O Christmas Tree

I love Christmas. Not necessarily for the presents (although I must say I am looking forward to my mother's gift to me this year - Korean spa day here I come!), but for everything that comes with it. Of all the traditions of this holiday, my favorite has to be a Christmas tree.

Dan has reluctantly yielded over the years to my love of a Christmas tree (he is just not a fan of Christmas - but now with kids, he is trying to enjoy it more). I am not talking about any old Christmas tree either. I am talking about a floor to ceiling tree and it has to be a Noble Fir. In my opinion, the Noble Fir is the most fragrant and beautiful. No other tree will do. Sadly, they tend to be the most expensive tree - much to Dan's chagrin.

We decorated our tree the other night with the kids. I have boxes of ornaments - some old and some new. Some that I grew up with and some I have collected over the years. Our tree is reminiscent of my childhood trees - not just because I have some of the old ornaments - but because it is decorated with everything. Well, everything except tinsel - tinsel is never okay. My mother has always hated it and steered us away from its use when we were younger - I guess the preference stuck. To me it is almost like gum chewing - better when not seen.

I like to take each ornament from its box and thoughtfully examine it - pondering its story. There is the Jeanne ornament - that is part of a set, although my sister Caroline has her ornament and the one of our childhood cat. Lauren fell immediately in love with this one and grabbed it from the tree the second it was hung. Unfortunately - for her - this is an ornament I would miss greatly if lost so I had to pry from her hands only to place higher up on the tree. Needless to say - tree trimming is lost on Lauren. To her it is just a toy rack.

I also have ornaments (I use the term loosely here, because they hardly resemble that anymore) that I place solely on the tree for sentimental value. There is a blue construction paper angel with gold and red glitter - I made in Sunday school as a child - that has been decapitated. It does not hang anymore - I just lay it on a branch (the head next to its body). There is also a snowflake (?) that my sister, Caroline, made that makes an annual appearance as well. It's half the size of its original state, but I cannot seem to decorate the tree without it.

I can hardly wait for the kids to make special items for our tree. For me, it just makes the tree. The tree becomes an alter for family stories and memories.

This year however, tree decorating was exciting for Kelan, traumatic for Lauren, existent for Dan and rushed for me. I just hold out hope that the ornaments will stay on the tree and pray that Kelan and Lauren do not realize there is a bucket of water under it.

Is it Me? Part 2 Cont.

My prescription still has not been filled. Seriously. My doctor's nurse called me around 2:30pm to say that she was faxing back the approval and that I could go and pick up my prescription today. Thank god. I had an appointment to see my chiropractor at 5pm, so I thought I would swing by my pharmacy on the way to the appointment.

I load the kids in the car and drive to Walgreens. I have to go inside (although they do have a drive through) because - adding insult to injury - that time of the month started today and I am out of tampons. Lovely. I am walking - at a 45 degree angle at this point - to the back of the pharmacy, wrangling two kids that just want to run and grab everything. I squat on the floor (because it hurts to stand) waiting for our turn at the counter. Kelan and Lauren have decided to rearrange the over the counter medicine display - I let them. Soon Kelan notices that I am holding a box of tampons. The conversation goes like this: Are those tampons? Yes. We need more tampons? Yes. We have no tampons at home? Yes. We need more tampons at home? Yes. I am now hysterically laughing and crying because not only is this funny in itself, there are about 5 people behind me in line (women and men) who can hear - and are laughing. In fact, the woman behind me said that her day was now not so bad.

I get to the front of the line only to hear that they are still waiting for approval from my doctor. You have GOT to be kidding me. I leave the store - sans tampons - and struggle to put both kids back into the car. A wasted trip on my poor back. I call Dan, tears streaming down my face, just to hear that he will be home soon and will take care of me.

The chiropractor helps, but I still am in pain. I come home and start dinner (I would have gone to McDonald's for Happy Meals, but I did that yesterday...). Dan comes home and is ready to go to Walgreens - I call to make sure that my beloved vicodin is ready. It is not. It is 6:30pm. I have had it. It has been two full days. I call the on call doctor. She realizes that the approval was faxed to the wrong pharmacy. She apologizes and says she will fix the problem. Unbelievable. Is it me?

Is it Me? Part 2

It's happened again. My doctor's office staff has proven that they are inept (see Is it Me?). Basic requests seemed to get lost in translation. Follow through has no meaning. No wonder people today have less and less patience - inadequate customer service happens everywhere.

My back went out on Sunday morning so I went into my own personal crisis mode (please note that my doctor is fully aware of my crisis plan). This entails an ibuprofen and vicodin drug therapy. Massage and chiropractic work (sometimes a rolfer is added to the payroll depending on the severity of the "outage" and on personal finances - rolfers are not cheap and insurance does not cover visits). Hot Epsom salt baths, icing and stretching. LOTS of stretching.

I realized that I only had several vicodin pills left so I proactively contacted my pharmacy on Sunday so they could fax a refill request to my doctor's office where it would be waiting on Monday morning. I figured I had enough to get me through the next 24 hours and by then, my doctor's office would have gone through their prescription requests and given the okay for the refill. This was not to be.

On Monday mid day I contacted my pharmacy to check the status of my refill. They had not heard back from my doctor's office. I decided to give them a little more time to get through their refill requests so I waited a couple of more hours. By now I had run out of vicodin and my back was feeling worse than it did on Sunday (it had moved into full spasm from the initial injury).

I contacted my pharmacy again and they suggested I contact my doctor's office to make sure they received the faxed refill request (they would also fax another one). I did as they suggested and spoke with a very nice woman who took down my message to give to my doctor/nurse). I thought we were now headed in the right direction. Sadly I was mistaken. I never got my prescription refilled on Monday. That night I toughed it out with ibuprofen and Tylenol. For those of you who have never had your back go out, you may not understand the level of pain and may think I am being over dramatic - it is not like I did not have the ibuprofen and Tylenol... But I would like you to consider what it would feel like to be hit by a Mack truck and be given a vitamin to help ease the pain. You with me now?

I called my pharmacy again this morning. Nothing. However I did receive a message from my doctor's nurse. She said that I need to contact my pharmacy so they could fax over a refill request. That the procedure for prescription refills was to contact your pharmacy - not the doctor. Excuse me? That is what I fucking did fucking yesterday that apparently was fucking ignored. Maybe the nice woman who took down my message got it wrong - but I had explained that my pharmacy had indeed faxed over a request. Maybe the nurse did not understand the message or did not read the whole thing (man they need to get voicemail over there)? Or maybe my pharmacy did not actually fax over the refill request (twice) like they said.

It must be said that I have actually maintained self control. I have not lost my temper (thank goodness) with the pharmacy or doctor's office (although I am silently cursing their existence). Most importantly, I have maintained my composure with Kelan and Lauren - no sick days for mom (note that Dan did come home an hour early yesterday so I could go and get a massage, and is contemplating cancelling his business trip so he can take care of me and the kids - I have the best husband!).

I put in another call to the pharmacy to have them fax over a third request. Additionally I called my doctor's office - again - to let them know that I do understand the prescription refill procedure, and that I had only left a message alerting them to the fax because the pharmacy had not heard back from them. Is it me?

Thanksgiving Boogie

What We Have Here is a Failure to Communicate

My children do not hear me. I am joking - sort of. In addition to loving my children unconditionally, my tasks as a parent in raising them center around teaching them how to be/function in this world and to keep them safe. My job would be a lot easier (hell, I would settle for somewhat challenging) if my children would listen to me. But I guess that is not their job. I have deduced that at times I must sound like the adults in a Charlie Brown cartoon because my words have no meaning.

Today we went to the Starbucks just above the Children's Museum at Seattle Center (I needed a coffee - I could feel a challenge about to start) and Kelan took off to see the giant train set up in the food court for the holiday. He ran away so fast when we got inside that I did not even have time to explain the rules of the outing. So now I am calling for Kelan (who is in sight and totally fine - although I am making a mental note to make an appointment to check his hearing which is clearly the problem - he is totally deaf). All while I am juggling the double stroller, Lauren, the diaper bag, and my coffee order. In hindsight I could have started this outing a different way, but that does not help me now.

I sometimes think I look like one of those crazed mothers who cannot control their children in public (come to think of it, I am one of those crazed mothers who cannot control their children in public). But in my defense, it is not for a lack of discipline. Kelan and Lauren are not allowed to run completely wild, but I have been forced to adapt to who my children are what they need (and how they learn). As a parent (and the adult in the relationship) this is my job. I often stare in disbelief at parents whose children stand right next to them and hang on their every word. It is safe to say I do not know what that is like.

When Kelan makes up his mind to do something and/or does not want to pay attention, he will not hear you. My sister, Caroline, mentioned to me that she had heard some young children get so caught up in what they are doing, that they physically cannot hear you. If that is true - I have a textbook case.

At my monthly parent education class (part of my committment for Kelan's Co Op preschool) each parent got to talk about one thing that your child does at school that drives you crazy. I spoke about Kelan not listening. How, at times, I have to get on my knees and gently (but firmly) hold his face in my hands, ask for his eyes and listening ears before he will hear me. Sometimes he does, other times I feel like I am trying to get the attention of a Stevie Wonder impersonater. Kelan's teacher nodded her head knowingly while I shared my troubles. She then explained that one of her sons was the same way. It is just who they are. A teacher with sympathy - wonderful. No quick fix - discouraging.

I need to find a better way to communicate with Kelan and Lauren when they are distracted (awake) because I want them to be safe and to learn how to be good people. Because both require a certain amount of instruction from me that must be heard.

We Forgot Lauren

Last night as I am walking out of the restaurant I see Dan and Kelan playing around the car in the parking lot. Dan gives me a weird look and asks, "where's Lauren?" Huh? "I thought you had her?" He swears he does not and I am thinking this is an awful joke and why is he not laughing yet. I come closer and oh my god, he is STILL not laughing which means - we forgot Lauren.

I run back into Bombay Palace (great Indian food - but this is really not important at this point) and I hear the hostess say, "she is right here" and motions to the main dining room of the restaurant. I sigh with such relief that I swear everyone can hear. I am so embarrassed. Every patron is laughing (Lauren is obviously okay and enjoying herself immensely with her new found freedom of running in between all the tables). The owner comes up to me and says that she will make a great hostess someday because she has been greeting every table. How does this happen? I will tell you: mass chaos.

We have gotten a little tired of our Friday night spot (Tacos Guaymas - Mexican food) so we have been trying out new spots with the kids. The new restaurant (and the fact that Dan just got back into town from a three day business trip) excited the kids. Sadly our dinner was keeping the kids in their seats, preventing water spills, controlling/quieting outside voices, and lastly, enjoying the amazing food. Dan and I inhaled the last bites on our plates and started gearing up to leave. This means: find the server/check and wrestle coats/hats on children. We needed to get the kids outside - fast. Dan said, "I'll take them out to the car." This is the turning point. I heard Dan say them. In reality he said Kelan (sounds the same - sort of). In my defense, the dining experience alone could have caused my brain to malfunction, but coupling that with the three days I have been on my own with the kids - I heard THEM.

I wait by myself at the table for the check. I speak to the couple seated next to ours and apologize if we have interrupted their meal too much - no, we have not. I thank our server, I leave a big tip (I cannot begin to describe the amount of rice under the table) and head towards the door - soon to realize my mistake.

During the car ride home, Dan and I retrace our steps (and imagine poor Lauren's). The best we can come up with is that she followed Dan and Kelan out of the dining room and went into the bar instead of going outside. We guess that when I left the restaurant she doubled back and started talking to the guests - which is where I found her when I came racing back into the restaurant. Kelan contributed to our conversation by continuously saying, "we forgot Lauren!" all the way home. Lovely.

We can laugh about it now because she is fine. Yes, we forgot Lauren, but only for a couple of minutes. I am sure we would not have driven off without her. All's well that end's well. You can say that again.

Some Days Are Harder Than Others

Today was one of those hard days. It started at 6:30am (I was awake earlier when Kelan crawled into bed with me and Dan, but since my husband gets up before me - and is a saint - he took Kelan with him when he got up). I drift back to sleep. Lauren wakes up which wakes me up. Dan goes upstairs to get her and brings her to me in bed - it is almost time for him to leave. Kelan gets in bed too. Dan heads off to work. My day has begun and I am not even out of bed, much less, my eyes are not even open.

We head to the kitchen for Lauren's milk (and my milk - uh, coffee). Within (what felt like) seconds, Lauren has climbed up on a stool and tipped over my coffee (it was luke warm at best - she is fine). Lauren is soaked. The counter and floor are covered with coffee. Coffee that would have been better in me than on her. Kelan is whining that he is hungry. They both start to cry. It has been 15 minutes since I got out of bed. This is NOT a good start. I am tired and cranky. I have a sinus infection. I am PMSing. I have not had my coffee. I lose it. I banished the kids from the kitchen and tell them that Mommy is in a time out. They cry harder. It takes me about 10 minutes to clean up all the coffee and get Lauren's milk. All the while Kelan and Lauren are crying - loudly - at the kitchen gate. I run the many coffee saturated towels downstairs to the washing machine and start a load of laundry, and then I hear Kelan yelling that Lauren is throwing papers. Huh? Mommy, Lauren is throwing papers! Shit, the only papers I know of are on the dinning room table. Which means - shit - she's on top of the dinning room table. I race upstairs. Kelan is right. Lauren is throwing papers off the dinning room table. She sees me and makes a run for it down to the other end (this is her new favorite activity - running around on the table). I cannot take it anymore and rather than being a crazy lunatic posing as a mom, I decide that Sesame Street may be better for my children than me. I have failed them so early in the morning.

This afternoon was not much better. I was already in a frazzled (and fragile) state after - what felt like - a long morning working in Kelan's Co Op preschool (it was field trip day). I also had to force Lauren to take her nap since she fell asleep in her playgroup this morning (I do NOT fault her playgroup sitters....they are amazing. Lauren is just having some difficulty with daylight savings. Damn that stupid time change!). After nap time, I asked Kelan to go potty. I was in the kitchen when he came running out saying he used all of the toilet paper. Is it on the floor? Yes he says. I have this vision that an entire roll is unraveled all over the floor. This is what my children do when left to their own devices in the bathroom. Damn it! I angrily scold Kelan for wasting toliet paper and tell him he is NOT supposed to do this. He looks at me with a confused/hurt look on his face and we walk into the bathroom. I see an empty roll, but there is not the expected pile of tissue on the floor, just some end scraps (which was what he was talking about when I asked if it was on the floor). I completely deflate and realize that Kelan came to tell me he used the last of the toilet paper. I have failed again. I burst into tears. Kelan sees me crying and then starts to cry too. I profusely apologize for getting mad at him. I explain that Mommy is the one in trouble - not him. I tell him I thought he wasted a bunch of toilet paper. I praise him for coming to tell me that we need to replace the roll. I am still weeping. I hold him tight.

Each night when I sing to Kelan just before he goes to bed I tell him he is a good kid. That I am happy. That I love him. Sadly, I know I will have more days like this. But my promise to my kids is that I will try to do better, and that we will always end each day with positive and loving goodnight moments.

Mr. Zartman Continued

After I wrote about Mr. Zartman and my binders earlier this month I had the urge to find him. Easy enough with Google - especially, because there are few Wendall Zartmans in Houston, TX. He is now teaching across the street from my old high school, Lamar. He spent 21 years at my high school before he went to St. John's where he is in his 10th year.

I emailed him wondering if he would remember me. He responded back quickly saying "of course I remember you!". He went on to tell me that he had just attended a lecture on how the adolescent brain works. The lecturer talked about how teachers do not realize how powerful their words are and that the impressions they make have a huge impact. A couple of days after he attended this lecture, he received my email. I guess his lecturer was right. Mr. Zartman did make an impact on my life (the fact that I am writing about him for the third time proves this point).

Today I received another email from him. He used my essay in class to motivate his students. I am truly touched. Funny how life works given the time. I started in his class being a terrible student (not listening, not doing the work, talking to friends and having a messy binder - I am sure), but I turned that around with a challenge and reward from my mother (see Mr. Zartman and the Gucci Purse). Now Mr. Zartman has used me to motivate his students. My mother will be proud. I wonder if there is another purse in it for me? Only joking.

I want Kelan and Lauren to have amazing teachers in their lives. In fact, Dan and I are already working to make sure this happens. We are actively supporting school board candidates (i.e. money and volunteer time). Additionally, we belong to the organization - Communities and Parents for Public Schools - Dan serves on the board as well. This is an organization whose mission is to ensure quality public schools for all Seattle children. It is so important because teachers have such an impact on our children's lives. They are not just there to teach the material - they are mentors, coaches and friends.

Thank you Mr. Zartman.

Is it Me?

I am the common denominator. But aren't we all in our own lives? I keep wondering if it is me that is doing something wrong or do people just not care anymore. I am constantly stunned with common courtesy/customer service I receive.

My doctor's office is no exception - let me be more specific - my doctor's office staff (my doctor is great) is no exception. I went yesterday to get a tetanus shot and blood drawn (no food or beverage beforehand - read: no caffeine in the morning after a long night with sick kids and husband out of town). Sounds simple. Clearly too hard for the staff. I had made my appointment for 10am. On purpose. Kelan is in school and Lauren is in good form. The day before I received a recorded reminder call about my 10:30am appointment. Not right. I have to call them back and confirm that I have a 10am appointment. They concur.

Friday morning, I arrive at my scheduled appointment. Blood is drawn quickly and am directed back to the reception area to wait for them to call me for my shot. It is 10:15am. It is 10:30am. It is 10:35am. I ask the receptionist about the delay. Meanwhile Lauren is now running around the reception area dropping food all over the floor. They tell me that I have a 10:30am appointment. Ugh. I try to explain - again. No use. It is 10:45am. I am paying for downtown parking. Can they validate ($2 off parking)? No. Validation is only for doctor's appointments, not lab work. What seems to be the hold up? I ask again. There is another man there who is having the exact same problem I am. He's been here 5 minutes longer that me. It is 10:50am. Lauren has pooped but I am concerned that I will miss my call if I go and change her diaper. I ask again if they can validate my parking since my appointment is way delayed. They say they are out of validation stickers, but the next time I'm here they will pay for the whole parking (like they are going to remember this months from now). I am staring at the sign that reads, if you have been waiting longer than 15 minutes for your appointment please notify the receptionist. And what will she do? I have had it. I have low blood sugar level (no food) and a caffeine headache (no coffee). Not to mention that I have to go and pick up Kelan at school.

It is 11am. I open the door that leads back to the exam rooms and nurses station and let Lauren run free. Seriously. I start chasing her down the hall and everyone is looking at me. I run into my doctor's nurse. I ask what seems to be the hold up with my shot appointment. She looks at me like I am a stranger - lovely (I do learn that I was not on her schedule for my shot, but another nurse). She asks who my doctor is. Are you kidding me (I saw her 2-3 weeks ago)? I'm done. I pick Lauren up, announce that this is ridiculous and I am out of here. As I walk by the reception desk I tell them to let whoever know, I have left.

My doctor is great, so I will have to explain what happened. Thank goodness I did not yell and scream at anyone, but still I am not proud. Although I do believe I was justified in leaving. God help me if I get a serious cut in the near future.

Is it me?

Lauren's Sense of Style

It is happening. Lauren is starting to choose things to wear. It started with her selecting a pair of shoes (she has two pair: one is a practical - but cute - pair of Mary Jane Stride Rites and one is a fancy hot pink pair of Mary Janes with gold designs from my mother). Which pair do you think she gravitates towards?

Kelan never cared what I put on him (he only now seems to care about one particular fleece - but I believe he thinks it is too small, so he does not like it). Kelan is like his dad - could care less about what he wears as long as it is comfortable and practical (also sounds like Kelan and Lauren's Aunt Queta...).

This morning while I was getting the kids dressed, Lauren went to the toy box and grabbed her pink and orange tutu (made by her Aunt Caroline) and my Danskin Triathlon Finishers medal (now a dress up toy for the kids). She was insistent upon it. Additionally, she chose her shoes (yes, the hot pink ones) and her hat. Who am I to say no? Let me explain.

I remember (and my mother tells me about it all the time) that I wore a particular ensemble for weeks at a time (not every week mind you, but every day for weeks). It was a dark green Poe Elementary School t-shirt (it had our mascot on it, a raven - what else), a brown flowered circle skirt (i.e. full skirt), white knee high socks and a pair of black Chinese shoes (black canvas Mary Jane type shoes). And with me doing my own hair (my mother cannot do hair, much less, she hates to touch other people's hair), I was a sight to see I am sure. But I was happy and I am sure my mom did not care as long as I dressed myself (or I just wore her down so she stopped caring). My mother used to secretly wash the threadbare outfit (which it became) at night so I was at least wearing clean clothes.

So today it came as no surprise that Lauren was choosing an ensemble herself. Granted I do keep an array of clothing options that when put together are quite funny, but even I would not have thought to include a tutu and a medal.

I Can't Think

It happened again today. I could not think this afternoon. I went shopping at Fred Meyer (like a Target with food) and Ballard Market (grocery store) and all I came away with was some jeans for Lauren, 3 pumpkins, bananas and some Swiffer Wet Jet floor cleaning solution refill. Huh? Two stores and only a limited number of items purchased? I blame the children.

Both kids are at an age where you cannot do ANYTHING but focus on them - so unless you have a list at the store, you will not be able to make a decision - about anything. This afternoon was NO exception. I thought I would first try to get some jeans for Lauren (the hardest task because I have to try them on her). Since my attention was on Lauren, Kelan took off running through the aisles grabbing all the clothes off the racks within reach and dumping them on the floor. I go to grab him and Lauren takes off running (clearly excited in the new jeans). Both children are running through the tightly packed aisles (read: hard to see) screaming with utter delight. I am screaming (well, speaking loudly), but I am NOT delighted. I wrangle the kids, buckle Kelan in the front part of the cart and put Lauren in the basket. I throw the jeans in the cart (Lauren throws them on the floor), I try to put on one of Lauren's shoes (she throws the other one on the floor), I start pushing the cart, Lauren starts throwing the contents of my diaper bag on the floor. I need to get the hell out of Fred Meyer - I can't think.

This week I was responsible for snack at Kelan's school and for our evening parent meeting. When shopping for the food, I made the mistake of bringing Kelan, Lauren and Dan with me. I was so crazed that I bought too much food and now I have tons of leftover snacks.

I have mom friend who feels like I do (don't we all?). Her guilty pleasure is to go to Fred Meyer on Friday nights after the kids go to sleep. Most times she does not buy anything. She walks the store and processes things. What a wonderful treat.

Today is done - kids are asleep. I get a do over each day so I hope tomorrow I will be able to think. It would be nice, because I could not think of what to have for dinner tonight, so I didn't.

Mr. Zartman and My Binders

This is the second time in my adult life I have written about my high school freshman year World History teacher, Mr. Zartman (you can read my first Mr. Zartman essay on Pursestories.com). I guess our teachers really do have an impact on our the rest of our lives.

I was reminded of Mr. Zartman the other day, because I made another binder (this is a very systematized folder with many tabs) . This particular one is for Kelan's cooperative preschool. I serve as the class treasurer in addition to working in the classroom, thus the need to be coordinated. There is a lot of paper associated with Co Op (and actually life now that I think about it), and I can be a little obsessive about organization.

Plain and simple: Mr. Zartman taught me how to make an organized folder (including all the tabs for separate sections). He even graded us on it. I remember thinking back then, what on earth does a binder have to do with World History and who the hell cares what my personal folder looks like. Now I get it. He was helping us help ourselves to be organized so we could learn the material (and of course probably helping himself by eliminating the I can't find it excuse). Additionally, he cared about us being organized - and now I care, because it helps me so much with keeping my kids/life coordinated.

One of my most memorable post school binders was for my volunteer work with the YWCA Leaders in Progress program in 2000 (the name has changed since I volunteered, it is now: GirlsFirst). I committed to one year of service as mentor to two "teen girls who face economic and social barriers to success". In addition, I attended a once a month full day leadership workshop with all the other girls and mentors. I remember receiving so much information that I couldn't even absorb it all so I made a binder. I did not really think anything of it until I went to my first meeting with the other mentors, and they all gasped at my binder! This was a volunteer gig - we already had jobs with tons of work. Since then, my binder became a joke - in a good humored sort of way. Everyone liked the organization of it - but in no way would anyone make one on their own. In fact they all joked that I would probably make binders for the girls that I was mentoring. What a good idea. I did. Everyone in the program was in on the joke. Uh oh, Jeanne's going to make a binder... (I ended up serving on the committee that oversaw this program for several years after my year of mentoring - yep, I made more binders!).

Through my years of working in office jobs (Paineful Webber and the City of Seattle) I have made countless binders - its my organizational system.

Fast forward to my children and the beginning of cooperative preschool. I made a binder as the Parent Coordinator/Board Member for Kelan's first Co Op last year (which I dutifully passed on to the next person in my position). I now have made another one for this year.

I went to the parent meeting the other night - binder in hand - expecting a similar response as I had received at my mentor meeting with the YWCA. What a wonderful surprise - LOTS of binders (with tabs)! Which just translates to me: a lot of organized people. So not only do I enjoy everyone's company (and their children) - it is an incredibly well run (and organized) preschool.

I am not sure where Mr. Zartman is today - it has been about 23 years since I sat in his class. However, to this day, I credit him for my binder. Thank you, Mr. Zartman.

Kelan Has a Doll

I was dancing with my children today to Marlo Thomas' Free to Be You and Me album this morning when William Wants a Doll came on which sent me into tears. I am not sad by any means - just moved. Let me explain.

Lauren got a baby doll and stroller for her first birthday back in May. She wasn't old enough to really even know what it was, but as a young girl I LOVED my baby dolls and I wanted to share my experience with my daughter. I soon realized that I should have shared it with Kelan too, because the second Lauren received her baby doll, Kelan opened his arms wide and said, "My baby!" hugging the doll so gently. What a wonderful sight. Kelan is all boy (i.e. he's all about tackling his friends, into trucks and trains and is an all around rough and tumble kid) - yet there is a soft and gentle side to him as well, that comes to the surface when he is holding Lauren's baby up on his shoulder singing "Rock-a-bye-Baby".

Several weeks later I was telling a good friend of the family, Jan (a pseudo grandma), about Kelan and Lauren's baby and she immediately said, "that's what I'm going to get Kelan for his third birthday!". Being who I am, and growing up on Free to Be You and Me I was totally supportive of this gift. Our friend started her quest to find the perfect baby doll for Kelan - a boy doll.

At Kelan's birthday party, Jan gave Kelan his gift and he was truly overjoyed. He immediately took his baby into his arms and went off to a secluded bench - we were at a park - where he could have some privacy. What a special moment for Kelan (and for those of us lucky enough to witness it).

Sadly my father-in-law, after seeing the baby doll, announced that he got Kelan a boy's toy - a truck! Obviously he does not know about "William" and Free to Be You and Me. Additionally, he did not understand the company he was in (who were ALL supportive of the gift). I guess this goes back to his generation and the limits and stereotyping put on children. My younger sister Mary spoke up and rightly said, "both are good". Which is true - Kelan loves his truck AND his baby. In my opinion, this antiquated thought process on "gender" biased toys goes beyond toys. It's much more than that. I can't help but think that my father-in-law missed out on so much with his children (he has six) when they were young. I know my father did. But as I watch my husband being "Daddy" to our kids, I know things have changed.

Dan is an amazing father who is with me during the good times and is down in the trenches with me during the other times. He has been known to change diapers AND get me something to drink while I was nursing at 3am. He makes up songs to sing to the kids while they dance. Bath time is his time with them (well, with two kids now, it's started to become our time). On the weekends he gets up and plays with the kids while I get a little extra sleep. He reads story after story to two bright eyed kids who just want one more.

I remember when Dan and I would both read books to Kelan before bed (before Lauren was born). Every time I read the ending of Guess How Much I Love You, Dan cried. True. The book described what he was feeling as a father: "I love you to the moon and back".

Dan is experiencing what is IS to be a father. He is taking it ALL in - the good, the bad and the ugly. I think he understands what mothers have known for some time, it's not about us anymore - it's about the kids. This is life - our future. I believe a lot of our generation's fathers did not quite get this idea. I think this is why my father failed at being a dad. It seemed that he believed it was still about him. He never had a chance to see what it meant to be Daddy.

So when I see Kelan with his doll holding him sweetly, I smile. Kelan will be an amazing father if he chooses to have children. He will be kind and understanding. He will co-parent with his partner. He will love his kids so much, and will know it's about them. After all, he will have learned from the best.

We Came Back

We just got back from our last vacation for this summer. We went to Whistler, BC and it was pure heaven! I almost thought we would not make it, because Kelan was just getting over his month long stomach illness (which was never fully diagnosed). Kelan had not thrown up in 2 days and his diarrhea seemed to subside so we decided to go for it and embark on the 5-6 hour drive to Canada.

I had the brilliant idea of leaving after dinner so that the kids would sleep during the car ride. This idea is good in theory, but in practice it was quite possibly the worst idea I have EVER had. Lauren and Kelan fell asleep right on schedule, but after an hour they both woke up with no signs of going back to sleep. In fact Lauren became hysterical because she was so tired and could not sleep in the car. So here we were on a two lane road headed up to Canada (hours still to go) in the dark, on a road that is under construction (they are doing MAJOR road work in preparation for the 2010 Winter Olympics) and not many places to stop. Kelan had given up by this point. He sat in his car seat with his tired glazed eyes focusing on nothing in particular while Lauren SCREAMED. In fact, she cried so hard that she threw up. I have heard of this happening but I have never witnessed it firsthand. It's not pretty. I eventually had to squeeze into the back seat between the car seats and sing/hum our nighttime lullaby while rubbing her face and arms and legs for about a half hour until she crashed. Dan managed to drive stoically through the chaos. He is my hero.

Set between snow capped mountains, Whistler is a ski resort village that caters to mountain bikers during the summer. The village and surrounding trails are perfectly groomed (you are definitely not roughing it) that all you have to do is take in the beauty around you. Dan had found a deal online at the Tantalus Resort which included: two rooms, two bathrooms, a kitchen, dining area and living room (not to mention the balcony that overlooked the pool and mountains). After Vegas, we learned that we need the space with kids and the kitchen helps cut down on food costs.

We soon fell into a routine. Mornings were spent as a family, then we would would head back to the room for lunch. Dan would then leave for his mountain bike adventure while the rest of us would explore Whistler, go swimming in the pool or play on the jungle gym at the hotel.

I love seeing the kids outside and experiencing new things. It's very important to me and Dan and we will continue to take our kids outside. We walked along tree lined trails with slugs, snakes and chipmunks crossing our path - thankfully no black bears (although Dan did see one while biking one afternoon. Whistler is black bear country and everywhere you go there are signs about getting "Bear Smart" - i.e. what to do if your paths cross). One of my favorite walks was to the Lost Lake - which we did twice. It was stunning and the kids loved playing on the beach and in the water. There was also a family of ducks that would come close to the kids and dart away as soon as the kids tried to grab them.

One morning I made banana pancakes and Lauren decided she wanted to use a fork. With her daddy's help (and Kelan's) she ate her breakfast like a big kid. It was a sweet family morning that I remember.

We spent time swimming in the pool (and the Lost Lake) looking up at the mountains, walking through Whistler Village, climbing the jungle gyms, playing in the sand (and eating it...Lauren!), watching the mountain bikers come down the slopes, eating Indian food (our favorite dinner!), climbing rocks and just getting really dirty. It was wonderful.

On our last day it rained. Down poured is more like it. Dan would not be able to get one more ride in before we left (but he might not have been able to anyway because he crashed the day before and jammed his left wrist). Just as well - we were leaving and had learned we should drive in the day rather than the night.

The kids napped for the first hour of the ride back - which was what we expected. Now what to do to get home without a meltdown? We must make some stops along the way. We managed the perfect stop: a sweet little town - Horseshoe Bay - where we could eat and play in a park by the water's edge. We found a cafe and as Kelan entered he announced, "this is perfect!" - and it was. Afterwards we walked over to a park where we let the kids play and we could see the ferries come and go. The kids loved the park and did NOT want to leave (or maybe they just didn't want to get back on the road).

We managed to get everyone back into the car and headed out of Horseshoe Bay. Or so we thought. We kept going around in circles due to one way signs and lack of signs leading us to the highway. Every time we circled back around the park Kelan would announce, "we came back!" This sent me into hysterical crying fits of laughter every time he said it, but Dan only became more and more frustrated (he was driving). At last we made it out - whew! - and headed home without incident.

We will come back to Whistler - it was a great trip.

Epilogue

It's 5am the morning after our return. Kelan has wet (soaked) the bed that we are sleeping in so I'm up getting him changed and finding towels (freshly washed after all the vomit and diarrhea Kelan had before the trip) to line the bed. It's 6am and Lauren is screaming. Dan goes into her room to find her sitting in diarrhea (leaked out of her diaper all over her crib). He brings her downstairs just in time for her to throw up. It's the same "symptoms" we were dealing with before our trip, just a different kid. Welcome home. We came back.

A True Test of Parenthood

Boy it's been a crappy day (literally). Kelan and Lauren are sick again. What we thought was the stomach virus may be giardia (that means parasite). Let me back up.

Kelan first threw up on July 31st (see Heirloom Tomatoes posting). No panic. Vomit happens. A 24 hour thing at best. He got better. Then the vomit and diarrhea started again. He got better - again. The doctor even gave Kelan the "go ahead" to be around folks. Then last night (note: Kelan sleeps with me) at midnight I heard the rumblings that can only mean 2 things. Vomit or diarrhea. Soon explosive sounds were coming from Kelan's bottom (thank goodness for night night diapers, lots of towels already under Kelan, and my poor sleep habits that make me alert enough to be prepared for what is about to happen). We have a winner. Diarrhea. During a pause in intestinal expulsion, I managed to get Kelan on the toliet. Good thing too. Kelan let loose a fury I did not know was possible. I cleaned him up, put him in a new diaper and we went back to sleep.

3am. I heard more rumblings. I shot out of bed and got Kelan into the bathroom only to have him throw up all over the floor, violently I might add. I called for Dan (who's upstairs asleep in Kelan's bed) - I needed reinforcements. Kelan is now pale and shaking. I strip him down, clean him off, get him in a new diaper and clothes before I tuck him back into bed. Dan is cleaning up the mess in the bathroom...reluctantly (hell, I would be too if I had just been startled from sleep and been told to clean up vomit. Have I mentioned that I have the best husband? He also went into work late this morning to let me sleep till 8am). I take all the bath towels used to clean up the mess and start a load of laundry while Dan is disinfecting the bathroom. It's 4am. We're exhausted. We head back to sleep.

I have to say that Lauren was NOT asleep through all of this. We heard sporadic cries coming from her room. But then she would quiet down - so we figured it was just her teeth and she went back to sleep. This morning we found out that she had diarrhea in her diaper and had thrown up on herself sometime during the night. I am such a bad mom.

I decided to take the kids to the doctor this morning. We learned that the stomach virus that is going around does not behave like this and that we need to get tests. This means: stool sample. I am instructed to get some Saran Wrap to line the kids' diapers to collect samples. However, Saran Wrap is not absorbent, so it is very messy. Additionally, to get both kids to poop at the same time seems an impossible task.

Early this afternoon I smell something from Lauren (success!). I do not want to just drop off one sample at a time (and it needs to get to the lab in short order once collected), so I ask Kelan if he can poop. "No, I'm fine," he says. I look at him again and say, "I will give you a cookie if you can poop in your diaper right now". I'm such a bad mom. But you know what? It worked and he got a cookie.

I collect the samples, the kids and head out to the lab to drop off the poop. Lauren's turns out to be not enough to test. I'll have to redo hers. Lovely. We go home. Around 4:15pm I collect her sample - again, the kids - again, and head back to the lab to drop off her poop - again.

It has been a day. I am worn out. The kids have watched a lot of Thomas, Sesame Street and Clifford today. I am such a bad mom. But there are not a lot of options for sick kids (with a tired mom) who need to be quiet and have something to do. Hopefully tonight will better, but just in case, all bedding and towels are clean for round two should we need them.

"Ode" to Sara

Today I bought two new bras. It was time, I have lost my pregnancy weight (for the second time) and have finished nursing my daughter (breasts are considerably smaller). What does bra shopping have to do with being a mom? Everything. My breasts have nursed two children and have fluctuated in size for the past several years due to pregnancies (gaining and losing weight)..

I went to Nordstrom to get fitted - and thank goodness I did. I was wearing a 38C and went to a 34DD (and as I explained to Dan who got excited "no, I did not get bigger breasts, the extra cup size offsets the number a little bit", but I think I lost him at DD). Apparently 8 out of 10 women are wearing the wrong bra size. For those who know me, you would not look at me and say "Double D", but that was what fit perfectly.

Let me just say that I love my Nordstrom lingerie salesperson - Sara. She spent at least a half hour finding the perfect bra for me (after measuring and double checking size) and she brought in bra after bra until we were satisfied. If you have never been fitted for a bra - YOU MUST GO! Please note that you cannot be embarrassed to have another person examine and contemplate your breasts (that you know about) and actually help you put on a bra. The way I figured it, this is nothing compared to the embarrassing moments associated with childbirth.

Once Sara's search was over, and I was happy, I realized that I didn't wear the right shirt to see if the bra passed the ultimate test - the fitted white t-shirt. No problem. Sara had the perfect shirt for this test. I put the shirt on, and OH MY GOODNESS - I looked great (if I do say so myself). It was like the Miracle Suit - lose 10 pounds in 10 seconds (a correct fitting bra can do that for you) and the t-shirt was so great that I bought that too. I was so pleased with the bra that I asked if I could wear it out of the store (like a little kid with new shoes). Sara said she got a lot of that and yes, I could. I wore the white t-shirt out too.

When I returned home I was still so happy about my purchase (I am embarrassed to say that each bra was about the cost of a good pair of shoes - but they will last) that I told my cousin Laura (who was babysitting) all about them. "Ooh, are they pretty?!" she asked. Uh no. They are that "nude" color without lace. But they were exactly what I wanted and needed: comfortable, wearable under t-shirts (including white) and durable with the added bonus of making me look better. I was not saddened by any means when Laura brought up aesthetics, of course she would want them to be pretty. She's 19. All bras are pretty at 19 (why would you wear one that isn't pretty at 19?). At 19, your breasts have lift all on their own.

I thanked Sara profusely after our time together. She was so helpful and kind. Then she informed me that the t-shirt I was wearing was a SMALL. I reached for her, hugged her tight and said, "I love you."

You Should Be Proud of Me

Kelan is back in underwear after a week of diarrhea (some stomach thing going around). This is only important because he has been in Pull Ups for a week, which has gotten "us" a bit behind (read: regression) in making it to the potty on time. Tonight was no exception. Kelan was upstairs playing with his new train table (which is maybe why he did not say a word when he let loose a big poop in his underwear). After the load was released, he started asking for help - with his train table - NOT the poop situation. Dan went upstairs and realized the REAL problem (which was NOT the train table). Kelan was quickly escorted downstairs and turned over to me.

Where to begin. We start with the shirt - it can be used as a clean surface to place all poop clothing. Next the shorts - which are wet, hopefully from pee. Then the underwear......S L O W L Y. Kelan is directed to stand - without moving - on the shirt and the dry part of the shorts because he has poop ALL OVER his bottom, thighs and legs. Maybe I have become a cheapskate and do not want to buy more underwear, maybe I don't want to create more landfill or maybe I'm just too tired to think about it. But I start cleaning his underwear by holding it in the toilet while flushing it and swirling the underwear itself. It takes two flushes before I can even bring it out of the toilet to place on the pile of clothes Kelan has now been given permission to leave. I now start to baby wipe Kelan's lower half.

It has been a long day after a long couple of sleepless nights (Lauren is teething) but I seem to be managing this very gross clean up when Dan finally makes an appearance in the bathroom to start running the water for bath time. "You should be proud of me," he says, "I no longer have to use a tissue to get the hair out of the drain. I can just use my fingers." Excuse me? Hair in a drain? Can you not see what I am doing? How about poop.... everywhere. Please, I could lick the hair out of the drain at this point. I'm so tired that my only response is to start laughing so hard I cry. I point out his faux-pas and he begins to laugh too.

It's these moments that I cherish. Seriously. I love laughing so hard that you cry and it's even better with the person you love. I am proud of Dan, although it is not because he can now remove hair from a drain without a buffer, it is because he is a great father and husband. I know he is proud of me too - or at least grateful - that I did a super job on poop duty tonight.

Heirloom Tomatoes

You know you're a mom when you can watch your three year old throw up his entire dinner on the table, the floor and himself, and then quickly clean up the table, the floor and the child and go back to eating your dinner. I know, because it happened to me.

Kelan had been complaining of a stomachache all afternoon and had not eaten anything since breakfast. He was a bit feverish and also mentioned that his right foot hurt. Who knows what was wrong with him, all I knew was that it was dinnertime and he wanted to eat bunnies and cheese (for those non parents or grandparents - this is mac and cheese with pasta that is shaped like bunnies). So I figured I would let him eat them if he wanted. Big mistake.

Within seconds of Kelan saying his stomach hurt again, he threw up all his bunnies (I don't think he even chewed them on the way down, because whole bunnies were pouring all over the table). Not a problem - we have baby wipes! I swear I will never cease to be amazed at how useful these things can be - I use them for EVERYTHING. I wipe Kelan down completely and move him into the living room (he's feeling MUCH better by this point). Dan starts throwing bath towels on the table and floor to catch the runaway bunnies and Lauren, unfazed, is still eating her bunnies. I "baby wipe" the table, the floor and Voila! good as new.

So good that I return to my dinner of heirloom tomatoes, fresh mozzarella, basil, balsamic vinegar and olive oil. Meanwhile Dan is taking his unfinished plate into the kitchen - he cannot eat another bite. All I can think of is that you NEVER waste an heirloom tomato. They are seasonal and quite possibly the best tasting tomato...ever (and this is coming from someone who does not even like tomatoes).

Maybe it was the tomato that kept me eating or maybe it is just the fact that this is not the grossest thing I have had to endure these past few years. I bet if you were to ask any mom out there they would say that their "gross out index" has changed dramatically since the birth of their first child (hell, the birth alone can do it for some). I guess I looked at it like my son really needed help, and that I was really still hungry.

Just a Little Help and Kindness

This morning while the kids were eating breakfast I noticed that my husband, Dan, had circled an article for me to read in the Seattle PI. It was about how a father tried to take his toddler and baby in the stroller on the bus (loaded with groceries) only to be ordered to collapse the stroller and carry the bags, kids, and the stroller itself on board. Metro bus rules. So instead of a "compactly loaded vehicle with baby and toddler inside, [they] have a tangle of wheels, metal bars, bags and towels spread across the aisle and two howling kids to hold. Profuse perspiration, high stress. And no seat." Turns out that the bus driver still had a problem with this father (the stroller - apparently - was not collapsed enough) and in turn asked the father to get off the bus. Seriously.

I was incensed! In fact, there were many comments online against this poor father who had tried to have one less car on the road on a Sunday. I immediately wrote a letter to the editor in support because I too have been asked to collapse my stroller with a new baby and toddler in tow. It is a nightmare to juggle and carry a baby, toddler, stroller and diaper bag onto a bus. Adding insult to injury, I wasn't even offered a seat (people are definitely possessive of their seats here - I remember when I was 9 months pregnant with Kelan. I rode the bus home every day after work and lost track of how many times I had to stand with my fat swollen throbbing feet with my huge belly protruding into the other passengers at each jerk and stop of the bus - but that's another story).

It's now after lunch and I am still upset about all the comments made to this father about how he should not subject the rest of the bus riding public with his stroller and kids, that he should have just taken his car, etc. These ignorant people seem to think they came to this world by themselves, and dammit that's the only person they are going to look out for (you just know these are the same people who talk loudly on their cells in crowded buses). To hell with the mothers and fathers out there who need just a little extra help. I know for me, that the smallest gestures (like offering to take my grocery cart back to the store after I have unloaded groceries and kids) can often turn my day around if I'm having one of those challenging moments.

I am reminded of the time I took Kelan to his first movie. Disney's Ratatoullie was playing at our neighborhood theater and I took Kelan to the 12 o'clock show. Kelan was playing with the seat and climbing in and out of it when I noticed this prissy little man glare at me. I tried to make nice by explaining that this was his first time in a theater and that he would be sitting for the movie (note that the lights had not even dimmed at this point). He looked at me and said, "I hope so, or we can move". Excuse me? Did he just cop an attitude because he thought his little movie experience at a kid's film during prime kid hour would be compromised by a kid? If it was that important to him, maybe choose another time? He actually decided to move before the lights went down but I noticed that karma got him and his boyfriend because a family with a crying baby and toddler sat down right next to him. I couldn't help but smile.

I'm even amazed at the reproachful looks I get at times when our family is out to eat - at family friendly restaurants. I have seen couples wanting to have an intimate dinner at a family friendly restaurant at 5:30-6pm (prime kid hour) give me dirty looks! Go to a different restaurant if you don't want to hear little voices and some baby cries. We do not go to non family restaura
nts out of respect of other diners - you never know what you're going to get with Kelan and Lauren (and they are actually quite good in public). In fact, Dan and I even tip more than we used to because of the mess we leave.

I know kids can be challenging and there are those people who do not want to be around them. Fine. But you need them more than you realize. Our children (who already have a debt when they are born due to the mismanagement of this Administration - but I digress) will be the ones working, governing, and caring about us when we are old. It actually is in your best interest to be kind. That's all we're asking.

Wigawee Wigawee

Kelan has a problem pronouncing his "L's" - so what he's really saying is, "wiggly wiggly". The sad part is, he's usually holding my bottom when he says this. There's a part of me that just wants to cover up in embarrassment when he does this, but then I remember, it's not embarrassing to him. He just sees things in this world as they are. My bottom is no longer the "buns of steel" they once were (okay, maybe they were never steel, but they were NOT jello). I guess the combination of 2 kids, no time to work out like I should and the bowl of ice cream each night gets me: wigawee wigawee.

That said, I am trying to teach my children a healthy/positive attitude about body image and sex. I know, I know - they are only (almost) 3 and 1 years of age - but I would like to set the stage where our bodies and sex are something we can talk about. That these topics are not taboo and there is nothing to be embarrassed about.

I took a "birds+bees+kids" class with my other co op preschool parents a couple of months ago. It was a class to learn how to talk to your kids about sex and our bodies. Great class. However I was amazed when the teacher said that children should know about sex by the age of five. Five!?! Yep, five. She wasn't talking about the down and dirty details, but just the basics and the real names of body parts. I was a little surprised, but then learned that it's better to learn from your parents (and not their friends who may not have a healthy outlook) and establish trust to talk about important and hard topics. Additionally, we can hope that our kids can learn to have a voice in the awful chance of an inappropriate relationship.

She went on to say that the conversations that you have with your preschooler are about 2 minutes over many months. They are not embarrassing to them (although the parents may not be breathing throughout those couple of minutes). In fact the first time I read this book, "What's the Big Secret" (a introduction to sex for young children), Kelan listened and then said "okay.... let's play trains". The teacher was right, he wasn't embarrassed, just curious in the same way as his wanting to know about how trains work.

Our teacher went on to say that these 2 minute conversations over the next couple of years are WAY easier than attempting your first "sex" conversation with a teenager. Makes sense. Set the stage for an open un-ending conversation now.

So I now try to answer Kelan the best way I can (and will do the same for Lauren) when he asks what my breasts are, what my vagina is, what his penis is, etc. Easier said than done, but I'm working on it.

Right now he's asking what tampons are. I take a deep breath - then answer. He now has a new phrase, "that tampon for your gina?". Is it better than wigawee wigawee? Hard to say.

Pediatric Punch Card

Kelan got stitches (well, one stitch) this morning. He's not even three years old and he's had stitches twice, a split lip/gums (3 times), a black eye and countless bruises, cuts and scrapes. My sister even made him a t-shirt a year ago with a picture of the Fight Club pink soap and the quote, "The first rule of Fight Club, is that you do not talk about Fight Club". I think we need the next size up.

Lauren is not to be outdone. Last week we spent many hours over a couple of days at the pediatrician's office and the local children's hospital (for tests). Lauren - we assume - had a horrible stomach "thing" which gave her diarrhea (of course), high fever, irritability, loss of appetite and extreme diaper rash. No one could quite figure it out - but not due to a lack of testing (or attempt to test). She had her blood drawn, many attempts to get a urine sample - I won't even elaborate other than to say this is NOT fun - and she was poked and prodded. Finally she started to feel better this past weekend. Symptoms are now gone.

You would think I could be in the clear for awhile and not have to go back to our pediatrician's office. I was wrong. If I wasn't so worried about Kelan's bleeding gash on his forehead this morning, I might have been more embarrassed. As I walked into the waiting room, I stole a phrase from Kelan's "Vegas" repertoire, "I'm back!".

We must have looked ridiculous. Kelan was in a t-shirt, diaper and his red rubber rain boots - no shorts - and a big piece of gauze stuck to his forehead with a band-aid holding it in place. Lauren was in a long night gown of sorts and no shoes. I was decent only because Kelan's fall happened after I finished getting dressed. But with emergencies, you can not plan to have them when you are "ready", so you wear what you have on (or in Kelan's case, not have on).

I counted up the times I was either at the pediatrician's office or the children's hospital in the past week: FIVE! My punch card is full - I should get my next visit for free.

I HATE Potty Training

We started potty training Kelan a couple of days ago. I HATE potty training. Why is it called potty training? They should just call it poop and pee on the floor training. I have realized that I do NOT have the patience needed for this - I may be changing Kelan's diaper until he's married (then his new bride can take over). I actually have a lot of patience for what my children "put out there" - but this is a whole new level.

People have told me that when you are potty training, this is all you do. They couldn't be more right - you really can't do ANYTHING else. Therein lies the problem. Kelan is actually fine on the potty and has peed and pooped many times, but now we're on a schedule every morning (sit on the potty the same time every day...) and I don't think he likes it. So while Kelan sits on the potty Lauren and I sit on the floor in the bathroom.

Sounds simple. But this is what is really going on: Kelan is getting on and off the potty (going against my constant reminders to sit), he's playing with the toilet paper, his feet, the toilet itself, saying he can't, then peeing a little bit, then peeing on the toilet seat and sliding off the toilet through the fresh pee. Meanwhile Lauren is crawling and somewhat walking around bumping her head on the sinks, playing with the toilet, then getting fussy because the bathroom door is closed. I open it and then she starts to climb the stairs (this is her FAVORITE activity). I get up and rescue her from the stairs, Kelan follows me. Then we all go back into the bathroom and start the whole routine over.

I'm trying to follow the "plan" which is to put Kelan on the potty at the same time every day and then put him in his underwear for an hour (the underwear helps him feel the sensation of pee and poop). Back to the potty for a bit and back in his underwear for another hour. Then the potty and finally the diaper (yay!).

I just can't stand the underwear time. He's peeing on the floor, pooping in his underwear, not telling me he has to go (and most times I ask him if he has to pee or poop - he says no and then goes on the floor). I remain calm (on the outside - but inside I am just getting angry and frustrated) and say, "it looks like you've had an accident, let's got sit on the potty." But then I have Lauren making a bee line for the pee/poop so I have to grab her, clean the mess, make sure Kelan is indeed on the potty and the whole thing starts over.

I want someone else to do this. I am exhausted by 10am and have no patience left for the rest of the day. - I'm totally frazzled. Today was especially hard, because after I put Kelan's diaper on - thank god, I proceed to get myself dressed so we can leave the house. I finish putting on my shirt and hear a "clunk" and turn around just in time to see Lauren falling down the stairs (she was only up about 4 stairs, but they are not carpeted so it does hurt). She whacked her head and started screaming. This all happened within a matter of seconds. So now I scoop up Lauren - make sure she's relatively okay, order Kelan to follow me to the car - we were going to the pediatrician's office! Lauren stopped crying within 3 minutes or so, but I was a wreck at this point so I needed a rational/sane person to tell me she was going to be okay. She is, thankfully.

Experts say to relax, it will happen (and so will accidents). My friends say this is just a messy time. I agree.

Begas Bacation

That's what Kelan's called it (he has trouble with his V's) however, I would call it a Vegas ADVENTURE. Vacation is NOT a word I would use - and probably will never use - to describe traveling with children.

The plan was to find sun, water and pampering. We were on a budget (and I wanted some extra luxury - like water-side beverage service) so the ocean was out. We settled on Las Vegas because we were able to get a great package deal with airfare and hotel (5 nights). The trip was all set - we were going to stay at the Mandalay Bay Resort and Casino (all the research pointed us to this hotel for kids...) - I couldn't wait! I had my new miracle suit (the "lose 10 pounds in 10 seconds" kind of suit), sunblock, sunglasses, toys and floats for the kids - we were set!

My husband and I are lucky that our children travel well. We have a mini DVD player for the plane that kept Kelan occupied and Lauren pretty much slept. But just because they travel well, doesn't mean it isn't work. We were EXHAUSTED by the time we got to the hotel (the kids are heavy, the luggage is heavy, the car seats are heavy...).

The first room we were sent to had two double beds (I had requested a king - so the kids could sleep in between me and Dan). This room would not work. I called the front desk and fortunately they were able to find us a room with a king bed - getting into the room was another matter. They said they could change the code on the keys to let us in the new room without us having to go back to the desk. Here's to the joys of technology! Too bad it didn't work. Now we are trying to corral two tired cranky kids in the hallway while they send someone up to help us. I started to get cranky and decided to go down to the front desk myself (of course they arrived the minute I got into the elevator). This is only important, because I got a new set of keys that invalidated the keys Dan was getting. So we had several "lock outs" the first couple of days because of which keys we had when. It just became absurd after awhile - we couldn't get the most simple task to work - opening a door.

We could not wait to go swimming so we put on our bathing suits first thing (seriously, I lost 10 pounds in 10 seconds in my new suit - the "tag line" isn't lying. Now they just need to figure out a way to lose 10 pounds on the parts of your body that are NOT covered...). Mandalay Bay has many pools (apparently Vegas has not heard of water conservation - most hotels have 1+ pools and fountains galore - and of course here I am supporting this horrible waste of water - a feeling I couldn't quite shake during our week).

There was one faux ocean with waves - which is very cool, but unfortunately our kids are too young to go in, plus there are SO many rules to be able to swim there - it wasn't worth it. Next was the "lazy river" which had an intense current to float you around the small river - very fun with inter tubes (but hard to walk around holding a child). At last we found the perfect spot. The "normal" pool that was next to the "beach" (they have imported tons and tons of white sand so you can feel like you are at the beach). This became our usual spot in the mornings and afternoons because there was shade, sand, pool and beverage service.

The weather was having some "wind issues" when we got there. At times it felt very tropical (a light warm breeze), but then the wind would pick up and became quite strong. Too bad we did not pay more attention to the strength of this wind.

It was our first morning by the pool. We loaded the kids into the stroller, along with our gear (sunblock, change of clothes, diapers, wipes, digital camera, cell phones, etc.) and headed to the pool. We settled into "our" spot by parking the stroller next to our chairs with our towels and got the kids into the pool. The water was great and Lauren and Kelan loved the pool. The wind started to pick up and before we knew what was going on, our stroller blew into the pool with EVERYTHING in it. I'm not sure if I could have yelled, "oh shit!" any louder (new word for the day for the kids). I quickly lifted Kelan out of the pool and told him to SIT and NOT MOVE (Dan was holding Lauren). I dove frantically to the bottom of the pool retrieving the stroller, cell phones, the camera and the rest of the contents of the diaper bag. Unfortunately, the phones and camera drowned. On an aside, I did learn that contacts don't float away when you open your eyes under water - not much of a consolation - but an interesting observation.

I spent "quiet time" (12-2pm - the HOTTEST time of the day) that afternoon walking around a not so nice part of Vegas looking for a Cingular Wireless corporate store (after being directed to a local mall Cingular kiosk that could not help me). With the tops of my feet burned, 2 hours and $200 later, I returned to the hotel with a new cell phone. Dan's work would replace his phone when we returned to Seattle (thank god) and I would get another camera when we got home (sadly, my camera and phone were already replacements for ones that were stolen last October - but that's another story).

Eating turned out to be more expensive than I thought. Whatever happened to all those cheap "all you can eat" buffets that were supposed to be everywhere in Vegas? Or maybe I have become super cheap and expect all meals to be around the price of our local Seattle taqaria. We ate mostly at the hotel (cabs would just add on to the dining "bill" and then what do you do with two car seats? Walking was out of the question - Vegas is NOT a stroller kind of town). There were many restaurants in the hotel itself - but we went to Raffles (American fare) for most meals. Kelan figured out that he was a "regular" by the second or third visit and started to announce his presence by stating (very loudly), "I'm back!" EVERY time we entered the restaurant. In fact he had his own little routine. After his entrance, we'd eat, then he would take off running through the restaurant (sometimes managing some laps) ending up in the entry hall to dance. The breakfast and lunch crowd thought this was funny, but the dinner crowd wasn't as amused. I personally thought it was hysterical every time he did it.

Other experiences included (but are not limited to) Lauren's allergic reaction to something (she got a really bad skin rash that made her SCREAM when we put sunblock on her or put her in the pool on the 3rd and 4th day), the kids not sleeping that well, Lauren's fever the second to last night of our stay, navigating the stroller through various casinos while attempting to walk the strip, and Kelan escaping and running top speed through the casinos.

The funny thing is, we had a good time. Yes, there are things we learned and would most likely do differently, but we did enjoy ourselves. The fountain/water show at the Bellagio was great and seeing Lauren and Kelan's faces while watching it made the walk down the strip worth it (plus they have great ice cream there). Things that kept happening to us were so ridiculous at times, that Dan and I laughed so hard we cried (and couldn't stop). And I didn't have to cook or clean for almost a week (you can't beat that with a stick). We spent days and nights together as a family and I hope that this is just one of many family adventures we will have.

It was not a vacation (we are NOT well rested by any means), but we have great memories (no pictures, sadly). I will always remember the way Lauren looked in her little sun hat sitting on a beach chair playing with sand (and eating it - with a big smile on her face). I will remember Kelan thanking our hostess at "our" restaurant ("thank you SO much" he would say on his way out, just before he would dance). I will remember asking my husband to bring me back some ice cream (after the kids went to sleep) and getting ice cream for himself and forgetting mine (yes I sent him back out to get some). I will remember this trip and laugh out loud every time. Viva Las Vegas!