Stepped on a Lego

Hometown

2010-09-11T13:10:00.010-04:00

The problem I see with a lot of Facebook posts and an overwhelming majority of blogs is this: People only ever talk about the 1% of things that are perfection. Perfect pictures, edited as such, perfect posts about a perfect meal (not mentioning the fact that you’d fed your kids cereal for dinner the five nights leading up to that), how positive and perfect you're feeling, turning illness into a great learning opportunity, talking about how great your kids are when we all know they're driving you up the wall more often than not, the highlights of a trip that leave out the four hour plane delay, the fact that your four year old vomited all over the hotel, etc.

Typically, I try to be honest in my posting. I’d hate to make someone feel bad by getting a less than realistic view of my life and think I’m anything close to perfect. Cause I’m not. And proud of it.

Last week I took a trip to Baltimore for my grandmother’s funeral. Obviously it was not a happy occasion. Besides the fact that my grandmother is no longer with us, my family is… a little dysfunctional. What you find below is by no means an accurate account of my trip and contains positive, and only positive moments. Therefore, this is about 1% of my trip.

I do really love going to Baltimore. It’s where I was born, and it only takes one step off of the plane for me to delve into reminiscing. The airport reminds me of a trip four years ago when my nephew (who was four years old at the time) threw a fit because there were no dinosaurs there. His parents promised he could visit dinosaurs on the trip (at the Smithsonian). I guess he was expecting them to be awaiting our arrival promtply after deplaning. He was also really upset that when he finally did get to see the dinosaurs, they were bones, and not real, live, roaring beasts.

I went alone this time. When you have three kids, being by yourself seems like a really good idea, but in truth it's really quiet and kinda lonely. I felt like a little kid hanging out with my parents and having three meals a day with them. Everywhere I went I got carded which had me laughing hysterically. Partially from being carded and partically because no one could find my birthdate on my Florida license.

But I really enjoyed my time in Baltimore. It's a truly historic town.

Driving around and just seeing all these things that used to be so familiar and now are so...distant. You don't often see train tracks where I live, and in Baltimore I saw an actual train chugging along, minding its business. I know it probably sounds crazy, but I like it.

Being in Baltimore with my dad has a distinct advantage: he knows where all the best food is. And there is a lot of good food. Straight from the airport we headed to G&Ms, a place that has, hands down, the best crab cake in Baltimore. It was funny because I posted on Facebook about just having the mother of all crab cakes and my brother (who lives in Baltimore) responded "G&Ms or Timbuktu?" (Timbuktu is really good too, but we had gone there on our last trip. Gotta spread the love.) When you’re a Marylander you are a natural born crab cake snob, so I really enjoyed being able to go to a restaurant and order one, knowing it wouldn’t disappoint.

The next day’s food stop was a bar in Locust Point called JRs. I was told they have a hamburger topped with meat, and more meat.

It was the most majestic hamburger I’ve had in all my years. I had the ¼ lb. version, but more manlier men have the option of the ½ lb. burger, which is just unphathomable to me. I chose the “Locust Point Burger” which consists of a burger topped with ham, bacon and cheddar cheese, plus I opted for tomatoes, mayo and grilled onions. Holy mother of deliciousness.

It was here at JRs that I was introduced to National Bohemian, from the land of pleasant living.

Baltimore is famous for its beers, and this one is a Baltimore original. My dad described it as a raunchy beer, and I was a little afraid, but it was really quite good and exceeded my expectations. The bartender told me it’s “in style” right now. The best part—it was $1.88 a bottle. You can’t get a glass of water in Naples for $1.88. Notice the little one eyed guy on the label. My brother says the beer's called the "one eyed wonder." And he, being a beer man, would know.

I consumed more Natty Bo at my old childhood hangout of Muirs. Yes, you read that right. I spent my childhood in a bar. Every Sunday after German school my dad would take us there and we’d eat pretzels and drink Cokes. It was nice to go back. I wish I got a better picture of the building—it had this tall, pointed roof.

My dad's all time favorite hot dog joint, Pollock Johnny's.

In between funeral events and eating, we visited our old house.

The road seemed super skinny, but I guess that’s what happens with you get bigger and the road doesn’t. My dad had planted a tree sapling outside my bedroom window 25? years ago that is now twice the size of the house. A family with a baby lives there now. They caught us cruising by and staring like stalkers so we ended up introducing ourselves.

Right down the street from us was the Georgetown Market. We used to go down there and buy typical kid stuff, sodas and candy. It's the exact same 7-up sign.

My grandmother’s house was auctioned by the state last spring to cover the costs of her nursing care. I mentioned before how hard this was for me… A company is rehabbing it. South Baltimore is in the midst of a revival, so her old house was perfect for a company to gobble up and restore.

They took off the form stone front (it used to look like the houses on either side of it, form stone was a popular trend in the 50s) and restore the original brick. It’s beautiful. I spent so many nights of my childhood sitting on those steps with my grandmother. It’s a South Baltimore thing, sitting on the stoop. People would stop by and talk. It was so… neighborly. The house has new windows and upon a peek in them I was delighted to see all new walls, wood floors, and beautiful trim. I’m so happy to see this house restored to its glory, but so sad that my grandmother never got to enjoy it, and even sadder that this place is no longer a part of our family.

I love irony of this picture. The greatest city in the world, indeed. We’re just so busy being great we can’t trouble ourselves with picking up the trash…

Even with the rough patches, it's a beautiful city.

ABC’s of the First Day of School

2010-08-23T20:11:00.001-04:00

A – Adorable. My kids, they are.

B – Buzz Lightyear shoes that Cole insisted on wearing even though he complains they hurt his feet. But hey, they light up.

C – Car line pickup. It was a little bit like the apocalypse.

D – Daddy, who had to deliver Cole to his first day of preschool since I can’t be all places all the time.

E – Early wakeup. For me at least. The kids slept in, which is hysterical since they were up at 6am every day of the summer.

F – Fancy. What Cole called the plaid shorts I picked out for him and the reason for his refusal to wear them.

G – Gatorade. Our special after the gym after the first day of school drink from the gym vending machine.

H – Hectic. An honest description of what it’s like to have to deal with kids at two different schools.

I – Impressed. Mason’s teacher is amazing with how she speaks in this low, slow voice. Those kids listen. I could learn a thing or two from her.

J – Junk food. How every first day of school should end.

K – Kindergarten. Can’t believe it!

L – Lemonade served at the “Boo hoo” breakfast. Spilled by Lila all over the media center.

M – Memories to last a lifetime!

N – Nap for Lila. Oh wait, there wasn’t one.

O – Overwhelming. This entire day!

P – Playing outside. Cole’s favorite part of the day today. Although I don’t see how since it rained all day and he doesn’t seem soaking wet.

Q – Quiet. My house with the boys gone. It was also clean, which was bizarre.

R – Relaxing. What I’m going to do for the rest of the evening.

S – Sunbutter sandwiches. Good ol’ PB&J is banned from Cole’s school, so I passed off sunbutter to both of them hoping they won’t notice. So far, so good.

T – Technology time. Mason’s favorite part of the day today. Shocker.

U – Umbrella. It was a very rainy day, like most have been lately. I’m ready to build an ark.

V – Valium. I’m gonna need one.

W – Work. It takes a lot to get your kids to and from school.

X – Xanax. I’m gonna need one.

Y – Yoga class that I had to teach at 4:30, meaning Lila went to the gym kids club without a nap.
Z – Zzzzzzs. What I’m going to need a lot of tonight in hopes of making a full recovery!

The Many Faces of Cole

2010-08-20T10:59:00.003-04:00

Cole is my free-spirited child. Almost always you can find him with a smile plastered on his face. It's fascinating to me that I have a child who's so busy soaking up life. (My general personality is that I'm too busy with life to soak it up, if you know what I mean.)

When I became pregnant with him, my firstborn was a whopping nine months old. So being as Mason was still very much in the baby stage and his newborn stage was still fresh in my mind, I sorta (unrealistically) expected my second to be just the same.

Couldn't be farther from the truth.

These two could not be more different, and I'm not just talking about Cole's blonde hair and blue eyes.

Mason's very interested in learned facts--numbers, letters, words, bookish stuff-- Cole wants to take crap apart and learn how it works. I call him the Evil Genius, if only he could use his powers for good.

Today Cole mentioned that we need to buy another dog so Mike has someone to play with. It'll be a cold day in hell before I bring another being into this house--the last thing I need is another mouth to feed and more crap to clean up.

So I laughed and said, "No, Mike doesn't need a friend."

Cole's response: "When is Jack going to come back to be Mike's friend."

Jack was our Jack Russell Terror, I mean Terrier who died four years ago (three days before Cole was born in fact). He was bit by a coral snake.

I said to him, "No Cole, Jack is in heaven so he won't be coming back."

Mason chimes in, "Yeah, Jack is in heaven with God."

Cole, after a pregnant pause said, "Well, can he come back down if he promises to stay away from snakes so he doesn't get bitten again?" Cole must have heard us tell the story to someone somewhere along the line.

This whole exchange went down in the car. Life's most important conversations happen in a minivan.

So I'm driving, stupefied, wondering what to say to this. Death is something so hard to understand, let alone explain in appropriate terms to a four year old.

Saved by Mason, the ever precocious child. "It doesn't work that way, Cole," he said.

"Oh, okay. Can we go have a playdate with Matthew?" was Cole's very accepting response.

I've been known to make problems more difficult than they need to be. I guess I'll leave the life lessons up to Mason from now on.

The Seven Day Countdown

2010-08-16T13:25:00.003-04:00

I had the best weekend.

It was just what I needed, being here at the end of summer (and therefore on the cusp of losing my sanity. Long story short, it involved my kids spending the night with their grandparents, celebrating a friend’s 21st (plus a few) birthday, sleeping in, a delicious breakfast, an indulgent take-your-time-and-don’t-worry-about-getting-paged-to-the-Kids-Club kind of workout, a trip to the beach with my friend (the first time I’ve been to the beach in many moons where I was able to pack one small, teeny bag to hold my stuff), an afternoon with a book, and an evening at the movies.

Jealous?

So here we are on Monday. At first glance it’s an ordinary Monday, but if you look a little closer at the calendar you’d notice it’s the last Monday before the kids start school. I wasn’t teaching any classes this morning so I really was enjoying my one of my last mornings of not having to rush kids off to school (I am teaching tomorrow and Wednesday, but repeat performances of this lazy morning will be held on Thursday and Friday).

Tomorrow is Cole’s open house, Wednesday we find out who Mason’s Kindergarten teacher is, and Friday is his open house. I am so excited for it all!

And then there’s my girl Lila. When the boys depart on Monday I’m sure I will have my share of sadness and bittersweet moments. But I am really, really looking forward to spending some time alone with my girl. It’s been nice having the boys around all summer but I miss my mornings of last spring, where it was just me and Lila. She’s my sidekick. She’s really good at it too! I’ve discovered lately that I’m a bit lost when I’m without all of the kids, so at least I still have one to keep me company. And this might sound really strange, but I've never had one-on-one time with a two year old. When Mason was two, Cole was six months old, when Cole was two, Lila was a newborn. I have really learned to appreciate alone time with my children.

The summer has ended with a bang. The boys did a little set of swim classes last week and were proud to get diplomas at the end. (***Dislclaimer: All photos are craptastic iPhone photos. I forgot my camera. Hey, no one's perfect.)

They learned the backstroke and the freestyle stroke, and Mason has proven to be a wicked fast freestyle swimmer. His only (and quite significant) downfall is that he forgets to pick his head up and breathe. But watching him tear across that water freestyle is some kind of amazing. Cole is more interested in diving to the bottom to retrieve things off the pool floor. The kid is a solid hunk of very heavy muscle. Buonacy is not his forte. They both have taken to jumping off the diving board, something that looks so freaky I don't even know if *I* would be brave enough to attempt it. But that's little boys for ya.

On the last day all the kids were allowed to go down the waterslides twice, which is a huge deal because typically you need to be 48 inches or taller to go down them during park hours. On one hand this is cool because they were excited and had so much fun. On the other hand when we go there on our own to visit it’s going to be tough to explain to them that they’re not tall enough to go down the slides when they can clearly remember that exception being made.

Excluded from swim lessons due to the broken collar bone of the Summer of '10, is Lila. Still as cute as ever.

At the end of the school year I had decided to keep the kids home all summer, mostly due to Mason’s increasingly more vocal request that he was getting burnt out of school. Truth was he’d been attending almost nonstop since he turned three. I am proud to say that with the exception of one week of vacation bible school, they have been my constant companions. Let’s just say that next summer a little bit more scheduled activities will be involved. As much as I enjoyed the low key nature of most days, my sanity is on the line here. Plus Mason in particular has been requesting me to enroll him in a different activity every five minutes. Soccer, tennis, basketball, bowling, more swim lessons… you name it, he wants to do it. What’s summer for if not to explore some interests?

So here I sit, on the cusp of major changes with my family. I am bad with change. Extremely. But time waits for no (wo)man, and Change it is a comin’.

Mother Age

2010-08-05T11:51:00.000-04:00

I’m under the mistaken impression that I am still young.

It has recently come to my attention that I am not.

Even though I am still (for a few more weeks at least) in my 20’s, I have three kids. The first one ages you three years, the second one ages you four more, and the third one ages you five years on top of that.

So just like we used to have “weighted” GPAs in high school, my Mother Age is somewhere around 42. Which 42 is not “old” per se, but when you’re an honorary 42 year old who doesn’t sleep enough and eats a nutritionally void diet that is mostly consumed while standing at the kitchen counter, it’s a little rough.

And then, you get the bright idea to consumer bottles, yes bottles of wine with your friends and stay out until midnight on a Wednesday night.

Wednesday night is half price wine bottle night at The Pub, for those of you who are interested. So my cohorts and I headed out to take advantage of this. And then, about 30 minutes in, this drunk 24 year old kid came over to hit on us, three married ladies. Kara asked him how old he is and his answer was something to the effect of “I’m younger than you, of course.”

This, coupled with the fact that he had (at 8pm) already consumed so much beer that he couldn’t open his eyes all the way, should have been a warning.

The night lumbered on and he started tell us how his sister (who I went to high school with) is a whore because she got pregnant and had a abortion at 17. What kind of wacko calls his sister a whore to perfect strangers?? That was just the tip of the iceberg, but I won’t go into details here. Let’s just say it was highly disturbing, and he repeatedly tried to get Keri to leave with him because he deemed by some method his puny little brain created that she had the least happy marriage out of the three of us and was the likeliest to commit adultery. Like I said, he was a super individual.

So we ended up next door at the pizza place to let some of the wine to wear off. And when I say pizza place, I’m talking like gourmet, fancy pizza. It was delicious. So there we are, at 11pm or something, eating our delicious pizza with wonderfully spicy pepperoni, and the owner of the place comes over to chat. He’s a legit Italian guy named Fabio. He ends up pouring us some champagne and discussing how American men only work out their upper bodies and never their legs, therefore making them look like birds. His point is an excellent one. Anyway, he was a super nice guy, and like I said, his place makes the most lovely, flavorful pizza I’ve had in some time. But in the back of my mind I keep thinking, who do we think we are? Young people with no kids? This is going to hurt in the morning.

And, uh yeah, it hurts. I woke up thirsty, hungry, thirsty, hungry some more, and tired. The kids were up at 6:30, and I had no time to acclimate before I picked myself up by the boot straps and headed out to swim lessons.

So, I think that when you and two friends consume two bottles of wine plus some champagne, get insulted by a guy in a bar who is only five years younger than you but behaves worse than your toddler, and stay out so late that it’s the next day when you make it home, you can add 15 years to your already adjusted Mother Age. Which makes me 57 today.

That feels about right. I must have some grandchildren running around here somewhere.

Summertime, And the Living Ain't Easy

2010-07-22T17:05:00.000-04:00

I LOVE this picture. I have titled it "Summertime." I feel this is an appropriate representation.

It's been more than a month since I have posted. I have lots of good excuses.

Summertime is an interesting beast. I was so excited to get to it, so glad to have days where the kids and I could rise leisurely, craft four course meals for breakfast, and take our time deciding what to do with the day.

This never happened. Of course it doesn't help that I don't cook.

And besides, I selectively blocked out that at least two morning a week I have to rise and instruct yoga. A welcome break to the cacaophony of screaming and fighting that has been the soundtrack of summer, but it does stand in the way of the aforementioned leisurely mornings.

You see, children like to fight amongst themselves. Siblings get a special kick out of sparring with one another. It's enough to drive a mother mad.

Two weeks ago I really was questioning my need for a padded room. Friday had arrived, I was at the end of my wits, and was thankful, grateful, excited and ready for the weekend. Saturday I took some me time and strolled the Waterside Shops, and when I began to feel like a human being again I returned home, ready to step back into my role of mother.

Just in time, too, because an injury had been sustained.

Long story short, the kids and Rey were playing outside and Lila fell and fratured her collar bone. I will take this (and any other opportunity) to say how wonderful I think Dr. Wilson is because he gives you his cell phone number for Saturday emergencies. He says four weeks until she's healed, and you can set your watch by that. I'm pretty sure he keeps a crystal ball in his office to predict such things. You can't *do* anything in terms of a cast for a broken clavicle, no matter how minor or severe. He explained to me how it heals, something to the effect of that the fracture will form a calcification around it and that shortly thereafter it would wear itself away into a new bone. Sorta like a miracle, if you ask me.

So we persist, our only healing instruction is to keep her calm, prevent falls that would further damage the weakened bone. Keeping a two year old calm is an... interesting challenge. She's not allowed to swim, or bike ride, or go in bounce houses, or basically do any of the things that up to that point had been helping us survive the summer. And since she can't do this stuff, by and large neither can the boys. So instead they go buck wild around the house.

It's funny how just when I was at my breaking point, just when I thought I was done and couldn't take another thing, another thing happened and proved me wrong. Because as mothers we don't have a choice. We can't break, we're never done, and there's always, always another thing that we have to take on.

Summer can suck it. I'm ready for school to start. Which I would feel slightly guilty about if the kids weren't excited too. Mason asks every day when he gets to go to Kindergarten, when he gets to start at his new school. Cole's missing his friends, and Lila's going to be taking a weekly dance class. So there's a lot of fun things in the horizon as summer sets and fall rises.

I personally can't wait.

In the meantime I've been investing small fortunes into school supplies. Mason got a new backpack.

And I love to cruise the aisles of Target. I must admit that school supplies are my weakness. It's one of my happy memories as a kid when my mom would take us to the store to buy all of our stuff. I can still remember the smell of it all. And then I'd bring it home and inhale the smell more, unpack, organize, and load it all into my backpack. Good times!

I've got to make it through two more weeks with my broken baby, and after that we have two more weeks of summer fun.

In the meantime, we have been playing a lot of Band Hero.

Amber and Ashley Vacate Plus Eight

2010-06-17T17:13:00.013-04:00

The plan was simple—to have no plan. And the beauty of having no expectations means that it’s impossible to be disappointed. Even better—you could be very pleasantly surprised like I was.

My only thought about the trip was to get away from my house, my chores, my daily grind, and go and spend some time with great friends and their kids who I love. This was a guarantee.

Then I met the ocean.

I had frolicked with the Atlantic before, yes, but it’s been years. When I was a kid and we lived in Maryland we’d spend two weeks each Thanksgiving in Fort Lauderdale. We stayed in the same exact hotel each time. My dad would get up at the crack of dawn and dig for sand fleas to use as bait. He had an impossibly long fishing pole that had a base that was as thick around as my seven year old arm, and when he’d cast it I could swear it’d go out for miles. This is a set of memories from my childhood that I won’t forget.

So imagine my surprise when I bounded down the boardwalk, lugging a superhuman amount of towels, sunscreen and beach toys, with wild children swirling around me like a nebulous of chaos, only to lay eyes on the Atlantic Ocean for the first time in perhaps a decade or more.

Beaches are not a novelty to me. In fact, I can’t understand it when people come to visit Naples and marvel over the gulf waters and palm trees that stand at attention along each and every street. It’s just my normal. I was expecting this beach to be just as normal.

Boy, was I wrong.

It was stunning.

Those who know me know I sorta kinda hate the beach. Sand in particular. You can never seem to get rid of it. But I have cheated on my Naples gulf beach with Amelia Island’s Atlantic one. And I will have a hard time forgetting about my summer love affair.

Our first trip was during low tide, and there was this vast pool of water only a several inches deep that spanned about 20 feet before you made it to the tide. Perfect for little people. Cole spent hours, no exaggeration, trying to catch these tiny little minnows for his bucket. With the help of some kind folks from Pensacola, he did. And named his fish Dirty Head.

Dirty Head met a sad demise when Cole left him unattended to attend to his own bathroom needs. Savannah, who was herself engulfed in her own obsession of playing in a hole, dumped him over in a fit of splashing joy. And Dirty Head was a goner.

Soon Cole had acquired two new fish, and Siennah one was well, thanks to the same kind family.

The waves on the Atlantic were something else. I knew they were bigger, better, and badder than our measly gulf waves, that only makes sense. But they were so. much. cooler. than I ever thought possible. I could stand there for hours (and did) watching them roll in, the incoming one fighting to overcome the receding one, leaving behind proof of their visit by way of white foam. They roared and lapped as they moved, and I realized the ocean was talking to us. I feel like the ocean is an analogy for my own life, noisy, chaotic, but so incredibly beautiful.

And then, I discovered body surfing. The guys had been at it from Day One, with Mason and Sebastian in tow. Cole was more interested in sand activities and Siennah was supremely occupied by worrying about everyone drowning (at the beginning at least, she warmed up markedly there towards the end). Amber and I were glad to let them be, busying ourselves with watching the little ones and taking pictures. Until we got too hot and had to swim. And so it began.

It was so fun! As in SO freakin’ fun! These huge waves would come along and lift you up, take you to their swell, and put your feet back on the ground. Sometimes it was a kind and gentle little ride, and sometimes it was a splashing, violent jaunt where on more than one occasion I wondered if a rip tide was going to take me away, never to see the light of day again. But I am paranoid like that.

Moral of the story: Go Body Surfing. Cause it’s awesome.

Sleep was scarce, thanks to an army of little kids who were anxious to get up an play. The latest they slept was 6:43, and the earliest and rudest awakening came on the last day at 6:02. Tired parents who had spent every night burning the midnight oil enjoying cocktails and company were not ready to wake this early. Save one day that Amber and I went to checkout the sunrise.

Sunrise, like waves, is a novelty to me. We here on the west coast obviously have sunsets, a much more accommodating beauty to a non-morning person like myself. However, I rationalized that in fact it was my one chance since who knows when and until who knows when that I could soak one up. So awaken I did at 5:45, by choice, and still clad in my jammies trudged with my friend down to the beauty that is the beach.

Fog. Fog prevented my vision of that big orange orb peeking up over the horizon, but we were still treated to a visual delight. What started as a gray and bleary-eyed morning, soon turned into a promising purple sky, which led to a pink horizon that was soon overtaking by brilliant orange. My once bleary eyes were opening wider and wider. It was a simply breathtaking way to greet the day. Even though bugs were snacking on my delicious skin.

And on top of that, this little guy swam by for a visit.

We rode bikes. Amber and I, thankfully, were solo riders. Rey and Brian were not so lucky, each towing a baby on a baby seat and two big kids in a trailer. It was nothing short of hysterical watching them attempt to pedal up some of the hills and come to a complete stop. But then again (full disclosure here) I did crash into a tree. There was great humor in the fact that I, a certified Spinning instructor, crashed my bike into a tree. To which my response is this—you don’t have to steer a Spin bike people! And for that matter, I have never in my life ridden a bike anywhere except for southwest Florida, which means I have never in my life ridden a bike anywhere that a thing called a “hill” exists. It’s hard to steer and pedal and brake so you don’t go flying. One hits a tree from time to time. No humans, animals or foliage was harmed.

Note the trees—all the trees on the island were adorned with lovely, soft beards of moss. Amber was quite obsessed with them. And every time I looked at them, all I could think was that they were good for packing a wound (a bit of trivia that I learned here).

We toured Fort Clinch which both astounded me in its beauty and totally freaked me out. The boys were stoked to see canon balls, guns, and the "soldier" (ask him anything! He either knows the answer or will make one up so convincingly that you’ll never know the difference). Brian watched a 15 minute video at the beginning of the tour, committed the whole thing to memory and was officially the unofficial tour guide.

My favorite part of the tour! ; )

More pics to follow... (I say that with optimism and unwavering faith in myself that I will, in fact, get around to posting more!)

Tick Tock

2010-06-06T13:12:00.003-04:00

Have you ever had a night that just wouldn't end? You watch the minutes tick by on the clock thinking "if I fall asleep right now I can still get three hours" which quickly turns into two hours, and then one. You alternate between hoping for sleep and praying for morning, both of which seem to make the time go by slower. Sometimes it's insomnia, sometimes it's a baby crying because she's on vacation and away from her own bed. My case was the latter.

Eventually, the night did end.

And the morning was there to greet me, whether I was ready or not.

I wasn't.

Our vacation was waiting also, and vacation waits for no tired mommy. We spent the day at the beach here on Amelia Island. I am no stranger to beaches, being as I live a mere three mikes from Florida's gulf coast. But let me tell ya, the Atlantic beach is the big mama to the gulf beaches.

First I was shocked by the sand. It's real, unadulterated, nature made beach sand. Ours is trucked in and powdery fine. Little to no shell action. Whereas here you could actually make a day of hunting for shells, a pastime which I now finally understand.

Second, the span of space from the beach to wet sand, from wet sand to this odd little two inch deep shallow tide area, and finally to the edge of the water to the waves.

And the WAVES! They are legit, people. Mason and his buddy Sebastian were taught to body surf by their fathers, and I daresay that with enough food and beers (for the dads, that is) they could body surf themselves into next week.

It is strange to be a stranger to the beach. I officially feel like a tourist now.

Until tomorrow, which hopefully is its own day and not a big long continuous run-on sentence like today and yesterday have become!

A Sweet Celebration

2010-06-04T19:51:00.012-04:00

A photo essay...

Why? Because we are leaving for vacation tomorrow and I am so unbelievably tired I can barely put two words together.

I only have one thing to say other than that--I am the cupcake master.

Oh, and my pals are the best gals around.

Lila

2010-05-20T19:26:00.000-04:00

Hi.

My name is Ya-ya. Spelled L-I-L-A, but I like to call myself Ya-ya.

Today is my birfday. I am two.

Being two is fun. I love my life! I get to play with my bruh-yahs, Mas and Co-Co.

My favorite thing to do is to cullah. You know, with crayons.

I like to watch "packpack" on TV. Mason insists it's called "Dora" but I am certain he is wrong.

I'm a super big girl now. I like to use the potty ever chance I get, but my mama says she doesn't have time for me to be potty trained. Those big girl underwears are so pretty though. Mine have Tinkerbell on them.

My mullet has finally grown out long enough so mommy can manage it. Every morning I make her put pigtails in my hair. Or else.

My favorite 'nack is raisins. I leave them all over the house!

Every night before I go to bed, I tiss mommy, tiss, daddy, and tiss my bruh-yahs. I love to give tisses. Mwah! Then I say nah-nite.

I am happy to be two.

Happy birfday to me! Sing it, people.

P.S. I'm having a really "sweet" birthday party this weekend. If my mommy has her act together she'll post some pictures next week.

True Floridians

2010-05-19T13:58:00.001-04:00

The Unexpected Gift

2010-05-17T12:57:00.004-04:00

The manner of giving is worth more than the gift. ~Pierre Corneille

On Friday, Cole came home from preschool with a gift from his friend.

It was from his "best girl friend" Tianna.

I think she really likes Zac Efron.

She even made some sweet little hearts for the box. And yes, that's a Gucci G, my friends. Cole's best girl friend has good taste!

What was in the box? I was as excited to see as Cole was.

It was a bear.

Cole quickly dubbed him "Nosey." He sleeps in Cole's bed along with Ruffie, the 'Poster (Imposter) Ruffie, Fat Penguin, Scooby Doo, Froggie the Wenkinz, Baby Jaguar and three blankies. It's really crowded in there.

All weekend Cole carried Nosey in that box. I'm sure he'll start up again when he comes home from school today. He kept talking about Tianna and how much he loves Nosey.

And I keep thinking about this little girl, working on crafting this little box for my boy. It makes me happy for him that he's sweet to her and that she wanted to do something nice for my little guy. And above all else I am so happy for her that she's so caring and big-hearted to do something like this for another child.

It sure made him happy. And me too.

Work It

2010-05-14T16:48:00.001-04:00

The thing about teaching an exorbitant amount of fitness classes is that you have to eat a lot of food.

And I mean a lot.

Or you'll starve.

No joke.

For most people, this likely is not a problem. But those people probably like to cook. And even if they don't, they probably still do it on a regular basis.

In the last 30 days, I have taught at least 23 classes (I lost count somewhere along the line). That, my friends, is quite a bit. In addition to that, I've also tried to maintain my own workout routines by taking a yoga class here and there instead of teaching, and throwing in some cardio when it's been a few days between teaching spin classes. And I love it.

I am a machine.

My machine needs more fuel.

There are days where I literally burn so many calories I cannot possibly eat enough. Case in point Monday, when I taught two spin classes and a yoga for a grand total burn of somewhere in the neighborhood of 1400 calories.

Interestingly enough, the more active I am, the more my body craves healthier food. This is certainly a conundrum because I abhor all aspects related to healthy meal preparation. I don't like the planning, nor the shopping, I'd rather read a book than cook, and cleanup is for the birds.

But I have to eat. It's really quite a predicament.

On top of that, I've been getting a lot of flack when I mention to people that I don't often cook dinner. I get incredulous looks that go from disbelief, to jealousy, to pity for my poor family. So I had to make a decision: either start cooking, or stop telling people that I don't.

I decided to meet halfway--I'm trying to cook a little more and I don't mention to anyone the amount of Calistoga and Tijuana Flats my family consumes. I think it's a nice arrangement.

The irony is I am busier than I've ever been. And incorporating meal prep into this when it wasn't part of the schedule before is slightly laughable.

But it's working. And Rey is ranting and raving about how good everything I make is.

I can't figure out if he's telling the truth or just trying to keep me going...

May Day. And a Mayday, too.

2010-05-01T08:00:00.000-04:00

Once upon a time, I was bored.

That time was a long time ago.

A while back I talked about having lost the balance in my life and losing myself in motherhood. That was probably the beginning of this process. The process of digging myself out. Because of all those things I listed there, I have actually pursued several of them. Some I will mention. Some I will not...

First off, I have become a yoga teaching maniac. I am currently teaching three classes per week, and then on top of that I sub a few almost every week. I was calling myself the yogamatic there for a couple of weeks because there was a raging illness running rampant amongst the instructors so I was subbing more classes that I can count.

That has moved on into teaching the other classes I am certified for, Spinning and general group fitness. I actually subbed a cardio class this week. It was pretty amusing, to me at least, since cardio is so not my forte. But that was okay, because I balanced that with Spinning, which I love, and yoga, which I am very good at. I taught 7 classes in 6 days. I would be lying if I told you my body didn't feel abused.

In addition to my fitness craze, I have, as I mentioned, been moving forward with some other me projects. It has been lovely. Doing what I want to do is an amazing novelty. I just wish I had more time to do it, because something had to give. In order to do the teaching, and the planning, and my own working out, and all the other things I've gotten myself into, other things are neglected.

The house is a little less clean.

The laundry takes a little longer to make it from the baskets to the drawers and closets.

Even more of the meals are coming to the table by way of carry out containers.

So now I am THAT MOM. The one who has no time. Who is so involved in being so involved that many days I forget my name. It is only appropriate that today is May 1st, "May Day", because I feel like screaming that from the rooftops. Only I would turn it into one word.

Mayday!

She's going down.

Balance... the scales have certainly tipped the other way.

APBs - Acquired Preschool Behaviors

2010-04-18T18:15:00.000-04:00

We as stay-at-home parents relish in the fact that for a certain number of years were are able to raise our children with no influences from the outside world. Being with one's children 24/7 gives certain advantages, such as knowing what food they're eating and keeping them away from the undesirable influences of other nasty little children with biting habits or the like.

But then, someone along age 3, preschool seems like a wonderful idea. And we stay-at-home parents remain as such, but our lovely little offspring head to be handled by someone else for a few hours each week.

And as such, we are not longer in control of their perfect little environment, where they eat healthy foods because they don't realize that other kids are allowed to drink soda, which you've always told them in a grown-up drink, like beer, and whiskey.

And they befriend other little boys and girls, some of whom are rambunctious and have nasty little habits of saying things like "Awesome!" and "Great!" in a sarcastic fashion when their will is not met.

I call these Acquired Preschool Behaviors. Also knows as APBs.

Not at day that goes by, not a day, where one of the boys doesn't say or do something that makes us say, "Where in the world did they learn that?" Sometimes I ask, and Mason is such a forthright little child that he'll flat out tell me where he picked up whatever annoying or endearing behavior he was just displaying.

Most notable APBs:

Reminding us that "Stupid is a bad word." Listen, I understand all the reasons we might not want our young little cherubs wielding the word stupid. But who is the stupid person that came up with the brilliant idea to tell them "Stupid is a bad word." Do we say, "F$%k is a bad word"? NO. We simply say, "We don't say that." So then the little children take delight in reminding the world, at every possible opportunity that stupid is, in fact, a bad word. So when say, someone's mother is struggling a great struggle to get a certain new toys out of the jaws of death that is toy packaging these days, and she utters "Why can't I get this stupid thing out?", she might not have her frustration added to by her five year old reminding her that "Stupid is a bad word." It's not like I, er I mean, she was dropping the f-bomb.

Thinking that every day is an occasion for Chuck-E-Cheese's. Perhaps it makes me a bad mother, but I liken a trip to Chuck-E-Cheese's akin to entering the gates of hell. There are too many of other people's children there. And other people tend to forget to supervise their children. So I don't take my kids there, like ever. But of course, so and so from preschool goes there all the freakin' time. So now I am not only a bad mother, but my kid knows it. He's on to me, knowledge gained as part of his preschool education.

Why did the chicken cross the road type jokes. Except they make zero sense. Examples: Why did the window cross the road? Cause he wanted to go camping!

Saying 'Hey' is for horses! Over and over again. 'Nuff said.

I'm beginning to see why people homeschool. You might go out of your mind trying to do it, but your children will be much less annoying as a result.

Sunshine and Lights

2010-04-08T10:23:00.004-04:00

In light of the fact that Cole has turned four, it was time for him annual trip to see Dr. Wilson.

First words out of his mouth?

Do I get a shot?

Naturally it's what any four year old would want to know. And thankfully Dr. Wilson saves the shots for the five year visit, so we get to put that unpleasantness off for another 365 days. Due to recent anxieties the boys have about the doctor's office, I've enacted a rule that they can bring their Ruffie along for the visit.

Clearly Cole's Ruffie is not a dog. Mason's however, is. And when Cole was a baby and heard Mason calling his prized little lovey "Ruffie" Cole was sure that his little friend should go by the same name. Cause Big Brothers always know what's right.

Ruffie is Cole's best bud, and he doesn't get out much. I live in fear that he, who is in my opinion more valuable than gold, will be lost.

Ruffie, as you can see, if very well loved. He's so well loved that he's pretty much flat, his arms completely so, all the stuffing that once resided inside him having been hugged flat by an abundance of love. He needs a little plastic surgery, a nip and restuff, but I am deadly afraid Cole will flip with any alterations. So Ruffie slumps. He doesn't seem to mind.

Cole has a wonderful imagination, more colorful than the rainbow. He treats his Ruffie so well, making sure he always has something to eat and always gets to see the sights. He was so excited to show Ruffie all the toys in the waiting room, and as he was introduced, Ruffie barked his approval.

When I got the usual gamut of questions from Dr. W (any problems, does he sleep, does he eat, seem to be allergic to anything, does he like school, follow discipline) I really couldn't come up with a single issue to raise.

And it filled my heart once again that my sweet little Cole is such an easygoing dude. He lives in this world, soaking up every moment with a smile, showcasing his chipped tooth from one of his lesser moments. And despite those lesser moments that all kids have, right now, in his four year old state, Cole is the sunshine of my life.

The members of a family are like actors in a play--everyone has a part. Sometimes we trade parts so that other members get a chance to shine as the lead. Right now, Cole's our leading man.

And on a completely unrelated note, I am now the proud owner of a Canon Speedlite 580EX II external flash!! Ahhh, photography equipment.... There's just nothing like having a new piece of it. Now if I only had 45 spare seconds to put some batteries in it and try that bad boy out!

Rhetorical Rhetoric

2010-04-06T11:23:00.001-04:00

Lots of things on my mind lately. I know, it's amazing!

So here, in no particular order, I offer the following:

When does tree pollen season end? I think I might throw a party when that happens.

Is it better to clean one room completely and then move on to the next, or move from room to room in 15 minute increments?

Why can't the washer and dryer take the same amount of time to operate?

How come children find so much joy in throwing clean laundry all over the dirty floor?

My brother-in-law was on my porch at 7:30am collecting the tables and chairs from the party. I was not expecting him and his scared the bejeez out of me. He's lucky I'm a liberal and don't own a gun.

I am, however, very thankful that he removed the tables and chairs for me. And that he laid sod in my yard last week. My husband should be more thankful because both of these tasks were his chores. He too is lucky that I'm a liberal and don't own a gun.

Why is it that no matter how much space you have in your house you seem to fill it, and no matter how much money you have you seem to spend it? Same goes with time.

Do you think the QWERTY keyboard really is the best key placement for optimal typing? I have always wondered.

Does your baby's crib bumper fit in your washer? Lila's doesn't and it's highly inconvenient.

How many strollers do normal people own? I have five right now and am told that's excessive.

Is there a way to put sheets on bunk beds that does not involve calisthenics and sweating?

Wouldn't it be nice if there was one company that collected all of your bills and gave you the total so you only had to write one check?

How does anyone live without an iPhone?

That's all for now folks.

Monster Truck Sized Egg-Shaped Celebrations

2010-04-04T18:02:00.007-04:00

I woke up this morning the way I always do--to one of my children staring in my face.

This time it was Cole. The birthday boy.

He climbed in bed with me and I snuggled him. Told him it was his birthday and now, at long last, he was officially four. And then I looked at the clock and noted the time.

It was almost exactly the same time it was four years ago when I met him for the first time, several hours after his tumultuous and highly dramatic entry into this world. And in retrospect, I can't believe after such an entrance he has turned out to be such a quiet, easy-going, happy-go-lucky child.

Have you heard of a Golden Birthday? It just learned of this phenom last week. Apparently it's when your age matches your date of birth. So since Cole was born on the 4th and he's turning four, it's his Golden Birthday. Imagine that.

Since today is Easter, we had his party yesterday. It would have been so nice to have his party today, on his actual birthday, but of course people would be celebrating the holiday with their families.

This year was awesome, because Cole told me exactly what kind of birthday party he wanted. A bounce house party, at our house, with monster trucks. Pirate monster trucks, to be specific (come to find out this means Captain's Curse from Monster Jam).

I thought all of his decisiveness would take the guess work out of it for me, but it just so happens that Monster Trucks are the hardest to find, hardest to plan birthday decorations. But I worked it out. Right down to the cake. After Target and Publix were both sold out of their monster truck cake decoration parts, I said eff it (literally, I was frustrated) and made my own cake.

Then I found these snazzy letter candles, but of course there was no "Cole." They were also sold out of most single letters. So how did I score this? There was a "Nicole." Ha!

Pre cake he's already got chocolate on his face. Donuts. We had a breakfast party. Getting the kids nice and jacked up on sugar. : )

Lila, in her very own pink monster truck shirt. With her very own chocolate donut face.

After the party, after the cleanup, after Cole and I went to Publix to order cupcakes for his class party on Monday, we switched out of Birthday mode and into Easter mode to color eggs.

Before.

During.

After. 18 freshly colored little cadets standing proudly in their carton.

And then this morning when Rey pulled out the white eggs to make Cole's breakfast french toast, Cole wondered what kind of trick we played on him to make the "painted" eggs plain again.

This morning, in a special hybrid Easter/Birthday mode... we stopped in our harried rush to make it from point A to B to C to Z and took a few quick Easter best pictures.

My girl.

My girl and her brothers who love her to bitty bits.

I almost made Cole change out of his blazing red Crocs. But he really wanted to wear them. And although some might think they ruin the "perfect" shot, I think the perfect shot consists of perfectly happy kids. It was his birthday, he was already sharing it with a holiday, and by george if wearing red Crocs would make him happy then it also make this picture perfect.

It also covers their perfect little personalities. Lila the Ham. Mason the Showman. And Cole, perfectly bored out of him mind and wondering when this would be over so he could get back to his Dragon Wagon.

I made it into a picture!

Tried to fire off some singles of the boys.

Mason poses.

Cole does not.

He would be very pleased for you to know that he's now four. That's four years old, people.

And lastly, a cake. Post egg hunt, post Easter brunch with one family and Easter dinner with another, we had the final cake. With four candles.

Egg-shaped for Easter, with four springtime layers.

Between the cakes and the candy, our entire family is poised to lapse into a sugar coma.

I think I did a good job of making the best of my boy sharing his birthday with Easter. I think I managed to make him feel special and still make a special holiday for my other Garanimals.

But I am dead dog-tired. And thankful that Easter doesn't fall on April 4th every year.

I assumed it would happen at some point again though, and I even took the time to look it.

2021. Easter will be on Cole's birthday again when he turns 15.

At least I have 11 years to recover from this weekend before I have to do it again.

Dancing With Slightly Well-Known People

2010-03-23T15:41:00.000-04:00

Disclaimer: The post I am about to write is going to take me way too much time and be entirely too lengthy. But still I persist on. Because I feel it’s my duty as an American.

I have a confession. I am a reality TV junkie.

I attribute it largely to the fact that not only are less and less non-reality shows being made, but the ones that ARE made seem to always be canceled. Think Kings, Lipstick Jungle, Privileged, Pushing Daisies…

So I have given up on them.

Enter Dancing With the Stars.

I love this show.

I am less than impressed with the new season of stars. I can barely call most of them that with a straight face.

I think it’s hilarious how each star had to introduce him or herself and then explain why they’re famous. Because without that explanation, we might very well be left wondering.

Chad OCHOCINCO!!! and Cheryl

I’ll be honest—Cheryl bugs the crap out of me. I liked her a lot when she was partnered with Drew Lachey, but then she got a little too cocky for the likes of me.

But there’s something about pairing Cocky Cheryl up with Cocky Chad that makes me wanna scream ME LIKEY!

I’m not exactly a Bengals fan, having a general aversion to Ohio due to the fact that so many annoying snowbirds invade my town from there every winter, but I really do like Chad. I think he’s a stellar player, I like his spunk and I mostly like the fact that he looked down at his jersey one day and thought “My jersey number in Spanish would make a super last name.”

And then had the guts to actually change his name.

He did a decent dance last night. So I really hope he sticks around. Even if it means Cheryl has to stick around with him.

Shannon and Mark

I am not her biggest fan. But I do like Mark. I thought her dance last night was a lot better than she was given credit for. So we’ll see.

Erin Andrews and Maks

I’ve always like Erin Andrews. I am a softy for women who are strong enough to take on a stereotypically male profession. It’s the tree hugging feminist in me. I was happy to see her paired up with Maks also because he is one of my favorites. I think they are a good match.

In rehearsal she kept correcting herself before Maks had the chance and I almost peed in my pants when Maks said, “My only pleasure in life is to bitch at people and you’re taking it away.”

I’m sure they will be around for a long time.

Jake and Chelsea

I suffered through a season of The Bachelor with this man. I watched him send home perfectly lovely and delightful women in order to instead propose to Vienna, the one we all love to hate. And now, just when I thought I was free of his hokey ass, he’s on DWTS.

So last night, he did the Viennese Waltz. An ode to his sweet Vienna, how charming. We watched him present his hot blonde partner Chelsea with not one, but two red roses a la The Bachelor. (I really wish they would have cut to a shot of Vienna during their little quasi rose ceremonies. She strikes me as the jealous type, fo sho.) He danced to Seal’s “A Kiss from a Rose.” And then, then as if all this wasn’t enough, rose petals came falling from the ceiling at the end of the dance.

Excuse me. I just threw up a little in my mouth.

I love Chelsea. Love her! But please, America. Please don’t vote for the Hokey.

Nicey Nash and Louis

I have watched an episode or 30 of the show Clean House, so I know who she is. Her frequent references to her “jiggly parts” were funny, and I’m glad she’s comfortable in her skin. But between her relatively unknown status and her partner Louis being one of the less popular professionals, I don’t see her sticking around too long.

Plus she kinda sucked.

Evan and Anna

Everyone loves an Olympian. Remember Kristi Yamaguchi’s stint on DWTS? I like him a lot, and I think he has a distinct advantage. Although he’s not a dancer, I think figure skating lends itself a lot to this show. You’re in good physical shape, you’re used to being coached, you’re used to learning choreography, and you’re used to performing. These are a lot of advantages.

But his partner Anna never seems to connect much with the audience. She has never garnered the following that Chelsea or Cheryl or Julianne have. So we’ll see.

Buzz Alderin and Ashly

It was a nice touch that he was introduced by astronauts.

Poor Ashly. I love her (even though she is totally missing a letter in her name) and remember her awful time with Master P on Season 2. Remember, he wouldn’t even wear dance shoes and danced in sneakers? Imagine that… She left, got married, had a baby, and now she’s back. And I really think they should have given her a celebrity with a shot in hell.

An 80 year old astronaut doesn’t have a shot in hell.

Adorable as he is, a shot in hell he has not.

Nicole and Derek

I think Derek is some sort of unfair advantage. He is so good, and hot, and funny, and downright popular that I think he’s one of the best partners to score.

And of course Derek scored Nicole, who is also hot and popular (remember it’s not always a given on DWTS that the stars really are stars). And of course she’s done music video dancing. I don’t care what the pop stars say about how pop dancing doesn’t prepare them for ballroom. It does. Hello? You’re already coordinated and used to learning and memorizing choreography. Sounds like much more advantageous of a pre-req than say, walking on the moon.

Aidan Turner and Edyta

I am rooting for Edyta so hard. I love her, I envy her, I think she’s great. She’s the only star to be on every season since the beginning, yet she’s never won. So I think it’s fitting that she scores a hot soap star for a partner.

Now I must admit, I had no clue who Aidan Turner was before last night. He’s on All My Children, and I’m a Days of Our Lives girl myself. Something tells me you won’t soon be seeing an NBC soap star on this ABC show… But he’s hot. And he has an Irish accent, which is always a plus.

Too bad he sucks at dancing.

Better luck next year Edyta.

Kate Gosselin and Tony

WTF is up with her hair? I know the reverse mullet was bad but the frizzy extensions don’t strike me as much of an improvement.

She was lousy. And thank goodness for that, cause maybe we won’t have to put up with her for long. Here’s to hopin’.

Pamela Anderson and Damian

That woman is a hot mess. But I think she did very well, especially considering her inexperience, her cougar status, and her life of hard livin’. So we shall see.

Predictions: I’m rooting for Chad, Erin and Nicole.

{images from abc.com}

Book Nook - Graceling and Fire

2010-03-23T14:20:00.001-04:00

Further recommendations from my good pal Kathleen...

I do think it's important to point out that I also recommend books to her as well. I wouldn't want to be thought of as a literary leech.

Graceling and its companion, Fire, by Kristin Cashore

Again, they have some fantasy and supernatural elements, and honestly I was more skittish about reading these than I was The Hunger Games. But that worked out quite well for me, so I had a little faith.

Graceling is the story of Katsa, a girl who is Graced with killing. In this fictional land of the seven kingdoms, some are born with a Grace, and are labeled as Gracelings when their eyes turn and become two different colors. In Katsa's case, she has one green and one blue. Unwilling to be a killing monster, she uses her Grace to form a Council that works towards helping people in danger. This is how she meets Po, a Graceling fighter himself and a prince of Lienid, the only kingdom that is an island. He has one silver eye and one gold, and I can't tell you how much that freaks out my imagination. Can't you see how they would make a stunning couple though?

I was enamoured with this book. It took me a solid 50 pages to really get a rhythm going, but once I was hooked and I was unstoppable and finished this 400 page book in 24 hours. I can't really go into further detail without ruining the whole experience for you, but put your prejudges against two eye colored people aside and read this. Trust me.

I started Fire within hours of finishing Graceling. Fire is dubbed a companion book to Graceling, as it's a bit of a prequel inasmuch as it takes place in the years before Graceling, but the story only shares one character in common. I was so enamoured with Katsa and Po that at first I was greatly depressed about their absence. I forged ahead because trusty Kathleen decreed that she loved Graceling, and loved Fire more.

Fire did not disappoint. It has romance. It has suspense. I was pulling for these people the whole way through. And although both of these novels are labels as the Young Adult drama, this one definitely seemed to me to be more adult in tone. For instance there was a ton of premarital, casual sex, and lots of illegitimate babies and people walking around with confused parentage. But I loved it all the same.

However, I have to disagree with Kathleen. Because I loved Graceling more.

I started to examine why because it really bothered me for no apparent or significant reason. And for me, it came down to the differences between Katsa and Fire.

Both are strong women.

Both love fiercely and are fiercely loved.

But Katsa is a feisty, strong, mud rolling, hunting, takes-care-of-herself kind of girl. She wants a meal? She shoots a rabbit. Someone ticks her off? She kicks him in the temple and knocks him unconscious. She emanates this feeling of never needing anyone to take care of her. And that draws me to her.

Fire is also strong and quite capable in her own ways. But in comparing her to Katsa, she's more of a lady in the traditional sense. She is brave, but still needs protection. And when people do her wrong, she fights them with words and letting them know of her sadness and disappointment, but they learn in a subtle sense. Fire needs, ever so slightly more than Katsa, to be taken care of. So while Fire is an appealing and strong character, Katsa is a badass.

For some reason it seems that all series books are coming in threes as of late. And the third companion book to this series is coming out later this year. I am excited for it, and although I loved these books as much as I loved The Hunger Games and Catching Fire, I am not in such a state of anticipation for Bitterblue because of that fact that it's a companion and not a sequel.

But I'm sure I'll love it to pieces all the same.

Now get to reading people.

Sickness

2010-03-22T09:03:00.000-04:00

I can look at almost any stroller and tell you its make, model and colorway (which in layman's terms, means pattern name).

When presented with the name of a car seat, I can probably tell you it's weight and height limits and why or why not it's a good choice for your child.

And I can look at your baby's outfit and tell you what store it's from. If it's Gymboree, I might even be able to name the line it's from.

And herein lies my sickness.

It is just not normal to know this much useless baby crap. I suppose perhaps it's not useless as people really do need to know that their 23 pound, 31 inch long son can't ride in that Graco Snugride any longer. But boy does he look cute in his Tropical Turtle romper.

Rey always says I should figure out a way to capitalize on my knowledge. He's just trying to figure out a way to make a buck off me, I'm sure. It's his way of saying he's sick of supporting me all these years so I could raise his children and clean his house. (I would add "cook his meals" but of course, I don't do that.)

Do you think I really want to be like this? No! But I can't help it. It's ingrained in me and I can't escape it. My children are getting older and much of this useless information is becoming more and more useless to me.

So next time you're watching a movie with me, don't be alarmed if I exclaim "Chicco Cortina stroller in the Adventure Colorway!"

Cause I am working hard on deprogramming myself.

Cole's Easter Birthday Bunny?

2010-03-20T09:32:00.001-04:00

This year, Cole's birthday falls square on Easter Sunday. And I am at a loss.

Do I forgo a little of Easter for all three of my kids to properly celebrate Cole's birthday?

Or do I forgo a little of Cole's birthday to properly celebrate Easter?

I am an all or nothing kind of girl. So I am having a lot of trouble with this sharing the holiday business. Those of you with Christmas babies, my heart goes out. Although in a way this is tougher because it's difficult to explain to a three-almost-four-year-old why he has to share his birthday with Easter this one year only, when each are equally lofty to a kid his age. The 40 days of lent mean nothing to a kid who can only count to 14.

I'm looking at napkin rings that say "Happy Easter." But I can't use those on Cole's birthday....

Can I?

I'm looking at our typical tradition of taking the birthday child to breakfast with his or her parent of choice.

But we can't split up our whole family for breakfast on Easter Sunday...

Can we?

I feel like whatever way I throw it, someone's going to get shorted. Is this reasonable guilt or am I being ridiculous? I do have say that since he's the middle child I alway go above and beyond to make sure he doesn't feel shorted...

His party is on Saturday, his actual birthday/Easter is on Sunday, and the obligatory cupcakes at school come on Monday.

I am exhausted already.

B.A.N.A.N.A.S.

2010-03-18T20:14:00.000-04:00

Over the course of my 5.5 years of parenting, I have come to the conclusion that the stomach flu is pretty much rock bottom. Having it yourself takes you to the point where you literally might begin to wish death, and if your kids have it...well I can't think of many things worse than being vomited on by another human being. Add in the ever loving fear that you will catch it yourself and begin to wish for death, or the ever loving fear that your other children will catch it and begin to vomit on you as well, and you've got a situation so awful that I'd rather give birth and/or have a root canal than endure it.

Oh, and as a special token, our dryer broke. So I have veritable mountains of laundry piling up. Some with vomit, some without. We like to have a variety around here.

Sometime last week the preschool sent home a note that if your child has stomach flu symptoms, they are to be kept home for three whole days after the symptoms stop. Good grief. Now for the good of all, I don't mind abiding by this. I just wish everyone else would. Ahem. I will step off my soap box at this time.

So here we are, on Thursday. Mason can't return to school until Monday. And as if the broken dryer wasn't a special enough treat, Rey had to leave town for work. Super. We are stuck home in quarantine with no daddy to rescue us at dinner time.

As luck would have it, the weather's pretty good. So after a morning of fighting, screaming, ear piercing loud siren imitations, and the crushing of one's sister underneath a Pottery Barn Kids Anywhere chair, we headed out into the back yard. I took a chair and a People magazine out with me, at which point I thoroughly enjoyed sitting in the sun and breathing the fresh air. That is, until I realized that the three of them were standing there staring at me.

"Daddy plays with us," Mason says.

Oh super. Super, Super Daddy. How is he better than Mommy? Let me count the ways.

Despite the aforementioned little sister abuse, Mason can be really sweet with her. He kept lifting her into the wagon and after several rounds of lifting her in and out, he proclaimed his arms were so sore from doing that.

Cole decided he was too good for the paparazzi and offered a kindly view of his palm instead.

But Mason was pretty happy to pose, at least if he could make some faces.

Our yard is currently a little, shall I say, grass challenged. Inasmuch as large parts of it have none. The Old Man is in a constant cycle of ripping out the dead and replacing the sod, and we are currently in a "ripped out" stage with promises of sod coming this weekend which remains to be seen since he's currently six hours away.

Cole found a fat stick, which Mason promptly disarmed him of with threats that if he didn't relinquish the stick he wouldn't be able to watch Mason play Wii later. Apparently Cole really likes watching Mason play, because he handed it over without a blink.

At which point Mason started writing everyone's names in our dirt pit. (I can guarantee you Rey will use this story as proof for why having no grass is beneficial. You know, the education aspect and all.)

After all other outdoor options had been exhausted, I went to the last resort--the light sabers. I abhor these things. Strong enough words do not exist to properly parlay my hatred. But I decided to take one for the team.

And I was terrified for my life.

Those kids attacked.

I always hear them and Rey playing out there, making the voom voom noises and using their force (whatever the heck that means). But I very rarely will bear one myself. And for good reason because those kids were out for blood.

Look how gleeful his face is, so happy to be attacking his poor mother.

Cole thought it was super fun to attack me too. But if I decided to rally Mason against him, he cried and ran like a sissy.

Happy attacking...

Sad sissy.

Happy attacking (this time Lila's playhouse was his target)...

Really sad sissy.

Happy attacking...

Sad sissy.

And then Mason hit him in the face.

It was time to put these evil things away.

I have cabin fever.

I haven't spoken to an adult all day.

I can't wait until Saturday when our three days are up and I can go to the gym.

I have run out of trick in my book to keep these people occupied. At this rate I might have to pull out the dreaded paint.

High School Sweethearts

2010-03-12T17:01:00.002-05:00

The Old Man and I are high school sweethearts. This is amazing to most people. Sometimes it's even amazing to me.

We met when I was at the ripe old age of 13. He was 15, an older man. But we didn't start dating until I was 16 and he was 17.

Fast forward 13 years, a house, three kids and a dog, and you will find us here. In a state of wedded bliss. Or wedded semi-bliss, depending on if any of the children have had the stomach virus as of late. That definitely will take your bliss down a few notches.

I'd say once a month or so, it comes up in conversation with friends or strangers that my husband and I were high school sweethearts. It is nearly always met with a response of shock and awe.

I have come to expect, and accept, the shock and awe.

But it isn't that shocking to me. Or awesome. Or even that rare!

A few days back, I got to thinking about all of the people I know, who went to my high school, who are now married to their high school sweethearts or at least someone they knew from high school.

Michelle and Aaron. High school sweethearts, married with three kids. Sound familiar?

Nicole and Jeff. Okay, not high school sweethearts, but definitely high school friends. Married with an adorable (and tall!) little boy.

Lindsey and Tyler. Again, not high school sweethearts, but they were acquainted... Married with a little girl who has the most darling pigtails. (Pig tails are a pipe dream around this house!)

Keri and Joe. High school sweethearts, just had their first baby. A girl!

Is this some kind of Southwest Florida phenomenon? And who made up the term "high school sweethearts"? Cause despite the fact that I can't think up a better term to use, I don't like it.

Gifts and Guilt

2010-03-12T16:26:00.000-05:00

Today it rained. A lot. I thought about trying to build an arc, but then I remembered I am no good with a hammer and nails.

A rainy day is a blessing and a curse.

It's a curse because it sucks every ounce of motivation out of me, right down to my bones.

It's a curse because I have three children, so if I am to leave the house I am also to get soaked.

Then comes the blessing.

I'm so unmotivated that I do nothing.

I'm so unwilling to get soaked, that I stay home.

The boys were at school, so it was down to me and Lila today. We sat on the couch and engaged in our new ritual of snuggling and watching American Idol.

This child loves music. It really fills my heart to know that music fills hers. I feel like every day with these kids is like opening a present. I never know what part of their personalities, what new interest will emerge, what new talent will make an appearance.

I feel so grateful for rainy couch mornings like these, and at the same time I feel overwhelming guilt at my unproductivity. Where's the balance?

Sometimes, much more often than I might like, I am overwhelmed by motherhood. I waver from wanting to rip all the hairs out of my head to wondering who out there was crazy enough to leave me in charge of these three little humans.

But then Lila's little ears hear music and her little body starts to shimmy.

Cole tells Mason that he's his best friend.

Mason draws a little stick figure picture of himself and Daddy. And he even writes their names on the page.

And I feel a little better about myself, a little more convinced that I might be doing something right.

I feel so lucky for this gift of time with them. I feel lucky to be staying home with them. As often as I want to run away, I also want to run home.

Our children are on loan from God.

Too bad the laundry isn't on loan, too.

Fortunate Fortunes

2010-03-10T21:31:00.003-05:00

When I think about fortune cookies, I can't help but think about The Joy Luck Club where the women get jobs working for the fortune cookie factory and wonder why in the world people think they're a Chinese dessert.

Tonight I had Chinese food for dinner, and my fortune said, "Don't pursue happiness--create it."

Now don't ask me how a stale, basically tasteless oddly shaped American made cookie with a tiny slip of paper made me delve into the philosophical, but it did.

My first thought was that Oprah would love this. You know, the whole put your desires out there into the universe and it will reward you. I love Oprah. (I was watching her show today and Mason was aghast that he couldn't watch Nick Jr. He said, "Mom, WHY do you always have to watch Oprah?")

Then I was seriously wondering, do we create our own happiness? My first happiness (and greatest challenge) is my children. And them I definitely created. I have the stretch marks to prove it.

But going beyond the obvious happiness in life, I started to think about others, which naturally only led me to things that make me unhappy.

The kids are noisy and messy which is stressful.
I am so tired. So very, very tired.
The laundry is endless. I swear it frickin' breeds.

So I played a little game. Can I create happiness out of these things that I label as happiness destroyers?

The kids are noisy and messy which is stressful.
When I tune out the peripherals, and really really listen, I hear Mason doing a perfect imitation of the trombone Roger plays in 101 Dalmatians to accompany his "Cruella Deville" song. Cole and Lila are laughing hystercially, which makes Mason laugh and do it some more. Now I'm laughing because I'm astonished that he's so good at sounding like a trombone, not to mention the fact that he's pitch perfect. And the whole thing takes me back to my own childhood where I used to watch 101 Dalmatians, a movie which my children are now just discovering and enjoying. The circle of life. And suddenly, with just a little work, I have created some happiness.

I am so tired. So very, very tired.
Every morning, I am woken up. I don't wake up, someone wakes me. Get it? I always wish that my kids would sleep later than me. But then I wouldn't get to wake up to someone's shining face (usually Mason's) as it tentatively climbs into my bed. And as soon as my eyes open, bleary and confused, his face lights up, so happy that I'm awake. The fact that my sweet boys craves my company so much is worth walking around like a zombie most of the time. I think.

The laundry is endless. I swear it frickin' breeds.
I'm not gonna lie. I thought I had the fortune cookie whipped here because laundry is my nemesis, the very bane of my existence. I work and work at it, and still, there is more because all the pesky members of my family are constantly wearing clothes. I was sorting through today's ration of laundry thinking about my victory over the cookie when I saw Cole's shirt from preschool on Monday. The shirt was covered in purple glittery paint (which is thank goodness completely washable), and I immediately recognized the color to be the same one used to paint a dinosaur. He was very proud of that dinosaur today, and insisted on taking it to Grandma's house to show her. And now, in the midst of my least favorite chore, I created a little happiness thinking of my boy at school, swirling away with his purple glittery paint. The damn fortune cookie is victorious yet again.

The cookie came on a good day. It came on a day where I was feeling overwhelmed, under appreciated, stressed, stretched and strained.

I still am all of those things. I have just learned a little bit about being able to float the good to the top of them.

So when life hands you lemons, send life a thank you note.

Oh and P.S.! I'm teaching yoga every Monday at 4:30pm now. Let me tell ya--that creates some happiness!

I love having a daughter...

2010-03-03T16:10:00.001-05:00

I love having a daughter. Although she can throw down some shocking diva drama scary enough to make me shake in my boots, she also walks around in her jelly shoes, carrying a teacup from her pretend tea party in one hand and a baby in the other. It makes me want to hug her forever, that it does.

She is just so her.

And she is obsessed with her new jelly shoes.

Her love of shoes and hair styling and makeup and all things pink... it makes me marvel at the differences between boys and girls. I've always heard about them, and I really didn't care. My boys are so wonderful and unique in their own rights, they even decided against having the same hair color in effort to be different from one another. I shouldn't be surprised that our third child is yet another version of offspring. But I can't help but look at Lila and appreciate the brave new frontier that is parenting a girl. Even though I am shocked, shocked, that it's happening so young.

(Doesn't she really look like she's intently reading this book? I think it's actually upside down, but whatevs.)

This morning we dropped the boys off at preschool and came home to park ourselves on the couch and watch American Idol. Jelly shoes and all.

Lila loves American Idol. She swayed and danced and we generally enjoyed ourselves. She was quite fond of Casey and his electric guitar stylings, but we decided against choosing him as our favorite.

We like Alex, the guy with the mullet.

We're partial to people with mullets around here.

School Bus Stop

2010-02-26T15:44:00.000-05:00

Each morning, when I leave to drive the boys to preschool, the middle school kids are emerging from their houses to head to the bus stop.

Oftentimes I am late (three kids will slow you down) and the kids are already waiting at the bus stop.

I've taken to observing the species that is "Middle School Student at a Bus Stop."

The most curious thing to note--they don't communicate with one another.

One boy is always reading a fat book. He sits criss-cross-applesauce with his fat book in his lap, reading. I like him. I like people who read.

Another boy wearing socks up to his knees, carries his book bag in one hand and his lunch in the other. And he paces. Back and forth. Back and forth. It makes me sad to see him because I know he's picked on.

A girl at the pacing boy's bus stop--she simply stares at the pacing boy. She's as far away as she can be from him while still being at the actual bus stop, she wears a backpack, and always has her arms across her chest. And she stares at the pacing boy.

Another girl texts. I do not kid when I say she's been texting every.single.time that I can remember seeing her. She doesn't talk to those real live people who surround her, but she texts goodness only knows who, furiously, as if it were important state matters she was dealing with and not American Idol and who's dating who this week.

This his how the scene plays out, morning after morning. Come to my neighborhood at 8:35 on and given day and I guarantee what you see won't be far off. And so I'm sad. Because here in this microcosm of neighborhood children, I worry. Because short of the one girl texting (and really, can I really count that as a consolation?) these children do no communicate with each other. Face to face communication has been abandoned for Facebook, and talking is now replaced by texting.

I can't see how this can be a good thing.

Book Nook

2010-02-25T16:14:00.003-05:00

I read a lot. My friend Kathleen reads twice as much as I do. (Did I mention she has five kids?)

This is very fortunate for me. (The fact that she reads, a lot, not the fact that she has five kids. That really doesn't benefit me much that I can think of.)

Follow my math here. Kathleen reads twice as me, and then recommends to me her favorites, which as a rough estimation are about 25% of the books she reads. I, in turn, for the most read only those books recommended by her, which makes her my very own filtration system and results in me reading truly wonderful works of fiction. Darn near exclusively. It's nice to not waste time reading crappy books.

At her recommendation, few months back I read The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins. It takes place in a fictional country, Panem, which after subduing its revolting citizens several decades in the past created games where 24 of the nations' youth are put in an arena to fight to the death. You know, to remind them never to revolt again. Or else.

At first I was wondering how much I was going to like a book that a) seemed kinda depressing and b) was so sci-fi esque. I typically don't like books with so many "made up" elements, and in this one everything was straight out of the authors imagination.

So I was skeptical. But why? It came highly recommended by the great filter Kathleen!

Never doubt Kathleen, my friends.

This book was amazing.

I had to wait and wait and wait my turn for one of the three copies from the library of the sequel to The Hunger Games--Catching Fire.

Catching Fire was so superbly amazing, there aren't words. I read it in less than a day, laundry and cooking be damned!

I will warn you--the ending to Catching Fire is such a huge, looming, white-knuckler of a cliffhanger that it will hardly satiate the hunger (no pun intended) that The Hunger Games left you with.

But there is hope on the horizon--the third and final book in the series, Mockingjay, is being released in August.

I am waiting with bated breath. Practically dying from asphyxiation.

The Things They Come Up With: Chapter One

2010-02-17T18:56:00.002-05:00

I typically don't stray far from home. On a regular basis, I go to three places:

1. The kids' preschool (about 1/4 mile from home)
2. The gym (about 1.5 miles from home)
3. Publix (also 1.5 miles from home)

As such, we (we being me and the kids) don't often to see the sights of town, if you will. But one thing they never seem to forget--the hospital.

Every time we drive by the hospital, which like I said is not all that great of a frequency even though it is a mere two miles from our door, one or both of the boys comment on the fact that I go there, I sleep there, and I bring home a baby.

(Or at least I did. I'm not planning on doing that again anytime soon.)

This evening, as we went on a great adventure that happen to take us that way, the inevitable conversation began. This time I got a little more than I bargained for.

It went a little something like this.

Cole: Look! It's the hos-i-pal! Look mama! The hos-i-pal where you go to get your baby!

Me: Yes, it sure it.

(This is usually the end of that, although sometimes they also comment on how Granny brings them there to visit me and they get to ride in the elevator.)

Mason: Do people also go there when they get dead?

Me: Silence.

Mason: Well do they?

Me: Yes, some people do Mason.

Cole: When people are getting dead, the ambulance picks them up and brings them to the hos-i-pal first.

Mason: Yep. And then they get dead.

Shortly after that delightful little conversation, Mason comes along to show me a card from a matching game he has. It's of the Earth with a caption that says, "God created the Earth in six days" (a feat, by the way, which never ceases to amaze me).

Mason: Look, Mom. It's the Earth. God lives there. (He points to the area of outer space in the picture.)

Me: Yes He does.

Mason: Yep, and so does Wall-E.

And lastly, tonight as Rey and Mason were playing a round of Mario Kart, I heard another little gem when both of them were defeated by the computer characters.

Mason: We lost. They banged us.

Rey: You mean they beat us?

Mason: Yeah. They beat us. And banged us.

It was a day of audio delights, let me tell ya. All this makes me wonder how many funny things I would hear if I paid better attention...

Happy Days Are Here Again

2010-02-04T16:43:00.001-05:00

I am in a really, really good mood.

It is such a monumental occasion I figured it would behoove me to document it.

I have really good reasons for my really good mood.

Yesterday, I folded, hung, and put away ten loads of laundry. It was such an accomplishment.
Today, even though it was time to start laundry again, I only had three loads instead of my usual four.
This weekend, I'm going to a yoga training. Keri's coming along this time and we're going to dine on sushi.
I'm going to be spending two nights away from home, which (as much as I love my family) means I get to have two blessed and uninterrupted nights of sleep that culminate in mornings which do no involve me waking to the sound of someone screaming that they have to go potty.
I discovered the Arc Trainer at the gym. I used to think this was a pointless machine, sort of a reject elliptical or something. But alas, it is far superior! And burns like, twice the calories. I never was a fan of the elliptical, so this discovery is fantastic.
I have cooked dinner three times this week. And although sometimes it's stressful and most of the time Mason won't eat it, I feel very accomplished, and happy that Rey always helps clean up. The cleaning up is the worst.
Mason (I think) has finally given up napping. And while this might seem like a devastating blow, now that I have gotten used to it I'm really enjoying the fact that he and I have some time alone in a quiet house while the other kids sleep. At least I enjoy when he's contributing to that quiet house aspect.
Upon the culmination of my reading the Harry Potter Books 1-7, I was lent the five books of the Percy Jackson and the Olympians series, which is a completely delightful little collection of books.
The sun is shining! You'd think this would not be a novelty in Florida, but trust me, lately the state of the sun has been iffy in the Sunshine State.
I feel like I need a number 10 in order to have a nice round number, but I've got nothing else.

Soon we will be returning to our regularly scheduled negativity, including but not limited to, a nice long dissertation on why the glass is half empty.

Until then...

Doing Really Dumb Things a.k.a. Making Enchiladas with Your Kids

2010-02-03T21:36:00.000-05:00

Tonight, in a moment of less clarity, I did several unintelligent things.

1. I, a woman with no cooking skills, decided to make dinner.

2. I, in typical me fashion, selected an intricate recipe for what can be a simple dish. (Why do in two steps what you can do in ten?)

3. I, in an attempt to get my 5 year old more adventurous about food, enlisted said 5 year old's help in preparing said intricate recipe.

4. I also enlisted the help of the 5 year old's brother. His little brother. You know, the three year old.

We were making enchiladas.

While I was in the thick of it, I was excited and having a grand ol' time. The fact that we were making a monumental mess in my kitchen was in the back of my mind, but I was too busy preventing my kids from scalding themselves or grabbing a cilantro knife that the mess couldn't consume me. At least not then.

They had a great time smuggling shredded cheese when my back was turned.

They were so excited that I really was convinced they'd at least give the enchiladas a try. I know full well that they don't eat meat that isn't chicken and they don't eat chicken that isn't in nugget form, but they were so earnest and proud about the process that I really thought they'd at the very least give it the old college try.

It wasn't pretty.

There was begging.

Please no food! Please give me a cookie!

There was pleading.

I can't eat the food! My Band-aid will get dirty! (The Band-aid is on his leg. I don't understand this one.)

Despite the fact that it was a labor intensive process, I thoroughly enjoyed my new enchilada recipe.

My kitchen? A mess.

My major mistake--I should have anticipated the screaming, crying and carrying on that would accompany it and make a margarita to cushion the blow.

Live and learn.

Ask Ashley - Sympathy vs. Empathy

2010-01-29T16:20:00.000-05:00

It has recently been brought to my attention that it has been many months since I have posted an "Ask Ashley" question. So here goes...

Dear Ashley,

Since you're good with grammar, I figured I'd ask. What is the difference between sympathy and empathy? I never know which one to use, so I never use either.

Thanks,
Katie

Ah, Katie, I sympathize. It's tough getting ensnared in the enigmatic English language. I will try to simplify it for you.

Sympathy is for when you are talking about feelings that you yourself have not or are not experiencing. For example, "I offer my sympathy for the loss of your mother." Or "I am sympathetic to the plight of the people in Haiti."

Empathy is better used when you've "been there" yourself. "I empathize with you--I had Professor Smith's class last semester and he's a really tough teacher." Or, "I empathize about how miserable wearing a cast is. I had to wear one last year when I broke my leg."

I hope that helps!

Gotta question? Email steppedonalego at gmail dot com.

Pain to end all pain

2010-01-28T14:02:00.003-05:00

I workout a lot. We're talking 5 days a week, sometimes six. I run, I spin, I lift free weights, I use weight machines, and yes, I yoga. I am fit.

But I met my match.

Tuesday, I took a Body Attack class. This is the kind of class I typically stay far, far away from because it's the kind of class where you have to be coordinated and jump around like a jelly bean until your sweaty, dizzy and perhaps about to vomit. Admittedly, it was a really great cardio workout. I made it through the class well enough, and even did a yoga class afterwards.

And then, the pain began.

At first, I thought I had pulled a calf muscle in my left calf. The pain began very shortly after I left the gym. Soon it spread to my other calf and I realized it wasn't a pulled muscle but muscle soreness. Rats.

When I do a new class, I expect to feel soreness to some degree or another. After all, using your muscles in a different way is bound to make you sore, even if you work out on a regular basis. But this? This I did not expect.

Tuesday night in my sleep, I was very aware of my calf pain. Wednesday morning when I attempted to get out of bed, the pain was so bad it nearly brought me to my knees. Obviously I took the day off from the gym, and spent the day shuffling around, barely able to put one foot in front of the other.

I was overly optimistic that I would be better today. Knowing full well and right that nine times out of ten you're more sore on Day 2 than Day 1, I was still hoping that today I would be recovered and be able to hit the gym again.

Not.

I'm a just as bad as yesterday. And it's miserable!

Seriously, I was not even this sore the day after the half marathon.

I discovered, sheerly by accident I assure you, that I can crawl faster than I can walk. If that isn't pathetic then I don't know what is.

The moral of the story is, never overestimate yourself, and never underestimate the reason the word "Attack" is in the name of the class. Cause I most certainly feel like something's attacked me.

The Bachelor

2010-01-26T16:54:00.000-05:00

Hello, my name is Ashley, and I'm a Bachelor-aholic.

Hi, Ashley.

Don't ask me why, but I watch The Bachelor. (I've watched it since Season Two with Aaron Buerge--who is, incidentally, still single.) Each episode waits for me on my DVR every Tuesday, and every Tuesday I half way wonder why I still watch this ridiculous show.

And then it occurs to me--I watch it because it's ridiculous.

Jake annoys me. I hate his accent (I love southern accents, just not his), I hate his facial expressions, I hate that he stormed back like an ass on last season's The Bachelorette to tell Jillian secrets and lies. Assuming there were either secrets, or lies. Your guess is as good as mine.
But then, there are these girls. Or women, as Jake always refers to them. I'm sure ABC's casting call goes something like this:

Seeking gorgeous, shallow, catty women who want to compete for the heart of a pilot who is also gorgeous and shallow. Must be willing to be extremely nasty to fellow contestants. Desire to convincingly woo him and break up with him in a dramatic fashion shortly after the season finale preferred.

Last night he started with nine women who I can easily divide into two categories: Crazy and Crazier. I spent most of this last show cringing as some begged for him to keep him and others were literally throwing themselves at him. The lack of self-respect just astounds me...

I used to like Ali, but she is becoming increasingly, and uncomfortably bitchy, most notably to Vienna. I am no fan of Vienna's--by any means--but the only thing more disturbing than a catty bitch who talks about you behind your back is a catty bitch who talks about you to your face.

I have no idea who the heck Jake is going to pick, and my money is on their relationship being short lived. I don't know why people go on this show to find love since they have like a 3% success rate. AND you end up looking like an ass.

But last night, as I watched these desperate women do and say desperate things in an attempt to win over this desperate man, I had an epiphany.

Up until this point, my dreams for my daughter included her to be kind, charitable, smart, attend a good college, and to know the value of a hard work and perseverance.

I have simplified.

Now, my goal in life is for her to be smart enough to never, ever apply to be on The Bachelor. I feel that in this, I will have succeeded as a mother.

Anything else will be a bonus.

Sad

2010-01-25T14:14:00.003-05:00

My grandmother has Alzheimer's. She has, for some number of years now, been declining in health. A few months back, she sustained an injury which resulted in a MRSA infection and required her to have 24 hour nursing care. And so the story begins.

Unfortunately, she did not have a Power of Attorney is effect, although she did leave a will that she had drawn up through a lawyer a few years back. It was now necessary that she enter a full time care facility, the cost of which would total $80,000 per year, a cost that none of her five children were about to shoulder. More lawyers were involved, infighting amongst my disfunctional family peaked, and in the end my poor grandmother's care and her assets went under state control since the siblings couldn't agree. The state would come in and cover the costs once all her of assets were exhausted. She had only one thing to her name--her house.

She lived in a row house in Baltimore City. It was built and purchased nearly 100 years ago by my great grandparents. I think they paid around $3,000 for it, incredible that at the peak of the housing boom it was worth 100 times that. My earliest memories of life are in that house, with my great grandma Rose's cooking of everything from roast beef to ramen noodles. Her food was the best. The house was full of turn of the century antiques--things Rose had bought at that time that withstood the test of time and aged with grandeur. At the risk of sounding like an old person myself, they just don't make stuff like that anymore. Most notably in my memory are her mahogany dining room table and the two bedroom sets--four poster beds, chests of drawers with dovetail joints, the works.

When my great-grandma Rose passed away in 1989, my grandmother moved into the house. Little changed there, it still to this day has the same pale blue and white wallpaper that was there when I was an infant. The house was and is so special to me--special because my great grandparents were poor, but they owned this home. Special because my grandmother was never a rich woman, but then she owned this home. Memories, far more valuable than money, were made there. We were all raised in that house, in one way or the other.

When we lived in Maryland I had a lot of sleepovers at grandma's house. We had a special relationship and I used to love to go there, especially in the summer when we would walk to the corner and buy snow cones. It was on one of these weekends that I noticed a tiny china set in her china cabinet, what used to by my great grandma's china cabinet. My grandmother told me about her little tea set--a real, bona fide china little girl's tea set--and how it's missing some pieces. When she was a little girl she decided to have a tea party with her dolls and was hauling it down the basement steps, which were mere feet from where I was standing, and she tripped and dropped a couple of pieces. I can understand, those were some treacherous steps if I do say so myself. But all those years later, 60 years perhaps, and my grandmother still had the remaining pieces of that tea set sitting in the china cabinet, their place of honor. It was so special to her, and so it was special to me.

My mother came by today and delivered a bit of news... The state auctioned off her house. This house that's been in my family since it was piles of concrete and plaster was sold to the highest bidder. All because one woman didn't have the proper planning in place and her children couldn't find a way to resolve it.

The antique furniture inside? Auctioned as well. Because it was too heavy and too much of a bother for anyone to figure out how to move it.

And her china set? Gone too. My uncle removed some items, but my father didn't want to make the trip from Florida. And I can't help but think about that tea set. I can't help but wonder if whoever comes to clear the house out they will know the value of that little tea set. I think I know the answer...

It's hard enough for me to wrestle with the fact that for all intents and purposes, the grandmother that I know is gone. But hearing that her house, her furniture, her life's possessions, and yes, that tea set, are gone... just disposed of in such an orderly, unemotional fashion.... makes me feel like I've lost a part of myself, of my family's history.

I've lost that tea set. And with it, I've lost another little piece of my grandmother.

Miss Chevious

2010-01-22T17:57:00.001-05:00

I love my daughter.

I really do.

IloveherIloveherIloveherIloveher.

But oh my golly if she isn't the naughtiest little 20 month old I've ever come across then I'm a monkey's uncle. Monkey aunt, maybe. Monkey's uncle, definitely not.

Parenting Lila has been a most humbling honor. With your third child, there is definitely a sort of "I know what I'm doing, this is old hat" mentality. Of course factoring in that each child brings different personality traits to the table makes this mentality absolutely mental. She might as well be my first baby, because I know nothing.

My boys, by comparison, were so much easier at this age. They liked me to play with them, but they were content on their own as well. It was a beautiful marriage of together time, them having independent time and me having time to take care of, I don't know, the rest of our life's pesky little nuances like dishes and laundry. And maybe a little online shopping in between.

But Lila, my dear sweet Lila, will have none of this. She's happy to sit, so long as her seat is my lap. She's happy to play, so long as I play along side her. Which is all fine and dandy until there's seven loads of laundry waiting to be folded, a pile of bills to be paid and flies are swarming around the kitchen sink (no, not really, but perhaps there might be if the windows were open).

I try to load the dishwasher, she gleefully slams it shut. After which she pronounces her joy at its closure by shouting "Yay!" in a most adorable, albeit frustrating fashion.

If I sit down at the computer for five seconds, just five little seconds please to make contact with the outside world, she comes over, throws my hand off the mouse, shoots her hands in the air and says, "Uh!" (Translation: Up, she doesn't do the "p" sound quite yet.) I used to be able to hold her in my left arm and compute with my right, but then it dawned on her precious little blonde head that all those fancy buttons on the laptop actually do something. So that honeymoon is over.

Even trying to take a picture of her is not without its challenges, as now she like to reach out, grab the camera strap and try to wrench it from my hands. She finds this to be quite a jovial little wrestling match.

After a day of the gym, grocery shopping, a round of baby dolls, and hour of books, lunch, helping her try on every pair of shoes we both own, and playing a super fun little game where she pulled everything out of my bathroom drawers while I was in the shower, I finally sit down on the couch for a break. What does Lila do? Climbs up next to me, but instead of sitting down with me like Mason or Cole would have done at this age, she picks up the remote and clocks me in the head with it. Hard. Translations: Insolent woman, you are not done entertaining me! Get up!

And then, she reached down and with a look of positive glee on her cherubic little face, she grabbed a fist full of my hair. And as if she was a little vicious Gymboree wearing vice grip, she pulled my hair harder than it's been pulled since I lived in Baltimore and got into a fist fight in the street with the "Reverend Rickey's" daughter when we were 9 years old (and he wasn't a reverend, if you know what I mean).

I love her, immensely, but it's Friday, it's been a long week, and I'm two steps from crazy. Forgive me.

Lord help me now. Grant me the strength to raise this child to adulthood.

Preferably with both of us in one piece and with some hair left on my head.

P.S. One cute new trick? When she wants her diaper changed she fetches one and lays down on the floor next to wherever I am, and sticks her legs in the air. Well, I think it's cute at least.

Race Recap

2010-01-13T18:43:00.005-05:00

As I posted on Friday, last weekend I ran Disney's Half Marathon. The entire week before I was worked up into a tightly-wound tizzy, not over the race, but over the weather.

What kind of weather you ask? Well, the start of the race was 27 degrees and what the weatherman called a "Wintry Mix" which I now know consists of a lovely trinity of rain, sleet AND snow. It was awesome.

I had assembled an enviable race outfit--a long sleeved Nike dry fit shirt, running tights, pants to go over top of them, a running jacket, a big Target fleece jacket that I planned to ditch along the race, two pairs of gloves (laugh if you will) a scarf, and a headband to cover my ears. I sounds ridiculous, but it kept me from freezing to death.

I woke up at 3am, necessary if I was to make it to the last shuttle from the hotel which was at 4am. I got to Epcot where the race started, checked my bag, and found a nice spot near a tent to block the wind while I tried to stay warm. That's right about when it started to sleet. As a horrified Floridian, I watched the little balls of ice land on my glove and roll around. Now I understand why the northerners look at palm trees like they're something special, cause ice from the heavens might as well have been a three-headed dog the way I was staring at it.

I made a friend by that tent, Vanessa, who happened to stop there to eat her bagel with the same hopes I had of keeping warm. It was all for not, but it did keep the wind at bay. But we started chatting, waited in the pre-race port-a-potty line together, went to the start together, and before I knew it we were at the finish line together.

Here we are at Mile 4.2 where we stumbled upon Rey.

Let's back up. I started in the last corral. Even worse, I started in the BACK of the last corral. This meant, I spent miles upon miles upon miles dodging walkers. You have NO IDEA how many people did this race intending to walk the whole thing. Walkers from the start! DROVES of them! And the ruder of the bunch would walk seven or eight across so it was impossible to pass. I had really taken for granted that in my typical running I am able to go in a straight line, one foot in front of the other. This was not the case here. I wish there was a way to calculate how much energy I expended and how much extra length I added to the race with all of this bobbing and weaving. Next time I think I'll turn on my GPS to see... I think Disney should reserve the whole last wave for walkers, cause they were a total pain in my ass.

I started running on the grass because then I didn't have to dodge the walkers, but there was a whole new obstacle there--thousands of articles of discarded clothing. Jackets, shirts, hats, gloves, ponchos and even trash bags.... it was however the lesser of the two evils and as long as the ground was flat enough I was pretty much on the grass. But all the bobbing and weaving and jumping over people's crap, my hips were screaming.

I decided to chronicle my journey with some high quality iPhone pictures. It was fun to run through the gates of the Magic Kingdom, and I couldn't help but think about how many times I'd been in that same spot, except in a vehicle.

Rey, bless his heart, was running from point to point on the race with my camera like he was the paparazzi. I admit it was really fun to see him in random spots on the race, kinda like a Rey version of Where's Waldo. And I handed him a bunch of layers of clothes at one point too so I got to keep the cheapo jacket I bought intended to discard on the race. I became rather fond of it.

Unfortunately, Rey is completely clueless on how to function my camera. He took tons and tons of picture--all on "Close Up" mode. So the majority are blurry messes. I will have to give Rey some rudimentary lessons before we try this again.

Somehow he got a good picture of this guy, running along in a surgical mask and rubber gloves, like he's about to perform surgery in the middle of the race a la M*A*S*H (which I now know stands for Mobile Army Surgical Hospital, thanks to last night's Quiz Night).

It was so cold that my Gu packets were in a semi-frozen state. That was really freaky. I'm used to being able to shoot them, swig some water and go, but I daresay I had to chew the buggers. And my Carmex was definitely frozen. And everyone knows how I can't live without my Carmex. The fact that I'm in Flordia, running, and small packets of things are freezing... well it's just not natural.

After 6 miles, we got to the Magic Kingdom, which was really a lovely sight. I had to pee since almost the beginning of the race. It was either stop at one of the water stations and wait in a ten person deep port-a-potty line, or stop somewhere in Magic Kingdom. Which would you choose? Tomorrowland it was. But I still had to wait in a line, and it was painful, painful to watch the walkers going by that I would have to start dodging again.

Then I saw Buzz Lightyear. And I thought I should take a picture of him, the boys would get a kick about it when I recapped my race to them.

Except then Buzz sorta charged at me. In a freaky, scary, serial killer kinda way.

So I took a picture of that, too.

And just like that, you were out of the Magic Kingdom. The race was roads, roads, more roads, five seconds in Magic Kingdom, then some more roads, roads, more roads, then five seconds in Epcot, then it was over.

To say I was cold afterwards would be a complete and utter understatement. It was below 30 degrees, I was sweaty, I was down several layers of clothes, and it occurred to me only then that I was soaking wet. When I took off my gloves my fingers were bone white and shriveled up like prunes. My feet were even worse. It took me over an hour to warm up, most of which I was shivering so bad I could have dang near bitten my tongue off.

Cold is one thing, cold and wet is a kind of pure torture.

Despite all that unpleasantness, I had a fun time. I met so many people it was amazing! It was like we were all banded together in this insanity of running a race in what can only be described as horrific conditions. I love meeting people, so it just added to my fun factor.

I am glad it's over, but I would totally do it again. I could only hope it would be minus the "Wintry Mix."

Goin' to the Mouse's House

2010-01-08T09:06:00.003-05:00

The time has come.

Tomorrow is the Disney Half Marathon race that I stupidly signed up for.

I am a nervous wreck. 50% of that is because of the race and 50% of that is because of the weather.

The forecast? 27 degrees and rain. Some bold weather folks are even reporting snow.

Snow in Florida? It must be the apocalypse.

My question is this--when did the weather become a bigger obstacle than running 13.1 miles in this scenario?

But I am going, and I am running. And I will finish, because after all, I finish everything I start. This will be no exception.

In the meantime I will invoke the phrase used by a little train friend of mine:

I think I can, I think I can!

And when I DO, I hope I haven't lost any toes to frostbite in the process.

2010

2010-01-01T18:29:00.000-05:00

Last year, I posted my resolutions.

The first on the list was to read one book a month. I have always been an avid reader, just waylayed by the birth of too many kids, so this was a safe bet. It just took me 75% of the year to get started... Yep, about September I started reading about one book every two or three days. So I guess without realizing it I have kept that one. I never have yet read The Hour I First Believed yet though.

The second was to get Mason to get a better diet. Um, yeah right. Them's pipe dreams.

The third was to finish potty training Cole. He is of course potty trained now, but I can't take credit really. It was bound to happen. How many kids go to college still wearing a diaper? He's almost four for crying out loud.

The fourth was to cook dinner four times a week, which I promptly amended to three times a week. Honestly, it's the stuff of miracles if I cook three times per month.

Then, a few days later after a few days of mulling, I came up another.

This last minute inclusion was to take more video of the kids. Well, this year we purchased a Flip Video Camera, and that certainly assisted with the cause. More video was most definitely taken in '09 than was taken in '08. Is there still tons of room for improvement to catch the kids doing cute things of having important moments? You betcha.

So out of five resolutions for 2009, I can say I kept one of them, defaulted into keeping another, and barely eeked by one keeping a third. The other two were lost causes from the get go.

In light of the fact that people don't typically keep these wretched resolutions, and I being included in the category of "people", these are my resolutions for 2010:

1. Gain a lot of weight and be really out of shape.
2. Have unruly, undisciplined children.
3. Sleep very little.
4. Maintain a very untidy household with tons of takeout food.
5. Learn gymnastics.
6. Never allow words to fail me.

Here's to 2010!

Best of 2009

2009-12-31T18:59:00.001-05:00

All who know me, far and wide, know me as a product junkie. I love people, but I also love stuff. And stuff that makes dealing with people easier.

So today, as my last blogging act of 2009, I take a moment to pay homage to those items have come into my life and made me love them in the past year.

#1 - My Canon Rebel Xsi. 12.2 mega pixels of picture taking beauty. It will be wonderful when I really learn to work the thing. And of course it's left me salivating after about $1,000 worth of camera accessories, but that's besides the point I suppose.

#2 - The iPhone. My love affair declaration has already been confessed here.

#3 - The Rival Griddle

Purchased for Rey for father's day, this thing sees more action in our house than the toilet seat. We make scores of pancakes at a time, french toasts, bulk amounts of grilled cheese, you can even fry bacon on this sucker.

#4 - The Dex Baby Bib

This bib rocks the spot. If you have a toddler of solid food age, run out and get one. I promise you won't be disappointed! It stays on, thanks to some sturdy snaps, has a huge pocket that really catches everything, plus get this--it's dishwasher safe AND machine washable!

#5 - My water bottle. It is my constant companion, both in the gym and out. I love "ice cold water" as Cole calls it, and this keeps my water cold for 2 hours. It's leak proof, insulated, BPA free, and has a five year warranty. I got mine at Target for $8 or $9.

So there you have it. Off to pour my kids some sparkling grape juice, and maybe something a little stronger for myself.

See you next year!

Self-Fulfilling Prophecies

2009-12-28T14:35:00.001-05:00

Remember this post?

I think it might have been the beginning of my demise.

The month of December conspired against me.

It won.

And I think I brought it all upon myself.

I couldn't find the holiday spirit, let alone get into it.

The holidays are always stressful, and they don't discriminate--everyone feels the pressure. I decided to hang on until the boys were done with school for most of our festivities. I thought it would be a wonderful idea to use the tons of time when school was out to fulfill many of the traditions--we would bake cookies and build a gingerbread house, we would tour the neighborhoods of decorated houses near us and I even found some great Christmas books at the library.

And then I got sick.

Last Tuesday, I woke up with a little bit of a sore throat.

By Tuesday night, the pain was bad.

By Wednesday morning, it was excruciating. I knew I must have been sick when Rey took one look at my sleeping self and woke me to ask if I needed him to stay home from work. I did. And it's a good thing too because I didn't wake up until noon. It's frowned upon leaving your children unsupervised that long.

My doctor is closed on Wednesdays, otherwise I might have gone in, provided I could have mustered the energy to drag myself there.

Thursday Rey went to work. He had to, he's a busy man. Mason woke me up that morning, crying because his eye had crusted and he hurt it trying to open it. It was immediately evident to me that he had pink eye. I thought we were out of the clear since Lila was all better for a full week and had been finished with her course of drops for five days. But I guess not.

He wanted to wear a pirate patch to cover his eye. (Don't worry, I have since thrown it away.)

I tried to hold out as long as I could, but by 10:30am the children were in full mutiny mode I had to text Rey and see if he was coming home early. It was Christmas Eve, after all. Thankfully he did, but there was still much Christmas work to be done.

The night before we got out my personally custom painted Cookie Plate.

And loaded it with cookies for Santa and carrots for his reindeer. (When you are deathly ill, Santa gets Keebler cookies. Knowing what other kind of fancy cookies are being presented for him out there in the world, I was a little embarrassed.)

Upon explaining that these cookies and milk were for Santa, Mason said, "Is he going to leave our glass when he's done?"

When we said yes, Mason said, "What about the plate? Will he leave the plate?"

I love that boy.

At this point I couldn't speak. All I could do was cry. We never got to do all those fun things, the cookies and the gingerbread and the stories. I hadn't even wrapped any gifts. Nothing was ready. It was an awful feeling.

I woke up at 2am Christmas morning. Swallowing made my whole body jerk in agonizing pain. I was so thirsty so I tried to drink some juice and I just couldn't get it down. I decided I needed medical care. I called 6 or 7 urgent care places in town to see if any would be open on Christmas. Four of them had messages that they would be closed Christmas day, and the others had their standard messages. I assumed they'd be closed too. I figured the ER was my only option, and I figured 3am was as good of a time as any.

It turned out I was right.

They made me wear a mask because of the strep suspicion. It made me hot and it fogged my glasses. But they were no busy and very efficient that night. I had a male triage nurse and then my nurse was male, which I found so interesting. Not that there are male nurses, but that I encountered two of them. In a row.

After my strep test the doc came in. Said it was negative but said he was sending it out to be cultured because I have no cold symptoms which makes it really look like strep. And since I have a heart murmur he said I needed to go on antibiotics either way.

While I was waiting to be discharged they brought in six people who were involved in an assault. I listened to the nurses try to work with them, but the people didn't speak English. There were EMTs and police officers everywhere and I was surprised not more people in this place spoke Spanish. I imagine the language barrier was a frequent one.

It was also so sad because there were several little kids in there. If I was able to speak I might have told them to go become patients of Dr. W--he leaves his cell phone number on his office voicemail and tells you to never go to the ER. It's comforting to know I won't likely spend a night sitting with one of my suffering kids in the ER... but I digress.

90 minutes later, I was walking out of the ER. That's gotta be some kind of a record.

I went to the closest 24 hour CVS and I kid you not I was the only customer in there at 4:30am. The pharmacist was this super nice young guy and I wished I was able to speak to thank him properly for the sympathy he gave me. Oh well.

I got home, took my first dose, had some Motrin for pain, and slept like the dead. For two whole hours.

The kids woke up and were super stoked that Santa had come. They fished all the presents out from under the tree and sorted them into piles, which I admit was very helpful.

We hauled Lila from her crib, gave her a donut, and started opening the presents.

The boys were so excited that they got what they asked for. Mason got his Toy Story video game and his Star Wars tent, and Cole got his Toy Story toys--a Buzz, a Woody, and a Slinky the Dog.

Every Christmas, Rey's grandmother Aya has a brunch. It's is hands down my most anticipated meal of the year. Even though we were sick, they still welcomed us over. You know people love you when they are willing to catch your germs.

Lila certainly enjoyed herself.

Aya has a houseful of the most beautiful Christmas decorations. It must take her a full week to haul them all out. And every year she swears she leaves a lot of them boxed up.

I love her village...

And her nativity scene is one of the most beautiful ever...

Including Baby Jesus, who was notably missing when I went to plug in the star. But we restored to his place for this picture. With all of the Christmas excitement, Aya forgot to put him there on Christmas Eve.

I tried to eat my delicious french toast and bacon, but every swallow hurt worse than childbirth. It was awful to WANT to eat something so badly but to be physically incapable.

We stayed there all of an hour, and retreated home so I could go back to my misery.

In summary, my Christmas was terrible. I really wish I had something else to say, some way to sugar coat my misery, some way to see the positives despite the overwhelming negatives. I feel like I missed out on so much with my children and that they missed out on so much Christmas magic because I wasn't there to facilitate it.

And I can't help but blame it all on myself because from the get-go I was Debbie Downer about Christmas.

So next year, when and if I bitch and moan again, refer me back to this post. Because Christmas passed me by this year, and I'm sad.

T'was the Night Before Christmas

2009-12-24T19:44:00.000-05:00

T'was the night before Christmas
And all through the house
Not a person was healthy,
Not even my spouse.

No stockings were hung by my chimney at all,
I ran out of time for decorating or the mall.

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
Sneezing and wheezing and spreading the dread.
With pink eye and sore throat and lost of congestion,
People want us to be healthy and give loads of suggestions.

Rey's off to the store for supplies in a hurry,
I doze on the couch and pray for some mercy.
I awake to the sound of an opening door,
And sure it's a robber I prepare for war.

When what to my watery eyes did appear?
But my dear husband with a Target bag full of gear.

On NyQuil, On Chloroseptic, On Motrin, On Vigamox!
Drink hot tea, with honey, and gargle and rest!

With none of these remedies working for me,
I lie on the couch and stare at the tree.

My children, though down, are definitely not out,
They continue to fight, and scream and shout.

This is not my idea of a very good Christmas,
And hope for the holiday is starting to diminish...

But I will go ahead and exclaim with my meager might,
Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!

Oh! It's my Blogiversary!

2009-12-22T10:07:00.001-05:00

On this day, one year ago, my blog was born.

Sounds like a good excuse for me to eat some cake.

As if I needed an excuse.

Fun Facts

2009-12-22T09:44:00.004-05:00

16 - Number of days the boys have off from school for Christmas vacation, including weekends

8: 14 - Time I stayed in bed 'til this morning since I didn't have to be anywhere as a result of this vacation

93 - Minutes it took for the kids to drive me insane and cause me to lose my gratefulness at being able to slow down and stay home since school was out

79 - Degrees of temperature for Christmas day

18 - Days I have until the half marathon

13.1 - Miles IN a half marathon

3 - People in my household who are sick with a cold, to one degree or another

1 - Christmas presents I still need to purchase (it snuck in there)

4,365 - Christmas presents I need to wrap (perhaps that one's a bit exaggerated, but I detest the wrapping aspect of Christmas)

FaLaLaLaLaJingleBellRockDecktheHallsSilentNight (Yeah Right!)

2009-12-20T21:15:00.001-05:00

Just home from Bryan and Ana's wedding and I have a bazillion and one pictures on my camera. Time to catch up on my blogging...

Mason and Cole's preschool puts on a Christmas program each year. They have a play where some of the Pre-K4 kids act out parts and the rest of the Pre-K4 kids and the Pre-K3 kids sing in the chorus.

Mason was assigned the part of one of the Wise Men. Oh, how very, very appropriate.

Let me tell you something--those boys have been singing these Christmas songs, morning, noon, and night. Emphasis on MORNING. Now, I complained about this on Facebook and my mother-in-law commented on how lovely it is to be woken by the voices of angels. And I see her point--I should be a more appreciative mother of how sweet my boys are. But, all I could think was "It's 6:15AM! Why are these kids SINGING?" I don't think I'm very good at being appreciative.

Mason demonstrated during one of these Morning Song Sessions that he knows every word to various versus of songs like "Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree" and "Away in a Manger." It's impressive to hear a 5 year old singing

"You will get a sent-i-mental feeling... when you see..."

It made me do a double take, 6am and all.

But as usual, I digress.

I wanted good seats for the show, so we got to the church wicked early and I scored us the whole front row. My parents, Rey's parents, and Rey's grandparents came and we settled in to enjoy preschoolers sing as only their parents and grandparents can...

Lila was looking as lovely as ever.

Cole, coming in the processional with the kids. (Since Mason had a part in the play he didn't walk in the processional.)

And then Cole stood with his class and covered his eyes. He was a little shy I suppose. His motto is if he can't see you, then you can't see him either.

Mason and his fellow wise men, looking adorable as ever.

Mason carried the "coins" a.k.a. Gold. The other boys had the frankincense (yellow juice) and myrrh (yellow fluffy stuff).

And the boys--I mean men, pardon me--gave their gifts to baby Jesus.

They took their spots and began to sing "Away in a Manger" complete with choreography.

And in quick time Mason realized the microphone was next to him. So he picked it up and started singing into it. He thought he was a rock star. Rey swear he pointed out into the audience and winked but I missed that. But he and that microphone were hilarious, all the same.

At some point, Cole stopped covering his eyes and started covering his ears.

Afterwards, I got a shot with the kids. I like to be in a picture from time-to-time. I have the same shot last year! Except my children were a little less unruly in that one...

Be Real, People

2009-12-11T18:10:00.003-05:00

Alright, so I can concede that perhaps most people would like to use their blogs to put better feet forward.

But sometimes life has some ugly, dirty, stinky feet. Feet that need a pedicure.

Why not put those feet out there and admit the need? Don't say, "Look how lovely and wonderful my ugly, dirty, stinky feet are! They are so glorious and wonderful and by the way I making lemonade from rotten lemons in my spare time." Cause I ain't buying it.

I just read a blog from a northern dweller where the temps are no doubt quite frigid this time of year. The blog said something to the effect of "It has been a deliciously rainy week. It's so cold at night that in the morning everything's covered with ice."

Seriously? Is there anything delicious about rain where it's so cold that it results in actual, honest to God ICE? I live in Florida, so perhaps I'm off base here, but don't we as humans sorta detest ice? Icy roads, Icy sidewalks, Ice caving in roofs and such? I'm really having a hard side seeing the upside...

I am going to revise an adage. Instead of "If you don't have something nice to say, don't say anything at all," I am going to abide by the following: "If you don't have something nice to say, don't try to blow smoke up people's asses."

I am going to work on being more optimistic. Maybe that will be one of my resolutions.

In the meantime, check out what winter looks like where I live. Eat your heart out.

Bah Humbug

2009-12-07T14:46:00.005-05:00

Top Ten Reasons I Am Not Sending Christmas Cards This Year:

10. At this point, waterboarding sounds more pleasant than sitting down to address, stuff, stamp and seal 100 envelopes.

9. I can never seem to find a card I like enough that wouldn't cost $200 for the quanitity I need.

8. Saving $200 sounds like a good idea.

7. Saving the environment by not using up the paper for 100 envelopes and invitations seems like a good effort for a tree hugger like myself.

6. It breaks my heart to think of how most of the cards just end up in the trash come January 1. (I know some of you keep them, and I know who you are!)

5. Rey left town to work in Key West for 8 days and my stress level is at a max.

4. So something had to give.

3. Call me The Grinch and paint me green, I'm having a hard time feeling festive this year.

2. I am too tired.

1. I would rather shoot myself that try to cature the "perfect" photo card shots of my kids.

So, in light of all of these confessions, I started wondering why I send out Christmas cards every year. And I honestly couldn't come up with a good reason. Thus, I decided to opt out this year.

And boy, let me tell ya, I feel liberated.

Book Nook - The Help

2009-12-04T14:13:00.000-05:00

So I have been reading a lot. And by a lot, I mean I have been reading in lieu of doing other things, like laundry, or vacuuming, or dishes, or blogging (as you may or may not have noticed).

There, I said it.

It is because of this that I decided to share some of my readings in a sort of book review. I won't go over each one I read, because that would scare you all and out me for the house neglecting book worm that I am. But I'll do the best of my reads, and perhaps the worst.

Starting with The Help.

I can't recall where I got the desire to read this book. But I might have something to do with the fact that there are stacks and stacks of copies for sale at Costco, and they are right next to the stacks and stacks of copies of Dan Brown's new book for sale, so one could safely assume it had best seller status.

THEN, when I went to put it on my library request list, I was getting in line behind something like 80 other people. (Now the wait list is well over 200, and I believe I waited about 4-5 weeks when I started off 80th in line.) But I really hate buying books unless it's one I really, really love and have to own, because reading something once and having it sit on my shelf for a lifetime seems dumb. I might as well stick a stack of money on my shelf to stare at me like the money with the eyes in those Geico commercials. There's a perfectly good library, after all. And usually you don't have to get in line behind 200 other people for a book.

But I digress.

My number was up last weekend and I darted right over to pick up the book.

I'll admit, it was a rough start. The book is written in the voice of three women, the beginning of which being an African American maid living in 1960s Mississippi. I found it very hard to get used to reading things written in such a different vernacular (it was like reading Shakespeare--English, but not). That was really hard for me--I have a Bachelor's degree in English and perfect grammar is ingrained in me. But I noticed at the end of it I wasn't even aware anymore, and it became as easy as reading perfectly written text.

Once I got past the grammar I was engrossed. It was... a page turner. In a very unexpected, surprising way, it was a page turner. I couldn't wait to turn the next page to see what was going to happen to these amazing and courageous women. I found myself hating who they hated and loving who they loved and before I knew it I felt like I was there.

I like to think of we modern, 21st, women's lib ladies as strong, but we've got nothin' on these three, that's for sure. I'd definitely say read it, otherwise soon enough everyone you know will have read it and you'll be left in the literary dust.

My next commentary will be on The Shack. I am still undecided as to whether that will be a rant or a rave. I had to stop midway through (which I never, ever, ever do) because the book was about to drive me mad. I just can't tell if I was going mad in a good way or mad in a bad way.

Fashion Connondrum

2009-11-17T14:43:00.000-05:00

So here's the thing--I live in Florida. And it just so happens that I seem to be emerging from underneath the coma of I-just-had-a-baby--or-a-second-baby-or-a-third-baby-and-might-actually-want-to-dress-in-something-other-than-yoga-pants stage of life.

It's a good stage of life. When you start to emerge a little more as a person and a little less as only someone's mother.

And I've decided I need a new wardrobe to match this new stage.

I'll say it again--I live in Florida.

And Fall Fashion is Not Florida Friendly.

Boots, Scarves, Coats... I have no use for this stuff! It's 85 degrees as I type this.

It is so, SO cute. Like this girl...

Or this one....

Or how about these?

I mean, honestly. Even if I were so inclined to shell out the $399 that these boots retail for, where would I wear them? The Beach?

Yes, I would most certainly shrivel up and DIE of a heart stroke if I were to wear any of this stuff.

What's a girl to do?

So I take this moment to tell you northern dwellers that I am jealous of you and your limitless fashion possibilities. To be clear, I don't envy your frosty weather. I just want the clothes.

Sorry to be a hater.

An Open Letter

2009-11-13T21:22:00.001-05:00

To my dear Blog,

I know that I have neglected you lately. For some of this neglect I have good excuses. For some of this neglect, I do not.

Let's stick with the parts where I have excuses.

First, I will reiterate that someone crashed into the back of my mvan. At the time of last blogging, I was in that grateful I'm-so-happy-my-kids-and-husband-came-out-in-one-piece stage. A lot of me holds on to that, but as the royal pain in the tooshie of getting a rental car big enough to fit your family began, wrestling with insurance companies reared its ugly head, and dealing with the body shop nonsense became my harsh reality, I started to have hatred towards the accident. And I still can't get over the fact that kids born in 1993 can drive automobiles. Maybe they shouldn't, in which case this thing would have never happened in the first place.

Next....

My eldest turned the ripe old age of five. *I* have a five year old! Yes, that freaks me out.

Kids these days don't just have birthdays, they have birth weeks. Does that make me sound old?

The beginning of the festivities was on Sunday. Only in Florida can you throw a pool/beach party in the middle of October. And it was hot as all get out, too.

Mason and Cole (and maybe even Lila? I can't remember at this point) had been rather sick in the days leading up to the party. What started off as a good effort towards pre-party prep ended in a mad rush to get the thing over with. Perhaps it makes me a bad mama, but I was not feeling like a party animal.

Cousin Alex was our Master of Ceremonies.

The kids had fun sometimes...

And sometimes they did not have so much fun...

Lila, she was definitely livin' large.

But by and large the biggest hit was this game--Drip Drop Slash. A Florida version of Duck Duck Goose. The kids had a wild time.

Not such a tight grasp on the part of the game where you run around the circle though. Instead they ran away from it.

A close second for entertainment value was the hermit crab races.

Disgusting little buggers, if I do say.

I sewed this spiffy banner.

And I made some nifty cupcake toppers. Too bad I neglected to bring them to the party...

Sometime back we started an event of taking the birthday child to a special, one-on-one breakfast with a parent. Cole picks daddy, and I put on a brave face even though I want to die inside when I don't get picked.

But Mason! Oh my Mason! I can trust him to pick me.

And when it was all done, he even asked me if next year I would bring him to breakfast on his birthday again. So despite my doubts and convictions, I guess I'm doing something right here.

I bought him $40 worth of Spiderman cupcakes to take to school. The boys' school does not allow homemade goods to be brought in. How do you people feel about that? I think it's crap. I'm sure someone out there agrees and doesn't want their kid eating someone else's homemade stuff, which makes me think that the world has gone to pot.

Mason's birthday happened to be fire truck day at school, and my original plan had been to go and take pictures of the event and his cupcake eating. But alas, I had to go to the body shop for the mvan, thus eliciting less accident gratefulness and more accident hatred that I was discussing before.

That night, Mason's request was a grilled cheese dinner at Calistoga. A boy after my own heart.

And like that, a three day celebration, two cakes with singing, one happy boy later and we were finally done celebrating.

Okay, Blog, I get it. That's probably not a good explanation as to why I haven't posted in 33 days. So I'll continue.

We took a trip to Tampa. Rey's best friend Nick is getting married, which to say the least is freakin' amazing. He is lucky to have found his beautiful fiancee Angie, even if we can't understand what she sees in him. (Kidding! Love ya Nick!)

They lived in Michigan but were visiting Florida for a friend's wedding, so they had an engagement party for the ol' college crew.

It was a bit of a frat boy reunion. But I am happy to say that not one but TWO of Rey's frat brothers told me I haven't aged a day in the eight years since college. LOVE those boys!

Which brings us to Halloween.

There are no words.

Oh, wait! Yes, I can think of a few.

Candy. Candy. Candy. CANDY. Candy. Candy. Candy. Costumes. CANDY. Candy. Costumes. Candy. CANDY!

Kids with stomach aches eating more candy!

And lastly, mixed into all the everyday mayhem, the sick kids mayhem, the birthday mayhem and the Halloween pandemonium, there is running.

Remember? I decided that running a half marathon was a good idea!

And now, running is no longer something I do for fun, something I do on days where other forms of exercise elude me, it's something that I have scheduled.

For real, I have a calender with mileage and rest days and strength days and cross training days.

I'm still pretty sure I have no clue what I'm doing.

But as much as I bitch about it, and I really do hate to run, I will kick ass and take names.

Cause that's how I roll.

So you see, Dearest Blog? I have neglected you, I know.

But I had my reasons.

XOXO,

Ashley

P.S. Lots of complaints were lodged through the various channels about the lack of your updating, Blog. It's amazing that none of these people who miss my posting ever, AHEM, leave comments. : ) Cause then I would be more aware of my wide and vast and expansive audience and how it misses me so.

The Week in Review

2009-10-10T21:33:00.000-04:00

I guess you could say we've had a bad week here at casa de me.

It all started innocently enough with a trip to the movies on Sunday. We enlisted my mother to babysit LG and we took the boys to see the Toy Story 2 3D double feature. Somehow this sounded like a good idea....

$44 dollars in admission tickets later, plus $14 in popcorn and diet Coke (candy from Target was stashed in my purse) and we were in, equipped with nifty black 3D glasses.

Here's where it gets hairy. To expect your 3 and 4 year olds to sit through one movie is a large enough request? But a double feature? Eeek. Not to mention that as an adult, sitting through a double feature of kids' movies was like erasing half of my college education. If that lands me on Oprah as a bad mom a la the mom they had hang out with NieNie because she would rather kill herself than play with Play-doh, sobeit.

The boys sure did look swell in their glasses though.

Tuesday Cole emerged from his slumber and announced, with eyes barely open, that he was sick. Sick in his mouth. Translation: he has a sore throat. Fever followed, although in typical Cole style he was generally well tempered. I dutifully kept him home from school on Wednesday, of which he was happy. He really likes to stay home with me. I think it's sweet.

Later on that morning, just as I was about to sound the "all clear" whistle on Cole's sickness, the school called--Mason was running a fever. Drat. I dutifully collected my second sick boy from school.

Mason is a quick study. He saw Cole sick that morning and the day before and noticed the extra babying he got. So Mason was ready for his share. I, being the good mommy that I am (mommy dearest??) delivered. I set them up on the couch with pillows and Ruffies and movies galore. We all snuggled together. My to do list grew and grew.

Thursday is a no school day for Cole, and Mason I kept home due to the prior day's fever. And if by noontime they weren't about to kill each other and me kill them, I'll be a monkey's uncle. Or Aunt.

Fighting.

"He's got my toy!!!!"

Kicking.

Screaming.

"He pushed me."

I was ready to medicate. Both me and them.

Surely after Thursday's display of rambunctiousness they were healthy enough for school on Friday. So off they went at 8:30am.

8:57 am. Caller ID -- Preschool.

Hi Ashley, this is Miss Alexandra. Cole has a fever.

"Say what?" I say. He's not had a fever since Tuesday, a whole 72 hours!

A call to Dr. Bob was in order, and being the fantastic pediatrician's office that they are we were set up with an appointment at 11am.

The verdict--Cole has an ear infection.

Good news--that's not contagious.

Bad news--that's why he's feverish.

It was lunchtime, I was spent from the past four days of sick children, so we went home. I would send daddy out for the prescription later.

Cole deteriorated throughout the afternoon. Soon he was literally delirious from the fever, sweating buckets and passing out on the couch. I felt awful for him.

Rey came home an hour or so earlier than usual and headed out with Mason and Lila to fill Cole's prescription.

Ten minutes went by and I got a phone call.

Ash, we've been in an accident.

Your heart does really drop right into your stomach when you hear that your children have been in an accident. Rey assured me they seem okay and I rushed over to collect my oldest and youngest from the side of the road.

Enter complication (there's always a complication). I can't fit three car seat in the back of Rey's Jeep.

Enter another complication. We have two spare booster seats that the boys use on rare occasions, but not a seat for Lila (you're not supposed to reuse seats if they've been in a crash, this much I knew).

I called Keri, who came to the rescue in her black Batmobile with hubby and kids in tow. Mason was all too pleased to ride in her car and I am told he chatted the whole way home.

We used Cole's seat for Lila since his was unoccupied in the crash. Later I found out this is a no-no. Even unoccupied seats need to be replaced. This whole thing is becoming a pain in my tush... but I digress.

The girl who hit Rey was a teenager. The accident report dates her birth year at 1993. 1993!!!! I am seriously having a hard time coming to grips with the fact that people who were born in 1993 are legally allowed to drive.

My parents didn't let me get my license until I was 17. My sister was almost 18. I am thinking there might be something to this.

Her little Toyota Corolla was smashed in almost to the dash. I thought this was a bad sign of car safety but my father corrected me that crumpling is a good thing to protect the driver. Makes sense.

The mvan did me proud. She held up well, although her entire ass is shifted up about 6 inches. The parking sensors are hanging out and there was holes all over the plastic. Of course the back hatch doesn't open. My Bugaboo is being held hostage back there. Since it folds the way it does, we can't get it over the seat. We can't put the seat down to free it because the third row seats in the Honda fold down into the cargo area in which the hostage is occurring. I don't see how we're going to get it free without becoming a member of the Cirque de Soleil or something...

We spent all day trying to get the insurance company get us a rental that will carry our whole family places. All at once. Apparently this is a big request. Listen people, I don't drive the mvan because it's sexy, alright? I actually need all those seats for people.

Finally, after I kid you not, four hours and a 30 minute car ride, we have a rental mvan. A red Dodge that is such a base model I am lucky it has power steering. Rey is making fun of me. I can no longer back up without assistance of a backup camera and parking sensors. I'm ruined, alright?

Like spell check and calculators before it, back up cameras are ruining the intelligence and skills of people worldwide.

Myself included. Except I can still spell.

Through the Looking Glass

2009-10-08T09:34:00.002-04:00

I know I don't look bad. In fact without sounded like a total ass I'm looking damn good right now (well earned!). But it's hard to stare at yourself in a mirror and not find the flaws. It's ingrained in us as Americans. The "Mad Men" of the real world have made sure of it. Make us insecure, we will buy your junk.

So instead of actually laying my real eyes on my mirror image, I am choosing to look through my "third eye", if you will.

Alright, so don't think I'm crazy. It's the yogini in me, what can I say? She's out today.

My kids are sick, so instead of my intended treadmill run at the gym yesterday morning I was forced to take it to the streets at an ungodly hour so Rey could watch the kids before he left for work. Half marathon training waits for no one, and yesterday was my "short run" day.

As I completed my three mile jaunt with ease, I thought back to the first day I tried running post Lila (this was last October 31st, to be exact). I planned to run 60 seconds/walk 2 minutes until 30 minutes was up.

I made it about 12 minutes before ending up at home, collapsed on my living room floor.

I was pretty sure I was dying.

I had never in my life been out of shape before. Reality set in that this is what happens after you've ejected three human beings from your body. The third one definitely took it's toll, fo' so'.

It took me a month to recover from this incident. Then I joined the gym.

Now I am, to my own shock and disbelief, training to run a half marathon. That's 13.1 miles, people. Cause I think running 26.2 is a little nuts. (Maybe next year!)

And as I looped my neighborhood this morning, it was hard not to think back to that morning, 11 months ago. Where then I felt desperation, now I feel defiance. Then I felt the failure, now I feel fierce. That me was weak. This me is tenacious.

So even though it's hard for me to ignore the imperfections, it's easy to see my strength.

You've got to ac-cent-uate the positive
Eliminate the negative
Latch on to the affirmative
Eliminate Mr. InBetween

Bing Crosby, gotta love him.

It's hard to be the body you were before birth, but it's amazing how strong you can become despite it. Or in spite of it.

Take your pick.

The Dee Dub--CRT

2009-10-03T11:05:00.000-04:00

If you're a typical, non-Disney obsessed person, are unaware of the acronym lingo and don't know what "CRT" stands for, I'm here to help you out.

Cinderella's Royal Table.

It is The Dee Dub's most elusive reservation. People call at 7:00:01am EST 90 days before they want to dine (the earliest you can) to secure a spot with her. Many will try, few will succeed.

But somehow, succeed we did.

I was sorta obsessed with making princess dresses for the girls for this auspicious occasion. The whole thing started with the idea to make a Cinderella dress that wasn't an actual costume, but that anyone could tell was a Cinderella dress. Given as I had learned to sew like five minutes earlier, it was definitely a labor of love. This is what resulted.

Siennah got to be Cindy, and I ended up making a pink one for Lila and a yellow one for Savannah, a la Aurora and Belle. They were just dar. Belle wasn't there though, which left me wishing I'd gone with my original gut and made a Snow White dress (she was there, along with Jasmine and of course Aurora). But I digress.

One reason people want a CRT ressie is so that you can meet Cinderella without waiting in line for a lifetime. I am here to argue the untruth to that idea. I am convinced Disney is not happy if you are not waiting in a line. Or several.

First, you wait in line to check in. This line was, oh I don't know, ten people long?

Then, once you're checked in you wait in line again, for what? At that point you are unsure--it's an adventure! But as you reach the front of the line and enter the castle doors, you realize--you're waiting in line to wait in another line.

You stand in a room with a bunch of other parents, the goal being Cinderella. At least she's there for all to see, this abates some of the agony with waiting. But the children get bored quickly, and soon it's just a room full of parents trying to corral their children. It's especially bad with the boys. The girls have their eyes on the prize, some are awestruck in the very presence of Cindy, but the boys are just their for the sake of their sisters. And being their for the sake of something doesn't make rambunctiousness disappear. (Wouldn't that be nice?)

After you meet Cindy and have your photo taken with her, you're shuttled up a winding staircase that's downright creepy. I was wondering if we were on our way to our punishment for the boys being so unruly in the Cindy line.

But nope, being dreary and creepy is part of the castle's allure, apparently.

The dining room was the same way. It struck me as to how most of Disney Princess related things are sunny and cheery--not this place. It was real castle-esque, complete with brick walls and an old house aroma.

The food was fantastic, tied with Ohana (covered in the next post) for the best meal at Disney. The waiter recommended Major Domo's Pie and I thank him for that--it was Majorly Delish.

It all went downhill when we were done eating, the kids had been there too long, and all you-know-what was breaking loose. The waiter was just not returning with the bill to sign after we'd given them the cards. People were leaving who were still eating when we paid! The longer we waited the more unruly the children became and the higher my blood boiled. We couldn't even take the kids to the bathroom because both stalls were occupied with, ahem, sick children (I was hoping it wasn't that pie of Domo's that was their demise). The mommies absconded with the kids and left the daddies to deal with the delay. It was good that I got out of there or I could have gone postal on someone. And that's just not suitable for a castle.

So the verdict--if you can get a reservation, strap on some patience and take your daughter. She'll enjoy the princesses and you will enjoy Major Domo's pie if you heed my words and order it. If you have a son he'll enjoy the sword they gift to the little "princes." I do so love when people hand my children long pointy objects.

And if you're wondering why there's no pictures, I didn't take any. It was my job to feed two insatiable babies. ; )

Attention!

2009-10-01T20:16:00.001-04:00

We interrupt our regularly scheduled Disney blogging for a post about Lila.

Yesterday morning it was a dull, gray, raining awakening. It was depressing to say the least. But by the time I went to get the boys from school, the sun was shining, and it was ONLY 76 degrees!!!

We Floridians suffer through an insufferable summer. It's hot, it's sweaty, so humid you could practically swim through the air... and you people up north don't know how we do it. Truth be told, neither do we.

But then suddenly, and without warning, you begin to reap the rewards. One day you feel a hint of the cool air and can hardly believe what you're feeling. Summer is ending and you're so incredulous to the whole idea that you have to be convinced of that.

That's how I feel about Lila right now. Her babyhood, almost overnight, is ending. A couple of days ago I was watching her walk and noticing how toddlerlike she seems. It was a revelation.

She is a tiny girl, and coupled with the fact that she doesn't have much hair has kept her babyish a little longer than most. But just as I can see the weather is changing, I can see that she's changing, too.

And then, she started peeing on the potty. I kid you not. While we were at Disney, she started going over to the potty at the hotel and pulling her bloomers or shorts down. So we started putting her on the potty and she would laugh! The second time we put her on, she peed. Now she goes on every night before bathtime, and pees without fail. If you don't put her on, she pees in the tub, so it's in the best interest of hygiene to put her on. *I* am not ready for her to potty train. I highly doubt *she* is. Why must she rush this growing up business?

She runs. Her little, shoe loving feet pitter patter all the way.

Her hugs! Oh her hugs!! I still think Cole had a lock on the baby hugs, but Lila's are different and wonderful in their own way. She wraps her arms around your neck, lays her head on your shoulder, and gives you so much love.

Her personality evolves every single day, sometimes rearing its ugly head. It's clear she's going to be a strong willed little diva, and I'm cool with that. I am that, so it's only fitting. But even when she's ornery, I love it all the same.

But her sunny disposition always returns.

Things I'm going to miss:

~Her dependence. Independence is refreshing and relieving, but sometimes it's nice to be needed by someone.

~Having a "baby". There's nothing else like it.

~Her morning nap. She's kinda switching to one nap a day and it's throwing my whole schedule with the boys through a loop.

Things I'm looking forward too:

~More hair on her precious little head. She loves to have her hair brushed, but being as most of it is on the back of her head and very little is on the top, we haven't gotten the chance to play beauty shop yet.

~Her talking more and more. Granted much of what she's saying right now is a defiant "nnneoooo" or a demanding "ah da" (all done, so get me out of here lady).

~Her to enjoy shopping more. Cause right now she hates it. And that just doesn't work for me.

Change, it is a-coming.

The Dee Dub--Day 3

2009-09-30T21:18:00.002-04:00

The Dee Dub Day 3 can be summed up in three Main Events:

#1--The Teacups.

#2--Dinner at the Crystal Palace

#3--The Spectromagic parade.

What is it about the teacups? Whose idea was it to invent a ride in which you spin and spin and spin, then spin yourself some, until you are about to vomit. Or until you actually vomit, and I'm not sure which is worse. Rey refuses to ride the teacups, so he's the photog behind the Canon here.

Dinner at the Crystal Palace was one of those experiences that shined a great big ol' spotlight on Disney's inefficiencies, or its diabolical plan to drive the parents of the world insane. Choose whichever theory you prefer. After Amber and I arose at 5am back in June to make all these dinner reservations, I sorta had an (apparently unreasonable) expectation that you'd be seated in thereabouts the time of your reservation. NOT! When we arrived for our 5:45 reservation we were told that they were just now seating 5pm reservations. Then we proceeded to sit while our kids went wild for about 30 minutes. We even watched while a table sat waiting to be cleaned for at least 15 minutes. That ended up being our table. The inefficiency was impressive.

In the end, the food kinda sucked there. We did get to meet Pooh, Tigger, Eyeore and Piglet. Let me tell you what, that Eyeore was emanating heat.

Cole could not be torn away from his ice cream, even for Pooh

And then came my most favorite part of going to Disney--The Spectromagic Parade.

It really is magical.

And I love it.

I love it, my kids love it, love is in the air.

Like I said, it's my fav.

You must stake out your seat at least and hour in advance. Our delay at Crystal Palace had me and Amber dashing off to find a spot and barely succeeding. But successful we were and spread out we did. You have to stake out a lot of space because people will crowd you. So you take way more than you need so that once you're crowded you're left with barely enough to fit your people. It's an exercise in rudeness, all around.

While we waited we busted out glow sticks and managed to persuade grown men to jump rope. Wearing Winnie the Pooh t-shirts. It was awesome.

From the moment the parade music starts up I get excited. It's such a catchy little diddy, indeed. The wonder on the kids' faces as you see these beautifully lit floats glide by... well it's wonderful. Watching the Spectromagic parade is one of the few times I don't feel like Disney is playing some giant trick on me... save they fact that they park a giant cart of overpriced toys right in front of your children while you wait for the parade to begin.

And like that, Day 4 is fast approaching.

The Dee Dub--Days 1 and 2

2009-09-29T21:15:00.016-04:00

Last Saturday we embarked on our week long trip to Disney World, also known as the "Dee Dub."

I would call it a vacation, but I reserve that term for periods of rest and relaxation. Theme park trips with one's children involve neither.

With Daddy at the helm...

The boys were excited for the trip, not knowing our destination, only that it involved a trip on the "Big Road." (We rarely go north of Immokalee Rd. or south of Vanderbilt, so excursions like this are a big deal.)

A shot of Lila in her mirror so she wasn't left out of the action...

And a picture of me, to prove I was there.

After four hours on the road, a pit stop, and a snack stop, we were getting closer...

And closer...

And closer!

We were meeting the G-walts at our hotel, conveniently located between Animal Kingdom and Hollywood Studios (boy do I miss it being called MGM!).

A quick change (and I do mean quick) into our first set of "uniforms" and we were ready!

Look! I made it into another picture.

Day Two rolled around, plans to head to Animal Kingdom had us on Uniform Two.

Our little "animals" were anxiously awaiting our departure.

First stop: Kilimanjaro Safaris. I will never ride this ride again without thinking of my Everest partner Kara, as this was her job during her tenure as a "Cast Member"!

Let's see how much I paid attention. This is a rhino?

Giraffe, obviously. Our "safari guide" told us that giraffe eat trees, which thins them out to allow sun to grow the grass, which some other animal eats, etc. etc. It's noteworthy to mention that yesterday when I picked up Cole from preschool he was playing with a giraffe and a tree and said, "Giraffes eat trees. He has to eat his lunch." I'm glad to see the boy was paying attention.

Cole and Siennah...holding hands like the sweet little things that they are.

When our two week safari ended, we moved on to waiting for a show. (The show--It's Tough to Be a Bug. It's 3D and things jump out at you. I hated every second of it.) A photo op of the monkeys while we waited.

And on to my favorite, favorite show--The Lion King. The kids (and a certain mommy) were enraptured.

A very, very tall man.

A man playing with fire. Rey was quick to tell the boys that this was a show and they were to never, ever do that. He had several pyro moments as a child. He was trying to preemptive strike on future generations.

Mason was lecturing the man on fire safety.

The kids got to go and join the cast with marraccas.

Cole was too tuckered to go and stayed behind.

And that sums up the first two days. Stay tuned for Days 3-8!

Yeti or Not...

2009-09-28T11:36:00.000-04:00

We're home from vaca and normalcy is settling over us. Laundry is laundering, the boys are at school getting a proper education, so I decided to begin the storytelling of this wild trip we went on.

I will begin at the end. Because beginning at the beginning would make too much sense.

The culmination of our Disney trip was a crazy on my part... My friend Kara called me a few months ago, knowing of my plans to take this trip to Disney. She asked if I'd be her partner in the Expedition Everest Challenge--an event in the Disney Endurance series that involves running a 5K, then completing an obstacle course and a scavenger hunt through Animal Kingdom. It just so happened to fall on the last day of our trip. Without hesitation I said yes! It sounded super fun!

Kara used to work at Animal Kingdom, so we decided that navigating our way through the scavenger hunt part would be cake. All we had to do was survive the run and do a little Survivor-esque challenge and we'd be golden.

Us before the race

Kaleigh and Cole playing before the race. They are good buddies.

The thought didn't really enter my mind that after eight days at Walt Disney World, I might be a little....tired. And boy, all day Saturday as I sweated it out at Epcot, my feet ached, my legs were tired, and I guzzled water as a preemptive strike on dehydration, I was nervous. But as soon as I got there, I fed off the excitement, and Kara and I in our true style, started laughing and having fun.

We were in Wave Five. Kara's husband Nick and his brother Greg were in Wave Two. Waves took off every five minutes. We were lucky to be so far up--there were THIRTEEN waves. We were halfway through the scavenger hunt (the third leg of the race) when people were just starting the 5K portion. That must have sucked for them...

We took off with Wave Five, following our newly minted routine of "turtling", meaning we run kinda slow. We discovered in our training, thanks to Kara's super sweet friend who ran with us once, that there really is something to the "slow and steady wins the race" motto. So we "turtled" along, and when we needed to pass people, one of us would say "hare" and we'd do evasive maneuvers to get around the walkers and/or people who were turtling even slower than us. It was a thing of beauty.

We felt great, really great, during the run. It was hot, we were sweating buckets, but at every water stop we tossed a little on ourselves and it felt good. We were rocking it!

Lila was dancing to the music in her beebop style

Kara's older daughter Kaleigh

Kara's younger daughter Olivia, also a beeboper. (She is a month older than Lila.)

After the 5K portion we took a quick breather of a walk towards the obstacle course, then we took off running again. We got to the first one, and up and over sorta dealy, and I fell right off the thing. Somehow I banged my leg (I have a bruise the size of the Yeti himself) and we laughed our asses off. But up I got, and up and over we went.

Next was a rope ladder thing (don't you love how I know the proper terms for all this stuff?) and I must admit it was a secret dream of mine to run up and over one of those things. There were these two girls on either side of us struggling on it, but apparently that's my talent cause I tore that sucker up. My favorite part of the course!

Next was the balance beam. Here's where I totally felt like part of Survivor. It's hard to balance on a 2x4 after you've just run 3.1 miles, I do say. Kara blasted right over the thing. I was much slower. Balancing in yoga is one of my strengths, I can hold a position for a very long time. But walking across a beam was a totally different deal. I was using my yoga mantras, but they weren't very effective because I was getting pissed off as people who were on either side of me kept hitting my extended arms with their extended arms. And getting pissed off is not very zen. But I made it.

Ahead was the last obstacle--a thing you had to army crawl under. As we ran towards it I said something to Kara like, "Let's just hit the dirt and go!" And boy did we ever! It was hilarious!! Mud and dirt and grass and things that were just so NOT Kara and Ashley. Again, we laughed and laughed and laughed!

We ran across the finish and heard the "Beep Beep" of the timing device marking our finish.

Passing by the fam on our way to the scavenger hunt

Apparently Cole was not happy to see my run by him and not stop

Off the the scavenger hunt. This was the part I was looking forward to most, but not looking forward to having to run, again!

We picked up our book and got these super spiffy light up pens.

We caught our breath and took off running towards the park. It felt good to be passing tons and tons of people who were walking. We were still feeling pretty strong.

And then we felt the raindrops.

First it was just a sprinkle. It became hard to see because if you looked straight ahead you got rain in your eyes. Then the rain mixed with sweat and pretty soon you were blinded. My shirt was covered in dirt from the army crawl thing and there wasn't a clean inch to wipe the sweat out of my eyes. Just as I was about to duck into a bathroom for a towel, the rain was pouring down and I think washed all the sweat off of me. So I guess that was a good thing.

We were off. We ran, and ran, and ran. Many points we were running through water up to our knees. From Camp Minnie Mickey, to Africa, to Asia. I told Kara somewhere along the way that I won't be taking her phone calls anymore lest she get me into a mess like this again! But it was a blast, and true to form, we laughed our way through it until we'd finished our four clues.

We collected our nifty medals. Inside is a fake compass. Made in China.

Nick was at the end waiting for us and he kindly purchased us beers. I was soaked through to the bone, and we were driving home that night!

Kara and me, post race, well earned beer in hand!

Courtesy of Nick's iPhone. : )

We only got this one post race picture, due to the rain and all. Kind of a bummer, but at least we have the shot of victory!

When I got back to the car, Rey had gotten the kids into dry clothes (pajamas!) and he'd found some dry clothes for me. I was impressed that he wasn't an anxious mess after getting caught with all three kids in that downpour. We made it home at 1:15am. I was in and out of consciousness and was deathly afraid that Rey was going to fall asleep at the wheel.

All in all, the Expedition Everest Challenge was a great time, and I am so thankful that Kara called me up that day to get me to do it! We've decided to make it a tradition!

The results haven't been posted yet. Our time doesn't matter to us, we were in it for the experience and just wanted to finish. To be honest, I have no clue what range our time might even be in.

But we did our best and in the end we conquered the Yeti.

Only a day away...

2009-09-26T06:47:00.002-04:00

Vacations... I am realizing at this very moment how they really are a true escape. The problems of the world seem to all but disappear.

It's wonderful!

Until it occurs to you that while you can leave your problems, eventually you have to go home to them again.

Today our Disney vacation draws to an end and we will leave the place where magic happens, where dreams cone true, and where wishes are realities.

Tomorrow my problems will find me, right where I left them.

Problems are patient. Children could learn a thing or two from them.

It's been a fantastic week enjoying my children, even the moments (hours?) where they've been driving me insane.

I will miss The Mouse, but I will miss the G-walts more....

Now if you'll excuse me, it's time fir me to live it up for one last hurrah at Epcot (followed by a 5k, obstacle course and scavenger hunt, cause why not? More on that later!)

You say it's your birthday? It's my birthday too, yeah.

2009-09-24T06:29:00.003-04:00

Today is my 29th birthday.

I plan to do it up style because I will never have another birthday-- I have recently decided turning 30 next year just won't work for me.

I will be holding at 29, thanks. 29 is a good age.

I'm at "The happiest place on earth" and having a swell time. Thanks to our " cruise director" Amber we'll be supping this evening with Mickey Mouse himself, and really, who could ask for more?

I'd share some pics from our fantastic trip, but alas Internet access is probably better in a bomb shelter than it is at this here Coronado Springs resort, and I have to sit huddled next to the window if I hope to get even a tiny little bar on my 3G network.

Pics will have to wait.

But I promise you this--the wait will be worth it! Matching outfits are to die for.

Remember the Time

2009-09-15T11:02:00.004-04:00

No, this is not a post about Michael Jackson.

But rather, me.

I remember the time where I was Mom Who Has Time To Relax. I'm not really certain exactly what kind of mom I am now, but I am no longer Mom Who Has Time To Relax. She is a stranger to me.

Mom Who Has Time to Relax has left the building.

In the beginning, there was Mason, one little baby who had a gift for sleeping. My days were filled with new mom joys and tears, peppered with plenty of time for productivity. Thus, there was time left over for relaxation.

I would watch TV, read, chat on the phone for endless hours with friends (you know who you are, you guys used to be Mom Who Has Time To Relax, too). My house was clean, my laundry was clean and hung, my child was fed.

The last book I read: How to Behave So Your Preschooler Will Too! And that was at least two years ago. I have an English degree. I am a reader. But I am no longer Mom Who Had Time To Relax.

The last time my house was "clean"? That depends on your definition of the word.

And my child? Now there are three, and while they may be fed, you might recall that I do live in fear that they will one day glow from eating so much food radiated in the microwave.

Instead, I am:

Mom Who Can Never Seem To Keep Up With The Constant Dishwasher Loading and Unloading

Mom Who Bought a New Laptop Only To Leave It In The Box

Mom Who Is Attempting to Use Heat for Food Prep Instead of So Much Radiation

Mom Who Decided to Sew Clothes When Stores Sell Perfectly Good Garments

Mom Who Thought Preschool Would Be a Break (HA! Someone should have warned her about lunch packing time constraints and drop off/pick up limitations.)

So, since I am Mom With No Time To Relax, what do I do?

Sit here for 15 minutes and write this post.

I could have been relaxing, instead.

Saying things that need to be said

2009-09-14T14:53:00.000-04:00

1. I am still lamenting over the unfixability of my treasured laptop.

2. Today I bought a new one.

3. It is not a Mac, but alas another PC. A Dell to be specific. Rey won out, I suppose it has to happen sometimes. I get a little teary each time I hear strangers in Publix mention "iChat" or "iVideo" or something fab that starts with "i". *I* think Steve Jobs is a friggin' genius for starting everything with "i". So cute and tiny and lower cased.

4. The Dell sits, unopened, in my garage. Since about 10:30 this morning. I started thinking that there was a time, not too long ago, that I would bring a tasty little item like that home and rip right into the package. Admittedly, one small reason it sits is I feel like attaching myself to it will be betraying my old, faithful, Lady Laptop. (Although really, is she all that faithful? She did let her screen die, the lazy bitch that she is.)

5. Additional reasons I haven't ripped into it (in no particular order): vacuuming, lunch prep for L.G. (a.k.a. She Who Has a Hollow Leg in Which She Stores Food), showering, preschool pickup, and struggling to recover the data from Lady Laptop (hereinafter referred to as L.L.).

6. Other things delaying ripping into it: the continuous and ongoing struggle to remove data from L.L., the continuous and ongoing struggle to get my children to take a proper nap, the composition of this very blog post, and the fact that I am on Target's web site coveting this:

THIS my friends is a Crock-Pot buffet server. It holds 3-2.5 quart crock pots for your cooking pleasure, and I.must.have.it. After all, I Crockpot nearly as much as I microwave. And if I were to microwave less and Crockpot more, perhaps I wouldn't live in fear that my children will start glowing one day from consuming so much radiated food.

(My birthday is next week, in case you were wondering. Thursday to be exact.)

7. Lastly, I have been sewing so much that if I was wearing a big ugly dress with a powdered wig I'd be convinced I was Betsy Ross. Oh, and she didn't have new fangled things like sewing machines, so perhaps I'd need a thimble too. Amber and I have handcrafted outfits for each day at Disney, trying to keep adult male embarrassment to a minimum and child cuteness to a max. We have drafted some people into our sweatshops, but by and large for two gals who could barely thread the machine not too long ago, we are kicking-A and taking names. Don't worry about missing out. There will be pictures. Lots of them.

Marriage Means a Lot

2009-09-10T10:57:00.003-04:00

Indeed, to some marriage is a disposable commodity. Jon and Kate, Britney and K-fed, I could go on...

But to me, marriage means a lot.

The other night, my friend Kim* (*Names changed to protect the innocent) had some people over. There were beers and mixed drinks involved. When we were leaving her house, her intoxication was evident, her children sleeping, and her husband was happy cause he was sure he was getting lucky that night. Alas, it wasn't meant to be. It seems "Kim" had one cosmo too many and her husband spent the evening holding her hair back. Not so lucky after all.

Marriage means always being there for your spouse.

Our laptop, alas, is going to the great Computer Heaven in the sky. I want to be brave and venture into the unknown (but reputable) world of Mac. My beloved wants to go with what we know and get another PC. Nevermind that PCs are virus laden, spyware havens with slow processors and inefficiencies. If I want a Mac, I will get a Mac.

Marriage means compromise.

Before we got married, there was more makeup, less bodily functions, more sleep, less stress, more date nights, less playdates. Now it's... well, you know. Not as romantic of a world.

Marriage means the end of a fantasy.

"To have and told hold, From this day forward, For better or for worse, For richer or poorer, In sickness and in health, 'Til death do us part." (They really do cover it all, don't they?)

Marriage means dealing with the unexpected.

People always say, "You marry the man, you marry his family." This is a serious piece of advice. I will go no further. (Love you guys!)

Marriage means family.

This morning, I woke up. There was a flood on the bathroom counter from someone's shaving (not mine). There were breakfast dishes in the sink (also not mine). The toothpaste tube is on the counter and not in the drawer where it belongs (really, is that such a big request?). It all makes me mad. I guess I have anger issues.

Marriage means always finding it in your heart to forgive.

I met my husband when I was 13. We started dating when I was 16. I have know him more than half my life, and I fancy myself to be a pretty young gal.

Marriage is finding someone you want to spend the rest of your life with. Beware you could live a long time.

~~Writing prompt courtesy of Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop~~

My Laptop, My Left Hand Lady*

2009-09-08T18:49:00.000-04:00

*I am a leftie, so "My Right Hand Lady" just wasn't suitable. Plus, where's the alliteration in that??

About a decade ago, the screen on my laptop died. (Alright, you got me--it was only last Thursday that the screen died. But is SURE does feel like 96% of my life.)

I have come to realize that not only am I dependent on technology, I am very, very dependent on that laptop.

We also own an old and turtle-speed desktop computer which has allowed me email and internet access without have to squint at my iPhone all the time. (And I should take this opportunity to once again give thanks and praise for my iPhone, without which my laptop-less life would surely be more lamentable.) Alas, this desktop is lacking in oh so many ways.

#1 - It does not have the RAM or the hard drive space to upload photos from my DSLR. Even if it did the program isn't loaded and I am (probably) too lazy to load it.

#2 - It does not have my iTunes loaded. Not such a crisis because my iPhone and iPod are loaded with music, but I am really itching to download some new tunes. No doubt this itch comes cause I can't. And you always want what you can't have.

#3 - Probably the most detrimental lack is the absence of Outlook. I can use web mail, that's all fine and dandy, but we are talking CONTACTS and CALENDER here people! I have no calendar which is really awful cause these days it's amazing if I can remember to show up places when I DO write them down. And as for the contacts, I'll refer back the use of the trusty iPhone, but right now I'm living in fear that something happens to my iPhone cause of a) my insane dependence and b) it hasn't been synced in over a week! Gasp!

I take solace in the fact that my laptop's brain, a.k.a the hard drive seems fine. It just looks like I need a new video card which is attainable easily enough.

Back in my working days I was in IT--people actually paid me to help with computer problems if you can believe it. As such it's an embarrassment to admit that I'm not too stellar at backing up my files. I am like a doctor who smokes... A priest who swears... A model who eats...

Could you imagine the coronary I'd have if the hard drive crashed? Flashbacks to the Sex & the City episode where Carrie "Sad Mac'd." Golly I miss that show...

The world would be a better place if I were Walmart's CEO

2009-09-03T12:22:00.000-04:00

In a lot of ways, being a mom is like running a corporation. You are at the top of the chain of command, in charge of people (even if they're short people), dealing with budgets, people aren't always happy with your decisions ....

It is because of this that I feel I am highly qualified to say "Executives at Walmart! Heed my advice! You are doing it all wrong!"

So what if they're the country's biggest retailer? I'm sure I know more than them.

Walmart draws us in. They suck us in with the alluring prices which let's face it, just can't be beat. And if they CAN be beat, Walmart will price match. So there you have it. Walmart is unstoppable.

When I do venture to Walmart, which admittedly isn't terribly often, I am SO happy, dare I say jovial as I cruise the aisles, dropping deals into my cart. Sure, I have to dodge the other bargain hunters (which always makes me think of how people should be taught proper shopping cart etiquette) but I am so happy that stuff there is so cheap. Cheap cheap cheap!!

As I shop there, I am Walmart's happiest customer!

Look! $2 t-shirts for the boys!

Oh my gosh, I have never see cereal so cheap!

Wow! They sell fishing rods! (Kidding about that one.)

Then, I go to checkout. And it's all downhill from there.

Why, WHY, I ask you is there only one single solitary checkout lane open at any given time? Walmart has scores of checkout lanes, all with their lights dim save one little glistening beacon with hordes of people crowding towards it. After you shop until you drop and load all of their inexpensive goodies into your germ infested cart, you want to pay (so long as you're not a clepto). But your choices are a) to stand in line longer than the one for Britney tickets of b) use self checkout.

Now I have a thing against self checkout. Even if I knew how to weigh my own onions (which I don't) self checkout is bad for America inasmuch as it takes away jobs. It's a bad economy, people NEED jobs, so I say Walmart should forgo a little bit of its zillion dollar profit and hire actual people to do the checking out. It makes me angry that Walmart won't spring for cashiers--they can afford it! So in protest, I boycott self checkout save for extreme cases--plus I don't like to work for free. Especially since they did hire ONE person to stare at the four people using the four self checkout lanes. And BOY, does he look like he loves his job.

So off I go to the regular, mile long line. Whilst I wait, my happiness over cheap deals turns to anger. Rage! I begin to wish I'd checked my watch when my wait began, as I am certain I spend more time waiting in line than I did shopping for the items that fill my overflowing cart.

I stand there, inching forward, and watch people argue with the cashier over something they're price matching. Soon there are three blue vested employees trying to explain to this woman that she can't buy her 11 oz. Tresseme hair spray for $1.99 because Target's ad is for the 4 oz. version. I start to wonder why they have three people to explain price matching and not three people running registers so I can get the hell out of there.

Next in line is a couple with their two year old child. They had jugs and jugs of varying beverages, and very little else. The interesting thing to me though is that all they are buying are drinks like Kool-Aid, Sunny-D, Hawaiian Punch... no REAL juice or milk. What kind of parent spends all that money on junk drinks? What is the point? Kids freakin' love real juice and it's actually good for them. Oh well, at least they're not trying to price match.

When it's finally my turn, I'm so hungry from waiting in line for an hour that I'm ready to rip open the box of Cheerios as I load it on the belt. I manage to restrain myself. I pay in between loading the white bags into my cart, and barely fit the last one in before stashing my newly purchased box of diapers below the cart.

Finally! I am free of this place...

Or so I thought.

The "Greeter" at the door is also apparently the police and wants to see my receipt for the box of diapers. I guess the mountain of bagged groceries isn't enough to assume that I've paid. As I dig out my receipt, someone sets of the alarm as they leave. Interestingly they weren't stopped. What do you make of that? Do I look like a shady diaper thief?

Every time I go to Walmart, I vow not to return. I sincerely think they'd actually MAKE more money by hiring cashiers because I for one would shop there more often. They'd sure make some more money off of me!

YOGA Awareness Month!

2009-09-02T13:02:00.004-04:00

That is correct, people. You read it right--September is home to Yoga Awareness Month. Plus Labor Day, the Jewish New Year, and my birthday, but who's counting?

Aaanyway... back to the subject at hand. Everybody knows I'm a fan of yoga. If you didn't know that about me, you're about to. I think everyone should do it, unless you have vertigo cause you'd almost certainly pass out in 90% of the poses. Yoga is for everybody and Every Body. Get it?

Yoga Awareness Month wasn't just made up by a bunch of hippies--it's actually sanctioned this year for the very first time by the Department of Health and Human Services. Yes indeedy, the government that brought you the DMV, the Post Office and the IRS is now offering up a month of yoga support! I knew something good was bound to happen.

So get out there and find yourself a yoga class! If you've never done it before, keep and open mind and try it out, just for me. And it you can't find a class, hit me up and I'll hook ya up! I AM able to teach now, in case you hadn't heard...

***Photo from Yoga Journal web site

Maybe I Can't Do It All...

2009-09-01T16:12:00.003-04:00

Lately I have taken up sewing. With gusto! I decided I wanted to sew, bought a machine, and sewed. I was at first quite amazed that I was able to create an actual wearable garment. And then I made another, and another, and another. And then I thought to myself--Why am I so shocked that I can do this? I can do anything.

In addition to my sewing, I've decided to start cooking dinner. It's in the job description of "homemaker" and "stay-at-home mom" so I figured I should do it lest I be fired from my jobs. Besides, I can do anything. Remember?

My gym schedule of six days a week remains, though I did skip today since I went twice yesterday. I stayed home and hosted Keri for coffee and cinnamon rolls (we did go to the gym twice yesterday, so it doesn't count). Also, I am gearing up for taking the remaining classes I need to get my 200 hours RYT (Registered Yoga Teacher). It will take about a year. But that's okay, cause as you may recall, I can do anything.

School starting has thrown me for a loop. Someone should have warned me how much it sucks to have to get up five mornings a week, pack lunches and get all three kids in the car, even if I am only dropping off one or two at school. Had I know what I was getting myself into I would have kept Mason's preschool schedule on the Monday, Wednesday Friday rotation to give myself a break. I will survive though--I can do anything.

So with all the sewing and cooking, gyming and schooling, other things are suffering, like laundry folding, bill paying, and mailing birthday gifts off to out of town relatives. And, I don't know, relaxing every once in a while??

This has led me to revise my statement: I can do anything. I can do everything. I just can't do everything all at ONCE.

Summing It Up: Sacraments, Shoes, School, Self-portraits, Shots and Sewing

2009-08-25T20:00:00.013-04:00

Sometimes we do nothing for days on end. It seems like sitting around and watching paint dry might be more interesting...

And then we have weeks like this week, where every day has been jam pack-a-roonied.

On Saturday, we attended the baptism of this sweet little boy:

At the reception, Mason sat and ate endless amounts of jellybeans. (You see his uncle, grandfather, and great-grandfather in the background. They just sat. I believe brandy was involved.)

Lila attempted to make calls to China on Grandma's cell phone...

And Cole cried. A lot.

Lila and I wore matching shoes.

Monday was the first day of school. This involved an eeeaaarrrly wakeup on my part in order to shower, get everyone dressed still have time to pack these suckers...

And of course course I needed time for a "First Day of School" photo op:

We made our "cute face"

Our "surprised face"

Our "happy face"

Our "wild eyes" (which apparently involves Cole's being closed):

Our "model faces":

Our "strike a pose" pose:

And we growled like a tiger.

Then we threw in some self portraits for good measure.

After school drop off, LilaGirl and I headed over to her 15 month checkup.

While waiting we had an inpromtu iPhone photo shoot...

We clapped...

And we tried to find a way to consume that sticker you see wadded up there on the floor.

LG's 15 month Stats: Her weight is a whopping 19 lbs. 1 oz., puting her in the 0Zero-th percentile. Her height is 29 inches, which was the 10th percentile.

It was amazing how quick the visit was.

Does she eat all kinds of food? Yep.

Does she drink milk from a cup? Yep.

Does she walk all over? Brush her teeth? Sleep all night in a crib? Yep, yep and yep.

My motherhood ego was feeling pretty stellar.

One shot, a co-payment, and an appointment set for Mason's --gulp--FIVE year well visit later, and I left planning to feed that child a hamburger for lunch in an attempt to pork her up a bit.

I love a visit with Dr. W., provided no one is sick. That place rocks.

After that, we headed to Target where I spontaneously purchased a Singer sewing machine. My mother was so proud she practically came running over to show me how to function it. She gave me a much needed rudimentary lesson in how to function the thing and some tips for sewing a straight line and that was it for the day.

Never one to have much patience, today I busted out a couple of yards of fabric I had hanging around and whipped up this little number.

Be impressed people. And be sure to tell me all about it.

Okay, so it is a pretty simple design with mostly straight sewing. But damn and I feeling accomplished today. You must understand, I have never sewn a single blasted thing before. This is my very first creation.

When Rey was eating dinner tonight I came around the corner with it on a hanger and he dang near choked on his chicken. "You MADE that?" he asked, incredulously.

Why yes, yes I did indeed.

Modesty, not my strong suit.

When I tried it on Lila she started strutting her little self around like she was friggin' Heidi Klum.

This little girl is a precious gem, I tell ya.

Tomorrow the boys will both be at school, so after yoga I am hitting up the fabric store for Round Two of dress creations.

So that about sums it up!

Post Script: Yes, I realize half the text in my post is blue and underlined. Somehow I jacked up my HTML code when I was editing my post. And I spent about 43 seconds trying to root through and fix it when I decided "eff it!" I just don't care. : )

Things I Have Learned From My Toddlers(s)

2009-08-20T11:37:00.001-04:00

Now I have or have had three of them, so this could be a rather lengthy exercise. I'm going to stick to my Top Ten:

1. There are about 101 different uses for a baby wipe.

2. Never be afraid to ask for help when you get yourself into a sticky situation.

3. It's always cooler if your big brother does it first.

4. Eating is sometimes and exhausting experience.

5. Sometimes throwing a temper tantrum actually DOES get you what you want.

6. Sleep is completely unnecessary, dare I say optional, activity. Ditto for showers.

7. When you and your friends are doing dangerous things, your mom grabs her camera.

8. Kids are made of rubber.

9. Stuffed animals can play board games, too.

10. That tomorrow is another day!

-Prompt from Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop

Balance, or Lack Thereof

2009-08-19T18:21:00.000-04:00

I am a Libra. This is our symbol.

So naturally, I like balance.

Right now, I don't have any. My world = my kids and doesn't really extend beyond the walls of my home. Every day revolves around the kids, the house, the laundry, the cleaning, this mess and that mess, even the damn dog. And endless cycle of making a meal and cleaning it up.

I get it, that's my job. But my "life" is centered around my "job" as a stay at home mom. And that does not = Balance.

However, in addition to my need for balance in my life, I also have an unending desire to be very good at everything I do.

If I'm going to clean my house, I will not just tidy up, I will clean from top to bottom.

If I'm going to learn a new skill, I will master it.

If I'm going to educate myself on something, I want to be an expert.

It is this unquenching thirst for perfection that keeps me chasing my tail. And of course, perfection is a completely unattainable concept. That much, I know.

I have been home with the kid(s) for about 4.5 years now. That is to say, I have not had a job in 4.5 years. But I WORK. Believe me, I work.

In that time, I was entertained by the newness of momness, then entertained be re-pregnancy, new baby, sick baby, hospital baby, healthy baby, move to Key West, re-re-pregnancy, move back from Key West, new baby again, Monday through Friday single motherhood with three offspring, to now.

I am bored.

Not I-am-so-bored-I-have-nothing-to-do bored. Trust me, there are things to be done. But I am bored with those things.

What I used to do when I got bored like this was have another baby. That is sooooo not an option right now.

I am an intellectual, dare I say smart gal. I need some mental and personal growth darn it. And making some money wouldn't be half bad.

So, on my list of a zillion ways in which to grow myself are:

Continue yoga teacher training and get my 200 RYT (requires, you guessed it, 200 hours of training, of which I have currently completely 18 hours)

Go to college again. For what I don't know, and why I'm entertaining this idea considering I never used my first Bachelor's Degree is beyond me

Write a novel (good idea, but not enough instant gratification for the level of labor)

Write a non-fiction book about something I know lots about (see above writing idea)

Write magazine articles (have no clue how to go about this)

Start another blog about something I know lots about

Open a cupcake shop (which might make me hate cupcakes, which would make me sad)

Learn to sew, teach my kids to sew, and turn my home into a sweatshop from which we will sell the world's cutest items for babies and kids

Get a job (which I honestly couldn't afford the childcare to pull this one off).

I need to revolve a little of my world around something other than my children. Not all of my world, maybe just a moon or something.

Do y'all hear me on this?

Somebody? Anybody?

That's My Girl

2009-08-18T20:28:00.003-04:00

My secret is out.

I keep a stash of small, single serving bottles of Sauvignon Blanc in the back of my pantry for moments of desperation.

Lila found my stash.

And boy, was she ever pleased with herself.

"Can I drink this stuff??"

"I'm feeling tipsy just from holding these things!"

The girl is a trip. She pulls all kinds of stuff out of my pantry--applesauce, Publix bags, boxes of plastic forks... Never, ever has she been so excited with her finds as she was with these wine bottles today! I like to teach 'em young ya know.

Disclaimer: The bottles are plastic, people. I'm all for taking pictures of my kids doing crazy crap, but trust me--with the way LilaGirl is famous for launching things across the room I surely would have snatched them up if they weren't "Lila Safe." : )

Devastation and Gratitude

2009-08-16T21:10:00.003-04:00

Our friends JP and Kim had what is arguably the most fun wedding we'd ever attended. It took place in Key West and had so many unique qualities about it that I won't go into right now... But what is perhaps most important aspect of their celebration is it totally had the feeling of JP and Kim in every detail--it was young, cool, unique, warm, and comfortable. It was a great time with memories that will honestly last a lifetime (including but not limited to the fact that I was pregnant with Mason at the time and during the toasts was the first time I felt him move).

They were married for several years before announcing that they were having their first baby. Excitement was had by all! After all, who would make better parents than the phenomenal people who make up the phenomenal couple that is JP and Kim?

Today, on our way home from our weekend in Tampa, Rey got the phone call that Kim had an emergency c-section last night and lost their baby girl. Her due date was this weekend. Such a god awful tragedy couldn't have fallen on less deserving people. My heart aches. It breaks.

I can't help but feel ungrateful.

I traveled through my shock and acknowledged my need for gratitude in my life. Everything I think about makes me feel spoiled and confused.

We sat in silence most of the way home, the boys were sleeping and Lila was crying off and on. "I am here listening to my baby cry and they never got to hear theirs even once." Why?

I carried Lila into the house tonight and thought, "This should be Kim, 14 months from now, with her baby on her hip." Why?

Before tucking Lila in her bed we rocked in her nursery and I thought how Kim will be sitting in an empty nursery, grieving. Why?

I imagine her next few days in the hospital... hearing other newborns crying; having to leave the hospital with empty arms; when her milk comes in as a painful reminder... so many reminders of what they lost.

Unfair.

It is so hard to understand the meaning of these things, if there is one. I have thankfully never felt the pain they are in right now. But to sit and look at all I have been given makes me realize even more how much has been taken away from others.

I will be more grateful, for I am very lucky.

In Memory of Baby Lola...

Mangia!

2009-08-12T20:14:00.000-04:00

I spent all day today in my kitchen. It seems that's the realistic amount of time it takes to feed oneself proper meals.

You see, I went to visit the Good Doc yesterday to get the results of my blood work. Always be wary if they call you and say, "Your test results are back. He'd like you to make an appointment to come in an go over them."

Gulp.

So off I went yesterday only to find that apparently I am deficient in insulin. My first thought is diabetes (my father is diabetic and I'm thinking it's only a matter of time) but according to the Good Doc what I have is the opposite of diabetes.

I left with a list as long as my arm of supplements I'm supposed to take along with strict instructions to avoid proceeded foods and refined carbs like sugar and white flour and replace them with whole-food, unrefined carbs. Sounds swell.

So I went to SweetBay and bought brownies to make myself feel better.

Seriously.

In concession though, I realize I eat a pathetic diet. Not that I eat bad foods, I just don't eat. It's hard with three rugrats--sometimes if I eat a slice of turkey while chopping some in a million little pieces for Lila, that's my lunch. But in my defense though when I DO eat, I do sup on whole wheat pasta, lunch on whole wheat bread, and breakfast on Khashi cereal or the whole wheat pancakes that Chey Rey makes every Sunday. So I feel unfairly labeled as a carb loader here.

For lunch today I made a most delicious tuna salad. Mine is a version of my sister's that includes minimal amounts of mayo, more heart-healthy olive oil, shredded carrots, onions, lemon and sometimes egg whites for added protein. I eat it with Wasa crackers topped with a vine ripe tomato and it hits the spot. Quite yummy. But takes T-I-M-E. And time is NOT on my side, no matter what the Rolling Stones say.

And for dinner, I've got an Asian Flank Steak and Noodles recipe that involves whole wheat angel hair pasta and broiling. The meat marinated all day. Not only was it damn tasy, but here I have another healthy, no refined sugar meal. For those counting that's TWO in one day. (Never mind the fact that I ate another brownie throughout the course of the day. Baby steps, my friends.)

In all seriousness, I was in the kitchen all day. To shred, slice, dice, prep, marinade, stir, clean, load the dishwasher, unload, dispose of the loaded trash bags, feed my kids their breakfast and lunch in between, referee the boys' fights, etc. etc. ad nauseum and there went my day. This is not sustainable.

But neither is a life without insulin I suppose.