One of my favorite things to do with my children is to have special one on one conversations with them as I tuck them into bed at night. It started a year or so ago with Kelan when I wanted him to know I thought he was a wonderful kid - especially on those days I lost my temper (see Some Days Are Harder Than Others). I now ask the kids about their day and if they had fun. I tell them I think they are great (consequently Kelan started responding, I think you're a great Mommy). I laughed so hard the first time he said it that it has become a ritual with us. I know he says it to make me laugh, but it is still nice to hear. Our little conversations have become a safe place to talk about things. My hope is that they know they can always come to me - with ANYTHING. That I am there to listen to them - and offer advice if needed or desired.
Last weekend I was faced with discussing a hard topic (pun intended) with Kelan. His penis. It started actually at the dinner table. Kelan was naked - which he usually is during dinner (so is Lauren...we pick our battles...this one does not make the list). I had not noticed, but Kelan was playing with himself under the table and became hard. This was not the first time he played with himself, but it was the first time he asked me about it. Why is my penis hard?
Now it must be said that I actually was prepared for this - amazing since I feel so unprepared for everything else I do as a mom. I had taken a sex education class for parents a couple of years ago that focused on talking with your kids about sex (see Wigawee Wigawee). One of the main concepts is to have lots of little conversations with your kids at an early age creating the foundation for an ongoing dialogue. Another key element is not to be embarrassed. This tends to be a little more difficult, but I try to imagine I am just explaining how things (other things) work. And for the record - Dan was out of town. This question was for ME.
My first response to Kelan (in a non judgemental voice), was that is what happens when you play with your penis. But we do not play with our penis at the dinner table. We can do that in your room or the bathroom. He still seemed concerned that it was hard, so I explained that it was normal. That it happens to Daddy and to his friends that are boys. And that if he wanted to, we could read the What's the Big Secret book (an introduction to sex book for young kids) at bedtime. This seemed to help and we were able to finish dinner.
Later that night when Kelan was getting ready for nighttime, he grabbed the book and jumped into bed. I think he got a little embarrassed, because he then decided that he did not want to read it (we have read it hundreds of times) but would rather turn off the light and talk about his penis. He started asking about the bones in his body because he thought there was one in his penis. I believe he was really trying to understand how it could be so hard. We talked for awhile, both of us fully engaged. Him, full of questions. Me, trying my best to answer.
This is one of my many jobs as Kelan's - and Lauren's - mom. I have to be open to everything they need to ask me. It is the only way they can learn that I am a resource (if I will not talk about some topics, they may not come back to ask me on other ones...slowly closing that communication door). So I am here Kelan and Lauren, let's talk!
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Lauren Unsupervised
I have to believe that these markers are non toxic (I think she used the marker like a lollipop - her tongue and teeth are orange!)
Yes - this IS vaseline (what does this say about her mom when she grabs the camera before addressing the "issue")!
Saturday, October 11, 2008
Granny Pants Redux
Tonight I had the luxury of three hours to myself. Dan is out of town and the kids were at a Parent's Night Out with preschool friends between 5-8pm. What did I do with my time? I chose to go to Costco. I know. Loser. If that was not bad enough, I decided to rectify the underwear situation (see Granny Pants). Never mind that this is the same place I purchased the offending underwear. And would you believe it? I accidently bought the same granny pants.
There are no words. Why I even bother to write about it - I do not know. How did this happen? What is wrong with me? I spent 15-20 minutes examining all of the underwear selections. Seriously. I did not have the kids with me, so I took my time to find the perfect style. I even opened a couple of packages to really get an understanding of what I was dealing with. Sadly, I neglected to open up all of them.
I liked the Calvin Klein bikini, but it was twice the cost, so NO (I have got to drop this cheap attitude when choosing underwear) and the Maidenform were nice - but they had some stripes on them I thought my show through light pants. I come to the French Dressing's it-se-bit-se brand of bikini underwear and the picture looks good (i.e. I can see her bellybutton, unlike looking at me in my granny pants where my bellybutton - and lower back - is covered). I soon realize that this is the same brand as my last (awful) panty purchase, so I put them down and go back to the Calvin's. I start feeling guilty about the price again, and then realize the fabric content. I am really a cotton girl when it comes to everyday wear. And here comes the big mistake. I pick up the damn French Dressing's it-se-bit-se "bikini" (I use quotes here, because these are NOT bikinis - they are tents) and check the fabric content - good, cotton. Unfortunately, the package was really secure so I (fatal move) just put it in my cart and continued on.
When I get home I open up the package of "bikinis" and am completely stunned. I have bought the exact same underwear. Granny pants. Fucker. Clearly I need intervention. I cannot buy my underwear at Costco. I cannot buy my underwear at Costco. Einstein's definition of insanity comes to mind: doing the same thing over and over expecting different results.
There are no words. Why I even bother to write about it - I do not know. How did this happen? What is wrong with me? I spent 15-20 minutes examining all of the underwear selections. Seriously. I did not have the kids with me, so I took my time to find the perfect style. I even opened a couple of packages to really get an understanding of what I was dealing with. Sadly, I neglected to open up all of them.
I liked the Calvin Klein bikini, but it was twice the cost, so NO (I have got to drop this cheap attitude when choosing underwear) and the Maidenform were nice - but they had some stripes on them I thought my show through light pants. I come to the French Dressing's it-se-bit-se brand of bikini underwear and the picture looks good (i.e. I can see her bellybutton, unlike looking at me in my granny pants where my bellybutton - and lower back - is covered). I soon realize that this is the same brand as my last (awful) panty purchase, so I put them down and go back to the Calvin's. I start feeling guilty about the price again, and then realize the fabric content. I am really a cotton girl when it comes to everyday wear. And here comes the big mistake. I pick up the damn French Dressing's it-se-bit-se "bikini" (I use quotes here, because these are NOT bikinis - they are tents) and check the fabric content - good, cotton. Unfortunately, the package was really secure so I (fatal move) just put it in my cart and continued on.
When I get home I open up the package of "bikinis" and am completely stunned. I have bought the exact same underwear. Granny pants. Fucker. Clearly I need intervention. I cannot buy my underwear at Costco. I cannot buy my underwear at Costco. Einstein's definition of insanity comes to mind: doing the same thing over and over expecting different results.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Granny Pants
I went to a new rolfer last week for lower back issues. Anyone who has been to a rolfer before, knows the drill. You pretty much are in your underwear for the session - especially at the beginning because the rolfer is examining your structure (i.e. you are standing in your underwear while he looks at your body) before he begins to work on you. Being in my underwear isn't a problem - I have two kids (read: given birth in a hospital where all of you is there for everyone to see) and Dan went to college with my rolfer and swears he is gay. It was my choice of underwear for inevitable public viewing that gave me pause. Granny pants.
To be fair - I do not have much to choose from. For some reason I have become super cheap and refuse to buy new underwear until it is threadbare (my husband is the same way, but still I think mine are more worse for wear). I have several pair that I bought at Target 5 years ago while in Arizona after my luggage was stolen that are still in the rotation - okay, I am embarrassed just typing that. On the other hand I have some VERY expensive fancy thong underwear (which includes a $75 pair that my mom got on sale for me - yes, they are very fancy) for special occasions. A rolfing session seemed an inappropriate setting for a thong. So I decided on a relatively new pair (bought a little over a year ago) that might just be the biggest pair of panties I own. Seriously. When I took them out of the box, I saw Dan's face and his expression seemed to convey, how many pairs of underwear is that??? The thing is, these underwear were a mistake. I bought them at Costco (because I am cheap, remember) and I thought I was buying bikini style. This was not to be the case. They were french cut (which for the record sounds fancy and hip, but it is not, please be forewarned and do not make this mistake). For some reason I did not return the underwear. I became a martyr - I vowed to wear them until they fell apart (sadly I am learning that they may just be around for a long time - remember the underwear from five years ago that are still with me???).
Back to my rolfing session. As I am standing in front of my rolfer - in my yoga bra (excellent choice) and bloomers (horrible choice) - I am feeling like my underwear is the elephant in the room. They are so enormous, how can we not talk about them? Yet here I stood facing him, turning side to side and (ugh) my back to him (this just might be the worst view - the fabric covers my entire butt and some of my lower back - the Amish cover less).
Finally he is done with examining my structure and I can lie on the table. Yet now I am lying face down with a parachute on my ass. The thing is he is very professional - and I really believe he could care less and is more focused on my structural problems. But when he politely asked if he could roll down the elastic waist of my underwear so he could really work on the muscles in my lower back I lost it. I started laughing hysterically - I could not stop. I now have proof that my underwear is too big - he needed to ROLL IT DOWN.
If this was not bad enough, I proceed to tell my rolfer why I am laughing. You heard me. I am discussing my large underwear with him. The fact that I chose this pair over a ratty ancient pair and a fancy thong. That these are my choices. I am crying of laughter at this point. Why can I NOT shut up? Stories and descriptions of panties keep leaving my mouth while my internal dialog is saying, SHUT UP you granny pants wearing fool!
When I return home, Dan asks how it was. Great - sort of. I explain what happened. Dan is laughing at me (I really do not think with me). The thing is - I used to not even wear underwear. However, that would still leave me in a predicament at the rolfer. And although my rolfer swears it was the perfect rolfing underwear, I still think I need a couple of new pairs.
To be fair - I do not have much to choose from. For some reason I have become super cheap and refuse to buy new underwear until it is threadbare (my husband is the same way, but still I think mine are more worse for wear). I have several pair that I bought at Target 5 years ago while in Arizona after my luggage was stolen that are still in the rotation - okay, I am embarrassed just typing that. On the other hand I have some VERY expensive fancy thong underwear (which includes a $75 pair that my mom got on sale for me - yes, they are very fancy) for special occasions. A rolfing session seemed an inappropriate setting for a thong. So I decided on a relatively new pair (bought a little over a year ago) that might just be the biggest pair of panties I own. Seriously. When I took them out of the box, I saw Dan's face and his expression seemed to convey, how many pairs of underwear is that??? The thing is, these underwear were a mistake. I bought them at Costco (because I am cheap, remember) and I thought I was buying bikini style. This was not to be the case. They were french cut (which for the record sounds fancy and hip, but it is not, please be forewarned and do not make this mistake). For some reason I did not return the underwear. I became a martyr - I vowed to wear them until they fell apart (sadly I am learning that they may just be around for a long time - remember the underwear from five years ago that are still with me???).
Back to my rolfing session. As I am standing in front of my rolfer - in my yoga bra (excellent choice) and bloomers (horrible choice) - I am feeling like my underwear is the elephant in the room. They are so enormous, how can we not talk about them? Yet here I stood facing him, turning side to side and (ugh) my back to him (this just might be the worst view - the fabric covers my entire butt and some of my lower back - the Amish cover less).
Finally he is done with examining my structure and I can lie on the table. Yet now I am lying face down with a parachute on my ass. The thing is he is very professional - and I really believe he could care less and is more focused on my structural problems. But when he politely asked if he could roll down the elastic waist of my underwear so he could really work on the muscles in my lower back I lost it. I started laughing hysterically - I could not stop. I now have proof that my underwear is too big - he needed to ROLL IT DOWN.
If this was not bad enough, I proceed to tell my rolfer why I am laughing. You heard me. I am discussing my large underwear with him. The fact that I chose this pair over a ratty ancient pair and a fancy thong. That these are my choices. I am crying of laughter at this point. Why can I NOT shut up? Stories and descriptions of panties keep leaving my mouth while my internal dialog is saying, SHUT UP you granny pants wearing fool!
When I return home, Dan asks how it was. Great - sort of. I explain what happened. Dan is laughing at me (I really do not think with me). The thing is - I used to not even wear underwear. However, that would still leave me in a predicament at the rolfer. And although my rolfer swears it was the perfect rolfing underwear, I still think I need a couple of new pairs.
Monday, August 18, 2008
Triathlon Joy
Thanks to my husband, I found the joy last Sunday. I had all but given up competing in the Danskin 
Triathlon this year - but Dan was insistent that if I did not, I would regret it. This would be my fourth triathlon - so in it of itself, not a stressful event for me - but life surrounding the week before seemed too chaotic and tense for me to devote the time and energy needed. The thing is - Dan was right. Once at the event, I was at peace. I was not nervous or anxious as I had been in years past. I was able to enjoy being in a crowd of over 3700 women (all shapes, sizes, age and color) competing - together.
For the next couple of hours I am swimming, biking and running. I have a personal cheering section (Dan, Kelan, Lauren and my mom). I am witnessing women competing in their first triathlon, their tenth. Women supporting each other - not competing against. My endorphins have kicked in. I sprint the final stretch of the run and cross the finish line. I have a grin from ear to ear. Thank you, Dan, I found my triathlon joy.
Triathlon this year - but Dan was insistent that if I did not, I would regret it. This would be my fourth triathlon - so in it of itself, not a stressful event for me - but life surrounding the week before seemed too chaotic and tense for me to devote the time and energy needed. The thing is - Dan was right. Once at the event, I was at peace. I was not nervous or anxious as I had been in years past. I was able to enjoy being in a crowd of over 3700 women (all shapes, sizes, age and color) competing - together.I love organized races (I use the term race loosely here - I am always participating in these types of events for the experience, not the win). I always feel like I am part of something bigger somehow. The euphoria gets amplified and the feeling of accomplishment is wonderful.
The Danskin (as we triathletes call it) is a half mile swim, about a 12 mile bike and a 3 mile run. This I can do - with a bit of training. A bit is all I seemed to get this summer with the demands of my children, my high school reunion in Houston (read: a week in weather so HOT you could scarcely be outside or run the risk of passing out - so no training) and family reunion in Maine (read: a week in cooler weather right after my Houston trip, but now I am off my schedule and am being lazy - so really no training). If this was my only interruption - I do not think I would have gone crazy the week before. Sadly, it was this particular week that nearly sent me to the loony bin (which actually would have been nice, no one to take care of, people taking care of me, no responsibilities...but I digress).
Hell week (a term usually associated with fraternities' hazing week for new pledges) is what I have knighted this time - it started Friday, August 8th. I arrive home from Portland, Maine with Dan, Kelan and Lauren Friday evening. Long flight. Long day. I am done. Saturday my extended family celebrates my grandmother's 91st birthday (see Rockbridge Times and Ahead of the Wave). Sunday is Kelan's 4th birthday. I have invited over 60 people for a BBQ in the park. Meanwhile, the kids are TOTALLY off their sleep schedule and are getting up throughout the night. Lauren has graduated herself from her crib and is insistent on sleeping in her bed. I am trying to get to the preschool work I have been neglecting while on vacation (I serve on the board of my children's preschool and am chair of Kelan's PreK class). Kelan has started a week long woodworking day camp which he could not attend without me the first day (Monday) - so I had to stay in the room preventing Lauren from interrupting the class. Dan was contemplating a new job and we were going back and forth on what this would mean for his career and how it would impact our family. My house is a wreck and we have no groceries. I learn on Thursday afternoon that my next door neighbors are removing (read: killing) a 50 year plus old beautiful pine tree in their back yard on FRIDAY! I knew they wanted to do this, but did not know it was this soon - I had been trying to get them to change their minds. Friday I got to hear the chainsaw during quiet time. When I finally summoned the courage to take a peek at the devastation, it was worse than I could have believed. Imagine my shock when I realized that they had cut down an entirely different tree than the one discussed and that they were now moving on to the tree in question. I lost it. Completely. I ran outside with the children to cry in front of my neighbors. They were not there. I cried so hard I could not breathe. Another neighbor came over to make sure I was okay - she thought that Dan had died. I cried for an hour before I pulled myself and my kids out of the house to seek support at a friend's. I was a wreck. Keep in mind I am trying to find time to train this week after a two week hiatus. All I can think is that I cannot do the Danskin. I do not have the energy or time - I could not find the joy. Dan felt otherwise.
I struggled to get my race day information the Saturday before the race. What a chore. I had to drive over to Bellevue through many road closures. A confusing expo once I got there. A gruesome drive home through football traffic and Hemp Fest traffic (will I ever get home?). Sunday morning has arrived - race day. Dan drops me off and finds a place to park. Suddenly I am calm. I walk with the other athletes towards the transition area. I begin to relax and start to enjoy being up so early on a beautiful morning.
For the next couple of hours I am swimming, biking and running. I have a personal cheering section (Dan, Kelan, Lauren and my mom). I am witnessing women competing in their first triathlon, their tenth. Women supporting each other - not competing against. My endorphins have kicked in. I sprint the final stretch of the run and cross the finish line. I have a grin from ear to ear. Thank you, Dan, I found my triathlon joy. Thursday, July 3, 2008
Best Way to Spend our Money...
I have been looking for a patio table and chair set for some time and have been coming up empty handed. Either it is cheap and looks terrible or it is perfect and way out of our price range. I recently fell in love with a friend's table (I just know she spent thousands on it....) and since I saw hers, everything else I saw in our price range ranked in the why bother category. My search ended today. I found (with help) and bought the perfect patio table and chairs for our family (banish the fact that we have yet to build our patio).
Yesterday I realized that I needed help in locating what I envisioned so I emailed a good friend of mine who is great at finding things. Seriously. She has an eye for great antique/used pieces and knows a deal when she sees one. I wanted to ask her about places I should look (clearly I was looking in all the wrong places). Last night she called me on her way to yoga and said that she walked by this amazing patio set (cast aluminum, weathered look) at a consignment store. It sounded perfect (and I totally trust her taste) and knew that if she was calling me I needed to immediately check it out or it would be gone.
Yesterday I realized that I needed help in locating what I envisioned so I emailed a good friend of mine who is great at finding things. Seriously. She has an eye for great antique/used pieces and knows a deal when she sees one. I wanted to ask her about places I should look (clearly I was looking in all the wrong places). Last night she called me on her way to yoga and said that she walked by this amazing patio set (cast aluminum, weathered look) at a consignment store. It sounded perfect (and I totally trust her taste) and knew that if she was calling me I needed to immediately check it out or it would be gone.Karma was with me today (it is about time - of course now that I am complaining about Karma something else will come bite me in the ass and I will be back in the red...). I was supposed to stay at home all day because the house painters were painting doors and they needed to remain open while drying. Well, they cancelled because it was raining - so we headed off to the consignment store!
Immediately I knew this was our table (it was outside on the sidewalk in front of the store). I walked in and asked how much the set was. The man asked if I was Denise. Huh? Uh, no. Long story short, Denise had been looking at the table too and was supposed to come in first thing in the morning (the store opens at 10am, it was 10:40am) to buy it. Somewhat deflated, I said that I wanted to be honest and fair and that if he felt he needed to wait, that would be okay. Meanwhile I called Dan to ask him his thoughts. Never mind that I just had a conversation with him this morning saying that I think we are going to have to dip into savings to help pay for the house painting we are having done. Never mind that we do not even have a patio to put patio furniture on. This was OUR table.
Now, it must be said that Dan never tells me no. Never. It is not all about money related matters either. A usual response is whatever makes my pie happy (I am pie in this scenario). When it comes to financial decisions, I am usually met with if you feel this is the best way to spend our money. It is the perfect way for him to make the decision (by not making it - he is a smart man/husband). It is a win win situation for him. He does not have to say no (and get grief) and he trusts that the guilt associated with any big purchase will guide my decision making process. The weight of the choice becomes mine alone. Lovely.
I am caught because the final say is mine and the clock is ticking (Denise could walk in the door any minute). I decide to go for it - a table like this will not come around again for $500 (yes, that is the price for the table AND chairs - I know... it is a steal) and it seats EIGHT! I tell him that I want to buy it if he will sell it to me. He wants to, but I think he started to feel bad. Then the shopkeeper's wife looked over at her husband (they are a husband/wife team) and said, honey, if you're basing a sale on what someone told you versus a paying customer who is right here, then I will sell it it her. I got a mortgage to pay. The sale is made. The table is ours.
As I am loading the kids into the car I see a woman and her friend walk up to the table and closely examine it. I swear she mouths words like, this is the table I was telling you about. It is Denise, I just know it. Kelan asks why is that woman touching our table. I say it is because she likes it, but privately I am thinking she is about to learn the bad news. It was definitely the best way to spend our money today.
Monday, June 23, 2008
Poop
I am so tired of poop. There is always poop happening in my life. Today was no different - although the circumstances were harder. Let me explain.
This morning I decided that I would take Kelan and Lauren to the beach - never mind that the blue skies I saw early this morning have turned to gray. It is summer goddammit, I am going to the beach. I load the kids in the car (after painstakingly applying sunblock, putting on swimsuits, gathering up snacks/water, a change of clothes, a towel, the beach toys, and Kelan's favorite dump truck) and head to Golden Gardens. We get to the beach and I unload everything and let the kids run free. Kelan looks up at me - Mommy, I have to poop. Great. The bathroom is way over on the other side of the beach, and I have Lauren plus all of our belongings (not only all the above mentioned items, but also my diaper bag that has my wallet in it). I think for a minute. Kelan, come with me, we are going to go poop in the bushes.
I walk with Kelan and Lauren over to some bushes that are close by so I can keep an eye on our stuff. Kelan, showing extreme willingness, obliges me and drops his pants, holds my hands and leans back into a squat. Lauren is standing next to me as a witness. I was so proud of Kelan for doing this outside. Really I was. This could have been a disaster (lots of crying and complaining - he likes his privacy when it comes to pooping). But he went with the flow and released an enormous load. Although I had not quite thought ahead - I should have dug a hole so I could have buried it. Hmmmm... what do I do with it (no ,I did not have a bag - and I did not like picking up my dog's poop years ago, I cannot imagine how I would feel picking up Kelan's). I went on a search for a big stick or rock to help flick the poop further into the bush (I cannot believe this is how I am spending my morning). Kelan and Lauren are watching me do this and asking many questions. What are doing? Trying to bury the poop. Why are you burying the poop? So no one steps in it. Why would someone step in it? And so on. Finally, mission accomplished.
Just before we leave the beach I am changing Lauren from her wet suit to a dry outfit. I am about to remove her swim diaper when I realize that she has pooped. Perfect. Did I mention that she has an incredible diaper rash? Oh, and she has been sitting in the wet sand for quite sometime so there is tons of sand in the diaper as well. So now I am wiping poop and sand from Lauren's raw and angry bottom while she is screaming for me to stop. Where is that hose when you need it?
This afternoon I decided that we would go to one of the park's wading pools (I am also thinking that this is my chance to make sure all the sand is out of Lauren's bottom - I was not sure if I had gotten it all throughout the screaming earlier at the beach). I load the kids in the car - again (after applying sunblock, putting on swimsuits, gathering up snacks/water, a change of clothes, a towel, the beach toys, and Kelan's favorite dump truck - again). We get to the pool only to realize - no pool. There has been a mix up with the Park's Department. Perfect. Kelan runs around in the empty wading pool with his truck. Lauren goes to sit in the...sand (her poor bottom). Kelan then comes up to me - Mommy, I have to poop. I think to myself - you have got to be kidding me.
Luckily there is a restroom at the park (why are all public toilets so gross?). Kelan proceeds to strip down (he likes to poop naked - how I managed to bypass this at the beach, I do not know). So now I am walking in and out of the restroom to keep an eye on Lauren and our stuff while Kelan is singing on the toilet happily pooping.
I guess I should not complain about the poop. On the bright side, Kelan is telling me he has to poop and he does not have any accidents. And both kids do not seem to have any issues with their bowels. These are positive things. Poop is good.
This morning I decided that I would take Kelan and Lauren to the beach - never mind that the blue skies I saw early this morning have turned to gray. It is summer goddammit, I am going to the beach. I load the kids in the car (after painstakingly applying sunblock, putting on swimsuits, gathering up snacks/water, a change of clothes, a towel, the beach toys, and Kelan's favorite dump truck) and head to Golden Gardens. We get to the beach and I unload everything and let the kids run free. Kelan looks up at me - Mommy, I have to poop. Great. The bathroom is way over on the other side of the beach, and I have Lauren plus all of our belongings (not only all the above mentioned items, but also my diaper bag that has my wallet in it). I think for a minute. Kelan, come with me, we are going to go poop in the bushes.
I walk with Kelan and Lauren over to some bushes that are close by so I can keep an eye on our stuff. Kelan, showing extreme willingness, obliges me and drops his pants, holds my hands and leans back into a squat. Lauren is standing next to me as a witness. I was so proud of Kelan for doing this outside. Really I was. This could have been a disaster (lots of crying and complaining - he likes his privacy when it comes to pooping). But he went with the flow and released an enormous load. Although I had not quite thought ahead - I should have dug a hole so I could have buried it. Hmmmm... what do I do with it (no ,I did not have a bag - and I did not like picking up my dog's poop years ago, I cannot imagine how I would feel picking up Kelan's). I went on a search for a big stick or rock to help flick the poop further into the bush (I cannot believe this is how I am spending my morning). Kelan and Lauren are watching me do this and asking many questions. What are doing? Trying to bury the poop. Why are you burying the poop? So no one steps in it. Why would someone step in it? And so on. Finally, mission accomplished.
Just before we leave the beach I am changing Lauren from her wet suit to a dry outfit. I am about to remove her swim diaper when I realize that she has pooped. Perfect. Did I mention that she has an incredible diaper rash? Oh, and she has been sitting in the wet sand for quite sometime so there is tons of sand in the diaper as well. So now I am wiping poop and sand from Lauren's raw and angry bottom while she is screaming for me to stop. Where is that hose when you need it?
This afternoon I decided that we would go to one of the park's wading pools (I am also thinking that this is my chance to make sure all the sand is out of Lauren's bottom - I was not sure if I had gotten it all throughout the screaming earlier at the beach). I load the kids in the car - again (after applying sunblock, putting on swimsuits, gathering up snacks/water, a change of clothes, a towel, the beach toys, and Kelan's favorite dump truck - again). We get to the pool only to realize - no pool. There has been a mix up with the Park's Department. Perfect. Kelan runs around in the empty wading pool with his truck. Lauren goes to sit in the...sand (her poor bottom). Kelan then comes up to me - Mommy, I have to poop. I think to myself - you have got to be kidding me.
Luckily there is a restroom at the park (why are all public toilets so gross?). Kelan proceeds to strip down (he likes to poop naked - how I managed to bypass this at the beach, I do not know). So now I am walking in and out of the restroom to keep an eye on Lauren and our stuff while Kelan is singing on the toilet happily pooping.
I guess I should not complain about the poop. On the bright side, Kelan is telling me he has to poop and he does not have any accidents. And both kids do not seem to have any issues with their bowels. These are positive things. Poop is good.
Monday, June 16, 2008
Kinda Crunchy
Last night as Dan and I were getting into bed, Dan brushed the crumbs? from our sheets before he laid down. I knew the kids had been playing in our bed and I thought Kelan may have gotten some dirt in the bed so I asked Dan what it was. He did not know, but he thought the sheets were kinda crunchy. Eew. So gross. And quite frankly, a little embarrassing. Yet, here I am publicly writing/telling everyone about it.
I started to think back, when had I last washed my sheets? Well, I know I had been in the habit of washing them when Kelan peed in the bed. Which - when he was coming down every night to sleep with me - was often, so I knew my sheets were getting cleaned at least once or twice a week. That got me thinking, when was it that Kelan stopped crawling into bed with me and Dan at night? Oh my god, it was a month or so ago - which means... oh my god, my sheets are really really really dirty. Eew. So gross. Needless to say, my sheets are in the washer today - on hot with bleach.
It is funny, though. Since having children, my standards have changed. Just today I used my own shirt to wipe Kelan's nose. I also watched (not prevented) Lauren dip her rice cake in the sand/water and eat it (I noticed another mom watch her do this as well. She made a face as she scanned the moms at the beach to see if one of them was going to come and stop the buffet. I did not). I would think that the taste and texture of the sand alone would be a deterrent. Nope.
As a parent, I guess my gross sheets are on par with everything else. Kids are messy. I'm always wiping something. But for tonight, my sheets will be clean.
I started to think back, when had I last washed my sheets? Well, I know I had been in the habit of washing them when Kelan peed in the bed. Which - when he was coming down every night to sleep with me - was often, so I knew my sheets were getting cleaned at least once or twice a week. That got me thinking, when was it that Kelan stopped crawling into bed with me and Dan at night? Oh my god, it was a month or so ago - which means... oh my god, my sheets are really really really dirty. Eew. So gross. Needless to say, my sheets are in the washer today - on hot with bleach.
It is funny, though. Since having children, my standards have changed. Just today I used my own shirt to wipe Kelan's nose. I also watched (not prevented) Lauren dip her rice cake in the sand/water and eat it (I noticed another mom watch her do this as well. She made a face as she scanned the moms at the beach to see if one of them was going to come and stop the buffet. I did not). I would think that the taste and texture of the sand alone would be a deterrent. Nope.
As a parent, I guess my gross sheets are on par with everything else. Kids are messy. I'm always wiping something. But for tonight, my sheets will be clean.
Sunday, June 1, 2008
Mommy's Bed
For better or worse my bed (uh...me and Dan's bed) is used for many activities. One of my favorites, other than being sound asleep for about 9 uninterrupted hours (which NEVER happens - ever), is when Kelan and Lauren crawl into bed with me and cuddle in the morning. I would like to emphasize cuddle, I am not a fan of the mommy attention tango they do where kicking and climbing on me is involved. We like to snuggle close and sing (I have many songs floating around in my head from my 13 wonderful years at an all girls camp in Tennessee). We usually start with "Way Up in the Sky" - a good morning song that has hand motions that the kids love to sing with me.
I love the weekends even more because Dan is home in the morning and it is wonderful to have us all there together. Plus I like it when Dan sings with the kids, because it is funny to hear one of our songs sung off key with deleted and made up verses. But that is part of the moment too, the kids do not seem to notice, much less mind, and they are so happy to have Daddy with them.
Mommies' beds in general must be magnetic - it draws all kids in. To this day I am still drawn to my own mother's bed when I am in her house. This is where some of our best conversations are. Maybe the bed is the heart of the family. You are safe, sound, comfortable and close.
I love the weekends even more because Dan is home in the morning and it is wonderful to have us all there together. Plus I like it when Dan sings with the kids, because it is funny to hear one of our songs sung off key with deleted and made up verses. But that is part of the moment too, the kids do not seem to notice, much less mind, and they are so happy to have Daddy with them.
Mommies' beds in general must be magnetic - it draws all kids in. To this day I am still drawn to my own mother's bed when I am in her house. This is where some of our best conversations are. Maybe the bed is the heart of the family. You are safe, sound, comfortable and close.
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
The Good, Bad and Ugly (Hair)
I do not think my hairdresser likes me. Actually that is not true. I think she is indifferent to me. This and the fact that she cannot style my hair stresses me out (however the cut is great after a couple of weeks). I cannot get past it - I HATE getting my haircut.
The thing is, I have to have good hair - it is a sickness. I would rather practice yoga naked on national TV with good hair than fully clothed with bad. My hair (for better or worse) can control my mood. Just last week I had to endure the trauma. I become incredibly tense before I go and then remain in that state until I can come home and inspect then wash my hair.
As I wait in the reception area, I silently practice my clear instructions (I like my bangs below my eyebrows. I like a blunt cut. I like the longer pieces in front.). Additionally I transform myself into a quiet, reserved non conversational type person (this is my superpower) so I do not have to talk to someone who does not even want to talk to me. Seriously. She asks me questions, but by the time I answer, she has already moved on. You can tell because she is actually looking somewhere else when I speak and then I get the fake/forced laugh when I have not even said anything funny.
I used to really like getting my hair cut. It was girl time - even when I was with my former hairdresser Robert (see Trader Joes) - she was so much fun. I always left feeling pretty and happy with all the hysterical conversation. (Note: I switched hairdressers because I needed a change. I went through several hairdressers before I found my current stylist - I would also like to note that they were/are all female out of respect to Robert. If I was going to cheat on him, it could not be with another man).
My visit last week met my expectations (which were incredibly low). I thought maybe if I arrive with good hair, she could see what it should look like. For the record, I hot roll my hair every day and use a hair thickener product for increased volume. Hell, I use a volume shampoo. I like lift, volume and a style (and no - my hair does not look like a meringue). I soon would realize this was all for nothing.
I went through my instructions - and I have to say I am quite nice when I do this. It is an art form to appear pleasant and likeable when telling someone what to do). I then become mute and hope for the best. The cut is done and she begins to blow dry. She is reaching for products called smoothing serum and hair straightener. Ugh! She is pulling my hair down as she dries it to get that extra flat look. I could not be uglier. But hey, I can always wash my hair - she is just wasting product and her time (I never book a haircut before I have to do anything - it is always right before I go home to bed). Then I realize that my bangs are hovering above my eyebrows. Perfect. I look like an asshole.
In 2 or 3 weeks I will be happy. Until then my perfect husband knows not to even mention the word hair around me - and even then, he does not. Now if I did not already sound like a crazy lady, here is the proof: I have made my next haircut appointment with the same hairdresser. Safe to say, I am not looking forward to it.
The thing is, I have to have good hair - it is a sickness. I would rather practice yoga naked on national TV with good hair than fully clothed with bad. My hair (for better or worse) can control my mood. Just last week I had to endure the trauma. I become incredibly tense before I go and then remain in that state until I can come home and inspect then wash my hair.
As I wait in the reception area, I silently practice my clear instructions (I like my bangs below my eyebrows. I like a blunt cut. I like the longer pieces in front.). Additionally I transform myself into a quiet, reserved non conversational type person (this is my superpower) so I do not have to talk to someone who does not even want to talk to me. Seriously. She asks me questions, but by the time I answer, she has already moved on. You can tell because she is actually looking somewhere else when I speak and then I get the fake/forced laugh when I have not even said anything funny.
I used to really like getting my hair cut. It was girl time - even when I was with my former hairdresser Robert (see Trader Joes) - she was so much fun. I always left feeling pretty and happy with all the hysterical conversation. (Note: I switched hairdressers because I needed a change. I went through several hairdressers before I found my current stylist - I would also like to note that they were/are all female out of respect to Robert. If I was going to cheat on him, it could not be with another man).
My visit last week met my expectations (which were incredibly low). I thought maybe if I arrive with good hair, she could see what it should look like. For the record, I hot roll my hair every day and use a hair thickener product for increased volume. Hell, I use a volume shampoo. I like lift, volume and a style (and no - my hair does not look like a meringue). I soon would realize this was all for nothing.
I went through my instructions - and I have to say I am quite nice when I do this. It is an art form to appear pleasant and likeable when telling someone what to do). I then become mute and hope for the best. The cut is done and she begins to blow dry. She is reaching for products called smoothing serum and hair straightener. Ugh! She is pulling my hair down as she dries it to get that extra flat look. I could not be uglier. But hey, I can always wash my hair - she is just wasting product and her time (I never book a haircut before I have to do anything - it is always right before I go home to bed). Then I realize that my bangs are hovering above my eyebrows. Perfect. I look like an asshole.
In 2 or 3 weeks I will be happy. Until then my perfect husband knows not to even mention the word hair around me - and even then, he does not. Now if I did not already sound like a crazy lady, here is the proof: I have made my next haircut appointment with the same hairdresser. Safe to say, I am not looking forward to it.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Cake
I am very fortunate to have many wonderful girlfriends in my life, but I am moved to write about one in particular - Cake (so named by Kelan who could not pronounce 
Kate when he learned to say her name. Kate actually loves being called Cake so we went with it and she hopes he continues to call her Cake well into his adult life). In fact, I must thank Kelan for bringing her into my life. Kate - and her family, the Smiths - have been a wonderful addition into the McGradys' lives and I will always be grateful for them.
Kate when he learned to say her name. Kate actually loves being called Cake so we went with it and she hopes he continues to call her Cake well into his adult life). In fact, I must thank Kelan for bringing her into my life. Kate - and her family, the Smiths - have been a wonderful addition into the McGradys' lives and I will always be grateful for them.Kate and I met at the Ballard toddler room when Kelan and her son, Mac (read more about Kelan and Mac: Stating the Obvious), were a little over a year. The boys would sometimes play together and we would chat. We continued to see each other occasionally over the next several months in this toddler room - although never exchanging numbers or planning a playdate. Soon we realized that we were both pregnant (due dates about a month apart). We ran into each other again when it was about two weeks to her due date. I decided to ask for her number - anticipating it would be good to make friends with someone about to be in the same situation as myself.
We did not see each other again for a couple of months and in that time she had her daughter, Libby, and I had Lauren a month later. I came up for air when Lauren was a month old and emailed Kate for the first time. We planned our first playdate with our toddlers and newborns. This was the first of many. We spent this first summer chasing after Kelan and Mac wearing our daughters in
Baby Bjorns. We laughed, cried, bitched, shared, and rejoiced about the first year as moms of two children. I do not think I could have managed that initial year of Lauren's life without her. We have survived sleep deprivation, potty training, nursing, tantrums and high energy kids. Our children have become the best of friends (Lauren and Libby are now playing together). Aside from the fact that I like her as a person and would be friends with her sans kids, I think the fact that we both were in the trenches with two young kids at the same time cemented our friendship.
Kate and her kids have become an integral part of my life (we call each other almost every day), so you can imagine my utter joy when they moved into the rental house next door (they are doing a major remodel on their home several blocks away). Since September, we have spent many afternoons with the kids playing in front of our houses. Riding bikes, digging in the dirt, splashing in a baby pool -
naked - and running up and down the sidewalk - sometimes, naked. Truly a gift to be able to do this. Not only have we become closer (not to mention the kids), but our husbands have gotten to know each other as well.
Baby Bjorns. We laughed, cried, bitched, shared, and rejoiced about the first year as moms of two children. I do not think I could have managed that initial year of Lauren's life without her. We have survived sleep deprivation, potty training, nursing, tantrums and high energy kids. Our children have become the best of friends (Lauren and Libby are now playing together). Aside from the fact that I like her as a person and would be friends with her sans kids, I think the fact that we both were in the trenches with two young kids at the same time cemented our friendship.
Kate and her kids have become an integral part of my life (we call each other almost every day), so you can imagine my utter joy when they moved into the rental house next door (they are doing a major remodel on their home several blocks away). Since September, we have spent many afternoons with the kids playing in front of our houses. Riding bikes, digging in the dirt, splashing in a baby pool -
naked - and running up and down the sidewalk - sometimes, naked. Truly a gift to be able to do this. Not only have we become closer (not to mention the kids), but our husbands have gotten to know each other as well.Sadly for us/me the Smiths are moving back home. It has been wonderful having good friends so close, but I know they are excited to be in their house again. Living in limbo is never easy. However, I think it is always harder to be the one left behind. I will always look at their house wanting to see them and I know Kelan and Lauren will continue to run next door to see their friends and play in their yard (I hope the new tenants like kids...). They live less than a 5 minute drive up the street and we will continue to see each other all the time, but the ease in which we can just walk outside to play is gone.
Their last night next door is Saturday. I hope the weather is nice so we can play outside.
Sunday, April 6, 2008
Easier To Go Out?
At the end of the day (especially at the end of the weekend) I am so tired that sometimes I succumb to my exhaustion and suggest to Dan that we go out for dinner. After all, it will be easier. Tonight we went to Red Mill for burgers. It was not easier.
We were met with a long line when we arrived. And since this is the type of place where you stand in line to order and then find a seat, I was not pleased with our situation. Waiting (for anything) is not Kelan and Lauren's strong suit. I decide to do the unpopular thing and sit down in the last available booth with the kids while Dan stood in line. I purposely did not meet anyone's gaze/glare who was ahead of us, but I could feel their disdain. Karma will get me later, but for now I needed a place to park the kids.
Kelan insisted on helping Dan place our order - which translates into him running laps between our table and Dan. Meanwhile I am trying to contain Lauren who is frantically grabbing the salt shaker, and the ketchup and mustard squirt bottles. After Dan and Kelan order, they return to the table with the highchair for Lauren and several waters. Soon to be one water. Lauren grabs her cup and trying to head off a wet end result, I attempt to retrieve the water only to have her squeeze the life out of the paper cup forcing water over the table. A minute later, Kelan has accidentally knocked over his water on the table. We have used tons of napkins during this outing, and we have not even started eating yet.
We are still waiting for our food. Lauren is occupying herself by licking the table (I am now somewhat thankful for the table cleaning earlier with all the spilt water and napkins). Kelan is trying to excuse himself from the table to get forks and knives in preparation for our meal. Dan remains stoic throughout this ordeal, whereas I have to state out loud that I need to take a deep breath and calm down. Why haven't they called our name? I am hungry and the kids are getting progressively worse.
Dan! At last - they call our name. Dinner...is ready. A sense of calm descends on our table. Food. That is what the kids needed. That, and a whole lot of ketchup. We gave Lauren a quarter of Kelan's hamburger and not only did is seem to last for the entire meal, but she managed to put more ketchup on that one little piece (not forgetting her face and the table) than I used on my whole burger and fries. But at this point, I do not care. Knock yourself out - ketchup can be a food group tonight.
Like most kids, once you have finished eating, anything left is now a toy. Lauren has one final burger bite on her fork that she is gliding through ketchup that is covering her portion of the table. What you are telling me, Lauren, is that you are done with your dinner. We take away her food and then she sees Dan's water glass. Her next object of affection. Of course one look at her face/hands covered with ketchup and burger and you just know you do not want to share your water glass. Dan and I tag team her with baby wipes, give her a sip of water and declare dinner is over.
Kelan has been surprisingly calm and patient throughout - I think he was hungry (although he did have pancakes this morning, an early lunch, Chinese takeout leftovers for a snack and now a burger and fries. I do not know where he puts is all). We quickly put on coats and bus our table (there has been a steady line of people waiting to order since we arrived and now a new family is eyeing our table as we prepare to leave...). We make it outside and head for the car. I am now trying to remember why it was supposed to be easier to go out?
We were met with a long line when we arrived. And since this is the type of place where you stand in line to order and then find a seat, I was not pleased with our situation. Waiting (for anything) is not Kelan and Lauren's strong suit. I decide to do the unpopular thing and sit down in the last available booth with the kids while Dan stood in line. I purposely did not meet anyone's gaze/glare who was ahead of us, but I could feel their disdain. Karma will get me later, but for now I needed a place to park the kids.
Kelan insisted on helping Dan place our order - which translates into him running laps between our table and Dan. Meanwhile I am trying to contain Lauren who is frantically grabbing the salt shaker, and the ketchup and mustard squirt bottles. After Dan and Kelan order, they return to the table with the highchair for Lauren and several waters. Soon to be one water. Lauren grabs her cup and trying to head off a wet end result, I attempt to retrieve the water only to have her squeeze the life out of the paper cup forcing water over the table. A minute later, Kelan has accidentally knocked over his water on the table. We have used tons of napkins during this outing, and we have not even started eating yet.
We are still waiting for our food. Lauren is occupying herself by licking the table (I am now somewhat thankful for the table cleaning earlier with all the spilt water and napkins). Kelan is trying to excuse himself from the table to get forks and knives in preparation for our meal. Dan remains stoic throughout this ordeal, whereas I have to state out loud that I need to take a deep breath and calm down. Why haven't they called our name? I am hungry and the kids are getting progressively worse.
Dan! At last - they call our name. Dinner...is ready. A sense of calm descends on our table. Food. That is what the kids needed. That, and a whole lot of ketchup. We gave Lauren a quarter of Kelan's hamburger and not only did is seem to last for the entire meal, but she managed to put more ketchup on that one little piece (not forgetting her face and the table) than I used on my whole burger and fries. But at this point, I do not care. Knock yourself out - ketchup can be a food group tonight.
Like most kids, once you have finished eating, anything left is now a toy. Lauren has one final burger bite on her fork that she is gliding through ketchup that is covering her portion of the table. What you are telling me, Lauren, is that you are done with your dinner. We take away her food and then she sees Dan's water glass. Her next object of affection. Of course one look at her face/hands covered with ketchup and burger and you just know you do not want to share your water glass. Dan and I tag team her with baby wipes, give her a sip of water and declare dinner is over.
Kelan has been surprisingly calm and patient throughout - I think he was hungry (although he did have pancakes this morning, an early lunch, Chinese takeout leftovers for a snack and now a burger and fries. I do not know where he puts is all). We quickly put on coats and bus our table (there has been a steady line of people waiting to order since we arrived and now a new family is eyeing our table as we prepare to leave...). We make it outside and head for the car. I am now trying to remember why it was supposed to be easier to go out?
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
Ultimate Carmel Cup Campaign
Sometimes I can be a little bit of a loser. Right now is one of those times. Dreyer's Ice Cream has decided to discontinue my favorite (the ultimate) flavor of ice cream (see previous post: Ultimate Carmel Cup) so my hand has been forced - I have started a Bring Back My Ultimate Carmel Cup campaign.
I have emailed friends and family asking them to email the company about the loss of their favorite flavor. This is where I really look like a loser. I mean, it is only ice cream. The thing is - it's not. It is a little bit of heaven in a bowl. This carmel flavored ice cream has carmel syrup swirled throughout. Adding more decadence, little milk chocolate carmel filled cups are mixed in as well. My mouth is watering. It is an addiction.
Like all good addicts I have a dear co-dependent friend who is helping me scour grocery (actual and online) stores for unpurchased remnants. She is good. She has already found and purchased 3 gallons. They are waiting for me in her freezer (I just need to drive over to Bellevue...).
The email I received back from Dreyer's (in response to my inquiry) confirmed what I had already learned, Ultimate Carmel Cup had indeed been discontinued because of national sales. But they also said (a glimmer of hope) However, it is possible if we hear from enough consumers who share your views this product could be reinstated.
Many friends and family have already sent their pleas to Dreyer's (and have been rewarded with 2 $ .50 coupons for future Dreyer's purchases - you could save a WHOLE dollar). This is your chance for your voice to be heard! Visit Dreyer's website and let them know your devastation of the discontinuation of Ultimate Carmel Cup. If not for me, then do it for the kids. Kelan and Lauren's mom is a lot happier knowing that this ice cream exists.
I have emailed friends and family asking them to email the company about the loss of their favorite flavor. This is where I really look like a loser. I mean, it is only ice cream. The thing is - it's not. It is a little bit of heaven in a bowl. This carmel flavored ice cream has carmel syrup swirled throughout. Adding more decadence, little milk chocolate carmel filled cups are mixed in as well. My mouth is watering. It is an addiction.
Like all good addicts I have a dear co-dependent friend who is helping me scour grocery (actual and online) stores for unpurchased remnants. She is good. She has already found and purchased 3 gallons. They are waiting for me in her freezer (I just need to drive over to Bellevue...).
The email I received back from Dreyer's (in response to my inquiry) confirmed what I had already learned, Ultimate Carmel Cup had indeed been discontinued because of national sales. But they also said (a glimmer of hope) However, it is possible if we hear from enough consumers who share your views this product could be reinstated.
Many friends and family have already sent their pleas to Dreyer's (and have been rewarded with 2 $ .50 coupons for future Dreyer's purchases - you could save a WHOLE dollar). This is your chance for your voice to be heard! Visit Dreyer's website and let them know your devastation of the discontinuation of Ultimate Carmel Cup. If not for me, then do it for the kids. Kelan and Lauren's mom is a lot happier knowing that this ice cream exists.
50's Housewife
I felt like a 50's housewife yesterday. Well, I had a fleeting flash of a feeling. A friend of mine, Kate, (she is renting the house next door while her own home is being remodeled) invited Kelan over to play yesterday afternoon. Her son is one of Kelan best friends (see Stating the Obvious). Kelan is old enough to walk next door by himself, however I wait on my porch until I can see Kate open the door and give the wave - meaning: I have him. I go back inside with Lauren to finish frosting the birthday cake I am making and that is when I have the flash.
The whole visual included my baking a cake and sending my son to my mom friend next door, but what brought the whole thing home was that I was wearing an apron. It was the icing on the cake. Pun intended. I had to laugh at myself and remember - I am NO 50's housewife.
I do not meet my husband at the door with a scotch - neither of us drink. I usually have dinner on the table when Dan comes home - but it could be something store prepared that I just pulled from the microwave. And I have a true life partner and co-parent in my husband. So I remind myself that the cake and apron is just a necessity of the moment - not a symbol of my life.
Consequently, the birthday cake was for me. I turned 38 yesterday. A really uneventful birthday. 38 - who cares? But I guess I need to be 38 to have everything that I have in my life and to actually recognize that I have it. I am happy in life - what more could I want for my birthday.
The whole visual included my baking a cake and sending my son to my mom friend next door, but what brought the whole thing home was that I was wearing an apron. It was the icing on the cake. Pun intended. I had to laugh at myself and remember - I am NO 50's housewife.
I do not meet my husband at the door with a scotch - neither of us drink. I usually have dinner on the table when Dan comes home - but it could be something store prepared that I just pulled from the microwave. And I have a true life partner and co-parent in my husband. So I remind myself that the cake and apron is just a necessity of the moment - not a symbol of my life.
Consequently, the birthday cake was for me. I turned 38 yesterday. A really uneventful birthday. 38 - who cares? But I guess I need to be 38 to have everything that I have in my life and to actually recognize that I have it. I am happy in life - what more could I want for my birthday.
Sunday, March 9, 2008
I Have No Shame
It seems since the birth of my two children - I have no shame. Sure, my kids can embarrass me at times, but I do not think I have any personal shame left. I remember when I was laboring with Kelan, my younger sister, Mary, said later that it seemed like every person who came into the birthing suite would stick their hands inside of me. Not an exaggeration. After this, really, what could I be less comfortable with or ashamed of?
Yesterday while on a family walk into Ballard, I decided to make a stop at Bartell's drugstore. I figured it was right next to where we were and (sadly) I needed Monistat. Yes I know, not your most advertised purchase, but here we are as a family walking through the aisles looking for yeast infection medicine. Lovely. Dan is pushing Lauren in a cart and Kelan has his own child sized cart. I lead the parade down the feminine aisle (an aisle I am sure no man likes to walk down - although my husband dutifully has picked up tampons on request in the past - have I mentioned that I have a great husband?). I decide to buy two packs - just to be safe. Kelan likes to have all items placed in his cart when we are at Bartells - so I drop them both into his cart privately laughing that my 3 1/2 year old son is carrying two boxes of yeast infection medicine (our only purchase) to the counter.
Today I noticed while flipping through the flyers in the Sunday paper that there is a $4 off coupon for any Monistat purchase. Then I see that it is on sale at Walgreen's (for an additional four dollars - for a total savings of $8). So back to Bartell's today to return a pack - explaining to Kelan we are returning one - only to explain later at Walgreen's we are buying another one. I even had to fill out a return form at Bartell's with a male cashier (juggling two kids) and a line forming behind me. I have never spent so much time with Monistat.
Since Kelan and Lauren were born I find myself taking care of their every need (or teaching them to provide it for themselves) which leaves me exhausted most of the time. So I guess I am just too tired to care when it comes to buying - or returning - private products.
Yesterday while on a family walk into Ballard, I decided to make a stop at Bartell's drugstore. I figured it was right next to where we were and (sadly) I needed Monistat. Yes I know, not your most advertised purchase, but here we are as a family walking through the aisles looking for yeast infection medicine. Lovely. Dan is pushing Lauren in a cart and Kelan has his own child sized cart. I lead the parade down the feminine aisle (an aisle I am sure no man likes to walk down - although my husband dutifully has picked up tampons on request in the past - have I mentioned that I have a great husband?). I decide to buy two packs - just to be safe. Kelan likes to have all items placed in his cart when we are at Bartells - so I drop them both into his cart privately laughing that my 3 1/2 year old son is carrying two boxes of yeast infection medicine (our only purchase) to the counter.
Today I noticed while flipping through the flyers in the Sunday paper that there is a $4 off coupon for any Monistat purchase. Then I see that it is on sale at Walgreen's (for an additional four dollars - for a total savings of $8). So back to Bartell's today to return a pack - explaining to Kelan we are returning one - only to explain later at Walgreen's we are buying another one. I even had to fill out a return form at Bartell's with a male cashier (juggling two kids) and a line forming behind me. I have never spent so much time with Monistat.
Since Kelan and Lauren were born I find myself taking care of their every need (or teaching them to provide it for themselves) which leaves me exhausted most of the time. So I guess I am just too tired to care when it comes to buying - or returning - private products.
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
I Want to Talk
Lauren is starting to talk more and more. Her words are short, simple and to the point. Nack (read: snack) for when she wants food. Pon (tampon) is coupled with the action of handing me a tampon from its carton in the bathroom (my children love to help with everything). Ami (salami) might just be her favorite food (not to be confused with Mommy - you have to have a good ear to hear the difference). And tine made it into her vocabulary with the gift of Valentine soaps to Kelan from his preschool teacher. Sometimes she is very polite (peas) with her requests, she has even been known to say me me (excuse me) when she burps/farts (or when Dan does). Other times she is VERY demanding. She often couples her words with a hand gesture of pointing at the thing she wants (over and over again).
We have moved from the guessing game with Lauren's needs and wants to the translation game. Although she does have some words down like the word no. In fact it was her first word. She learned it from Kelan. Lovely. Mine is pretty popular as well. Again, perfectly pronounced.
Kelan is another story. He just talks all the time. There is hardly a quiet moment - ever. On my bad days, sometimes I ask him to stop talking for 1 minute. This simple request is usually met with him whining, I want to talk. He has actually said, I want to talk - to talk. How very true.
With all this talking, it must be said that there is no listening. It is a one way street with my children. Lauren (I think) is pretending that she does not hear me (giggling while she does exactly what I have asked her not to do), while I seriously believe that Kelan is deaf. My comments, questions and requests are met with HUH?!?! I (ignorantly) repeat myself and am met with HUH?!??!?!? Deep breath. I try again, and before I even finish my words, HUH?!?!?! Now I am thinking - I want to talk.
Dan says a work colleague does the same thing - he ignores him (because truth be told, his colleague has heard him, it is just his knee jerk response). I try this approach with Kelan, but then I am bombarded with what'd you say? MOM! What you'd say? It is a no win situation. I finally started asking Kelan what he thinks I said. He knows - he repeats what I have said - then he asks again, what'd you say? This happens all day long. Hopefully it is just a phase that he will grow out of soon.
It is clear that my children will never be at a loss for words - they are my children after all. I guess I must look ahead to their futures and realize that they will speak up for themselves (and hopefully others). They will have a voice. They want to talk - I will raise them with something to say.
We have moved from the guessing game with Lauren's needs and wants to the translation game. Although she does have some words down like the word no. In fact it was her first word. She learned it from Kelan. Lovely. Mine is pretty popular as well. Again, perfectly pronounced.
Kelan is another story. He just talks all the time. There is hardly a quiet moment - ever. On my bad days, sometimes I ask him to stop talking for 1 minute. This simple request is usually met with him whining, I want to talk. He has actually said, I want to talk - to talk. How very true.
With all this talking, it must be said that there is no listening. It is a one way street with my children. Lauren (I think) is pretending that she does not hear me (giggling while she does exactly what I have asked her not to do), while I seriously believe that Kelan is deaf. My comments, questions and requests are met with HUH?!?! I (ignorantly) repeat myself and am met with HUH?!??!?!? Deep breath. I try again, and before I even finish my words, HUH?!?!?! Now I am thinking - I want to talk.
Dan says a work colleague does the same thing - he ignores him (because truth be told, his colleague has heard him, it is just his knee jerk response). I try this approach with Kelan, but then I am bombarded with what'd you say? MOM! What you'd say? It is a no win situation. I finally started asking Kelan what he thinks I said. He knows - he repeats what I have said - then he asks again, what'd you say? This happens all day long. Hopefully it is just a phase that he will grow out of soon.
It is clear that my children will never be at a loss for words - they are my children after all. I guess I must look ahead to their futures and realize that they will speak up for themselves (and hopefully others). They will have a voice. They want to talk - I will raise them with something to say.
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Stating the Obvious
As Kelan and Lauren get older, I find myself constantly verbalizing dos and don'ts (in addition to a variety of answers to a never ending supply of questions). Sometimes I have to laugh out loud at the things I say or at least recognize that they are absurd to the person who happens to overhear me. I cannot believe some of the phrases I say: Kelan, please do not drag your sister. Kelan, please do not sit on your sister. Kelan, please do not jump on your sister. Lauren, please do not put sticks in your nose. Lauren, please do not stick your hands in the toilet while your are peeing. It truly amazes me that I actually have to state that these actions are unacceptable. I would think that it would be understood. Clearly - yet again - I am mistaken.
Thankfully it is not only me. Today after Kelan's swim lesson, we went into the locker room where you can shower and change. Kelan and his good friend (they take swim lessons together and his mother is a good friend of mine) are playing in the shower together when I overhear, It is not time to play with your penises. How often do you hear that? I start to laugh so I turn away, because if the boys see my reaction, it will only encourage them. How my friend can say this without laughing - and so calmly - is beyond me (she is smiling though). We move away from the shower to the lockers to get the boys dressed. Then I hear her say to her son, please get your finger out of your bum. I lose it. I am laughing so hard. What are you doing? Please stop putting your finger in your bum. She is laughing now too. There is another mother right next to us dressing her mild mannered son who gets up to leave. I am not sure if they were done. We give each other a look and continue laughing. Sometimes you just have to go with it.
The thing is, there is always something that we are addressing with young children. They are learning all the time and it is our job as parents to lead them in the right way. We think we are stating the obvious, when in fact we are teaching them (endlessly) what the obvious is.
Thankfully it is not only me. Today after Kelan's swim lesson, we went into the locker room where you can shower and change. Kelan and his good friend (they take swim lessons together and his mother is a good friend of mine) are playing in the shower together when I overhear, It is not time to play with your penises. How often do you hear that? I start to laugh so I turn away, because if the boys see my reaction, it will only encourage them. How my friend can say this without laughing - and so calmly - is beyond me (she is smiling though). We move away from the shower to the lockers to get the boys dressed. Then I hear her say to her son, please get your finger out of your bum. I lose it. I am laughing so hard. What are you doing? Please stop putting your finger in your bum. She is laughing now too. There is another mother right next to us dressing her mild mannered son who gets up to leave. I am not sure if they were done. We give each other a look and continue laughing. Sometimes you just have to go with it.
The thing is, there is always something that we are addressing with young children. They are learning all the time and it is our job as parents to lead them in the right way. We think we are stating the obvious, when in fact we are teaching them (endlessly) what the obvious is.
Monday, February 4, 2008
Yes We Can - Barack Obama Music Video
This Obama video made me cry. It talks of the change and hope I want for my children. I believe he can engage people to help work towards a better country and future.
I like the way Caroline Kennedy said it when she endorsed Barack Obama: I want a President who understands that his responsibility is to articulate a vision and encourage others to achieve it; who holds himself, and those around him, to the highest ethical standards; who appeals to the hopes of those who still believe in the American Dream, and those around the world who still believe in the American ideal; and who can lift our spirits and make us believe again that our country needs every one of us to get involved.
I struggle a bit with not supporting Hillary - do not get me wrong, if she becomes the nominee I will support her 100 percent - but Obama makes me feel . Hillary does not. I feel hopeful of a future for my family (and for every family). I feel those citizens who are not engaged in public life will choose to be in some way. I feel that change is possible. Of course it is way more complicated than that. Yes, it would be amazing to have a woman as President and it seems that every woman I know who is supporting her says that. But that contrasts to Obama supporters - who do not seem to be saying that they want the first African American President - they are saying they want Obama. They want change (although I want to note that I just heard an interview on NPR that interviewed and African American woman who said she was voting for Obama because he was black).
At the end of the day we need change. It is not about Obama. It is not about Hillary. It is about you and me and what we can do.
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Trader Joe's
I should have not gone to Trader Joe's today. It was hell. In fact we almost did not make it - but for some reason I was determined. Why I continue taking my children grocery shopping with me is a mystery (except maybe I do not want to use what little free time I have for chores). Some days they are quite well behaved and somewhat helpful. Today was not one of those days.
After parking the car I notice I have forgotten my wallet. Shit. There is nothing to do but go home and get it - every errand I want to do this afternoon requires it. Kelan has already undone his seat belt. Lauren is dying to get out of the car. Nope. We have to go back home. I spend the majority of the ride home explaining (and re-explaining) that Mommy forgot her wallet and we need to go home to get it.
Half hour later we arrive back at Trader Joe's. Since the kids have been sitting for the duration, they are quite animated once we get inside. Great. Kelan is helping me get lots of things we do not need. Lauren is desperate for a snack (first aisle they have cheese sticks - thank goodness).
I am barely managing to get the things on my list, much less, control the kids. I should have given this shopping trip up when I forgot my wallet at home. But still, I am pushing through. Then I physically run into someone with the cart/kids. I look up and say excuse me, then realize that this is a person I know.
Now it must be said that when you leave the house looking like hell, you are going to run into to someone you know. It is also going to be someone that you have not seen in a long time. Lastly, it will be someone that you wanted to look good in front of (especially hair), and sadly that is not going to happen. The thing is - I rarely go out of the house without good hair. My friends will tell you I style my hair everyday - curlers, product, roller brush, hairspray - a refined process (it is a sickness - I know). So here I am with my hair up in a clip, a zip up fleece, jeans that have the cuffs so wrinkled up that they now highlight my beat up shoes, and the oh so timely breakout situation on my chin. Lovely.
No, this is not an ex-boyfriend. Worse. It is my ex-hairdresser, Robert. Here is a man who not only cut my hair for about 10 years, but who I hung out with socially for a period in my life. After I broke up with him in search of a new stylist (I just felt I needed a change) we remained friends but fell out of touch. I have a husband, kids and go to bed around 9:30pm. He does not. Robert is a wonderful person and it is great to see him, but dammit, I have bad hair!
Adding insult to injury, I have the misfortune of parking my cart near a vertical pole that has about 20 beef jerky bags clipped to it. Lauren proceeds to pull every bag off throwing them to the floor. Kelan thinks this is funny so he starts doing it too. Robert thinks this is the funniest of all and encourages the wreckage. Now just pull the bags off and throw them on the floor. Clearly he does not have children. No mom would dare say such a thing. Frantically I turn to Robert (while trying to clip the bags of beef jerky back on the pole) and say half jokingly, shut up! Kelan then turns to Robert and says shut up. Perfect. I corral the kids back into the cart - away from the fucking beef jerky - say my goodbyes to Robert and head down the aisle. I am exhausted.
For the remaining aisles, Kelan is constantly asking, are we done yet? Oh how I wish we were. Finally we make it to the cashier. Kelan decides to dance (and boy does he have moves) and Lauren is helping pass items to the clerk. There is a woman standing near me who says you sure have happy children. How very true. I do have happy children and that makes all the chaos seem worth it - sort of - I am still wishing I had good hair today.
After parking the car I notice I have forgotten my wallet. Shit. There is nothing to do but go home and get it - every errand I want to do this afternoon requires it. Kelan has already undone his seat belt. Lauren is dying to get out of the car. Nope. We have to go back home. I spend the majority of the ride home explaining (and re-explaining) that Mommy forgot her wallet and we need to go home to get it.
Half hour later we arrive back at Trader Joe's. Since the kids have been sitting for the duration, they are quite animated once we get inside. Great. Kelan is helping me get lots of things we do not need. Lauren is desperate for a snack (first aisle they have cheese sticks - thank goodness).
I am barely managing to get the things on my list, much less, control the kids. I should have given this shopping trip up when I forgot my wallet at home. But still, I am pushing through. Then I physically run into someone with the cart/kids. I look up and say excuse me, then realize that this is a person I know.
Now it must be said that when you leave the house looking like hell, you are going to run into to someone you know. It is also going to be someone that you have not seen in a long time. Lastly, it will be someone that you wanted to look good in front of (especially hair), and sadly that is not going to happen. The thing is - I rarely go out of the house without good hair. My friends will tell you I style my hair everyday - curlers, product, roller brush, hairspray - a refined process (it is a sickness - I know). So here I am with my hair up in a clip, a zip up fleece, jeans that have the cuffs so wrinkled up that they now highlight my beat up shoes, and the oh so timely breakout situation on my chin. Lovely.
No, this is not an ex-boyfriend. Worse. It is my ex-hairdresser, Robert. Here is a man who not only cut my hair for about 10 years, but who I hung out with socially for a period in my life. After I broke up with him in search of a new stylist (I just felt I needed a change) we remained friends but fell out of touch. I have a husband, kids and go to bed around 9:30pm. He does not. Robert is a wonderful person and it is great to see him, but dammit, I have bad hair!
Adding insult to injury, I have the misfortune of parking my cart near a vertical pole that has about 20 beef jerky bags clipped to it. Lauren proceeds to pull every bag off throwing them to the floor. Kelan thinks this is funny so he starts doing it too. Robert thinks this is the funniest of all and encourages the wreckage. Now just pull the bags off and throw them on the floor. Clearly he does not have children. No mom would dare say such a thing. Frantically I turn to Robert (while trying to clip the bags of beef jerky back on the pole) and say half jokingly, shut up! Kelan then turns to Robert and says shut up. Perfect. I corral the kids back into the cart - away from the fucking beef jerky - say my goodbyes to Robert and head down the aisle. I am exhausted.
For the remaining aisles, Kelan is constantly asking, are we done yet? Oh how I wish we were. Finally we make it to the cashier. Kelan decides to dance (and boy does he have moves) and Lauren is helping pass items to the clerk. There is a woman standing near me who says you sure have happy children. How very true. I do have happy children and that makes all the chaos seem worth it - sort of - I am still wishing I had good hair today.
Monday, January 14, 2008
The Joy of Eating
We eat as a family every night - something very important to me, even if it is just a bowl of cereal. Around 6pm, when Dan gets home from work, I call everyone to the table. This is when the fun begins.
Eating with Kelan and Lauren has proven to be a feat not unlike a carefully staged ballet. We are in constant motion: cleaning hands, standing up and down, moving from side to side, grabbing utensils from being dropped or banged, repositioning plates, cutting food, getting more food, picking up food from the floor and putting it back on the plate (yes, we eat food off the floor), retrieving kids running from the table, cleaning hands. Oh - Dan and I are trying to eat too.
If this production was not enough, I have two very different and selective eaters. Kelan eats a little bit of everything (and sometimes more than me) while Lauren primarily eats white food (read: starches), beef, mozzarella sticks and dried blueberries. Therein lies my challenge - what to cook. I try to prepare one meal for all, but sometimes have to resort to old standbys for the kids.
I can count on salami, but it must be cut up into little pieces because Lauren will shove the entire slice (or slices) into her mouth (and consequently gag up the partially chewed meat into my hand). If I cut Lauren's salami there is usually a good chance Kelan will want his the same way. Mini ravioli is a house favorite but it must be said that Kelan likes Parmesan cheese sprinkled on top and Lauren does not. Hot dogs (sliced in many pieces) are also a staple in the house. Although Kelan is in this phase of peeling the skin off each one - which makes for a very greasy mess. He is also in this phase of only eating the top part of his broccoli spears.
Lauren's dinning experience on the other hand can be over before it has even begun. If she does not like what is on her plate (preferences subject to change without notice) she will shriek/cry and refuse to sit at the table. If you do indeed get her in her seat, she will either push her plate far away or throw the food everywhere. Lesson: make sure there is at least one favorite item on her plate to avoid a meltdown.
If my children do not like what is on their plate, they do have a choice: this or nothing. Seriously. I am not a short order cook and do not plan on becoming one. Dan and I also subscribe to the when/then system when it comes to food. When you have finished what is on your plate, then you may have some more. This works on Kelan (and hopefully on Lauren when she gets older). At times, Kelan and Lauren have both made the choice not to eat dinner for various reasons - neither of them are wasting away so I think we are okay with them missing a meal.
So for now ketchup and sour cream are considered a food (not a condiment), vitamins are lozenges to be sucked on for seconds before they end up on my living room floor only to be found days later, likes and dislikes can change 180 degrees - and back - without notification, chicken nuggets are only good when in a Happy Meal and eating is considered a sport.
Eating with Kelan and Lauren has proven to be a feat not unlike a carefully staged ballet. We are in constant motion: cleaning hands, standing up and down, moving from side to side, grabbing utensils from being dropped or banged, repositioning plates, cutting food, getting more food, picking up food from the floor and putting it back on the plate (yes, we eat food off the floor), retrieving kids running from the table, cleaning hands. Oh - Dan and I are trying to eat too.
If this production was not enough, I have two very different and selective eaters. Kelan eats a little bit of everything (and sometimes more than me) while Lauren primarily eats white food (read: starches), beef, mozzarella sticks and dried blueberries. Therein lies my challenge - what to cook. I try to prepare one meal for all, but sometimes have to resort to old standbys for the kids.
I can count on salami, but it must be cut up into little pieces because Lauren will shove the entire slice (or slices) into her mouth (and consequently gag up the partially chewed meat into my hand). If I cut Lauren's salami there is usually a good chance Kelan will want his the same way. Mini ravioli is a house favorite but it must be said that Kelan likes Parmesan cheese sprinkled on top and Lauren does not. Hot dogs (sliced in many pieces) are also a staple in the house. Although Kelan is in this phase of peeling the skin off each one - which makes for a very greasy mess. He is also in this phase of only eating the top part of his broccoli spears.
Lauren's dinning experience on the other hand can be over before it has even begun. If she does not like what is on her plate (preferences subject to change without notice) she will shriek/cry and refuse to sit at the table. If you do indeed get her in her seat, she will either push her plate far away or throw the food everywhere. Lesson: make sure there is at least one favorite item on her plate to avoid a meltdown.
If my children do not like what is on their plate, they do have a choice: this or nothing. Seriously. I am not a short order cook and do not plan on becoming one. Dan and I also subscribe to the when/then system when it comes to food. When you have finished what is on your plate, then you may have some more. This works on Kelan (and hopefully on Lauren when she gets older). At times, Kelan and Lauren have both made the choice not to eat dinner for various reasons - neither of them are wasting away so I think we are okay with them missing a meal.
So for now ketchup and sour cream are considered a food (not a condiment), vitamins are lozenges to be sucked on for seconds before they end up on my living room floor only to be found days later, likes and dislikes can change 180 degrees - and back - without notification, chicken nuggets are only good when in a Happy Meal and eating is considered a sport.
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
Ultimate Carmel Cup
I am a little embarrassed to say this: I eat ice cream every night. This is no exaggeration. I eat a bowl of ice cream every night. It all started a couple of years ago - after Kelan was born - when Dan brought home some ice cream. He knows I love carmel and he happened upon a particular flavor at the store. Ultimate Carmel Cup. The thing is, I never used to really eat ice cream. I could take it or leave it. That is until Ultimate Carmel Cup.I could sell this stuff. Seriously. I love introducing the flavor to Ultimate Carmel Cup virgins. Just thinking about it makes my mouth water. To break it down - the ice cream is three fold. There is the ice cream which is carmel flavored. There is actual carmel swirled into the ice cream, and if that wasn't enough, there are little milk chocolate carmel filled cups throughout this little bit of heaven.
I used to tell myself that I would only eat it when I was breastfeeding (I was burning so many calories while nursing I could afford to eat a bowl every night...). Well, that year came and went with Kelan, yet I still needed my fix. Luckily - for my ice cream addiction - I became pregnant again. Read: good excuse to eat ice cream for nine months. And then I nursed Lauren for a year. Read: good excuse to eat ice cream for 12 more months.
In the evening once the kids have gone to sleep, I shower (there is no showering in the morning with Kelan and Lauren), get ready for the evening, scoop out a delicious bowl and sit on the couch. Then I have a moment not unlike the exhale moment in the movie Waiting to Exhale. Dan and I do not drink, so there is no glass of wine to end the day, but there IS the bowl of ice cream.
I cannot be at home knowing there is not at least one gallon in the freezer (the picture above is not staged - this is what I have in my home at this very moment). It is like toilet paper - a must have. In the past, I have actually sent my cousin Laura to the store at the end of her babysitting shift to buy Ultimate Carmel Cup when I suddenly realize I am out (when Dan is out of town and I must be at home with sleeping kids). It is that good.
For some reason, I am not as big as a house. Of course it begs the question what my waist line would look like without the daily dose of ice cream... But for now I need/want it. At the end of a long day with the kids (especially when Dan is out of town) it helps me relax. For tonight, Kelan and Lauren are asleep. I have showered. Ultimate Carmel Cup has been eaten. I am going to sleep. Goodnight.
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