Day 345

This week has been busy. I had a date with my favorite 36-year-old. We went to the Bluebird Tavern. There, the Pickled Tomatoes on Toast are incredible, even without the smoked bacon butter. 

We took Kai, who'd been crying for an hour, to the doctor - on a Sunday - to have his ears checked. They were all clear. We went for a family walk through the woods. Which was mostly miserable. Until we got to the top of the trail and I pulled out the thermos of cocoa. 

I had a date with my favorite four-year-old. We picked out books at the library and swung by the bookstore to hear Christina read (have you gotten your copy of A Field Guide to Now yet? No? Do it. Now.) We stopped for a cupcake. 

I suffered through round two of the stomach flu. I drank mint tea. I got better. 

I danced to Tom Waits. Had some very productive days at work. 

I voted. With a 2-year-old. Who said "there's an eye!" every time I colored in an oval. I watched the results roll in. I held my breath. I exhaled.   

I watched Jules teach Kai how to play "cut the pickle." I smiled wide when Kai told me, "Jules is my friend." 

These are good days. 

Day 307

Yesterday on the Instagram feed of some random photographer whom I follow but do not know, I saw this quote: "Comparison is the thief of joy." Teddy Roosevelt.

And I thought, yessssss. 

I've been there, measuring myself up against the Joneses, thinking things like, 

Wow, she's like 25, and has produced four novels and four children, WTF have I been doing?   

All my organic chemistry study buddies are making a gazillion dollars a year as chemical engineers and anesthesiologists while I am earning the same word-rate as I made in 2000... to write about carrots. 

Why didn't I stick with teaching dance - or get that MFA instead of the MS? That creative life seems so much... better. 

Then I get real: I count my blessings. I acknowledge that I have a great life, that I have accomplished many of my goals, that I am truly happy for these other highly successful people. And then I mostly move on. 

So I was thinking this... and suddenly I was realizing that comparisons, done right, don't thieve joy at all. They can inspire, they can empower, they can highlight the unique qualities that make you - or the people you love - awesome. 

You can compare yourself to that co-worker who does not necessarily have extraordinarily mad athletic skills and who just rocked her first marathon and think, "I can do that."

You can watch your friend grow an awesome business and realize, "If I am willing to focus all of my energy and loads of time into that one passion that consumes me, I can do that too." 

You can make caramel apples, using the recipe from EatingWell, compare them to the photo and say, "These look like shit  - probably because was too impatient to thoroughly dry the apples. But they taste great, so who cares?" And then realize - happily - that you're not a TOTAL control freak. 

You can look at your two little boys and recognize how the same they are  - and how so very different. How one is sensitive, passionate and uber-perceptive and the other, an ever-pleasant hot-mess who can smile himself out of any sticky situation. A Bert & Ernie of sorts. (They actually dressed as the duo last Halloween.)

And through comparison, you begin to pinpoint the awesome qualities that define each of them, those two boys you love so fiercely. You love them the same. But differently. I get it now, Mom. Maybe you don't really have a favorite. (But I still think it's Kate. And that's cool... )

#fail - or not? 

Guess which one? (Hint: he's sort of our Bert)

And Ernie... 

Day 300

It's late and I'm tired and tomorrow is going to be a long (but not at all in a bad way - guest lecturing at UVM, Christina's book party, date with Manova and, um, work)... but it's Day 300. How can I skip Day 300? In the interest of capturing things fast, I'm bullet-pointing it. Here's what I discovered today:

• Watching a Presidential debate counts as a bona fide date, as it demonstrates that, indeed, Jon and I are on the same page. And that we each think the other is pretty effing funny. (Even if we're the only ones.)

• Speaking of love (yeah, I was) and crushes: apparently this all starts when you're four-ish. It's then when your "heart starts beating really fast" when you see your favorite girl. The girl that you love more than ice cream but not more than gummies, the one who is approximately 20 years your senior. 

• I don't really want a pixie cut. What I really want is the sort of reverse mullet - party in the front, business in the back (with an little Alfalfa situation at the crown) - that was my last cut. Hannah - if you happen to be reading -  I take full responsibility for this current style ... you perfectly executed my "go short! go short! my hair grows superfast!" direction. But here's a good visual for next time:  

I love this haircut. And these earrings. And the guy on the left.
(The dark under-eye circles and big zit on my neck - not so much.)

Day 292

He was screaming my name as I walked through the door after dance class.

First thought: Oh no... One of those nights. It was 9:30. And we'd already had one of those mornings.

I headed for the stairs, preparing for requests for water, the fan, more music... in whatever the night's random order might be.

"He has something for you," Jon called to me from the other room.

Jules met me in the doorway of his bedroom, where just outside - in the fully lit (!) hallway - Demps stood guard. He was beaming, in avocado-green lumberjack-monkey PJs. Sort of shyly, he extended his little hand which held a carefully taped purple package.

"I made it for you, Mama. It's art for your work. And I wrapped it so you couldn't see it. Like Christmas."

Wrapped it he did. When I gently unfolded the Scotch-secured construction-paper outer envelope, there, inside, was another present, packaged up in a gold-embossed elephant design, paper I purchased years ago when my friend Beth was selling it as a fundraiser for little Marty's pre-school. Marty will be 11 in a couple of weeks. Damn.

While Jules leaned in proudly, I got to the center of my surprise: a piece of driftwood, artfully colored with what looks to have been lush oil-based crayons. Apparently he made it at school, "the end of the day, Mama" and, according to Jon, insisted on spending most of the evening wrapping it up. For me. (Which means a lot to this Mama of a Daddy's boy.)

I will cherish it forever.

Day 286

"Boys will be boys."  

"Ah, they're just acting like boys." 

Re: all variations of this refrain... not a fan. I don't like ascribing personality traits to genders... but, today, my kids were acting the way people say boys act. All crazy and tackle-y and shit. 

First, at they park, they played "fireman." (This is not crazy. This is fun. And classically childlike.) But this game is noteworthy today for the following side note reason: apparently, firemen these days only fight fires by appointment. Said Jules to Kai, as he scrambled up the ladder: "Kai, I have to get up to this fireman appointment. Quick! Follow me." 

Then, at home, while I attempted to change sheets on Julian's bed, they tackled each other again and again... Jules was sitting on Kai, his knobby-kneed legs pretzel-wrapped around his little bro's torso. They were both screaming. With Joy. This, while I fired off a series of cliche mom phrases in rapid succession: "off his neck!" "stop!" "you're hurting him" "quit sitting on his face" and, finally, "you're going to smash someone's eye into the radiator."

Outside, they squealed with delight while squirting each other with the "squirty thing" (the water gun that is not a gun). I told Jules to turn the hose off, that it was cold and it was time to go inside and then said F it. They're having fun. So I sat on the deck and read a (page of a) magazine while the had their water fight. Until they really were cold. 

And then Jules wanted to come in and "walk" Dempsey through the house. Demps was the reindeer and Jules, apparently, was Santa, handing out presents: a framed photo for me; a puzzle for Kai, who just wanted the damn leash. So he swatted and growled at Jules until they again erupted into a tumble of limbs. 

Sigh. Then I just started tuning it all out. So loud and so physical. I am very loud. But lately, I am very tired. (Which is apparent, apparently. Tonight, Julian asked me why I had two black eyes.) So I'm not so physical. But this point in the (still early) eve, my attitude was this: If you want to waste a bunch of energy rolling around on the floor, go for it.

Fireman, wresting, water fights... it wasn't until I was washing dishes in the kitchen and overheard a lesson on how to wipe one's @ss safely and effectively that it started to sink in: I live with a bunch of "boys" (who, in many ways, already behave as stereotypically defined). I will overhear many discussions of sh*t, and future ones won't be so instructional. There will be more play-fighting and yelling and water throwing. 

I think I need to start drinking more beer. 

Day 277

Some things about yourself are just hard to hear... but you appreciate the fact that someone has had the courage to say them. 

Tonight, just after bedtime (read: when Julian whined so convincingly that he was hungry that I started to believe him and let him come downstairs for a snack), I sat across from him and asked him a question I've asked him several times before.  This time I asked in an objective, curious - you might even say professional (recall: I am trained as journalist) - way: 

"Why do you so often ask for Daddy to read you books? Is there something I could do better when I read you books?"

Jules, peeling a clementine over his "Sunny Days" placement, glances up, and very seriously says this: 

"Mom. I should tell you: Some people are just not good at different voices. You can't talk like Grover. Dad is just like Grover. So I like him to read me books and pat my back."

This kid, I tell you, is very perceptive. I do suck at voices. And I know it. A few years ago in the Spielpalast Cabaret, I played Mika, a dancer, a coquette, a poor Polish girl - who basically turned out also to be mute because speaking with an accent, even speaking in a voice that wasn't my own, on stage, made me self-conscious. Very self-conscious. 

I'm not self-conscious using different voices to read to the boys. I am merely incompetent. Completely incompetent. I'll start off using a deep slow voice for Toad and switch to my normal tone when it's time for the narrator to talk. Then I try something dapper and peppy for Frog... but I can't nail it down. It's sort of a cross between Toad, myself and Humphrey Bogart on novocaine. Point is, the kid is right. I am "not so good at different voices." Jon's spirited storytelling style trumps my lame nighttime "reading" routine big time. Of course, Jules wants him to read the books.

The good news is that Jules not only provided an explanation for his parent reading preference, he also offered a prescription for improvement (when I asked him if I should practice). 

"Yes, Mom," he said. "You should practice. I'm going to tell you how long you should practice."

"Ok..."

"You should practice for 100 years." 

"I can't practice for 100 years, Jules."

"Why?"

"Because."

"Why can't you practice for 100 years?"

I chose my words wisely because (if you read this blog you know) I still have much to learn about discussing death with children. 

"I don't have that much time, Jules."

"Why? Because you might die?"

I nod slightly.

"Well then practice for 16 years," he said. "You should get a good Grover voice by then."

I can't make this shit up. Seriously. 

Day 265

Since I just spent the last hour sitting here watching video lectures about "gamification" and I want to read my book and I need to clean the kitchen and I guess, physiologically, I do require sleep (blah for that), I will limit my entries to captions. (I'm finding more and more that I'm NEEDING to blog to process my day to keep the "right" perspective.)

Anyway, what I must remember from today, in photos:

Photo #1: Two boys in a tub, "brushing" their teeth (plus my feet)

Important takeaways: Look at how cute they are. Remember this the two times tomorrow and the next day and the next when I am engaged in the teeth-brushing battles that drive me to drink. (I'm sort of serious.) 

Note: They're in the tub with their toothbrushes because this was my attempt tonight to make tooth-brushing more fun. Perhaps an indirect influence of all this talk about using fun and games to drive behavior change. 

Photo #2: Me, at work, listening to Pandora, wearing giant headphones

Important takeways: I am about 500% more productive with a soundtrack. Instagram filters are the best cure for bad skin. 

Photo #3: Lake Champlain, early morn

Important takeaways: I live in an absolutely breath-takingly beautiful place (even if I didn't really capture that at all in this sucky picture). Running first thing in the a.m. does wonders for my day. 

Photo #4: Sprinkles, with ice cream (Kai's)

Important takeaways: Seize the day. Summer's fading to fall, so get creemees while you can. And beware the crazy sprinkle lady. 

Day 263

If you're a regular reader of this blog, you know that I struggle with the swift passage of time. That, despite the fact that Jules has been in daycare since he was four-months old (and Kai, part-time since he was 8 weeks old), the day next year when he leaves for kindergarten, I will weep. In fact, I may weep for a week (off and on). This sounds extreme, indeed, but if you know me, you know that I an extraordinary weeper. 

And if you don't know me, I'll paint you a picture: I cry when I'm sad, I cry when I'm angry, I cry when I'm happy. I sobbed through Julian's baby-room graduation video a few years ago and - yesterday - during much of this beautiful (hour-long) tribute to David Rakoff on This American Life. In the car. With my entire family. (Luckily the boys were sleeping - the whole scene would have been quite confusing for them, I suspect.) I tear up looking at pictures of friends with their grandmothers, old dogs with teeny babes, my brother and me when we were little kids. 

But today, on Facebook, I loved seeing the dozens of photos of kids heading off to school, some of them for the first time. (Don't get me wrong: many of these images - and the status updates of some of the parents who were struggling with transitions - tugged at my heart.) 

Jon and I tried to take our own pictures, today - of Jules heading off to his last year of preschool (his first day as a Zebra) and Kai who moved on up to the full-fledged toddler room (of "Dragonflies.")

This is the shot I got:

Right?

I tried again at school and got this photo: 

Made possible by bribery (getting to climb this tree in the morning) and my trusty assistant Tracy (below). No smiles - but, here we've got faces. 

Here's the thing: Life isn't picture perfect. And these photos make me laugh. But I wasn't laughing when I was taking these shots. I was genuinely annoyed. (I was even more genuinely annoyed when Jules refused to put away my laptop after dinner and slammed it on the kitchen table. I lost my shit.) 

I started this blog as a motivator to overcome my fears. But I keep writing it because it's serving as a sort of "lighten-up lens" for my life. Putting my day down the page gives me perspective.

Seeing things in print, I can see: Life is good. Very good. It's super-fun. I can so see that in retrospect, when I'm writing it and reading it. In the moment, though, I  have trouble succumbing to the fun, trouble recognizing when is the time to give in, to laugh with abandon, to stop directing and correcting. 

Do you know the secret to finding that balance? If so, please share.

Day 255

Before we got into the car this morning, the boys ate pancakes shaped like Mickey Mouse, said good-bye to Papa Jon, Grandma Val, cousin Anna, Dad and Demps. When Ri rolled up in the Swagger Wagon, we hopped in. It was 8:30 a.m.

The day was gorgeous and the early part of ride was wrapped in Adirondacks... falcons soared, the sky was blue.

About an hour or so in "Kai throwed up." It was Cheerios induced and luckily we had a suitcase full of clean clothes and a fresh blanket. The incident occurred right at a spot where - serendipitously - there was a pull-off (with picnic tables, even!) along the highway. Luck was on our side.

I drove till lunch, easily - a notable feat ... highway driving makes my heart flutter, my jaw tense. After PB&J sandwiches, Ri's deconstructed Edible Arrangments birthday treat and chocolate milk, we piled back in. Ri took the wheel. The boys fell asleep and I tuned the XM to Lil' Wayne. 

We dropped off Ri somewhere near Northeast, a land full of "wine trees." (Seriously, that's what I called the grape vines today. Not for fun. Because that's how my brain was registering them. Sometimes I worry about my brain.) Memories came flooding back - a visit to these shores of Lake Erie with my admissions-office friends, the summer I was 19 ... the one I first felt like an adult.

I drove down 79, the familiar highway stretch - traveled often during my Allegheny days. Then onto 80 West for that short connection... so short I missed my usual exit... and started to worry. At the peak of my panic, Kai started freaking for me to take off his shoe. That was impossible with all of the big trucks and the long Swagger-Wagon stretch between the driver's seat and the bucket seat behind. I kept my eyes on the road and my hands on the wheel. Kai kept up a steady wail, while Jules told him to shush. A doe appeared at the edge of the trees and my heart leap into my throat. She paused, we passed. Big exhale. 

And then... a promising exit that wound round to another familiar stretch. Ultimately the roads spit us out right by the driver's testing facility where, 20 years ago, they gave me my first driver's license... which I'm not sure I actually earned, just driving around that small circle and pulling up beside the curb.

We arrived "home" at just after 7. And all of those hours in the car... they were worth it. 

For reasons like this: 

And this: 

Plus more fun to come... 

Day 252

Last night - over pizza at Chris and Ri's - this what is I promised: I would wake up SUPER early. Then I would wake Julian up. The two of us would drive to YaYa's (Yaya = Ri). And we three - Jules, Ri and I - would go for a hike in the woods. We would find the owl. Then we would have breakfast together. THEN we would go get Kai and go to school. I also secretly planned that when I got home, I would make a bunch of delish muffins that we could eat for breakfast. I would also bring over a special iced latte. "Tomorrow" (today) was YaYa's birthday.

But this is what happened: after pizza, Jon went back to work and I put the boys to bed. Then I put on my pajamas (leaving in my contacts and - randomly - my dangly gold earrings). I sat down on the couch with a magazine. And promptly fell asleep. Around 9:45, I think. Hours later, Jon got home and tried to get me to come to bed. I didn't budge... until Jon brought Kai down at 6:45 - three-quarters of an hour after Jules and I were scheduled to depart. 

There wasn't time to do the plan. I broke the news to Jules when I woke him up. He was devastated. 

I promised. 

It's true. I promised. So I skipped a shower and pulled on my clothes while Jon dressed the boys. I ran outside and cut some flowers - a bunch for Jules, a bunch for Kai - while Jon brushed the boys' teeth. Jules, Kai and I raced out the door. 

It wasn't a long walk. (Aside: Jules told us that it wasn't a walk in the woods at all because we were turning around. I started to protest and then he explained "we didn't do a loop." I'm not a fan of out-and-back running races so the kid had a point. Ri suggested a turn that led us through the trees. It worked: It instantly met all of the criteria for walk in the woods. ) 

And we didn't see the owl. We didn't sit around eating Happy Birthday muffins. 

But breaking out of my usual rushed morning routine to take two little boys to bring bright yellow bouquets to one of their favorite people in the world was just the start I needed today. Happy Birthday, YaYa - and thanks, Ri, for always making my days brighter.

Day 247

"Is it the weekend yet?" In the last half-year or so, Jules has been trying to wrap his head around the days of the week, what they mean.* It's taken a while for him to grasp the idea that, on Friday, the answer about whether it's the weekend or not is half-yes. And half-no. 

((Tangentially related side note: When I ask Kai, "when did you become such a big boy?" he answers without hesitation, "Tuesdays." Not Tuesday. Tuesdays. Plural. Every time. And every time, it cracks me up.))

But the answer to Julian's "weekend?" question becomes a solid yes at about 6:30 a.m. on Saturday. And more often than not, "weekend" Jonic-style kicks off in the kitchen, where we make pancakes while Vivaldi, or Miles Davis or Vampire Weekend plays on the under-the-cabinet Sony CD player that I pretty much consider one of my best purchases ever (you can plug an iPod into it too).

Jules does much of the pancake making now - which goes well until Kai
attempts to act as the sous sous chef.

The specific sort of pancakes we make varies depending on whether Jon or I is executive-cheffing (today it was me ... Jon had a bonfire/movie night/sleepover with a bunch of this friends). When I'm in charge, I use this recipe, which is my (healthified) variation of one in the 1975 edition Joy of Cooking, a 36th birthday gift from Kate.

Here it is: 

1 cup whole wheat pastry flour

1/2 cup all-purpose flour

3/4 tsp baking soda

1/2 tsp baking powder

1/2 tsp salt

2 cups of buttermilk (I usually end up making it by mixing 2 TBSP lemon juice into 2 cups of 1% milk because I always forget to buy buttermilk. This should be your first step as you need to let it sit for 10 minutes or so.)

1 egg

2 TBSP canola oil

2 TBSP honey (I always measure the oil first. It lubes the measuring spoon so the honey slips right off)

I mix the dry ingredients. Beat together the wet ingredients. Combine, then cook them up on the griddle. I serve them with Vermont maple syrup and fruit. Today, it was strawberries and cantaloupe.

Note: This batter is thin - not great for holding the Mickey Mouse shapes that Julian always requests - but no one seems to mind. Today, Jules declared these pancakes his favorite in the whole world. Win.

Day 244

Today, one of my colleagues mentioned that her son is heading off to college this Sunday. My heart hurt for her. Of COURSE, I want my boys to move along - boldly - when that time comes. In the mean time, here's what I'm hoping I can help them grow to know: 

1. Everyone is just as important as you are. You are just as important as everyone else. Most people are fascinating. In a social situation, ask lots of questions as long as the answers are flowing freely, with enthusiasm. And when someone starts squirming, stop interrogating them. (Then apologize, tell them you're a journalist and you just can't turn off. This has worked for me.)

2. Don't fight so hard. Humor is the best way to deflect tension. Going for a run works too. (I'm hoping that I will learn these things in the next 14 or so years too.) 

3. You should follow your dreams and be what you want. (Um, even if that means dressing up as Mickey Mouse for Halloween. Seriously, Jules? Mickey Mouse sucks. I say this here only because you can't read yet. To thine own self be true. )

4. Speak your mind-but it's rude to interrupt others. And if you can't stop - it's in your DNA, you're half Italian and grew up with loud, interrupting parents after all - explain to new peeps that you're fighting hard against this tendency but losing the battle. Ask them to interrupt you back. 

5. Yes, you can run that marathon. You can study animals in Africa for a living. Or pursue a professional music career. But you'll have to work hard. And you'll give up other stuff. Hmm... I think this is a rep of #2. 

6. How to make whip together a salad with whatever you have on hand, bake an enviable apple pie and simmer up a mean curry. Everyone loves a good cook. You should know how to make meals. Simple delicious meals from real ingredients. Maybe even ones that you grow yourself.

That's all for now. And this list is by no means comprehensive. Or prioritized. But it is important.

Day 216

Dear Kai and Julian,

I am sorry. Sorry I let Dad take you to the Hairy Bear and get your cute surfer-dude do's lopped off into crops that look quite a lot like Jim Carrey in Dumb and Dumber. (Click. It's worth the laugh.) Of course I still think you are incredibly handsome little men. (I'm your mother. That is part of my job.) But oh how I loved the fringe that fell into your eyes... the little wisps that hung over your ears. The sweet mullets that told everyone... oh, hey...  there's a party out back. But here's the thing: We let you boys play and play hard. So when there are grass stains on your shorts, dirt under your finger nails and bangs that obstruct your vision, people start wondering if you actually have parents. 

Hence, the cuts. 

Don't get me wrong: I don't regret the choice. It had to be done - and before we know it your shorn locks will fill out to the perfect length the way hot coffee cools to the ideal temp... it's a fleeting moment and I'll have to remember to drink it all up before it's gone. Plus, you're both pretty happy about the situation overall... what with those helium-filled balloons--pink for you, Jules (of course), orange for you, Kai--and the choking-hazard lollipops that come free with every cut. 

Sleep tight, my loves. I look forward to your tousled bed heads at breakfast. 

Love,

Your Mom

PS: I'm seriously contemplating a pixie. (That, guys, means a super-short hair cut.) I may look better with longer hair but I'm craving a big change. This super hilarious blog entry (which I ran into, perusing the web for pixie-cut images) might have tipped me into taking action. Might. Have.

Day 195

One thing I work hard to do as a parent is to see my kids for individuals they are - not as extensions of me, or  of Jon. Not Mini-Me's of ourselves.

That said, Jules and I have some striking similarities: a quick, gummy smile... a voice that carries wide and far... the need to be in motion constantly... a love of music and dancing and reading and eating... unbridled passion. 

Of course, I see plenty of Jon in Jules too. For instance, he has an engineer's brain and a budding athlete's muscle-y bod. Also, when faced with a captive audience, he turns the topic to poop. Apparently.

Like Father, like son (6/18/2012, Stowe Pinnacle)

Today, was Julian's first day of soccer camp. Barely four, he's one of the youngest "campers" (if not the youngest camper) in the group. But we decided to sign him up, given that he wanted to go and that one of his favorite teachers from school is on the coaching staff.

When I left the field, things appeared to be going well: little soccer players, some in orange vests, were buzzing around the field. When I arrived to pick Jules up at noon, he was pulling off another boy's sock. But he seemed to straighten up and joined in obediently for the final team huddle; still, I worried that we'd rushed things, that we'd sent him too early. 

When I saw his coach/teacher a little later, I asked her for the scoop: "Did he do okay today?"

"He was awesome."

"But I saw him pulling another kid's leg..."

"Yeah, but that kid said he needed help getting off his sock." 

Fair enough.

Then coach/teacher continued: "... but he did say the funniest thing at circle."

In the brief pause, I assumed that what I'd hear next would be something cute, something endearing... 

Wrong.

"While everyone was having snack, Jules announced that 'once he did a little squirt in his underpants. Not a poop - just a little squirt.' And then he started cracking up." 

Um... "He said what!?" (And who uses the word "squirt"?)

She repeated the story, then added that the whole group of - mostly slightly older - kids thought it was great, hilarious. At that, I felt relief. (Though I'm pretty sure that's not a responsible parent reaction.)

Suddenly, I flashed back to a scene a decade ago... 

The setting was an old "manor" in Charlotteville, where my friend Ronda - then a doctoral student studying Shakespeare at UVA - was hosting an end-of-semester (?) or holiday (?) black-tie soiree with several friends. We were having a great time and at some point I left Jon to refresh my martini...

... after refilling my drink, I meandered and mingled before eventually spotting my tux-sporting man across the room. He was looking particularly dashing and he was talking to a handsome couple, also elegantly clad. 

"Look at my hot guy over there, making new friends" -  I'm sure I thought something of the sort. 

Then, I got close enough to hear the conversation. 

"Tell me your favorite shit story." This is what I heard. This is what I heard JON say. To the classy couple.

I wanted to die. 

And then dignified duo burst into laughter, carrying on until tears streamed down their faces. 

Still... not cool. 

Day 170

I posted the picture below on Facebook and a friend from college called it "alternative magazine cover worthy." (hey, thanks!) So what, then, would be the cover story? Well... It might be an evocative political piece about throwback values (something I'd love to read!) or a feature on how people my age and older are thinking about food in ways more like their grandparents than their parents (I've actually written about that before).

I wish I had time to tackle such topics, and do them justice. But right now I am sitting in a parking garage, typing on my phone, a tad early for a conference because I rushed out this morning worried that I might be late...so I will just tell you the story behind the photo:

- I have been at a conference all week.
- My mom flew in yesterday, early evening.
- I saw a note from Megan on Facebook that reminded me I had to make muffins for the preschool bake sale.
- We (Mom, Jon, boys and I) went to Flatbread for dinner.
- We walked to the Farmhouse to wish Mike B. a happy birthday (left Jon there).
- Mom and I went home ... bathed and "booked" the boys, then put them to bed
- I cleaned up the kitchen (tying on this apron, a thrifted gift from Holly).
- Mom and I chatted.
- I complained that I needed to make muffins.
- Jon came home.
- We all chatted.
- I discovered we had no bran.
- It became 11:30 pm.
- I pulled out The Joy of Cooking (the 1975 version, a 36th birthday gift from Sister Kate).
- I realized I had a shit-ton of sour cream. And strawberries.
- It became midnight. I was tired and sorta annoyed.
- I poured some wine.
- I made sour cream muffins. Mini ones. I added strawberries. They were organic.
- I made Jon take this picture of me.
- I chatted with Mom and Jon. I was more tired but less annoyed.
- We sampled muffins. Yum - their taste was sorta like that of pancakes.

I dropped them off this morning at Julian's classroom for the bake sale. He is at home with Grandma Kath. And I'm about to go inside now to listen to scientific lectures on how to "combat obesity." (Which I find fascinating.)

Grateful for... my ability to improv with on-hand ingredients, Mom and JO's company, "perfect" gifts (cookbook, apron).

Day 161

It's been a week filled with performing arts:

To kick off things off, Jon and I celebrated the Sabbath by attending Spielpalast Cabaret's scandalous show. (If you live in Burlington and don't know about this burlesque cabaret, click on the link. Buy tickets. It's running for two more weeks and it's not to be missed.) I laughed. I cried... I laughed harder. I felt inspired and empowered and so very happy to be in a community with an abundance of talented, passionate peeps. I also felt a little sad that I wasn't on stage. (I performed with the group a few years ago and loved every minute of it.) Or dancing at all. I realized that I miss dance. Terribly.

Then I learned that the next day (yesterday) the spring-semester dance classes at the Flynn were putting on a recital. (Many of these classes are taught the amazing Lois Trombley, director and co-creator of Spielpalast.) I pinged Jon and suggested we take the boys. This show wasn't scandalous. But it was awesome. There were middle-school girls (and a couple of boys) rocking what might have been their stage debuts. There was a tap-dancing troupe that included an 80-year-old guy and his daughter. There was a beautiful lyrical performed by Lois's Afro-jazz dancers (including my friend Melissa). And there were two engaged little boys on my lap--and Jon's. They clapped at the right times. Jules asked questions about the moves and the dancers - including "why aren't there more boys?" (Good question. My answer: I don't know but boys who dance are super cool.) After an hour, Jules was hungry and Kai had dropped a nasty bomb in his pants that needed attending. We bailed early... but Jon and I were psyched. Our little boys - just 4 and 2 - seem to appreciate the arts as much as we do. 

It often seems that way... Jules shouts "Vivaldi" whenever we turn on any music that's instrumental. This evening, it was Miles Davis. Usually, our pre-dinner routine involves a kid-initiated dance party to Mos Def or Vampire Weekend. Tonight, Jules demanded that Kai and I make a band with him. He played the ukelele and sang - loudly. I was instructed to beat on two drums while blowing into a plastic flute designed to be used in the bathtub. Kai was assigned to a guitar shaped like a dog that plays itself but opted instead to sit in the middle of our assemble and quietly amuse himself with a picture book about animals. 

But does this mean that Jules is "really into the arts" and could potentially benefit from an arts-focused elementary school curriculum in the near future? Or is my interest in exploring the Integrated Arts Academy for him just me wishing that I could have gone to such an elementary school? Am I projecting my interests onto him... a stage mom in the making? I mean the kid does love basketball. And baseball. And worms. 

These were thoughts running through my head as I drove home from the Flynn show with foul-smelling Kai in the backseat. (Jules left with Jon - we'd come from our respective offices.) Kai and I were pointing out things we were seeing along the way and, as we passed Burlington High School with its football and baseball fields, I heard Kai say, "purple flowers." We had, after all, just passed a lilac tree.

Purple flowers? I repeated. 

No, no, he corrected me sweetly, amused by how far off my interpretation was. He repeated himself.

Purple flowers? I said again. (What didn't I understand about the double no?)

No, no, no. Now Kai was full-out giggling. He repeated the two words again, then added one more: Catch.

Football players?

Yes! 

Hmm... A sign? I'm projecting, huh?

Day 152

Years ago, I assumed I'd never be the kind of person who'd succumb to "cliches" like obsessing over strands of grey and wrinkles or how swiftly little babes sprout into big boys. Now, I'm 36 with two kids--and genes that set me up for early greys, dark under-eye circles and ... nostalgia.

Today, I got a text from my friend: her "baby" turned two yesterday, three days after Kai's 2nd birthday, the same day my big guy turned four. She'd been weepy all weekend. Miraculously, I hadn't. Maybe because I'd been too busy moving. My mom came in on Monday; my sis and dad flew up on Friday, a few hours after I jetted down to NYC for the James Beard Awards. I returned Saturday morning in time for a fabulous fiesta to celebrate the boys' birthdays. We all spent today riding bikes and shooting hoops. I love my life right now--right now.

But I get teary all too often, thinking how quickly we seem to be creating new Shutterfly calenders with new pictures of the boys, who are taller and leaner in each version.

There's nothing I can do to stop time. Nothing anyone can do. 

But... we can try to soak up every moment. Or, as my new magenta bikini said to me, as she begged me to bring her home: "All we can do is rock the right now." 

The tankini in my drawer makes me feel frumpy. This color is hot. So, no, I don't have a supermodel shape and I do have cellulite. But my belly is fairly flat, even after two kids, and this swimsuit just felt right. Right now. And probably won't in a few years. So I bought it (breaking The Compact). More than a swimsuit, it offers a good reminder: Seize the day. Rock the right now. Love, live up every moment.

PS: I realize that this may seem like a very far-fetched way to justify a purchase but I'm serious... 

Day 151

Dear Jules,
Four years ago today, you surprised us nearly six weeks early: our woulda-been-Gemini Cinco de Mayo party boy.

You were born spicy - a huge part of what makes you so awesome (if sometimes exhausting). Here are 10 reasons why you rock my world right now (in no particular order):

1. Your curiosity. Like me and your dad, you are a natural-born nerd, always asking why why why, ...and that is so incredibly fun for me. Mostly.

2. The "go big or go home" way you phrase everything. (e.g. Mama, I love you very very very very very very much)

3. How you ask me to tell you a bedtime story and constantly edit the details.

4. Your perceptiveness and insane memory. You notice...everything. You're totally tuned in.

5. The way offer your little bro step-by-step instructions on how to do everything... And you've got helpful advice for everyone else too. It's the Olin in you and I love it.

6. That you know what you like (the colors pink and purple; "Sunny Days"; mangoes and grapes) and what you don't like (e.g. The fiesta shirt that is "too buttony, too flowery, too black and too big." For the record, it is brown.)

7. That you are "the kid who plays with everyone," according to your teachers. Embracing wide circles opens your world to a richer much more fun life, you know...

8. Your sweet big-kid gestures, including (but not limited to) cheek kisses, "have a good workday" wishes and joyful "you forgot I am a big boy" reminders.

9. Our shared loves: music, reading, dancing, baking, making art, performing, hanging with Ri, Grandma Kath and Aunt Kate.

10. Your inexhaustible energy and perpetual passion. Truly.

Day 147

Jon just did a big switch-over of the boys' clothes, and I was shocked that Kai has already grown into this outfit:

Kai: age 2 years - 1 day

I was also surprised, two years ago, when Julian was big enough to wear these sweet brown-and-turquois striped pants, a hand-me-down from my friend Stacy, who bought them for her boy Sawyer when she was in Spain. Sawyer is six-and-a-half now but I remember, clear as day, sitting across from Stacy at a faded cedar picnic table outside of our old office on Ferry Road, chatting after lunch. She was thrilled about her upcoming trip to Spain for a dear friend's wedding but - like most mamas of little ones - conflicted about being away from her guy, then just two, for a whole week. Of course, she had an awesome time and, apparently, came back with the pants. I learned of this purchase when she passed them to me two years later. 

Now, another plus-two years, Kai is the third blue-eyed boy to rock the Spanish pants.

... Nothing like a pair of tiny trousers to remind me it's been exactly 365 x 2 days + 1 (Leap Year!) since Jon and I were heading to the hospital with a bag packed with (mostly unnecessary stuff and) the tiny newborn sleeper we'd bring Kai home in. And since JuJu--exactly Kai's age now minus three days --would wake up a big brother and eat pancakes with Chris and Ri. 

Day 142

Reason #947 Julian rocks my world:

This morning, Jules jumped up from the breakfast table and ran upstairs. When I shouted up to ask what he was  doing, he responded: "I'm getting dressed. I'm picking out my beauuuutiful shirt."

He asked me to come up to his room. I grabbed Kai and climbed the stairs. Yes, Julian needed help. But not getting dressed. Poor guy couldn't decide which of the five "Sunny Days" Ts he wanted to wear. Mostly because the sixth one - the one he really wanted to wear - was in the wash. He asked me to present his available, laundered Sunny Days shirts one by one. After considering the options for a moment - he actually tapped his finger to his lip and said "hmm" - he made his selection: "the one with Bert and Ernie." His choice exuded confidence, like a magazine fashion director. Then, he ordered me and Kai back downstairs.

A few moments later, Julian appeared, sporting his special shirt tucked into his silky (polyester) Adidas pants. Which were on backwards.  He was beaming proudly, a big kid. Beauuuuutiful.

The winning shirt. The underpants.
Jules has a full "Sunny Days" wardrobe, thanks to
Grandma Kathie and Aunt Kate