2 legit to knit

When I was on the plane back from Australia my friend and I were discussing what our New Years resolutions were. Rather than do my typical, lose weight, stop eating after 7 p.m. stop yelling, treat my husband like an adult, stop drinking (so much),  I decided to keep a resolution I could stick too.

This is a knitted iphone given to kids as
in an effort to offer disenfranchised youth hope for the future.
I don't know, I just liked the picture.

"I'm going to learn to knit!" I exclaimed.  If I didn't already feel like a 33 year old tool, I certainly did now.  I think her resolutions, were something like, find a job and find a man.  I didn't have time for that mumbo jumbo. I needed to express my inner Laura Ingall. She kind of grinned and said, "that's great, and turned to watch the rest of the feature presentation, Dinner for Schmucks.  The rest of the ride home I had some really grandiose ideas. I was going to first knit a scarf, then matching hats with ears on top for the boys, then a french press cozy. ( I made that one up), but as any coffee lover knows, if you don't drink french pressed coffee immediately it gets cold, and perhaps a nice sweater would keep the heat in for at least 3 more minutes and in my house every second counts.

We landed and said our goodbyes. Wouldn't you know it, a week later I had a box at my front door with yarn, knitting needles and a how-to-knit book.   I tried to send her a man, but he wouldn't get in the box!..ba dum dum, thank you! I'll be here all week...

She really had the best intentions and she knew that I would put it off long enough to convince myself that I'm a slow learner and knitting was for geniuses.  So I opened the book and read the first page, I immediately closed the book and called our local craft store to inquire about classes. It just so happened that a 2 week class was starting the next week. SIGN ME up! It was $20 and each class is 4 hours. 

Four hours of knitting? Maybe its just an excuse for old woman to get out of the house and chat. 

I arrived and I was the youngest by 30 years.  Each woman "claimed" to be a beginner. The instructor walked in. She gave her knitting credentials, she grew up in El Salvador. She began knitting with two rusty nails and some twine... by the time she was four she had knit her first pair of socks. This woman was a knitting nazi. We began with 2 huge needles and yarn.  After a few minutes everyone had cast on... ok everyone but me and the oldest woman in the class who was wearing a red baret .  She said the instructor was moving too fast and that she couldn't catch on. I couldn't have agreed more. Granted everyone else in the class was already halfway to a scarf,  she and I needed help.  I have a sneaking suspicion that she just had dimensia and had knit that baret on her head yesterday and was accidentally misplaced at this craft store by her caregiver.

So what was my excuse? My brain just didn't work this way. I kept thinking when I would want to undo a stitch, command Z ( for you Mac users) or discard changes for you PC users. But obviously it didn't work that way. I started to sweat. The nazi would come around and help me, but as soon as she left, I was back to square one. 

I left the class feeling defeated, but proud of my one row. I tried to show my husband and he just looked at it the way you look at a 2 year olds paintings. The "happy that they tried, but wow, that is horrible" look. I was not going to let 8 conniving con-spiriting old women show me up.  I was going to go to a source that is in my territory..youtube!   But to my dismay, that didn't make sense to me either.  I went to bed that night thinking this may not be working.  I walked into work the next day hoping that my co-workers had forgotten that I was blabbing the previous day about a knitting class I was going to take, but of course, that is the one day they listened to me.  The phone rang. .. It was the knitting nazi! How did she get my work number?  She wanted to meet with me one on one on Thursday to go over some things. Wow, my incompetence must have shocked her.  We set a date for 6. It felt like a KGB internal security  briefing. 

I arrived. She didn't.  

What a cruel joke. If you don't think hazing happens in the senior world..think again.

But luckily there was another woman who worked there who was willing to take me on as a charity case. What she said made sense and my knitting knob had been turned on. I got it. And I didn't stop.  I loved it. It actually kept my hands occupied long enough to help me with my non-New years resolutions of eating and drinking.  I became the Rudy of the knitting world!

I had to go back to the store twice in one day because I lost a stitch but other than that I was on a roll.

Tonight I have my final knitting class. And although my husband stated that my scarf looks like the Shroud of Turin that Jesus was wrapped in, it makes me proud. Sure. I got a little ambitious and disregarded my stitch count, but what is one person's scarf is another's son's stuffed animals soon-to-be blanket. 

And last time I checked. The Jesus' shroud was going for a lot of money these days.

Fascinating Game nights

I recently created a chore list for my boys so that they can earn money to purchase Guitar Hero for their wii. Chores include, making their bed, feeding the dog, feeding the sea monkeys, just typical things. They earn $5 a week. Jack has chores but because he can't read he claims he does not know what they are.  Oscar has chores too, which include being cute on Mondays and Wednesdays and crawling on Tuesday and Thursdays.  He doesn't earn money,  with the baby labor laws being so strict, despite his brothers protest that he too would enjoy watching them play Guitar Hero.

 So far they have "earned" $70 and have about $100 to go.  

Fridays chore is to have a game night.  Of course, this is not a chore, but to gather everyone around a table to play a "bored" game is kind of chore in itself.  We chose Apples to Apples Jr.  For those that are not familiar with this game, There is a word that is placed in the center of the table ex. Scary.  Every person has 5 cards with words that best describe the center card. If you don't have a card that matches it, you still need to place a card regardless.  It could be Donut, but you still need to put something down. The Judge ( which rotates) judges the best fit and that person wins.  The cards are shuffled so he doesn't know who put what card down.. unless the person Announces it or coughs or raises their hand.

You really learn a lot about your kids with this game.  Parker thinks that Eraser was a good fit for the word Caring.  This didn't make a bit of sense until he told us that he thought the Eraser was Ears... which in a round about way is very touching.  Listening = caring. That a boy. 

Jack was throwing random cards to the center and asking everyone to pull his finger. A new trick he has learned and become wildly successful at. One of the words was Fascinating. This is when Finegan (6) yelled out " A woman's boobs!". 

Does it really start this early? It was hard not to laugh, so we did. And then reminded him that there are certain things( this being one of them) that are said in the home and that can stay there.  I ended up winning because I don't believe in letting your kid win to build their self-esteem.  I also needed to show them that although my boobs may be "fascinating" I also have a brain to back them up. 

Totally tubeular

This snowy Midwest morning I had the pleasure to take my 9 month in to have surgery to get tubes placed in his ears.  You could tell by the morale  in the house this morning that everyone was very concerned...I say this with the highest level of sarcasm and if a sarcasm font existed, it would be in bold.  Don was yelling about something, the middle boys were on the floor in front of the TV like murder crime scene bodies and my oldest had JUST remembered that he had homework this weekend.  I needed it get everyone to their destination by 7:30 and it was 7:24. Remarkably I did and pretty much everyone was fed. 
I arrived at the surgery center to find that if you were between the ages of 0-6 or 95 -100 you were having surgery that day. I filled out the paperwork that I had forgotten at home and waited.  I still amaze myself that I can hold a baby in an Eskimo coat, a diaper bag and a purse and still sign my name. 
 I couldn't help but notice a family of 5 who had taken over a portion of the waiting room and looked to be having a breakfast picnic from 7-11. Huge big gulp size sodas, crackers, donuts and board games.  The entire family was there, Mom, Dad and 3 boys. They called their name first but when the nurse witnessed the boy who was going in for surgery downing the last drop of his slurpee, she scolded the mother and said that because you are not allowed to have had ANYTHING to eat or drink at least 2 hours prior to any surgery, that they were going to have to wait at least 3 hours.  I whispered to Oscar..( dumb ass) seriously, though. Isn't that one of the things everyone knows, and if not, wasn't it in their paperwork?
While in the waiting room an old woman was giggling watching my baby, who she thought was a little girl. The admiration was mutual and Oscar was giggling watching her toothless grin as well.   It was actually pretty cute, and as much as they were enjoying each other, the nurse came back and called Oscar's name.  She was looking directly at an old man and when he didn't respond she walked over to him and said "Oscar".  I was trying to gather our things out of the chair when she finally noticed that the Oscar she was speaking to was just an old man who was hard of hearing.  Oscar 3.0 was right here and raring to go. 
Pre-op went well. I had been in the same surgery center to have my sinus surgery a month prior and apparently my Oprah vacation celebratory status was still alive. Everyone, including the doctor wanted to hear about it. 
There is a time and place, and I was really not in the mood to gush on about a trip that happened over a month ago and right before my baby was to get tubes in his ears. But I humored them. I guess its a big deal for someone from the Midwest to be chosen to go on a trip to Australia..even though Oprah is based out of the Chicago.
Oscar was hanging in there although, he hadn't eaten or drank since 2:30 a.m.  (I follow instructions). It wasn't until he heard the word suppository that he lost his composure. 
It was hard to hand over a screaming baby (and his little monkey) to a nurse in full scrubs. They escorted me to a waiting room and before I could text everyone that he had gone into surgery, he was out.
The doctor told me that he would be a little "cranky", coming out of anesthesia, but I had no idea he would be hulk baby.  In my poetic mind I thought he would be in a hospital bed sleeping peacefully and the sound of my voice would gently wake him up.. not so much.
A large black woman was holding him against her large breast trying to calm him and rock him but his face was a dark shade of fuchsia and he was livid.  Kicking, screaming and completely disoriented.   She eagerly handed me Oscar and said " did you talk to Oprah?" REALLY?
What made that a good time to ask me that question? I shook my head no, to avoid any additional questions and tried to rock him (unsuccessfully) back to sleep.  After about 30 minutes he calmed down enough for me to get him dressed, sign more papers and get in the car and drive to Starbucks.  You know how some people call themselves angry drunks when they drink Jack Daniels, or rum? I wonder if Oscar is going to be one of those people. 
He really must have some serious hang ups that have accumulated in his 9 months on this Earth... when Similac recalled their products, I know it hit him pretty hard. 
Once in the car and he heard the familiar sounds of the Bob and Tom Show, he calmed down considerably, enough so that we could go to the pharmacy to get his ear drops AND get mama a latte.
He is sleeping soundly now, allowing me to blog.  Hopefully dreaming that tonight we will all be able to sleep through the night, as nature intended. 

Temptation

As I was sitting on the couch last night after a particularly long day at work I was happy to settle in with my favorite glass Shiraz and watch my new favorite show, Modern Family.  Just the previous evening, I had my friend over to watch our Oprah episode and she was shocked by the amount of noise she heard upstairs.  Noise, that apparently was foreign to her, but she was in Elliott country.  The noise that she was referring to was the typical night time screams.  Finegan yelling at Jack because "he tooted, and didn't say excuse me and that is JUST rude!!" Loud crashes, a baby crying, doors slamming, stuffed animals being thrown down the stairs. All the while I had nestled into the couch to have my quiet time. She glanced at Don and he was happily reading the manual to install a new baby gate ( see post below).   We have become immune to the noise and she was, dare I say, impressed, at our ability to tune out, its a skill that I have recently acquired and I'm quite proud of actually.
A complete contrast to the book I'm reading... the Power of Now.  Which encourages one to be completely present in the moment...but he doesn't specify which moment. There are several " moments" going on in our house, and at this time I have chosen to be completely present in my personal moment...which is a menage e tios of wine, tv and my blackberry.
Because I take my self- help books very seriously, I couldn't help but noticed a McDonald's commercial that said, Give in to your Temptation....and the temptation? Chicken strips.
Chicken strips, from a Fast food chain, are a temptation? So I paused the show and looked at Don for one of our deep philosophical conversations.  I asked him why the marketing people would say that Chicken strips were tempting, with this ad are they admitting that they are bad for you? His response was that not all temptation is bad and that my upbringing, going to a catholic high school had convinced me that it was. I was a little taken back by his answer and immediately remembered Christmas. Don had gone to a high end women's clothing store and gotten me a beautiful black silk camisole in size medium.  He had also gotten a fuzzy cashmere cardigan to go with it...in extra small. Does this make sense? Had the woman at the boutique that had helped him had enough sense to ask if this was for the SAME woman? Or maybe they assumed that the camisole was for his wife and the sweater was for his mistress, and maybe that was true and that is why he was justifying why temptation isn't bad!?
Truthfully I'm confident that the sales girl was stupid, I can back this up because Don said she asked her to look at her and see if I was the same size as she was, and she was a size 2. He never told me his answer, but he said I was smaller than her,  which is not possible because I haven't been a size 2 since 3rd grade after I had mono.
He told me he had just wanted to get out of the store and left without noticing the sizes.
But he did have a point.  Is temptation the bad thing? Or is it the things that tempt me, personally all happen to be bad? But can a chocolate or a muffin or fantasizing about slipping some Bailey's into my coffee each morning really be evil?
Maybe ask me again when I try and squeeze into the extra small sweater.  With that I hit play and Don mysteriously disappeared to help the baby...

Band (aid) of Brothers

If you ever want to test your heart, have kids.  Last night, once again, I was tested and if the test was based on my actions I would have failed miserably. If it was based on the outcome I would have passed with flying colors.  After I came home from the emergency room last night, Don and I sat on the couch for a "keeping it real conversation".  And excuse my french, but all I could think of was What the fuck? Seriously. How could we have let this happen? How many get out of jail free cards are we going to get? 
I'm referring to incident #23 in the list of near death/ or serious injury accidents our boys have  experienced in our care.  Incident #23 occurred in 2 seconds. I came home after an after hours work function. I walked in the door. Decided to help Jack with his jammies upstairs. The last I saw, the two older boys were playing with Oscar in the kitchen. All was right in the house.  Next thing I know, I hear Don yelling.  "damn it, damn it No No NO." I knew this was bad.  When I had gone upstairs the older boys had decided to go into the basement and didn't shut the door or the safety gate (which we have there for this very reason) behind them.  Oscar had tumbled  head first down an entire flight of stairs and landed on a carpeted (concrete) floor.  Don had heard what he explained as 4 thuds and not a cry at the bottom.  When he got to the stairs he saw his 9 month old stunned, laying still at the bottom of the stairs. By the time I came down Don had him in the living room and was frantically, but gently, checking him out. Oscar's face began to lose color and he said, call 911. Faster than the speed of light, I had packed a diaper bag, gotten his coat and was loading him into the van. Screw 911.
I got to the ER in 3 min. and drove with the dome light and windows down to keep the little guy from dozing, which he was.  All I could think was, he must have broken his neck.  Thankfully there was a parking space right in the front, although I would have probably parked anywhere at that point. I rushed in crying holding him and the nurse was clearly alarmed...mostly at me, which later I found out she thought I was going to pass out from a panic attack.   Which brings me to my next thought. Why can't I be the strong calm, collected mother I admire? I'm a super freak. SUPER FREAK. After checking him out and asking me how this happened (several times) they didn't feel that he was in need of immediate care ( unlike me)  but wanted to have a doctor check him regardless, so off to the waiting room I went.  There I sat with 2 other babies. A man with crossed eyes who I believe was just there to hang out and stare at me..(and the wall at the same time),  4 teenagers playing cards, a guy in Air Jordans  from 1991 who looked like he had broken his arm, and a woman in her pj's eating an ice cream sandwich which looked more the size of an ice cream log.  This is also the time I realized I didn't have my phone so it was going to be a long night. By this time Oscar is starting to come around. He wasn't moving much, until this point, but he looked at me with an expression that said, Who are these people, and why are we here?  By the time we were sent back to the second room he was laughing. Laughing! I walked down the hall passing the rooms, it felt like the movie with Scrooge, and I could see myself at different stages in my life with different kids, in each of those rooms and my younger self..you guessed it, freaking out.   
The doctor came in and asked me what happened ( again) and my story didn't change. I guess that is a good thing. So he examined my giggling baby thoroughly and said that there was not a bump, scratch, bruise or anything of concern on the kid.   As relieved as I felt, I also felt, once again humbled.   I really believe a higher power softened his fall and at the same time smacked me in the face. For my negligence in being a cautious parent and being completely present in what I'm doing, and for the mud slinging blame game Don and I exchanged as I was running out the door. 


The incidents I was referring to previously include, choking on foreign objects, dog bites,  finger smashing, losing our son, ice cycles crashes, grabbing Parker by the hood of his sweatshirt just before he ran in front of a car at a truck stop and now stair falling.  All of which have had extremely positive outcomes.
When I got home I went to tuck the older boys in who were already asleep.  When I kissed Parker, he mumbled, "I forgot to close the gate."
Now my heart was in even more pieces.  A 7 year old was taking the blame for his brothers fall.


This morning as I was making breakfast Finegan checked in on Oscar and said he was just making sure he was alive. When he realized that he was, he started saying something about how his heart was beating so fast last night that he thought it was going to jump out of his chest.  Jack gave him a huge hug this morning and did his habitual morning Oscar yell. " OOOOOSSSCCCAAARRR"while running full speed to give him a kiss. 


As much as they fight, they truly are a band of brothers. 

Tough questions.

This morning I reluctantly watched the Today show as they interviewed the father of Christina Green, who bravely spoke about the death of his daughter two days ago.  I stood there my heart aching and completely consumed by this man's grief.  So much so, that I didn't notice my own 7 year old standing behind me. I didn't know how long he had been standing there, but as I tried to change the channel I could tell that he had heard most of it.  I leaned down and hugged him and said, I love you.  Ignoring me, he said "Why did someone shoot that little girl?"  How do I answer that when I don't even know?
I told him that there were some really bad people out there who make really bad choices. He asked me if there were people like that around here.  Yes, I told him, but Daddy and I will protect you.
I think that eased his mind somewhat, but it unsettled mine,  I felt like I lied to him.  Christina's parents probably felt the same as we do, we protect our kids from strangers and cars, but they couldn't have known that their daughter would die from gun shot wounds at the grocery store.
Obviously, this loser felt strongly about something and felt the need to broadcast it in the most tragic way possible.   I have to wonder, did he really feel strongly about politics, or did he feel even more strongly about being infamous.
In an age of reality TV, where people will expel personal information on television ranging from a dozen women swearing they love a man they have been on one 30 min. date with, to a woman who humps laundry baskets. What is so alluring about being famous for nothing?
My husband and I were discussing it yesterday over our morning coffee.  His solution, albeit, he was angry, was to publicly hang any person who kills a child, or anyone pre-meditated murder. Give them a speedy trial and then hang them.  Although I don't agree with killing, his opinion did sound appealing.
In my trip to Australia, where the only people who have guns are hunters and some police officers,  I was asking a tour guide if there was a black market for guns.  He looked at me and said, "are you in the market to buy one?" All joking aside, he said that there wasn't a black market because there wasn't a need.   No need to buy a gun to protect yourself if your confident the perpetrator isn't going to have one either.  There has never been a shooting rampage in Australia because of this, and if they wanted to do a mass killing, it would have to be with a knife, and I doubt they would be very successful.
Maybe my husbands idea is barbaric, and inhumane, but I would trade a swift public message to anyone considering going into a public place and opening fire, to the loss of 6 law abiding citizens who appeared to have been living American dream only to have it end in a nightmare.

We are apart of a Turbin-ation.

Growing up I was self-conscious of my nose. Not only because of its size, but because I could never really breath properly.  This combination is very not fortunes.  Its like if you are self-conscious about your mid-section and you would wear a belly shirt.  I sound nasally. This prompted many teachers to ask if I needed a tissue, to ask if I had a cold etc.  And ultimately provide a big read target on the part of my face I was most self-conscious  about.  I broke my nose playing sports when I was younger and I'm confident that did not help my problem either. I went to an ENT and they said my septum was just fine, but that I had allergies. I went to an allergist, and they discovered I was allergic to dust. I remember my mom being disappointed at this. I think I could here her praying that I was allergic to cats so we could give ours away. And my brother could stop getting allergy shots because he was allergic to my cat.  My parents are OCD dusters, so they were insulted that dust was the culprit. But honesty, isn't everyone allergic to dust? So I continued on my way and finally at 33 my famiy doctor exclaimed after looking up my nose, "you have the largest Turbinates I have every seen, How do you breath?!" I only understood half of this exclamation because she is Polish and I thought she said turbines, but I explained that I have never been able to breath, and that I have just gotten used to it.
Just like that little dog named Faith on Oprah, she didn't have arms, so she learned to hop like a rabbit. I, just like Faith, had learned to work with my disability.  I sleep with my mouth open, I take breaks while eating. I don't like kissing. In yoga I pretend to take deep inhales threw my nose. When I watched shows about people being kidnapped and having their mouths taped shut, I figured that if that was me, I would be dead 2 minutes after the tape was placed...not a fun victim.
If you have not brushed up on your nose anatomy, Turbinates divide the nasal airway into three groove-like air passages –and are responsible for forcing inhaled air to flow in a steady, regular pattern around the largest possible surface of cilia and climate-controlling tissue. ( insert footnote for wikipedia here). 
They never remove them, they just reduce them.  In all honesty, I hadn't really thought of this proceedure until the day prior. I had scheduled it but thought it was not going to be bid deal. Arriving however, I got the gist that any surgery that they completely put you under is kind of a big deal.  They inserted an IVand escorted me to the surgery room, as soon as I entered I had flashbacks of my last c-section which did not go well, but that is another post all together. The layed me on a narrow table and strapped my arms down also. This is when I freaked a bit.  The nurse explained that for my safety they needed to restrain me, and I politly said for my sanity they needed to let my arms free. She did, but told me that once I was out (which  she knew would be in 2 min.) she was going to put them back.  
So I came out of surgery, fine (arms placed back on my chest),  it went well, it wasn't until the next day when I told my husband (non- dramatically) of course, that it felt that ice picks were being gouged into my head and that I was going to puke.  What is funny about that comment is that I don't recall ever even seeing an ice pick and I don't have the foggiest idea what it would feel like to be placed in my skull, but it was the proper visual that I was trying to portray to Don. It turns out that it was the result of the pain medication. Once I stopped that, I was fine. The good side is that I lost the 3 lbs of chocolate I had gained during the holidays! 
I thought about this genetic turbinate disability card I had been dealt and pondered the reason why.  It wasn't until an evening in my home, I felt that perhaps my decision to correct the problem was wrong.  Why? You may be thinking. I'm the mother of 4 boys, 1 lab and 1 manly husband who all enjoy Mexican cuisine, even if the cuisine does not love them back.  Up until this point, they have lived with for all intents and purposes, and nose blind person. I didn't have a sense of smell like I do now.  If a smell can accost you, I felt detained by my newly discovered 5th sense.. So a lesson of the wise, before you fix something that you feel is "wrong" with yourself, maybe God made you that way for a reason, in my case 5 reasons. 

Manicures with Nancy

I like to think my title is a lot like Tuesdays with Maurie, but with a different spin. Now, I haven't read that book in years, and if the old man dies at the end, than disregard the association. I just like the title. Nancy is my mother.  She has been getting manicures since I can remember.  In fact, her manicurist was a guest at my wedding, so you get the idea.  It was something that my mom did to be sure she always looked polished (no pun intended). When her regular manicurist started getting too busy, even for my mom, and got involved in nail art ( insert questionable expression here),  my mom started going to another manicurist... well ok several.  She asked me to join her today for a mani/pedi ( she is hip with the lingo). So I left the house, which is quiet since Santa has already arrived and I have eaten  most of the chocolate, and met my mom at Meijer. Yes, the 24 hour super store that also houses her nail place. I arrived first and walked in.  They asked in broken English what I needed, and I said I was waiting for my mom. It was then that he saw her coming up from around the self check out lanes. You would have thought it was Oprah. "Oh...Nancy, you her daughter, ok, ok, we set you up. Wheres Walt?" Ok, already this guy has dropped her name and now my Dad's too? There was no language barrier between this man and my mom..and what does this guy already know about me?
As we sat down in our chairs, they picked up like they were old classmates..Which I'm pretty sure is impossible. 
My mom had just been to lunch with a friend and was filling me in on the latest news, I should know who she is talking about, but I have forgotten the names of the neighbors that lived on Chestnut St. Mainly because I didn't live on Chestnut, because I wasn't BORN yet... but those details are inconsequential really.  As another man filled my pedi chair with water, I couldn't help but think of the sharp contrast, from being in Australia, and now in Indiana. The scenery just isn't the same. I sat watching old men sit on a bench, waiting for their wives to finish shopping all while they were falling asleep, and thinking of how I was on the beach on a remote island. No judgment, how can I when that experience was a given to me, not something I'm even going to pretend I could afford to do, both with time, or money.  But I sat and listened to my mom for awhile.
A little history on Nancy.  She has a million friends.  As a child, she seemed to be on the phone forever, and it always seemed like she was talking about me or my siblings... She also always took time for herself but never but herself first, at least it appeared that way to me, but I am the youngest of my siblings by 7 years. She adored her parents. She took aerobics class, she got her hair done, and she took time to care for her friendships. She was a high school cheerleader, and the class secretary. She graduated in 1959, how do I know this? She is the President and (CEO, if they had one), of the 59'ers... the classmates still get together once a month and my mom arranges. She studied dance at Butler University.  My mom makes friends with just about everyone, she has a smile that can light up a salon:)  In fact, I specifically remember her being close with the manager at Taco Bell, my favorite "restaurant" as a kid.. She has sung in the church choir forever.. and she met my dad while modeling in Chicago. They have been married for 43 years. She doesn't drink, although I heard she used to like apricot brandy, she never swears, and she creates words and uses them like Webster had printed them years ago.   I was brought out of my own head when I heard my mom giggling, she is ticklish, although, she was finished with that portion of her pedi, I was in the midst of the scrubbing and she was experiencing sympathetic tickling.. She then told the pedicurist that I had just been with Oprah on a trip, he asked me where she gets her toes done. Seriously?  Then she proceeds to tell him about me and my achievements, "You know, she hit a bit of rebellious stage in high school, but graduated from college with honors, now she has 4 beautiful boys ( who can do no wrong)  and such a nice husband ( who if he crosses my daughter, could do wrong, but for right now he is A ok) . I felt like I was 5...but this shouldn't surprise me, she had told the guy at Verizon the same exact thing yesterday when she came with me to get my phone upgraded.
I just nodded.  Off she went to the manicure station and while over there, she had already told the man (who is expecting twins) that she will be dropping off the carseat we don't need anymore and other baby items he may need.  My mom exudes love and people can feel it.  By the time I arrived to the manicure side, she was telling him that I had been a "surprise", albeit a wonderful one, and when she first found out she cried, not because she was happy, ( which she apologized to me  for) but because she was 36 and back then that was really really old to have a baby.
After a few moments, she looked at me and said, are you tired? Something she always asks, then tells the man that I have a baby with an ear infection... the truth is though, this guy loves it.  He is enjoying every second of this conversation as she is and then she asks about his boys. She knows his life story too?
Before I had kids, I took for granted just how much my mom loved and trusted me.  Not that I questioned her love, but she would drop anything and has continued to drop everything for me.  She is selfless, and if she wasn't so pretty, with kids and a husband, I'm sure she would be mistaken for a nun..When my second son was hospitalized for RSV when he was 4 months, she flew home, instantly ( eriously, I called her from the doctor and by the time we were admitted to the hospital she had flown from AZ to IN) . For my son, but mostly for me.  Her love encompasses every cell in your body and gives every single one a little hug.
After she paid for both our services, she sat down under the dryer next to me. A part of me thought..how did I get so lucky?  I decided that I had been gone for 2 hours and it was time to go. I gave her a kiss and left. But its these little moments that mean the most. Sitting in a 24 hour super store getting our nails done...maybe that is what makes the store even more "super " :)

Christmas evolved

Today at my lunch break I sped to the mall, of all places, to madly search for a lego figure named Jango Fett.  I had to park about 2 miles away, I was temped to park in the handicap spot but I resisted temptation. I stormed into the mall passing the guys wanting to put lotion on my hands, ignoring the cell phone guy asking who my carrier was and arriving at what I hoped to be my last hope in finding the ONLY toy my seven year old wants. I did not find it.  I went in to Journeys.. I figured that they have Mario Bro. stuff, they might have Star Wars stuff. No luck, I did get a great attitude from the husky sales-teen in skinny jeans ( he should really re-think that). I then thought I would try my luck at Spencer's. When I was a pre-teen my friends and I would go into Spencer's and giggle at the farting reindeer, not so much anymore. They have a full on Adult section! No joke. I probably stood there about a minute too long with my mouth ajar.  So I left feeling defeated. How could I let this go? When I overheard Parker telling our Elf on the Shelf that he wanted this figurine I tried to say that maybe Santa had a high demand for this lego and that he might not be able to deliver it. He then reminded me that Santa was magic and could just make one.  Oh s*it, I have been telling him that Santa can see him torturing his brothers because he is "magic". I only have myself to blame.  So it got me to thinking.  Have we created a society with instant gratifying kids who want what they want and want it now? Is it really any different than when I wanted a cabbage patch kid and my mom was not willing to punch another mom in the head so unwrapped the knock off brand on Christmas? Maybe not.  Where it gets a little shady is the fact that when I googled Jango Fett, several options appeared, except they were not at stores, they were on Ebay and at least $199. So some tool-shed, albeit a smart one, figured that this may be the hot boy gift item this year, bought a hundred of them ( all from my local toy stores presumably) and now he is holding my poor little son's hopes and  Christmas dreams random.  So what do I do? I considered writing an IOU (typing it of course) to Parker saying that it will be on its way in 5-10 business days. But I really wanted that red rider bb gun moment for him Christmas morning.  I just don't know. Christmas feels different this year. Who knew it was so much work? Having specific wrapping paper from the gifts from Santa. Hiding the presents, planning to give them nyquil on Christmas Eve so we can at least wake up after 4 a.m. Just kidding.  But I have noticed a decline in Christmas cards this year.  The point of Christmas cards was to update everyone on what you look like, but with facebook being so popular, we already know what you look like AND what you  have been doing for the past year.

So leaving the mall I felt defeated. It was my last hope and as I passed the now filled handicap spot I was thankful that I didn't park there.  Its going to take a Christmas miracle to find Jango Fett, but after what I have discovered this past year, just when you least expect it, surprises happen

Flirting with Australia

I have to admit. I'm suffering from a bit of an Oprah hangover.  I just spent 3 months preparing for a trip and 10 days on a trip that all started when I was given the trip of a lifetime.  Now that I'm back to the cold and snowy midwest, I miss Australia. I especially miss being treated like a celebrity.  I experienced a fraction of what a celebrity experiences, and I have a new understanding of how they become a custom to it...fast. For example.  I didn't really need to think. Everything was thought out for me. From when to eat breakfast, to a person pointing in the direction I was to go. I didn't even need to put my napkin on my own lap.  Quite a bit different to my home napkin situation, ok  to be honest, we don't even have napkins. Just paper towels.  We had a rude awakening when my friend and I stood 10 minutes waiting for the elevator before we realized that neither of us had pressed the button.  But really celebrities must occupy their minds with something else, because the mundane tasks that we do everyday are not even done by the Brad Pitt's of the world....more time to memorize lines I guess.  So here we were, 302 Oprah fans out and about.  There was a common thread that held us together and that was our love for the same woman. But like any love affair, the honeymoon is over quickly. And I must say that although the majority of the people were lovely (and teachers I might add) some had a couple screws loose.  This became evident very early and my buddy and I stayed clear. On the final day I was able to meet the big O herself.  People asked if she is the same in person and my answer is No.... She is even better.  There is a reason that she got to where she is.  She has a magnetic energy about her and when she speaks to you, she is fully present and looks you right in the eye. That is more than I can say about half the people I work with.
They took the 302 of us and broke us up into 5 or 6 groups. I was in the adventure group.  This allowed me to shamelessly flirt with all that Australia had to offer. The barrier reef, the koalas, the food, the city, the Sydney Harbor bridge and the people. Oh the people. Australians seem to have sunshine coming out of their pores.  They are genuinely happy and healthy and seem to be fully present in their lives.  In sharp contrast to the Los Angeles airport when I mistakenly smiled at the Starbuck's person and told them to have a nice day...(gasp) how dare I?
Clearly there was beauty beyond words that a photo or my words could not do justice, but something of equal value to me was the friendships that were made.  On most reality shows relationships fizzle quickly when the cameras disappear, but I met two girls in particular that I believe will be in my life forever. The friendship was effortless and we seamlessly befriended each other.  Although we live in different states, what we shared will certainly live on.
I close on a thought, albeit, a bit morbid.  This trip has taken me, an ordinary ( from an outsiders view) working mom and wife and spiced up my identity. I don't doubt that in my eulogy, which I hope is 5 or 6 decades away, that my boys will reflect as one of the proud moments in my life. Perhaps that changed me. In what way, I will have to wait and see.

Road Trippin part II

We were greeted by Don's brother and we walked into the house. The boys were very excited to see their cousin and their new cousin who is just a week older than Oscar. His cheeks proceeded him when we met. He looks like a cherub, kind of what a baby is suppose to look like. Our babies never look like babies, but more like old men without wrinkles.  Cute old men I might add.  It took an hour or so to take all of our stuff and baby gear into the house. It felt so good to have a home cooked meal that night.  The boys swam and all was right in the world. It wasn't until the next day that I started to wonder if it was a full moon.  In the course of a 2 hour time span, Parker discovered a lumpy substance at the bottom of the pool, Jack denied the substance to be his poop. Don put a scuba mask on to confirm it was indeed poop. The evacuation of the pool caused major disappointment and blame spread fast.  Jack was an outcast. What I didn't realize is that once this happens, the pool or in our case, the hot tub, needed to be drained.  It took a four man assembly line, but they were able to drain the hot tub, sanitize it and scrub it down with in an hour or so.... Don's brother had to go to the pool store and get chemicals that had to settle for 48 hours.  So one 3 yr. olds accident cost quite a bit of $$ in the long run.  Lesson learned. Swimmer diaper.
Jack must have been so distraught that while speaking with his other uncle he leapt from the couch into the corner of the TV case and split his head open. Just as that was calming down Oscar projectile puked.  The great thing is that we were with family. Family who understands that a little poop and puke can't ruin Thanksgiving.

Road Tripping Part I

The Road trip is an annual event for us...is it because we enjoy the extreme closeness of each other? Not so much. In a word, money. We cannot possibly afford to purchase 5 airline tickets for a five day visit, plus a rental car to hold all of us which we would need to rent car seats to go IN the rental car, as you can see $$$. Plus, where would we put all the Christmas presents my mother-in-law gives us to bring back?  So we pack up the car with snacks galore and set our sights on a 22 hour trip in 2 days.  We always have the best intentions to leave at a certain hour, but I know by now that its always 2 hours past that time..( another reason we don't fly) plus the last time we flew was in 2005 to Arizona, back then we only had 2 kids...ah amateurs and we were "randomly" selected for a security search where I watched a guy pat down Fin's diaper... " don't touch my junk"
So we left our home at 4 a.m. Saying good-bye to our loyal lab, who will not sleep the entire time we are gone to uphold his duty to guard the house. When we return he always has puppy bags under his eyes. Without fail as soon as we get in the car I crave chees-its. I don't know why.  And coffee, lots of it.  Most of our boys do very well, and who can blame them?  Our car is stocked with two dvd's players 2 dsi's and numerous books, toys, animals, candy and cd's.  Since when did adults care about a kids boredom? I can specifically remember that concern being at the bottom or not even ON my parents travel list.  It seems like everyone is so concerned that their kid might get bored on a road trip that they spend a lot of money and effort on avoiding it.  We drove in the dark and the freeway is illuminated by the light of in-car televisions, we spotted a showing of Barbie, the Incredibles and our car which was a double feature of  Yo Gabba Gabba and Scooby Doo. I hate to sound like a grumpy old man, but I remember bringing a walkman with tapes that I recorded of television shows. I would hold the recorder up to the tv and hit record and LISTEN to it. That was my entertainment.. second hand recordings of You can't do that on Television. But in all honesty, I wasn't strapped to a car seat. I had full roam of the car, floor boards and cargo space. We got as far as two hours before we needed to take a potty brake. I have a weird issue with co-ed bathrooms, so much so that I will not use them, (possibly the people I have seen come out of them.) That happened to be the only one available at our first stop so we had to go to a different one at Mc Donalds, by this time it is 6 a.m. and what we saw at Mc Donalds before sunrise on a Saturday morning was a dozen old men have breakfast.  I guess I had always heard about this type, but never saw it with my own eyes... its true, these men do exist and seem remarkably happy to be eating foam pancakes.
So as we traveled to each state we like to celebrate it by yelling the name of the state, for our own amusement because the boys are in a techno-coma. This proved to be very difficult when we crossed from Tennessee to Georgia and back to Tennessee. Our eyes are then continually harassed by old signs advertising Ruby Falls? I swear there are at least 25 1970's looking faded signs saying it is the best family vacation spot. By the 25 one I actually want to go to Ruby Falls but Don reminds me that we must not let silly propaganda get in the way of our final destination. Fast forward to Georgia where we noticed a huge temperature increase and the locals attire decrease. I saw a girl wearing  boxer shorts with bed head  at a Dunkin Donuts where she was flirting with the dunkin donut guy and I was virtually invisible..I was going to get a latte, but seriously questioned the ponytail donut guys ability, so I just got a large black coffee instead.  The signs du jour are for "spas" and I wonder how such a beautiful thing as a spa could become a pseudonym for sex? And 50% of my boys can read and kept asking what
"we bare all" meant or "strippers, need we say more,  trucks welcome!"  As we cross into Florida, clearly their billboard bread is buttered with pro-life billboards, and photo's of fetuses. Maybe its a sort of consequence of the Georgia billboards... Tennessee and Kentucky are also states we pass, but at that point I'm in a travel trance.
We announce everything we see too. Cows! Horses! Hay! and every state line we pass.   It makes for one crazy ride in our party bus. By the time we reach Florida, we are so excited that the we get an added shot of adrenaline.. except that we run into a car accident and are stopped on the freeway. Talk about a buzz kill. We are going at a snails pace for what? An car that had caught fire at least 5 hours prior and everyone is rubber necking. And so it goes.
Once we arrive I feel like we have a van attached to our rumps.  Its all excitement and chaos and immediately our tidy quarters have been violated by our explosive suitcases. Our 22 hour journey has concluded and we are ready to kick back and relax.. or so we think.

Elf on the Shelf saved my life.

This is one of those phrases that you never can actually see yourself saying. But this morning as Henry, (our elf's name) sat on his perch in the kitchen, I felt that perhaps, this was just the parenting ticket we needed.  My girlfriend Talia came for a visit, by visit I mean for two nights, but you would have thought she was packing for a 12 day trip around the world.  Bags and Bags of food, shoes, clothes and who knows what else. She is a smart girl, she also brought a six pack of imported beer for Don, and once he saw that his "beer vision" didn't allow him to notice the six bags on our porch and the the fact that we stay up until midnight watching Oprah and pausing it to discuss, sessions.  But more importantly she came bearing a gift for the little boys too, The Elf on the Shelf.  For those unfortunate parents that are not aware of this genius product, it is a stuffed little elf that watches over your kids and gives daily behavior reports to Santa each night when he magically flies there.  If anyone touches him, the magic is gone and Christmas will be present-less and filled with despair.  I wasn't sure if they were going to buy into this one, but I hoped. They all fell for it, hook line and sinker. Parker was a little disappointed that Henry didn't jump out of his box on his own, but he obediently went to bed under Henry's watchful plastic eye.  Finegan was a little skeptical, but he is not going to test it, for the possibility that it may be real.  Jack doesn't get it, and wanted to take it upstairs with him.  Under the direct threat and Parker punching his hand with his fist, he told Jack that if he touched the elf, he was toast.

The Elf Tao is that he moves to different locations each night to get a new perspective on naughtiness. Finegan was the first to find him this morning.  It is only day one, and we will see how this plays out, but at least the threat of Henry is mine, all mine, for as long as it works. 

Although Don is buried in work, I still made it mandatory for him participate in the Family Elf ceremony. When the story was read, Don said with as much enthusiasm as a monk, "wow. its a magic elf" took a sip of his beer and walked back to his laptop.  Do you ever wonder if kids pick up on your blatant sarcasm? Don is a trained actor, and I was very disappointed in his performance, but the boys didn't seem to pick up on it. 

I wonder if we just didn't feel like spending money this year if we could just put Henry on the ground and play a Survivor  game of "who touched the elf we better be good". I won't try that this year.

I have no idea what ploy were will use when Henry travels back to the North Pole after Christmas. Maybe a Jesus doll, to report back to God on their behavior, but rather then a sad Christmas as punishment, they would have hell to pay! On second thought....

"Losing" Jack

Yesterday was an ordinary Sunday. Housework, church, yardwork etc.  The boys had been in and out of the house all day.  We have a fenced in backyard that is securely locked to keep them from getting out.  The day was winding down and I needed to get dinner ready (pizza) but it is so much easier to do without a kitchen full of boys. So I told the boys they could watch Toy Story 3 ( a new dvd) in the basement while I prepared dinner.   All was quiet and calm. Don and I had sat down on the couch to talk and wait for the pizza to be ready. It was almost time so I called down to the boys to come upstairs and wash their hands for dinner.  I heard the thumping of their feet climbing the stairs but noticed that only the 2 older boys came up.   I called down to Jack, "Jack, come upstairs!" He is our 3 year old and is usually the first one at the table.

No answer.  I called again, it was then that Parker said that Jack wasn't with them  and he had thought he had come upstairs a "long time ago".  As a parent, I was slightly worried, but went downstairs to check, sure enough, he wasn't there. I called to Don who was already starting to panic and repeat, " this is not good, this is not good" as he went upstairs to find him. He wasn't upstairs either. And with that, our hell began.  I cannot explain what it felt like other than,  my heart  felt like it had sank into my stomach. Surely he must be in the backyard?  He wasn't there either. It was then that Don and I noticed the front door was open.  We live in a sidewalk lined, relatively safe neighborhood, but unless that neighborhood is in a snow globe, anyone can roam through it. We both took off out of the house. Screaming Jack's name over and over. I ran to the neighbors to see if they had seen Jack. I just wanted someone, anyone to say they had seen him go this way or that way, but nobody could give me that answer.  I ran back home where Fin was standing there watching the baby. Tears are streaming down my face as I called 911.  Giving a description of my son has never been so difficult.  They responded quickly and sent 2 police cars over.  I must have been quite hysterical because by this time our streets were lined with people, all searching for Jack.  I sat on our front steps and heard far off voices screaming Jack? Jack?  I thought at one point that this could not be happening to me.  I couldn't bear to go inside without him. It was getting dark.  Every car that passed I ran in front of to ask if they had seen my little boy. I was not what you would call, calm and collected, but even my neighbors without children were concerned and the panic amongst us was palpable. I have never been in a situation like this before, and until yesterday I didn't know how I would react.  It is in these moments that you discover how your body and brain work.  I told myself to calm down, I spoke ( yelled) at God to not let this happen...and I started wishing. Wishing that  I had a power to stop everything and everyone. I wished that kids had some kind of gps inside of them, so I could know their location at all times. I wished it was just a dream. When the police arrived they asked permission to search my house. I told them to just find him! When they emerged, they hadn't found him. They asked me to come inside and find a picture of Jack. I grabbed every picture of him that I had on the refrigerator, and that is when reality set in, was this going to be the picture on the news? I threw up in the kitchen sink.
I felt emotionally exposed. The fears that had been hidden in the depths of my body had all risen to the surface.  I try and maintain a confident and competent demeanor and in this moment it was me..just me raw.
I didn't care who are what was there, I just wanted Jack to be home. I have four boys, not three and the table is set, and we will not be eating until Jack is in his seat.  I listened as the officers called in the report, white male, 3 years old, Navy shirt that reads Big Bro, jeans with rips in the knees, and white socks... My baby was such a trooper, thankfully he had been fed previous to the chaos and he was just kicking away in his bouncy seat, watching police men, me, everyone run back and forth. My older son was circling the block and Fin was more concerned with my tears then his brother. At one point he asked to continue watching the movie, and I snapped. What I didn't take into consideration, is that in his 6 year old mind, the worst thing that could happen was he was lost. In my 33 year old mind the worst thing that could happen is a laundry list of images and fears of the unspeakable.   The police sat Fin down and questioned him about the last time he saw Jack. My parents arrived. My dad was taking care of the search and my mom was taking care of me.
As they began to leave, one of the officers stopped. He looked at me and said,  "I just have a feeling he is in the house, can we search again?" Yes I said, but felt like I wanted them out finding the person who had taken him.  I know my son, and I know that he is not a mischievous three year old. If he did go outside, he knows his limits ( we go over them constantly) and I knew that if he had been gone for
 (by now it was 45 min.) someone had him. I allowed them back inside and I heard one of the officers yell "we found him!" I ran downstairs to see Jack, groggy and sweaty, sleeping under the cushions in the couch. The couch that 6 adults and 2 kids had already searched.
I didn't run to his side with glee.  As much relief that I felt, I also felt that he had no idea what was going on and to see me crying would have freaked him out  and even more, having 4 enormous armed men in uniform staring at him.
The word quickly spread that we had found him, at this point the only one who didn't know was Don.  A neighbor had found him. He had been sprinting, screaming and searching for the past 45 minutes. I have always viewed Don as an emotional rock, today was the first time I saw him shattered.  He returned, hoarse, sweaty and with bloodshot eyes.
A cruel evening in terms of discovering your inept ability to deal with such an emotion.
The what-ifs have not stopped. Questioning my parenting has not stopped.  What it did, was it brought me down a notch. I'm humbled, grateful and truly blessed to have neighbors who really care.
The longest hour of my life, but we had the best possible outcome and I know that we are lucky.
Last night I slept in Jack's bed, I just wanted to be sure that when I did wake up in the middle of the night I didn't need to run upstairs, I could just reach over and feel his face.

A dog tribute

We had a child out of wedlock. He is our bastard child and he was born to a real bitch. His name is Graham and he came to us from a breeder in Northern California.  Its a big step for a couple to get a dog together. I wish more people took it as seriously as we did. We did all the things that expecting parents do. We read the dog books, we researched breeds, and I even went to the bookstore and searched through baby name books to find just the perfect name. Finally on a warm day at LAX our baby arrived.

I choose the name Graham because it was a Scottish surname that meant homestead. Unlike a baby, you can choose the sex and the breed. I choose him because a. I love chocolate and b. he is cute. Little did I know he would be the foreshadowing of things to come.  

Having a puppy teaches you a lot about your relationship. I had gotten a puppy with a previous boyfriend. Ironically it was also a chocolate lab, but when we realized that not only were we completely irresponsible, poor and on shaky relationship ground, having a puppy did not fix things. In fact it will test things.  Poor Java Bean ended up living with his parents after our breakup. 

I remember the first night I had with Graham. I settled him into his cozy new crate, gave him a toy, put the lights out and was ready to go to sleep.  That is when the crying started... and it didn't stop.  Didn't he understand that I had class the next day?  By 3 a.m. I seriously considered leaving him on a leash tied to the stop sign  knowing that someone would pick him up and give him a new home. I have felt so guilty about that ever since.  Things did get better, but who knew how expensive this was going to be? Shots? Food? Removal of his balls?  Potty training was a shitty experience all in itself.  Did I mention that dogs were not allowed in my apartment?  So if  I were to leave and have him cry, I would get evicted.  I specifically remember visiting my neighbor upstairs to explain that we had a dog and if he heard crying that is what it was, and to please not tell on me.  He happened to be in a wheelchair, and an insomniac and there were times that  I think he fell out of his chair and flopped around like a fish, because the noise was as loud as a construction site.  He understood this, and said mums the word. Did I mention that he wasn't wearing pants when he opened the door? That is an entirely different post all together.

When I wanted to go out one night, I realized that this chocolate ball and chain would not let me. I called a dog sitter. To my dismay, they were not like a baby dog sitter,  they didn't come over for an hour or two and babysit so you could go out, they took care of your dog while you were AWAY.  Bummer, and I'm sure the guy I spoke with thought I was a real lunatic. 

So Graham and I became very close very fast. There were tears and laughter. I'm a habitual dog dresser upper. Graham has worn veils, shirts, hats, shoes, antlers...you name it and he has not only worn it, but it has been documented with photos. 

When my boyfriend proposed and we made plans for our honeymoon, I could not let Graham be alone. So my maid of honor and I drove 2000+ miles to Indiana. Once we were married my husband and I  drove from Indiana to California, and stayed at dog friendly hotels.  Once we got to LA we dropped him off at an approved cage free doggy care center ( $$$)  and went to Sonoma for a honeymoon without the baby :) I wonder if the people at our wedding knew there monetary gifts would be going to our dog? 

Lets fast forward 10 years.  Graham has been around for each and every son we have had. In fact I think he knew I was pregnant before I did.  He would become a little bit more protective of me while I was prego.  When I had a miscarriage and couldn't bear to get out of bed, he stayed, didn't even get up to eat. 

With each son he graciously welcomed them with a gentle, non jealous demeanor, knowing very well that he was now not even in the backseat, he was in the trunk when it came to family hierarchy. When we brought our 4th son home, I swear he looked at me with a look that said "seriously?" 

Make no mistake, Graham is a strange dog, he is not your typical lab. He isn't overly friendly to strangers, he has an uncanny judge of character. He also has a french accent when he talks.. He seems to have an iron stomach because he has eaten at times, an entire loaf of french bread, numerous diapers 

(the brown variety) an entire pizza cooling on the oven, a box of chocolate, friendship bread, cheese, and whatever the boys don't want to eat for dinner.

But lately I have noticed that Graham is slowing down a bit. He is 77 in dog years and will turn 84 in February. I'm realistic in knowing the life span of a lab. We are lucky right now to have him at 11.

He is still loyal and I cannot go into the bathroom without him following me. But I know our time is limited. 

Graham taught me how to be a mom.  He taught us how to be a couple, and he showed me what true unconditional love is. So with this post I honor my canine son Graham and hope to be able to celebrate his life now and make his silver years his very best.  He has been our silent anchor always greeting us at the door with a wag. The least we can do for him is let him do his job a little longer.

Talent Co-op anyone?

I blame my parents. When I was a kid if I showed the slightest interest in anything, they were on it. I was taking lessons, or on a team in a matter of weeks. It was great. It allowed me to excel in what I was good at (acting/soccer) and fail at what I wasn't (gymnastics).It was really not a good fit for me. First of all I get terrible motion sickness and secondly I wasn't limber. In fact,  I was recently told by a physician that I have the flexibility of an 80 year old woman, and it was the worst he had ever seen in anyone in their 30's even 40's. But I at least got to try to do the splits and participate with other gumby little girls. I didn't feel poorly about that  because I knew I was good at other things.
I want the same for my boys. But I had no idea how expense exploring my youngsters interests could be! So far, I have taken our two older ones to tennis lessons, soccer, t-ball, pottery and now tap dance lessons.  Yes I know, tap dance lessons?  Both Don and I have always admired a good tap dancer, it combines just the right amount of athleticism and grace. It also is a fantastic thing, in my opinion, to have in your talent repertoire. I'm the type a girl that finds a guy who can dance, and (doesn't do the sidestep in the edge of a dance floor) very attractive. Even if a guy gets out there and just has a good time is already 3x more attractive than a guy who is better looking and standing there with his hands in his pockets.
So today we embarked on this tap endeavor.  We arrived and I had quickly forgotten how the smell of lycra can just make my muscles ache.  The woman was all business too.  Having me sign my boys tapping feet away for the next 7 months!  She called it a "semester". Wait a second...I don't remember this when I was a kid.  She then whisked the boys off to the "shop" and had them fitted for tap shoes.  All the time the boys are doing what they think are tap moves, which looks a bit more like a riverdance combo with the Russian guy dance.
Slowly I felt my purse being tugged and tugged again.
$ shoes
$$ registration fee
$$$ tuition up front
Before I knew it, I had spent a mortgage payment on something that I don't even know if the boys will like. They just said they thought it would be fun...well, wait, maybe I asked them if they wanted to learn, I'm so baffled and I just don't know anymore. And I just realized that this will certainly cut in to their baseball season and I can be pretty sure that their dad isn't going to have them miss a couple games for a tap recital...just a hunch.
The rest of the students arrive and it takes all of 2 seconds for them to both realize that there is not a boy in sight..except for a little girls brother, and I sensed a bit of hesitation.  But I explained that this was really a cool thing for them to know, and that I was proud of them. Then they are herded away to a secret room that I cannot observe except on observation days.
Do I think that in the next 20 years they will be starring on Broadway as Billy Elliott?  No.
But maybe? Would my brother be a Grammy award winning opera singer if my mom hadn't put him in church choir when he was 9? Maybe but doubtful.
Would I be an Oscar award winning actress if my mom hadn't enrolled me in the local Shakespeare camp? Wait a second... but I'm still a more well rounded person who can do a killer Lady MacBeth impersonation because of that experience. And if I were to be frank, there were a cupple of little pork chops taking the same class, who clearly don't have the bone structure for dance. Softball?  Maybe.
But why should it cost an arm and a leg to let the kids experience something just to see if they like it?
I think it would be great if parents got together and figured out what each of us is great at. Not good, not expert level, but great enough to show newbie kids the gist.
For example, I'm a pretty good ice skater... I would be more than happy to take a few kids on Saturday mornings to the ice rink and teach them the basics.  I know someone must know how to play the piano, cello, violin, etc. well enough to introduce it to a group of kids without me purchasing the instrument and the lessons only to discover that my son is not the next Yo Yo Ma.
Is it really any wonder why the arts are dying a slow death amongst our youth?  If I had to choose between feeding my kids belly or talent, I would, of course, choose belly.
So finally after a long 30 min. which if I calculate the cost per minute I would probably fall off my chair, the boys emerged from the dance studio.
Were they filled with inspiration and glee? Hardly. Parker said, that was hard. Finegan said, that was too fast and the girls were better than us.
This road to SYTYCD may be a long one, but someday, when they are giving their bows on stage they will look at me and mouth "thank you mom". and it will be all worth it.

You Grew in a Nut Mommy.

I wish that I had a camera following me just for one morning.  I would then put it in a parallel frame with my boss and  in accurate time follow our morning events all the way up to the point when I walked into work and heard him say..."your late".

Of course this is all hypothetical because I have no clue what he does in the morning, but let me give you my idea of what might be happening.


5 a.m. While he is sleeping, my alarm is going off and Tony
Horton is waiting for me in the basement to workout so that I
can wear my professional work clothes and not "look like a slob"
5:30 a.m. my workout is derailed when Jack needs grape juice
and is naked because he went potty.
5:45 Boss is still sleeping...
5:45 a.m.  I have lost all motivation and have started to make coffee.
6:00 He is probably taking a beautifully hot shower with dual shower heads while his wife makes him Italian espresso.
6:00 a.m. I have decided that I will not be taking a shower this morning. We are already running behind and my husband will be in the shower for 20 min. which will not give me enough alone time.
6:15 a.m. I have already turned on the light in the boys room to tell them that if they were not up in 10 minutes that they will miss the hoe down. Yes, there is a hoe down at school, and missing it would mean that I would have to keep them home from school, but they didn't notice my empty threat.
6:30 a.m. I pour myself some granola and pour a table spoon of milk in it, to my dismay there is no more milk in the house. As I eat dry granola I try and figure out what I'm going  to feed the boys that does not involve milk.
6:30 a.m. Mr. Boss is probably having stimulating conversation over a feta cheese omelet and reading the New York Times.
6:45 Pop Tarts have been served.
6:50 a.m. Husband changes Oscar and puts him in a ridiculously ugly outfit with stripped pants, turtle socks and a Halloween shirt.
6:51 Our dog ate Jack's Pop Tart
6:52 Parker realizes he didn't do his math homework
6:53 Finegan has dropped his toothbrush on the bathroom floor and immediately put it in his mouth.
7:00 Phone call, the nanny may be sick and may need to go to the doctor....
7:03 The (older) boys are out the door, I pray the school boss arrives this time.
7:05 My boss is throwing his scarf around his neck and leisurely getting in his (clean) car to drive to work.
7:05 I realize that I'm not dressed.
7:10 Baby Einstein is our feature presentation and I have a chance to put clothes on.
7:15 A loud crash. Jack has dumped all of his dvd on the floor. All 400 of them.
7:17 I find that my jeans are not fitting and I hate myself for not working out.
7: something I poor myself a hot cup of coffee.
7:30 Oscar is hungry and I need to give him a bottle.
7:30 My boss is waving to the guard and parking in his designated spot and taking a brisk 2 minute walk into the door.
7:45 I finished feeding Oscar and put him in his car seat to get ready to leave.
7:50 I reprimand Jack for rocking Oscar too violently in his car seat.
7:55 I dump the coffee I poured because it is cold and I pour myself another one. I put a chair in front of the cupboard because our 11 year old lab has regressed into a 1 year old puppy and eats our food.  I grab the keys, throw a coat on Jack and pick up the car seat.
8:00 Oscar explodes. Earlier in the week, he was diagnosed with an ear infection and is on antibiotics, apparently his digestive system just realized this and he has pooped... and I mean POOPED.
8:05 I have removed every article of mismatched clothing from the baby and threw them in the tub to be cleaned later. I put him back in jammies, and hope nobody notices.
8:07 I'm out the door and Jack is carrying a microwave popcorn bag and I don't care.
8:15 Jack is dumbfounded that he can't have popcorn in the car because last time I checked we don't have a microwave in the front seat. He is so mad at me. He tells me I grew in a nut.
This is equivalent to an adult abomination of character. Just the other day his brothers told him that he didn't grow in my tummy and that he grew in a nut and it hurt his feelings, so his main intention with this nut comment were to hurt mine.
8:17 I reach for my coffee and realize its still on the counter.
8:17 My boss is wondering where I am.
8:22 I drop the 2 little ones off with the nanny, hoping she feels better, and peel Jack from my leg. Apparently he has changed his mind about his displeasure with me.
8:30 I'm at a stop light and take a glance at myself in the mirror...I only lined one eye.
8:35 I'm stuck behind a girl dropping her boyfriend off in front of a building and they are giving an extra long kiss good by. I want to scream "get a room" but decide my mini-van screams that all on its own.
8:40 I keep swiping my card to get into the lot at work and it won't beep. I then realize that the gate is already open...( remember I have not had any coffee yet) and what is really bad, I did the same thing yesterday.
8:45 I cough up a big phlegm ball and think that nobody can see me spit it in the grass, and a person I know is standing there witnessing me do this. I hope he doesn't recognize me but he waves.
8:55 I'm still walking to my office. Unlike my boss, I have to park 10-15 min. away.
8:57 I take a tiny detour to Starbucks.
9:05 While waiting for my coffee I start to feel guilty about my testiness with Jack when leaving, and wonder if there was anyway I could have popped the popcorn for him in the car.
9:07 I arrive and my boss says "your late"

I don't even attempt to explain myself. There really isn't a set time I'm even suppose to be in, but I just smile and turn on my working-girl charm.  Kids? What kids?  I had such a crazy night last night, I must  have just slept threw my alarm.  Under my breath I said to him........
"you grew in a nut"

Halloween..a word please.

Halloween has evolved. Especially since I was a kid.  I started planning my costume on November 1 and didn't give it a second thought until a week or two prior to Halloween, which sent my mom into a costume frenzy because she would make them for us.  She gave up this tradition when I insisted on being my dog, who was a mutt, one year, and I ended up looking like an Ewok. Now costumes are determined by the popular movie that year, or if you are a college girl.
Everyone knows that any girl between the ages of 18-27 will use Halloween as an excuse to look as slutty as possible. Hey, I'm just as guilty. From 1996-1998 I was a catholic school girl. What is ironic, is that I actually was a catholic school girl.  Prior to the age of 18 there is a Halloween dry spell. A too cool for school attitude. In 6th grade its still kind of cool to dress up. In 7th and 8th grade every girl in my class, including me, was a "punk". Or at least our definition of a punk. Pink spiked hair, mismatched neon clothes. Not the punks you would see walking the streets of London, but more the kind you would see in a Midwest food court.
Then the high school age when you really want the candy, and want to dress up, but are afraid you will look stupid so you don't. But the boys usually will wear street clothes and a mask and go out anyway.
Once you have kids, all Halloween efforts are dedicated to them. Unless you are in our family where Halloween is a big deal for all of us, well, ok, most of us, well except me. I'm just along for the ride.
Just tonight I took my two older sons to something called Zoo boo. It sounded like a good idea at the time. Kids dress up, go to the zoo, and different vendors hand out candy. I thought it would be fun to spook the boys a bit and told them we were going to someplace special to celebrate the Holiday.  I love to mess with them, and as their mom, I reserve all rights to do so. Of course I had to stop at Starbucks first. I knew I was going to need some liquid pick me up, if I was going to be wondering a round a zoo at dusk.  When we pulled up to the drive-thru, I said "Surprise! Isn't this great?" By now they know when I'm kidding, and they still think its kind of funny, but not funny enough to laugh... not even a courtesy laugh. We didn't have any Halloween Cd's in the car, and the only one I could find was Grateful Dead; the name is scary, and once I told them the name of the band they agreed it was suitable for Halloween. So as we listened to Sugar Magnolia and were in route to the Zoo Boo.
Once there, we made our way to the back of a line of at least 300 people. As we were walking I discovered an alarming trend. Parents costumes. It scared me...really. Here is why.
The first one was a father and his son in Orange Jail jumpers ( that looked a little too authentic), the mom was in some kind of blue shirt. I can only imagine she was suppose to be a correction officer.  The next was a mom as Alice and her daughter was the card. That would have been cute if she would have chosen a less slutty version of Alice. Which begs the question, when did Halloween become about sex? The last thing I want to think of referring to sex are zombies..or vice versa.
I found it interesting that some moms had gone out of their way to dress their daughters up.  I know, I don't have girls, but the way these girls were dressed was almost as if they were auditioning for the next kid beauty pageant show on TLC. Makeup that only a salesgirl at the Mac counter should be wearing. I think it is a sad attempt to do just that. The same as if a man continually dresses as a woman for Halloween. He has the desire to dress in drag. Nothing wrong with that at all, but don't use Halloween as your cover.
If you are an adult and choose to dress up, I  think costume choice does say something about your inner-most desires.  This year I'm going as Rachel from Glee, complete with a slushy-stained shirt. Don is a vampire from True Blood. I'm not sure I can validate my point with that, and I'm not going to try.
The zoo boo was not something I would do again. I found myself more irritated than anything. The biggest disappointment was that the majority of the zoo residents were not there. No tigers, lions, or monkeys, but we did get to see a wild turkey, a buffalo, and a llama. Although, the boys did have fun. They are my little actors in full character. Fin, as a skeleton ( a baggy one, but he insisted), would sneak up behind kids and tap them on the shoulder to scare them by just standing there, no boo, just a stare. Parker (a star wars character, Jengo something,) and in a costume too small ( but he insisted) lurked around as if he was on a mission. A mission for candy; all I had to do was go up to the vendors and listen long enough to get candy for them... I took one for the team; as a mom, I have accepted that is one thing I must just do. But if anyone would like a free tanning package at the local tanning salon, let me know...now that IS scary.

What is the truth anyway?

I ran into a girl who went to my grade school when I was in Starbucks today. I was alone and decided to forgo the drive-thru and actually make personal contact with the baristas whose voices I know so well.
As I walked up to the counter, I realized I had cut in front of a girl who was on her BlackBerry.  As I turned to apologize, I realized that I knew her. The last time we had seen each other was at a party. Both of us knew we were pregnant, but neither one of us had told anyone yet. I should have known when she passed on the wine being poured around also.  She ended up having a girl, and I had a boy. I asked how her daughter was doing. She said that she is doing great and sleeping through the night, in their bed. I mentioned that Oscar still gets up at night at least once, hence the need for espresso, and that is when the mommy truth gets a little awkward. I said, well, we don't allow our boys to sleep with us.  I know there are some firm co-sleeping believers out there, but I'm not one of them. First of all, I cannot sleep when there is a baby next to me... I wish I could, but I can't. I'm afraid that I will roll over on them, that somehow they will scoot to the end of the bed without me knowing and fall off and land on their head. Or they will wrap themselves in a sheet noose and strangle and hang themselves, and if that doesn't happen, maybe they will be elbowed in the temple by my husband, which would cause instant death. I'm sure there are at least a dozen arguments supporting each side.  I didn't explain all of that (obviously), but she then asked if I get up and nurse him when he wakes up... Now I wasn't in the debate club in high school, but I'm guessing that was her way of throwing a little opposition attack my way.  I'm not nursing anymore. I stopped when he was 4 months old.  Call me selfish, but I wanted my body back.  It was then that there was the mommy- superior look in her eye. Getting into her car, I can only imagine that she had sympathy for my baby who was being deprived of my boob.  I know she was thinking this because I had sympathy for her baby who might get rolled over in the middle of the night in her parents' bed.
So who is right?  I consider myself a relatively smart woman; if not smart, I'm certainly... healthy, and I wasn't breast-fed. In fact, I was just the opposite. Formula 33 years ago didn't have DHA; I bet it was just dried milk with a formula label. And after that, my mom gave me Tang. Yes, Tang. The orange-juice-like beverage that astronauts drank in space.  And I turned out fine. I know for a fact that my mom didn't "wear me", and last time I checked I don't have separation issues...except when Don leaves me, just kidding.
So who or what resource can I believe? I have come to have a love/hate relationship with marketing companies.
I'm the first to want to try a new product that comes out, if it promises to give me.

a. perfect skin
b. a perfect body
c. a perfect life.

So that kind of narrows it down to about every single thing that my target demographic sees. It was recently pointed out to me that October, being breast cancer awareness month, was created by a marketing genius! Now everything that has a pink ribbon on it, can be viewed as helping to find a cure, but how is a can of soda or candy or chips with a pink ribbon helping anyone? Sure, a portion of the proceeds goes to research, but what portion? And the rest of the item you just bought could go to the cause of obesity, or other health complications.
Maybe I'm a little bitter about the cancer thing. I have been in meetings when cancer survivors stand up and boast that they are cancer-free. That is boast-worthy, don't get me wrong...early detection is to thank for that, not necessarily will to live.   My grandmother had a will to live stronger than most, and she is NOT here to talk about how she "beat" cancer, because cancer beat her.
So who can we trust when it comes to doing the right thing?  I nursed all three of my first sons for the first 6 months of their lives...all of my boys are not sick often, they are bright, and they are developing normally.  But even 6 months ago, when I had Oscar, I felt the pressure to nurse him exclusively, or he was going to be dumb and sick.  Perhaps it's just a white lie on the industry's part.  We all lie, right? I bet nobody knows my real height. Yesterday I was 5'9, and today I'm 5'5 1/2. A week ago I was blond, today I'm brunette.

Even the smartest people can be subject to marketing fraud.  Just look at the billion-dollar diet industry.  It still baffles me that people still believe that they can lose weight permanently by drinking a shake for breakfast, a shake for lunch, and a sensible dinner. You would think after the 3rd time trying, they would get it. But can you blame them? You don't need to; they already blame themselves because that is what the diet industry wants: repeat customers.
Enough of my ranting... I think I need another Starbucks; after all, it is the best coffee out there, and that is why I need it, even if it is $4 a cup and the March 2007 Consumer report found that McDonald's coffee has the best and even cheaper coffee.....