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 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 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 175

A little while ago I sat next to Kai in the pale turquoise rocking chair (where I've made many sweet memories in the last four years) and asked him what his favorite thing about the day had been.

"Runners," he replied without missing a beat.

I'm pretty sure that Kai was talking about the hundreds (thousands?) of people - including my sister Kate - who passed by our house on Sunday, just shy of the 20th mile of the Vermont City Marathon. This was the first year Kai participated fully as a member of the OT crew, handing out orange slices and watermelon wedges, freezer pops and ice chips... sounding cowbells...  screaming "go, go, go" and slapping high fives. I missed the party at our place* since I ran the third leg of our Foxy Trot relay, then waited for Casey (our #5) to cross the finish line. Which was no problem. The finish line was a very exciting place to be.

3 of 5 girls of Foxy Trot (L to R): Casey, Kate and me. Missing: Ri and Lisa.
Sweet shirts by the fabulous Mike Balzano

I basked in the VCM spirit all day. And what a beautiful day it was. The sky was cerulean; the lake, sparkly... Most of my family (mom, sis, bro and sis-in-law to be) was in town for the race. There were armies of people running to raise funds for all sorts of causes and five National Guardsman who completed 26.2 miles wearing 45-pound packs to honor the men and women who serve our country. Taiko drummers kept a steady beat on Battery Hill... preschoolers and their grandparents banged makeshift drums all along the path.  Turquoise-topped volunteers kept everyone heading in the right direction, hydrated.  People pushed themselves farther and faster than they'd ever imagined they could go. (Some of them thanks to Jan Leja, who heads up the Vermont chapter of Team in Training and is one of the most amazing peeps I know.) It was absolutely awesome. Definitely one of my favorite days of the year, Kai. So while your fave-thing bedtime response was a day (or two) late, it most certainly was not "a dollar short."

*Note: Please do not be offended if I did not invite you to hang at the OT during the race. I did not get my sh*t together this year enough to send out an email. Also, I was not here. Now consider this your 2013 invite: Bring your chairs and your cheers and more cowbell(s) ... and join us on the OT by 9:30.

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 148

Dear Kai Guy,

You're two today and totally awesome. Know what I love about you right now? I'll tell you ten things:

1. Your self-awareness. I love that you know when you "need a hug" and "you're really, really tired." Stay that way, my little Buddha. It's good for you -- and everyone in your life.

2. The way you grab the top of my shirt (or anyone else's) like a Linus blanket and suck your thumb. Maybe this will become weird soon but right now it's adorable and sweet.

3. How you wave to passers-by, with your big dimpled smile, singing "hi" in your tiny little voice. Spreading joy is a nice thing and you're most always in a joyous mood, even the minute you wake up. Seriously, how?

Cheese! It's my birthday.

4. Your sweet dance moves: the shimmies and spins. Never lose your love of dance and music... please.

5. Your recent obsession with basketball. (And the fact that you keep saying, to anyone who will listen, "I hurt my knee playing basketball." You know you didn't - you're just parroting Uncle Manny.)

6. How much you admire and love your big bro: It's awesome to watch you cracking up over Jules's antics, to hear you echoing his every word, see you repeating his every move. (Though I admit that this last part is sometimes crazy-making.)

7. Your burgeoning independence. Climbing steps, getting dressed, opening doors - you want it to be "Kai's turn" every time. Love it. But you suck at brushing your teeth (as you should) so I'll keep fighting that battle, buddy.

8. The fact that you demand your three books before bed, no matter what. You always notice when I try to downscale the routine - and two books is simply unacceptable.

9. That Demps is your best bud. In a house full of chaos, you never forget to say good morning or good night to your furry big bro and you steal as many snuggles as you can get. Keep at it. Our sweet, sweet boy won't be around forever and I want to you imprint so many great memories of him that you'll never ever forget the special bond you had with your first diggity.

10. Your buttery Buddha belly. This my seem like a lame one to end on but, seriously, we see it so often, with you having wrap up your thumb to suck in the bottom of your shirt when someone else's is unavailable. And that tummy really is delicious.

PS: This list is just sampling of random reasons you make me melt, things I've noted recently and never want to forget. To come up with something comprehensive would be impossible (and so intimidating that I'd never be able to get started).

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 112 - 113

Kai and I, we've got mad skills. We can communicate telepathically. 

Exhibit A, tonight at bedtime: 

Here's what I was thinking (as he curled his no-longer-tiny bod into mine, his head resting just under my chin): He still fits, but barely. I'm just going to hold him until he falls asleep. And then keep at it. The dishes can wait. Actually, Jon's doing them. I'm going to relish these sweet snuggly moments. They're numbered. 

So I'm thinking this...

And here's what Kai said: "I wanna more to rock." (That's five words, yo, never mind that they're in some sort of random order. Also, he took his thumb out of his mouth to say them.) He was feeling the love. He wanted to keep snuggling in the rocking chair. Or maybe he was reliving our pre-dinner dance party, hoping to rock out to Mos Def again. PS: You gotta watch this performance of "Quiet Dog" on Letterman. PPS: It's Mos Def. Not Kai and me. 

My friend Kristen wonders whether Kai's fresh haircut
is keeping him from properly rocking out.
It's a look, KB - it's a look.  :-)

Day 107

Here's my recurring thought of the day: "I should be  ______ but instead I am  _________."

For instance, I should have been writing copy. But instead, I was finding influencers in the health field to follow on Twitter. (Which is TOTALLY applicable to my job but perhaps not today's top priority. Perhaps a better Twitter priority: figuring out how to actually use Twitter efficiently.)

Or, tonight, after putting the boys to bed, I should have been packing for DC but instead I was painting my toes teal.

And then, I should have been cleaning the kitchen but instead I was cutting and pasting all of my friends' reading suggestions from Facebook onto this easily accessible page.

I really should have been packing but instead
I was messaging my sis pics of potential outfits to yay or nay.
#almostasgoodaslivingwithyourgirlfriendsagain

But guilt is a funny debilitating and annoying thing because there's always something else you could be doing. And, really, shouldn't you just be OWNING what you've chosen to do? You know, I almost skipped yoga at lunch today but going to Kerri-Ann's 40-minute class - conveniently just down the hall in the conference room - was JUST what I needed. (Thanks, Wendell, for coming to get me.) 

And, for just one tiny little moment tonight, I felt that maybe I should have been a little more aggressive about getting the boys to sleep before 9 p.m. But there's no school tomorrow... and reading a big stack of books - half of them Christmas stories, Julian's choice - and then lying on the floor next to Kai's crib, with Jules wedged in between us, reaching up for his little bro's grasp, smiling with pride as he whispered in my ear, "Kai loves my hand" was just what I should have been doing.  #screwguilt 

Day 98

In the spirit of "if you don't have anything nice to say..." I offer you this short list of things for which I was/am grateful today:

1. This man, who showed me exactly how to sharpen a knife. This exercise was critical in being able to chop the butternut squash for tomorrow night's dinner.
2. That I was able to fit in a 4-mile mind-clearing run.
3. That despite an incredibly awful-sounding cough and midday concern that it might be more, Julian's lungs look "fabulous." (His ears not so much -  but they don't seem to be bothering him.)
4. The bedside manner of the doc who delivered #3 news. (That she, too, has two boys, aged 4 and 2, does not surprise me.)
5. Jon's dealing with the messy kitchen while I wrap up work.
6. Kai's smooches, which lately he's been planting - with fully pursed lips and a complementary "I love you" - about every 7 seconds.

Day 97

An extra hour of light brought everyone outside today and on my drive home I saw sidewalks filled with strollers (and by that I mean both leisurely walkers and baby rides), joggers and happy dogs. The little guys ate their dinner early and we dusted off the scooter and the trike and rolled down to watch Owen and Emmett smash the ice of their backyard rink. I love how everything "wakes" up at the start of spring. 

What I don't love about the "spring ahead" time change is how little guys don't know that it's time to sleep. (Well, because it's not...) 

Tonight...

"I have a nail problem!" 

Jules and I have been talking a lot about problems lately. I want him to know that instead of whining about an issue, you can identify the problem and you can chose to do something about it. You can think of a solution and try it out. Apparently he's homed in on the problem: his nail needs trimmed (since he's been picking it). It also seems that he's come up with a potential solution: Scream at the top of his lungs so that we come running because we don't want Kai to wake up.

So I go upstairs with the nail clippers. Apparently he's "already fixed the problem," with another solution. "I picked it." 

But the problem is, he has another problem. His leg hurts. Luckily, he's ready with a solution. Two actually: "Maybe I should bend it. Or maybe I should buy a new one." He sounds like he's serious. I can't tell. I start cracking up. I can't stop. He thinks this is awesome and hilarious. We laugh and laugh. I calm him down, I pat his back. I tell him that he's a funny boy but that it's really time for bed. He agrees.

I settle in downstairs...  "I have a problem!" Up again. He doesn't really have a problem. He has a story.  About chocolate cupcakes - and one "banilla" one. For Emma's birthday. She got a whole one, everyone else got a half. I kiss him goodnight - again. And go back down.

It's been six minutes. It's 9:56. Goodnight? 

Day 96

Burlington was a balmy 50-something today. I was feeling fab all (sunny) day--until I found myself regretting that I hadn't gone for a run. On this perfect, 50-something March day. I felt guilty. Why hadn't I at least logged a short jog? I thought about it.

J & J starting some seeds.  

Well... I had run "really, really, really, really fast - like a Cheetah" around the yard, again and again, dragging the Radio Flyer in wide loops, stopping periodically to take invisible tickets. 

... And I'd walked to the dog park with all four of my boys (humans + Digs!), stopping to spot the singing cardinal and appreciating all the other tunes whose artists I couldn't identify, pointing out exactly where Kai, Ri and I had seen the adolescent-boy moose galloping down the bike path when Kai was three months old. "Yeah, moose," he'd nodded in agreement, as if he totally remembered. 

... I whipped up a batch of banana wheat-germ muffins with Jules. 

... I danced to Fat Boy Slim with Kai. 

... I tossed baseballs to JuJu (and taught him the valuable lesson that no matter how badly your pitcher sucks it is not polite to yell "too high" and "too low" in a disparaging tone).

... I made a yummy new recipe (samosa-inspired twice-baked potatoes from Veganomicon) ... for family dinner with Chris and Ri. I had a Red Stripe while sauteeing and stuffing. It tasted of spring. 

It was awesome day.