Little House on the Prarie

Who would have ever thought it, but my son's new favorite author is Laura Ingalls Wilder. We recently finished "Little House on the Prarie" and yesterday I read a record TEN chapters of "On the Banks of Plum Creek."

I remembered the books as a bit more "girly". But I guess I should have figured they would be great for Miles. In "Little House" there's a whole chapter about building a log cabin. Another devoted to putting on the roof. Still another to building a door (without nails)! And one about building a fireplace. He LOVED it.

Not to mention the fact that Pa has a gun and frequently goes out hunting... now Miles is looking for hooks to mount the toy rifle we got him at Disney World over the door to his room.

Feeling Old Again

I had a great time at the grocery store this morning, but as I was humming my way through the produce section I realized the reason why. The proverbial "elevator music" piping down from the ceiling is now the music of my generation. I was reliving the eighties while shopping in the new millenium.

I've often mused in these pages about my sadness that I'm not an "expert" on anything, that I don't have any hobbies that my passion for consumes all of my free time. But I had an interesting realization over winter break. If I did have something that I was an expert on, it would probably be eighties music. After hearing the Band Aid "Feed The World" on the radio, I actually spent several hours on YouTube trying to identify the people behind the voices, and then reading about whatever happened to them on You Tube. Midge Ure. Paul Weller. Paul Young. Tony Hadley. And there was a surprising amount that I already knew.... so there's my useless knowledge!

They had some gems today at Tower Market. "Reap the Wild Wind" by Ultravox. "Echo Beach" by Martha and the Muffins. Neither of which I've heard in probably twenty years. Both of which I enjoyed immensely.

So that's it. I'm old. I rock out in the grocery store. I don't think my neice ever reads this blog. But if she did, I wan't to tell her. Enjoy it! Today's Snow Patrol is tomorrow's Heaven 17.

The Pine Cone Feeder

Creative Mom Podcast - Episode 93

My Car is So Dirty That

It took three guys four hours to detail it. No kidding....

Moving On

Okay, I've finally moved past the melodrama stage of our kindergarten rejection. We are now focused on other things. Miles has a great new haircut. And I have an appointment in two weeks after which I am hoping to look like Natalie Portman on the cover of Elle.

How To Get a Migraine in Six Easy Steps

1 - Make sure both of your kids are on spring break, so you have them all week without a break (break seems like such an oxymoron)
2 - Make sure that not only is your husband out of town, but he is also out of the country, so whenever you call him he is unable to talk because he is just running out for drinks
3 - Decide to visit your best pal from college who lives 6 hour drive away
4 - Get the crazy idea that the two of you should drive another 2 hours to take your four kids to an amusement park for the afternoon
5 - Try to deal with the anger & misbehaviour of your completely unmanageable five year old and realize for the millionth time that you are a terrible parent
6 - Get lost in the Central Valley on the way home (there aren't any turns off of 1-5 but somehow you manage not only to find one, but to go at least 30 miles before you realize your mistake)

Sad

So I'm really sad about the whole kindergarten thing. I haven't been this sad since my college boyfriend dumped me. I'm even listening to Jackson Browne again! Ok, so it probably isn't reasonable to be this sad. But here's the deal. We have a perfectly reasonable back up in the local Catholic school, where some of our friends are very happy. But the fact that we worked so hard over the past two years, touring schools, attending events, etc. and that not only did we not get offered any private school spots but we were also assigned to a public kindergarten in the projects knocks the wind out of you. I'm definitely not begrudging my friends who had better news. I'm honestly happy that it worked out for somebody. But I'm also not sure how much I can hear about it.

some funny things my kids said lately

the whole kindergarten search has been such a nightmare, I can't even write about it. so I'm just going to put down some of the funny things that my kids have said lately and try to pretend that the rest of it doesn't exist:

Miles (who is reading the Magic Treehouse book about the Civil War) was talking about the "Connecticut" soldiers (instead of Confederate)

Mia was talking about the "lizard" of oz.

Then today she took a hard look at Miles' Curious George doll and said, "Curious George has a vagina."

Which turned into Miles yelling, "No he has a penis."

"Vagina"

"Penis"

"Vagina"

"Penis"

You get the idea. Even in my fragile emotional state, I had a good laugh!

How To Get Your Husband to the Gym In One Easy Step

I've been trying to get Mike to go to the gym for years. He'll visit on occasion, but I can't seem to get him into any routine more regular than once a month. But Miles seems to have figured it out.

This morning, he and Mike were in the kitchen together. Mike was making toast and Miles was making some valentines for us. He drew our pictures, then showed them to Mike. "This is Mom," he said, "Because she's skinny." (Thanks, son!) And then, "This is you, Dad, because you're..." (Yes, you guessed it.)

Mike told me he was kind of horrified and said "What do you mean?" To which Miles just started patting his stomach.

So my money says Mike will be at the gym tomorrow....

You Know You've Had a Tough Winter When...

you call the pediatrician, and they recognize your voice....

The Final Christmas Miracle

My kids have been out of school for almost three weeks. We've had illness. Pouring rain (while we were taking all of our packages to the post office.) Playdates that resulted in the trashing of my kids rooms. Holiday crowds. Tired, whiny kids. Kids with too much sugar. Holiday traffic. Even a hangover. But after that first wet Monday, I didn't really yell that much. Really. I don't feel all that burned out. The kids had fun. And here's the miracle part - I did too (mostly).

Now lets see if I can get them to school anywhere near on time tomorrow.....

Another Christmas Miracle

It is the first day of winter break. And I actually made it until noon before yelling at my kids....

Our Christmas Miracle

We put up our Christmas tree two weeks ago, and nothing has been broken.

I know it doesn't sound like much, but in my book it is nothing sort of miraculous. There was a sort of frenzy during the trimming, fighting over the ladder and the red balls. And an insistence on having a critical mass of ornaments on just one of the branches. But somehow, afterwards, the kids have been able to keep their hands off of the ornaments. Nothing sort of incredible.

Last year, we had to keep anything breakable up at least five feet. Other years, we didn't even take the breakable ones out of the box. But this year, anything goes. And so far, it stays.

With every painful stage of parenting (remember the blow out poopy diapers, kids running away in the grocery store, the screaming tantrums at the coffee shop) you know it will pass. But still you are kind of mystified when it does.

Ok, and a little sad too. But still, I'm glad to have the ornaments intact.

Hi Kim!

Thanks for reading! This whole Kindergarten search has been such hell that I can't even write about it. But it was so fun running into you. And hearing that even though I'm not really a writer anymore - you're still a reader. Happy belated birthday! I hope we both get kindergartens we like, and can carry on with our lives....

It was a Literary Halloween

Miles was the Man with the Yellow Hat, and Mia was Daisy Head Mayzie, from a Dr. Seuss book that practically no one but my family has ever heard of.... And Mike was Caps for Sale but they were pretty tippy so we don't have a very good photo.

Earthshaking Events

I had two big earth shakers this week.

First, at soccer on Monday, the coach made a point of coming up to me and telling me how much Miles had "matured" since he had him in the spring. Which is pretty amazing given that Miles is coming from a full day of school including a walk over the hill to a dance class... so he's pretty wiped out by the time he gets to soccer. Anyway, this is the first time that anyone has given him a compliment like that. And I have to say, I liked it!

The second one is that we had an actual earthquake. A big one. A long one. Mia was already asleep and I was lying down with Miles in his bed and the room began to rattle, rattle, rattle. Miles asked what it was, and I told him, and it just kept going on and on. I was just starting to wonder if we were going to end up needing to sleep in the play structure out back when it stopped. Phew. And then the questions started....

The Mom Job

There was an article in the New York Times today about The Mom Job - which is a plastic surgery package for women recovering from childbirth and includes "a trifecta: a breast lift with or without breast implants, a tummy tuck and some liposuction."

The rationale, according to a Dr. Stoker is, "The severe physical trauma of pregnancy, childbirth and breast-feeding can have profound negative effects that cause women to lose their hourglass figures. Twenty years ago, a woman did not think she could do something about it and she covered up with discreet clothing. But now women don’t have to go on feeling self-conscious or resentful about their appearance.”

I couldn't believe what I was reading. Ok, so first off, I've never actually aspired to an hourglass figure, nor I guess have most of my friends. And I'm damn sure I didn't have one prior to children. So I have a bigger stomach now. And lost some of my boobs (which I really couldn't afford to). But what's the big deal? How come we can't all celebrate our motherhood? Aren't these really badges of honor? I'm not saying that I want to see a lot of post-pregancy bellies hanging out of a midriff shirt, but I hardly think we need to opt for discreet clothing. Sure I'd like to be in better shape. But I have better things to feel self-conscious or resentful about. I'm trying to be a parent, not a beauty queen.

Tonight when I was drying my hair after an evening shower, noticed that I had about a thousand grey hairs. Which I've written about before. A couple of years ago I got highlights, then realized I couldn't keep them up and ended up lowlighting it brown and just letting it go. I started thinking that after a three year hiatus that it might be time for some highlights.

So what's the difference then, really? If I truly don't care, then why color my hair. It's a slippery slope....

Sicko

Last night Mike announced that he wasn't feeling well and that he was going to bed at the same time as the kids. Of course we have Miles' birthday presents to wrap, a cake to make, a camping trip to pack for and the usual kitchen clean up and laundry to fold. And today he spent the morning lying in bed.

I should be sympathetic. But I'm not. I'm usually mad. When I'm sick, I still have to keep going. But somehow he has carte blanche to fold up and take his toys and go home. So I usually stalk into the bedroom and ask he needs anything, and if I bring him water or something I stomp all the way up the stairs.

Murphy's Law

So I got some contract work and wouldn't you know it, within seconds Miles was running a fever and has been for three days. And isn't terribly interested in watching TV (although the lure of watching Beauty and the Beast -which is too scary for Mia - was enough to buy me 90 minutes this morning). And insists on playing with legos which means every ten minutes he screams with frustration and I have to go help reattach skyscrapers and vehicles that try to defy the laws of balance and gravity. So I've been working all morning to what probably adds up to about 20 minutes of billable effort.

A million years ago when he was five months old and I was going back to Microsoft from maternity leave, he got an ear infection and kept me up the entire night before.

Of course!

The End of the Affair

We had a special visitor this week -- the Binkie Fairy came to our house. On Tuesday night (the night that Mia had designated) she put all of her binkies into an bowl and told me that "tomorrow I'm going to be a big girl." And then she went to bed. It took FOREVER for her to fall asleep - for 45 minutes I laid down on the trundle bed next to her, until she is finally asleep.

Having been through this drill before - in June - I knew enough to take the binkies and hide them then and there so she couldn't wake up in the middle of the night and dig in. She woke up in the middle of the night - as usual - and got into bed with me. In the morning we were snuggling and as soon as I mentioned her present she was up and running. A Barbie Car! And child-size cooking utensils!

But here's the amazing part - she hasn't asked for them again! Badly timed, we needed a babysitter on Wednesday night and when she arrived Mia told her that she didn't have binkies anymore. And went to sleep without a peep.

Even today, when she had two different crying fits, instead of chanting "Binkie Baa, Binkie Baa" as she has for the past few years, she just asked for Baa.

Could it possibly be this easy?

Helpless

We just found out that our friend has cancer and all we want to do is help, but we're not really sure how. So we're just sending out our most positive thoughts into the universe.

Passions

The past two years have been very intense with schools and stuff (and unfortunately there's no chance of it letting up for the rest of the calendar year) and although I've been lucky enough to get into a slight yoga routine, I'm still feeling like I haven't had enough time for ME.

But here's the problem. I'm still suffering from Stockholm Syndrome. Because when I start thinking about what I want to do with the ME time when I get it, I don't really know.

Yoga, that's a given.

Write the book I always wanted to? That's maybe too hard. Although I'm happy to say that after four years I'm up to ELEVEN pages.

Make more jewelry or knit Mia another poncho? Nice, but doesn't feel like much of an achievement.

Volunteer work? Nice, but my last effort, although successful, has completely burned me out.

Cooking? I'll admit that other than yoga and wine it is one of the only things that is keeping me going. But my aspirations aren't really much higher than adding some variety to our life. I'm not really motivated to learn a souffle or fancy sauce. (Although my scrambled eggs did benefit hugely from a quick perusal of Julia Child.)

One of my friends is learning Spanish. Which sounds nice, and I could practice with our babysitters or Miles when he gets to school. It would be even more fun to learn a language I could practice in a destination that I really want to visit. But that would be France or Italy, and none of our babysitters speak those languages.

Several months ago I read an article in the New York Times about a new moth that is preparing to attack California agriculture. It was found for the first time in the state by a retired eptymologist (?) or moth expert, who had a net set up in his backyard for ha-has.

And it made me a little sad. Not so much for the agriculture, I'm sorry to say, but for myself. If only I had devoted myself to a life of moths, I could have been the one in the New York Times. If I had devoted myself to a life of, well, anything, I could be in the NYT for that thing.
Even Mike, who isn't likely to be in the NYT for any of his passions, is at least very good a few things -- skiing, fishing, to name a few. But me, I'm still working on my triangle pose, trying out new recipes from Cooking Light, driving my children to school, and wasting time on my computer.... I can't even say I'm an amazing mother or friend. Oh well. Tomorrow is another day!

Mia's Babyhood

Mia is a little over three now, and she's on the cusp of some pretty big changes. In some ways, she's a very big girl. She knows most of the letters of the alphabet and what sounds they make (many more than her brother who is a year and a half older, I might add). She can sort of write her name (which is cool even if it is only three letters). She's also doing amazingly well at swimming. She's completely settled into preschool, and is generally too busy to even kiss me goodbye.

But in other ways she's still a baby. She still takes a binkie. Basically whenever she can get you to give it to her. And she sleeps with a diaper. Which is pretty full in the morning. (I won't talk about how she fell asleep and peed on the seat of the airplane last week except to say that I felt terrible about the next passenger...). And more often than not, she sleeps with us!

Sometimes, especially when I look at that dirty binkie or go to Walgreens for more diapers, I want to hurry her along into girlhood. Haven't we had babies long enough? But then I realize how fleeting and fragile her babyhood really is, like a soap bubble that is floating off through the air... And I want to pull her into my lap, sniff her hair and hang onto every last moment.

The Elements of Style

You know the woman I'm talking about - you see her in the grocery store and her bag perfectly coordinates with her jacket. And her hair is clean, and her nails are perfect. Or out at the museum and she has on a plain white shirt and a stunning stone necklace. Sometimes she might be your friends, and she has the perfect outfit for every occasion - playdate, wedding, dinner out. She might partake of the current trend, but somehow she rises above it. The trend fits her, she doesn't fit herself into the mold. There's one thing all these women have in common. They don't worry if their sweater matches their shirt, or if their flats look good with a skirt of if they have on the right type of hose. They know that they make it right. The are surrounded by a force field of confidence.

Let's face it. You can't buy style. You are either born with it or not. Unfortunately I was not. Try as I might, I'm always just a little off. And I can't even tell you how many times I've been to a wedding, or preschool event, or book club meeting and wished about half way through that I'd worn something else. It's hard to believe but my first job was at a fashion magazine, and one of my responsbilities was to help write fashion guides. This experience taught me how to spot style, but somehow I didn't acquire it for myself.

My vision for myself was somewhere along the lines of Grace Kelly with Audrey Hepburn's clothes. It would have been great. And for a long time I thought that if I just grew my hair out, or had a shopping spree at Banana Republic or got a makeover, I'd suddenly have it.

So last month it occured to me. I'm over 40. If I don't have it now, I'm never going to get it.

It didn't stop me from getting that shirt at Banana Republic though...

Invisible Mom

Sometimes I feel like I'm invisible. Friends that only talk to you about carpool and playdate logistics. Children that whine about dessert. Potential babysitters who take days to return your call (or don't call back at all). Even worse, potential employers who don't return your call.

But now I have the best one yet. We had part of our house painted back in May. The job is 95% of the way done. And the painter isn't returning my calls. But here's the kicker. I owe him $1,500. And STILL he won't call me!

California Boy

My friend Claire just reminded me of something Miles said recently. He saw her husband smoking and said, "That man's on fire!" She said he's a real California boy!

This isn't the first time I've been struck by how different my kids' upbringing is from mine. I never had Mexican food until my twenties. (And it made me very sick). My kids have quesadillas at least once a week. And Mia loves black beans. Sometimes I'll give my kids half an avacado with a spoon with their dinner. When I was growing up, my mother sometimes bought avacados at our upstate New York grocery store and they sat on the window sill like little green bricks for months until we could eat them. And - of course - my kids learned how to do downward dog at age two at their daycare yoga class.... while the first time I did yoga was at the ripe old age of 34!

Mia's Addiction

When Mia was born my Mom gave her a soft white lamb - the kind with a head but a flat body (reminiscent of a bear rug) that functions as a blanket. Miles already had the doggy version of this toy - which he loved - so we named it Baa and kept it in her bassinette with her. Marcia, our babysitter, used to sometimes wrap her little fists around Baa's ears.

But then something happened. At some point Mia decided that she liked Baa's stubby little tail better than her soft pink ears. And she decided that what she really liked about the tail was the way it felt when she rubbed it under her nose while sucking on her binky. Even better if it was dirty. Better yet if it was moist from her snot.

As she has grown older, I have found her rubbing Baa's now-grey tail on other body parts. Her toes are a favorite. So is her vagina.

Sometimes, as a mark of affection, Mia will offer you a rub of Baa's tail. Sweet and yet disgusting at the same time. I have made a point of washing Baa once a week. (Sometimes difficult to schedule because it needs to be during a time when her presence is not mandatory for an hour). But still she has a smell that is best described as "unique."

What I have found so interesting about this addiction is that Mia's need for Baa has not diminished as she has grown older. But as her ability to vocalize her needs has grown, she has been able to express this need much more.

For example, as we're about to part with Baa - either because we have to put her in the washer or leave her in the car before we go into the grocery store - she'll often say "I just need two more tail rubs."

She recently started preschool and I was wondering how the whole transition would go. She's had free access to Baa all day at her daycare. I bought her a backpack big enough to hold her lunch and Baa in case she needed to bring her. But I was reluctant to let Mia know she could bring Baa, because I'm afraid that if she gets into that habit in two years we'll be having a tug of war outside the kindergarten gates. Or she'll be sneaking her into her locker in 7th grade.

When I brought her home after her first day she was tired, tired, tired. And she lay down on the floor with Baa and binky. When I told her that she needed to pee and wash her hands after an outing (our family rule) she said, "I just need some tail time."

Don't we all?

The Greying of Me

For a long time whenever I saw a grey hair I would yank it. But after awhile I started having so many that I was afraid if I kept yanking I'd end up with a little halo of stubble across the top of my head as the hair grows out. So now I'm just watching it grow trying to decide whether I want to get back on the highlight treadmill.

My understanding of grey hair is that it comes out of your head grey. A perfectly fine, brownish blonde strand doesn't suddenly go grey over night. So I was quite surprised tonight, when brushing my teeth with my ponytail hanging jauntily over my shoulder, to see a grey hair inside it.

Somehow, this bugger had made it through the plucking stage and grown past my shoulders. If my understanding of the mechanics of grey hair is correct, it has been growing out of my head for three or four years at least. And it suddenly occured to me that throughout the plucking stage, I had never actually looked at the back of my head. For all I know there are MILLIONS of greys back there. So good to know that I wasn't fooling anyone.

But for anyone out there who didn't hear the newflash last month - I got CARDED at Bell Market. Which is quite an accomplishment at my advanced age. So instead of getting depressed about the greys I'm just chanting to myself, "I got carded. I got carded. I got carded." Who cares if the light isn't so great in there?

Mia Thinks She Owns The Place

We had another milestone this week. Mia started preschool. (Ok, so I cried again).

But here's the amazing thing with the younger siblings. It was actually sort of anticlamatic. Not that we didn't make a big deal out of it in our house or anything, but she was so ready that it took most of the stress out of it. The most difficult part was that she insisted on bringing two items for show and tell instead of the one that she was supposed to. And got into a snit when I made her leave one in the car. (Which is why she is frowning in all of her first day pictures).

But I found it quite amusing. When we got there she complained about the location of her cubby. Then she went to play with the tactile bins. And later in the morning, when some of the big kids put on bathing suits and got into the kiddie pool, she went into the adult bathroom (which is strictly off limits to kids), into the cabinet, found the box with her emergency clothes, put on her own bathing suit and went outside to play.

I'd say she was settled...

Bye-bye Diaper Pad

Tonight I was cleaning the dining room. And I looked at the diaper changing pad that is tucked under my desk and thought, "I don't need that gross thing anymore", took it outside and stuffed it in the trash. Then I poured a glass of wine. I had a great sense of accomplishment. It isn't exactly the same as running a marathon, but, nevertheless this is a nice place to be.

What A Difference A Year Makes

Ok, so really fourteen months....

But Mike had to leave early from our family vacation to Hawaii last week. And I had to come home alone with the kids. Oh yes, and of course not predicting this, I had booked tickets with a change of planes in Honolulu. Oh yes, and we had mechanical difficulties that kept us on the tarmac for an extra hour.

But here's the amazing thing. It wasn't that bad. Granted my Mom and stepfather were staying down the street and took us to the airport. I don't want to in any way diminish the fact that they took us to the airport and helped us check in. But still, they had to leave us at security. (And did I mention I cried?).

My trip alone to Florida with them last year was probably the most stressful outing of my life. (African safari? No big deal. Coup in Fiji? Piece of cake). And I still think I deserve some type of Purple Heart for Mommies for surving that one.

But now, at three and four years old, I didn't have to bring carseats on the plane (we checked our boosters). I didn't have to bring a million extra outfits. I didn't need diapers! Our seat was near the bathroom so I could leave Miles while I took Mia to the potty. Miles could go by himself! They could drink without sippy cups. (Although it was a teeny bit tense when Miles poured his ginger ale into his lap). They actually napped! They watched DVDs!

Also, one of the things I've noticed about Miles is that although he can be really naughty sometimes, when the chips are down he usually comes through for me. And when the plane landed in San Francisco, no less than FOUR different people who were sitting around told me how good the kids had been!

Kids Menus

The NY Times published an article today, lamenting the kids menu and how it is driving our kids toward more chicken fingers and fries. As someone who is struggling to move our family to a phase where we all eat ONE meal and it is all the same one and it is relatively healthy, all I can say is Hallelujah! We're a long way from that goal, but from time to time Mia will eat spinach salad or Miles will have steak and asparagas. But no matter how close we get, I know for sure we really don't need the fries in the mix....

End of an Era

Mia had her last day at daycare today. And Mommy cried all the way home.

Yoga Frequency

So after a rough winter I've gotten back into a routine of going to yoga once a week and I have to say, it just isn't enough. Even though I've been able to stick with that pretty well, I just don't seem to be able to get any better. I still struggle with my backbends, I'm not getting any stronger. I need to go more than once a week. But if a mother of two small children is spending, three plus hours a week at yoga, does that make me superficial? Or selfish?

Dragging You Down

Here's the thing about your spouse's anxiety, stress or depression. You can either be impervious (and perceived as cold) or you can take it on yourself and get sucked in. Normally I'm pretty oblivious and I just go about my business, but now I'm finding that my spouse's stress is starting to drag me down too.....

The Grudge

Mia is starting preschool in two weeks, and I have to say I'm pretty curious about what it will be like! Mostly she is easygoing, and a good listener.

But she's also a bit of a grudge-holder. She sometimes complains about her friends at family daycare. One day this winter, when we were skiing (of all things), Mia said, apropos of nothing, "Paigey didn't listen to my words at Denise's." Four days later and she's thinking about it while skiing.

But that's of course nothing like her Dora book. How many times has she said, "Miles ripped my Dora book and I'm not too happy about it!". And I'm like, yeah, Mia that was last summer! Get over it!

So I'm interested to see whether she learns to develop friendships at school. Or whether we'll have a litany of complaints about Maggie or Courtney or Lindsay "not sharing their crayons, or ripping her construction paper or whatnot!

I just can't wait to enjoy this aspect of her personality when she's in junior high!

You Say Tomato

We had a major "milestone" in our family three weeks ago. Drum roll please. Miles started eating tomatoes! He'd never even put one into his mouth before. (Yes, even though he is half Italian!). But I asked him to try one of the little organic sweets from Trader Joes one night at dinner and he ended up eating six! I wasn't watching, and when I looked at his plate and saw that they were all gone, I was stunned. I made him get up and shake his shirt to prove that he hadn't hidden them.

He's actually tried several new foods lately and it is very exciting. He didn't like cauliflower (no surpise there). But he liked oatmeal. And tried mango. And of course tomatoes.Mia's been eating those little tomatoes for awhile. I've gotten her to try tomato sauce and she says she likes it. So maybe Miles will try it at some point too. And maybe, maybe someday our family will actually be able to have lasange for dinner.

Ciao!

Raising Cain

A couple of weeks ago I read an amazing book called Raising Cain. It is about "protecting the emotional life of boys." I found it very moving. It is SO easy to get annoyed with Miles, because he doesn't listen. Or sometimes doesn't pay attention. (Today, after swimming, just when we got to the car he said "I have to pee." So we turned around to go back to swim class. And I'm carrying Mia. And he stops and plays with flower boxes and store windows. I'm thinking, if you have to pee so bad, get the hell in there!)

But the book made me feel so guilty about all the times I get annoyed with him. It talked a lot about raising boys that are able to deal with their own emotions, and are therefore able to be nice to other people.

It also made me conscious of how difficult life could be - at times - for someone like him. Already his sister, who is 18 months younger, knows more letters than he does and is a better swimmer. She is happy to read alphabet books or do her swimming. Miles is interested in letters only so much as he can write signs or play. So it is going to take him a longer to learn and will be more challenging to teach him.

What I took away from it:

• Help boys to have an emotional life. Show them that it is OK to have feelings. Teach them how to talk about them. If they can't identify and talk about their emotions, then they can't be expected to deal with them later in life, or to treat other people well.
• Help boys with school. Pick a school that adapts lessons for people like Miles, who are smart but maybe not so great at sitting still and doing drill and practice. Help to create a good experience for him right out of the gate so that he doesn't dislike school and turn away from it.

Okay, that's it. There was a lot more in the book, but this is what I took away from it. And that's enough.

Same Old, Same Old

I haven't been a very good blogger over the past ten months. Here's what happened. First, I became the newsletter writer for our preschool. Which was fun except that I didn't know how to do desktop publishing. So things that should have taken me twenty minutes took about eight hours. Then I took on a contract position for two days a week for three months and that pretty much made me crazy. And then finally I took on the enrollment job at school, which made me even more crazy.

But here's the really sad thing. Here I'm writing again, and things aren't that different!

-I'm still unhappy with my weight
-I have even more grey hair
-I'm still a terrible listener with my kids
-I don't go to yoga enough
-I need to get a job
-I'm still obsessing because I don't have enough "passions." Maybe if I had, I'd have some fabulous career right now, or be the expert that the NY Times quotes on some obscure topic
-I love my husband but he snores

So for my three readers out there... you haven't missed anything!!

Friends

Do you ever have those days when your friends drive you nuts? Oh come on, you know you do! It's probably even me!

Mom's Clothes

I remember when I was in high school and my Mom would buy clothes for me but I always liked what she bought for herself better... Mia's already starting to borrow my clothes. The other day she slept in my pajamas!

And lately she's been bugging me to borrow my labordorite necklace. She thinks it looks like a candy necklace. In a moment of weakness I let her have it, and when I turned around she was whipping Miles with it. So I told her she can have it when she's fourteen. (Hoping she'll forget.) But it made me think of when I was little and used to ask my grandmother if I could have her diamond engagement ring when she died. Nice kid, huh?

No Mother Left Behind

Recently I was talking to an old friend and she told me that she'd taken up pole dancing as a hobby. You know, pole dancing. Like the women do at the Bada Bing Club on the Sopranos (although my friend assures me she has a shirt on).

This is not some slutty friend who wears tight pants and low cut shirts and flirts with all the husbands. She's a fine, upstanding mother and a card-carrying member of the PTA. But another friend had encouraged her to join a class and now she was hooked. The thing, she told me, is that she felt like she had left so much of herself behind when she became a mother. And this was a way to recapture the part of her that used to love to dance and really let it all go at clubs. A part she really missed. And could now revisit. But now with platform shoes.

So of course I started obsessing about all of the aspects of myself that I had left behind. The part that liked to get shit-faced on beer at some divvy local bar on a Sunday afternoon. The part that actually had time to get into bed with a good book on Friday night - and stay up all night if it was good enough. The part that liked to go camping and would then stay up all night listening for bears. The part that could actually plan - and pull the trigger - on a trip to Europe.

But here's the encouraging part. Considering how much my life has changed, my list isn't raelly that long. And in just fifteen more years I'll be able to do it all again!

My Little Princess

And I mean literally....

Already Giving Parenting Advice

Last night, I desperately needed to get two extremely overtired kids to bed and did everything in my power to speed the process. Like telling them they could only have one book. Mia, of course, had a fit and picked two. I told her several times she could only have one. And then she started to cry. And Miles said, "Some day, when I have kids, if they want two books I will just give it to them." He's four. I can't wait to hear his commentary on my parenting in a few years....

Advice from a Partier

We have a friend (ok, more than one) who parties a lot. Basically 90% of the time that we see him, this guy is wasted. So basically he is the last person that you could ever imagine yourself taking parenting advice from.

And yet... a month or so ago he was over for dinner and drinks (mostly drinks). During which time I fed the kids. You know, the usual coaxing to eat vegtables, the whole bit. But I left the room for a second and when I came back, Mia had devoured all of her green beans. When I remarked on it, he said, "Well I noticed she was having some trouble with them so I cut them up and she ate them all."

Okay. So the thought of cutting her beans had NEVER occured to her parents. Never. So what does it say about us that the boozer friend understands our child better? Just one more time to get hit over the head with the lesson, you can't pay enough attention to your child.

The Funny Thing About Money

I've been working off and on for the last few months doing some contract work. And I have to say to all the working mothers out there - my hat is off to you!

In the process of trying to re-enter the workforce, I've discovered something funny about money. Which is this: when you are working you spend less.

It seems conterintuitive. When you have more money, you have the ability to spend it. When you have less (because you aren't working) you should spend less.

But it doesn't work that way. First, when you are working you have less time to spend money. Second, and more importantly, when you are working, money has more value. When I wasn't working, it was easy to separate myself from money and it is this theoretical concept that has no value. But when I can look at a sweater or a pair of pants and say to myself, "that costs two hours." Or three. Or four. I am so much less apt to buy!

Teaching them Well

An exchange between my kids this week:

Mia: Miles, do you want to come in my house?
Miles: I can't. I'm busy.
Mia: Are you on the phone?

So glad I'm training them to neglect each other!

There But for The Grace of God Go I

This poor family was removed from a flight because they couldn't calm their toddler down enough to get her in a seat for takeoff. Not that I disagree with the airline's decision - they have a business to run - but I'd hate to be the parent with my name out all over the Associated Press because my kid was naughty. And believe me, I have so been there!

Baby Fart

Arugula

Two years ago I was beating my head against a brick wall because Miles wouldn't eat vegtables. I tried and tried. Finally he got over it. And he's never been great, but he'll eat the requisite four broccolis before dessert. And now that I'm working a couple of days a week and really too busy to pay attention, he's started doing the strangest things. I was cooking this week and he tried the arugla and then ended up eating an entire bowl.... Who'd have thought...

Scissors

I came home from work on Monday and my sitter handed me a huge hunk of hair - apparently Miles took it upon himself to give his hair a little trim. He went into the bathroom and it was quiet for a moment, and voila!

There's a nice big patch in the middle of his head where he cut it pretty much down to the scalp. So I took him to the "trained professional" and she cut the rest of it off pretty short - not THAT short - so it will grow in a little less awkwardly.

Oh, and did I mention we have a kindergarten interview next weekend? Good to know that he will be looking like someone took a machete to his head.

So he's lost scissor priviledges until high school...

Always, Always, Always Check References

I think this must qualify as one of the worst babysitter moments ever. Frankly, I'm still in complete shock.

But this weekend we were up in Tahoe, and we had a babysitter watch our two kids. And our friends' eight month old baby. From 9-3 while we were skiing.

This is someone who has probably watched my kids about ten times in the past year and a half. She was recommended to us by a former sitter, who was very reliable and had come highly recommended, although we didn't check actually check the newer sitter's references. She's always been a bit of a character, but it all seemed very harmless. Although now I remember things that I should have thought more about. Like that she'd given up partying for a year so that she could get her act together.

So we got home from skiing (we'd called and told her we would be an hour late). And after we got home she said "Miles is a angry at me. I raised my voice at him because he spilled my beer."

BEER?

The heads of all four adults snapped around to look at her. But I think we were all too stunned to say anything.

BEER?

And here's what's worse. Not only was my sitter boozing on the job, but yelling at my kid because of it.

So there's a lesson here... I'm just glad it was only my couch that got seriously hurt.

A Little Perspective

WARNING... Bragging post about to happen.... But I thought this was pretty cool. Miles drew this picture of our family yesterday. (The horizontal lines are stripes, by the way because for some reason we're all wearing stripes). I'm the one on the left with the really big head. Not because my noggin is really so oversized, but because he's trying to show the barrette on my ponytail. (The little square part on the bottom of the back of my head is the barrette.) Okay, so I may look a little weird, but I was quite impressed that my barely-four-year-old-son is already experimenting with perspective!

Post Partydom Syndrome

Okay, I'm never having a party again. Miles turned four last weekend and we had a big bash. Fifteen kids (counting the siblings) with parents. We went to the local firehouse to ride in the truck and try out the hose. Cake. Pinata. By the time everyone left my house looked like a bomb went off. And I was so tired that all I could do was sit on the couch and watch two episodes of Rescue Me back to back.

It was fun though, and it was all worth it.

But not the after-math. We're all so tired. Miles has been asking for treats at BREAKFAST time all week. And cranky. And not sleeping. And they've been fighting, fighting, fighting over the toys.

So next year, we're heading to Chuckee Cheese.

Everybody Remain Calm

I like mantras.

I like the simplicity of having a saying that can help you stay focused while getting through life.

When I was employed in Silicon Valley I had two. For years after reading the Dalai Lama’s “Art of Happiness” I chanted “affection and compassion, affection and compassion” to myself as people cut me off on highway 101 at rush hour, or jumped in front of me in line at the grocery store, or were rude at restaurants.

The other was “you can’t get what you want if you don’t know what it is.” The friend that shared it with me meant this in terms of men, but I found that it applied well to other situations including shopping for furniture, ordering dinner, and directing projects in the workplace. Give good direction, and you’ll get good results.

But I’ve been a little bit lost in the post professional world. The very qualities that helped me be successful at work –energy, impatience, perfectionism, goal-orientation – are often liabilities in the toddler department.

I was at our preschool one morning last month when a minor disagreement over a toy ignited a screaming match between two three year olds. Our director, in an unassuming voice said “okay, okay, people. Everybody remain calm.” And I thought, okay, here is the mantra for my post work life.

My son is one of those people who constantly pushes the limits. I’ll have to ask him, oh, ten or twelve times to brush his teeth. Only when he’s threatened with a loss of privileges (Dora the Explorer is the ultimate leverage) will he actually step into the bathroom. He’ll continually put toys into his mouth. He’s also a born negotiator: if you offer him two books at bedtime, he’s bound to ask for three. If you sing three songs, he’ll ask for four. (He got this from his dad, of course.) And I, of course, am completely unequipped to deal with him.

My energy level is way, way, way too high. While I think it is important to set limits with your children, I find that too often at our house, a relatively minor incident can escalate into a full-fledged conflagration. I’ll assign a timeout too rashly, and when Miles won’t take it, a full fledged battle will ensue. It is like I threw gasoline on the fire. When he starts the endless bedtime negotiation, I’ll get angry and ultimately find myself yelling – which is not exactly the best way to help him relax and fall asleep.

For a couple of weeks after I first found this new mantra, I was great. I calmly doled out discipline. I separated my kids during battles without adding a level of hysteria to the situation. Things were calm in our house.

Then summer happened! And I’ve been spending way, way, way too much time with my kids. There’s nothing like traveling alone with your children – to different time zones! - to increase your stress level. Needless to say, I’m failing miserably at staying calm.

The best that I can hope for is that if I keep working at it, I’ll better learn to manage my emotions.

Or that my kids will just wear me out to the point where I don’t have enough energy to fight back!

Some Days

One of the other Moms at school said to me recently, "Some days you get a lot done. Other days you survive."

How true. Except that I'd say "some months." We're having a great summer, but between packing for trips and unpacking when we get home and planning for the next thing, and buying the occassional birthday present, that's about all we do!

Stockholm Syndrome

My kids were sick last week. Which wouldn't be such a big deal (I should be used to it by now, right?) except that it has followed on lots of weekends when Mike has been either away or unavailable. Oh yeah, and it coincided with Miles giving up his nap. Anyway, Mia had an ear infection and high fever for several days, and Miles had a fever for a couple. Which meant no school, no playdates and LOTS of time around the house. A little too much time around the house. Oh yeah, and did I mention the weather was wet and foggy so we couldn't even go into our (tiny) backyard?

About midweek I realized that I really, really, really needed a break. So I got Sunday "off" and talked my friend Lisa into spending the day with me. We tossed around a bunch of different options - hikes, manicures, wine tasting, spa treatments, movies, lunch. For several days we talked about what to do but for some reason I just couldn't identify what I really wanted. And Lisa, who is the best and most understanding friend that you could ask for, sounded a little testy when she finally said, "well, what do you WANT to do?"

Technically Stockholm Syndrome is when hostages start to identify with their captors. Remember when Patty Hearst changed her name to Tanya and tried to rob a bank? Obviously I identify with my little captors - I love them more than anything else in this world. But in my case Stockholm Syndrome is about identifying too much with their world. Spending so much time with them and thinking about them that I have trouble of conceiving of spending my free time anywhere but at Target or Costco or the grocery store.

But the happy ending is that we went for a long walk at Chrissy Field and then drove up to Napa for a day of drinking wine in the sunshine...

Job?

Ok, I realize I complain alot, but deep down inside (sometimes very, very deep) I've been happy and grateful for being able to have the opportunity to stay home with my children.

Well, up until last week anyway. Miles finally gave up his nap. Now he's supposed to have an hour of (mostly) quiet time in his room - which gives me just enough time to make dinner, take out the trash and occasionally shower. And then I'm back on duty. Art projects, books, pretend trips to the doctor, bike riding, cooking dinner together.

All this quality time is, frankly, a bit too much for me. I've decided its time to start looking for a job!

Carnivore?

A couple of weeks ago I became cautiously optimistic that Miles was becoming less of a picky eater. After all of the agonizing that I had had in the last few years about what my kids eat, he has suddenly (with no urging from me) started eating three things that he always rejected-- hard boiled eggs, dried fruit and turkey cold cuts.

But at the same time, he's also asking more questions about food.

We have a board book called "A Train Ride with Monet," which is basically ten stunning paintings very loosely woven into a story about a train ride. It isn't a very compelling text, but as someone who learned most of what she knows about art from the '70s board game "Masterpiece," I like to delude myself that I am exposing my kids to great art.

One of the pages shows an oil paiting of turkeys, and reads "pass a flock of turkeys, feathery white." Last week, when we were reading it, Miles suddenly said, "hey Mom, does turkey come from turkeys?" I was surprised. It had never occured to me that he didn't connect the chicken on his plate with the chicken on Old MacDonald's farm.

And ever since he's realized that we eat the pretty, fluffy white birds that he's seen a million times in the picture book, he's had a lot of questions about what we eat.

"Does chicken come from chickens?" (Yep, you can't pull the wool over my son's eyes.)
"Ham comes from pig, right?"

And here was the kicker - "What are horses for?" Basically meaning, do we eat those beautiful creatures that we were feeding watermelon rinds to last weekend in Tahoe.

Let me get something straight. I'm not a vegetarian. I don't eat liver or scrapple or even dark meat turkey, but we have meatloaf from time to time and every now and then I really, really, really want a hamburger. But still, I found it strangely difficult to explain to my child why we eat some animals and we don't eat others.

And then yesterday, when he was playing with his little plastic animals, he asked, "Mom, what comes from giraffes?"

"Poop!" I answered brightly, since it was that time of day.

"No, Mom, what comes from giraffes?"

And I realized that he was wondering whether we ate giraffes. Which seemed kind of horrifying to me. So I started to explain again what the difference is, and realized that in his mind there probably isn't much difference between the soulful big eyes of the giraffe he sees at our zoo's African Savannah, and the big brown eyes of the cow he sees at the children's section. Or - for that matter - the big brown eyes that sees when he looks in the mirror.

If I really thought about it, I might rethink some of my own food choices. But I'm probably too old for that at this point. But my neice - who is now fourteen - has been a vegetarian for political reasons for a decade now. (Yes, she made that decision when she was the same age that Miles is now.) And it will be interesting to see where Miles goes with this.

Skinny Jeans And All

Ok, so motherhood isn't the only thing that I'm insecure about. I'm also pretty insecure about fashion. Which is incredibly stupid if you think about it. It isn't as though I'm going to work or anything - just grocery shopping, going to the playground, teaching at my son's preschool.

Nevertheless, I still have fashion anxiety. Or maybe angst is a better word. I'm so very, very tired of the white t-shirts and old Gap jeans that I always wear to the playground. Last summer I wrote about my quest to find clothes that were fashionable, not exactly the same as what everyone else is wearing, machine washable and cheap. I lamented the fact that these things were not readily available in my neighborhood. And that I couldn't find them on the Internet. But now I've realized that the real problem is me.

I'm chronically behind the times. By the time I noticed that everyone was wearing cargo pants - and wanted some for myself - they were no longer in stores. By the time I warmed up to trouser jeans (which reminded me a teeny bit too much of those Dickies we had in junior high) you couldn't find them anywhere.

So I did the unthinkable. A couple of weeks ago, I bought some of those '80s pants (now called skinny jeans) that are in the stores. My friend Lisa said they made me look thin, so of course I had to buy them. And part of me figured that I might as well buy the skinny jeans while they were still selling them because by the time I wanted them its a sure bet you wouldn't be able to find them for love or money.

But when I got them home, I just couldn't believe what I'd done. My husband laughed out loud when he saw them.

After Mike finished laughing I left them on the top of my dresser for a couple of weeks, but finally, I was behind on laundry and needed something to wear so I took off the tags and put them on and took the kids out. And felt ridiculous! Memories flooded back - illicit drugs, Yaz, Limelight, white pumps, Obsession. But here's the thing. Instead of making me feel youthful, it made me feel like one of those old ladies that tries to look young by dressing like a teenager.

But I'm not just insecure, I'm also compulsive. So the good news is that now I have something else to obsess about.

I Don't Like Spiders and Snakes....

I'm more than a teensy bit insecure about my parenting skills. But every now and then I do something that makes me just want to pat myself on the back and say, "girlfriend, you rock." Like when I took the kids - by myself - to Florida. Or last Saturday when I held a tarantula.

It was Bug Day at the Randall Museum, our local nature museum for kids. And Miles was transfixed by the spiders. We couldn't drag him away. Several other kids had held it, and I thought that he might want to also (with a little encouragement). So, in a moment of unaccustomed bravery, I held out my hand and held it.

It's legs were kind of soft as it walked across your skin, but the big soft body that dragged across my palm was creeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeepy.

But of course, I constantly underestimate Miles. He was wayyyy too smart to want to hold that thing.

But now I will have something to think about in the middle of the night, or next time we go camping.

On Being Mom

One of my friends just sent me a very beautiful essay called "On Being Mom" by Anna Quindlen. There are so many things in the essay that speak to me, even though her children are grown and mine are still (unfortunately) in diapers.

Quindlen writes movingly about the things she learned as a mother -- to listen to herself (and her kids) and not the experts, to learn to be humbled, and most of all to live in the moment. "I wish I had not been in such a hurry to get on to the next thing: dinner, bath, book, bed. I wish I had treasured the doing a little more and the getting it done a little less."

Several years ago my friend Stephanie told me that she tried to spend an hour of uninterrupted time each day with each of her children. Possibly this was before I had any of my own. But I remember thinking what a short time an hour seems like. And now that I have two, I think what an impossibly long time it seems.

It is easy to be busy. As a stay-at-home Mom I can't sneak errands in during lunchtime or on the way home from work-- I have to arrange childcare for every haircut or workout, or bring kids along with me. Even evenings out with my husband require tons of advance planning (by me, not him. he just shows up). I have all of the responsibilities of my son's coop nursery school. And then the many logistics of running our household. And checking email. And watching 24. It is very easy to get caught up in all of it.

Plus it can be hard to keep my kids' attention. I can spend a large portion of their precious naptime preparing afternoon art projects that will keep their attention for say maybe five minutes. Even dying Easter eggs got old after ten. And also - dare I say it - sometimes playing with the kids can be boring. I mean really, how many times can we pack our bags and pretend that we're flying on the couch airplane to Hawaii? Sometimes it is just easier to let them play by themselves, or to try to get them to watch Sesame Street.

But I'm already feeling the pull of nostaglia. Even Miles at 3-1/2 is feeling it. One of his new favorite activities is pouring over the photo albums of when he and his sister were newborns. "Is that Miles? Is that Miles" he asks, unable to recognize his baby self. And in another way, I'm having trouble recognizing him too. As grueling as it can be, it is just going too darn fast.

So thanks Anna Quindlen. My gift to myself for Mother's Day will be to try to be present more often.

Yoga Junkie

From time to time you read in the news about women who abandoned their children for crack or meth. If I ever leave mine, it will be for yoga. Mike was out of town for most of last month. When I organized some time for myself, I found myself booking sitters around yoga classes (I like Mark at Pretzel's Yoga.) Because when it came right down to it, I didn't need drinks or movies or girls dinners or trips to Target. I needed the plow position to keep me sane.

I did yoga religously for several years before kids. But we moved across town and I got pregnant and that was pretty much the death of my downward dog. But back in February I started going again. After an initial week or two of soreness, I've turned into a complete junkie again. When I do the plow position, I can actually feel all the little pebbles of stress in my upper back melting away. And not only does my body feel better, but my mind too.

When we were in Florida and I wasn't able to make it to class for a whole week, I could feel my body reverting back to it's old self. Shoulders hunched, one higher than the other, knots in between the blades. I felt like Quasimodo. And my patience was shot.

When we got off the plane I gave the kids back to Mike and drove over to Potrero Hill for my fix. And then I was tall again. Straight again. And calm again. And much more zen with my children.

How To Hate Yourself in Nine Easy Steps

1. Decide to take your two toddlers across the country to visit your mother, who lives in a destination to which there are no direct flights.
2. Decide you can do this without your partner, who needs to work.
3. Plan your trip soon after the clocks change so everyone's sleep schedules are out of whack.
4. Make sure that your son loses his binkie the week before.
5. Allow your son to stop napping after the loss of said binkie.
6. Make sure that your destination has lots and lots of breakable stuff that he can't get into. And a piano that is really fun - but annoying - to bang on.
7. Be sure that your destination includes a pool without a gate or net so the kids can't go outside to play without intense supervision.
8. Notice that your son never, ever, ever listens to what you say.
9. Find yourself yelling the entire trip....

Good, now you can feel guilty about it for months to come.

The Kindness of Strangers

It might be because once when we were flying home from New York with six month old Miles, I gave a stranger my white Gap t-shirt. His 1-1/2 year old had vomited all over himself (including his shoes) and the father had no extra clothes for him. So he walked off the plane wearing my t-shirt like a ball gown - and I never saw it again. Or maybe I did something extraordinarily nice in a previous life. Or maybe people are just better than I thought. Or maybe I just looked REALLY pathetic.

But whatever the reason, this past week I was on the receiving end of a kindness from strangers. Strangers who carried my enormous carry on bag off of the airplane, while I carried Mia and tried to corral Miles into the right direction. Strangers who didn't complain when my daughter kicked the back of their seat for three hours straight. Strangers who played peek-a-boo with her for hours. Strangers who peeled my son away from the plane window and directed him down the aisle. Strangers who gave us juice, watched my daughter, played with my son.

So if you ever see someone stupid enough to take a two year old and one year old across the country, and change flights on the way, help them out. They might be too frazzled to show it at the time, but trust me they are grateful.

San Francisco Treat

You know it has been awhile since you cleaned out your cabinets when you find something in them that EXPIRED in 1997.

When I was unpacking groceries on Saturday, I noticed a dusty box of Rice A Roni behind the cereal. When I took it out, I was appalled to see that it had expired nine years ago. Which means it has probably been sitting around for ten or eleven. Which is a long time. A VERY long time. Ten years ago, Clinton was president. The Internet han't boomed yet. I wasn't even dating my husband. And now we have a mortgage, wothless Internet stocks, two kids and a lot of anxiety about kindergarten.

I'm very conflicted about how much I want to pride myself on my housekeeping skills. I mean, I don't want to view myself as some sort of fifties stereotype who is fulfilled by spending my days vacuuming the house, cooking dinner and fixing a drink for my husband at the end of it. At the same time, this is sort of my job right now so I'd like to do it well. And, yes, have I mentioned I'm a little compulsive? I realize that old rice isn't exactly a health hazard but still, I'm kind of uncomfortable with what it implies about how clean we are. Not only do we apparently go entire decades without cleaning out, but the worst part is that we moved in 2001, and somehow we still managed to pack it up from the old house and unpack it in the new.....

So being the compulsive person that I am, I thought about cleaning out some more. But I was afraid of what else I might find.

Big Girl

Ok, it won't come as a surprise to anyone who knows me if I say that I'm more than a teeny bit anal. I had a color-coded timeline for the week before our wedding for family members and wedding participants. I do packing lists for our family before each trip in Excel (and save them all). And I carry around a little spiral notebook that contains lists of things I need to do (long and short term), groceries we need and clothing that the kids need. Each night I pick up (and sort) all of the kids' toys.

So you'll understand why it bothers me so much when my kids don't snap into line and follow the perfect structure of the lives that I've planned for them. Sometimes I have trouble letting them do their own thing. And lately that's all Mia wants to do....

Lately she doesn't want to lie down to change her diaper. She resists a lot of the clothing I pick out for her to wear. And today she had a complete meltdown because I tried to peel her Clementine for her.

Last week my friend (who has three daughters) said that sometimes she just lets the girls do whatever they want to do, because she doesn't want them to be on such a tight leash that they have to stage a huge rebellion when they reach adolescence.

I thought a lot about this.

So I've started asking Mia "where" she wants to change her diaper. She'll usually go ahead and do it if she gets to choose the place. I drew the line at the bathtub, otherwise we've been experimenting all over the house. I'm letting her pick her own outfits (although she keeps going for these ugly, ugly, ugly purple cords from Old Navy). And today I gave into the possibility of a big sticky pulpy mess in the back seat and let her peel the Clementine.

And she showed me up. It was perfectly, daintily peeled.... each piece of peel handed personally to me in the front seat, instead of deposited on the floor for posterity. And hopefully we'll still be speaking when she hits high school.

Television

When Miles was very small I was adamant that he not watch television. I didn't want him to get used to passive entertainment that would diminish his imaginative ability. When we interviewed nannies, I was very firm that he not see any TV during the day (and I know for a fact that his sitter never showed him any - she couldn't figure out our Tivo).

But then Mia was born.

And I started thinking that a teensy bit of TV might not be so bad.

But he wasn't interested. Now that I so desperately need a little break, he just won't watch it. TV doesn't have anything to compare with pretending to be on a plane to Hawaii. Or dumping your legos. Or pushing your little sister. We've had the odd twenty minutes of Elmo's world, and once or twice he's watched the 30 minute "Grinch Who Stole Christmas" all the way through. But that's it.

And then last night, he actually sat on the couch and watched an entire episode of Seasame Street. The WHOLE thing. Sure, Mia was still running around like a crazy person, but I actually managed to clean up from dinner, pick up the toys and put Mia into her pajamas in relative peace.

Wow. Thank god for the electronic babysitter!

How To Get Your Husband to Do Housework

I've cracked the nut on getting Mike to do stuff around the house.... A couple of weeks ago I left him alone with the kids all day Saturday while I did co-op stuff. The plan was that on Sunday I'd watch them while he fixed some things around the house. Apparently they wore him down so badly that he was down in the basement at 8:30 on Sunday morning, avoiding them.

So now whenever I want him to do something, I just arrange a little "quality time" with Miles and Mia....

Why We Got in a Fight About the Party

Here's why Mike and I got into a ripping big fight before the party last Friday. He said he'd be home at 6, so I had a sitter coming at 6:30 figuring that we'd be at the party before 7. (It was kind of a baby showery thing and was supposed to go from 6 until 9).

The babysitter arrived on schedule but there was no sign of Mike. So I called him. And called and called and called. But he never picked up the phone. So I called my friend Julie to see if she could give me a ride to the party. She was already there....

Not knowing whether Mike was on the way home or stuck at work at a meeting, I called a cab. I figured he could meet me there and we could drive home together. (Oh, I forgot to mention that it is impossible to park in this neighborhood....)

So wouldn't you know it that Mike called right after I'd booked the cab. He had just started home (it was 6:45). When I told him that I didn't believe there was anyone so important in the world that they wouldn't understand that you had to duck out of a meeting for five minutes to call your wife to tell her to go ahead and leave and not wait. I could have BEEN at the party by then!

"It's just a party," he said. No, not just a party. A lifeline. When you've been at home with the kids all week and spent a lot of time picking up toys, and picking up toys, and picking up toys without an adult to talk to.... party is life. He may be working hard, but all those lunches, dinners, even GOLFING... I have to believe there's some interesting adult conversation happening at least part of the time. Enough, at least, that you forget your wife is waiting at home....

Treading Water

Sometimes I feel like I can never catch up. There's always something. The kids have suddenly outgrown all their clothes. There's a bill from the hospital that for some inexplicable reason insurance hasn't paid. And you have to sit on hold for an hour. There's a birthday party for which we need to buy a gift. Or Miles has pnemonia or an ear infection and we have to go to the pediatrician and then wait for our perscription at Walgreens. And there's work for our co-op and a mountain of laundry that needs to be folded. And we're out of milk again, or bread or all the bananas are mushy. Not to mention that every day I need to cook for the kids, do the dishes, take out the trash and pick up enough toys that it doesn't look like a bomb went off in our living room.

I know other mothers who always look fabulous. Who have great nails. And trendy clothes. Jeans that fit and white t-shirts that don't have stains under the armpits. I know some who actually have regular workouts. I know other well-read mothers who read A Million Little Pieces back when it was still non-fiction. I know mothers who actually go out to dinner with friends. And say "I love you" on the phone whenever they talk to their husbands. And ones who have time for hobbies and actually knit hats for all their friends new babies. And actually made by hand 29 valentines with their kid to take to school. Oh yeah, and some have jobs too and still manage to take their kids to Music Together and the pediatrician. So I'm just wondering how they do it?

Last Friday night I went to a party (which caused a big fight with Mike that is a whole other story) and two of my friends asked me if I was still writing fiction. And I had to laugh. Because, me, I'm just trying to keep my head above water.

Mia's First Haircut

Last week, when Mia was running around at Acrosports, I took a good look at her. Her hair was all matted in back, she was covered with scabbed over bug bites from our trip to Mexico and she had stains all over her pants. Could this ragamuffin really be mine?

So I decided that it would be nice if she looked like somebody actually took care of her. She doesn't have much, but a little cleaning up of her hair would help.

So her first haircut.... She was a little skeptical at first, but the knowledge that she'd have a lollipop when it was over helped out a lot.

MILEStones

Here's a weird thing about kids. They change in an instant. You can take them to swim class for a whole year, and they are flailing around in the water and then suddenly one week they are kicking across the pool.

Mia's Aunt Annie gave her a baby doll when she was eight months old. Sorry, Annie, but she has never touched it. She got two more for her first birthday and aside from the occasional wipe of their bottoms hasn't really given them the time of day either. But last weekend we were in Tahoe and she found a baby doll that has been up there for a year or so and suddenly she can't live without it.

And then there's Miles. He loves to do art projects. But inevitably they look the same. He piles on watercolors until they turn a muddy brown. He scribbles until the paper starts to fall apart. Once he did three lines in a circle that he claimed were caterpillars, but nothing that had really resembled, well, anything. Then the other day he was at the table with a magic marker and said "hey Mom, I drew a picture of you." When I looked, I was shocked to see that I had arms. And legs. And feet. Oh yeah, and eyes. And a HUGE nose. And a mouth too! It seemed like overnight that he went from scribbles to actual people.

So the next day I had him draw pictures of his teachers for their birthday cards. And I noticed that he was drawing them upside down (head at the bottom). We always knew he had a different perspective on the world, but this confirmed it for us....

Flubber

It is a cruel joke. As if I wasn't frustrated enough by blue jeans today, Miles came home from preschool with his jeans and t-shirt each covered with a huge spot of flubber. (If you don't know what flubber is, it is kind of like playdough, but more plasticy and really sticky. )

Every week the teachers at school set out some new tactile projects for the kids. This week one of the projects was trays with little plastic dogs and piles of flubber. I don't know if it was intentional or not, but the flubber is brown and looks just like dog shit. And of course the kids have had a blast playing with the dogs in shit. And I'm sure none more so than Miles who occassionally takes the blue bag from my New York Times and pretends to pick up dog poop in our living room.

The teachers sent home a bag of Borax, that I'm supposed to rub into the flubber to get it out before putting his clothes in the washer. (Apparently the washer will cook it in forever). So I just spent half and hour with the Borax, no luck and have been carving at it with a serrated steak knife for the last ten.

If the flubber was only blue or green or purple, I'd just say what the hell, he's growing quickly, he won't wear these clothes much longer. But no, it had to be dog shit brown. Oh well, gotta get back to my scrubbing.

On Fashion

Last summer I wrote about my struggle trying to find new clothes. Well it is still ongoing. Part of the problem is that with only three hours a week - at best - without kids, I don't really have time to shop for myself. But the bigger problem is that I just can't find things that are right for my current lifestyle.

This week I spent my precious three hours shopping for new jeans for myself. I went downtown to the Lucky Jeans store and realized that I will probably never find jeans that I like. At Lucky you can get many different styles of jeans - distressed, with rips, patches, "whiskering" and even with faux oil stains. (If you don't believe me, check out the Lucky web site).

I realize that I'm just a few breaths away from forty, but I hadn't realized before how out of touch I am. I guess I'm officially an old fart. But really, why would I pay more than $70 for jeans that are already worn out? And aren't those "whiskering" lines the kind of fading that you get when your pants are TOO TIGHT? But what really floors me is the oil stains. I teach at my son's preschool - I can generate my own stains, thank you very much.

So I did what I always do when I get frustrated shopping for myself. I went down the street to Old Navy and bought a pile of nice, new, inexpensive, oil-free t-shirts for the kids.

The Holidays?

Ok, here's my dirty little secret... I don't really enjoy the holidays.

I've been living in California since 1991, and early on I used to go back to Connecticut for Christmas every year. I enjoyed the midnight services at our church (fabulous music, sightings of high school boyfriends) but in Connecticut the weather is usually cold and you end up stuck in the house, with the double whammy of no exercise but lots of cookies. And inevitably every year my sister and some of her kids would be sick. The last time I was there she cooked a fabulous dinner and as we were sitting down she said "I'll be right back" and went upstairs and vomited for 12 hours.

So I don't go back anymore. Plus, now that we have two kids there is absolutely nothing in the world that could tempt me to go through JFK on the holidays.

But now I'm finding that I don't really enjoy the holidays here either. Somehow I can't quite get into the spirit. Sure, we got a tree with the kids. And after I spend an hour sorting through all of our ornaments to pull out the unbreakable ones, we decorated it. And then I spent the rest of the next three weeks encouraging Mia to put the things that she'd removed back onto the tree. We also read Christmas books - Polar Express and the Grinch - and we watched the Grinch video about fifty times.

But the week before Christmas was rainy and both the kids were sniffly so we spent most of the week inside. Not only did we miss the two kid parties that we'd been invited too, as well as a showing of Peter and the Wolf at the symphony, but I still had to deal with a week of sick kids indoors.

And there's the incredible stress of getting holiday cards out (I tried for FOUR months but never could get a picture with both kids looking at the camera at the same time) as well as making sure we have presents for everyone in the family. (Last year I gave Mike such a hard time because I had only ONE thing to unwrap that I had to make sure he had some good stuff this year). And mailing gifts on time. Not to mention the teachers, babysitters, contractors, etc that all need gifts too. And getting ready for visiting relatives.

So by the time we get to Christmas itself I'm making last minute cookies so we have something to leave by the fireplace for Santa, and wrapping the last few things (I used to pride myself on wrapping beautiful presents, now I'm just happy if they are covered), and trying to pull together something nice for dinner. And the whole time my kids are acting like crazy people because they've had so much candy!

I'm not a religous person, but the thing I always enjoyed most about Christmas was the music. But I don't have anyone to make my annual trip to church with, and anyway after everything else i'm too tired anyway.

So now the holidays are over. I'm exhausted. But I'm unpacking toys and trying to fit things into the recycle bin. And I still need to do thank you notes! And take down the tree and get rid of it. And replace the goldfish that didn't survive "babysitting" by the neighbors.

But unless I sound like a complete Grinch myself, there were some wonderful moments of watching the kids when they saw Santa, or opened a gift that they enjoyed. Making sugar cookies with Miles and Mia. And of course when we took our 20 month old daughter Mia skiing (see gratuitous picture)....

DNC

And then the DNC. My doctor gave me the choice between waiting for the pregnancy that didn't happen to miscarry itself, or to have a DNC. Rather than wait around until some potentially inconvenient time, I decided to go ahead and have the DNC.

And can I tell you, it is nasty. Not fun at all. It really made me feel badly for the people who really, really want a child and then not only do they find out that they aren't having it, but they also have to go through this thing. And also for the people who get an abortion but maybe aren't a hundred percent sure of their decision (who ever is in life?) and then have this very unpleasant and kind of painful procedure to help them feel even worse. I was probably as ambivalent as anyone who lost a pregnancy ever is and still it was a bummer.

But then the silver lining. They gave me several valiums! Mike had taken the day off from work, so he and the kids picked me up at the doctor's office in the morning, dropped me off at home and went off to the science museum. I had about four Diet Cokes (a VERY nice combination with valium) and actually got to be alone in my house for four hours, for the first time in years. And in a weird way, cleaning and rearranging the house, it was one of the best mornings I'd had in a long time.

Our Brush With Three

Right before Thanksgiving we found out that we were pregnant with our third child. This was an accident in the first degree. In fact, it was so much of an accident that we couldn't even pinpoint how far along I was. That would mean that we were actually paying attention to when I'd gotten my last period, and as silly as this sounds, we've been a little too busy with school and stuff for me to be thinking about that....

We didn't find out under the best circumstances. It was the day after we found out that Miles' persistent fever and smoker's cough - that had prevented any of us from sleeping all week - was caused by pnemonia. Nevertheless, my first reaction was to laugh. With the number of people we know who've had accidental thirds (including our next door neighbors) you would think we would have learned. So I had to laugh at how incredibly stupid we could be.

And then my next reaction (which lasted for a week) was to cry. Miles had only recently turned three. And Mia was 18 months. If we had a baby next summer, we would have THREE under the age of FOUR. And Miles wouldn't even be going to kindergarten for another TWO YEARS!

It isn't that I wouldn't love another baby. But the timing would never be right for us. If we waited until Miles and Mia were old enough that they actually listen to us (if indeed that would ever happen) we'd be too old. I'll be forty in a few months and I just don't want to be doing diapers when I'm forty five. (I don't even want to be doing them now!). And I don't want to be retired before my kids graduate from high school. Not to mention the fact that I'm not sure our marriage could handle it. After all, Mike didn't take both kids to the playground by himself until Mia was over a year old.

So I went to bed and cried for a week. I tried very, very hard to talk myself into doing something about it. The stress was getting to us Mike and I were arguing a lot and I tried to convince myself that this would be a bad environment to bring a baby into. If he'd only hit me, maybe I could have convinced myself but in the end I just couldn't bring myself to do anything.

And then we started to get used to the idea. We realized we'd need a new car (that would be big enough to hold an infant car seat between the other kids), we'd have to sell our house and leave the city. We'd have to figure out how to politely ask to have back some of the baby things that we'd given away. We'd have to get used to the idea that we wouldn't be able to go on vacation for YEARS ( or at least not one that requires a plane ride).

So I had my initial doctor's appointment and all of the blood tests and then yesterday I went in for the CVS test. I sat through an hour of genetic counseling (is this really necessary for a third time?) and then went in for the ultrasound and procedure.

And there was nothing there. The technician (the same one that I had for both Miles and Mia) showed me where there had been something, but somewhere along the line it had just stopped developing. She said this happens frequently in women of "my age". And then waited for my reaction.

It was weird. I wasn't surprised. We have so many friends who've had trouble having kids that it just seemed fair that it was our turn to have something happen. And I was very relieved, I'll admit. Ninety percent of the way. But I was also sort of sad. But when I drove home I found myself looking back repeatedly at the space where the infant car seat would have been.

Gratuitous Picture of My Kids

Sweet Potatoes

This post isn't about the food sweet potatoes, although I'm proud to report that my kids are faithful to their southern heritage and love their sweet potatoes and fried chicken. It is about being a good mom.

Most of the time I think I am, and then I have moments when I slip much too easily into mommy rage. You know those days, when you didn't get quite enough sleep the night before, when your three year old keeps doing something even after you've told him, say, fifty times to stop. When you allow it to bother you that he never, ever listens to you. And you just want to shake him and scream "goddamit, you listen to me!"

Last Wednesday was "picture day" at our preschool. And wouldn't you know it, but EVERY single kid in our class went happily into the room that was set up as the "studio," posed nicely in front of the backdrop and smiled incredibly sweetly for the photographer. Every single kid. Except mine.

He liked to watch the other kids, but when it was his turn he absolutely refused to sit down on the bench that the photographer had set up. To be fair to Miles, the photographer wasn't too good with young ones- he basically said "Next!" instead of trying to be friendly and coaxing. And of course being the wonderful mother I am, I did everything I could to make Miles feel comfortable and relaxed. If you count grabbing his arm tightly, dragging him across the room and hissing in his ear, "You better sit still for this picture or you'll never have dessert again."

I'm not sure how much the other mothers at the co-op heard but I'm sure they are all busily trying to transfer their kids out of Mondays (when I teach). Of course Miles ended up crying but luckily the Assistant Director stepped in and coerced him into it.

It is times like these when I feel really, really badly about myself and my parenting skills.

If I think about all of the families that I've known and admired, the one that springs to mind is my old boyfriend Michael's Marin county family. It was pretty non-traditional: he has a full sister and then on one side a step sister, half brother and half sister, and on the other side a half brother and two step brothers. Not to mention a number of aunts, uncles and cousins. There would be big holiday dinnerwith eighteen people around a big table, all eating and talking. One of the things that was most amazing about this family was that anything that anyone had to say was important. I remember watching my boyfriend's mother talk to a preschooler and nodding and really listening to his thoughts and opinions.

Once I visited my family in Mississippi and returned with a genuine sweet potatoe pie baked by a family friend. I brought it over to Michael's parents' house and they cut it into tiny slices and shared it out around the table. Michael's stepfather chewed it slowly and deliberately, asking about the recipe, treasuring it on his palate, as if he was sampling a Silver Oak Cabernet.

So this is one thing that I know I can do. I may not always be the most patient person around. But I can promise this to my kids. When they bring me their thoughts and ideas and sweet potatoes, I can listen.

You Know You're Behind on Shopping When...

The only toothpaste in the house is your 18 month old daughter's "toddler training" toothpaste. Unfortunately I had a tuna sandwich for lunch, so I had no other choice. It wasn't bad, really, just a bit fruity for my taste.

I realize I haven't blogged in a long, long time. Things have been crazy here. I feel like I ran a marathon just to get through Halloween.

But there's lots to tell and I'll be back next week.

Now, off to the pediatrician. For the second time today.....

Miles On His Own

Miles has finally settled into preschool.

It has taken longer than I expected -- he's the youngest boy there, many of the other kids are "siblings" so they know other people or are familiar with the school, and let's face it - he has a "listening" problem. Our program has the philosophy that you don't leave the kids crying but wait until they say it is OK for you to leave. So what do you think he's going to say? Of course he wouldn't let me go. I heard of one poor Mom that was there for three months. Lets just say that after spending four full days with him at preschool, I was more than a little anxious.

Then today Mia and I took him to school. And of course we were running late. The weekly yoga class is at 9am, so I kind of rushed him in after we got there. And then I felt a little guilty. We hadn't said goodbye. So we waited for half and hour, and I tried to keep Mia from getting into too many things. I didn't want him to freak out if he came out of class and we hadn't said goodbye.

But when he came out, he looked at us and said "You're still here?"

All through high school, when I was a real terror my Mom said (about a thousand times) "I can't wait until you go to college." And then when she dropped me off, she cried the whole way home.

I felt the same way today. I was sad that he doesn't need me anymore. I was so stressed about

him not gaining his independence. And now that he has it, I see that it is just the start of a lifetime of leaving me.

Imelda...

Last week I got some new Stride Rite Mary Janes for Mia. And now she SCREAMS every time we try to take them off.

Here is a picture of my little fashionista playing with a shell necklace in Hawaii last month. Already she understands the importance of accessories.

Chip off the old block...

I was holding Miles today, putting his shoes on and he let out one of the biggest, loudest farts I've ever heard. And then he laughed and yelled, "Mia!!" So I guess his Dad would say he raised him well....

Lookin' Good!

When I was getting ready to go out tonight, Miles gave me the once over and then said "You look cute!" What can I say? I raised him well.

First Day of School

Today was Miles' first day of school. Any delusions that I might have had about my son's maturity were dashed - he didn't let me leave, and he got sent out of circle time TWICE for making a disturbance. But the good news is that he had fun. And maybe he'll make some friends and learn something too....

Vacation or Trip?

My neighbor Kendall says that a vacation with kids is not a vacation, it is a trip. And for a long time I thought she was right. I spent so much time packing, the airport was stressful, watching kids was a nightmare....

But then something amazing happened this month. We were at Ke'e beach in Kaui, playing with the kids in the surf. And I realized I was having fun. I was actually having fun. Not only that, ALL FOUR of us were having fun at the SAME TIME.

I'm not sure what it was. Our condo was big and baby proof, with a kitchen and washer and dryer. My Mom and step father were right down the street, and actually willing to go to the beach with us. Even to watch the kids one day so we could go for a day hike on the Nepali Coast. Or maybe it is just that the kids are getting older. (My friend Stephanie has boys in kindergarten and second grade and swears that she had fun on a ski trip last spring).

But whatever it was, the kids felt it too. Two days after our return, as we drove down foggy San Francisco streets, Miles said, "I want to go back to Hawaii." Join the club, buddy. Join the club.

Big Easy

Nothing to say this week. Everything that is going on in New Orleans is making my little problems seem, well, very, very little.