a small request of the universe that if I am reborn to be reborn as a lesbian lumberjack.  I don't think that is too much to ask. 

For now though, I have been placed on this Earth, at this time to breed testosterone and I will do best I can. I may not be an expert, but I can say with 100% certainty that men and women think differently, it just is. I don't intend to change that in this lifetime, but after this life concludes, I will need an entire lifelong break from penises.

Bursting my safety Bubble

I have a nightly ritual that up until recently, I wasn't aware of. Every night, without much thought , I walk around to every door and make sure its locked ( twice). I then set the home alarm. Check on each of the boys, to make sure they are not upside down in their bed or under it, or in some cases in the closet. I then travel back downstairs, check the alarm again. Before I put myself in bed I ask Don to please check on the boys and make sure the alarm is set. OCD? Maybe. Like a mother bird, I am most at peace when all my birds are in our nest.
 I believe this is when I'm at my happiest too.
This exemplifies my deep mistrust of humanity.  I am thankful to say that I have never been the victim of a home invasion, I have never been mugged and I have never been physically attacked in anyway.  What I have encountered are deceitful people who are capable of doing horrific things.  How did I know this? My gut. I don't say this lightly. I have complete trust in my intuition.  When I was 15 a childhood friend came up missing.  Her mom believed that she had ran away but I knew better, I had met her boyfriend. After a year of her still not returning I had a very vivid dream that she came to me and told me that she was dead and her boyfriend had killed her. I was really disturbed and told my parents.
 Just shortly after my senior year I had moved to Tucson to attend college and I got a phone call from my mom.  She had just seen on the news that they had found Becky, she was buried at her boyfriends Uncle's house and that her boyfriend was being charged with her murder.
In the one meeting I had with this guy, even as a young girl I didn't like him.  He was a football player, honor roll all American, who broke her neck and buried her after she told him she was pregnant.
People said he just "snapped". I think that is a nice term to make a person's behavior somewhat acceptable.
As a kid I put myself in some very compromising situations.  I was asked to get in the car with a man when I was 13. Thankfully I was with my best friend, and I grabbed her arm and ran. I have walked alone at night in the Tenderloin when I was 20. If you are not familiar with the tenderloin, it is a section of San Francisco that you wouldn't want to walk through even in the day time, and it is rumored to be named after a prostitutes (loins).  Poor judgement yes, and I knew it. Miraculously (and I don't say that metaphorically) I found my way home.
My parents were probably cozy in their bed when their daughter was roaming through a the bottom of a scum pit 2000 miles away.  My mom's ritual was to pray for her kids at night, I like to think that this particular night her prayers were answered.
These are all obvious dangers that have faced kids for a long time. A stranger, a really bad neighborhood, a person who you trusted that betrayed you.
The difference now is that I am the mother of these kids.
With the recent stories of abuse I feel helpless.  I'm torn between raising confident young men who respect authority and raising confident young men who respect themselves more.  That they are allowed to say no to a coach or any authority figure, assuring them they won't get in trouble.
I want the boys to be aware of the dangers that seemingly nice people, that Mommy and Daddy may even be friendly with can be worse than a stranger passing by who says "hello".
How do I approach this topic to boys who still believe in Santa? Who I reluctantly take to the mall every year to sit on a complete strangers lap.   How do I explain that it is not ok to sit on anyone's lap and if an adult asks you to...run.
I want them to see the best of humanity, but right now, I have a hard time seeing it myself. Pedophiles  now have more access to our children then ever before.  A pedophile doesn't need to sit on a park bench waiting for kids to play at a park, they can get what they need on the internet. 
A friend of mine recently wrote an article and explained that he was abused as a child.  I don't know why this effected me so deeply.  It slapped me in the face with the reality that it can happen to anybody and it has probably happened to someone I am close to or know.  He was right.   His article opened a conversation that Don and I had never actually had. We discuss our parenting, for the most part, as it happens. For two procrastinators, I think we do a decent job.  We decide the boys boundaries based on how mature we think they are, not on age. But this is something that we need to prepare our boys for.   Even the thought of something like stirs something so primal deep inside me.  I want to believe that my intuition would warn me, but I would be naive to trust that alone. I honestly felt safe in our bubble of a community. That the boys coaches, teachers, bible school teachers, would never do that.  Unfortunately that is just not the case, and if anything where most of the people would be.  Even more unfortunate is the shadow that places on teachers who are there for the love of teaching, period. Someone like my husband who is extremely careful in even the most simple exchanges with his students. Gone are the "good job" pats on the back, and that is sad.
I'm not going to be able to come up with a easy solution to this parenting hurdle.  I'm still trying to figure it out. But what I did learn comes directly from my friend, and may be the best advice I have read regarding this subject.  


Focus on behavior—teach your kids that adults are never entitled to touch their bodies, and that no one is entitled to touch their bodies without their permission.


That is the first thing we can do in stopping this horrible crime that gets (understandably) unreported by its victims.  When you know better, you do better.


And maybe take my mom's ritual as my own and pray. 


http://www.slate.com/articles/news_and_politics/jurisprudence/2011/11/penn_state_scandal_how_what_happened_in_state_college_forced_me_to_confront_my_own_abuse_.single.html

Labels Stick.

I know, you are not suppose to label your children, but as much as parents claim that they don't, they do. In our family, Parker is our social one. Finegan is the smart one, Jack is the artist, and Oscar is a biter.  Unfortunately for Oscar, he has been labeled this and it will probably stick, we also call him a Parana.
Labels are considered a good thing in everything else. I label all my files at work, I have spices labeled.  Early on I was labeled as funny. My sister was labeled as organized and socially retarded and my brother was labeled as talented and perfect. Turns out all of those were true, at least from my parents perspective. And please don't be offended by the word retarded, I mean it in the true sense of the word..
verb |riˈtärd| [ trans. ]
delay or hold back in terms of progress, development, or accomplishment : his progress was retarded by his limp.
My mom blamed this ( and many other things) on her frequent ear infections as a baby.
Anyway, my label was given when at 2 years old I stood up at a family function and told a joke that I had made up, and everyone laughed, not a courtesy laugh, a real laugh. To this day, I still find it pretty darn funny.
Why did the cow cross the road? To mooooooon all the people!  I had come up with this after my brother went on a mooning rampage.  Mooning was much more popular in the 80's.
My sister got her label because she started collecting bugs for her bug collection when she was in 6th grade even though her bug collection wasn't due until 8th grade. Come to think of it, it is probably the same reason she got diagnosed with social retardation too. My dad built her a wooden case with blue felt and she labeled each hexapoda (with her Dymo label maker) and preserved each insect to have it perfectly displayed. Thank goodness, because nine years later I broke into her bug collection that was mounted on a shelf and I used it for my own project. Unfortunately my teacher noticed that the carcass's were a little deteriorated... and knew my sister.
My brother was good looking and talented and got away with anything and everything, even doing flash moonings. This is where a butt shows up where you least expect it, like a laundry hamper or car window and scares the crap out of you. Now as part of his profession he is half naked swinging to and fro on stages around the world. My sister is a successful business woman and I'm...well, entertaining audiences, even if they are forced to listen because they work with me, or they live with me.
So I guess labels stick. I don't want you to think that I tattoo each boy with their life long label, it just inside knowledge that my husband and I are certain of. It doesn't mean that Jack can't bite, or that Oscar can't draw. It just means that each one of them is the best (at least in our family) at one thing.
Yesterday out of the blue, Finegan asked me why we are baptized.  I explained that when you are baptized you become a child of God. (It was the best I could come up with at the time.) Within two seconds, he said, "so when we were born we weren't children of God?"
"Well yes, but..."
"Didn't you say Daddy wasn't baptized until Parker was born? So was he a devil baby?"
"No, why are we talking about this?"
His brain just works differently, analytically and he knows numbers like rain man.
Parker spends his recess playing tag with girls. He knows his third grade drama like a soap opera. These are the days of our lives.... and always wants to be in the center of it.
Jack draws on everything and I have a welt on the back of my arm where the Parana bit me.
In our little circle, the boys have also acknowledged that their brothers are talented. Soicalboy asks Smartypants for the answers to his math work, Smartypants asks socialboy about recess etiquette. It all works out in the end.  Maybe artist boy will paint another Sistine Chapel and Parana will open the cans of paint.  As long as you work your label I don't think they are half bad and although they may not know what their exact label is, they know it is a strength that their brothers can look to them to for expert advice and makes their blood fraternity all that more diverse.

Label on..

Body, why have you forsaken me?

I have a complicated relationship with my body.  There is a dial up connection between my brain and my physique. For example.  Every night around 9 pm when the house has finally become calm, my legs take me to the freezer and my arm assists in getting ice cream into a bowl. My mouth is also an accomplice in this food crime.  My left brain is saying "no you idiot!"  then my right brain, which has tempted me all these years overcomes the logical side by justifying it as a reward, and as always, wins.  The last thing I need before I go to bed is a bowl of ice cream and I don't regret it until the naked walk of shame into the shower the next day.  As I take a shower my brain is bullying my body.  "Maybe if you stopped eating ice cream you wouldn't have this chub in this place or a muffin in this place". (And that is a mild beating.) And for whatever reason, I go along with it.  Being a lifelong Oprah watcher I would be an idiot to not recognize that it is "emotional eating" and if that emotion is pure bliss, then I guess I fit the profile.  The other day Don thought he would take a playful peek over the shower curtain. Had he realized what would follow this typical manly gesture he would have thought twice. "What are you looking at? My butt?  Don't look at it! I know its chubby, why do you do this to me? Go away!" All this time he hasn't said anything but  "I just wanted you to know I'm taking the boys outside". Yeah sure, likely story.  And with that he evacuates the home in an attempt to shelter his son's from a woman's wrath.
Many people blame media, or the unrealistic examples of the female form in society for this self hatred, but I blame myself.  I think it began way before I had kids.  I would fret over a tiny bit of fat on my belly. I wasn't trying to look like a model I just wanted to be in the best shape I could be in. I find this interesting because now I can walk through the mall and see plenty of girls half my age with an exposed muffin top simultaneously eating an Aunt Annie's pretzel and downing a venti caramel machiato without a second thought, maybe they are emotional eaters too and have mall anxiety or something.

I'm not one to blame others however, I feed myself and since I could drive I have been carting my a** to the gym at 5 a.m.  Originally it was to keep myself in shape in the off season of soccer, but soon it became an addiction, one I think saved me from getting into (too) much trouble.
I was trying to remember if there was ever a time when I was truly happy with my body and I can answer yes, but it was always in retrospect. If I look at my 20 year old body I drool.  But this is 14 years later. 
In an effort to stop this horrific cycle I need to appreciate everything that I have and stop whining about it. The Universe has an interesting way of doing things and although we have freewill I can't help but think that there is a bit of a master plan.   Little did I know that all those mornings in the gym would prepare my body to be a baby making machine.  And I mean MACHINE!  My body stepped up and brought its "A" game.  So much so, that my boys didn't want to leave it. So the pregnancy was perfect, the birth, well not so much.   My oven would have kept cooking those buns until they were 2 if it could.   I think that is when my brain took over.  "Seriously? You want to push a 9 lb. baby out of what? And my body agreed.  When the baby was surgically removed (against his will) my body mourned the loss and my brain needed time to catch up.
Having a baby and within minutes feeding them perfect temperature, perfect nutrition from my body was mind blowing. It was the first time I truly appreciated it and was in awe.
That awe is quickly passed with the pressure to look like I was never pregnant or have had a baby by the next month. I was so frustrated when my clothes didn't fit.
What I don't understand is why women are so quick to want to hide the fact they just had a baby? When women run marathons or even a 5k you will find their number pinned to a bulletin board in their office and the race photo as thier profile picture on facebook. What you won't find is a picture of a jelly belly right after birth as a badge of honor. No sir, but maybe we should.

I recently began playing soccer after a long long hiatus.  I immediately felt at home on the field. I was ready to play but I quickly realized that a 34 year old body is not meant to be playing soccer, especially one who has had babies..  I don't see Mia Hamm out there kicking the ball around after she had a baby. (Not that I am anywhere close to her level, even post baby).   It wasn't the endurance that killed me, it was my joints. I wondered how I was able to do this for half of my life? Once again, pre-body envy.
But this time what keeps me going isn't my coach, or my need to be the best. It is the four little guys on the side lines cheering me on.  How can I not appreciate my body that has created my own little cheering section? Perhaps the Universe is intervening again.  Saying, that you may not have a perfectly toned midsection, or fat free legs, but what you do have is strength.   I can't think of a better lesson for four boys than to see their mom,  playing. Playing anything, but taking time only for me to play, and fully enjoy every second of it.   They don't care if I score or not, for that little minute as I painfully tried to pick up speed I could see out of the corner of my eye a blur of smiles cheering for me.  They weren't cheering because I had a perfect body, they were just cheering because they had never seen me in that light, and for that moment our roles had reversed. And in celebration, we might even go home and have ice cream, I deserve it after all right?

An argument that will never get resolved.

It is a gloomy day without sunshine. It has been raining for the past 15 hours. And as I sit in my office, one may be able to hear me quietly arguing with my husband on the phone. Arguing about something that neither one of us will ever win, but we argue daily about it.  I will get to that in a moment.  I know it was raining 15 hours ago because I was in the car at 1:00 a.m. transporting Jack (4) to the emergency room.  We live 2 minutes away from the hospital, but I'm not staying at home...still. We (being the 4 boys and I) are still at my parents until the house is clean enough for us to move back into. The dog and Don are staying there, * allegedly getting it ready for not only us to come home, but for his parents visit in 3 days.  The sanding that was done to get our kitchen floor refinished filled our closed up home with dust, and also got in the vents and all the dust is just being repeatedly covered when the heat comes on. 
Last night after going to bed a little later than usual (10:30) I was amazed on how well the baby was sleeping..he is in my room after all. Before I drifted off to sleep I said a little prayer, maybe a selfish one, but I prayed for a full nights sleep. That's all.  Oscar is getting to be too big for his pack n play so the previous night he had been up on the hour to protest his sleeping arrangements, so I was tired.  All was well until 12:15 when I thought I was awakened by a dream of the ocean, but the seal I was hearing was actually my son. I was confused, I looked in the pack n' play, the baby was sound asleep, where is this noise coming from? I ventured out into the dark living room where Jack was crying, barking and gasping for air. All while walking in a circle. He was panicking because he couldn't breath, he was crying which made his cough worse. By this time my mom was up looking at the two of us.  He was delirious, and wouldn't let either one of us hold him. Without words, I went and got my clothes on, to the emergency room we go.  We arrived around 1. The nurse didn't make us wait in the waiting room, which I wanted to hug her for her kind gesture. There are some sketchy people in the waiting room at 1 a.m. on a Tuesday morning. In the blur of me quickly passing the waiting room, I saw tattoos, pajamas, and teethless men.  Within minutes, we were in a frigid room waiting to see the doctor. The nurses seemed to eat Jack up. He is cute, I must say, but they showered him with stickers, compliments, grape juice and special treatment.   It was obvious he had croup and a breathing treatment was needed, we were just going to need to wait for another hour to get it. By the time Janet arrived, Jack had fallen asleep. He was awakened to her sticking a breathing mask on his face talking about Scooby Doo. Jack was not pleased.  It caused him to freak out again, which caused the barking to begin all over again. After holding him like a mental patient we were able to get the majority of the medicine in him. To the point he still had not uttered a word. It wasn't until he was given additional medicine that he told the nurse it was "awful"the only word he would utter throughout the entire fiasco.  We waited another hour or so for the doctor, nurse etc. and when it was all said and done, we had been there for 4 hours. I was able to catch up on late night shows, I had not seen since I was breast feeding.  Finally we were able to leave. I had to fill his rx before going home and was advised to get some food in his tummy.  Because I'm not usually cruising the streets at 5 a.m. I was amazed that there are not a whole lot of options for sustenance. Burger King was open and I was able to get Jack french toast sticks which he took two tiny nibbles of and I ended up eating the rest.  Not nearly as good as I remembered.  As I was driving home I wondered where other people who passed me were going at that hour?  Its  a different vampire world that I'm just not used to and don't care to get used to.  I finally arrived back at my parents and just as soon as I put Jack down the baby woke up and did NOT want to go back to sleep. I stayed up with him in a dark living room with the glow of the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse filling the room.  By this time my mom was ready, she angelically offered to get the others ready, take Oscar and let me get some rest.  Around 6:15 I crashed next to the kid who sounded like an 86 year old smoker.  I had sent an email from my phone at 3 a.m. to my boss explaining that I would not be in to work in the morning. Within 2 min. he responded.  WHY is my boss up at 3 a.m.?  I don't know, but if this is a normal occurrence, it could explain a lot, and his crankiness. All along I thought it was just me.
So when my husband called me this afternoon and explained that the house wasn't quite ready for us to move back in our argument began. I methodically calculated the total amount of time I had slept the night before.. 2 hours, and I even took the liberty to add up the total number of the previous week. And he explained that he hadn't slept well either. Wait...he was alone with a dog at home. It was not computing. He explained that he only got 4 hours of sleep. But knowing my body's sleep needs and his, that is like a full night for him.  Since we had children we have had this argument almost daily.  To the point where we have threatened to keep track of how many times each of us have gotten up the night before, but never following through with it. Mainly because we are too tired at the moment to do so. Today as I quietly screamed at him on the phone, explaining that I was the one who didn't sleep not him, which ended up on me abruptly hanging up on him.  It got me to thinking. Why are we arguing about who is the most sleep deprived?  Is it a badge of good parenting? Or a badge of bad spouse-ing?  In all the years we have been married, has he ever said.." you know, you were up all night, what an amazing wife and mother you are" in short...NO. He has never said that.  Have I ever said, " I noticed you got up with the baby to nurse him 6 times last night...NO because, (oh that's right), he CANT.    So why do we continue to argue about this issue that only a night vision camera could prove?
When it comes down to it, what I'm looking for is recognition...from someone other than my mother.
What he is looking for is............ for me to not seek sleep deprivation recognition.
What ends up happening when I'm deliriously tired is, bad style choices.  Several layers of concealer trying to put on the illusion to everyone ( except my husband) that I don't need at least 6 hours of sleep to function, along with extremely sensitive emotions and weird cravings.  Which lead me to the one positive discovery today..the Salted Carmel Mocha at Starbucks. It is Heaven in a cup that almost brought me to tears.
Maybe I should add slight psychosis to my list of tired symptoms.
At this point in my life there are few things I find myself coveting for, and one of those things is a full nights sleep.  Is that too much to ask? Obviously, (my prayers were unanswered with and exclamation point) so God must have thought so too.

Day 1 of our Staycation.

Staycation...there are few words that annoy me more.  However, this is what I labeled our visit to my parents house for the next four days.  I have a severe allergy to dust, which I think most people do, so while the final touches are being done on our renovation (the last being the kitchen floor refinishing) it seemed like a good idea to stay at my parents. Especially since we wouldn't have access to our refrigerator, or more importantly the coffee maker.
I packed up outfits for the boys for four days. In case you are wondering, that is 16 shirts, 16 pairs of pants, 16 undies, a package of diapers, 32 socks, 8 pairs of jammies. 4 lovies and 4 pillow pets. This does not include my clothing or Don's but he is a big boy and I figured he could fend for himself. If you noticed a little hostility towards my husband of 10 years in the last sentence, well, congratulate yourself because you are very perceptive to written emotions. Don decided that it would be better for him to stay at home so that he could get some "work done". If I would have known that, I wouldn't have dropped off our dog at the doggy hotel. As much as my parents love Graham (sarcasm font) they do not allow dogs in their home.
My parents live in the same house I grew up in. I have the same room with my name on the door that boasts that I am the 1983 #1 shoe tier.  Growing up it felt like our house was large, but when you add 4 of my boys to it, it swells and feels as large as a motor home.  I arranged the boys in my sisters old room and the baby was to stay with me.  Getting them bathed was a challenge because rather than shower curtains, my parents have shower doors.  Plus I couldn't figure out how to work the faucet.
If senior citizens are notorious for not knowing how to work modern technology, then I apparently can be noted for not knowing how to work ancient technology.  After spending hours trying to figure out which remote turned on the tv, my dad walked in and pushed the button on the television.  INGENIOUS!
The boys view my parents house as a local theme park. Filled with soda, chips and entertainment (a tv) in every room. They travel to various corners and gorge themselves on junk food.  Amazingly, I was able to get them in bed by 9:30 after they had jumped off the beds for the 200th time.  It was around this time that Parker said his stomach hurt. I explained to him that when you stuff yourself with chips and soda, the combination forms a combustible gas that could possibly make him implode.  I gave him a Tum and tried to sit down on one of the 3, very comfortable lazy boy recliners my parents had recently purchased.  With in two minutes I'm rubbing my son's back as he vomited what seemed to be an enormous amount of food for a boy whose stomach is suppose to be the size of his fist.
I know that my husband is not to blame for this but somehow I would like to.
I can hear the pitter patter of little footsteps running up and down the hallway. I can hear the inner screams of my parents pleading, Why? Why?! And all I want to do is go to bed.  After Parker was finished, he returned to the bathroom for the grand finale which released anything remaining to come out of his body, only this time the other end.  As bad as he felt, he still was able to point out that I was wrong, he didn't implode, he exploded.  Touché.
Once I felt that my Vesuvius son had calmed down, I retreated to my accommodations that I had spent the first 20 years of my life sleeping in.  It felt smaller...well, there is a pack n' play in the middle of the floor.  I layed down on the same bed as I slept in in high school, under the same glow in the dark stars that I incorrectly arranged on my ceiling, beside my once beloved stuffed animals.  And as I rested my head to fall asleep.....I didn't.
After an hour or so of staring at the adhesive solor system I must have drifted off.  If my bedroom has one great quality it is that it is warm, very warm.
Having older parents means that they wake up at 4 in the morning, so pleasantly coffee was already made, along with a few extra hands to help make breakfast. Not to mention my parents staying home with a my sick son and happily doing so.  The fact that my mom palmed me 40 bucks as I left the door was reminiscent of the good ol' days when she gave me too much lunch money.
I actually made it in to work early today, I'm not sure how that happened, maybe I'm on PTZ the parental time zone which  causes one to arrive at everything 20 minutes early.
1 day down, 3 to go.  Who knows by the time Thursday comes maybe my parents will have decided to have a  staycation with Graham.

Suprise!

Way back on Thanksgiving 2010, while I was slothfully sitting on the couch with my sister and brother at my parents house, swollen with turkey and stuffing and wine and pumpkin pie etc. etc. we watched as our
(collectively) 14 children ran crazy, looting around our parents house, occupying every computer, television and square inch imaginable in their once quiet home. My dad was on his knees ferociously scrubbing the carpet trying to remove a  chocolate milk stain and my mom was in the kitchen cleaning dishes.  You have to know my parents, before judging me to think that I was just being lazy, they are OCD cleaners.  They like doing it..at least that is how I have justified it for the past 34 years.  Amongst the chaos, my sister turned to us and said,  "mom is going to be 70 this coming year, and we should really do something for her."   By this year, she meant 11 months away.  Nathan and I agreed and we planned to send an email thread to find out a date when he would be home next.  A few months past and I initiated the first email.  The date we agreed on was in August and it was 2 months prior to her actual birthday. It would be perfect. My mom insists on our family coming together and taking a big coordinated family picture every single year. She justified it  being annual because we kept having babies and adding another kid which my mom had to display in her Christmas card.  This year we actually went from 22 to 21 people... we lost one, not to death but to divorce, which is pretty much equal in my parents eyes, (we have a very strong family alliance, no matter what the circumstance) I have threatened Don with that several times in a Godfather Gangter kind of voice..."You betray me, you betray my family and you will be NOTHING in this town"...  Obviously this kind of threat doesn't frighten him enough to stop leaving a pile of his socks by the bed.
Regardless, we had an excuse to get together and it was a perfect time for us to plan a party. I quickly discovered that "us" really translated into "me". That was ok though, I still had 7 months to plan a get together. We were going to have a small dinner with my mom's closest friends and family, but even that would be a minimum of 50 guests, so, per my dad's suggestion, we needed to invite all of her friends.
Except for college and a few years in Chicago, my mom has lived in this area her entire life. She has several social circles. For example, her church choir friends, her salon friends, her tennis friends, her high school friends, her line dancing friends and not to mention every other person in this town that she has ever had any brief exchange with.  Being that it is 2011 I decided to make an evite (my first mistake) but I will address that in a moment.  I told my mom that a terrible virus was sweeping through the internet and I needed her password to be sure her email wouldn't be hacked.  She believed me and I was able to access all of her contacts. I sent out 150 evites.  A day or two passed and my family had all responded... a week passes, still a disappointing response.  I know it was 6 months away, but old people like to plan.  It was then that I received one of two letters.. in the mail.  SNAIL mail.  It was a note from a woman saying that she saw that I sent her a message on the computer but Burt couldn't open it and would I please send her a real invitation. UGH. That was the whole point of the evite to NOT try and find the addresses of a million people!  After I got the second similar letter I decided to bite the bullet and send a "real" invitation, opposed to the "fake" one I had sent on their "computer".  I had my dad photo copy my mom's Rolodex..yes, she really has one. And I was able to send out an additional 150 invites.  It was then that I had hit the senior citizen jackpot. RSVP calls flooded our voice mail.   It became a source of entertainment for Don and I. The rsvp messages were a minimum of 2 minutes and a maximum of 6 1/2.  Once they got my name right, they went on to give a brief monologue on how they knew my mom and if they were going to attend. But the exchange wasn't over just yet. They needed me to call them back to make sure that I received their message.  (You never know these days with answering machines, sometimes the tape gets raveled)  In the time it took me to plan this event, with the invites, menus and decorations, I would say at least 10 hours was made up in phone conversations.  And to make it more awkward, they all knew who I was and I had no clue who they were. Sure, I had heard their names before, but how can I know which Karen or Janet they were. What I was struck by was the stories people were sharing about my mom that I had never heard. Most conversations ended with laughter on both ends.  And what I soon realized was that everyone we invited was going to attend.  The room I reserved held 80.  Cross that bridge when we get to it.  When my parents took their snowbird hiatus to Arizona,  I snuck into their house and took all the family albums I could find.  Don took old home movies and converted them into dvd's. He made a 20 min. movie with over 200 photos of the 70 years my mom has graced the Earth.   The hard part was putting them all back.   On one of the trips to their house I had taken Jack and he discovered my Dad's chocolate stash (no wonder he was so quiet), then later that night told my mom over skype that he had been to her house and eaten Grandpa's candy... I told her that Jack was making it up and pushed him out of view.  Sorry Jack, you had to take one for the team.
The date came up on us pretty quickly.  We talked about how to get her to the place after the family picture. I creatively stalled with additional photos like, Can we please do a photo of us walking hand in hand across the grassy knoll. (no joke) It was actually her suggestion to go to dinner. We just had to reject all of her suggestions until she came up with the right place.  When we arrived she was was just as surprised as I had wanted her to be. She was embraced by old friends and said that I had invited an "eclectic" bunch from all parts of her life.  Turns out even some randoms, that DID open the evite who my mom had purchased some " holistic arthritic cream" from in a neighboring Amish town even decided to show up.
When it was time to watch the video we gathered (tightly) as it was shown on 2 screens.  I was over come with emotion as I watched a beautiful life unfold of someone who I had just selfishly seen as only a mother. She was a daughter, a friend, a comedian, a glowing wife and a proud mother.   She had an adventurous, fulfilled life before we came into it, and even with all her accomplishments, the one thing she wanted more than anything else was be a mom.  How am I so lucky to have been born to such a great woman? You don't get a chance to reflect on someones life until it is at their funeral.  This gave my siblings and me an opportunity to look in our mom's eyes, hug her and tell her how much we really do love her, a moment that is so often overlooked until it is too late. She was worried about all the work that we had put into it, but wholeheartedly, it was the least we could do.   It reminded me of a speech that Don gave at our wedding that had just been lip service prior to this moment.  Before we cut the cake he took the microphone to give a speech, and looked at our four parents sitting together and said " I would like to thank our parents, it is because of you and your love that we are the well rounded people we are today, and if we can emulate you, even a little bit, we are ahead of the game in my opinion" ten years later the words are even more relevant.
It was a pleasure, albeit stressful, to take this monumental task of planning a surprise party for 150+ people all while working 40 hours a week, juggling 4 boys, an insane dog and a sock leaving husband, but I think I may be on my way to emulating one of the most selfless women I know.

Paranormal 30's

What I have heard about ghosts is that they are dead people that just don't know they are dead and they wonder around their old stomping grounds and think everything is fine...except its not because they are dead.  Recently I discovered that my 30's are a lot like that.  Let me explain...
We have been looking for a babysitter to allow us some freedom on the weekends to go out with friends and come home slightly intoxicated whenever we want.  I found a great girl that is a nursing student at an all girls university and our boys loved her. She was born the same year I was a freshman high school.  That didn't stop me from believing that I was the same age as she.  I can remember when I was 20 like it was yesterday. I talk like her, know all the "hip" things, really we aren't that far apart in age.  Hey, we could be bff's! Except the fact that she wouldn't want to be my bff because she views me as a mini-van driving mom who is socially lame (even though I have a facebook account and I even text).  I must say, that my 20 year old self wouldn't have noticed that she sent me an email at 3:44 a.m. and maybe if I was as cool as I think, I wouldn't have noticed either. She probably thinks I'm pushing 40, hell, When I was 20 every person over the age of 25 was old and whether they were 24 or 44 I put them in the same category as my parents. But being that I am 7 months shy of my mid thirties, I am in complete denial and I don't realize I'm in my 30's.  I notice that some of my closest friends are starting to show their age and look more like their mothers did when we were in high school more than what they looked like in high school.  But I must be the exception.
My niece recently asked me to take her to a party that my sister wouldn't take her to. Being the "cool" aunt that I am, I agreed. I put the baby in his car seat, turned on the young hip radio station (rather than the adult alternative one that is always on) and we were on our way.  I tried to give her "wise" advice from when I was 14, "you don't need to worry about boys, you have your entire life." She half listened and was texting the majority of the ride. She is a beautiful cross between Brooke Shields and Jennifer Connely. She really doesn't need to worry about getting boys attention, they notice her already. But my advice is dated (apparently). But that doesn't stop me, heck it wasn't that long ago I was a freshman in high school and playing soccer and chasing boys. (30's denial once again.) We arrived at the party and I noticed that there was a group of 15 or so boys standing in the drive way.  I asked her if any girls were planning on being at this party.( Trying to ignore the fact that I sounded just like my mom with that statement.)  She looked at me, pointed and said "duh" and all they way across the enourmous yard was a group of 15 or so girls.  I guess my memory had failed to recall the fact that boys and girls don't actually communicate at pre-freshman age parties. Before I knew it she was out of the van. (Admitting that a mini van IS a little embarrassing).  My ghost of a 30 year old may need to come to a realization that things have changed.  When I was in high school there wasn't facebook or even laptops for that matter.  There were car phones, but not cell phones. Caller ID didn't exist yet and my cable only had about 34 channels.   I felt that if she listened to me she may learn some valuable information, such as,  never go to Taco Bell at 3:30 a.m. because if a cop happens to show up you are stuck in a drunk driver party line with no where to go and chances are you may get arrested... maybe its not my advice that she needs. If I would have listened to all the old people that gave me advice I wouldn't have had nearly as much fun as I did.
Although I may look 30 something I certainly don't feel it.  There are a few times where I look in the review mirror and see 4 little guys safely strapped in their seats and I wonder how in the world I got to this point.  I swear that just yesterday I was flirting with Don in a bar on 4th Street in Santa Monica. Now I'm driving through Starbucks because I couldn't bear to listen to the baby cry and slept sitting up, not because I was out partying. And I can't just go home at 2 and take a 4 hour nap.
There are times though when I wish that I could have a sleep over and paint my nails and read magazines and care only about what is happening tomorrow rather than what the next month or even next year looks like.  Perhaps embracing this decade will exorcise the ghost.
But for now, I will float along lost in a pleasant purgatory of a decade that seems to have a relevant purpose to gently give me the realization that I am, indeed a grown up.

This sucks

I have returned to the work force. Well, sort of. Yesterday as I was walking into work I went right past my building and into the Starbucks next door. I needed a little liquid enthusiasm. I was greeted by my boss whose first words to me were in the form of a question. "Do you like my shoes?"  "Yes." Which was followed by a story about Funky town.. I don't know.  Once I opened my office door I was hit by a waft of stale energy that needed reviving.  I started my computer's engine and swear I saw that little yodeling guy from the Price is Right  Cliffhanger game climbing up my mountain of email and falling off the cliff around 500.  I began to sort through the messages and somehow ended up changing my screen savor. Naturally I couldn't have a spring photo, I needed a summer one. So I found a perfect one of the boys jumping off a pier, which lead me to go through all our vacation photos and before I knew it an hour had gone by.  Just in time for my first meeting which was regarding aspestos removal from the crawl space in our 100 + year old building, a building that I have been working in for four years and had been pregnant carrying our youngest child in.  After that I went back to my office and googled aspestos danger to pregnant women along with symptoms of mesothelioma. Before I knew it, it was time for lunch.  I went home to find that 2 of the boys didn't even know I had left, one was in their pajamas and one was too busy reenacting the Backyardigans to notice I just walked in front of him.  Don was indifferent, except in regards to a phone message he had taken which said that I had been entered into a drawing which my name was called and I needed to claim my prize. I was going to let it go, but he was persistent.  I called and I was told that I won my choice of either, a 3 day 2 night trip to a resort, a digital frame, or kitchen knives.  This should have been the first warning sign.  Of course I chose the trip and they said they would personally bring me the prize but I also had to watch a short pure air demonstration.  Wait what? I reluctantly agreed and we set a time for 7 pm.  By this time Don realized why I thought it was crap in the first place. "but why did you agree?" he asked. Rather than entertain this argument I returned to work to discover I have forgotten everything about my position.  I had what I like to call vacation induced dimentia.  I resorted to cleaning my desk until I was interrupted by my boss who recently invited Don and I over for dinner on Thursday and knowing that I don't eat meat, has decided to serve steak, he even offered to make mine tar tar. (insert fake laugh here) After minutes of fretting (not) he reassured me that he had made me a pasta dish. Before I knew it, it was time to go home. Our salesman arrived at 6:59 in an old cadillac, at which point he lugged two enormous bags out of his trunk.  He was overweight and was a combination of Chris Farley and Zach Galifiankis. At which point Don and I made a pact to make his visit the most unaccommodating possible. Don turned on the tv for the boys, let the other two play video games and let the dog out.  Immediatly he asked what the boys names were.  That creeps me out. Why is that necessary information for a air purification sales person? Well, he wasn't born yesterday, he dropped their names like they were hot. " Oscar needs clean air to be healthy and grow" "What do you think of that Jack?" Even throwing in the dogs name for extra credit.  We were not humoring his questions  like,
"What do you think of when you think of pollution? " or " Do you like the fact that your wasting hours of your time grinding more dirt into your carpet and ruining your home? " At that point Don said yes.  Strategically, neither one of us were sitting at the same time.  Kids were skipping through the house, milk was spilled, Graham was barking, Oscar was crying, snacks were being dispersed, a fight club had developed down stairs, and we just let it carry on. If our house didn't break him, nothing would.  We discovered that our air was in the "DANGER ZONE" based on his electronic meter and that only he had the solution to our pollution. At this point, we could not contain our laughter, that is just too cheesy.  The next laughable moment is when he asked Don if he knew how long his hose was.  But as much as the boys climbed around him, Graham sniffed him, his persistence was growing on me.  Except when he asked for a drink of water. How rude of me, he is our guest after all!  Yes, he was sweating like a pig, but I thought that only added to the discomfort. I gave him one of the boys miniature plastic cups.  Then he decided to demonstrate how we wasted good money on our new vacuum by sweeping our carpet 100 times. Trust me, he counted.  Then immediately following he used his super duper vacuum and guess what? He picked up a big hair ball of dirt, dust and probably e coli.  And if that didn't make us feel good enough he dumped it on the floor to show us.  By this time an hour had passed and my evening glass of merlot was calling my name. In other words, I had checked out.  Finally as we begin to anticipate a closer approaching us, he shows us yet another statistic based on clinical "research". We could barely hear him over Oscar's cries but we got the jist. We are filthy parents and our kids are going to die of lung contamination, but considering I already have asbestos related lung cancer I can except that fate.  By this time this man was infringing on Don's date with ESPN and he was done.  Before he could even ask if we could put a price on our young children's health, Don stopped him. He explained that although his presentation was flawless, albeit long, we were not going to buy anything...now or ever and we would like our vacation prize.  He seemed to understand but not enough to stop talking. At this point I started cleaning the kitchen and he asked to use our phone. He called his "manager" to explain that we were not going to buy anything and , "yes, he explained that, and even though we were at a dangerous level we still said no".  He assured us that gets paid just for coming over (because we were so worried) .  Don was standing at the door as if to say  kindly, get the f*ck out, and he gave us a wrinkly brochure with our choice of "premier destinations" such as Iowa, Florida and even Mishawaka!. 
I wonder if a similar experience happened to Arthur Miller when he wrote Death of Salesman. Willy Loman  was a vacuum salesman right?  Just as we think his foot is out the door he hands us a piece of paper and with puppy dog eyes asks us for 3 referrals. WHO does this?? I kindly agreed and gave him the names and the near numbers of my friends. I may or may not have changed a number or made an 8 look like a 9 or 0.  All I know is that if my friends knew I referred them to this tool, they wouldn't be my friend for much longer.  

So that was my day back, after two months.  But as much as it killed me to leave my family of bugs all snug in their beds,  I was able to go into work and be entertained by a co-worker who showed me a video clip of a white party where Stephanie, a fantastic drag queen (who recently came out of retirement for one show only, and made me feel just a little insecure that a man can me more feminine and graceful than me), and call it work. The Universe was reminding me to be thankful that  I'm not a air/vacuum salesman.