Cacklin' from Cackalackie

Madeline Alice Spohr

2009-04-08T18:30:00.002-05:00

I haven't been around much lately, I know. The computer crashed sometime back, and we only just recently replaced it. Besides, I'd kind of lost my momentum here, and really just needed a break from it.

So much has happened since my last post. There seemed to be so much to catch up on. But suddenly it all seems so trivial, so insignificant.

I logged on today to find out that a dear, sweet baby girl whose story I'd followed for over a year now has passed away. Madeline Alice Spohr. "Maddie" as her parents Mike and Heather have called her. She was magic. Absolutely the embodiment of magic which poured from her luscious blue eyes and toothy grin. Reading her story brought light to my world every time I visited her blog. She was a remarkable little girl who because of the devotion of her mother touched the lives of so many people. I will miss reading her story. I will miss that beautiful face. But most of all, I'll miss her magic.

Thank you sweet Maddie. Breathe easy my love. You are an angel to us all.

***please visit the March of Dimes and donate in Maddie's name if you can***

"What Happens When Two Preschoolers are Asked to Sit for a Picture" OR "Insanity"

2009-01-05T22:24:00.009-05:00

Year in Review

2009-01-05T21:20:00.008-05:00

There were lots of days spent dancing and laughing...

with a few homemade super powers thrown in....

to another year of discovery....

and mischief.

Some of us moved on to 'bigger' things...

and carried others.

We told lots of stories....

and did some hard work.

We played pretend...

and shared lots of cuddles...

which made for a beautiful year for our family.

Tasmanian Devil

2009-01-05T15:49:00.003-05:00

Holy crap! Does that last post say September 3?!? Ok. So it's been awhile. I'd apologize for my absence, but to be quite honest (and those of you that know me know that I can be nothing less, sometimes to a fault), I just didn't feel like writing. I've gotten to this place where writing about the daily banalities of life just doesn't seem worth it. And while I've had some very beautiful as well as heart-wrenching moments that were noteworthy, I just didn't feel like sharing them.

Today, I do.

My youngest child starts his "big boy" preschool tomorrow. He was "promoted" (and I use the term loosely here) from his toddler program and will begin a new academic adventure with the 3-6 year old crowd tomorrow.

He's excited.
He's oblivious.
He's ready.

I am not.

I am nervous.
And anxious.
And vulnerable.

"Vulnerable?!?" you ask. Yes, feeling vulnerable.

You see, my youngest is....hmmm...how to put this....he's.....hell. on. wheels. Yes, he's a handful...or two....and the birds in the bush, but in your closed hands, trying to peck their way out. If that doesn't paint an accurate picture for you, imagine the Tasmanian Devil from the old Bugs Bunny cartoons. Now give him caffeine, sugar, and a snort of cocaine. That's Nicky.

Ok. I exaggerate just a litte. But he is a VERY rambunctious little boy.....who is going into a very orderly, quiet, concentrated Montessori classroom. You see what I'm getting at here?

I'm worried for him. I'm worried that he won't adjust. I'm worried about what his teachers will say about his behavior. And I'm worried that this somehow reflects upon me as.....a bad mom. Don't get me wrong. When he gets amped up, I redirect him. I use time-out. I model appropriate behavior. I provide him with new, more challenging activities. And all of this works to focus his attention. But in those moments, it is he and I, one on one. Not he and 18 other kids with 2 adults. I worry that he won't be able to rein himself in, and that the sheer volume of activity around him will only wind him up further, and that he won't be able to enjoy his time in school.

And so I feel very vulnerable......as if my (and this is going to sound very vain, but bear with me) work is on display....my work in progress. And while I may find it positively captivating in all its whirlwind glory, I worry that they won't see what I see. That all of my faults in raising this spirited little spirit will be exposed.

Raising kids is about truly wearing your heart on your sleeve.....for the world to see. And there are moments in their upbringing when you feel like it's beating there, in the great-wide open, exposed like a fair-skinned baby on a sunny day at the beach with no sunscreen. It's out there. Raw. Ready to blister at a moment's notice.

And I wonder,
have I done right by him?
Is he ready?
What mistakes have I made?
Have I given him all the tools he needs to succeed in this new adventure?
Or is there something that I have missed?
Have I held him too close?
Or not close enough?

And how will I ever let go of my baby's last vestiges of babyhood?

My boy is growing up. And while I'm thrilled to see him thrive and watch his world expand exponentially, I want so desperately to hold him close to me, to tuck my heart away in a safe place next to his, and hold on tight to what remains of my last baby.

I love you Nicky. Tomorrow's going to be a great day. And I'm so proud of the "big boy" you've become, even if it hurts just a little to let you go a little more.

There's a First Time for Everything

2008-09-03T12:44:00.004-05:00

And this marks my first Perfect Post Award!

Thank you to Magpie over at Magpie Musing for her readership and pat on the back. Apparently she liked what I had to say about the SAHM vs. WOHM debate. Of course, I didn't write it looking to win any awards. I just felt pretty strongly about sharing my insight from both sides of the debate and letting all the moms out there know that no matter how you do it, motherhood is hard work. And what you do matters. Woman's work is valuable, vital, and unfortunately underappreciated financially and otherwise. I worked just as hard as a SAHM as I do as a WOHM, the day just runs a little differently now.

In either case, we all deserve a pat on the back. So, for all the moms out there, I said it before and I'll say it again, your work is vital. And the perfect post award is for all of us making our way through the labyrinth that is motherhood.

By the way, Magpie is someone I came across some time ago and have been addicted to her intelligent, witty, and insightful writing since. She's politically savvy, creative, a hell of a cook, and just finished installing some incredibly cool built-in bookshelves of which I'm insanely envious. Overall, she's awesome. Go check her out.

Hurricane, check!

2008-09-02T12:49:00.004-05:00

So Hurricane Hanna is bearing down on our coast. Obviously we don't know yet when and where exactly it'll hit. But according to NOAA, it's sure to hit us somewhere, and so we're gearing up.

Batteries are bought, non-perishable food stashed, flashlights were dug out of closets, documents sealed in plastic bags, family photos contained in plastic, water was stored, hand-crank radio purchased, etc., etc., etc. I think we're ready.

But the truth is, when are you ever really ready in these situations?

I was musing with Doug just this morning about how I've lived through several of Mother Nature's most heinous attempts at upheaval:

blizzards, check
major earthquakes, check
fires, check
typhoons, check
tornados, check

and for all my preparation, you're never really ready. The best you can do is alleviate the inconvenience a bit and hope for the best.

As far as experiencing natural disasters, aside from volcanic eruption, hurricane was really the only one I hadn't experienced. And since I don't see active lava flow ocurring in the nearby trailer parks (although sometimes I'd like to), the odds for hurricane being next on the list were pretty high.

So, we're getting ready. Funny thing is, I'm not worried or anxious at all. You regular readers out there know that I'm a worrier. Yet oddly enough, when faced with natural disaster.....totally calm, cool, and collected. When faced with overly anxious pre-schooler, a total wreck.

I suppose the difference is investment. I'm invested in Emma. Not so much in Hanna. There's also a control issue at hand. Hanna preparation, totally controllable. Emma preparation, totally out of my hands.

And in the end, Hanna will come and go. Sure, there might be damage to fix and debris to clean-up. There may even be some unexpected home repairs. But Emma, she's with me forever. And any damage done to her little psyche may not be something I can "fix". And that......is just too much to bear.

I love you my little monkey. And if I could take away all your worry and pack it away in plastic bags for storage at the back of the closet never to be seen again, I would. But I can't. So I'm hoping that my love, hugs, and encouragement will be enough to shield you from the storm that rages on in your little head.

E-GAD!

2008-09-02T12:39:00.005-05:00

Or as we like to call it, "Generalized Anxiety Disorder."

Emma's teen years are going to be a hoot!

We've consulted, been assessed, and begin therapy this week, barring Hanna's arrival. The modality will be cognitive behavioral therapy which I suspected in the first place.

The one reassuring aspect of all of this was having the counselor say to us, "Everything you guys have tried and done so far has been exactly what you should be doing. Keep it up!" So apparently Doug and I have common sense, if not a little bit of an above-average understanding in the area of behavior modification. Or, more likely, we were just lucky.

Nevertheless, when your kid shrieks in fear for just over a year everytime she's faced with new and unplanned situations, or planned ones for that matter, at some point you throw up your hands and say, "We can't do this alone, we need help."

We're there. And we're lucky to have found ourselves what appears to be a fabulous therapist.

Let the counseling begin!

One Down...

2008-08-28T19:07:00.002-05:00

....so many more to go....weeks that is.

So we made it through our first full week of school (well, we will tomorrow anyway - I hope I didn't jinx that by typing this the night before).

Here's the recap:

Nicky
Crying fits: 1
Trips to time out chair (he likes to push kids out of the way when he wants something): 2
Giggles: too numerous to count
Dirty knees (I always say, "A dirty kid is a kid who's having fun!"): 10
Bug bites: 6
"Mommy I drew sumfing."s: 4
Lunches eaten: 5
General exuberance: infinite

and now...

Emma
Vomit: twice
Screaming: 80 decibles
Shrieking for mommy: 56 times
Lunches eaten: 0
Tear stained cheeks: 10
Hyper-ventilating: daily from 7:30 - 8:00am
Calls to counselor for assessment: 2
General anxiety: infinite

Are ya' seeing a pattern here?
Uh yeah. Me too. Got any advice? 'Cause at this point, advice....priceless!

Life from Both Sides Now...

2008-08-19T19:29:00.005-05:00

Joni Mitchell would be proud. I've seen life from both sides now. There were no bows and flows of angel's hair (except for a few bows perched atop ringleted curls), and unfortunately no ice cream castles in the air. But there was a milkshake reward for a successful first day, and a lot of deep sighs on my part. And in the end, I must admit, I really don't know this life...at all.

Translation, the kids and I have transitioned from a 'stay at home mom' family to a 'working mom' family. Granted, we're still adjusting (5:45am wake ups, rushed breakfasts, tears at separation on both parts, and general exhaustion), but we're making it work.

That is not to say that there weren't snags along the way.....like last week when I got in my car for my first day back at work in 4 years and the battery was dead. It was one of those moments where you throw your hands up and say, "Yeah, ok universe, I get it, but I'm going anyway." That of course was followed up by the car needing to be in the shop the morning of the kids' first day of school. You know that guy Murphy.....I hope he's getting royalties on those laws of his.

In any case, we all had our first 'official' day of school this morning, and we managed. I knew we would. But I now have a greater appreciation for both sides of the great 'Mommy Debate'. As a stay at home mom, I struggled with the tedium of life with two kids under 3. You know, the wiping and the babbling and the cleaning and the isolation. I was lonely, starved for stimulation, and desperately seeking outlets for both myself and the kids. I thought I'd found it in that greener patch of grass, just over there, on the other side of that shiny new white picket fence. You know, the one just outside the playground and inside the office park.

Well, I've been there. I had lunch there. I sat awhile. I even left my kids in a different patch of grass while I went and explored the supposedly greener one. And it was hard. The emotional pull that I felt for my children was more overwhelming than the adjustment to a new job and life back in the work force.

All day, my children were not far from my heart or my head. And since I work as a teacher in the same building where they are schooled, I am in a constant state of anxiety, wearing my 'mommy ears', listening for their cries, struggling with the desire to check on them vs. my obligations to my own students. I spend my day poised to respond to my own students' prepubescent issues, and the separation anxiety of my young children as well.

And the exhaustion.....not from the work. The work is wonderful, inspiring, stimulating, everything I'd hoped it'd be. No, not the work. The emotional pull is exhausting. The emotional prep work that must be done to acclimate two young babes to the culture of the working mom is, dare I say, debilitating at times. And my desire to be back in my living room, rolling around with them, pretending to cook eggs in the plastic kitchen is nothing short of surprising to me.

And so, you stay at home moms out there, the ones who are desperately seeking the outlet of the working world, and thinking that that patch of grass will be so much greener than your own.....I have news for you. I have news for all of you, working and stay at home moms alike, neither side is greener. Neither is easier. Neither is better. In the end, they're just different patches of grass, equally difficult to navigate, equally demanding, but entirely different.

And accomplishments in both, however big or small, are equally worthy of praise.

Kudos to all you moms out there. All of you who are wiping, or typing, or teaching, or playing, or cleaning, or writing, or computing, or driving, or carpooling, or consoling, or crying, or hugging, or whatever. Your work is important. Your work is vital......no matter which patch of grass you may find yourself in.

Cast Away Conundrum

2008-08-05T23:13:00.004-05:00

C'mon, you know the movie.

The one where Tom Hanks had to lose 50 pounds in the course of shooting just to make his character's, "Lost," experience look believable. You know...the coconut-eating, tooth-extracting, raft-building, "Wilson"-loving survival story of 3 years on a deserted island. Yeah....that one.

So it's on cable down here about every three minutes on every third channel. I don't know....something about southerners and deserted island themes. They love, "Lost," too. Maybe it's because they recognize how miserable it can be here sometimes and figure if they're gonna' suffer through this kind of living, they might as well make it adventurous. Who knows.

Anyway, you know how at the end of the movie he goes to see Kelly at her house and realizes that she's married with a kid? But at the same, he and she both realize that they still love each other; that they are each other's loves of their lives. Here's what I don't get....

...how do you go on living your life knowing that the love of your life is out there, loving you back, and you just can't be with them? Or more aptly, how do you go on to live a happy, fulfilling life...at least as far as realtionships are concerned?

It's a conundrum to me.

Home Again, Home Again, Jiggety-jig

2008-08-05T23:07:00.005-05:00

Fat pig aside, unless you include the spread of my booty after 2 kids back to back, the house is coming along.

We finished the floors a while back. The walls were painted a rich buttery color that just about makes you want to lick them, care of the guilt-ridden builder who admits to its total crap of a standard in workmanship. And furniture arrived today. New, colorful, cozy furniture.

Almost feels like "home" again. Almost.

Except that now....I think we just outgrew it. Oops.
(I'll post before and after pic's soon.)

In Case You Were Wondering...

2008-08-05T08:59:00.002-05:00

Emma did NOT cry at all when I dropped her off at school today!

And there are no words to express how happy that makes me.

Two months ago, the hysterics were so bad that she would make herself vomit, and I was told by a 20 year-veteran kindergarten teacher that she'd never seen anything like it.

Today. Nothing. Sure, she was still anxious, but maybe, just maybe that little head of hers is wrapping itself around the fact that she can be safe and secure around other people.

Here's to small.....no....very big accomplishments.

Hi Rock, Meet Hard Place

2008-08-01T13:17:00.003-05:00

I'm there. In the middle of the proverbial rock and hard place.

On the one side is my childrens' education....or rather, the opportunity to improve said education via pricey, uber-liberal, exceptionally stimulating, private montessori school.

On the other is my own education...or rather, the absolute necessity for me to return to school in order to pursue my desired career change.

"Uh ok," you say. "What's the big deal here? I don't see the rock and hard place? Just send the kids and go to school yourself, duh."

Yes, and if it were that simple, I wouldn't be sitting here writing this would I?

See, the school is ridiculously expensive. And the only way we can afford to send them there is for me to go to work as a teacher at the school and thereby procure the 50% discout. FIFTY percent people.....for my children to have quality, private school, montessori education in a state where public education is no more effective than a fart in the wind.

Of course, going to work there means putting my own ambitions on hold....once again....until the hubby is making a little more cash, and my own salary increases enough to justify paying for both their school and mine, as well as the babysitter to watch them on the off hours that I would squeak in an education.

That's the rock.

Here's the hard place.

The other alternative is to skip the pricey, uber-liberal, montessori school for now, and let the kids suffer through public school while I go finish up some education of my own. After about 3 or 4 years, I'd be in a new career making more than enough money to pay for said school outright w/o the help of a 50% discount.

But my kids have to suffer through SC public schools. And let me tell you, suffering it will be. The schools here are deplorable. I already know of deficiencies in the education of kids I've met relative to my friends' children in other states. It's frightening. And I DO NOT want my kids to suffer through the incompentencies of bad teachers in a bad system.

But I also don't want to put my life on hold any longer than I already have. When the hubby and I had kids, the deal was that I would stay home for their first couple of years, then head back to school or the workforce to continue fulfilling my own goals and ambitions. We both felt that by the time they were 3 they would be old enough to handle and benefit from a nurturing school/care-taking situation.

And I've found one. And it's perfect. But like I said, the only way to make it happen is to sacrifice more of myself.

Hello rock, this is the hard place, and I'm Danielle. Right in between.

And what was I saying in that last post about moms struggling with anxiety, depression, and the loss of self?!?

Worry-wart

2008-08-01T10:56:00.010-05:00

I worry.

I worry about my kids, especially Emma's incurable anxiety and insecurity at being separated from me.

I worry about our finances, especially in light of some newly acquired medical bills.

I worry about every little creak and crack in our house that I'm sure is the next item to reveal it's faulty design.

I worry about my marriage.

I worry about the clicking noise our car makes.

I worry about the diffuse abdominal pain, bloating, severe acid reflux, and nausea I continue to have even after my recent appendectomy.

I worry that my professional life is not where it should, or where I'd like it to be at my age.

I worry.

And all this worry is like a wart on my psyche. A really annoying, obnoxious, embarrassing-there-for-everyone-to-see wart that showed up right around the time I had children.

I never really worried before I had kids.

True, I had my share of everyday stresses. But as a single, childless woman, I just didn't worry about things like cars, and finances, and jobs. I just kind of lived. And whatever came my way, I knew I could deal with it.

And lately, it's become obvious to me that I'm not alone in feeling this way. So many of you mommybloggers out there are writing about your own struggles with anxiety, or depression, or the difficulty of balancing your desire to do right by your children yet still have a fulfilling life of your own. The numbers are overwhelming. In fact, I'd be hard-pressed to find a mommy blog that doesn't mention these issues at some point in its archives.

So what is it about having kids that changes us so?

Why is it that the pure, unadulterated love you feel for these remarkable little beings also comes with it's own double-edged dose of anxiety, sadness, and struggle?

And how can something as pure, sweet, and wondrous as the relationship between mother and child cause so much angst?

The only thing I can come up with is that in having children, we are no longer ourselves. We become more than ourselves. And while we grieve the loss of our previous identity, we begin wearing our hearts on their sleeves, making ourselves that much more sensitive and vulnerable to the world around us.

I'm alarmed by my own struggle with depression and anxiety since having children, as well as the apparent glut of moms who share in it. And while I know that some of the worry and fear and sadness are really just indications of the unbreakable love I feel for them...that we all feel, I can't help but wonder....is it possible to be a sensitive mom without being a worry-wart?

WWJDFPBP? (What WOULD Jesus Do with a Fried Pickle and Boiled Peanut?)

2008-07-22T23:42:00.008-05:00

It's no secret that I'm not fond of the south. I've been here just over 2 years now, and it's more clear now than ever that I'll never completely like it here or fit in for that matter. And I'm ok with that.

First of all, I'm WAY too opinionated for a woman in the south. The plumber who'd never seen a man, let alone, "his wifey," follow him into an attic to check on his work thought so. The toothless mechanic (I'm not exaggerating here, he had one tooth) who I followed into the repair bay to examine the improperly installed brake pads thought so. And every mother at my daughter's community preschool who overheard my complaints about their insistence that Hostess cakes or some deep-fried object qualifies as a healthy and nutritious snack thought so. I'm just too damned loud and opinionated for these people. And I'm ok with that.

Second, I have yet to, "find Jesus and accept him as my Lord and Savior." I do not pray and go directly to my Bible without passing go or collecting 200 dollars every time I have to make the smallest decision like what length of skirt to wear. I do not proudly display a, "WWJD?" wrist band and spend hours meditating on the course of action that a man, dead 2,000 + years who wouldn't have the slightest clue how to navigate the modern world anyway, might choose. I can figure out what the, "right thing to do," is for myself. And I'm ok with that.

And third, I cannot accept the excuse of regional dialect for poor grammar. "Ya'll" is NOT a word. And it is not cute. And any combination of, "you," and, "all," however abbreviated, when referring to a group of people, is not the optimum choice of words either. I will not be, "gittin' to," somewhere, nor will I be, "fixin'," to do anything. If I fix anything, it will likely be in my home and result in months of inconvenient displacement and thousands of dollars in repairs. And while I'm not ok with the never ending home repair, I am ok with good grammar.

And I do not agree that frying a pickle makes it more edible. Furthermore, boiling peanuts does not make them tastier. It just makes them water-logged and frighteningly translucent. Some things were not meant to be fried or boiled. And I'm ok with that.

See the thing is, I've spent the last 2 years of my life in revolt. I've been fighting an existence that, at least for the time being, is my reality; an existence that I, as one loud, odd, and opinionated person, am powerless to change. So, rather than resent my current cultural geography in life, I'm learning to celebrate it....in all it's awkward glory. I'm on the outside of their churches and their fish frys and their craft fairs and their scrapbooking clubs. And rather than waste my time and energy voicing my disgust, I'm going to be content to be the girl on the outside for a while. I'm going to find peace in my place. And frankly, I'm ok with that.

Shaky Ground

2008-07-21T23:03:00.004-05:00

Do you ever feel like you should be asking for help, but you're not sure for what?

I'm there. And it's uncomfortable. Those who know me know that it's not like me to be so unsure....so overwhelmed....so lost. And I know that I need help getting out of this funk, I'm just not sure what kind, or how to ask.

And so, days progress into weeks and so on....and I continue to wipe and clean and read and teach and whatever else it is I know that I'm supposed to do for all of them. But inside me, this anxiety grows....an anxiety that my life is passing me by. I'm losing my days to groceries and renovations and junk mail and potty training and schedules.

And every time I think life is handing me a lifeline, it always turns out to be just another fruitless path riddled with obligation and regret.

It's been 5 months since I've been here. In that time, I've watched my foundation literally crumble. The house has been torn apart from the ground up with the discovery of one building disaster after another. And the list continues to grow with today's discovery. Despite our desperate attempts to repair and renovate, it no longer feels like a "home."

I've watched my daughter fall apart at the seams time and time again, helpless to do anything for her little crumbling spirit. And while she harnesses the exuberant energy of youth to recover from her anxiety attacks, my own resilience crumbles a little each time with the knowledge that this roller coaster ride we're on is far from over and the damage it has done is yet to be seen.

I've watched shadows of past hurts flash across this screen, reminders of the one missed step between me and his faltering vows.

My body is rejecting this life. New ailments cropping up. Infectious parts having demanded the attention of surgery and time that I did not have to spare.

But the floors are laid. The walls are freshly spackled and painted. The cracks are sealed. The joints are reinforced. And the check is in the mail.

Why then do I feel like I'm on such shaky ground?

2008-02-16T17:57:00.005-05:00

I am plagued by viruses. The first of which claimed my body causing me pain and ringing in both ears, a pressure in my neck akin to the sensation of a blood pressure cuff being inflated around it, high blood pressure, and general malaise. The second claimed my computer for over 3 weeks. Together, they claimed my motivation, inspiration, and general good cheer.

Armed with new anti-viral software, a reformatted hard drive, and a round of nuclear antibiotics aimed at erradicating the plethora of secondary bacterial infections which ensued, I found myself back in the blogosphere, but wearily so (as the physical symptoms of ringing, pain, and pressure have yet to subside).

In my viral-imposed hiatus from the internet, I discoverd something. And one of my fellow bloggers articulated the same idea quite well. I have been hanging out in the virtual world in a feeble attempt to avoid some things in the real one. And we all know that avoidance and denial can only go on so long before karma, life, or the great schemer kicks you in the ass and shouts, "Wake up!"

So, I've got some real living to do for awhile that may keep me from visiting here as regularly as I'd like to. But I'll try to keep every one posted on the comings and goings of the "peanuts." And rest assured, I am still reading fellow bloggers. I find inspiration, motivation, and hope in your posts, and will chime in from time to time to tell you so. But as far as my own blogging goes, I've reached a crossroads where in the face of some fairly important issues needing desperate attention, it seems too trivial to report on the banalities of every day life.

But I'll be back. I always am. Until then dear readers....until then.

On the Eighth Day of Christmas....

2007-12-20T23:27:00.000-05:00

....I turned 34.

In honor of this momentous day (at least in my mom's and my life), I bring you:

The Pros and Cons of a Birthday 5 Days Before Christmas...

Pro: So many twinkle lights that you almost feel like they've been put there just for you.
Con: So many twinkle lights that you ALMOST feel like they've been put there just for you.

Pro: The decorations are beautiful.
Con: The decorations have absolutely NOTHING to do with you or your birthday.

Pro: It's usually pretty easy to find yourself off of work or school because you were taking vacation anyway.
Con: All of your friends are also on vacation, usually in another part of the country, and so no one is available to help you celebrate.

Pro: All those tasty cookies.
Con: So many cookies that no one wants cake.

Pro: It's your birthday and aren't all birthdays good no matter when they are.
Con: It's also Jesus' birthday.
(Picture me here holding out my hands, one on each side, moving them up and down like a scale, saying, "Jesus' birthday," while moving one up, and "Danielle's birthday," while simultaneously moving the other down. It think you get the point here.)

Pro: Presnts.
Con: All of them are combination birthday/Christmas presents and are wrapped in Christmas paper.

Pro: Birthday money.
Con: All of it spent on other people's Christmas presents.

Pro: The sweet cards.
Con: They all read, "Hey Christmas baby....."

And I wonder why I've always had a love/hate relationship with this holiday.

Moral of the story....plan your conception activities so the kid is born sometime between February and November, NOT around Christmas. Or, at least if it is, have the sensitivity of my mother (who's birthday is tomorrow and also suffered the misfortunes of a Christmas birthday growing up) and make sure to go ABOVE and BEYOND in making it feel like a separate, special occasion, even down to stealing and re-wrapping your friends presents in birthday paper. Thanks mom. The mani/pedi/latte/lunch was great!

I'm chock full of sugary, buttercreamy goodness. And now I'm off to indulge in a bath with my new smelly bath stuff in my nice clean (thanks Doug) tub, while listening to my new i-thingy.

Hello 34, I'm Danielle.

On the Seventh Day of Christmas...

2007-12-19T22:44:00.000-05:00

....I drove ALL OVER town looking for a doll house.

Yes, Emma decided she wanted a doll house for Christmas just two days ago. And I have not had an opportunity to shop for one until tonight.

It was ugly people. Ugly. Everything I hate about the Christmas season encapsulated in one crazy 35 mile trip around town to 3 different stores looking for a doll house.

And I didn't even get the one I wanted.

But in the midst of my Christmas rage at yet another rude shopper who used their cart as a battering ram in order to shove past me in a vain attempt to grab at the last of some plastic, piece of crap that their kid just had to have, I realized that I had truly been initiated as a parent in the midst of the Christmas season.

I used to watch news reports about parents like me, swearing that I'd never get so caught up in the crazies that I'd drive all over town, cutting people off, honking my horn, pushing people out of my way, sprinting down store aisles (and yes, I did all of those things tonight)....just....for....a....toy. But it's Emma. My little Emmers. And I want so badly to see her face light up on Christmas morning when she comes downstairs and sees her coveted doll house containing a "Belle" doll lounging comfortably on the chaise lounge. And now she will. And my heart is smiling for her.

As for not getting the one I want, well, I'm tempted to pull another crazy parent stunt and set this one up for Christmas, only to return it when the other one becomes available.

Have I lost my mind? It's a doll house.

Oh...and if you see an Imaginarium Cozy Country Doll House lying around your local Toys R Us, let me know. Apparently I'm willing to drive pretty far.

My neighbor on You Tube...

2007-12-19T13:24:00.000-05:00

...check him out. Mullet and all.
Seriously, this is just too close to home right now.

On the Sixth Day of Christmas...

2007-12-18T18:52:00.000-05:00

...I got my mother-in-law.

For those of you that are cringing, stop. My mother-in-law is actually one of the coolest people I know, and I respect and admire her so much. She's funny, witty, smart, very well put together, classy, down to earth, real, and all with a great sense of style. And she and I have always had a great relationship. We get each other. Same sarcastic sense of humor. Similar tastes. And like her, I am very practical.

Anyway, yesterday afternoon, I received a birthday card from her, and after reading the front cover, I put it down and immediately called her up laughing hysterically.

It read,

"My son is very lucky to have you as his wife..."

Now I wasn't laughing because I disagree with this sentiment. Quite the contrary. I think Doug and I are both lucky. After a rocky start to our marriage, we have both grown together in a most unexpected and complimentary way. And I know that we are both lucky to have the other in our lives. But when your mother-in-law sends you a card that says so....well, that's not only atypical, unexpected and phone call-worthy, but blog-worthy.

Anyway, I called her up to thank her for the card and let her know what a kick I'd gotten out of it before I'd even opened it. As per usual, we chatted for about 20 or 30 minutes updating one another on the goings-on of our lives, had a few good laughs, and bid farewell until next time.

And then, this morning, in the midst of making fruit salad for preschool, constructing teacher presents, dressing two children, dressing myself, and going shopping all before 9am, I stopped to read the inside.

I wasn't prepared. At all.

The card reads,

"My son is very lucky to have you for his wife....
....and I am just as fortunate to have you in my life."

Yup. I started crying here. You see, my mother-in-law and I share one very important quality in common. We both HATE those sappy, overly emotional, sing-songy cards, yet we're both inclined to send the sentimental variety. Problem is, it's hard to find one that sounds sincere without also sounding trite and schmaltzy. So, I know that, like myself, she took great care in picking out a card that said just what she wanted to say and really meant it.

And as far as I'm concerned, she hit the nail on the head. This was one of those, "You had me at hello," Jerry McGuire moments.

The card went on to say, (and yes, it went on....as if that first part wasn't enough)

"You're more to me than a daughter-in-law,
you've also been a friend,
and I hope this year will bring you love
and happiness without end."

And with that, I was reduced to a blubbering mess. Emma asked me, "Mommy, why are you so sad."

To which I responded, "I'm not crying because I'm sad baby, I'm crying because Nanny sent me a beautiful card and it made me happy."

And after listening to so many of my friends regale me with stories about what a pain in the ass their mothers-in-law are, and how they are often riddled with self-doubt and brought to tears by these seemingly tyrannical women, I thought, "how lucky am I."

I too have cried over my mother-in-law. But the only tears she brings to my eyes are tears of joy, and disappointment that she's so far away.

I miss you Nan. I miss our weekly visits and chats over coffee. Thanks for the beautiful card. It was perfect.

On the Fifth Day of Christmas...

2007-12-17T18:26:00.000-05:00

...I got a good laugh...twice!

The first comedian in the house is, of course, my daughter Emma who out of nowhere declared,

"Mommy, you're just a little bit crazy!"

To which I stopped dead in my tracks (while putting away laundry), chuckled, looked up and said,

"Tell me something I don't know. And guess what....you got my genes little girl!"

Then I laughed maniacally.

The second comedian in the house is my husband, although he had no idea what was so funny about what he said.

While watching a Discovery Health program called, "Medical Incredibles," the two of us found ourselves caught up in the story of a little boy who was born with a VERY rare condition. He had a twin that had taken up refuge inside his abdomen. So this little boy literally found himself pregnant in utero with his own twin, complete with its own amniotic sac. Apparently this condition has been seen in various forms only 76 documented times in the last 2 centuries. And some of these cases involve the twin developing into something called a, "parasitic twin," in which the twin partially develops outside the body. The result of such a rare anomaly is a fully formed child sporting the legs, or full torso, or extra arms of another child which extrude from the hosts abdomen. It's quite a sight let me tell you.

Now this condition, in and of itself, is of course not funny at all. Luckily for the afflicted, it's benign and easily resolved with the removal of the, "extra parts." And frankly, from a scientist's point of view, I found the whole thing fascinating. Doug on the other hand was not quite as intrigued by the show, but rather shocked. And when the show broke for a commercial and I turned over in bed to inquire as to his thoughts, I caught an open-mouthed, raised brow, wide-eyed grimace staring in horror at the tv screen. And before I could even ask what he thought, he gave me.....

"We are SO not having anymore kids! Are you kidding me!?! Kids with legs sticking out their stomachs. Get the f**k outta' here!"

And I just died laughing. I watch these shows and come away with more scientific questions than I know what to do with. He watches and comes away with that. If nothing else, we are good compliments to one another.

Thanks for the laughs honey.

On the Fourth Day of Christmas...

2007-12-16T18:54:00.000-05:00

....I got to see through my son's eyes. And how clear was the view.

My mother works as the director of a large assisted living facility here in Cackalackie. This afternoon, said facility hosted a Christmas party complete with Santa, sugar cookies, candy canes, and crafts. It was really adorable, and the kids enjoyed the extra opportunity to visit with the jolly, fat, bearded guy one more time for last minute requests....because as you can imagine, telling him what you want once just wasn't enough for my daughter. Nope, she thought of MORE things she wanted and had to see him just one more time.

Anyway, in attendance at the party were of course, lots of grandkids and their parents, grandparents, and in many cases, great grandparents. Guests ranged in age from 8 month olds just taking their first steps to a few fragile women in their mid-90's who had already taken their last. And once again, I was struck by this circle of life....this return to helplessness and the need for loving care when navigating what seem to be the simplest of tasks.

But what struck me even more than the shared experiences of two generations who are seemingly in stark opposition to one another, was the wonder each inspired in the other. In a room full of people normally overlooked by the more capable, and able-bodied of us, it was the dimpled hands that were quick to reach out and caress the wrinkles of gnarled fingers with awe and abandon. It was the cheurbic faces that buried themselves in the warmth of years-worn, hand-knit sweaters without reservation. Wide eyed babes gazed upon fragile forms held firmly to their wheelchairs with strategically placed pillows and blankets without judgment or fear. And clouded eyes looked with awe upon small forms bouncing with ease through a room full of endless wheelchair obstacles.

And as I watched my 21 month old son crawl his way onto the lap of yet another sweet old woman resting comfortably in her wheelchair, I saw how much they needed each other. How they fed each other.

She lit up at the touch of his pudgy, taut, little fingers. She delighted in his incessant babble, and miniaturized adult gestures, hungry for the touch and attention of someone who was able to look past her frailties and ill-health. She devoured him as he looked with wonder upon her frail form instead of the sorrow that she was used to seeing reflected in the eyes of her children and caregivers.

And he....well, he came alive in the midst of his captive and adoring audience. Performing the best of his adorable "toddlerisms", he egged her on, getting the very attention that I sometimes find myself too tired or too bored to provide.

They needed each other. They fed each other's spirit. And in lives where they often find themselves regarded as burdensome, they alone were able to look upon one another with wonder, admiration, and awe. And I thought to myself how sad and ironic it is that we middle-aged folks, with our 20/20 vision and intellectual acuity miss so much. How sad that so often we are blinded to the wonder of these people not by naivete or failing eyesight, but by our responsibilities and our fear of death. Perhaps it is the innocence of a child, ignorant of life's imminent demise and its often slow and sometimes cruel progression; and the wisdom of age, appreciative of all of youth's possibilities that allow these two generations to see each other so clearly. With so much love and abandon. With an understanding that only those on the cusp of life's beginning and end can muster.

On the Third Day of Christmas...

2007-12-15T20:40:00.000-05:00

....I got a son-in-law....or at least the promise of one.

At the dinner table:

Emma: Mommy, did you have fun today with Daddy.

Me: Yes baby, I always have fun with Daddy. That's why I married him.

Emma: Mmm. I'm gonna' marry Nicky 'cause I always have fun with him.

Me: That's sweet baby, but you can't marry your brother.

Emma: Who do I marry then?

Me: When you get older, you marry a boy you fall in love with.

Emma: What's his name?

Me: I don't know sweetheart. You'll have to wait and meet him when you get older.

Emma: Oh. Ok. So I'll ask him when I'm four.

The innocence and naivete of a three-year old pushing the limits of her understanding of all things adult is priceless. So she's going to get married at the ripe old age of four. I just love how her mind works, and I guess this proves that age really is nothing more than a state of mind. A lesson to be taken to heart as my own birthday looms just days away. I forget sometimes that in her brief 3 years, with so much accomplished and so much yet to discover, another year represents opportunity, understanding, and a chance at growth. And I am humbled by her awe and willingness to move forward fearlessly.

(Incidentally, it's noteworthy that this moment comes days before my 34th birthday and my daughter is 3 going on 4. Ok. It's a silly twist on numbers, but I couldn't help but notice.)

The Great Migration

2007-12-14T19:31:00.000-05:00

Or...How I Got to Be in Cackalackie.

A few posts ago, blogger-friend Amanda posted a comment and eloquently asked, "Damn, woman, remind me again why you live there? Other than the fact that you can get diesel, deep-fried religion without leaving the range of your remote control."

And since she is not the first of my more loyal readers to take note of my otherwise surly opinion of my current state of residence and question why it is I live here, I thought I'd offer a brief explanation.

Picture September of 2005. Doug, Emma (then only 1 year old), and I (2 months pregnant with Nicky) were living happily in a stereotypical Italian neighborhood in the northeast Bronx. Doug worked in Manhattan for a large educational publishing and test prep company, while I was at home with Emma and working as a per-diem consultant for the Bronx Zoo's Education Department. We rented the top floor of a row house from which I could walk to the grocery store, parks, the bank, a fresh produce market, decent coffee, great Italian food, and authentic sushi. It was cramped to say the least (and becoming ever more so with the impending birth of Nicholas), and noisy at times in ways that only a big city can be. But it was home. And we were happy there. Or so I thought.

And then....on a random night in mid-September:

Doug: I can't do this anymore.

Me: (thinking he's referring to the slapped together meal I'd concocted out of leftovers) So don't eat it and make yourself some soup.

Doug: No. Not that. This job. This apartment. The noise. The city. The cold. The snow.

Me: (dumbfounded) uhh.....ok. What do you mean?

Doug: I mean I want to do something different. I want my life to mean something. I'm 40 and I don't feel like I've ever had a job that made a real contribution. And I don't want to live like this anymore. In this apartment. In this city. Riding the train every day. I'm done.

(I got up from the table, grabbed myself a forbidden Pepsi, and strapped myself in for a long, head-throbbing conversation about compromise.)

I should interject here that at this point, my mother had recently relocated to our current state of residence to be closer to my brother and his children who had been living here for years. My father had also made the decision to do so within the year. And Emma and I had visited my mother her in Cackalackie a few months prior to the aforementioned conversation. When asked by my dear husband upon my return to NY what I thought of it, I believe the words I chose were, "I will NEVER raise my child in that God-forsaken place!" Never say never....

Fast forward several weeks: (in the midst of a similar conversation)

Me: So what do you think you want to do then? You've already considered teaching and ruled that out. So what?

Doug: Well, I'm too old to be a firefighter which I'd love, so I think I want to be a cop.

Me: uh....what?

Doug: I think I want to be a cop.

Me: uh....what?

Fast forward several weeks and mountains of paperwork later:

Doug: I got an invitation for an interview in the mail today.

Me: uh....what?

Doug: For the police job. They liked my application. Apparently my age is not an issue with them.

Me: uh....when?

Doug: January.

Me: (with no attempt to hide my selfish motives) That's right around when we'll be down there for the holidays anyway. We can just extend our trip!

Fast forward several months later and only weeks before the birth of Nicky:

Doug: I got the job! Holy crap! I got the job!

Me: uh...what?!?

(silence)

Me: I mean, that's great! Good for you! So I guess we're moving. (feeling my bulging belly) OH....I guess we're moving!?!?! Crap! When? When is this happening?!?

Doug: I don't know. They want me to report in April, the beginning of April.

Me: What?!? (again, hand on belly) He's only due on the 17th of March! You want me to pack a house, take care of Emma, have a baby, nurse said baby, lick my wounds, and move all within a matter of 4 weeks!?!?

Doug: Hmmm...Yeah. That's not gonna' work.

Me: You bet your ass that's not gonna' work! I'm supportive of this whole life-crisis, life-with-more-meaning career change of yours, but not that supportive! Ask them if you can move the start date. TELL THEM you have to move the start date. No....I'll tell them....

Doug: (interrupting) No, no, no...I'll call tomorrow.

Fast forward 2 months and we were on a plane to Cackalackie. I had just had my post-partum checkup, Nicky was one day shy of 2 months old, and Emma was 4 days shy of 18 months. And in the wee hours of a cold spring morning, we packed our little family into our little Hyundai and headed for LaGuardia, tears in my eyes as I watched our friends and downstairs neighbors crying in their living room window.

We've been here ever since. And the transition was all too fast for me. I'm still reeling from it. For Doug it was just right. A change that invigorated his spirit and mind, presenting him with new and meaningful challenges that could not come fast enough. For me it was a willing surrender in support of the man I love, but it was also a flight to isolation, unfamiliarity, and the bizarre. And it happened too fast. I would've liked to drive here. To see the miles pass me by. To soak in the experience of moving. But with a toddler and newborn, it just wasn't possible. And so, instead, we hopped on a plane headed 2 hours south. And in a matter of 8 months and a 120 minute flight, I had been transported not just to a new place, but to a new life. Such a short amount of time for such a monumental change.

But here we are....blindsided or not....livin' life...as a rookie cop, a mom, and two kids....down in Cackalackie.

On the Second Day of Christmas....

2007-12-14T19:24:00.000-05:00

...I got the title to my car! Paid off people. Paid off! And for an indefinite amount of time to come, there will be no car payment added into the already stretched-too-thin-budget that represents our household expenses. And frankly, it couldn't have come at a better time. With Christmas and the recent medical bills (incurred by myself and my erratic heart) putting a strain on things, that extra money is much needed!

And so, the car may not be much (a 2004 Hyundai), but it is ours....in full. And more importantly, we now have 300+ more dollars in our bank account each month. And in the world of 4 people living on an entry-level cop's salary, that is a HUGE relief.

Here's to you trusty Hyundai....and hopefully 3 more years of repair-free driving.

T'was the First Day of Christmas....

2007-12-13T15:29:00.000-05:00

...and I need antibiotics for the green gunk that's oozing out of my sinuses as well as the nagging pain in my right ear. Emma is on oral steroids for croup, and Nicky spent an entire night coughing on my chest.

I have already spent a week accumulating and arranging a various assortment of scarlet velvety bows, fir tree clippings, sparkly knick knacks, and twinkly lights. But only after spending 20 minutes in a waiting room full of coughing, snot-nosed kids did it start to feel like Christmas people. Truly. Aaah...the warmth of the season as only the barking sound of a 3 year-old's croupy cough can convey.

Since the birth of my daughter 3 years ago, my little family has been sick every single Christmas season. Last year's bout with a veritable cornucopia of viruses had us in and out of the pediatrician's office 9 times in one month. It got so that I was tempted to ask if they had something equivalent to frequent flier miles. This year we've only been in and out twice, knock on wood. But I've learned not to get my hopes up until January has come and gone, and we are out of this dreadful season of couped up friends and family, sharing meals, gifts, snot, and germs.

And so, in this, the first of my twelve posts leading up to Christmas, I pay homage to you Parainfluenza virus for visiting my humble home and spreading your holiday cheer....particularly in the wee morning hours as you entice me from my bed and onto the sofa for several hours of spasmodic coughing with one or both of my children. Because of you, I now sport the sleep-deprived, viral-laden glow of the Christmas season. Merry, merry.

Precocious?

2007-12-10T21:09:00.000-05:00

On the way into our local grocery store...

Emma: Mommy, I'm going to walk. I'm not going to ride in a cart, but Nicky is going to ride in the cart because he's just a baby. I'm not a baby, and I'm going to walk because I am.... independent (pronounced perfectly I might add).

She then proceeded to walk through the sliding doors with a haughty swagger that I'd never seen in her step before. And with each step, she took a little piece of my heart with her.

Seriously. My barely 3 year old daughter has officially declared herself, "independent!?!" C'mon. I expected this at 16, but 3!?! Seriously.

Manic Depressive Blogging

2007-12-06T23:26:00.001-05:00

I determined today that my writing is guided by manic-depressive episodes. One day it's dull, slow, totally lacking in ideas, and bordering on the melancholy. The next, it's a dizzying flood of ideas fraught with humor, silliness, pictures, and a slightly sarcastic version of good cheer.

Look out people. I'm in a manic phase. Oh...and the pictures are below. About three posts below. I told you...manic.
Enjoy.

Pick "Meme!"

2007-12-06T22:59:00.000-05:00

So I was the gawky, overachiever girl in high school. You know, the one with the googly eyes, funny glasses, too-frizzy hair, too chubby thighs, too smart for her own good girl. And in the sun-bleached, ultra-thin land of Southern California, this was not a good thing to be. Nope. I'd have been better off in some place like Samoa. Not because Samoans have funny eyes or anything, but at least in an excessively humid place like Samoa where people are genetically inclined towards being bigger sized, my thighs and hair would've fit in. Two out of five or more ain't bad.

Anyway, because of all of these traits and more, I never really felt like I "fit in." Then again, who did, right? Actually, if you asked my super-cool, ruggedly handsome, awesome jock of a brother, he'd probably say, "Dude. I did." And he did. He really did.

But I digress. Like I said, I never really "fit in." I mean I had my cliques and all, just like all of us, but they were things like the speech & debate team, or the newspaper staff, or the drama club. Translation: the nerds, the bookworms, and the freaks. Not exactly the "in" crowd if you know what I mean.

And lately, I've been feeling like that same frizzy-haired, googly-eyed, awkward young girl. Only this time, it's virtual. That's right. It's bad enough that I don't feel like I fit in with the ultra-conservative, somewhat redneck mommy cliques in this small Southern town of mine. But now I'm wondering if I truly belong to the mommy blogging cliques of the world out there. And here's why....

...no one tags me for any "memes." Hell, I didn't even know what a, "meme," was until my friend Karen wrote about it. But that aside, I love reading about your, "8 interesting facts," or your, "alphabet descriptions," or your, "have you ever..." And since I've never been tagged for a, "meme," before, I'm not jaded by them yet.

So here I am to say to the blogging world as I stand in line with the other chubby, too-smart, awkward girls waiting to be picked by the captains, "Pick me. Meme me! I promise I won't let you down!"

Oh. And being one to take matters into my own hands, here's a, "meme," for all of you.

10 Things That Describe Where I live:

1. There are 4 Walmarts within a 10 mile radius of my house.
2. All 4 of them are Walmart "Supercenters."
3. There are 5 car parts stores within a 5 mile radius of my house.
4. They too are "Supercenters."
5. My state is ranked 48th for quality of education.
6. But 5th nationwide for obesity. I think the state food is Southern-fried chicken wrapped in bacon, deep-fried in cheese, and served in buttermilk.
7. And 13th for human lightning strikes.
8. There are 9 ultra-conservative Christian churches within a 5 mile radius of my house.
9. They are all "Supercenters."
10. And even though we live in an upper-middle class part of town, there are 4 trailer parks within a 10 mile radius, all considered upper-middle class because they largely consist of "double-wides."

I think Jeff Foxworthy, the original Redneck, might actually be from here.
Welcome home "ya'll."
Oh, and I'm tagging, Karen, Amanda, and Slouching Mom.

Just blog it!

2007-12-06T22:52:00.000-05:00

If you're like me, you find the holidays a bit daunting, dare I say, even sickeningly overwhelming. So, to add a bit of levity to the season (and in a vain attempt to keep myself from blurting out my usual tactless comments in public venues), I am taking up asylum in the blogging world and issuing a challenge to my fellow bloggers.

In the spirit of The Twelve Days of Christmas, we'll call this, "What the Season brought for me..."

Here's the deal. Starting on December 13th and working through the 24th, write something every day for 12 days about your Christmas/holiday/Chanukah/Kwanza/"Non-sectarian gift-givers" experience. The good. The bad. The ugly. The ridiculous. The sappy. The stressful. Whatever. Just blog it! On December 13th...."T'was the first day of (insert appropriate holiday title here) and the season brought for me....." And together, maybe we'll make it through this holiday season somewhat unscathed.

Now go...blog.

A Family Illuminated

2007-12-06T22:06:00.000-05:00

We all wonder if what we have to give is enough. Have we given them enough love, enough hugs, enough stimulation? Have we read enough stories, prepared enough healthy snacks, given enough support, enough encouragement? Enough. Enough. Enough. And this time of year, this most wonderful time of year, like no other, truly tests our resiliency as mothers. As we drag boxes out of garages and hang lights for all to see, so too are our fears of inadequacy dragged out and illuminated.

What to get them? Is it enough? Do they feel a connection to the holiday? to family traditions? Have we started family traditions? Are there enough decorations to make the house feel "Christmasy"? So many nagging questions race through my mind as chubby, dimpled fingers point out with glee each new encounter with "all things Christmas."

I want so badly for Christmas to mean something to them. I want it to be about warmth. About family. About time spent. And not about the toys or the food (although both are a nice perk), or the money spent. I want for them to create, hold dear, and look back on the same kind of warm memories that I have from my own childhood Christmases. And yet I worry whether or not I can create that for them. Don't we all?

And so tonight came as an unexpected and much needed blessing. A reminder, if you will, that as their mother, I am enough. I am capable. And that this season is not made special by a need to consume beyond our means, but by the memories made. And the time spent. And the family traditions created not through force of will, but through the spontaneous coming together of a family.

Tonight, for a few blissful hours, it was not my fears illuminated, but the glow of thousands of twinkly lights reflected in the eyes of two wonder-struck babes, traipsing through their first Christmas memories. Tonight was all that it should be as my little family established its first holiday tradition. Tonight, one more bit of the culture of our life together was brought to light. And tonight illuminates the way for many merry times to come.

See for yourself.

Circle of Life

2007-11-30T13:01:00.000-05:00

(This post is dedicated to my grandfather, the sweetest man I've ever known.)

No, this is not some sentimental ode to the ridiculously flamboyant singer or the Disney folks for whom he composes songs. It's much simpler than that.

It started this morning. The whining that is. Followed by the fighting. And the crying. And the pleas for help. And the throwing of toys. And the mess. You know. Typical Friday...or any other day of the week for that matter.

Anyway, I'd had enough. So, despite my commitment to saving money and healthful living, I decided that in the interest of my own sanity, it was time to pull out the big guns. I buckled the kids in the car and headed out for the one thing that I knew would not only make me feel better (at least temporarily), but would keep the kids quiet and contained for at least 30 blissful minutes. I was in search of comfort food. And in my world, that'd be a big, fat, cheesy hamburger, fries, and a coke.

Now despite everything I despise about our current redneck...uh...I mean southern locale, even I must admit that it has one very important thing going for it. Hardees. How I love me some Hardees. I can't help it. I'm a sucker for a thickburger. And the kids, well, what kid do you know that doesn't love chicken strips, fries, and chocolatey goodness whipped with ice cream and milk?

So, the four of us (we called "Da-dee Dugiss" to join us for this culinary expedition of fried foods) sat blissfully in our collective saturated fat coma, devouring the greasy goodness when an elderly man and a woman appearing to be his daughter sat next to us. And although I struggled to pinpoint it exactly, I couldn't help but notice that the daughter had an all too familiar look on her face. Was it exasperation? Or impatience? Or maybe a desperate weariness? Exhaustion? Boredom? Frustration? Yes, traces of all of those were evident, but there was also definitely a look of concern and love and devotion.

Regardless of the exact emotion, there it was. That look. The very one that I see staring back at me in the mirror so often. The furrowed brow line which, in the complete absence of botulism induced paralysis, now bears deeply grooved lines testifying to sleepless nights and harrowing encounters with hot stove tops or broken drinking glasses under feet. The crow's feet sprawling from the corners of each eye, bearing witness to belly-aching giggles and the beam of a smile brought on by accomplishment. The glassy stare, evidence of that mental asylum of her daydreams where thoughts travel when the boredom and routine of it all becomes too much to bear. It was all there. Written on her face like an E! True Hollywood Story expose, but without the fame, glory, and fortune.

And of course, I immediately assumed that she must have children at home. Small children that repeat the same obvious questions over and over and over. Children who repeatedly put their hands where they've been told not to despite the threat of consequences. Children who push and pull and tug and nag and giggle and delight. Children to whom she has surrendered herself despite feeling that she wasn't yet finished fulfilling her own needs.

And then I heard it.

"Yes Dad. That's coffee. Don't take the lid off. You drink it from this little hole here in the top. Be careful. It's hot. And your sandwich is coming."

"I'm having a sandwich?"

"Yes Dad. You wanted a chicken sandwich."

"But I don't like chicken."

(at this point another middle-aged man shows up at the table who is an obvious relation to the young woman)

"May I join you for lunch?"

"Who are you?"

"This is so-and-so Dad. He's treating us to lunch."

"Oh. ok. Are you having coffee?"

"No, I'm having a coke."

"Are we eating?"

"Yes Dad. We're going to eat. You're having a chicken sandwich."

"But I don't like chicken."

(now taking the lid off of his coffee for the 3rd time in as many minutes)

"No Dad. You leave the lid on and drink through this little hole. But blow on it. It's hot."

"Is this coffee? What are you having?"

At this point, I realized that I had been staring at this woman and her dining companions the entire time when she shot me a friendly, but mind-your-own-business glance. I smiled shyly but knowingly at her as I wiped the ketchup off of Nicky while blowing on his piping hot chicken, and then replaced the lid on his lemonade for the second time. She smiled back.

And there it was.

That silent connection that you sometimes feel with complete strangers.

Empathy.

The, "I'm with you sister," moment that binds two people if just for a second. Not so incidentally, it is the same feeling I have with so many of you blogger chicks out there. And even though our circumstances were totally at odds with one another, her caring for her aging father and I for my young children, we were both acutely aware of how similar our lives were in that moment. And through each other we were each given a glimpse of the circle of our lives. My children and I reminding her of a time when she was small and fumbling and her father guided her through life's daily challenges. And she and her father reminding me that one day my children may be helping me navigate life's little messes, and how I hope that my own care has taught them the kind of patient, loving regard with which I hope to be treated.

And there we were.
This woman and I.
Caught.
Somewhere in the middle of this circle of life.

Anonymity Revealed

2007-11-27T22:02:00.000-05:00

You may have noticed in the last few days that I started writing in a more anonymous voice. What can I say, my identity theft paranoia got the best of me. Luckily, my desire to feel connected to my fellow bloggers and readers won out, and I've decided to go back to using names. I just can't get comfortable writing about my family and myself without referring to us by name. It's too impersonal for me. I don't feel connected to it, and I figure that if I don't, you won't either.

So, in the already impersonal realm known as the internet, here's my attempt at personalizing it for myself, my daughter Emma, my son Nicky, and my husband Doug. Oh...and although I am a true "zoomom", it's Danielle if you please.

Underachiever or Just Under-marketed?

2007-11-27T21:53:00.001-05:00

So my overachiever gene is kicking into high gear lately and nagging at my blogging ego. You see, I've been blogging for almost a year now, and am beginning to feel a bit discouraged, overwhelmed, lost, or whatever. It seems the the rest of my fellow bloggers have figured out something that I haven't. And so, like a little girl who didn't get invited to the neighborhood party, I'm feeling a little left out.

So I'm going to ask questions of you experience bloggers out there and hope for some helpful advice.

1. How do you get those snazzy mastheads? Did you pay someone to design it for you? Did you do it in Adobe or Powerpoint or something? Or (in Tumble Dry's case) are you married to a talented designer?

2. Where do I get a site meter? And how to install?

3. Should I list my blog somehere? I've noticed there are blogging community sites. Is it worth listing there?

I'd like to "pimp out" my blog and up my readership. And like many of you, I've been told it's all worth reading, so how do I get it out there? I'm at a technological loss. Suggestions please...or at least an invite (wink).

Long Lost Soul

2007-11-24T18:13:00.000-05:00

I knew this girl in college. We met in one of my classes freshman year. I think it was Women's Studies. I loved that class....woke up in that class....literally (it was at 8am) and figuratively. Anyway, we met and became fast friends. You know the kind. You meet and everything just clicks. The conversation flows easily. It's stimulating. The connection is heart-warming, and you just know you're kindred spirits. I am lucky enough to have a handful of friends like that, but this particular relationship was different. It was more.

Anyway, for the next 5 years (yes, it took me the proverbial 5 years at UCLA to finish my two majors) we were inseparable. We did everything together. Took the same classes, became RA's together, drank together, road-tripped together. Hell, she was even there when I had my knee surgery. Through everything, broken hearts, broken bones, mid-terms, all-nighters, finals, football games, summer jobs, up until several years after graduation we were together. We got our first jobs together, and our second and third. We helped each other move into our first apartments. We moved across country together. Commiserated with one another while all our other friends were getting married and having babies, and we remained on a seemingly endless roller coaster of bad dates and loser boyfriends. Yup. We did everything together up until I left my job at the Bronx Zoo a few years back. Since then, not a word. We've lost touch, and I cannot find her anywhere no matter how hard I've looked.

And I miss her...sorely. She was great. Smart. Funny. Fun to be around. Creative. Passionate. Ambitious. Brave. Warm. Optimistic. Goal-oriented. And very adventurous. The kind of person who always had an interesting story to tell and something funny to say. People liked being around her. I liked being around her. I liked her stories, envied her bravery and adventurous spirit. I admired all the things she was willing to try and do without regard for who was watching or what other people thought. She traveled and lived all over the world in Japan, Thailand, China, France, Ireland. She was even our school mascot. She road-tripped across the country a couple of times. Sang at graduation. Sang in restaurants. Picked up and moved across country with no job and nothing but what could fit in her car. She was adventurous like that. And like I said, her bravery, her willingness to try anything no matter how crazy, inspired me. And at a time when I seem to be lacking in inspiration, I miss her even more.

Hopefully some day, she and I will catch up again. Until then....wherever you are....I hope you're doing something crazy...singing in the streets....living in Africa....studying the tribes of South America....handling exotic animals....running marathons....practicing medicine....for my sake as much as for yours.

Have you Ever...

2007-11-22T20:26:00.001-05:00

had one of those drives home where the incessant toddler babble just grated on your last nerve as if someone were pinching it repeatedly between the blades of a cuticle clipper?

We just arrived home from a lovely, if not hectic, Thanksgiving dinner at a fancy restaurant downtown. I've never had dinner at a restaurant for Thanksgiving, it always seemed too impersonal, not to mention the fact that I felt guilty about having someone serve me on Thanksgiving. But I must say I highly recommend it. No cooking, no cooking while thwarting all-too-curious little hands eager to touch whatever's on the stove, no cleaning, and the chance to sit with good company in a decadent setting and eat food that tastes as only it can when prepared by five star chefs. The only downside to the meal was the musical chairs act of which child needs to go outside and run around now because sitting quietly and patiently in a swanky restaurant is just too much to ask of someone with the impulse control of a puppy.

Anyway, dinner had reached that point of critical mass. You know the one of which I speak. The point where the toddler has decided that the only way to be comfortable in the high chair is to rotate 180 degrees in it repeatedly while wildly flinging his napkin like a helicopter blade over his head. And the preschooler has declared that she's, "DONE," at a volume high enough to drown out the ambient music while simultaneously coloring on her dress with the complimentary crayons. It didn't help that they both came down with the beginnings of a cold this afternoon. And in hind sight, it probably would've been best to keep them both home, but I've missed 2 of the last 4 Thanksgivings due to children's viruses, I was gonna' be damned if I'd miss one at a five star restaurant.

So, we packed up our, "peanuts," excused ourselves and piled in the car. The ride went something like this.

"Mommy, are we home yet?"

"No baby. We just got in the car. We have a while to go yet."

"We're far, far away at Thanksgiving." (Mind you, we're only 20 minutes from home.) "Is Ama going home to her house? And Uncle AJ is gonna' go to his house. And we'll go to our house."

"That's right Em's."

"Bug peezth." (Nicky requesting the toy bug he loves to play with in the car.)

"Mommy, may I wear my purse on my shoulder?"

"Yes baby. You may wear it however you like, it's yours."

(Having dropped the coveted bug.) "Oh NO! Oh NO! Bug! BUG! BBBUUUUGGG!"

"It's ok Nicky. You'll have to wait. Mommy can't reach the bug right now."

"NOOO! BUG!!! Peezth! BUG!"

(Doing some Nadia Comenici like moves, I retrieve the bug and hand it to Nick.)

"Ank ooo."

"You're welcome baby."

"Mommy, I'm pokus."

"What Emma?"

"I'm pokus."

"Who's pokus?"

"The rabbit from Frosty. I'm pokus."

"Oh. His name's hokus pokus baby."

"Yeah, pokus pokus. I go like this (wild gesturing), and I'm in the hat. And then the children get the hat, and then they put it on Frosty, and he says, 'Happy Birthday.' And then Karen takes him. And then...."

"OH NO!!!! BUG! BUG!" (Having dropped his bug again.)

And this was all before we even left the parking lot. It was a long ride home, babbling the whole way.....a very, very long ride home. With many a, "Ssssh. That's enough now! It's time to be quiet and try to get some nite nites." Yeah right, like that was gonna' work.

My ears and brain hurt if that's possible.

Happy Thanksgiving to all.

Thanks....

2007-11-22T15:24:00.001-05:00

...for all of this and more.

To Work, Or Not To Work?

2007-11-21T14:17:00.001-05:00

That is the question. Whether t'is nobler to suffer the slings and arrows of toddler and preschooler woes, or to put on pantyhose despite a sea of toys and by leaving for work, end them.

We'll just call that Shakespeare's Ode to the SAHM's Dilemma.

I'm struggling with the decision. And Emma's apparent separation anxiety is not making it any easier. For the first time in 3 years, I am trying to think about myself and my own ambitions, and once again, my thought process is clouded by the hysterics of a desperate 3 year old. I can't help but wonder if my decision to stay home thus far was an ill-fated one, inevitably leading to this moment when separation becomes an unfathomable idea to her self-involved 3 year old psyche. Was I wrong to stay home with my kids these years? Did it make them too dependent on me? And if I do go back to work, how will that transition be? Will it throw my otherwise confident, well-adjusted daughter into such a state of anxiety that it precipitates a lifelong struggle with nerves? It sounds ridiculous, but after these past few weeks of anxiety ridden attempts at separation (after only being separated for two full days), I can't help but worry. If only two days with a babysitter brought on such stomach-hurling anxiety, what would a full-time sitter do?

On the selfish side of things, I"m desperate for a life of my own again. The kids are old enough now that they both are very capable of playing and socializing away from me. And frankly, I need them to do that. I need adults. I need intellectual stimulation. I need a life outside of diapers, trips to the playground, finger foods, and pipe cleaner projects. It was never my intention to stay home full-time forever. I knew I couldn't do that from that get go. But I also knew that when it was time for me to return to work at my daughter's 4 month birthday, I just couldn't bring myself to hand over such a prized and helpless possession to the care of someone else. So here I am. Three years and 2 babies later, growing weary of the daily routine. And no amount of love and pride in my children changes the fact that I need to nurture myself as well. Problem is, having been "out of the loop" for 3 years, I'm not sure how to jump back in....or where for that matter.

I feel another act of this play of mine coming to a close, the curtain falling on these players and their drama. But what the next scene holds in store remains a mystery. And I've much more writing to do.

Baby Steps, but Not in Tap Shoes

2007-11-21T11:58:00.000-05:00

So dance class has been done away with. We tried to send her back, but every time we tried, she'd cry to the point of vomiting within minutes, and the teacher would ask her to leave. So, rather than endure another 7 months of weekly vomit-stained leotards, we opted out. It's left me feeling quite defeated, not to mention wondering what Emma has learned from all of this. My psychology trained mind is inclined to believe that she has now been reinforced twice for the crying/vomiting episode by getting exactly what she desired - the chance to go home with mommy. I suppose down the line we'll have to try again, but in a venue where her vomiting and hysterics won't be so disruptive.

The only saving grace to what seems like my bumbling job of parenting her through this anxiety is that we have stuck to our guns with preschool, and it seems to be working out. The first day back she cried and vomited, but the teacher agreed to let her stay. The next day, she cried off and on all morning, but made it through the day without my having to come and stay with her. And apparently the third time's a charm because the next time we went, she cried at drop off for 2 minutes and was fine. This behavior went on for 2 more classes, and this last class.....not a tear. Thank God or Allah or the Force, or whomever. I'm finally starting to feel like my persistence is paying off, and she is re-learning how to feel comfortable and confident away from me. Maybe we'll try again for dance class next year. In the meantime, know anyone who needs some size 9, BARELY used tap shoes?

When is Enough, Enough?

2007-11-19T13:10:00.000-05:00

Someone tell me. How far do you push or encourage your children to overcome their fears before you say, "enough is enough?" Emma, who previously could not wait the week in between dance classes, has already declared several times today that she does NOT want to go to dance class this afternoon and follows it up with a fear-laden whimper.

She used to love it, used to get so much out of it. Then we traveled. And grandma died. And since we've been back, getting her to go back to the school she once loved two days a week has been a chore, forget dance class. We've been once since returning home, and she cried so hard in the first five minutes that she vomited, and I had to bring her home.

Now I am definitely not one of those parents who believes that your child has to be in a million and one scheduled activities to be well-rounded or whole. No way. I'm a firm believer in the stimulating qualities of unstructured time, particularly at Emma's tender age. And so, in that regard, taking her out does not bother me. I know that this one silly little class won't matter in the grand scheme of things. However, this is a class that she asked to sign up for unprompted by my husband or I, and she seemed to desperately want to try it. So, far be it from me to deny my child developing an interest in something, we signed her up.

And now, with the whiny, crying, fear of separation, declarations of not wanting to go, I'm bewildered as to how to proceed. Do I take her out and potentially reinforce the clingy, regressive behavior as well as teach her that it's ok to quit things? Or do I continue to try taking her, encouraging her to get back into her interests, and teaching her that when you start something, you see it through to the end? And....was it really a true interest in the first place, or did she just want to wear the cute stuff for a couple of weeks? And at only 3 years old, is this really something that I need to be worrying about so much with her?

C'mon moms. Chime in.

THE TRIAD

2007-11-16T23:18:00.001-05:00

Yes, I am referring to the frustration, anxiety, and exhaustion mentioned in the last post.

FRUSTRATION
Let's begin here, shall we?
In this particular episode, frustration takes the form of 4 preschoolers, all vying for the lion's share of my attention. A snuggle here, a kiss there, an occasional story, or perhaps the fulfillment of yet another VERY specific and sometimes bizarre food request. Yes, I'm referring to the 10 days in October in which I graciously took on the care of my dear friend's two 3 year old boys as well as my own two children while she basked in the Caribbean sun.

It was hectic, the details of which I'll spare you. But I did it. And I'm proud of that fact, especially considering that we were in an unfamiliar house, sleeping in strange beds, and having no semblance of our familiar routines (which serves as a nice segue into the anxiety portion of tonight's programming).

In the end, no one was hurt, everyone was fed, everyone was relatively rested, no doctors were seen, the boys got on the bus ON TIME every day, and I did not collapse. And as the days passed, I watched our collective broods bond and form a pint-sized, gang-like posse, faithfully coming together to conquer the all-too-enthusiastic resident golden retriever, or the seemingly insurmountable playground obstacles, or me for that matter. And in those moments, when the 4 moved as one, I thought of my friend...and how close we are...how she is a sister to me in every way but biology...and how our own children are forming that bond. It was in those moments that I was surprised by a bliss and serenity that I never could have imagined.

ANXIETY
Or as I like to call it, "The Effects of Spending a Month and a Week Away from Home."

You think you know your children. After all, in most cases, they've been with you since before they were born. You've fed them, nurtured them, rocked them, soothed them, cajoled them, taught them, etc., etc. etc. But then, one day, you get the bright idea to take them out of their element and upset the very routine to which you have begrudgingly adhered for 3 years despite your own free-spiritedness (is that a word) because you know how fruitfully they have thrived on it. So you pack your bags, fly to New York, and spend a month moving from one place to another, securing trusted (but strange to you and your children) babysitters, meeting and greeting more people than you can imagine, saying goodbye to said people, and basically living in chaos. For me, it was heaven. I thrive in this environment. Emma does not.

Like I said, you think you know your children. I thought I knew Emma. I thought she was a very secure, very mature, intelligent, well-adjusted, vibrant, adaptable little girl. And she is all of those things...except two very important traits when it comes to chaotic traveling. Turns out, on the secure and adaptable counts, I was dead wrong.

Unlike myself, Emma is a creature of habit. She thrives on routine. And I mean capital T-H-R-I-V-E-S here people. This is a kid who wants to know what's coming next, how it's coming, from whom, what is smells like, what color it is, how it will taste (when applicable), what it expects of her, how long it will stay, and generally what purpose it serves. I also apparently forgot that she is JUST 3, and by "JUST" I mean recently turned 3. She is, in so many ways, still just a baby in the grand scheme of things.

So, put the not-so-adaptable-or-secure-in-strange-environments ingredients together with the fact that she's basically still just a baby, let it stew for about a month at 65 degrees and VOILA....anxiety soufflé! Oh, and add to that a quick trip to California a week after returning home for reasons I'll get to later. Yep. I have never seen a kid go from independent, happy-go-lucky to clinging to my leg at school drop off while vomiting from hysterics brought on by the thought of separation so dramatically. Apparently the trips to NY and CA (not to mention the motivation for going to CA) threw my beautiful little girl into such a state of heightened anxiety that everything she once found such joy in, like dance class and school, now terrified her. For two weeks she would not leave my side, not even to let me use the bathroom. She was terrified to go to bed at night. She had to be by my side while I put her brother to bed, when I showered, while I cooked, etc., etc., etc. And having never had to deal with separation anxiety before, I initially was at a loss as to how to deal with the situation. Obviously I comforted and reassured her as much as possible, but as time went on and the situation didn't seem to improve, I watched my previously happy, confident, vibrant daughter cower more and more despite my attempts to re-establish a sense of security. And in the end, I wasn't sure who was more anxious, her over being separated or me over whether or not she would ever feel safe and secure again.

It is only in the last few days that she seems to be returning to her old self again, going to school without hysterically crying the entire time to the point of vomiting, comfortably spending time away from me, and sleeping soundly. But in the last few weeks I've learned a few things: 1. there is nothing like a previously happy, now emotionally crippled child to make you doubt the quality of love and parenting that you provide. I'm still feeling very insecure about my abilities and judgment as a mother despite her improvements. 2. A three year old, despite how intelligent, verbally sophisticated, or mature she may be, is still, emotionally, a three year old who requires a degree of stability and security that only familiarity can provide. 3. As much as I may think I know my children, they will constantly surprise me. And it is my job as their mother to be open to the ever-changing kaleidoscopes that they are, always adjusting my viewpoint, and relishing whatever it is they may put forth.

EXHAUSTION
The final chapter in our episode.

This one is really a no-brainer...traveling for one month, 4 kids under 3 for 10 days, stuck in an airport with two small children for 6 hours, crippling preschool-aged anxiety for 2 weeks, and a virus that developed into an infection requiring antibiotics, an inhaler, and an antihistamine for myself, my husband, and the two kiddos. Yup. I'm tired. But frankly, this wasn't really what did me in. Let's add one more scene just for kicks...one that encompasses all aspects of tonights episode: frustration, anxiety, exhaustion, and a little bit of grief.

My grandma died...while I was away in NY...taking care of the kids. She was 89, and the closest thing to a saint on earth. She is the woman after whom my daughter is named. She meant the world to me. And while I said goodbye and told her that I loved her before I left for NY, it's not the kind of goodbye that I wanted to be our last. And on Nov. 6th, in the warm California sun, along with my brother, mother, and step-father, my daughter and I stood in front of her resting place and said goodbye for the last time. I miss her dearly. And my own sense of security is shaken in her absence.

Point of No Return

2007-11-15T10:51:00.000-05:00

Too many times in the last month I have reached a point, you know, that place where your frustration, anxiety, or exhaustion overwhelms you and you simply cannot imagine taking another step or wiping another mouth or typing another word. I've been there. Too many times.

And now I'm back.

More later...

In Abstentia

2007-10-06T10:03:00.000-05:00

Dear Readers,
As you may have already noticed, for the past week and a half, the postings have been rather scant. My sincerest apologies. I have been busy laughing with family, witnessing Mother Nature's extraordinary transformation of the local foliage, jumping in leaf piles, singing karaoke with soon-to-be-married friends, and generally having a good time.

I will have regular access to a computer in a couple of days. This will, however, coincide with my taking on the responsibility of caring for 4 children under the age of 3 for seven days, thereby limiting my time and sanity for posting. I will do my best however to update on those rare occasions that my aforementioned charges cooperate enough to fall asleep when instructed.

Anxious to get back to cacklin',
Danielle

Yer Cacklin' Now

2007-09-27T17:35:00.001-05:00

Ok. In the last few weeks, a number of you have sent me emails with wonderful commentary, but have expressed regret that you couldn't write your thoughts on my blog somewhere.

Alas, my dear readers, you can!

For those of you that are not intimately acquainted with the blog world, here is a valuable piece of information. On the bottom of each post is a link titled, "Cacklin' Comments." Click on it and go wild! And you can peek at what other people said too! Voyeurism and self-expression all in one place.

Metamorphosis of Moods

2007-09-25T21:28:00.001-05:00

Nicky has blossomed. Literally. In the last month or so, his repertoire of expressions has exploded. And they are just too sweet, too goofy, too priceless for words. Have a looksy for yourself.

Look Mommy, I'm a chef! And I drive too!

Maniacal laughter as his sister is dropped off at school and he realizes he FINALLY has mommy all to himself! And this is how Nicky eats....I mean sings into the microphone.

"Hey, you tawkin' to me?!?"

If I Can Make It There....

2007-09-25T20:22:00.000-05:00

...I'll travel with two children under 3 anywhere!

We're going home to the Big Apple tomorrow, and I can hardly contain my anxious excitement. I'm literally buzzing with eagerness to step off that plane and plant my feet on familiar ground. I can already taste the greasy, crispy "slice" from Frank's, the old pizza joint that nourished my palette and comforted my soul on many a colicky night when nerves and frustration made cooking an unbearable chore. I can hear the rolling laughter of two women brought together by marriage swapping tales over sweet Italian pastry. I can smell the bison's musty odor drifting up from the open field as I push my stroller past flowering dogwoods and up concrete stairs crumbling under the weight of more than 100 years of zoo goers. I feel the infectiousness of four small children's glee as they giggle and frolick their way through fields of browning grass and trees ablaze with color. And I already taste the creamy nuttiness of warmth shared between dearest friends over a piping cup of freshly brewed coffee.

I was not born there. I was not raised there. I never even attended school there. And yet, New York feels more like home than any place I've ever lived. It is where I left pieces of my heart one year and four months ago...in the smile of a friend so dear that I think of her as my sister...in the laughter of her children for whom I literally gave a piece of myself...in the mystique of an institution where I found my passion in love and in life...and in all the familiar sidewalks, store fronts, and thresholds where I passed into motherhood.

And while the most precious pieces of my heart, felt in the strong embrace of a friend and lover and the sweet tug of small hands eager to snuggle and play, are carried with me wherever I go, I cannot deny that a part of me was left behind. A part that keeps me from fully embracing my new home.

Time to revisit the past, collect up old memories, and bring them back to this new place...in the hopes that it too will someday be, "home."

Oh, and along the way I'll be toting blankies, Cinderella, Eeyore, Thomas the Tank Engine, Curious George, and a whole host of other itmes deemed necessary for survival in the eyes of my dear babes. I love them, but man do they need to learn how to pack a LOT lighter!

"Tawk" to ya's soon.

The Road Not Travelled

2007-09-24T00:31:00.000-05:00

It's late. And I'm up. Again. Insomnia. Used to be the kids kept me up. Breastfeeding and all that. Now it's just me keeping me up...which, for the past few days anyway, has been convenient since they both have colds and end up crying out for me or waking up in a coughing fit anyway. At least this way, I'm not roused out of a blissfully peaceful sleep. But operating on 4 or 5 hours of sleep per day isn't good either, and just might explain why I can't seem to shake my own cold.

So what gives? Why the late night bursts of energy spent wasting time in front of a computer screen, giving into the compulsion to Google the names of just about every person I've ever known? Somethin's brewin, but I can't put my finger on it. There are hints of past ills revisited and yet unresolved with just a touch of present day anxiety over where life is taking me. Just today I was telling Doug how I'm feeling, "lost," a bit like everyone else has figured themselves out, and I'm still bumbling through life letting things happen to me. Seems that most days recently I feel more like a passenger in my own life than the driver, or perhaps an auto-pilot....at least where the kids and household are concerned. They and it move right along without a hitch. But me. My life. My drive. It's there. I feel it. But it's so obscured by the fog of daily life that I can't seem to find my way to it. And frankly, I'm not even sure where to start looking. Somewhere along the way, I got married, had kids, bought a house, etc., all things I've always wanted. And yet, lately, I can't seem to find myself in it all. I think in taking the time to build lives for my family, I forgot to maintain and build on my own. So tell me, when you find yourself in the midst of everything you've ever wanted feeling, "lost," how do you find your way back?

(yawn) Oh well. In the meantime, I should put the insomnia to good use and start a business where I hire myself out to take care of other people's children who are up all night with various ills so mommy and daddy can sleep. After last year's month and a half long teething/cold/flu/stomach virus season, I'm more than qualified.

nite nites.

Incidentally

2007-09-23T11:09:00.001-05:00

I forgot to mention in the previous post a very important piece of information with regard to Emma's first trip to the dentist going so smoothly....she went with Doug and I two weeks earlier and was able to watch us in the chair. And while she was in the waiting room with whoever was not in the chair at the time, she had plenty of her toys from home to play with. It made a HUGE difference....so much so that when we got to the dentist this time she asked, "Mommy, when are we going to play at the dentist?"

I highly recommend taking your preschooler for a test run when you have your next dentist appointment. Just make sure you've been keeping up with the pearly whites beforehand, you wouldn't want the wee one to see the painful visit my husband had to endure.

With Each Passing Year....

2007-09-22T19:15:00.000-05:00

...comes new responsibilities. In this 3rd year of life, Emma has taken on the responsibility of oral health. Well, ok. Who are we kidding. It's been my job since the first tooth came in, and I'm still doing all the work. When she says, "Ok. My turn with the toofbrush, Mommy." What that really means is, "Let me tickle my tongue with the bristles for 15 seconds, and we'll call that brushing my teeth." Lucky for me, she's never been resistant to my brushing, flossing....yes....flossing (almost every night I might add), or otherwise messing with her teeth. Nope, no squeamishness about oral hygiene here. So, I figured her first trip to the dentist would go smoothly, and let me tell you.....it did!

See for yourself.

Flashing the pearly whites in the waiting room, getting to know the wonderful hygienist Kathryn, and getting her teeth polished. Emma LOVED Kathryn. She was sweet, gentle, funny, and all the right things an adult in a potentially frightening place should be to make a wide-eyed 3 year old feel at ease. Emma NEVER took her eyes of Kathryn the entire time she was in the chair.

Look at her eyes....on the hygienist. I'm telling you, the kid was riveted. Finally, Dr. Engel, with the same goofy, gentle, sensitive chair-side manner that Kathryn employed (there's something in the water in this place..."nice ice" or something), checked out her teeth and assured me that we were in for some, "Ortho work on the bottom." Great. And of course, a great trip to the dentist, complete with Piglet toothbrush and oral hygiene education on the dangers of "sugar bugs", wouldn't be complete without celebrating with a big, fat, sugary donut.

C'mon...the kid flosses DAILY at 3. How many of you can say that? The least I could do is give her a donut.

The Princess and the Peas

2007-09-19T19:26:00.000-05:00

She's 3. We did it. And it's only now that I realize my delay in posting was really a feeble attempt at denial. She's 3. There's no stopping it. And each new stage brings with it new wonderment, ne w challenges, immense joy, and a bit of heartache for lost days.

And her day was perfect.

For all the fretting I did (and Amanda, I know you get this more than most), she matched my anxiety with greater enthusiasm and joy. It's all I could've wished for.

So, she's 3 now. She's no longer my little "boo baby", she's a full grown princess...

...but she still hates peas. And I relish the constancy of these small idiosyncrasies that make my beautiful, beloved Emma all mine.

180 Degrees

2007-09-19T19:07:00.001-05:00

I'm not sure when it happened....or how, but it did.

Was it the birthday photos I mulled over during my insomnious late night ritual, Staring into the eyes of a little girl who made me what I am today? Or maybe it was the way he bounded through obstacle after obstacle at the park in the cool autumn sun, seemingly leaving every giggle, every roll, every stumble, every tear drop of his "babyness" trailing behind him. Or maybe it was the goosebumps I felt glimpsing the private bliss of an unseen, but heartfelt friend.

I don't know when it happened, but it did...this yearning....for one more life to fill with joy, love, and happiness....one....more....baby.

I know, I know. You think I'm crazy. And for anyone that witnessed my bumbling transition into motherhood, I don't blame you. But in my defense, my first go 'round was complicated by 5 months of colic, a broken tail bone, a badly healed episiotomy, and a blustery New York winter that caged me for 4 months. I'll be the first to admit, I did not take kindly to motherhood in the beginning. But now, I think of myself as being pretty damn good at it. And I love it. I really do. I love playing with them; wrestling with them; talking with them; cuddling them; reading to them; watching them absorb like sponges every nuance, every word, every color, every sensation. It is life's finest miracle and biggest conundrum all rolled into one smudgy, giggly, nimble, little package. And my little miracles are growing up. Their tender "baby years" are slipping quickly away. And I selfishly yearn for one more chance, one more opportunity to cradle, to cuddle, to suckle, to nurture. One more chance to "become" a mommy all over again.

And incidentally, there's no WAY I'm signing that vasectomy form now!!! (hee hee)

Calling All Moms

2007-09-16T18:25:00.000-05:00

I need help. No, not the psychological kind....although....(wink, wink).

Seriously though, I need some advice here. My otherwise well-behaved, compassionate, sweet little girl has just morphed into this very whiny, very contentious, excessively hyper hell raiser, and I have no idea what happened. It's as if her 3rd birthday came and went (which I haven't even posted about yet because I'm just too frustrated by everything else), and all of the sudden she's a different person. She's completely thrown me for a loop here. And our relationship has become so acrimonious lately that it's become a chore for me to spend time with her. And I hate that. I hate that I feel that way, and I hate that our relationship is so full of conflict all of the sudden. Things that we used to enjoy together, bedtime stories, trips to the store, taking walks, have suddenly become battle grounds. I ask her to do one thing, she insists on another, and the battle ensues from there. Hell, even something as simple as putting her shoes on has become a source of friction. I tell her to do it so we can go to the park, she has an absolute fit. And we're not talking about the, "I don't want to, but am going to anyway," kind of fit. We're talking defcon 4 type of fit with the crying, screaming, flailing, etc.

And I'm left to wonder....what the hell is going on? Seriously. I'm exhausted from it all. And if she's not fighting with me, she's fighting with her brother, pulling things from him, pushing him, hitting him, whatever. As if that weren't enough, she's also regressed a bit in the self-help skills department. She won't dress herself anymore (which she's been doing for 4 months now), won't put her shoes on by herself, and I find myself constantly reminding her not to talk like a baby. If I didn't know better, I'd swear she's going through the jealous stage that most siblings go through when a new baby arrives in the family. Except in her case, it'd be about 18 months delayed.

And of course, this all happens at a time when my 18 month old son has discovered a multitude of new skills and is trying them out at every chance. He's climbing on things he shouldn't, opening and closing doors constantly, and constantly babbling at a volume that has the potential to wake the dead. These things in and of themselves would be tolerable as they are a normal part of his healthy development. But couple these with her behavior, and you've got the makings of utter mayhem. Every ten minutes someone is whining or crying over the dearly coveted toy that was ripped from their hands, among other things. I realize that at their tender ages, the onslaught of emotions over which they developmentally lack the ability to control must be overwhelming, but c'mon. I'm losing my mind here.

I've always said that parenting is the hardest job I've ever done. No vacation days, no sick days (and at present I am fighting a cold), no lunch break, no thanks. And we all go into it knowing that there will be hard times when you muster up the strength to love and care for your children even when they're at their least likable. And I've done that. Maybe not at my finest, but I have. Nevertheless, it doesn't change the fact that these past two weeks I've been feeling a bit like Jack London's lost hiker in "To Build A Fire", futilely looking for a familiar trail and/or shelter, praying that my last wet match won't leave me out in the cold.

So I'm putting the alarm call out there to you moms, whoever you are. What do I do? I'm at my wit's end, and I'm starting to wonder what I did to bring this on. Was I too hands on? Is it just a phase? And how do I get through the day without feeling like I just want to give up? I reached my patience limit in the last couple of days. And now I spend an awful lot of energy keeping my own rage, frustration, and crying outbursts at bay. I don't know if I can spend another 6 or 7 hours listening to them cry or whine every 10 minutes over this little thing or that. And I know I need a mommy's day away, but given my husband's work schedule, it just hasn't been feasible lately.

So tell me ladies, what do you do when the kids you love so dearly are the last people in the world you want to spend time with?!?

Jesus Walton (or The Next Installment in the Preschool Chronicles)

2007-09-08T19:04:00.000-05:00

After Thursday's news about creationism being taught in my daughter's preschool, I have become increasingly curious about what she is actually absorbing from all of this instruction. So, in the course of our usual bathtime banter and play involving letters, colored cup sorting, and other things that she should be learning in school, I decided to inquire.

"Emma, do you talk about Jesus in school?"

Not looking up from her delicate ballet of transferring water from one cup to the next, "Yes."

"And what do you know about Jesus?"

Silence as her concentration peaks while trying to place the last few droplets exactly over the hole in the bottom of her rubber duck in order to watch them disappear within.

"Emma, do you know who Jesus is?"

"Sam."

Totally baffled, I ask, "Sam? Who's Sam?"

"Jesus."

Of course. She just said that. Why didn't I get that Sam was Jesus and vice versa.

Vainly trying again to extract bits of information from her sponge-like brain, "Emma. Do you know who Jesus is?"

"He's at Sam's Club mommy."

I think I peed a little here I was laughing so hard. And she jumped all over my response making it into a game chanting, "Jesus is at Sam's Club, Jesus is at Sam's Club."

And I thought, "Boy, I bet Sam Walton must be proud. And what better place for Jesus to reside in this day and age than an unfinished warehouse, owned by one of his most conservative and affluent disciples, filled 3 stories high with paper goods, lawn furniture, dog food, slabs of beef, and frozen dinners, all packaged in bulk vainly attempting to quench the insatiable American appetite to consume. That is EXACTLY where I'd look for Jesus in modern day America."

Needless to say, I'm not quite as worried about the long-lasting effects of her exposure to conservative Christianity at such a tender age, especially after I pressed her further about Jesus' identity and she answered, "You. You're Jesus mommy."

Amen to that sister!
But I'm still shopping around for a new preschool.

South Cackalackie Strikes Again

2007-09-07T08:34:00.000-05:00

I think I may know why Miss South Carolina gave such an idiotic answer to her interview question. She was asked the wrong one! And the source of all this dates all the way back to her preschool education.

Apparently, here in good ol' South Cackalackie, the preschool curriculum emphasizes (get ready for it).... creationism over learning letters, numbers, colors, etc. Yes folks, my daughter has been in preschool for 2 weeks now, and has yet to go over a single letter, number, color, day of the week, month of the year, etc. Lucky for her (or perhaps not so lucky), her mother is a teacher and I have been going over these things for months so she's mastered her alphabet, letter sounds, counting to 30, colors, and is learning to read all before the age of 3. Nevertheless, she is deep in the throes of learning about God and how He created the universe and everything in it.

This alarming revelation (no pun intended here) came to me via the preschool's weekly take-home newsletter which proudly announced that the children are working on a "Creation Book." This was followed by a matter of fact statement that read, "...teaching them that God created everything." Nowhere in the letter did it mention that they would be going over letter sounds or other such useful material.

And I'm not sure what's more frightening here, the blind acceptance of a theory that has insurmountable evidence to the contrary, or the even more nearsighted commitment to indoctrinating children with this ridiculous theory in lieu of mastering basic life skills. And people wonder why children in this state do so poorly on standardized tests. Perhaps if the tests asked questions like, "How many days did it take God to create the universe?" they'd do better and learn some numbers in the process!

So, Miss South Carolina, should you find yourself tripping through cyberspace (unlikely as she probably can't identify what those funny shapes are on the keyboard) and stumble upon this blog, let me say this, it was not your fault. They simply asked you the wrong question. They should've asked you, "Where does everything come from?" And you could've avoided the life-altering embarrassment of your complete inability to use English syntax and grammar by simply stating with the utmost of blind ignorance, "Why....God of course." And at least 95% of the residents of this great state would've cheered wildly....or at least the preschool teachers would've

God help me......who or whatever it is.

Oh...did I mention that we'll be shopping for a new preschool?

No Words......

2007-08-30T12:24:00.000-05:00

As an obviously critical resident of the great state of South Carolina, I feel compelled to comment on this one. And yet, I am at a complete loss for words as to what exactly to say. The absolute horror of it all has literally rendered me speechless. And those who know me know that that is quite hard to do! Besides, I think it speaks for itself.

But if I were to comment, where would I start...with the absurdity of the American pageant system which tries to mask itself as "scholarship opportunities" for young women when in reality it's yet another opportunity to objectify and reduce them down to their respective body parts? (And incidentally, what scholarship do you know of that requires a woman to wear a bikini?!?) Or do we address the absolute bastardization of thought and language, most likely a result of the complete lack of exposure to quality education, exhibited by this state's hopeful representative?

In the end, this momentous display of stupidity only serves to solidify two points that I have reiterated time and again....pageants are a mockery, and South Carolina's education system is failing. How convenient that these two ideas are neatly packaged into one glossed, coiffed, tucked, highlighted, and overly made-up package. I only hope that she can live this down someday.

This Just In....

2007-08-28T20:40:00.000-05:00

South Carolinians are fat.

According to this morning's paper, my newly acquired home state ranks 5th....5th! in the nation for obesity. We're tied with Tennessee and lag behind number one ranked Mississippi, #2 West Virginia, #3 Alabama, and #4 Louisiana. Hmmmm....trend much?

Doesn't say much for that down home cookin' now does it?

So let's recap shall we? I am raising my children in a place that ranks 48th for quality of education, 13th for human lightning strikes, and 5th for obesity. Did anyone just here the audible gulp!? And no, that was not the sound of southern fried chicken goin' down the pipe. I might live in Cackalackie, but I'll take a New York "slice" or a California "wrap" over southern fare any day.

I guess if the home sickness doesn't kill me, lightning or fried chicken will.

Pick Up...

2007-08-28T19:55:00.000-05:00

Here are some snapshots of Emma's first pick up from school. I mostly took video when I went to pick her up, so I only got 4 shots with the camera. She was clearly getting tired of all the fuss, and I had to make room for all the other flashing cameras and their respective parents.

Anyway, here are a couple of cute ones...

Proudly displaying her first bit of art work from school and standing next to her backpack hook. Notice that she's not looking at the camera at all! At this point, I'd already taken about 15 minutes of video of her reaction when I came to pick her up, and she was DONE with cameras. I think her words were something like, "C'mon mom! I'm thirsty. We gotta' go get me somethin' to drink! No more pictures, puuuhhlleeeeeeease."

I should mention that when Emma first saw me walk in her classroom, she came running over saying, "I made somethin' for you mommy!" which is when I was handed her art work from the day. As soon as we walked in the door at home, she announced, "We're gonna' put it on the 'fridgerador', right?!?"

"Of course baby. I would be honored."

I happened to get a few shots of her in action while I was there as well. These were taken when we dropped her off, and as you can see, there was no love lost when it was time to leave mommy and daddy and get on with the day. She jumped right in with two feet and never looked back. That's my girl!

The teacher had set out some toys on the rug so the kids would feel welcome and ready to have fun. Emma didn't miss a beat on that one.

Miss Marie then asked her to come sit down and paint her ladybug which, if you look back at the "fridgerador" pictures, you'll see displayed directly above the handprints art work. The blonde woman in the front is Emma's teacher Miss Keri, and Emma absolutely LOVES her! She's been talking about her all day.

All in all, she had a great first day at school and is in bed as I type, singing a newly memorized song about monkeys swinging in a tree teasing Mr. Alligator, saying, "Can't get me." I'm sure you can guess how it ends.

My little monkey is growin' up.
Nite nites Emma. Until tomorrow's adventures. I love you.

Drop Off...

2007-08-28T09:02:00.000-05:00

Here's a photo recap of this morning's drop off...

Having finished breakfast, she went upstairs to brush teeth and put her shoes on. Afterwards, Emma found her raincoat (because of course it was pouring this morning) and backpack and waited in the garage for her turn to get in the car.

Armed with her ladybug umbrella, Emma waited patiently to go inside. Once in, she RAN...literally to her classroom, Nicky "egging" her on the whole way!

And here's Emma running into the arms of her new teacher! She was so happy to finally be a big girl at school. And mommy cried the whole way home.
We love you Emma. Have a wonderful day!

It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year...usually

2007-08-27T19:24:00.000-05:00

Fall is coming. I can feel it in the subtle breeze that lifts the hairs on the back of my neck, reminding me to dig out those musty sweaters that I've stashed in a box somewhere at the back of my closet. I can see it in the all too eager leaves that have jumped the gun, already littering my backyard with their warm splashes of color. And I can taste it in the fall fruits, neatly displayed in rows in the produce aisles. Fall is coming. And while it is usually my favorite time of year, this year the season brings with it just a hint of bittersweetness as my beautiful daughter takes her first steps in growing up and away from me....she's going off to school.

She has picked out her new backpack (which she insisted must be "princesses" of course), we've ironed her dress, cleaned up her princess sandals, and put together her school supplies (which at her age amount to a change of clothes, a box of tissues, baby wipes, paper towels, and a disposable camera). She is all ready and so excited that she's practically bursting. She's been asking...no begging me to go to school ever since the first day she saw the school bus drive by her bedroom window carrying a load of giddy, giggling children.

"Mommy, what's that?!?" she asked me with a sense of wonderment that can only come from the mouths of children.

"That's a schoolbus baby."

"A schoolbus?"

"Yup. It's the bus that takes the children to school."

She looked wistfully out the window for a few moments as the bus's diesel engines hummed by our house, leaving a billowing cloud of kicked up grass clippings and leaves in its wake.

"Mommy. I wan'na ride the schoolbus. I wan'na go to school right now!"

That moment marked the beginning of her fascination with school. It was about 8 or 9 months ago. Tomorrow, she will see for herself what school is all about, and admittedly, my heart is breaking just a bit.

You see, for all the bitching and complaining I do about the hard part of motherhood, the truth is, I'm a closet romantic. I just hide it well. I mean truthfully, I do miss the working world, and I miss having my independence and the freedom to take off at a moment's notice. And yeah, being a stay-at-home-mom can be incredibly tedious and boring. But at the same time, being home with the kids....it has been my life's blessing. Emma and Nicky are my world. They are my joy, my hope, my motivation, my very heart worn on my sleeve. Having them has changed me completely. They have made me into a kind of person that I never even knew I was capable of being. And while the last three years raising them has had its frustrating, even devastating moments, I would not trade a single, solitary second....because these children are my bliss. And one of them is about to take her first steps toward independence.

I am so proud of her. I am so very proud of the little person she has become. She is sensitive, compassionate, imaginative, caring, VERY sociable, affectionate, strong, able, smart, and clever like a fox. And tomorrow, the rest of the world will get their first taste of the "wrath of Emma". Look out world, here she comes!

So, I have the cameras ready (yes, multiple), I have breakfast planned, and the alarm clock is set (not that I"ll need it - she's so excited she'll probably be in my room at 5am asking if it's time yet). But my heart....my heart is not prepared; it is filled with conflict. On the one hand, I could not be more excited for her. She is beaming, and the sight of that makes me, a self-proclaimed cheerleader hater, want to go out and buy a set of pom poms just to cheer her into school. I am her biggest fan, and tomorrow I will be cheering her on, sharing in her joy and excitement. But another part of me doesn't want to come to terms with the hardest part of parenthood - that we love these little people, we raise them with our hearts on our sleeves, in the hopes that they will one day grow away from us and flourish as their own unique person. That is, after all, the point of it all, isn't it?

I'll be sure and post some pictures from her first day in the next few....just as soon as I can put the tissues down long enough to type.

(She insisted on practicing with her backpack when we went out to the store the other day.)

(And Nicky wanted in on the action too!)

Hoping to Beat the Odds

2007-08-04T09:09:00.000-05:00

Having lived in two of America's largest cities, I'm used to reading a big city paper. So, I'm always interested to see what the local small-town paper finds newsworthy. This week, it was a full-page spread on, "Five things you didn't know about lightning but should." Number three was intriguing: "South Carolina is a hot zone. The state ranks 13th in the nation for human lightning strikes." Great. It ranks 48th for quality of education, but 13th for lightning strikes. So basically, as long as we live here, my kids are more likely to be struck by lightning than they are to graduate high school.

South Cackalackie: the land of "smiling faces, beautiful places", human lightning rods, and illiterate drop-outs.

Alert NASA

2007-08-03T11:48:00.001-05:00

There's one thing worth noting about the South from May to September, it's hot. The other is that if it's not hot, it's raining. But most days, it's hot and raining, neither of which lend themselves to two small children playing outside. So, lately, the kids and I have been making trips to the local mall (much to my chagrin - I HATE malls) to visit the indoor, air-conditioned play area. It's an excellent opportunity for the kids to get exercise, burn off some energy, play with lots of other kids, and I can sit and enjoy my one vice, fountain sodas. All in all, despite the fact that it's located in the heart of one of my least favorite places, the play area has proven itself to be an invaluable resource.

Anyway, this morning we awoke to yet another hot and rainy day (there's a surprise). And Emma having already surmised that rather than play in the backyard today we'd be making our usual trip to the mall, woke me up with her shoes in hand. "Wake up mommy, wake up. It's raining, and we have to go to the mall. You have to get dressed."

Ok. My first groggy thought of the day was, "Great. Not only did I get blessed with a daughter who's a morning person (which I am definitely not) that wakes me up at the crack of dawn, but I also got one who looks forward to going to the one place that I loathe. Excellent." Man, when this kid hits her teen years, I hope we can still relate.

Anyway, upon her urging, I got up, got dressed, fed the kiddies, and yes, we headed out, in the pouring rain, to the mall. They played for awhile, I drank coffee by myself and watched the other mothers, most of whom relish in the opportunity to sit in their little cliques chatting up the latest stroller advances and diapering trends. And then it was time to go. And of course, when we left, it was STILL raining. Aaaaah....South Cackalackie summers....if they're not hotter than stereo-equipment at the local Mega Pawn, they're wet. And as I said, today was both!

So, we made a mad dash for the car, running through 3 inch deep puddles (when you live in a place called the, "Lowcountry," you grow accustomed to deep puddles and drainage issues). When we got to the car, I abruptly told Emma, "Hurry to your side of the car and strap yourself in!" So naturally, she slowly meandered her way around the car, sure to jump in every puddle along the way, and ran her once clean hands over the trunk in amazement of how her fingers left a water trail. Needless to say, this did not make me happy. By the time I finished strapping Nicky in I was soaked, and Emma was just opening her door and was soaked herself. I ran to her side of the car yelling, "Emma get in the car! You're soaked. And now because you took so long, I'm gonna' get more soaked because I have to get you in!" I should explain here that Emma is perfectly capable of getting in the car herself, and that my original plan to cut down on the "soakage", if you will, was to have her get herself in while I strapped in Nicky and then make a mad dash for the driver's seat. Of course things didn't go as planned. When do they ever with two small kids?

Anyway, while I was getting Emma strapped in and STILL getting rained on, I was angrily rattling off about how frustrated I was, and how I was upset at Emma for not listening to me in the first place, and how as a result, I was getting wetter and wetter by the minute. And in the course of my rambling, I said a classic "mom-ism". It wasn't my finest example of parenting, but anyone who has kids knows that in those moments when you are frustrated, soaking wet, and slightly angry, things come out of your mouth that not only have no contextual relevance, but are just plain stupid. It went something like this, "Emma, despite what you may think, the world does not revolve around you and your whims."

Emma's totally straight faced answer: "Yes it does."

I started laughing so hard I almost choked. Leave it to my almost 3 year old daughter to hand me a healthy dose of perspective and levity just when I need it most. She's a bold little thing, and I know she didn't realize why it was funny. But man, I had a good laugh on the way home about that one. And as I drove, I thought, "I should probably notify NASA that the world has taken on a new orbit, and at the center of it is a fiery little star I like to call Emma."

How Can I Argue with That?!?

2007-08-01T08:37:00.001-05:00

Lately, the two kiddos have been trying their hand at that age old game of, "annoy the hell out of my brother/sister and thereby my mother." It goes something like this. Emma takes out a toy, Nicky automatically drops whatever he is engrossed in to go sit practically on top of Emma and touch the toy repeatedly, apparently with no intention of playing with it. Emma responds by screaming and pushing Nicky away and announcing in the MOST annoying whiny voice, "Mommy, he's touching my toy!!! Don't take it Nicky, don't touch it!" Nicky finds all of this amusing.

Anyway, this morning the tables were turned as Emma decided to exact some revenge. You see Nicky has recently taken a liking (and liking is too soft a word here) to the play cell phone (and by the way, I still can't believe that there are play cell phones). So, in keeping with the, "annoy the hell out of my brother and thereby my mother," game, Emma went straight up to Nicky and made fake attempts at taking the phone out of his hands. Nicky squealed and promptly pushed her away. Her response, as is usual, was to tattle on him in her most annoying voice, "Maaaawwwmmmmmeeeeeee! Neeecky pushed me!" Oh how I cannot stand that tattling whiny voice she uses. I much prefer her usual, sing songy tone. Anyway, I responded to the situation by reminding Nicky that we don't push people and explaining to Emma that he pushed her because she was bothering him, and that she really needs to stop being a tattle tale and worry about her own behavior. She obviously didn't like what I had to say because within minutes, she went over and pushed Nicky right in front of me, making sure I got an eyeful. I gave her the usual warning, "Emma we do not push people. If I see you do that again, you'll sit in time out. We keep our hands to ourselves. Do not touch Nicky."

Her response, "But I love him."

Now how can I argue with that?

And doesn't that just prove that all those boys and girls that bothered you on the playground when you were little did so because they really DID love you!?!

Photo Updates

2007-07-25T21:01:00.000-05:00

It's been a while, and there are a few things on my mind, but before I get to all that, here are some recent glimpses into life in Cackalackie.

Emma and "Ama" modeling their shades. The two of them are double trouble! And here's Nicky and I on Father's Day. People seem to be split down the middle as to whether he takes after me or Doug. What do you think?

Emma coloring with Grandpa Tony on Father's Day.

Nicky's first "buzz cut" (done by yours truly). And let me say that it is quite difficult to buzz a baby's head while he is screaming and trying desperately to turn so he can see the clippers from every angle, while simultaneously pulling on the chord. Given the circumstances, I thought I did a pretty good job. Ok, it's a little on the short side, but it got cut didn't it!?! And Doug and I couldn't resist the pictures of the hairy back. Let's hope this is the last of it.

Here is Emma with her first nightgown. This was purchased after she had spent the night with her favorite cousin Genna who is completely enthralled with Disney princess and owns several of these. And since Emma idolizes her, naturally she insisted that she had to have some of her own. I gave in and took her to Kohl's where she picked out "Ariel." And by the way, I had NOTHING to do with the pose in that second one. She must've gotten that idea from Genna too. A week later, we were back for the Cinderella nightgown after I realized that she would never again wear her "boring" shorts pajamas, and I was tired of having to do a load of laundry every time "Ariel" got dirty. So now, much to my chagrin, she has two princess nightgowns, but at least I can put off laundry for a few more days. And incidentally, what happened to the little girl who wanted "Cars" and "Nemo" underpants?!? Oh where has my little tomboy gone?

And here's the culprit. Genna is a beautiful, very bright 5 year old (slightly more than 2.5 years older than Emma), and she and Emma are like peas in a pod when they're together. It's so great, and something my brother and I never had (never had any cousins). So it's so nice to see our kids getting along so well. It's one of the few perks of Cackalackie life.

Aaah. There's my tomboy and her hoodlum brother. Doesn't it look like he's saying, "Yo. What up dawg?"

And here's Emma in a dress that "Nanny" sent her that I just love. She looks so sweet. And Nanny always has great taste! Thanks Nan.

And this is just the two kiddos playin' around. They are so affectionate with one another, and I just love that. It makes my heart melt whenever I see them hug, kiss, or cuddle one another. My hope is that they will always remain close so that when they're older, they can rely on one another in ways that my brother and I now do. Seeing my own children grow reminds me so much of my childhood with my brother AJ. He and I have come so far. And in the recent months, we've really been able to lean on each other when we needed to vent, needed a break from the kids, or just needed a laugh. He's a cool guy, and I'm lucky to have him in my life. I hope my kids will feel that way about each other at my age. And at the very least, they'll each have someone to whom they can complain about me! HA!

Take Me to Your Leader

2007-07-06T16:52:00.001-05:00

While driving on one of South Carolina's many two lane, tree-lined roads this past week, I noticed that the state's natural history museum is proudly advertising their latest exhibition: Aliens, Worlds of Possibilities. And I couldn't help but think, as I passed endless abandoned trailers, rusted-out cars in overgrown grass, and worn-out movie marquees in front of cinder block warehouses advertising redemption for my soul, that the aliens aren't in the museum, I'm pretty sure they're right behind the cinder block warehouse doors, finding Jesus, who was hiding behind the rat-infested sofa on the front porch of their trailer all along.

And then I thought, this is their version of a science exhibit. And my children are going to be educated here.

Ahhh...South Cackalackie. Gotta' love it.

Less is More

2007-06-26T15:20:00.000-05:00

I was driving home from a lovely breakfast with my brother, sister-in-law, and their kids this morning, listening to NPR broadcast at length about our culture's propensity to incur personal debt, and I found myself getting more and more disgusted. I don't get it. These call-in listeners were all complaining about how they'd gotten themselves into thousands upon thousands of dollars of debt and couldn't understand why.

Ok people. Here's how money works. If you have it, you can spend it. If you don't, you can't. Simple. It's basic math. And if you're in debt. Stop spending, and start putting that money towards your debt. Why is this concept so damned hard for people in this country to understand? Are we so wrapped up in our consumerist culture that basic concepts elude us? And are we so consumed with living a lifestyle we can't afford just to keep up appearances that we're willing to destroy ourselves financially?

People were calling in, some on the verge of tears, complaining about how they can't seem to get themselves out of debt. In the meantime, they're calling from their state of the art cell phones, while driving their Cadillac Escalades on their way to their receptionist jobs. Now granted, I've been out of the workforce for almost three years now, but last I checked, a receptionist, even in the most upscale of offices, pays only slightly more than a stay-at-home-mom.

And the same holds true for dieting. I'm so tired of hearing people complain about not being able to lose weight. I myself was on weight watchers 4 years ago after gaining 25 pounds. The concepts were basic; eat well, eat just enough to feed your body, and exercise. It works. There's no magic bullet or wonder drug or undiscovered truth about it. It is what it is.

And yet, our culture still seeks out miracle cures for our indulgences. Are we that delusional or that arrogant to think that we're above the basic laws of science and nature? And at what point are we just going to have some culpability for our actions and say, "Wow, I'm in a lot of debt and I'm a huge, fat cow. Maybe I shouldn't drive my gas-guzzling monstrosity of a car to the most expensive restaurant in town tonight and stuff myself with beef wellington and chocolate cake." As I always say, life is about choices and consequences. If you don't like the set of consequences that comes with one choice, choose another....and save the chocolate cake for special occasions while you're at it.

Wondering if It's All Worth It

2007-06-16T20:38:00.000-05:00

A little more than two and a half years ago, I gave birth to our first child Emma. Nine days prior to that, I went on maternity leave from my job at the Bronx Zoo and never went back. As it turned out, quality child care in New York was so expensive that approximately 80% of my paycheck would be spent just to have a stranger take care of my child. Since I knew I could make the remaining 20% working part-time on Doug's off hours, he and I decided it would be better for me to stay home with Emma rather than pay a stranger to raise her. And since I was already home with her when we had Nicky 15 months ago, well, it just made sense to stay there. But now I'm wondering.....was it all worth it?

I've made many sacrifices as a stay-at-home-mom (SAHM) that I never could have foreseen prior to having children. And no, I'm not talking about sacrificing being able to buy new clothes on a whim or go out to fancy dinners or buy Starbuck's lattes every morning. C'mon. I was living on a teacher's salary in New York City. I couldn't do those things even before I had kids. No, I'm talking about more insidious sacrifices; the kind you don't even know you're making until you've already given in to them.

This was all prompted by my attending an information session at the local medical university a few weeks back. You see, I've been toying with the idea of changing careers and attending medical school for years. Of course, now that I have children, that's easier said than done. And of course, I've reconsidered medicine as a career since I know the time commitment will be daunting, and I actually want to see my children sometime in the next 5 years. So, naturally, I was in search of alternatives. I found the P.A. profession. A Physician Assistant, for those of you that don't know, is a trained clinician that falls above a nurse practitioner and just below a doctor. For all intents and purposes, PA's have all the privileges of a doctor including prescribing power, but without the crazy time commitment. It seemed like a nice compromise that allowed me to pursue my goals and still enjoy my family. Only one problem.....I've been out of the workforce for almost 3 years, and out of school for 11.

Apparently, in order to qualify for said Physician Assistant program at the Medical University of South Carolina, one must have recent work experience (within the last 3 years as luck would have it). Furthermore, one's prerequisite course work must be completed within the last ten. Excellent. I'm just outside that window on both. So, I don't have the resume or the education to get into the program at this time. Here is what I do have....

....I have two great, well-behaved, well-rounded, healthy kids. They are smart, advanced for their ages, social, compassionate, funny, and all around good kids.

....I also have a three year hole in my resume, and a useless diploma from a top 25 school.

....I have a dwindling savings account.

....I have a sorely neglected IRA that has not seen a penny's worth of contribution in 3 years.

....I have 2 and a half years of education to retake just to be considered for admission into a program that is already a compromise from my original goal.

....I have to find time to volunteer in some medical facility so that I'll have recent exposure to the field, which of course means I have to find a babysitter....a cheap babysitter that's willing to work around an unpredictable volunteer's schedule.

....I have a mortgage. And bills to pay. And no idea how I'll pay for two and a half years of prerequisite course work that does not qualify me for financial aid because I'm not degree bound.

....I have guilt about not being able to afford enrichment classes and extra-curricular activities for our kids because we have sacrificed my income (granted, they are only 15 months and almost 3, but I know Emma would like to take dance class). Although, Emma will be attending a preschool in the fall that has a dance component!

....and I have disappointment....that I don't have the income to make all of this easier for my family, and that I didn't do all of this career changing earlier so my kids wouldn't have to feel the brunt of it.

BUT, I also have two beautiful kids and countless moments with them that I would not have had otherwise if I had continued to work. I know that I am lucky to have this time with them. But it has come at a price....financially, psychologically, and socially. The question is....was it worth it?

Here's some pictures of my days with them. You be the judge.

...yeah...it was worth it.

Future's So Bright...

2007-05-25T18:03:00.000-05:00

Here is Emma, Daddy, and baby Elton.

Emma's got a thing for sunglasses. Both pairs are hers, but she lent the pink ones to her brother for the morning. And since he's going through a stage where EVERYTHING that she has, he has to have too, well...you can see how this picture came about.

This one just cracks me up because if you look closely, you'll see that Emma is holding a purse while sitting on the potty. Apparently, she's taken using the potty to new, more formal levels.

Mystery Solved

2007-05-18T14:23:00.000-05:00

For all you moms of small kids out there and all you children at heart who, like me, at an age far beyond that which was posted, like to romp in those playgrounds at fast food places, this one's for you.

It seems that every fast food restaurant these days comes equipped with an indoor playground, complete with windy slide, floor to ceiling tunnels, and step ladders galore. What is noticeably lacking in these playgrounds are the ball pits. You know, the big open pits filled with hundreds of air-filled balls. These were a big hit when I was a kid. Heck, I remember romping in them with my friend Kimo during the weekly after school McDonald's trip as late as 16 years of age. We would gorge ourselves on cokes and fries, then go relax in the ball pit (assuming we were not displacing any little kids, mind you...we might have been immature, but we weren't rude) to wax philosophical on our latest adolescent woes.

You can't do this anymore. And no, I don't mean indulge your childhood fantasies with your 16 year old friend in the ball pit at McDonald's. I mean you can't partake of ball pits at all. They've been done away with. "Why," you ask. Good question. At some point, the CDC or the Health Department or whoever it is that regulates cleanliness in restaurants deemed a giant pit of balls an unsanitary place for children to play when preceded or followed up by food consumption.

I can't imagine why. I mean what does it matter if the wee one takes his or her greasy hands in there and slathers the wall with lard remnants? Or for that matter, what's the harm in a random fry or two sitting at the bottom of a ball pit (which you know they don't empty and soak the balls in a bleach concoction once a week like they should) for an indefinite period of time, only to grow mold and fungus from the warm environment created by 500 air-filled balls and numerous sweaty toddlers pressing down on said fry? And who cares if your toddler uses the restroom, wipes (if that's what you could call it), doesn't wash his or her hands, and then dives open-handed into a sea of soft, cushy balls, palming each one as he/she wades through? Or what about the "lost diaper" that remains undetected for days on end? Big deal. What's a little e.coli between playmates, right?

My point: I can understand why they did away with the ball pits. Even if they were fun. And I've always wondered how sanitary the newer, more user friendly playgrounds are. Admittedly, like most moms, I've been lulled into a false sense of security about the cleanliness of these places, especially in the face of an impatient toddler on the verge of a meltdown if denied the privilege of, "just 5 minutes in the slide." That is, until today.

Yes, Emma has once again made her mark on not only the world, but my impressions of motherhood. She and her grandmother and I went for a nice leisurely lunch at the local Chick-Fil-A this afternoon before a shopping trip for diapers and wipes (aaah...the irony here is killing me). All was well. She was eating well, despite the QUART of strawberries and blueberries that she'd just scarfed down in the car on the way over. And since she's normally a picky eater, I was pleased by her voracious appetite, and encouraged her to eat more. She did. Apparently until the point of being sick....because after lunch, as I had promised when we drove up to the restaurant and she squealed with delight at the sight of the playground, I allowed her to play in the playground...where she got sick...and had diarrhea...all over the slide.

Picture if you will: grandma lovingly watching Nicky make his way to the top of the stair ladder, me chatting delightfully away with another mother, and Emma giggling her way down the slide, trailing a....well, let's just say she was trailing. Then picture: my face....horrified, the other mother also horrified, shouting for her child to come out of the playground immediately with audible panic in her voice, grandma swooping up Nicky as he eagerly tries to chase after his sister grabbing at her...trail, and Emma gleefully sliding to the bottom, covered in...well, covered.

I'll spare you the clean up details and simply reassure you that it WAS cleaned up. But I will say this, if you were ever wary of the cleanliness of those facilities, you have reason to be. I mean, I figure that if it happened to me and my daughter, how many other mothers have encountered this little problem. And I'm sure that most of them were not as tenacious as I about getting up into the slide to clean it all up.

So today, my daughter taught me yet another very important lesson: TWO boxes of antibacterial wipes are what is required to clean up an 8 foot long twist slide covered in the remnants of a quart of berries that have just passed through a toddler's digestive system. Oh. And with enough determination, and an agile back, a 5'6" adult can fit up in one of those slides.

Incidentally, the best part of the experience was parading her to the bathroom, THROUGH the crowded restaurant, reeking of poop, and into a crowd of 50 people gathered in front of the hallway to the bathrooms, waiting to get autographs from a local country music star. Glorious autograph signing for him, I'm sure. And I'm sure all the diners we passed along the way enjoyed the remainder of their meals. Finally, to the lady who snapped a picture just as I walked by with my reeking daughter, you may want to catch the singer again at another signing for a better picture. I'm pretty sure I saw your guest grimace in disgust right as the flash went off.

Pro-Choice

2007-05-14T07:15:00.000-05:00

If you're expecting a rant about the abortion issue, stop here. This isn't about that, although it is a topic that'd fit rather nicely in this post. Rather, this post is about a different sort of choice; the small choices we make every day to thwart off the imposed societal expectations of what is appropriate behavior. Choices to assert ourselves and our values.

I choose....

....to be referred to as, "Ms." So-and-so. The term, "Mrs," bothers me. And no, I have no objection to the institution of marriage...obviously, I'm married. But I do take issue with the term, "Mrs," and it's counterpart, "Miss." Why is it that when a woman gets married, her prefix changes, indicating whether or not she is married. Why does society deem it necessary to delineate whether or not a woman is married as relevant to her identity? Is there some ill-perceived value in single vs. married status? And why does a man's prefix remain the same throughout life? Why is it not important to delineate his marital status with respect to his identity? I'm a person, married or not, and whether or not I'm married shouldn't make ANY difference in ANY social circle. I'm a, "Ms," throughout life, just as a man is a, "Mr."

...to shop in the boys t-shirt department for my daughter. The whole children's clothing issue, which of course was brought to my attention long ago but aggravated recently in my quest for gender neutral underpants for Emma, really bothers me. Why are clothes for little girls so damned stereotypical? Princesses? Fairies? Kitties? C'mon! I don't EVER remember wearing or liking that stuff when I was a kid, and I have the 1970's tomboy photos to prove it. I'm not saying that the traditionally girlie choice of clothing should not be made available. There are girls out there who love that stuff, and more power to them. All I'm saying is that there should be more of a balanced selection to offer girls a choice. What about the girls, like my daughter, who are fascinated by fire trucks and police cars and big cats and whatnot. And since when are these things not "girlie?" What makes a lion or fire truck inappropriate for girls to wear on a t-shirt, but ok for boys? Rather than dictate what is appropriate for the female gender as early as infancy, let's EMPOWER them by offering a wider range of choices, offer a wider range of possibilities starting at a young age.

...not to subject my children to the sub-standard level of daycare available in this community. When my daughter Emma was born, I searched around for daycares in our area (the Bronx at the time). What I found was disheartening to say the least. The "affordable" ones were synonymous with filthy surroundings, smelly cribs, babies strapped down to strollers with propped bottles, and children running around half naked covered in mud from head to toe. Yes, I literally saw some or ALL of these things happening at several places. I learned very quickly that I would have to up my expectation of what was considered a reasonable fee for quality childcare. Unfortunately, finding a daycare or nanny that was acceptable to me was also WAY out of my price range. At that point, on a teacher's salary, I'd be working just to break even and pay the childcare provider. And so, I figured that if that were the case, I might as well stay home and take care of my own kids. What irks me about all this is the sub-par standards this country has set for affordable, quality childcare. We are SO BACKWARDS in this regard, and in our treatment of ANYONE who cares for our children. Just look at teachers and daycare providers. These are the people who feed your child, change his/her diaper, stimulate him/her, teach him/her, and yet they are one of the lowest paid professions on record. They often spend more time with our children during the day than we do. And still, we find it acceptable to pay them barely enough to live on. However, a baseball player makes millions, as do movie stars. We value our entertainment more than we do the individuals who care for and teach our children. Interesting.

...to not allow my daughter to watch movies like, "Cinderella," and, "Sleeping Beauty," and, "Snow White," because I'm sick of the helpless, princess stereotype whose only ambition in life is to find her prince and be pretty enough to get married. Where are the strong role models. Where are the children's movies with women who grow up to be vibrant, intelligent professionals or academics or artists. Why are the women in Disney movies always at the mercy of some oppressor and in dire need of rescuing? Cinderella's liberation from her wicked step-mother by the young prince is just one obvious example. Nevermind the catty bickering that goes on between she and her step-sisters over who is the prettiest and most well-suited to marry (as if struggling to compete in a man's world isn't bad enough, we are pitted to compete with one another!). "Aladdin's" Jasmine is yet another beautiful (by Disney standards) princess, kept locked away in the castle for fear that her fragile sensibilities and dim wit are too naive to survive the real world. And so, she needs rescuing by the rogue, homeless street boy whose street smarts outshine anything she could possibly contribute or do for herself. Even Ariel in "The Little Mermaid" is living under the strict rule of her father and desperately seeks a more independent and adventurous life. However, it's not until she finds a Prince to marry that this is at all accessible to her.

I mean SERIOUSLY! What the hell are we teaching little girls in this country? Find your prince, and you too can enjoy a life of freedom, adventure, and creature comforts, that is, if you're pretty enough to snag one. It's SICK! Go back and watch the movies again. And keep a careful eye. Watch how the female characters develop. In almost every case, they are liberated from their plight ONLY AFTER the prince agrees to marry them or take them away. I really think it's time we offered our daughters an example of a female character who liberates herself; a young girl who works to achieve her own liberation, success, and life of adventure; women who work to fulfill themselves rather than sitting around cultivating a beautiful smile and perfect posture, waiting for a man to come along and rescue them. It's the least we can do.

I Have a Bone to Pick...

2007-05-01T19:56:00.000-05:00

...with Hanes, Jockey, or whoever it is that makes little kid's underpants. Now this post will come as a shock given my recent tell-all of Emma's new found "girliness." However, when we went to pick out Emma's big girl underpants, she took one look at the Lightning McQueen logo and said, "I want the cars!" Now being the proud feminist that I am, I was not only excited by her choice, but ready and willing to purchase them for her, except that they don't make any cars underpants for girls.

Then she saw Sesame Street and declared her desire for ownership again, but of course, there are no Sesame Street underpants for girls. And frankly, this one surprised me because Sesame Street is so gender neutral.

Then she asked for "fireman underpants" (this prompted by her purchase of fireman rain boots a few months back), and I don't think I need to tell you where this is going.

In the end, she settled for Disney princess underpants and Little Mermaid, and I do mean "settled." But c'mon. Are we seriously programming kids at potty training age to desire one "gender appropriate" thing over another?!? I was angry at the complete lack of choice in clothing logos for children. Even the generic pants that did not align themselves with one animation conglomerate or another were completely gender biased. There were flowers, pink lace, cutesy puppies and kitties, etc.etc.etc. Emma didn't like any of them. I think she finally settled on the Disney stuff because she recently saw, "The Little Mermaid," and, "Beauty and the Beast," and she liked the movies. But in the end, I felt sorry for her. I wish she were old enough for me to explain how society tries to box us in to what it deems to be socially appropriate gender roles, but that they DO NOT define us. I wanted so desperately to find her "fireman underpants" so that she could assert that side of herself. But alas, there are none. And already at 2 and a half, my daughter has had to succumb to society's warped definition of what little girls should be. It makes me sad.

The only consolation in all of this, is that now I know that despite her over-assertion of "girliness" on the outside, she's a strong, assertive tomboy underneath! Literally. A girl after my own heart. Go get 'em Emma!

My Gems

2007-04-30T22:47:00.000-05:00

Every now and then, I scan through our digital photos and find some gems. They're pictures that capture the quirky, goofy, touching, and sometimes odd moments that adorn the days of my life. So, without further ado...

This is what happens when your sleep deprived husband is left alone to watch the children. I think the kids were in the kitchen playing with knives or something. But doesn't he look like he's having fun?

Emma has gotten VERY "girly" lately. She asserts her newfound gender identity by demanding to wear "pretty dresses" and her "joory" (I just love the way she says, "jewelry,") every day. One other thing she's caught on to is how I wrap my hair after a shower. Naturally, using my example as her guide to femininity (she has NO IDEA what kind of trouble she's in here), she demanded that I start wrapping her hair after her bath.

Incidentally, her aggressive and often over-bearing, not to mention stereotypical, assertion of her gender as of late had become a source of concern for me given my strong opinions about the insanely oppressive stereotypes of women in this culture. However, with a little research, I came to realize that this behavior is not only completely normal, but a bit of an experiment on her part. Young children really only know how to do things or identify with the world in extremes (all parents should insert the word, "duh," here). And since Emma is at the age where she is realizing the differences between herself and her familial male counterparts, she is, in keeping with her larger-than-life persona, asserting her femininity to the extreme. In time, she'll come to realize that being a woman is not at all about dresses and jewelry, but about more subtle nuances of character and grace. And....if she doesn't come to realize that, well then, she's gonna' have to find someone else to go shopping with because this self-proclaimed tomboy and feminist is NOT visiting the makeup counter at Macy's anytime soon. But she does look damn cute in those dresses, I have to admit.

Finally, if this doesn't epitomize grandparents, I don't know what does...sandwiched between the two, delightfully devouring the pages of a book.

Here's another with grandpa "Aca"...

Those are just a few of my precious gems. I don't have a lot in my "joory" box, but my heart is full.

Supermom Strikes Again

2007-04-30T22:37:00.000-05:00

Um...Nicky's walking. Yeah. In the same week that my toddler is potty trained. Actually, before she was potty trained by a few days. I'd like to sit here and brag about how I totally masterminded the accomplishment of these two milestones in ONE week, but as I said before, I'm seasoned enough at this mommy thing now to know that I am TOTALLY not in control here. So I'll just relish watching my son's wobbly steps as he toddles after my daughter heading for the bathroom.

Aah. Bliss.

Ok. This isn't actually Nicky walking. I don't have any photos of that, lots of video, but no stills...which, when you think about it makes sense. You can't get stills of an action.

Anyway, I just love this picture because it's Nicky's Pavlovian response to the sight of a camera. He just loves to say, "Cheese." Of course, coming from him it sounds more like, "Sheeeejsh." Oh...did I mention he's talking too. Man, I'm good. Ok...not really. But the milestones are coming fast and furious these days. It's getting fun around here!

Two Words For You....

2007-04-30T16:49:00.001-05:00

"Potty Trained!" That's it!

Sporting her new underpants which she proudly displays...a little too often.
Finally! I thought this day would NEVER come. I first introduced the process when she was two. She's 2 and a half now. After many months of starting and stopping upon coming to the realization that she just wasn't ready, the kid finally decides she'd rather wear dry pants than fester in her own wet, gooey stink.

Her using the potty was much like her finally walking (which she did VERY late). She knew how to do it much earlier, but had to come around to actually doing it in her own time. So, when she finally decided she'd rather walk than crawl, she just stood up, and off she went like she'd been doing it for years. No fumbling, no falling, no tripping, no bumbling. She was running within days.

Same case here. The kid went from "trying" to use the potty to getting up from the table unannounced, going into the bathroom, closing the door behind her and doing EVERYTHING by herself in 2 days. TWO DAYS! And when I say she does everything, I mean everything...light on, clothes off, up on big potty (no chair for big girls - "potty chairs are for babies"), does her thing, gets down, wipes, gets dressed, washes hands at sink WITH soap and NO MESS, dries hands, turns off light, closes door behind her and sits back down like it's no big deal. I got so excited I think I had an accident!

So I guess she was paying attention all those times I tried to model and teach her the steps. She just had to do it when SHE wanted to. Man, I'll tell you. Nothing teaches you just how little you actually control in life like a toddler learning to use the potty....learning to do ANYTHING for that matter. She's a stubborn, strong-willed one, she is. Hmmm....wonder where she gets that?

Anyway, I'm gonna' go count the money I'm saving on diapers. Oh wait...no....that money's going to the preschool that required her to be potty trained. Damn. Parenthood. Can't catch a break.

The Benefits of Motherhood

2007-04-25T08:45:00.000-05:00

This is not what you think. I'm not going to preach on and on about how fulfilling and wonderful and heartwarming raising children is. Everybody knows about that part. What they don't tell you about before you embark on this blissful journey called motherhood is the complete LACK of the other kind of benefit package. This is all prompted of course by my recent job interview in which I was handed a 4 page leaflet of information about sick days, vacation days, life insurance, health insurance, vision, dental, disability insurance, free cultural institution passes, etc., etc., etc. With any job comes the benefit package. So here's my question. If being a mom is my current occupation, where's my benefit package?

"Nicky", my youngest, has recently come down with the mystery virus du jour and lovingly passed it on to me. What this boils down to of course is that despite my feeling just as crappy as he is at 4am, when he wakes up screaming with a temp. of 104, I still have to drag my butt out of bed and bathe him, medicate him, and console him. Don't get me wrong, I love him, I would do ANYTHING for either of my kids, and I don't mind taking care of them when they're sick. But what about when I'm sick. Where's my sick day? Who do I call to say that I'm not coming in?

It would go something like this, "Hi. Emma, Nicholas? This is mommy. I have a fever, and I'm not feeling well today, so I won't be getting out of bed. You'll have to make do without me. The cereal's in the cabinet, and you'll need to get some new wipes to fill the wipe containers. Oh, and don't forget to pay the mortgage, vacuum the living room, and take out the trash. And can you bring me some water and motrin? I love you. Have a good day."

Yeah....I wish.

I don't remember my mother ever being sick when I was a little kid, at least not until I was about 10 or 11 and more or less self-sufficient in the house. Of course now I realize that it wasn't that she was never sick, it was that she got up and did what she had to do to take care of us DESPITE feeling awful. And not until I was old enough to pour my own cereal, get myself up and ready for school, do my own hair, etc. did she give herself the privilege of staying in bed when she was sick. At those times, I remember coming home from school and shuttling water and snacks upstairs to her while she recouped.

Those are fond memories, taking care of my mom...perhaps because I felt so grown up taking care of her for a change. Or perhaps it's because lately, at 4am, when Nicky is burning like fire and I'm bathing, medicating, and rocking him while struggling with my own feverish aches, it is my memories that comfort and reassure me....that someday soon, I too can call in sick.

Incidentally, I won't even get started on the lack of vacation time in this job! (wink, wink)

P.S. Thanks mom.

Respect Your "Mother"

2007-04-24T20:03:00.000-05:00

Sunday was Earth Day. And this being a blog by an environmentally minded mom, about mom stuff, I felt it only appropriate to share a few words about "mother earth." Now I'm not one of those tree-hugging, stereotypically granola, vegan-eating, soap-box spouting, in your face environmentalists. I'm more pragmatic than that. But I do feel strongly about the state of our home, and I cannot understand why people in this country aren't more willing to do their part to help protect and cherish it.

To put it bluntly, as I have done in a previous post, you wouldn't dare throw garbage around your own home, or fill it with noxious gases and kill every other living thing in it excepting yourself. So why on earth do we do that to our planet, really?!? It is our home. It sustains us (though not for much longer at our current rate of consumption). It inspires us, comforts us, and nourishes us. And when you look at it this way, isn't the earth really a "mother" to us all? And would we treat our mothers with the same blatant disregard and lack of respect as we treat our planet?

And yet, we as Americans are so caught up in our need to consume, to have the next big gadget, to have the biggest cars and houses, to eat the juiciest steak, that we lose sight of the consequences of our actions. This culture has, in my opinion, one of the most warped understandings of the word, "need." We think we, "need," SUV's and 4,000sq. foot homes, and giant screen tv's, etc. We equate having them with our happiness. And true, they make some aspects of life more pleasurable, but at what expense? In acquiring these things, we pillage the natural resources of our planet, while abusing the laborers hired to produce these things, then leaving them with so little of their own that they are forced to exist at sub-standard levels (which is another issue for another post entirely).

In truth, we need 4 things. Four simple, little things: food, water, shelter, and a little bit of space. And we only "need" enough of those things to sustain us....not to sustain us at the expense of the planet or the expense of another's human happiness for that matter. And in many parts of the world, people live quite happily with much less than we feel we "need" to consume here in the states.

All that I'm asking here is that people be a bit more mindful of their place in this world both ecologically and socioeconomically. What we do, what we buy, what we consume impacts the world and people around us. So, in honor of Earth Day, I pose this challenge: be mindful. Implement just one of the following suggestions to show your concern for the planet and ALL of the people who reside therein. And remember, I'm a practical person, so I wouldn't presume to ask something too demanding. I'm keeping it simple because in my experience, simple works.

Simple suggestions to reduce your ecological footprint:
1. Replace one incandescent light bulb with one compact flourescent light bulb. JUST one. Now, c'mon, that's an easy one. Do it...you know you want to do it.
2. Take a canvas bag with you to the grocery store and reduce your consumption of plastic or paper grocery bags by one. Now how simple is that?!? One little bag. One less bag in the landfill that takes 100 years or more to biodegrade.
3. Eat one less meal containing meat per week. (creating pasture for cattle and poultry ranches accounts for an increasing incidence of deforestation in the world's rainforests) Now I know this one will be tough for some of you, but your heart and arteries will thank you for it as well. And don't get me wrong, I like a good cheeseburger or rotisserie chicken now and then, but I'm loaded with DELICIOUS salad and fish (sustainably caught of course) recipes.
4. Unplug your appliances when not in use, or put them on power strips that can be turned off at night and when you're out of the house (they drain energy even when they're not on (about 70% of all the energy they use), particularly appliances with digital displays - research "phantom load")
5. Recycle. Recycle whatever you can. Aluminum, plastics, glass, newspapers. A stack of newspapers 4 feet high is equal to one 40 foot fir tree. Look out in your backyard. Do you see trees? Now go cut one down for every 4 feet of newspaper you throw away. Go on. Oh....you like the tree there. It hides the view of your backyard from your nosy, beligerent, gluttonous neighbor. Ok. Now go put this morning's paper in a recycle bin somewhere.
6. Don't toss out old clothes, give them to good will or pass them on to friends to be re-used. This is GREAT for people with small kids. I do this all the time. They grow out of the damn things so fast that most of the time they've only worn stuff 3 times anyway. (This of course assumes that you not balk at the idea of "hand-me-downs" or second generation clothes. Clothing production accounts for a good deal of carbon emissions from factories.)
7. Walk to the store or bank or wherever is humanly possible. How many times do we jump in the car to go somewhere that is blocks away? I was HORRIBLY guilty of this in LA where public transportation was deplorable and the car-culture is a dominant thread in daily life. Thankfully, my time in NYC turned me on to the virtue of public transportation and walking. Besides, walking's good for your heart....so's salad and fish (see #3).
8. Once a week...heck, twice a week, take a shorter shower. If you're like my husband, you like to turn the water up to nothing short of scalding and stand there, enjoying the personal sauna that you've created. And after a day of playing referee to my two small kids, I like a hot shower too. But I know we could all cut it short by A minute...just one. Your shower head puts out 5-7 gallons of water per minute.
9. And of course, turn your hot water heater down to 120 degrees. This is true if you have small kids in the house anyway, but you'd be surprised how much you'll save on your energy bill. And hot water dries out skin anyway. So, unless you're a beaver covered in a thick layer of primordial-like oil to waterproof yourself, your not doing any good for your skin standing under that scalding water.
10. Carry a reusable water bottle instead of buying bottled water. It takes 5 liters of water to produce a one liter bottle of water. FIVE liters to produce one. There we go again with that consumption thing.
11. Finally, be an example to others. The best form of persuasion is through example. Be mindful. We are part of a larger community. A global community. And we owe it to ourselves and our planet to do our part.

Playing Catch Up

2007-04-24T19:25:00.000-05:00

It's been pointed out to me that I've been a bit absent in the blogosphere lately. I fess up. I've been remiss in posting, but my lack of writing is not for lack of ideas. There have been a plethora of things swimming around in that head of mine that have been begging for some air time. So, in the interest of "clearing the air", or in this case, my head, I'm going to play a bit of catch up. It seems to be a dominant theme in my life these days.

The first bit of "catch-up" was played out at my recent job interview. Yes, this self-proclaimed stay-at-home-mom (SAHM) broke down and submitted a few resumes. Admittedly, after almost 3 years out of the work force, I was more than a bit concerned about their ability to elicit a response. And I was growing increasingly worried about the amount of "catching up" I'd have to do to re-enter the work force relative to the amount of time I stayed home. (Anyone who's been a SAHM with ANY kind of ambition in life knows what I'm talking about. At a certain point, you begin to feel like the rest of the world is passing you by in every way. And frankly, our culture does not affirm or validate the work that SAHM's do as valid work. So, I admit that I fell prey to the pressure to be a "contributing" member of society (as they say), and decided to submit some resumes.)

Anyway, imagine my surprise when I got a bite. I'm not sure if I was more excited that the world still found me employable, or by the prospect of an excuse to take 2 indulgent hours away from the kids to talk "shop" with adults. And in retrospect, I talked WAY too much in my interview, but then I talk a lot anyway. Ask anyone who knows me well and they'll agree. Nevertheless, I found that the captive audience did something to my fledgling ability for verbal restraint....it tossed it right out the window. So, after 2 hours of verbal diarrhea on my part, with a few intelligent comments here and there, I found myself thanking my perspective employers and went on my merry way.

Now, to be fair, my interviewers did find me and my background intriguing. I know this because they mentioned it. So, apparently almost 3 years tucked away in a house with small children, knee deep in diapers, graham crackers, and sippy cups hasn't completely robbed me of my ability to converse intelligently. And even though I felt as though I was in dire need of "catching up" with the work force, these three individuals seemed to think otherwise. That was reassuring.

As for getting or taking the job, I don't know either yet. The hours are rather unpredictable and given my husband's already shifting schedule as a rookie cop, the logistics of childcare might be just too much to handle for the salary. We'll see. Besides that, I'm not even totally sure I'm ready to go back. I know that I need to do something more for myself...ok....SOMETHING for myself since "more" would imply that I'm already doing something, which I'm not. But perhaps it's time to do a different kind of "catching up."

Which brings me to "catch-up" number 2. Going back to school. At 33, I've come to the realization that I've gone about things a little bit ass backwards. Most people got to college, go to graduate school, meet someone, get married, live together, buy a house, save some money, and eventually start a family. I'm not most people. I went to college, traveled, changed careers twice by 25, met someone, moved across the country, changed careers again, got engaged, got dis-engaged, moved out, met someone else, got engaged, got married, got pregnant one month later, got pregnant again 10 months after the first was born, moved south, and bought a house. Notice the lack of "graduate school" in there. I fast tracked my 20's and forgot to pursue the appropriate advanced degree to further my career. Ok...I didn't forget. I was wrapped up in all the career changing, not knowing what the hell I was doing kind of stuff. And then I had a kid. And then another. And then we bought a house...on a cop's salary. And now going to graduate school is logistically a pain in the butt. I know it's totally manageable, but with two kids and one income, paying for childcare and the mortgage while mommy goes back to school is going to be tricky to say the least...which of course will lead to some "catching up" in the finances department when I finish. C'est la vie, eh?

So, that's it. Apparently I'm all "caught up" in the employability department. Problem is, I'm not sure the employment is in a field that I wish to pursue any further. And I've got a lot of "catching up" to do in the education department if I want to further my career goals. In the meantime, I've been running a house and raising children, hunting down preschools, paying bills, etc.etc.etc. This life is a constant game of "catch-up" and usually involves a lot of ketchup. But then, any mom, SAH or not knows all about that!

"My Many Colored Days"....

2007-04-03T23:02:00.000-05:00

...is the title of a children's book that I just love. It uses colors to symbolize the myriad of moods that we, as beings capable of complex emotional thought, experience. However, it does so in an artfully simplistic manner, that only Dr. Seuss can do, which provides the average preschooler with a visually available concept of their constantly shifting emotions.

Anyway, at the risk of being blatantly tacky, I thought I'd steal the Dr's good idea to shed some light on the latest happenings here in South Cackalackie....

Some days are yellow....particularly those in SC when the trees are flowering, which is EVERY DAMN day lately, and everything, EVERYTHING in your world is coated in a 3cm. layer of fine yellow dust that's impossible to remove without the help of some overly toxic solvent, thereby leaving the one doing the cleaning in a lurch....do I allow myself and my children to be overwhelmed by the pollen and suffer the toxic result of allergy induced sinus infections, sneezing attacks, runny noses, and swollen eyes; OR do I clean up the layer upon layer of pollen which coats every crevice and counter of my house, car, and personal being using said solvent and thereby expose myself and my family to the overly stringent toxins therein which will certainly result in sinus infections, sneezing attacks, runny noses, and swollen eyes?

Hmmm.....I'll go for the solvent and take my chances. After all, cleanliness is next to Godliness, eh?

(Side note here: I have NEVER suffered from extreme allergies in my life. Admittedly, I've had a sneezy day here or there over the years, but nothing that a good splash of cold water and strong tissue couldn't handle. Since we've been in SC for our first spring, I've woken up twice in the middle of the night, gone into the bathroom, and looked like Joe Frazier at the end of his bout with Mohammed Ali, puffy, swollen, and bruised....except I didn't win.)

Pollen = 1, Danielle = 0

Some days are green...a kind of dark and corrosive green. The kind of green that apparently folks around here have lovingly, but sarcastically, nicknamed "South Carolina" green. It's the color of the mold that has not only taken over my mother's beautiful white, wooden rocking chairs that used to add "southern charm" to her oversized white porches, but it has also begun corroding them to the point of wood chipping, paint peeling, etc. What the hell kind of place is this that it produces a mold so strong it eats through wood in a matter of weeks!?! And is that what has discolored the vinyl siding in the back of my townhome? And if so, how long is it before the stuff comes creeping through the walls like something out of a 1950's blob flick? And incidentally, isn't mold also toxic? Hmmm....I'm seeing a common thread here?

Mold = 5 (rocking chairs & vinyl siding & and God knows what else that I haven't discovered yet), Danielle = 0

Some days are tan...and smell a bit like French Vanilla, especially when your toddler son, eager to display his newly acquired height at the kitchen table, repeatedly knocks over your one and only cup of coffee several mornings in one week. Ok. Granted, I should know better than to leave it anywhere near the edge for more than a minute, even if during that minute I'm fixing HIS breakfast. But to my credit, the last time he knocked it over onto my formerly light beigy/grey rug, he had climbed up on my chair in a matter of 15 seconds. The kid can't walk yet, but he could probably scale the house if we let him.

Coffee stains = 3, Danielle = 0

So those are the dominant colors of my life at the moment. Put them together and they create something akin to the color of....well....poop....which figures I guess since I see a lot of it in this household. Which reminds me, potty training is not going so well, but those are colors for another blog.

Ta ta.

The Abridged February and March...

2007-03-19T19:35:00.000-05:00

Ok, so it's been a month and a half. I'm a bit late on this one, I know. But frankly, I haven't felt too inspired lately. Nevertheless, I feel obliged to update the blog on our happenings, and am hoping that a certain someone will stop nagging me to put more pictures up....

So,here's the last month and a half in a nutshell and in photos....

MID FEBRUARY - mother-in-law came for a visit. We had a blast as did the kids! After a few flight mishaps, she made it to our very humble little town in one piece and spent a week with us. It was great, and frankly, we've missed her every day since. Unfortunately, I don't have any photos of the week (can you send me some Nan?) because every time we went somewhere, I kept forgetting the camera.

MARCH - Nicky's first birthday, grandma's (great-grandma to the kids) birthday, and Doug's birthday. I'll just let the pic's speak for themselves on this one.

First party at "ama's" house. My mom couldn't make it to his birthday party on his actual birthday, so she and Richard hosted a great little party at their house. Incidentally, these are really the only pictures we have of Nicky with cake because he was....AFRAID of it! What is THAT all about? It's CAKE MAN!!!!! He's obviously lacking the butter-cream frosting gene that I seem to have inherited three-fold.

This is my little man downing his 2nd, yes I said 2nd, slice of pizza at his birthday party. And yes, those were adult-sized pieces. I'm so not used to having a kid that eats (since Emma could basically skip all meals except breakfast and be perfectly happy) that I'm constantly amazed at how much his little body can put away.

This is Emma and her best friend and cousin Genna. They are gonna' get into ALL kinds of trouble when they get older, and I think the next picture illustrates that best.

Seriously, WHAT are they plotting here?!?

Oh...and did I mention that Emma had a good time at the party?

For Doug's birthday, we went out to a GREAT Japanese restaurant, and enjoyed our first taste of sushi in a year. It was a GLORIOUS and all too brief night away from the kids.

I just think this one is hysterical, that's all. Those are the sunglasses that came in the party favor bags from Nicky's birthday party. She wore them EVERYWHERE...inside, outside, to take her nap, everywhere.

After 2 birthdays and 3 different parties, we were caked out...if that's possible. So, Doug requested no cake for his birthday. This was my creative alternative since he loves cookies so much. Incidentally, a "G" is really hard to make in cookie dough. I don't recommend it.

I don't remember exactly when this next group of pictures happened, but I do remember the morning we played "Potato Head" together. This is what happens when a college educated stay-at-home-mom stuck in small-town America plays "Mr. Potato Head" with her precocious 2 and a half year old. And incidentally, she ASKED me for it. Oh...and I tried some on myself.

And finally, the last group are just random shots from the last week or so. We've been playing at home, going to the Aquarium, out for Saint Paddy's Day, etc. Here's just a little glimpse of what we've been up to.

So that's it. Forgive the flood of photos sans captions, but I'm feeling a bit lazy at the moment, and besides, most of these photos speak for themselves.

Until next time...

Photo Update

2007-02-01T15:26:00.000-05:00

No reason for this post other than I haven't posted photos in awhile. Granted, the kids have been so sick that there haven't been the best photo opps. lately. Nevertheless, I managed to catch a few cute moments between coughing fits. Enjoy.

The kids' favorite thing to do on Thursday mornings is watch for "Stinky" the garbage truck. They LOVE the mechanical arm that lifts the trash cans. And I love the innocence of someone who is so easily impressed and amazed.

Still fascinated by "Stinky", Nicky shows off his newfound skill of smiling for the camera. It's the cutest little toothless, squinty grin, and I LOVE it!

Emma perched on the stairs just after her nightly bath. She's all coiffed and smelling nice, ready to be tucked in. I just love the way she smells and looks after her bath...all clean and rosy.

Nicky's other newfound favorite skill: loading and unloading the toy box while flashing that famous grin. He's so funny about smiling. If I come anywhere near him with the camera, he flashes his best smile.

Yes, that's Emma IN the toy box. She got her whole self in there much to Nicky's chagrin.

Nicky, unaffected by Emma, trying to load things in on top of his sister.

Finally, this is Emma totally passed out in her booster chair after a night of coughing fits which kept her up from 2am on. Mind you, not 15 minutes earlier when I told her it was time to take a nap, she pleaded with me to stay up and have a quick snack because she was SOOOOO hungry. So, I agreed to forgo the nap for 15 minutes in the interest of satisfying her hunger. She never even got the food into her mouth.

A (Fishin') Hole in One

2007-01-31T07:42:00.000-05:00

So my mother lives in a very nice, upper-middle class neighborhood in Goose Creek complete with golf course, country club, swimming pool, playgrounds, beautifully manicured parks, tennis courts, etc. It's a typical "plantation" community down here (which they all are, by the way), and very quaintly landscaped. This includes the many duck/goose ponds that pepper the golf course and are regularly visited by a variety of cool water fowl including ibis, egrets, and heron. Being an animal person, I know that egrets and heron are fishing birds which leads me to believe there are fish residing in the ponds. Where they came from or how they got there I have no idea. However, we do live in the, "lowcountry," and in a wetland, who knows which way the water's flowing. For all I know, the fish could be residing in drainage ditches that seem to connect up to the ponds on one end and local rivers on the other. In any case, the existence of fish is readily apparent from the birds I often see perched in beautiful statuesque style, wings spread open, beak poised for spearing.

But if there were any doubt in my mind, the presence of fish would be made all the more clear by.....the GOLFERS WHO STOP TO FISH! Yes folks. We are truly in South Cackalackie when a round on the back 9 includes a stop at the "fishin' hole". There are actual, "fishin' holes," straight out of a Mark Twain novel down here...and on an upscale golf course no less. AND PEOPLE FISH IN THEM! Imagine, you're driving by the fairway, catching a glimpse of what appears to be a golfer pulling out a 9 iron hoping to get his next shot on the green, when you realize that what he's actually pulled out is a fishing rod. He's got a fishing rod in his golf bag! And because this is an upscale neighborhood, the fisherman is a lawyer, and his fishing rod is made of fiber glass. But I'll be damned if when Doug and I were looking for real estate in some of the less expensive first-time-home-buyer communities we did not see people fishing at the local "fishin' hole" holding poles whittled out of sticks.

Ok. I exaggerate a little here. But come on. They are decorative, landscaped, planned community ponds. Some of them have fountains. Why on earth would people fish in them, let alone EAT what you catch? Apparently, it's a very popular pastime down here, as many a real estate agent tried to use it as a selling point with Doug and I in our search for a home. I finally had to point out to one that I not only thought it was stupid and somewhat "redneck" to fish in the pond marking the entrance to your development, but that if he brought it up again, he'd be fired (of course I put it more subtly and tactfully than that). This is the same person who offered to show us a "double-wide" because it was just such a steal. I quickly pointed out that Doug and I were not interested in any dwelling which came apart with ease or was mobile in anyway. But hey, this is South Cackalackie, and apparently the "yocals" think high-end trailer living (translation, a new double-wide) is akin to at least a luxury condominium elsewhere.

Anyway, I was pondering the hillarity of the local "fishin' hole" and laughing at the thought of seeing something like this back home in New York. And then I realized, I had. People fish out of the East River in Manhattan ALL the time. Granted, it's a naturally existing body of water, but if you live in a high rise just off FDR Drive, then I suppose it's the next best thing to the local "fishin' hole." I guess New Yorkers and Cackalackians are more alike than I realized.

Anyway, the moral of the story: if you're ever invited over to a South Cackalackian's house for dinner and they're serving fish, be sure to check and see if there are any ponds in the landscape architecture. You might be eating one of the neighbors.

Like the Energizer Bunny,

2007-01-30T23:02:00.000-05:00

It just goes on, and on, and on, and on....

So Nick is now on the baby version of an inhaler, a stronger antibiotic, prescription strength cough medicine, and ibuprofen as needed. All this for a kid whose mother HATES the idea of using medication. I'm all about the natural, homeopathic remedies, or just plain letting the body do it's job. But when you take your son to the doctor and the letters RSV get kicked around, particularly if you know how serious this can get, you concede to the medications. My poor baby. My little peanut. I hate overwhelming his system with all this gunk, but I have to admit, that since he's been on them, particularly the inhaler, there is an obvious improvement in his condition. So much for my tree-hugging, herb-taking, immune-boosting homeopathy. The inhaler did the job in two doses. My little boy can breathe comfortably again for the first time in 3 days. Score report: Pfizer = 1, Galluccio homeopathy = 0.

Incidentally, although it doesn't feel that way to me, Emma took a turn for the worse today. She still is no where near the severity that Nicky was this morning or a couple of nights ago, but she's pretty miserable, despite her few attempts to rally during the day. This virus is a sneaky one. It's lulled me into a false sense of security twice now, thinking that I was over the worst of it, only to find, "worst," comin' 'round the bend.

So the beat goes on. But I am DETERMINED to write something more positive in this blog about my kids and their health in the next few days. I've already got some great photos lined up, and thoughts on bedtime rituals shared between Emma and myself. But seeing as how it's my bedtime, and I haven't slept well lately (I wonder why), it'll all have to wait for another quiet evening when the drugs have been administered and everyone is able to sleep soundly through the night....or at least until I can finish a blog entry.

In the words of Emma's bedtime song, "Time a' go nite-nites. Time a' go nite-nites. It's time for (Mommy) to go to bed! See you tomorrow."

"Barking" Baby

2007-01-29T11:14:00.000-05:00

Quick update. After the ER, Nicky, Doug, Emma, and I found ourselves in an urgent care center less than 12 hours later. Nicky had grown increasingly worse and was in obvious respiratory distress. He had developed a croupy, barking cough with a loud stridor on inhalation. For anyone who's not familiar with that sound, imagine trying to breath in to cough and having someone grab you around the throat and squeeze. The resulting gasping sound is what a stridor sounds like. And in an 11 month old infant, a gasping stridor followed by a spasmodic, croupy cough is not a sound you want to hear. Besides, Emma was coming down with it at this point as well. So, Doug and I figured we might as well have them both checked out again before one of us would have to head back to the ER in the middle of the night. Sure enough, the doctor gave both of them a prescription strength cold medicine (which worked like a charm), and Nicky got a steroid to open up his airway. His pulse ox. was ok, but beginning to drop, so it was clear that he needed something to help him breathe.

We came home, and I managed to get Nicky to fall asleep for a couple of hours on my lap in the rocking chair, after which he woke up having yet another coughing fit. He was miserable and gasping off and on for another 45 minutes or so when he finally fell back asleep from exhaustion. This time, we were camped out downstairs in our oversized chair, snuggled under a blanket. He broke out in a cold sweat (which I usually do when I'm about to "break" a cold or flu), so I figured he might be turning the corner on this one. And despite the sweat-soaked jammies, he slept soundly on my chest for about 4 hours when I finally mustered up the courage to put him in his crib and try to get some sleep myself. With the exception of an occasional coughing fit and some tossing and turning, he slept like a rock until 5:30 this morning. And boy, he needed it. He's still VERY congested, but he no longer looks as though he's in distress, so I'm relieved.

In the meantime, Emma appears to have a mild case of whatever he has, and I'm hoping it stays that way! For this cold and flu season, the score is viruses 3, Galluccios NOTHIN'!

Incidentally, his fall from the diaper changer was nothing but a bad bump on the head. The ER doc and pediatrician said he was fine. Probably more of a bruise to my ego than to his head.

For Worse and In Sickness....

2007-01-28T03:30:00.000-05:00

Seems that in the, "better or worse, in sickness or in health," departments, Doug and I have been handed a super-sized, not-so-value meal of, "worse," and, "sickness." Just read the previous postings if you don't believe me. My family has now been sick with one illness or another since December 30th. Doug, amazingly, has not gotten sick yet.

But aside from a remarkable immunity to the common cold, stomach viruses, and other bacterial infections, I feel compelled to mention what a great help he has been to me, and that I realize I haven't given him enough credit lately. As I mentioned earlier, he is, at the moment, on his way to the ER with our 11 month old son. And while the responsibility of getting up with the kids in the middle of the night, catching vomit, going to the pediatrican, etc. largely falls on me as the, "stay-at-home-mom," he always knows just when to step in to ease the load. It's a bit like tag-team parenting, as I suppose parenting should be; when one of us needs to retreat to our respective corner, the other tags in. I'm just glad he's on my team.

"Peanut's" First...

2007-01-28T03:17:00.000-05:00

...trip to the ER. My poor little "peanut" Nicky is on his way to the ER with Daddy as I type. Since I last posted, both kids went to the pediatrician for their follow up appointments and got the "all clear" for their respective ear infections and stomach viruses. Now, Nicky and I have ANOTHER cold. And this one is bad. I've already been to urgent care and been put on antibiotics last Thursday. Nicky is headed there now because he is inconsolable and grabbing at his ear again. He's been irritable all day, unable to sleep more than an hour or two at a time. So tonight, I gave him a decongestant/expectorant combination to alleviate his symptoms enough so he could sleep. It worked for about 2 hours, then he was up again at 8pm. He chattered away to himself for quite awhile and coughed a bit, so I didn't make much of it. But by 10:15pm, he was obviously uncomfortable. So I gave him some motrin, but to no avail because at 3:25am, he's headed to the ER one very uncomfortable baby.

To make matters worse, on Wednesday night, while I was changing his diaper, he rolled off the diaper changer when I turned my back to reach for something. And I feel HORRIBLY guilty about it. And what gets me most is that I knew better than to ever turn my back on my especially squirmy son even for a second since the same thing happened to Doug awhile back. Yet I did it anyway. Luckily, he was never seriously injured, and I suspect that's the case this time as well (as the pediatrician reassured me). Nevertheless, tonight, while he's moaning with discomfort from what is most likely a raging ear infection, my mind is racing with thoughts about him having a head injury. There are no symptoms to suggest that he has a head injury and every symptom to suggest that his ear infection is back, but I'm a mom, and I'm worried. And he's my little "peanut". So, better to be safe than sorry. Oh. And I'm changing his diaper on the floor from now on.

Notes on REAL Motherhood

2007-01-23T20:42:00.000-05:00

I recently found out that some dear friends of mine are expecting. And after coming off of the childhood plague that hit my house for the start of 2007, I was finding it difficult to rally the enthusiasm to get really excited. Now wait, before you all call me a bad mother, or an ingrate, or a general grinch, read on.

I was finding it difficult to rally enthusiasm in the midst of the worst childhood illnesses that have hit my children since their respective arrivals because I was EXHAUSTED and kind of down on "mommy-hood." My kids have never been as sick as they were for the past 4 weeks, yes, that's 4 STRAIGHT WEEKS! And caring for them throughout all of this has been exhausting in every way. So naturally, after a month of caring for vomiting, coughing, sneezing, infected, diarrhea spewing babies, I was feeling a little down on the joys of motherhood....or at least wondering where they'd gone.

The kids are starting to get better finally (we have a check-up tomorrow - keep your fingers crossed), and I'm beginning to enjoy my time with them again. We were able to play together for the last couple of days without me having to run for a bowl or a tissue or a rag to wipe of the multiple carpet stains that document the last 4 weeks' trials. And I'm enjoying my kids again. They are amazing!...and adorable...and fun...and lovable...and I love squeezing them tight. And I am SO LUCKY to have two beautiful, healthy, thriving children without any major illnesses. But in the midst of "the plague," as I now like to call it, I would occasionally vent to someone about how awful taking care of two sick babies was, and I found myself getting the "look." Those of you that are honest mothers know the one I'm talking about. It's the look that says, "How can you complain? You should love your children and care for them without complaint." And to these Martha-Stewart-of-motherhood-moms I say, "PHOOEY!"

Motherhood is wonderful. And I love my kids dearly, more than I love myself most of the time. But I, and anyone else out there, would be a fool to think that I'm always going to love doing it. It's hard. It's dirty. It's taxing. And some days, you just don't want to get up and do it again. But you do. You love your kids more than life itself, so you do what you have to do, even when you don't want to. Yet if you look through the "mommy" books, and read the discussion groups and visit the mommy and me classes, and all other mommy-clique-venues, it seems that no one is willing to admit to the fact that sometimes being a mom just plain stinks! Nope, rather, we're all expected to glow about motherhood as if it's nothing but roses and sunshine. And when you don't, when you go so far as to mention the slightest bit of unhappiness or boredom, then you are judged as a bad or ungrateful mother. And in my opinion, that's unhealthy, totally and utterly unhealthy, and COMPLETELY unrealistic.

Why isn't anyone HONEST about motherhood, and pregnancy for that matter. Yeah, pregnancy, and especially birth, was miraculous. I'll grant that. I'll never forget the experience of giving birth to my children. It still blows my mind! But pregnancy was also awful at some points. There were excruciating hemorrhoids and heartburn. There were disabling back pain and migraine headaches. There was constant nausea followed by insatiable hunger with no room in my stomach to hold all that I wanted to eat. And the after effects of pregnancy, birth, and breastfeeding have left me feeling less than positive about my physical self-image. But if you read books on pregnancy, all they talk about is the good stuff; how "glowing" you'll be, how thick your hair gets, how voluptuous you become, etc.etc. Why is there no HONEST account of the other side as well.

And the same holds true for motherhood. As I said, it is wonderful, most of the time. And all the books talk about that until they've run out of ink. But there doesn't seem to be any honest account of the more difficult aspects of motherhood, and there certainly doesn't seem to be a place to vent about it. And frankly, I think both one-sided accounts of pregnancy and motherhood are insulting to women. It's as if the world is saying, "Here is your opportunity to fulfill your womanly duty. It's wonderful. You should love it. And it's your responsibility as a self-less mother to put aside all the not so pleasant parts." Furthermore, in sugar-coating the truth about motherhood, I think all the books and discussion groups leave new moms grossly underprepared to handle the hard stuff. If I had had an honest account of some of the trials of pregnancy and motherhood BEFORE I went through them, I know I would've been much less neurotic and stressed out. Presenting a balanced account of both life experiences EMPOWERS people. It prepares them to deal with the trials and tribulations of life so they can focus more energy on the positive aspects.

Frankly, the one book I found most empowering and enlightening during pregnancy was called, "Pregnancy Sucks!" It was honest. It spent equal time on the wonder of pregnancy and miracle of birth as well as the less than comfortable aspects. And in those moments when I was having a rough time, I referred to this book more than any other for advice and guidance. It was comforting to know the truth, to know what I was really dealing with. And the truth helped me understand when there was really cause for concern and when I was just being a little "nutso!" There should be such a book for motherhood as well....perhaps I'll write one one day.

Beyond books, I think it's unhealthy to discourage the truth about motherhood being discussed in any way as well. A happy mother is a balanced mother. And how can anyone who has gone through a rough time in anything feel balanced and happy if they're repressing feelings? There should be room in our culture for open, healthy discussion about the good AND bad parts of being a parent. Again, I think the discussion would be empowering and foster healthier, more capable parents.

So here I am to say to Tom and Sara....congratulations! I love you guys dearly. I think you're going to be AMAZING parents. And I am SO excited for you! I really, really am! Pregnancy is AMAZING! It's like nothing you'll ever experience again. So enjoy it as much as possible because it goes by so quickly (although around 8 months you'll think it's not quick enough). But know that it is also rough sometimes. And when you hit those patches, please feel free to call me and vent. I will listen and be supportive WITHOUT judgment.

The same holds true for parenting. It's AMAZING watching your child thrive and grow. It's also the HARDEST and most tiring thing you'll ever do. So on days when you feel like wriging your kid's neck because they've written on the wall again, or slapped you in protest of a nap one too many times, take a deep breath, put them in a safe place, and take what I like to call a, "mommy-time-out." Then call me and bitch and complain all you want. And rest assured that I will listen supportively without judgment because I know that even though in the moment you may want to kill him/her (figuratively of course), you love your child so much you'd give up everything you have for him/her, and you are AMAZING parents. Every mom and dad has frustrating, bad days, and long, sleepless nights. In the end, your job is to focus on the great days...the days when they talk for the first time, take their first steps, go down the slide by themselves, go to school for the first time, etc. Remember the hugs, the kisses, the bedtime stories, the trips to Chuck E. Cheese, the birthday parties, and the wonder in their eyes the first time they play in snow or feel rain or see a bee drink from a flower. And when the hard days start to outnumber the great ones, call a friend or your parents, or someone who will understand and tell you whatever it is you need to hear to get through it.

You guys will be amazing parents, and you are in for the ride of your lives. Strap yourself in and hold on because you never know what lies around the bend. But most importantly, be honest. Be honest with yourselves and with each other. Don't be afraid to speak up when it gets hard. Sometimes speaking up and asking for support or help is the only thing that makes it easier. And I'm always, always here to help in any way that I can.
I miss you and love you. CONGRATULATIONS!!!!! And I can't wait to see the new baby!!!

P.S. Here's a picture of one of the great moments for a little inspiration.

The Passing of the Plague

2007-01-20T19:53:00.000-05:00

Ok. After two more nights of vomiting and continued diarrhea on Nicky and Emmma's part, I think we may FINALLY be out of the woods. Or at least, we've found the path out of the woods and are chopping away at it with machetes.

Emma has regained some semblance of an appetite (translation: dry waffles, dry toast, and dry cereal), and Nicky...well, he's got a bit more substance to his product these days. Don't get me wrong, both of them still have diarrhea, and Emma is still queasy, but we're going on almost 24 hours with no regurg., so I'm finally a bit hopeful, not to mention exhausted. Of course even though I've been up with Emma every night, several times a night, often until 3 in the morning or longer, Nicky still needs to be taken care of and continues to wake up bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, and full of diarrhea at 6:30 or 7am. So, (and Sara, this one's for you) anyone out there who's a mother knows, there's no sick days for mommies. There's no saying ot your 10 month old, "You know, I didn't get much sleep last night so why don't you go make yourself some breakfast and I'm just gonna' catch up on some z's." It's a 24 hour a day, 7 day a week job. No rest, no breaks, no sick days. And this week has reaffirmed for me that this is the absolute hardest job I've ever had. Some days it's physically demanding, others it's emotionally or psychologically demanding. Given the age of my kids, it has yet to be very intellectually challenging, but I know that's coming soon. In any case, I've learned that motherhood requires an endurance, a perseverance, and a level of patience that NOTHING else on earth rivals. And that is the truth.

So...here are some recent photos that I managed to snap in the last few days. And I know it sounds a little sick that I took pic's of them while my kids were sick, but I wanted to document this all for their sake and for mine. I'm a firm believer in taking pictures of all the parts of their lives. I want them to know their stories, good and bad. I want them to know their history, and to know that throughout it all, they were loved deeply, even if it meant being coated in vomit.

One of Emma's first attempts at eating after 28 hours of absolutely NO food. The poor kid looks emaciated, and I know from taking her to the doctor that she's lost at least a pound and a half. That's almost 10% of my poor 28 pound toddler's body weight. Also note that Nicky is in his diaper. This is just following one of the several diaper changes that involved cleaning up the mess that exploded out of his diaper and up his back and down his pants. Sick children are so much fun.

During one of the diarrhea episodes. I think the picture speaks for itself.

Since everyone was feeling better this morning, rather than camp out on our vomit/diarrhea-proof blanket on the couch, the kids and I played together this morning. Nicky took a liking to our bunny ears. And now I CANNOT wait for Easter! Those are gonna' be some good pic's!

Playing with his new ride-on/walker from Aunt Dixie, Uncle Greg, and the cousins. Again, you'll notice he has no pants on. I finally got sick of changing his pants after his diaper would leak and decided it was just easier to let him go pantless.

Believe it or not, this was one of Emma's better days. Note the silver mixing bowl. Ninety percent of the time, the child REFUSED to aim for the bowl, hence the quilt and towels. I swear, I'm a pro at this now. Anyone out there want to get stomach sick, I dare ya'. Bring it on. I'll have you cleaned up, washed up, and smelling like roses before you even know you got sick.

Emma serving me tea this morning after a good night's sleep. She is SO much better today, thank goodness.

And this is what happens when Doug plays with the kids. "Pregnant" Nicky. And in case you're wondering, that's a plastic bowling ball from their bowling set. What scares me is how proud and happy he looks. Oh well, that's my boy!

Something's Gotta' Give

2007-01-17T16:22:00.000-05:00

(WARNING! This post not for the faint of heart.)

***Actually posted at 9:28am on January 18th. I'm not sure why the time stamp reads yesterday at 4:28pm. I was knee deep in diarrhea diapers and toddler vomit at that time. On with the post...***

If pediatricians offered frequent flier miles, my family would currently be on its way to Fiji, then to Europe, a quick stop in New York, and back home....FIRST CLASS! Yes, we've logged a lot of hours at the pediatrician lately, and something has GOT to give here.

It all started December 29th when Emma came down with a fever and bad cold which turned into an ear infection 7 days later. This occasion marked our first trip to the dr. from which we returned with a 10 day dose of Amoxicilin for otitis media (middle ear infection w/ fluid). Two days later, we were in the dr's office again with Nicky who was also given antibiotics for the same ear infection. Two days after this visit, and two somewhat sleepless nights on Nicky's (and my) part, we were BACK at the pediatrician only to find out that his ear infection was not responding to the antibiotic at all and that he would now require antibiotics by injection. Two pokes later and we were on our way home, only to return in two more days for the follow up shots. In the meantime, Emma was progressing nicely on her own course of antibiotics, her infection obviously responding to the therapy. Monday marked her last day of a 10 day dose. I administered her medicine and put her to bed at 7:30pm. At 12:45am, she awoke vomiting violently. This went on EVERY 20 minutes until 8:15am at which point it slowed to vomiting every 40 or 50 minutes. Finally, 7 loads of laundry and many unsuccessful attempts to hydrate later, she fell asleep at 9:45am dehydrated and exhausted. She awoke an hour and fifteen minutes later vomiting again. But at least at this point, the intervals between these episodes were getting longer, so I was becoming hopeful that we were out of the woods. I should've known better.

I feel compelled to mention here that while Emma is expelling every possible fluid from her body, Nicky is suffering from a mild but annoying case of diarrhea brought on by his antibiotics.

Anyway, at 2:15pm the day after the night-o'-exorcism-pea-soup-revisited we found ourselves at the pediatrican again. At this point, the nurses and receptionists know us and our children by first name, despite the fact that the practice services upwards of 500 patients or more. As predicted, Emma was diagnosed with moderate dehydration and acute gastroenteritis. Oh, and her ear hasn't completely cleared up yet. Nicky, who we brought in tow figuring, "What the hell, we're going anyway, we might as well bring him and get his ear checked and tell them about the diarrhea," was also diagnosed with acute gastroenteritis since his diarrhea had now worsened. Oh, and his ear is still infected too. Fabulous. The doctor, a very sweet woman with an incredibly warm and kind bedside manner, sent us on our way warning us that if Emma exhibited any more signs of dehydration or wasn't able to keep fluids down by 6pm, she would have to be admitted to the hospital for hydration therapy. Great.

So, home we went, praying for a wet diaper and her stomach to calm itself enough to keep down a couple of teaspoons of pedialyte. Over the next 3 hours, I fed her 1 teaspoon of fluids every 15 minutes by medicine dropper. She kept it all down until 6:15. But by then, she'd had one slightly wet diaper and had gone 3 straight hours without vomiting. So, according to the doctor's criteria, she wasn't hospital bound yet. Thank God.

In the meantime, Nicky managed to soil about 6 diapers and 3 pairs of pants in 3 hours. This, in and of itself, is of course no big deal. However, when coupled with a vomiting toddler who refuses to aim for the designated bowl for fear of having to see the contents of her stomach in front of her face, makes for a harrowing evening of figuring out who to attend to more immediately.

Anyway, the evening wore on, and we managed to get Nicky to sleep, and eventually Emma. Both slept through the night. Emma woke up looking less gray, and Nicky woke up looking more so. So, yesterday was Nicky's turn. Obviously, his diarrhea-due-to-antibiotic had turned into diarrhea-due-to-Emma. We were now changing diapers, 2 or 3 at a time, approximately 2 minutes after giving him a bottle. It went something like this: bottle, 2 minutes goes by, diaper change, followed by diaper change, followed by 2 or 3 more for the next 30 minutes. And throughout it all, he appeared listless, exhausted, and dehydrated. Great.

Meanwhile, Emma was slowly sipping away at her pedialyte cocktail on the sofa, watching television, and now I was SURE we were out of the woods with her. Shhaaa! Right! She went through the day, only vomiting twice, consuming a bit of banana, a half piece of toast, and about 20 oz. of fluids. Despite her limited intake, she looked 50% better. (see below)

I should also mention that Doug is working the 2nd shift at the moment which has him "on the job" from 5pm to 3am. The night that Emma got sick, he was up with me, doing laundry and helping all night. Neither of us slept. So, needless to say, the next day, he took the night off due to exhaustion. No one needs or wants a cop walking around with his loaded weapon, falling asleep while trying to keep peace. It was a safety call on his part, and a good one since both of us crashed after Emma fell asleep at 8pm. Anyway, the next night, when Emma appeared to be getting better, Doug decided he'd better go into work. So, he left the house at 4pm. That's when all hell broke loose yet again.

At 4:15 (as Murphy's law would have it), Nicky started having another bout of diarrhea. I managed to get some rice cereal in him which seemed to slow things down a bit, only to have them pick up again while he was IN THE BATHTUB! Yup. That was a lot fun. I'll spare you the fabulous details and just say that by 6:15 he was in bed with a little pedialyte in his belly, and on his way to sleep.

After scouring and bleaching the tub, Emma was then bathed and in her own bed at 7pm. Drained, I went into my room to fold one of the 15 loads of laundry I've done in the last 48 hours and settle into some bad reality tv. At 8:15, I was beckoned by the familiar coughing wretch that preceeds one of Emma's episodes. Here we go again. I walked into her room to find her projectile vomiting the day's fluids all over her newly changed bed. Being a pro at handling this now, I swooped her up, dropped her in the tub, stripped her down, washed her, tore off her sheets, remade her bed, and had her back in it smelling like a rose by 8:40pm. She calmed down, and appeared to go back to sleep. And I went to sanitize the tub yet again.

Ok. You know how the back of a shampoo bottle says, "Wash, rinse, repeat." Yeah. If Emma had instructions, they'd say, "Vomit, wash, repeat." At 9:15, I was in her room again, this time in time to catch the 8 or so oz. that came out of her. We vomited, washed, and repeated again at 10:15, 10:45 and 11:15pm until she finally fell asleep, stomach empty and exhausted.

This morning she awoke crying hysterically for water. Of course I gave it to her, but again, only one teaspoon at a time, every 15 minutes. And of course, she got more upset when I wouldn't let her guzzle the whole cup at once. Try explaining to your hysterical, dehydrated 2 year old that if she drinks a whole cup of liquid all at once after vomiting all night, that she will likely bring it all back up again moments later, making her dehydration even worse. So, this morning has been a lesson in moderation for both Emma and myself.

At the moment, she is sipping her cup and eating another half piece of bread. She begged me for both. And since she's kept her moderate fluids down since 6am, I figured what the hell. At this point, if she does vomit, at least the laundry is caught up, so I have something to clean it all up with.

Oh, and Nicky has only had one episode of diarrhea this morning. But if there's one thing I've learned in all of this it's not to even suggest that I might be out of the woods with either one of them. So, I'm just gonna' call it a fluke for now, and if it turns out that he's on the up and up, well, then, I got lucky.

One more thing. In the midst of all this, I started having diarrhea as well. At least I'm not vomiting...yet. Motherhood. No job like it on earth. And no "sick days" for mommy.

When I worked with animals at the zoo, people used to ask me all the time if I got pooped on and which animal produced the most foul substance. Let me tell you, NOTHING I cleaned or saw at the zoo even comes close to what I've dealt with in the last 72 hours. I'll take explosive monitor lizard poop over kid vomit or diarrhea any day.

Anyway, if you haven't heard from me in the last few days, or seen a post in the last 2 weeks, now you know why. I'll be back in communicado as soon as the viruses around here die off. Until then, buy stock in whatever companies make Purex laundry detergent, Pedialyte, and Huggies diapers. We've gone through enough of each in the last few days to single-handedly keep them in business.

Working World Nostalgia

2007-01-11T00:56:00.000-05:00

So I used to have this AMAZING job! I got to spend my days teaching kids and adults all about the natural world using one of the greatest zoos in existence as my resource. I took them on tours through gorilla exhibits, simulated rainforests, snow leopard country, Siberian tiger habitat, etc.etc.etc. I got to go behind the scenes and see animals up close and personal, and was often treated to a viewing of feedings and enrichment sessions. And to top it all off, part of my job description was to be trained on the proper handling and use of a collection of exotic animals for education purposes. These ranged anywhere from birds of prey to snakes to alligators to kinkajous to porcupines, etc.etc.etc. Oh, and get this! They paid me to read books I would read anyway and surf the net doing research on topics I loved. It combined most of my passions: teaching, animals, ecology, psychology, and anthropology to name just a few. It didn't pay so well (teacher's salary), but it was a GREAT JOB! And when you're single with no kids, you find ways to live a little leaner for the sake of passion and happiness. Besides, when you feel like you're making such an enormous contribution to and impact on the world everyday like I did, money was just somethin' you needed to keep the heat on. Anyway, I find myself nostalgic for my old job these days, more than ever. I'm not really sure why. I stopped working 9 days before the birth of my daughter who is now 2years and 4 months old. So you'd think I'd have been hit with the nostalgia bug awhile ago. But I suppose the back to back pregnancies, sleep deprivation, MOUND of dirty diapers, endless breastfeeding and bottles, not to mention the move to another region of the country, has kept me a little distracted...until now.

Don't get me wrong, raising kids is rewarding in its own way, and quite a bit like my old job; dealing with animals, teaching, psychology, etc. But, it's just not the same. I'm starting to wonder if I'm one of those stay-at-home-mommies who's not really at stay-at-home-mommy. I might be more of a part-time-stay-with-the-kids-part-time-stay-at-the-office kind of person. Problem is, zoo jobs don't pay so well, and when there are kids involved, well....the stakes are a bit higher these days. Anyway, here's a glimpse at my former life. You'll actually see some "before" and "after" photos here of me skinny, then REALLY, REALLY pregnant. Check out the face! Sheesh!

That's me holding a juvenile American Alligator for the Girls for Planet Earth educational summit at the Bronx Zoo. (newly engaged and obviously not yet pregnant making this a "before" photo)

A mere year later and I am now holding an American kestrel (bird of prey) and am NOTICABLY pregnant (the "after" photo), 8.5 months to be exact. My supervisors were actually fearful that I'd go into labor right there. MAN...did you ever see anyone get so pregnant in the face!?!

Finally, another "before" photo. This is Jungle World at the Bronx Zoo, my favorite exhibit. It is an encolsed replica of an Asian rainforest and contains a variety of exotic and amazing animals. In this picture, I'm the one in the pink shirt way off to the left, looking noticably older than the teens that surround me, and we're looking up at fruit bats, a blood python, and white cheeked gibbons hanging in the trees above us. I'm telling you, it was an AWESOME job! How many people get paid to go hang out with gibbons and fruit bats? Then again, my current "job" sometimes feels that way. (wink)

The Eastern Infirmary

2007-01-09T18:55:00.000-05:00

So far, both kids are on antibiotics for ear infections, I have been sick for almost 14 days secreting green mucus with ear and sinus pain (and should probably resign myself to seeing the doctor at this point), and Doug has been sick for 4.

Moral of the story: stay away from us for the time being.

Apparently there is some RIDICULOUSLY strong strain of cold virus ciruclating around the Eastern United States. I've spoken to friends from New York all the way down to Florida who describe the same exact symptoms as my kids and I have experienced. And the stupid virus just HANGS ON! As I said, both kids are now on antibiotics for secondary ear infections due to the volume of mucus that has decided to take up residence in their poor little eustacian tubes. And Doug and I are popping the cold medicine like it's going out of style. I also happen to know that my girlfriend Karen's daughter Marcie was sick with the same thing and suffered from a double ear infection herself. And of course she got it....when she came to North Carolina! So...stay away....stay away from the entire East coast if you can. Everyone I know is either suffering or on antibiotics. Blech.

Bonobos Among Other Things

2007-01-09T18:36:00.000-05:00

This post is just for Jason.

The bonobo, or more commonly known as the pygmy chimpanzee, is one of the five great apes (gorillas, orangutans, chimpanzees, gibbons, and bonobos) that inhabit the natural world. Being apes, they differ from monkeys in two major ways. First, they lack an external tail. I specify, "external," because anyone that has broken their tailbone knows that at the end of our spine exists a vestigial bone piece known as the cocyx. This bone represents what is left of a tail after millions of years of evolution deemed that it was unnecessary for us as upright, bipedal animals. Apes also share this morphological characteristic. Monkeys, on the other hand, have an external and obvious tail, with the exception of a particular species of baboon. Second, apes, in general, are much larger than monkeys. Again, as with anything in science, there is one exception to this rule, and that is the gibbon. Gibbons tend to be on the smaller side, while their tail-bearing baboon relatives often outweigh them.

One could add a third distinction here, but truthfully, it is much more debatable than the others. This of course is intelligence. Having the largest brain to spine ratio, apes have developed complicated mental structures that allow them to perform such remarkable tasks as using tools and establishing rudimentary cultures. In particular, the bonobo and its larger relative the chimpanzee are well-known for their use of twigs to retrieve termites from the otherwise impenetrable mounds that they inhabit.

The most notable distinction about bonobos however is their DNA, particularly the amount of it that is found to be similar to our own. Recent studies suggest that the bonobo shares as much as 99.4% of the DNA that our own species does. This makes the bonobo more related to our species than to gorillas, orangutans, or gibbons.

There are a number of remarkable facts to be learned about this amazing animal, but I'll just leave you to google them if you'd like to learn more. I would like to leave you with this thought however. The bonobo, like a number of other species on this planet, lives in one particular location (in this case, the Congo rainforest). It's existence is currently classified as endangered, threatened by both habitat loss and the bushmeat trade (increasing lately due to the civil unrest and presence of heavily armed militia in the forests). Because it inhabits a specific habitat, once that habitat is gone, the bonobo (our closest living animal relative) will be lost forever as well. Just something to think about.

And Jas....tag, you're it. (wink)

Bearek the Apprentice

2007-01-08T20:27:00.000-05:00

So I NEVER watch the Apprentice as I find Donald Trump generally revolting. And there really wasn't anything that could ever get me to watch his ridiculous tv show....until now. You see, one of my best friends from college is ON THE SHOW! Yep. Check him out. Derek Arteta.
GO DEREK! and GO BRUINS!

Sound of Silence

2007-01-06T20:59:00.000-05:00

Imagine spending an entire day taking care of a 2 year old toddler, who's into everything, and a 10 month old bulldozer baby boy, both with colds which make them more irritable than usual, while you're sick yourself with the worst cold you've had in years. Then imagine doing it with NO voice. I mean NO VOICE WHATSOEVER. The coughing fits that kept me up several nights ago have also had an unforseen side effect. They have left my larynx so sore and swollen that yesterday I woke up and could speak no more audibly than a whisper. Today was a little better until about 5 pm when I lost it again. Nevertheless, try commanding the attention of your excitable and enthusiastically curious 2 year old, who is in the family room plotting to lock her 10 month old brother in the adjacent powder room, while you've been fixing breakfast for everyone in the kitchen. A little side note here, the door knob covers that we purchased to keep her diabolical hands from executing her devious plans to entrap her brother are about as effective as the "baby gate" that she figured out how to open and close in 2 days. But I digress. Needless to say, that particular episode elicited a lot of sharp clapping on my part to get her attention. She responded by exclaiming, "Yeah mommy! Clap, clap, clap!" while trotting around in triumph. That was effective.

Anyway, I have been literally speechless off and on for the past two days. And upon waking yesterday with nothing but a breathy whisper to my voice, I was terrified at the thought of having to face Emma for the day, sure that she would take advantage of the situation and run all over me and my imposed silence. But the kid NEVER ceases to surprise me. When she creeped into my room in the morning asking for her usual milk and vitamins, I pulled her into bed and whispered that mommy wasn't feeling well and that I couldn't talk today. I told her that I needed her to listen to mommy especially well today, and that she had to try and be patient with me (not that she has any idea what patience is, but one can hope). And you know, the kid LISTENED! She was basically a DREAM child for the rest of the day. She even sympathetically whispered with me at times (either that, or more likely, she just liked the game that it grew into). But my point here is that she surprised the hell out of me. This is a child that I regularly have to yell out her name in a loud voice to get her attention over whatever gibberish song or thought she's currently spouting at the top of her lungs. Yesterday and today...not so. I guess because she was listening extra attentively for the whispered call of mommy, she was on point all day. I swear, I could've whispered from 4 rooms away, and I think she would've gleefully come trotting in saying, "Yes mommy?" So, I have this new theory.

I yell to get her attention too much. I'm too loud with her and Nicky. And I don't mean that I yell at them for doing something that they shouldn't, although admittedly I do yell at them every so often despite my best efforts to control my temper (hey, I'm working on it - lately that's included self-imposed time-outs to prevent the yelling from happening at all). But rather, when we are happily going through our day, and the two of them are making a ruckous in the play room that resounds like a jack hammer in my head, I am prone to raising my voice when calling for their attention, in an attempt to be heard over the din of bongos, musical books, singing dump trucks, and talking Elmos. My experience with enforced silence however tells me otherwise. I don't need to raise my voice over their toys and toddler noises. They apparently are just as tuned into me as I to them. And sometimes the most commanding thing to be said need only be as loud as a whisper. So, I'm vowing to quiet down. Their world is already so full of noises and stimulation and action, etc. The last thing they need is more noise coming from someone with whom they should be able to find a quiet, comfortable, peaceful place to rest their weary heads.

Here are some photos of our days learning to appreciate the sound of silence....
Shhhh. and enjoy.

Emma "lounging" (if that's what you would call it) as she watches a few mintues of her favorite DVD, "Annie." (This is particularly unusual since she's usually in the middle of the family room singing along and dancing around for the duration of the movie.)

The kiddos dining together at their playroom table and chairs. This was Nicky's first time eating at the table without the assist of his usual strapped down booster seat.

We'll just caption this with, "Hey ma! I can yell and you can't! Nah, nah, nah, nah, nah!" Actually, Nicky is usually a pretty loud baby (much louder than Emma was). And I can't help but wonder if he's a product of his environment since my own volume has increased during the course of his 10 months in direct proportion to Emma's increasing age.

Finally, this is what I got after asking Emma to, "smile for the camera and say, 'Cheese.'"

New World for the New Year

2007-01-04T19:10:00.000-05:00

Anyone who knows me knows that I'm not one to make New Year's resolutions. To be quite honest, I've always found them silly. Why does the turning of the New Year necessitate false promises (to be better people, or lose weight, or save money, etc., etc.)that most of us won't or can't keep anyway. I mean, why is improving oneself or one's relationships tied to the passage of time? Why wouldn't you try to be a better person in the middle of June, or September? And why not watch your weight earlier than Dec. 31st, BEFORE you've binged on egg nog, cookies and pumpkin pie? For that matter, why not resolve to save money BEFORE Christmas and perhaps it wouldn't be quite the commercialized circus that it's become. Call me cynical, or perhaps it's hopeful depending on how you look at it, but I don't see the point of waiting until the end of the year to reflect on your life and resolve to make it better. In my mind, that's something that should be done every day. Whether or not we live up to it is another thing.

Anyway, I bring up resolutions because I think I've stumbled on to one that I highly recommend to those of you searching for something noble to latch on to for the New Year. It's something I resolved to do years ago, and has been an ongoing ambition ever since; to reduce my ecological footprint. "What's an ecological footprint?" you ask. Well, check out Ecological Footprint and you'll see what it's all about. But for those of you that don't want to bother clicking, here's the skinny. According to the website, "This Ecological Footprint Quiz estimates how much productive land and water you need to support what you use and what you discard. After answering 15 easy questions you'll be able to compare your Ecological Footprint to what other people use and to what is available on this planet." Basically, your ecological footprint boils down to how much of the planet is required to support the natural resources you consume and discard, and then estimates the number of earths required to maintain your lifestyle if everyone on the planet lived as you do. The results can be quite surprising!

Ok, now I know some of you are thinking, "Enough with the tree-hugging, veggie-burger-eating, save-the-whales, Al-Gore-movie-toting hippy thoughts." I know the quiz and my resolution sound like yet another want-to-be environmentalist's promise to do their part, but trust me, it's more sincere than that. For the past several years, I have made a conscious effort to reduce my level of consumption in the interest of the planet's health. My family lives in a modest home, we only own one economy sized, gas efficient, low emissions car, we use public transportation (at least in NY - SC leaves something to be desired in that regard) or walk to reduce the use of said car, we limit our consumption of meat, specifically red meat (cows are raised in pastures that have been clear-cut in the heart of rainforests across the globe, not to mention the destruction of the American prairie habitat), we recycle, we reuse, and we try in every way to reduce our rubbish output (with the guilt-ridden exception of disposable diapers which rank highest in percentage of single items occupying American landfills). Granted, some of these choices are also financially motivated as we are a one income family. However, even when my husband and I had no children and were both working, we still maintained an ecologically conscientious lifestyle, and perhaps even more so than we are able to now that we do have children. Yet, even with all the small things we do that add up to a lot, we still had a much more significant "footprint" than I'd like. According to my results, if everyone on the planet lived as we do (1 car, energy efficient appliances, public transport/walking, limited meat consumption, recycling everything we can, reducing waste, reusing products as much as possible, modest home, etc.) we would still need just under 3!!! earths to support the world's population. That scares me.

It brings up a whole host of thoughts concerning the American lifestyle and our need to consume not just the world's natural resources, but everything else we can get our hands on as well. We're like junkies heading out in our over-sized, gas-guzzling SUV's to the Wal-Mart or Target (or as I like to call it, "the red dot boutique," or pronounced with a French accent "Tarjjay") to get our latest fix. It begs the question, "Do we really NEED all of this stuff?" And do we have to get it in the largest, most fuel inefficient vehicle we can find loaded with seat warmers and DVD's and a whole host of other stuff? Don't get me wrong. I think that stuff is cool too. I like the idea of going out to my car in the cold morning and getting a warm Starbuck's mocha to go with my equally warm tush. And indulging in some of life's eccentricities IN MODERATION is fine I'm sure. But I just can't help but wonder if the American interpretation of the word, "need," and how we act on it isn't just the least bit responsible for the current planetary condition.

As animal residents on this planet, and yes, we are ANIMALS by definition despite our arrogant suppostion to the contrary, we NEED only 4 things: food, water, shelter, and a little bit of space (enough to sustain our basic needs). The rest of the animal kingdom gets that (as did many indigenous people for that matter); living harmoniously with the world, taking only what is necessary to survive. Perhaps if we thought of ourselves more as guests of this planet rather than rulers hell-bent on controlling it, we'd treat the world and its natural inhabitants with a little more respect. Think about it, when you're a guest in someone's home, you don't go in and eat up all their food, throw your scraps all over the floor, fill the place up with noxious gas, and then leave. As guests of this planet, perhaps we should behave a little more graciously, wiping our feet at the door as we enter and leave, being sure to leave little to no "footprint" behind.

The Little Traveller

2006-12-31T00:28:00.000-05:00

Just a couple of updated photos of my little traveller, seen here hangin' out with "Frosty," and, "Santa."

North of the Border

2006-12-29T19:36:00.000-05:00

This past Wednesday, Emma and I piled in the car to drive north of the Cackalackie border to....North Cackalackie to visit old and very dear friends. It was a lovely trip, and travelling with Emma was a pleasure, go figure. It gave me hope that there is light at the end of the tunnel in terms of being able to sit in the car for more than 30 minutes without someone screaming.

Anyway, as I said, the trip was lovely. I got to see my best and lifelong friend Karen, her husband Jason, and her extended family. I also had the opportunity to meet her new daughter Marcie, who was recently adopted from China. Check out We Found Baby S. In China for the details. Unfortunately, Marcie was pretty sick, nevertheless, she was charming and adorable, and a little butterball of a baby that I couldn't resist kissing and squeezing. And....now I'm sick. Very sick. And so is Emma. Yet it was TOTALLY worth it! Emma had an absolute ball playing with Casey, Karen and Jason's soon to be 4 year old son. And I loved being able to chat with Karen and Jason again and squeeze their new daughter. And I had a wonderful conversation with Karen's sister-in-law which ultimately helped me to clarify some ambitions I've been kicking around lately (but those are a subject for another post).

There's just something about meeting up with old friends. It felt a little bit like coming home when "home" is something that seems to allude me lately. All in all, it was a memorable trip, a wonderful bonding experience for Emma and I, and inspired a few thoughts along the way.

Here they are:

1. North Carolina is just another way of saying, "South Carolina" without the inland wetlands. It's all the same people, Baptist and Methodist churches, BBQ, and freeways named after staunchly conservative, right-wing, fundamentalist Christian, dead politicians.

2. "Carolina country" is surprisingly beautiful...large white pine forests, rolling hills giving way to wetland laden valleys all framed by white horse fences and fall foliage. I remember at one point thinking that I had just driven into a Norman Rockwell painting.

3. "Carolina country" is surpisingly ugly...too many trailer parks dotting an otherwise beautifully untouched landscape; too many industrial parks, factories, and truck stops that have obviously over-run some of the only remaining wetlands that this country has left.

4. My friend's parents are possibly the most patient and tolerant people I've ever met. I envy their calm demeanor and warm, patient regard. After being a stay-at-home-mom for the past 2 and a half years, I am especially in awe of my friend's mother who raised 4 of her own children with what appears to be the utmost of grace and kindness, and now treats her own grandchildren with the same regard. I wish I had her patience and reserve in those moments when my own kids are making me want to crawl out of my skin!

5. I miss Karen. I sorely miss her. Like I said, there's something about old friends that makes you feel at home the way that nothing else can.

6. There is a random traffic sign along I-26 that reads, "SMOKE." That's it. And given that we are in a part of the country where tobacco is considered a vegetable (thanks for that one Jason), I couldn't help but chuckle and think that perhaps this sign was intended less as a warning and more as a reminder to grab a pack of Marlboros and light up, perhaps because you were approaching a particularly stressful part of the drive.

7. So much of the Carolinas is untouched landscape, and as a result, there are a plethora of intact habitats available to support local wildlife, as is evidenced by the variety of raptors I saw flying overhead throughout the drive.

8. Much of that untouched landscape is marked with, "For Sale," signs or equipment for clear-cutting, which of course foreshadows the ultimate destruction of local habitat and ensuing disappearance of said wildlife.

9. Emma is a delightful traveller, and a very well-behaved, polite child. I had my suspicions about the well-behaved part, but I was extremely pleasantly surprised by the little traveller in her. Perhaps she and I will find ourselves in more exotic locales in the near future.

10. Finally, in seeing old friends, one is reminded of old times; laughter, tears, kindnesses exchanged, and hurts inflicted. I only hope that in the end, those I've met along the way take the kindness and the laughter with them, and leave the hurt where it belongs...to be forgiven in the past.

Isn't It Ironic?

2006-12-18T11:47:00.000-05:00

And no, I'm not referring to that idiot song by Alanis what's-her-name in which NOTHING she says is actually ironic. Someone should buy that woman a dictionary and flag the page on which you'll find the definition of the word..

Anyway, here's our little bit of irony. As you may or may not know, we just moved into a new house. Prior to moving in, we and our home inspector collectively complained to the builder that the concrete on the back porch was pitched improperly and needed to be reskimmed. Otherwise, we'd have our own personalized lake in the kitchen at the sight of our first big storm.

The builder reluctantly agreed to do the job, and so began our story. First, the poles supporting our back porch needed to be removed, then the concrete repoured, skimmed, etc. It was, of course, boarded up around the edges to keep everything in place until it had completely cured. A few weeks go by, yes, a few weeks (which should be an indication of the reliability of our builder in following through with projects), and we complained for the 5th or 6th time that our porch was not completed. Finally, they got the message, and a man showed up to remove the wooden boards that had been put down to support the concrete. The poles, however, still remained leaning up against our house outside our family room window. We complained again. Finally, a rather disheveled looking man, who spoke almost NO English shows up in a bright lavendar van with clouds painted on the side and starts to install our poles. He worked for about an hour, measuring, cutting, drilling, installing supports, installing metal ribbons, etc.etc. He looked like he was doing a good job, a thorough job, but what do I know about concrete, porches, or poles. Anyway, after about 2 hours of this ruckus, he finished and packed up his stuff. The poles were in place, and the porch appeared done, except for one thing....

(now here's the ironic part......and remember, this all started because our concrete was improperly poured in the first place and had to be redone.)

...he cracked the concrete.

PS I've just met with a representative of the builder who informed me that they have to start over....which is, of course, not at all ironic....that just sucks. c'est la homeownership.

Grosser than Gross

2006-12-16T16:52:00.000-05:00

Remember that game? The one you used to play with your friends at recess. It went something like this, "What's grosser than gross?" And you'd oblige saying, "What?" And your friend would reply with something revolting like, "Eating a bowl of corn flakes that you found leftover in a plastic baggy and finding out your brother's scab collection is missing." Then you would counter with something equally, if not more vile.

So here we go.

What's grosser than gross?
When you're playing with your infant son and he vomits directly into your mouth.

I'm not kidding.
Fabulous afternoon.

Post Script (December 19, 8:01pm) Here's my attempt to head-off you non-believers who have been emailing me...yes, it really did happen, and yes, I immediately followed it up with my own command performance into the kitchen sink.

Can You Buy That at Wal-Mart?!?!

2006-12-16T12:42:00.000-05:00

While getting Emma dressed for the day this morning, a funny thing happened that I cannot resist sharing here. I should preface this little story by saying that I breastfed both of my children until they were each 9 mos. old. With Emma's blossoming curiousity about the world coinciding with Nicholas' peak in feeding (at least 5-7 times a day), I knew it would be impossible to be discreet around my toddler's investigative stare. And frankly, I didn't see a reason to be. I'm a strong supporter of breastfeeding babies and found it to be one of the most natural things in the world. Why then would I invoke the ever-present taboo about breasts with my 2 year old daughter long before she will inevitably succumb to it through social pressure. Breastfeeding is natural. And what an absolutely amazing thing that a woman's body is capable of not only growing and giving birth to another human being, but can then nourish it for months on end as well. And if anything, I want my daughter to feel proud of her body and every magical thing it can do. So, I never felt bashful or ashamed of breastfeeding in the privacy of my home in front of my daughter. And as a result of so much exposure to adult breasts coupled with her ever-expanding fierce sense of independence, she naturally started to want some of her own.

So, this morning, as we were getting her dressed for the day, Emma stood in her room half dressed and proudly exclaimed, "Look at my boobies, mommy!" Now two things strike me about this exclamation. First of all, where did she learn the word, "boobies?" And second, why is she so anxious to show them off?!? After quelling any fears about her one day living at the Playboy mansion, proudly displaying her saline injected double D's and swinging around a steel pole in the "Grotto," I regained my composure and said, "Emma, you have a beautiful body. And you should be very proud of all that it can do. And someday, you will have 'boobies' like mommy when you get a little older." We then continued our morning routine, putting on a shirt, socks and shoes, and combing her hair. All the while, we chatted about needing to walk to the Wal-Mart nearby to buy some milk for breakfast (I know, the irony of needing milk in this situation). And again, I should preface my next comment by saying that my 2 year old, in her limited exposure with the world, already has a PROFOUND understanding of consumerism. She knows all about the "store" and how you "pay for it" when you take things to the register, etc.etc.etc. So it should have come as no surprise when she proudly exclaimed, "Mommy, we go get boobies at the store and pay for it!"

I swear, I almost peed myself laughing at the thought of buying breasts at the store, and at Wal-Mart no less. It almost came across as a cheap solution to plastic surgery. For those of us who can't afford the skill of surgeons featured on, "Dr. 90210," there is Wal-Mart, where you too can purchase a set of ta ta's for the low, low price of 119.98. Hey...does anyone feel a tv show coming on?

For now, Emma will have to be satisfied with what she has. But I can't help but wonder, is this the beginning of a lifetime riddled with societally imposed insecurity that women's bodies are never quite good enough? And is it so insideously ingrained in our culture that it sets in as early as basic consciousness about one's anatomy?!? Good God, I hope not. I hope she'll always know how amazing, how blessed, how capable, and how miraculous her body really is, whatever form it takes.

Everything I Need to Know, I Learned in "Mommy- mode"

2006-12-11T15:48:00.000-05:00

This past August my in-laws made a trip down to the "Crik" for a brief visit and to see the sites of our little town and its surrounding metropolis of Charleston. That took all of one day. The rest of the time we spent chatting, eating, and having an all around good time. For me, it was an especially noteworthy visit as I hadn't had much contact with adults other than my husband and parents for about four months at that point. So, they could've come down and stared at the floor for 3 days, and I probably would've been thrilled. Lucky for me, they are remarkably intelligent, warm, and fun people, making the visit all the more inspiring.

Anyway, in the course of conversation, my sister-in-law pointed out that I have been in, "mommy-mode," for approximately 3 years now, and the thought has stuck with me ever since.

For those of you that don't know my immediate history, let me bring you up to speed. Three and a half years ago, I began a period of my life that I like to call the, "reproductive epoch." It all started with an offer to donate eggs to a dear friend of mine struggling with infertility. After several months of repeated visits to the fertility clinic, many vials of blood, one month of daily injections, and a "harvest", three little eggs found their way out of a petri dish and into her uterus. Today they are two beautiful little boys and a dream come true. And up until that point, it was the best thing I had ever done with my life.

Then I found MYSELF pregnant six months later and only two months after getting married. Nine months later, Emma graced us with our presence on 9/9/ 04, and I began my new role as, "stay-at-home-mom." Exactly nine months after that, I found myself pregnant again, this time with Nicholas. And again, nine months passed and we became a family of four. Emma is now 2 years and three months, and Nicholas is.....9 months old. So, I'm sure you can understand that given our luck with the number 9, I'm a bit weary to acknowledge Nicholas' 9 month anniversary for fear that there's yet another reproductive surprise waiting around the corner. And quite frankly, I know that my body, mind, and spirit can't handle any more....particularly my body. I'm DONE! I have two healthy, beautiful children, and that's it for me. No more baby making, eggs, embryo, pregnancy or otherwise. My body has done enough for this family, especially considering that both kids were breastfed for 9 months each as well. I formally reclaim my body here and now.....if only I could reclaim it in its pre-baby making days!

As for my mind and spirit, well, I'm still a, "stay-at-home-mom." So, my biggest decisions during the day tend to revolve around things like how to hide peas and spinach in meatloaf, how to keep little hands out of light sockets despite the fact that they've learned to open the safety covers, and how best to facilitate the bowel movement of my constipated infant. I know....vegetables, safety, and poop....thrilling. Don't get me wrong, I love my kids dearly. But quite frankly, being home with two small kids under the age of 2 and a half is frustrating part of the time, mind-numbing most of the time, and psychologically exhausting ALL of the time. It tries the patience in ways that I never thought possible. And so, I have my days when I've reached my wits end, and the slightest thing sets me off.

I remember one such occasion when in the midst of the third toddler melt-down of the day and Nicky's 7th poopy "incident", "Potty-Time Elmo" had uttered the words, "Oops, accidents happen," one too many times, and he found himself 30 feet out in the yard after being hurled there from the back porch while I growled, "OOPS! ACCIDENTS HAPPEN J****SS!" (I beg your pardon.) And this was all before 10 in the morning. I know, I know, it's not the most mature or even sane way to handle my frustration, but in my defense, it did make me feel better, it prevented me from taking my frustration out on my kids by yelling at them, and Emma had finished playing with him prior to his taking to the not-so-friendly skies. And for those of you that are worried about our dear, little, red, furry friend, he's been recovered and sits comfortably on his potty on a shelf at my mom's house where he's visited once a week, which is just about as much as I can stand of him.

So, needless to say, the last 2 years and 3 months have been a learning experience. I've learned that I am a person who once thought of herself as patient, and then I had kids. I've learned that my fuse can be very short if presented with enough poop, tears, tantrums, sleeplessness, and whining. I've learned that ANYTHING can be hidden in meatloaf made with enough ketchup, and thereby consumed by the unsuspecting toddler palette (and no, I have not abused this little discovery, although the thought has crossed my mind once or twice). I've learned that wearing work clothes as opposed to "mommy" clothes does make you feel a bit more adult during the day. I've learned that when trying to put together furniture or hang picutres, ALWAYS have an associated activity for your 2 year old toddler to do nearby that doesn't involve your tools, hardware or furniture pieces, or these things WILL go missing or get broken. I've learned that with two small children in the house, if you can find the time to shower and get dressed by 11am, you're 2 hours ahead of schedule! I've learned to always make extra breakfast for myself because even though Emma has wolfed down a bowl and a half of cheerios and half a banana, she will ALWAYS want some of whatever I'm having. I've learned that child-proof gates are only child-proof if your child is deaf, dumb, and blind. Otherwise, they will carefully study the operation of said gate and have it mastered in a matter of hours. And I've learned that no matter how mind-numbing or frustrating my days can sometimes be, when I reach the end of my life, I won't wish that I had spent more time on my career or at the office during these days (thanks for reminding me of that mom). I'm lucky to have this time with my kids, even if it means we make quite a few sacrifices. Now if I could just figure out a way to get paid for all this work.....