Why Must They Grow Up?

I'm grabbing at these days, these last days of summer. My sweet angel-baby John is going to go to pre-school in a couple of weeks. 5 DAYS A WEEK!!! I'm not ready. I don't want to just drop him off, leave him to someone else who won't love him the way I do. She won't listen to him the way I do, she won't notice every little thing he does and says.

John will be in the classroom 3 hours each day with 19 other children and two teachers. The teachers are wonderful. They are loving and knowledgeable, experienced and creative. They are kind and comforting and patient. John will (hopefully) thrive in his preschool. BUT HE'S MY BABY AND HE'LL BE AWAY FROM ME FOR 3 HOURS 5 DAYS A WEEK. He's probably ready. I'm not ready. He'll learn and play and explore and make new friends. He'll see and do things that I could never offer him. He'll have experiences and opportunities that I cannot give him. He'll probably love preschool and like going there each day. I want that for him.

But I'm going to miss him so much. Who will smile at him and watch the cool things he does? Will he say "Want to see this?"? And will anyone say back to him "Yes, John, show me."? When he does something great, or figures something out, or keeps trying not crying, who will acknowledge him? Who will meet his eyes across the room and smile? Who will notice him? If he gets hurt, or if his feelings get hurt, will he turn to someone or will he suffer silently? Will he swallow the urge to cry? His loving soccer ball (his lovey) won't be with him, and neither will I. Will he lose his sensitivity, his vulnerability? Will he become hardened, unfeeling? He's so sweet and little and tender. I don't want that to go away. I don't want to miss out on ANYTHING in John's life. My baby John is growing up and I don't want him to. I want him to stay 3, to stay home with me and play all day. I want to snuggle with him, wrestle with him, twirl and chase him. I want to push little John in the swing for hours, so high that his feet touch the cedar branches above.

I'm not ready for John to go to preschool. John's ready. He'll be okay. He'll be wonderful. I won't. I won't be okay. I'll have to hide my tears as I walk to the car and drive away. I'll have to keep reminding myself that he's where he's supposed to be, he's going to love his school and teacher and classmates. I'll have to spend our afternoons playing and snuggling and watching and listening and delighting in my John. I have to be smart about how I spend my time with my babies, because it is so fleeting.

Our Family

I've been reading some friends' blogs about their times at BlogHer2010. I wish I could say "I wish I had gone to NYC and BlogHer", but I don't need to go. Not yet. I'm not a big blogger - I don't have time. I don't have time to write, I don't have time to read, I don't have time to even formulate complete sentences usually. I get inspirations, ideas, thoughts that grab me, but by the time my babies are in bed and my chores are finished, I'm so tired I am incoherent.

It is getting easier. My boys are sleeping more through the night, except for John's night-terrors. I've been going into him at 2:30 am and 5:30 am almost every night for about 3 weeks now. I lay down with him, hold him and his soccer ball, stroke his sweaty hair off of his forehead, and fall asleep. A while later, I hear Joseph crying (without the monitor - can you believe it?), climb out of John's little bed, and go to my baby baby. (John is my big boy baby, Joseph is my baby baby). Then I sleep with Joseph until he awakes, usually about 6:30 am. He starts to play with his binkie, talks, rolls around, looks at me, then scoots over or rolls over to me and touches my face. He is so fun to sleep with. It takes me a few minutes to awaken, since I had been awake a few times already during the night. But then we stay in bed until John awakens, playing, snuggling, smiling at each other, holding hands, playing "binkie hide and seek". When John awakens, he comes into bed with us, saying "Little Joey" as he gives Joey "the love". He loves Joey so hard!

Anyway, I digress. I started writing this post after reading about BlogHer2010, about the friends who are realizing that their actual and supportive friends are online, not in their same town. I started thinking about my own friends and family. I have been trying to create a family for a while now. I have a family, my parents, siblings and their spouses, nieces & nephews, aunts & uncles, cousins. But we are not close anymore. We have grown apart, our children have grown apart, and life is going on.

After feeling lonely for comeraderie, I started making family time with friends and their families. I started seeking out friends with children John's & Joseph's ages, so we could plan family outings with them. I am creating a new family for myself. I love my "family of origin", and always will, but I LIKE and LOVE my new family. I have friends from long ago, who have friends John's ages (Jenny & Ann), friends from our co-op (Kristen, Candace, Norma, Stacey, Kristina, Elise, Jovanka, Nancy), friends from our book club which no longer meets and no longer reads books but remain my best friends (Paula, Jane, Kendra, Jennifer, Alicia, MaryBeth, Nicole). I am, I say it again, creating my family. I hope to remain friends with these amazing women and their children & spouses for the rest of my life. I hope to make new friends at my boys' new schools, and include them in my family. I think it is important to create routines and rituals for my boys. Things they can remember and look forward to and predict. Family Time with our extended "family" is one thing I want to consistently plan and do. We need those connections, that support. I don't have it with fellow bloggers (yet???), but am creating it with my friends who know me better than my "family of origin" does. Is it weird? Yes, a bit. I thought I'd be super close to my siblings and we'd raise our children together. Not happening. We have nothing, really, in common. We have different values and wishes for our children. And, it's okay. I have matured enough (I hope) to recognize this and accept it. And to create a circle of friends my boys can turn to for fun, support, and love.

Our new family. Our chosen family. We love and like them. And it is good.

Fat Chicks Sweat More...

I'm having a tough time sticking to my diet. I get such cravings at night, especially for chocolate. I WANT to lose weight. I feel so great when I do, feel so great when I eat right, feel so great after I excercise. Why can't I use those great feelings after 7 pm? Why can't I get motivated to not eat after 7 pm? To snack on healthy food instead of "Cheetos" and chocolate? Ugh. If it weren't for night-time vampire feedings, I'd lose about 2 lbs per week or more. Ugh Ugh. What can I eat after 7 pm that won't make me gain weight and that will satisfy my salty & chocolate cravings?

Bodacious Blonde Bimbo

As you know, I'm over 40. 43 years old, to be exact.

My husband will be 50 in December. He is one of the last of his group of friends to turn 50.

We went to his friend Kevin's 50th birthday party this past Tuesday, with our two little munchkins (who were, I admit, the LIFE of the party). I knew most of the people, who were Kevin's friends and family. I did my usual - held Joseph, followed John, chatted with people, followed John, introduced myself and my boys when necessary, followed John. It was great. I didn't have to talk if I didn't want to, I could use my boys as an excuse to leave an awkward situation.

John was so so busy in Kevin's & Sheila's back yard. They have two boys, grown now, and have created their house and yard to withstand little (and huge) boys. John could do no harm. He discovered all the fountains and ponds and fish and rocks and sticks and hiding places. The yard was totally fenced in, so I didn't have to worry about him getting out. He was free to roam and play and explore and discover and dart about. There were other little children there, but they stayed with their mommies. John went to each adult and asked them, in his precious little lisp, how they were doing and did they want to see his compass (or his rock or his stick or whatever else he stuffed in his pocket). Every person knew John within one hour of us being there. It was great.

Anyway, back to me. This is really why I am writing this post. I visited with the other wives of my husband's friends, with the grandparents and children and everyone in between. I didn't notice anything unusual.

On our drive home, around 9:30, both boys were asleep. My husband told me how beautiful I looked. He said I was the prettiest, youngest-looking woman at the party. He said he couldn't believe how young I looked, that I could pass for someone in my late 20s or early 30s.

YES!!!

If you were to ask me my age, my first gut-level response would be 24. Then I have to think and re-answer. Ugh. I'm glad I look younger that I am. Except, I've been noticing the grey hair. I've been a dark blonde all of my adult life and now the dark blonde around my face is turning grey. When I was younger (0-20 years old) I was REALLY blonde. Naturally really blonde. My John is really blonde, just like I was.

I want to be that blonde again. I made an appointment with my hair "artiste", Darrell, who has been doing my hair nicely for over 10 years, for this Thurs., July 1 at 10:30 am. He is going to color my hair, get rid of the grey. But I don't want him to color it the dark dirty blonde it has become. I want to become BLONDE like I used to be. Like my John.

I want to become, again, a bodacious blonde bimbo. I was one, once. I want to become one again. If it works, I'll post photos. I don't need a boob job. Mine are big enough, even before I was nursing babies. I'm working on losing the baby weight (and puberty weight, and college weight, and living alone in my 20s weight, and partying every night in my 30s weight). I've lost almost 15 pounds since April Fools Day. I have 35 pounds to go. I'm short, so , yes, I have 35 pounds to lose. By my husband's 50th birthday in December. It can be done. 2 pounds each week. I just need to be disciplined and not eat after 7 pm. Oh, and give up chocolate. Ugh.

Bodacious Blonde Bimbo...ready or not, here I come!

Tell Me THAT Story

My John is so interesting. I've never met anyone like him. He actually learns from stories. He asks me to tell him stories about things all day long. And I try to do just that, just for him. Doesn't matter where we are or what we are doing.

As I place him in his blue bucket swing, under our cedar trees, he says, "Tell me about the little boy (bo-wee) whose mommy is putting him in his swing under his green cedar trees, in his pajamas, and he wants to stand in his swing, not sit. Tell me THAT story." So I make up a story about just that, with a little lesson on how he must sit on the swing so he does not fall out.

As I change his diaper, he says, "Tell me the story of the little boy whose mommy is changing his diaper and gets boom on the sofa because he wouldn't lie still. Tell me THAT story." So I do. Lesson: stay still, with your legs up, so we don't get boom everywhere. AND, when you go boom on the toilet, you don't have to worry about getting it everywhere or lying still while mommy changes your diaper. We're really encouraging using the toilet, since preschool begins in 2.5 short months.

After John hits Baby Joey on the head with his knuckles, he tearfully says, "Tell me the story about the little boy who hits his baby on the head with his knuckles. Tell me THAT story." And so I do, about the nice little boy who loves his baby brother so much that he is just bursting with love and it comes out hard through his fist. And the big boy feels so badly for hurting the baby and making the baby cry. And how the little boy never wants to do that again, never ever. And how the little boy will have to go to time-out if he hits the baby again. Then John puts his face on Joey's head, "giving Joey the love" he says.

When we drive up to our house, John says, "Tell me the story about the little boy who injusts (adjusts) mommy's seat so much that she can't reach the pedals or climb up or sit up straight. Tell me THAT story." So, as he is "injusting" my driver's seat, I laughingly tell him of the fun little boy who moves mommy's seat around so much that I am facing backward and upside-down while I'm driving. And how Johnny pushes a button so that I fly out the roof into the sky. He laughs and laughs, trying to move the seat in every which way. Not all of our stories are serious lesson stories.

The list wonderfully goes on. I'm telling stories every few minutes sometimes, especially when John feels like being naughty, or accidentally is naughty or gets hurt. He really does learn from them, often choosing NOT to repeat the crime or accident (ack-sident).

And he is trying to do funny things, to hear funny stories so he can laugh and laugh. He loves laughing (I have an ultrasound photo of him, laughing in-utero, at about 30 weeks), and he LOVES making Joey laugh. That is often his goal in life. John makes Joey laugh more than anyone else can. John can make eye-contact with Joseph, and Joseph will scream laugh and hide his eyes and face in my chest, then look back at John and laugh some more. When John speaks to Joey, Joey cracks up, no matter what John says. They have a cool connection. They understand each other, without needing to speak. I love watching them. I hope they will be best friends forever, truly.

Tell me THAT story.

Two Years Ago Today

I was sitting on my sister's back porch in Portland, OR, with my Auntie Joan, my sister Colleen, 4-year-old Molly, and my baby John. He was just over 13 months when we drove to Portland. It was hot and sunny and we were playing outside. I was holding John on my lap, watching Joan and Molly gather all of Molly's baby dolls. Joan held up a doll to John and said, "Look at the little baby, John."

John looked at the dolly, looked at me, smiled, and said, "Baby".

HIS FIRST WORD!! MY BABY JOHN'S FIRST REAL WORD!!!

I will never forget that afternoon and his sweet smiling, proud face. He knew he did something pretty amazing.

And now, as John gives "the love" to his own little Baby Joey, who is exactly two-and-a-half years younger than he is, he says "baby" so sweetly, so casually, as if he's been saying it all of his life. And, really, he has.

My Home Repair List - Handsome Handyman, Part 2

Oh my gosh, things around this house STILL need to be fixed. I'm not kidding. I make lists, put them up on the kitchen cupboard where someone in particular looks every day. They go unmentioned and unfixed for weeks. I take the list down in frustration (and because that certain "someone in particular" splattered tomato sauce or coffee on the list). I can't find any of my lists, so I decided to post them on my blog. I always know where my computer is and where my blog is. So, here are things that need to be done around here, for which I need help (physical and emotional and mental, sometimes). Hello, Handsome Handyman!

John's playhouse walls must be secured together
Pipe on back of house need to be replaced (it burst this winter, and we need it to operate our
sprinklers)
Door threshold between playroom and hallway (there is no threshold)
Playroom ceiling lights get really really really really warm
Playroom light switch needs to be switched
Playroom electrical sockets, changed to 3-prongs
Weeds all along sidewalk need to be dug out and killed
Pick up bags of bark for front, sides, and back of house
Fill gaping hole in front of house with dirt
Clean gutters (get ladder - my very own ladder - from Terry's rental house - why is it there
anyway, it is MINE)
Stove - only two out of four burners work
Dishwasher - the soap dispenser door broke off
Cut branches off neighbor's Maple Tree that invade our roof and power lines
Sand baseboard
Make quarter-inch-round for baseboards


I will add to this list as needed. And I will check off the items that are fixed, no matter who fixes them. I'll let you know if it was, indeed, my handsome handyman. Sigh.

Every Mom Needs A Wife...And A Handsome Handyman

I don't know why it takes me so long to write...yes, I do. I'm usually exhausted by evening time, which is when I have a minute to sit down and turn on the computer. I don't have the physical or mental energy to write anything. I've loads of thoughts swirling around my head, some of which actually make sense. But I'm too tired to type.

I spend all of my glorious days playing with and taking care of John and Joseph. Both of my little munchkins are so easy to be around, so happy, such smiling laughing children. I have no complaints. I LOVE being home every day with my boys. Even John's really really really loud and long "Nnnnnnoooo!!!" doesn't bother me. He's good at saying it, it sounds funny, I smile or laugh whenever he says it, shake my head, then proceed to do the very thing he doesn't want. He knows the routine now, but still needs to shout out "no" really long and loud. He will even smile a bit afterward, 'cause I truly think he thinks it's funny. And it gets him nowhere.

I'm tired, though, because I do this all day and night, every day and night. I don't ever get a break. EVER. My husband comes home from work, and now I have three boys to look after, who need my attention. He needs more attention, usually, than the other two. Which is hard and strange. When he is gone, we have routine and calm and peace and music and laughter and creative, fun dinners. When he is home, we have chaos and restlessness and loud talking and shouting and teasing and tickling until we cry and no music and yucky meat for dinner (which he never likes, which I never get right for him). He will, on occasion, empty and/or fill the dishwasher, or take out the garbage. That's about it. And that's easy stuff I can do and do do all the time. However, all of the things that need to be fixed around the house or all of the heavy stuff that is hard for me to do NEVER gets completed by my husband. And if I ask more than once, I'm called a "nag". So, I have decided to ask once and only once. Then, I make my list and call the handsome handyman I have found. He charges $25 per hour and usually takes 4 or 5 hours to complete ALL of the chores that has taken my husband 3 months not to do. The guy even took the broken doorknobs home to work on at night while he was watching tv, so as to not charge me. Awesome! I did give him a tip and he said he'd come back anytime I had more stuff to do.

So now, I'm vigilant. Anything that does not work or look right, I put on my list. In a week or two, I'm calling my handsome handyman to come save me from my broken-down house. If I get desperate, I'll break things myself. Hey, it's someone other than a three-year-old and seven-month-old to talk to. I have a reason to tidy the house. Oh...and to put on lipstick.

Thank you Easter Bunny. Bok Bok!

Last year John was still one-year-old when my high school Alumni Easter Egg hunt took place. He really hadn't mastered the knack of holding his easter basket and picking up the plastic eggs and putting them into the basket then gathering more eggs. He picked up one egg (there were THOUSANDS in front of him on the football field), looked at it closely, held it tightly, then threw it as far and hard as he could. Of course. That's what he did (and still kinda does) with little round things. That's my boy! He's going to become a switch-hitting shortstop for one of the cool MLB teams (not the Yankees). He's going to make his mama lots of money with his MLB contracts.

Well, during the hunt, John picked up maybe 10 eggs total and threw all of them (quite well, I might add). I was proud of him, for not following the crowd, for going against the flow, for not caring about the candy. For making heads turn. He hit no one with his egg-throwing. Was that good? He now can hit a target when he throws rocks at the river. Some big kids ran around the football field, pushing the little ones (read "John") out of the way, picking up as many eggs as they could. John managed to save 2 eggs and the candy that was inside (I put them into his basket when he wasn't looking). My "sweet" nephew, who was 4.5 years old last Easter, was one of the big kids TAKING from the innocent young ones. I wanted to take all of his eggs and throw them at him and his dad (my brother) for being so pushy.

Well, this year is different. My sweet John is two-almost-three and is quite smart. He knows, now, about bullies, about big kids who push little ones. He knows right & wrong and usually chooses right. He's not perfect and has pushed other children when he wanted something they had. I don't condone pushing others and I don't let John get away with pushing or hurting others. When other children hurt John, I don't let them get away with it either. I talk to them, put them in time-out, talk to their parent. NO ONE PUSHES MY JOHN AND MY JOHN PUSHES NO ONE. Unless he has to. Here's my point...

I believe that sometimes you (read "John") have to defend yourself. Sometimes, when you are bullied, you need to fight back. Sometimes you need to show the bully that you won't take their bullying. Talking doesn't work, action does. I believe that all parents need to teach their boys how to punch someone safely in the stomach, to fold them over, so the bullying stops. I don't mean that John should punch someone to get what he wants. That's wrong. I do mean that, if someone repeatedly bullies John, he should tell an adult and them fold that child over. Once. That's all it usually takes. The bully usually stops after being physically stopped by the child being bullied. Talking by the adults, making the kids talk, usually doesn't stop the bullying. Children turn a deaf ear to adult talk. So do I, actually. Actions speak louder than words. We've all heard that and I firmly believe it in all sorts of areas and aspects.

So, today, to get ready for Easter, John and Joseph and I went outside. John carried his easter basket and practiced collecting eggs. He & his dad had thrown little golf-ball-sized whiffle balls into the front yard. They were strewn about, and John pretended they were eggs and collected them all. He is ready for the Alumni Easter Egg hunt. He is not yet ready to punch a kid in the stomach. Wouldn't really be appropriate for a religious holiday. But I'm getting ready to teach him how. How to "fold someone over" and when to "fold someone over". That is a life-skill my boys need to know and it's our job, as parents, to teach them how and when to do it.

I'm not in favor of violence. I just know boys. I have two brothers. I taught boys for 16 years. I'm a mom, now, to two boys and am married to a big boy. I know how they solve problems, how they solve conflict, how their brains and hearts work. I know how they forgive and surrender and conquer. I know how they don't hold grudges and how they move on and how physical acts really help the process. I despise bullying and I see it happening more and more in our schools and at our parks. Our boys need to know what bullying is and how to stop it. And I believe that adults talking about it helps, but boys doing something about it works. My John is learning how to collect Easter eggs, how and when to hit targets with rocks and other round things, how to give love to his little brother, how to be gentle around people, and how to defend himself. He is going to be gentle and strong and peaceful and fun-loving and hard-working and respectful and assertive and loving and healthy and happy and wise. These are what I pray for, for my John and Joseph.

The Shuffle

I'm doing the shuffle. Not the dance from the 1970s. I'm talking about the crap shuffle. We have so much stuff, so much crap (all of it very valuable, of course) and such a little house, that there is no place to sit or walk safely. Our living room also acts as a dining room, tv room, and play room. Oh, and office, library, and craft room. All day long I move stuff out of our way so we can eat, so we can play, so we can sit on the couch or on Joey's cool "tummy time" blanket our friends Lara & Brenda gave us (from Ikea, naturally). There's no place to build blocks unless we move Joey's blanket and bouncy seat. There's no place to eat unless we move the mail and grocery list and phone and keys and hat and drawing. There's no place to color unless we move puzzles and motors and rubber stamps. There's no place to put a cup of coffee unless we move more crap. Then it spills on the already-stained rug. Ugh.

Too much stuff. We should be on the show "Hoarders". Except I just keep thinking that once we move to a bigger house, the crap will have specific places and we will have a kitchen, a dining room, a living room, a family room, a play room, an office. Each of us will have our own bedroom, so the baby's dresser won't be next to mine, so the paperwork to be filed won't be on the floor in front of my dresser so high that I cannot get into the bottom two drawers.

No one I know lives like this. When friends come over (and they rarely do any more, since I'm so embarrased about our clutter), I do the shuffle. I take the junk off the mantel, off the dining table, off the sofa, and I put it all on our bed. I swear that I will put it all away neatly after everyone leaves, before bedtime. But then I am too tired and I place it carefully on the floor until tomorrow. When tomorrow comes, I have 100 other stashes of stuff to deal with, so the piles I moved to our room will stay there for at least a month.

Ugh Ugh Ugh. I used to make fun of people like me (like my parents, my brothers, my sister). Now I am one of those people. Slobs. Lazy. Messy. Yuck. I must change my ways so that my boys don't become like my husband and me. Poor little lambs. With the parents they were given, they don't stand a chance!

I Don't Know What To Do

Both boys are napping. It is almost 4:00 in the afternoon. John has been asleep since 2:30 pm (we came home from co-op, took off shoes & coats, picked up his "lovey" soccer ball, went to bed).

I nursed Joseph, played with him, made him squeal laugh, tidied up the kitchen and living room, played with him some more. Then I held him and kissed him and started singing to him. He just fell asleep.

I don't know what to do. I have time to myself. I should turn off the dang computer and...do what? Watch tv? Read a dumb magazine? Chores? (Ugh, that's all I do). I'll start the dinner (spaghetti with homemade red sauce and Italian sausage, garlic bread, salad) and I KNOW one of them will awaken just as I get my hands into whatever I start.

Oh well. That's my job. It is short-lived because time is flying by so quickly. Too soon I'll have more free time than I want. I don't want my babies to grow up. I don't want to grow old. I want to play and laugh and sing and dance and color and wind clocks and do wash with little John standing at the machine hucking clothes into the water and watching the agitator twirl. I want to make forts on rainy days and have the boys help me bake cookies. I want to read with them, snuggled on the couch. I want to play hide-and-seek, with John so excitedly hiding that he squeals to let me know where he is. I want to hear John count, his little high-pitched voice raising at the end of each number, then saying "ready or not...here I come". I want Joey to squeal everytime I lift him up, big smile on his face. I want to kiss and hold his chubby legs while I change his diaper. I want to see his face light up whenever I sing "Moon River" or "Somewhere Beyond the Sea" or "I Love You A Bushel And A Peck". I want him to nurse and nurse and then swing his head and arm back to see what's behind him, then to latch on with a big smile and a hungry growl.

I want so much, my list could go on and on. But I'm going to stop, turn off the computer, and go watch my little angels sleep. Forget dinner and chores and bills to pay and garbage to take out. Forget phone calls and lists of things to do. John and Joey are asleep, looking like cherubs all comfy cosy. I need to study them and imprint them in my mind. This time will be gone too soon.

Happy Birthday To Me

Yes, today is my birthday and my husband remembered. He gave me a card from the boys, a little red notebook to help me become organized (????), and a card from him of Dorothy, the Tin Man, Scarecrow, and Lion. Not sure which character I'm supposed to be.

Oh, and the card had $50 worth of cash in it.

Isn't it romantic...

I'm the Next "Food Network" Star

Yes, I am the next "Food Network" star. It started yesterday while Little John was napping. Joseph was awake (this is a photo of him when he was 1 day old. I couldn't resist showing him this way), it was a snowy, rainy, grey afternoon. We had been inside all day, since neither boy was feeling well. I had cabin fever and was hungry and wanted to fix a tasty dinner.



I had all the ingredients for my mom's homemade potato soup recipe, so I carried Joey in his little bouncy seat into the kitchen and started cutting up the bacon. Unaware of what I was doing, I started talking to Joey, explaining everything I was doing. I described the bacon, how I was chopping it, with what kind of knife. I described and showed him how to peel and chop an onion. I let him smell the onion and the look on his face was priceless. I showed him how to peel and dice the potatoes and put a cube into his chubby little hand (for a minute, before it headed toward his smiling mouth). I told him about the broth and boiling the potatoes in it instead of in water and how tasty they would be. I talked about the benefits of using half-n-half instead of the heavy cream the recipe called for. I became Rachel Ray (without, hopefully, being obnoxious and mouthy). I was the Barefoot Contessa (hopefully a bit smaller in size). I was Giada (with a more-proportionate head-body ratio. Her head is huge). I was Sandra Lee (not as sickeningly sweet and perfect. Wanted one of her cocktails, though). I was Tyler's Ultimate (shorter & didn't slur my words). I was Jamie Oliver minus the irritating lisp & I don't substitute "f" for "th" as in "I fink it'th a bit thalty."

I strive to be Alton Brown (who doesn't??). He's smart, logical, interesting, funny, and has great recipes. Next time I enter the kitchen, I'll wear a button-down shirt, levis, Dr. Martens (I actually still have my Doc Martens I bought on Grafton St. in Dublin, back in 1989), and horn-rimmed glasses. Maybe I'll teach Joey how to make corned beef & cabbage & mashed potatoes. Or pigs feet. Something authentic and old-fashioned and interesting. Maybe even worth eating???

The Olympics and My Boys

We've been watching the Olympics all week long. As soon as John goes to sleep, I clean the kitchen, get the laundry going, bring up clothes to fold, and get all ready to watch tv for a few hours.

I get teary when people win, when they lose, when they fall, when they get hurt, when they receive a medal, when the country's song is played. The Olympics really make me weep and I love them. I don't want them to be over this weekend. I really enjoy the outdoor events the most. The speed skating and the figure skating are good, are fine, I'm just not that into them. I LOVE watching the skiing (downhill, slalom, free-style, super G, cross-country), and the snowboarding. Part of me thinks it could have been me going down (and up?) those snowy hills "back in the day." I was never very good at skiing, have never tried boarding, but I love going up to the mountain and pretending I'm good at skiing down the hills.

I wonder what the parents of all the competitors are going through. Now that I have my little munchkins, my whole perspective is different. The parents (I imagine) are worried sick that their children will be hurt or even die like the young man on the luge this past friday. They worry about their child failing, about their child's spirit breaking and feelings getting hurt beyond repair. They worry about things I cannot even guess. I also wonder now what sports John and Joseph will be involved in. Will they choose the sports Terry and I love or will they create their own passions? Will they ski or board? Will they play baseball or soccer? Will they run cross-country or play football? Will they play basketball or wrestle? How will I handle the stress? I want to be the kind of mom that my boys will be proud of. I want them to not be embarrased by me and I don't want to cry in front of their peers or their peers' parents. I want them to bring their friends to our home to hang out. Do I want my boys to be such great athletes at one sport that they become Olympic material? Do I want them to be so focused that they are not well-rounded? I want them to be healthy and fit and happy. They don't have to be the best or to be famous. They could be good at many sports or just one. And if they don't want to play sports, then I want them to be active and healthy and exercising every day. I want so much for my little boys. I want them to be good sports like Shaun White, the snowboarder. I want them to be hard-working and driven and fun-loving like Shaun White and Bode Miller. I want...I want...I want.... I need to let it be. To live and let live. To let my boys be whatever they are called to be. How do I let go of the control? Do I know better? I don't think so.

Baby Joey

My sweet Baby Joey is sick. He has a bad cold. His first, thankfully. His little button nose is stuffy and draining and he can't breathe very well. I've been doing the aspirator and saline and he must hate me. He has a loose phlegme cough, which is good, but it wakes him up and causes his little pacifier to fly. Then he cries. He must have a sore throat, but he can't tell me that. I'm assuming by the way he cries when he nurses, his breathing is loud and scratchy. Poor little lamb. I wish he could just put all of his aches & pains & discomforts right into me, so he would be free from such misery. He doesn't deserve to be so miserable. He's too cute and too smiley and too nice and too patient. He is everything good and perfect. I don't want him to be sick.

Watching Make-Believe Grow

Tonight John & Joseph and I were reading "Goodnight Moon." John knows the book by heart. We've been reading it together for over 2 years. One of his favorite toys in the room is the dollhouse. He points it out each time we read it.

Tonight was different, though. After reading the story, John opened the book to the last page of the great green room. It was dark in the room and the lights in the dollhouse were on. He said, "I want to go in there." "In the dollhouse?" I asked. "Yeah," he whispered. "Okay," I said, "Close your eyes and jump in." He looked at me quizzically. He wasn't really sure Mommy knew what she was talking about. I said, "You can go anywhere you want John. You close your eyes and pretend. Jump into the house and what do you see?" He closed his eyes for a moment then smiled. He then said, "I want to go into the big room...right there." He pointed to the big round rug in front of the fireplace. Again I told him to close his eyes and jump in. He did and I did. A moment later John opened his eyes. We both smiled.

Hundreds of Rocks

We like to take John and Joseph to the River in our town. I put Joseph in the Baby Bjorn and he falls asleep, so I can climb and hike and play with John. John LOVES going to the river because he gets to throw rocks into it. That's his favorite thing to do - throw rocks into the water. He has become quite the thrower: overhand, underhand, side-arm, even backward. He picks up rocks and throws them non-stop for hours. Literally. He is addicted. He is starting (at his ripe old age) to even hit targets. He loves the sound of the rock hitting the water. The sound differs according to all sorts of variables: size of rock, shape of rock, how it is thrown (overhand, underhand, etc.), how high or how low it is thrown, how close John stands to the water. All sorts of things to look and listen for. John is trying to keep up with his hero - his dad. Daddy can throw rocks of any size into the water and the noise is so loud. Daddy can throw lots of rocks at one time, with one hand, into the water, so it looks and sounds as if it is raining rocks. John tries and tries to do that, and is pretty close to doing it! My husband and I are betting he could throw at least a thousand rocks in one trip to the river. Next time we go for a rock throwing expedition, we will not be limited or stunted by the clock or by Joseph and the bitter cold weather. No, John will get to throw rocks to his heart's content, for as long as he wants. It'll be interesting to see exactly how obsessed he is.

A Collection of Random Thoughts

I'm sitting on our living room floor, surrounded by blocks, gears, musical instruments, puzzles, cars, balls, stuffed animals. My 3 month old Joseph (Joey, Joe, Jo-Jo) is asleep on his little bed right next to me. John (almost 3 years old) is napping in his bed. All is right with the world. I reach up to Joey every time he wimpers or cries (I just started the dishwasher and I think the noise of that 40-year-old appliance scares him) and I hold his hand. His other tiny hand holds mine and I melt. It is hard to type one-handed, but worth it.

Joseph was born at the end of October, on the 23rd to be exact, so he is on the cusp of his birth sign. And I don't know what his birth sign is. Twenty years ago I would have known it, known the symbol for it, known the characteristics of it. Now I have other interests. Other pressing issues to spend time on. Like: "Is it possible my 3 month old baby is teething?" and "How do I (legally) keep the binky in his mouth so he doesn't suck his thumb?" and "How do I handle my almost-3-year-old's temper tantrums, which happen when I least expect it?" and "How do I NOT give in to my almost-3-year-old when he wants what he wants when he wants it, and I want him to be quiet to let the baby sleep?" and "Why am I not producing more milk? I'm taking Fenugreek and Blessed Thistle faithfully..." and "Why do I not have the energy or motivation to exercise or at least take the kids on a daily walk?" and "Why do I keep eating, all day, every day? I'm not even hungry. I'm not EVER hungry. I don't wait long enough to get hungry, I just put food into the hole." and "How can I get motivated to clean the house, the bathroom, the basement, our bedrooms, the kitchen floor, the patio, the living room, the mantle, the piano, the counters, the car?" and "Is it wrong for me to want to talk to someone other than my almost-3-year-old and my 3-month-old? Is it wrong for me to feel lonely for adult interaction after spending ALL DAY with an infant and a toddler?" And the guilt sets in....

I've been looking at Pre-schools for John and decided, after visiting some and talking to other moms about it, to send him to the Montessori school that comes HIGHLY recommended by many random people in my life: my neighbor, the family I tutor (no reflection on the montessori school, just on the child and her confidence in math), their nanny who taught there, my sister's montessori teacher whose grand-daughter attends this school, my friend at co-op who attended the montessori school and will soon teach there. It is 5 days a week though, and I'm afraid to let John leave me 5 days a week. I want him with me. He will be in school full-time until he is almost 30 (he's going to be a doctor, of course). But I can"t offer all of the wonderful experiences the school can. I don't have lots of peers for him to play with and learn from and teach. I don't have lots of centers that offer educational and creative and stimulating and challenging experiences. I don't have the ability (patience) to teach a 3 year old how to read and sew and write and count and peel carrots and slice hard-boiled eggs and form words with cursive letters and play the auto-harp and paint and make things out of clay and play dress-up and put things away and do puzzles and act in plays. And that's just one day at montessori (: He will learn some of those things, of course, with me. He will learn to share and negotiate and take turns and fight and defend and protect - he has a little brother. Best friends for life (I pray).

But this whole pre-school issue has been big for me, because of the 5-day-a-week thing. He's only a toddler, he'll be three in April, he's little. Who will protect him? Who will keep people from hurting his feelings? I can't be there for 5 mornings a week. Who will encourage him? Who will watch his every move and expression and fill with love and pride? Who will melt every time he shares with someone or says "thank you" and "please" without reminding? Who will wink at him across the room, just to let him know he's noticed? Who will appreciate the cute way he runs, with a skip and a hop mixed in? Who will love his hands that still have dimples in them? Who will notice the clever things he says, the insight he has, the wisdom that pours from him? Am I being a bit TOO MUCH? No, he's my baby John. He's my first-born, my sweet angel. I want to be there for him, to be all of what I just mentioned and more. I want so much to protect him. I actually cry when I think of people hurting his feelings. He is so sensitive and loving and sweet. He would not hurt a fly (he would smash baby Joey on the head while I'm nursing, but he would not hurt a fly nor any other creature). My little John is growing up too fast and I'm sending him to a 5-day-a-week preschool? What am I thinking?