Day 322

I've let 11 days lapse without a post. In part because I've set some rules of engagement. Time flies so fast and sometimes I feel like I spend so much of it tethered to this device, or that one, missing what's most important, the goings-on as they unfold. So I vowed to unplug more. And I have. A bit.

And in the last almost-two-weeks...

I've flown across the country, marveling at the fact that we can actually do that: be whisked through the air, offered a birds-eye view of life below. How small it all looks. How small we all are, really, in the big grand scheme. It makes you think. 

I spent wonderful days with my mom, Grandma Kath, grateful that my boys have her in their lives, a different kind of mom than me. A better one in lots of ways.

I became obsessed with a house. A house that is not my own. One that most likely will never be my house. It's not that I like it better than my house. But I like it. And I like imagining that it could be my house. Probably because that sort of imagining entertains my brain. Which isn't so entertaining to Jon. Which I totally get.

I cried. Parenting is hard, and opening the door to self doubt lets in a lot of shit that's better shut out. Just do it. Keep moving. Don't show weakness. Beginnings of a new manifesto (some of it borrowed... thank you, Nike.)

I saw my dear friend and her awesome kids, which reminded me that with certain people it doesn't matter how long you go without seeing each other or how short your meetings are, they're among your favorite peeps for reasons that transcend day-to-day circumstances.

I learned of others' losses - really major, heartbreaking losses. Several of them. I cried for people I hardly know. I could only imagine their pain. 

I spent the whole night of the last presidential debate slave to a stomach bug. Damn daycare germs. It was ugly. For HOURS. Through the night. I stayed home from work the next day and slept most of it. I rented a movie: The Painted Veil. It was good. It was about cholera. The irony. 

I stressed about work. I collaborated with colleagues. Really amazing, smart people who know the meaning of team. I am lucky.

I've landed at a place that's more content and grateful than the one I was circling around 10 days ago. But I suspect that the cycle will begin afresh. Up and down. High and low. Because, well, that's sort of how I roll... 

We can fly. Isn't that amazing? 

I spent half my childhood in a gym like this.

My boys are lucky to have Grandma Kath.

The miles (and miles) their moms have seen together... 

Jules' surprise pink petals softened the blow of Sunday night blues.

With some better perspective.

Jules: "Mama, It's bare."
Me: What? Thinking he's talking of an animal. An imaginary friend.
Jules: "The tree." Pointing to this guy up here. "There's only one leaf left."
Kai: "It's bare. It's a Mama Bear and a Papa Bear."
THIS is why I blog.

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 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 291

Oscillation defines me these days. 

I look forward to the day when everyone in this house (including Tina the fluffy cat) can wipe his/her own @ss ...  but then I get nearly teary thinking our days of diapers will soon be done. (Gross but true.)

Some moments, I want to move into an old Victorian, or a modern bungalow with few walls, downtown somewhere... or back in Pennsylvania. Then I think about my NNE posse, the proximity to the bike path, the house where Jon and I grew from two twenty-somethings with a bad-ass orange tabby who hailed from Harlem (RIP Chuck)  into a family of four (humans) with the sweetest Dempsey dog and two quirky kitty sisters. I can't imagine living anywhere else. Which alarms me. I don't nest. Settle in. I'm the girl who pretty much kept her college dorm room decorating to a poster or two because I was going to move along in two semesters. And I always expected to live in this house just a few years. Yet here I am. 

My dance class makes me feel alive, like "me"; my online gamification course, interested, eager, thrilled by possibilities. And then I consider what maybe I should be doing instead: coming straight home to kick around a soccer ball while it's still a little bit light outside, investing my energies into investigating four-year-old behavior, looking into kindergartens. Sleeping more so I'm not so snippy. Or doing work that's tied to actual deadlines and deliveries. 

And then there's that work: so many cool projects, ones that allow me to use both sides of my brain, to draw from all of my disparate interests and the patchwork of "liberal arts" experiences I've pieced together over the years. It's awesome. And engaging. And exhausting. And then I start to wonder: should I be expending so much energy on this right now? 

These - these - are the thoughts that have been muddling around in my brain for days. And, then, today, when I opened my lunchbox (a hand-me-down from Julian, no less), I found this a little yellow taxicab. 

And for whatever reason, I felt better about it all. I realize that this makes no sense. 

But this is what it is. And then I started thinking: maybe the comfort of lunchbox surprise had to do with the idea that I'd started thinking of the little car as the manifestation of an important message... 

That I'm still me - the girl who loves New York City and the fulfilling career that started there and being a mom to two crazy little boys in Vermont.

When I walked through the door at the end of the day home, Kai welcomed me with, "Mom, how was your work today?" So sweetly, punctuated with his double-dimple smile. Like he really wanted to hear about my day at the office. Like he loved his little life in which both of his parents work. And kind of a lot. 

And after the boys were in bed, I reached into my mailbox to find a single hot-pink envelope, which held inside this card from my godmother, "Aunt" Judy. 

Inside she'd written ... "It reminded me of of your blog entry and how I often I felt this way while working." 

Here's the thing: My childhood memories of Aunt Judy - Mark's mom and basically a second mother to me and my sibs - was that she was there, always, with homemade baked goods and Band-Aids and the best books. Cheerly loudly in the bleachers. Offering advice in just the right ways. And all the while she was working as a school librarian and working on her PhD.  

I'm going to choose to intepret this second surprise of the day as follows: Give up the guilt. Work really hard to be present. There's not enough time to waste any of it second-guessing. And if you need a reminder of just how fast things change, peep that old dot-matrix up there. 

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 284

Tonight, I dressed to hop on the treadmill, but after the boys were tucked into bed and Jon left for a "real" run (outside) with Digs, I said screw it and opened up a bottle of Cab. Why? I anticipated what was about to happen (and what's still going on): Jules, shouting down the stairs for the fan... and then more music (since his CD ran its course). These "requests" I wouldn't hear if I were down in basement with headphones on, turned loud to out-sound the belt. Not good for my ears, I know.

The good news: I did get a few bursts of cardio in, sprinting up and down the stairs. And all of that loud sighing... I think that counts as deep breathing.

Why even try to exercise in the eve when I am a workout-morning kind of person? 1) Because working out in the morning isn't, um, working out and 2) it's a new trick I learned today from my friends on Facebook.

You see, I have come to be quite the crowdsourcer - and a voyeur of sorts. I've become a little obsessed with how other people make their lives work. So I ask. And I learn so much. Oh so much. Today, I posted this: 

Parents of young families in which all members must get out the door in the morning, dressed and fed, and in a (somewhat) timely manner: Please describe (in order) your morning timeline. Go! (And thank you.)

I got lots of responses. Good ones. I learned that I am not alone. Lots of peeps are, like me, running around like nut jobs in the morning while their kids whine, dawdle and watch the ever-annoying Caillou. I also learned that compared to some, I am a sloth. It appears that a good many of my friends are able to get what I might get done in an entire day before I even WAKE UP.

I also gleaned quite a few tips and tricks that I'm going to try in my own life (since laying out clothes and pre-packing lunches is only getting me so far): 

1. I am going to try (again, on another night) to exercise, and then shower, in the evening.
2. I am going to wake up early to the smells of my pre-set coffee pot--and my two alarms--and get 100% ready before the kids wake up. This should be easy if I shower the night before as I no longer have any hair.  (If things go well, I will unload the dishwasher and do other easy chores while the house is still sleeping.)
3. I am going to force myself into bed earlier. This will not be easy.
4. I am going to switch the boys' vitamin-getting time to morning, when incentives are more valuable. 
5. Inspired by Lisa P's "Market Place Morning" alarm (when the NPR show starts, it's time to MOVE),  I am going brainstorm novel ways to signal to the boys that it's "time" - time to move on to the next task. Playlist of the boys favorite songs? (Bad Romance, A-Punk...) 
6. I am going to get on board with Jon's quest to find our perfect home in the South End of town, which is 20 minutes closer, it seems, to EVERYTHING (except some of my favorite people). Any leads? 

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 276

Expectations will get you no where more often than not result in feeling frustrated... disappointed... guilty... or shitty in some other way. Right? I know it's better not to have them, to ground myself in the present, to absorb and embrace each moment as it comes, never assuming that I'll even make it to the next moment, much less imagining every detail that will define it.

But I'm a planner. And when things don't go according to plan, my tendency isn't to do a quick course direction - or forge a new whole path to some equally awesome destination. What I do, typically, is to drive around in circles until I run out of gas. Or something like that. 

In any case, this weekend taught me - again - that when I expect something (a day, an event, a trip) to be absolutely amazing, I'm setting myself up to be let-down. Least to some degree. But if I can just keep on, keeping on, catching whatever awesomeness comes my way, I have much more fun. 

Here's how this theory played out over the last three days.

Friday: Plans to hop the art with a friend (for which I had unreasonably high expectations) got messed up so I hit a few studios with the boys - just the little boys. (Think: grubby preschooler fingers fondling fruit and cheese platters, whining, running through crowded hallways in opposite directions). Went home, had dinner, put the boys to bed and read the fine print of the FDA's Code of Federal Regulations (for real) while Jon watched bad TV. Lame. Ruminated over how lame it was that I didn't rally and get my ass back downtown. Then... I got a text that one of my best friends had just delivered a perfect little girl. Yes, she was expecting (and a day overdue) so, no, this wasn't "unexpected" ... but it was awesome.  

Saturday: Unexpected invite to a super awesome Mad Men party in the 'hood, where I drank gimlets with lovely ladies (including the fabulous Steph D!) and dapper men. We somehow secured a sitter last-minute, threw together "costumes" from what we had on hand and had a blast. No expectations = incredibly fun night. 

"Don" did buy skinny tie special for the occasion.

Sunday: It was a perfect September day so, of course, I expected all fantastic things. A certain unnamed little person who lives with me threw a wrench into that outlook. It was bad. I tried all of the usual tricks recommended to combat bad behavior. Nothing worked. Finally, our fam of four made it out of the house for a hike, and Mother Nature - a wiser parent than I... obviously - smoothed things out. For a time. Then her magic wore off too. Still, the afternoon ended up better than I could ever have expected if I were to have predicted, at 10 a.m., how the rest of the day would go. 

Talking this little imp down out of the tree proved difficult.
But it makes for a pretty cool photo now, right?

A view this gorgeous exceeds all expectations. (Taken from the spot where Jon and I got married 8 years and a little less than 2 months ago... while Julian was dragging me by the arm back onto the trail. Whaddya you expect?) 

PS: This "Roll With It and Win" theory, by the way, would never really hold up 100% to my scrutiny (I believe that we all, to a large degree, shape our destinies) but generally, I think it's a pretty good life philosophy. 

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 144

End of my day: My grocery-shopping partner (who shall go unnamed) thought it'd be funny to slither like a snake on his belly through the produce section, grab a butterfly net in the seasonal display (cheap toys) by the pharmacy to swat around the organic cereals ... and sprint away from me, screaming. I know the "right" thing to do would have been to return what was in my basket and march ourselves straight out of the store, but that would require retracing lots of steps -- creating additional opportunities for missteps -- or asking a store associate to do the returning for us, which just didn't seem fair. So after grabbing a few more things, continually corralling my crazy-making shopping companion, I made a beeline for the wine aisle and grabbed a bottle of pinot noir. It crashed into little pieces and poured out a blood-red puddle on the driveway at home, a beautiful mess. Devastating. At least we had beer.

Tomorrow is a new day.

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 80 - 84

I despise being micromanaged. I simmer when someone underestimates me or blindly insists that his or her way is better. And, yet, lately, I've found myself smothering J and K with help, with (some totally unnecessary) rules and with imposing questions thinly veiled as "suggestions."

Julian snapped this shot in the woods with my phone.
All my himself.

Like, the other day when Jules was making a birthday card for his friend Zoe and I was handing him the stamps I wanted him to use... Despite my attempts to control his art he produced something brilliant with all the stamps I didn't push in his direction--and then wanted to put on the finishing touch: a snowman sticker. It wasn't what I'd consider a retro-cool snowman sticker; it was a boring-looking snow guy sticker that came in a pack of 1,000 for $1. (Not that there's anything wrong with a good bargain.)

"Do you really want to put that sticker on your really cool card?"
"Yes."
"Really?"
"Yes."
"Are you sure? I like it without the sticker." What the hell is wrong with me?

Hmm....

Then there's my insisting on picking up Kai and shuttling him down the stairs through his protests: "No, Mum. Kai's turn! Kai's turn!" The dude is almost two. Yes, he's wearing slippery footed PJs and could easily topple down our steep carpeted stairway, built in 1949, that would never pass code today. But walking down in front of him to break a fall down the entire flight would suffice. It does suffice. And while my leading his parade might be a good precaution, it's probably an unnecessary one, I realize as Kai carefully and competently makes his way down.

The other day, I told Jules I was going to teach him to peel a carrot. "I already know how to peel a carrot, Mom. We did it in school." I handed him the peeler and he proceeded to perfectly peel the three pounds himself. I diced and together we made vegan carrot bisque. And then I promised myself that I'm not only going to stop squashing Julian's creativity by offering unsolicited feedback on his masterpieces (still annoyed with myself for doing that) but I'm also going to try really hard to stop thinking "little" with my little guys. I want them to do big things, to reach, to explore and to repeatedly experience that awesome rush you get when you rock something for the first time. That euphoria that drips from Kai's dimples when he shouts, "I did it!" And to feel that, to really feel that, you have to fail first. And sometimes you have to fall. Literally. Luckily, I know first-hand that Burlington has some pretty awesome ER docs.

UPDATE: Just in! Photos of Julian's card for Zoe. Thanks, Elisa! xo

Day 72

Jon went out to watch the Knicks game tonight. Oh, Jeremy Lin...

Flying solo with the boys at bedtime always drags out the get-to-sleep routine--but, truth be told, I love the one-on-two time I get with them. (Normally, one of us reads to and puts Kai to bed; the other of us reads to/tucks in Jules - we alternate the match-ups each night.)

But when it's just me doing the nighttime routine, all three of us (me, Jules, Kai) snuggle into Jon's and my bed and read books together. Then I take Kai into his room for a little rocking and encourage Jules to go "read" books until I get Kai sleepy enough to stick him into his crib. This is usually unsuccessful - Jules doesn't like to stay in his room while I'm (right next door) with Kai and he flings the already-cracked-a-tad door to Kai's room wide open, runs in and starts asking questions. Completely random, arguably absurd questions. (I did this, too, as a kid and, if you ask Jon, he'll say that I still do it now when I can't fall asleep). This Q&A session, of course, rouses Kai, who pops up and joins in, repeating everything Jules says. It's cute and funny - but it's also frustrating.

But tonight, I rocked Kai until he murmured "crib" and then I went back into my room where Jules had decided he wanted to wait. Then we had this conversation:

Jules: "Mom I was waiting so quietly in here."

Me: "Yes, Jules you are getting so big."

Jules: "Yes, Mama. I am learning."

Me: "How are you learning so much?"

Jules: "Everyone is learning me. I'm learning from my cousins." (Whom Jules loves but sees like three times a year.) Cute.

..."I'm learning from my teachers. And the people across the street." The people across the street? 
I'm learning from everyone in the whole wide world." Oh, yes, it takes a village. Is he quoting Sesame Street or something?


"And I'm learning from candy." Um, ok. You were on a roll... until this.

Then he ran into his room and jumped in to bed.

~ Fast forward 20 minutes or so. ~

I hear the gate upstairs creaking. We leave it open when Kai is in his crib. Jules is lying on the floor just behind it. "I can't sleep," Julian tells me. "My brain won't shut off." These are my words. I've lent them to him because I know just how he feels when he can't fall asleep. Except I know where my brain is. Jules apparently is still working on that. "Feel how fast my brain is moving." And with that he puts is his little hand on his chest, over his heart.

Day 67 - 69

A few things I learned this weekend:

1. Jon and I love making valentines at LEAST as much as Jules does. While poor Kai was napping on Saturday, Jon and I took care of Kai's whole classroom while Jules glittered his own glam cards. I hope we don't end like up these crazy helicopter parents who CALL THEIR ADULT KIDS' BOSSES. Seriously, people? How can you even pretend that might be ok?

2. It's good to get outside for a run with a friend, even if it's 20 degrees. 

3. It's good to get outside for a bit, even if it's 9 degrees.

4. Don't get the Greek pizza at Papa Frank's. Stick with the meatballs.

5. (But) I still aspire to be a vegan. Or at least a little more veganish. (I have a bunch of well-loved vegan cookbooks actually and I'm psyched to start cooking from this website Vegan Yum Yum, recommended by my friend Shannon who is vegan).

6. Like running, reading quiets my ruminating.  

7. Jon is a HUGE Downtown Abbey fan. Who knew?


Update: Thanks to a close-reading friend, I'm aware of the error in #7. ("You're an editor, Nicci! How did this happen?" Well, I have a theory.) But it's sort of funny--and really funny when you read Cairn's comment (below)--so I'm leaving it. Enjoy! 

What did you learn this weekend? 

Day 59

Asked what his favorite thing in the whole world is, Jules responded "costumes." 

Come again? Costumes?

Well... I'd say that donning matching apres-ski outfits just "apres" you've woken up and are about to go to school sort of counts as dressing up in costumes. I aim to please.  

And looking at the photo below I feel grateful for...  

... the cuteness of little-boy bed head (honestly, I think bed head is cute on boys of all ages)

... the sweetness of brothers who like to sit close

... the television that (clearly) mesmerizes them in the morning while I finish packing lunches. Bad mommy!

Fact: The American Academy of Pediatrics recommends
no television before age two.  Really, none?

Day 44

Dear Friends Who May Have Read One of My Fitness Stories/Weight Loss Stories And Wondered What-The-Hell-Planet-Is-This-Chick Living-On?:

I am sorry. I submitted a draft that offered insufficiently tested advice and, now, reviewing the evidence, I must issue a few corrections, including the following: 

"No time to exercise? Just wake up a half hour earlier." Wake up a half-hour earlier, and luck will have it that your kid will wake up an hour earlier, which means that you'll still be sedentary and that much more sleep deprived. A+ for effort though...

I miss you too, running shoes.

"Hop on the treadmill after your kids go to bed." After tucking your children in for the third time, go downstairs and amuse yourself for six minutes minutes while waiting for the bigger one to yell that he has to poop, rousing the little one from his slumber. Had you ventured all the way down to the basement and "hopped on the treadmill," you wouldn't have heard the big guy's cry for help or the little bro sobbing because his sweet dream was interrupted by shouts about excrement. Better, my friend, to pass the time on Facebook, Twitter or that time-sucking blog that you keep. 

"Eating healthy meals just takes planning." If you have children who actually go to bed. If not, the hours between 8 and 10 pm when you anticipating chopping vegetables and the like will be spent trying to prevent the big one from waking the little one with screams about poop, water and Daddy--in no particular order. 

"Squeeze exercise in by doing lunges at the office" Huh? No. Just delete this whole concept.

"Eating or drinking to relax just causes more stress. Do a yoga DVD instead." Pour yourself a glass of wine and grab some almond M&Ms. Carve out room for those calories by skipping dinner and having only the few bites of whole-wheat pancake your kid left on his plate. (Come on, you know you'd eat 'em anyway.) After all, research shows that the best sort of weight-loss/fitness plan is one you can stick to. 

I. Am. Grateful. Truly, I am. But today I am very, very tired. And not in that I-just-worked-out-and-feel-great sort of way.

Day 36

I'm a morning person. I truly believe that, as the Green Mountain Coffee ad below puts it, "every morning is a fresh start." And if you read yesterday's post, you'll know that, today, I needed a fresh start. (Note to those of you - Olin, I'm looking at you - who think I'm a monster for calling my three year old an @sshole: I didn't call him an @sshole, I implied that he was acting like one.)

A+ marketing campaign Green Mountain Coffee. 

Well, as things go, Day 36 didn't start out well. Specifically, my day began with Julian taking his place at the breakfast table and screaming in my direction, like a little dictator, "I. AM. HUNGRY. AND I WANT MY BAGEL NOOOOOW." His face was flushed. He punctuated his demand by pounding the table with both fists. It was so insane that I simultaneously 1) wanted to laugh because it was so over-the-top and 2) worried that he was having some sort of emotional breakdown for which I should be seeking him professional help. I reminded him - calmly - that speaking like that was unacceptable and then told him that I was working on getting him his breakfast but first I was going to make Kai, who was waiting patiently, his waffle. Jules threw a fit. When I presented his bagel, spread generously with cream cheese, he threw another fit, shouting "NOT ENOUGH CREAM CHEESE" over and over. I mostly ignored this outburst. 

Then the tide turned. Julian ate this bagel. And then he politely requested another half. He thanked me. It was like the craziness had never happened. It was as if Julian had forced himself to make a fresh start. 

Jules was sweet and helpful when I picked him up a school. He had a great day, his teachers told me. He gobbled up his dinner (which contained peppers and onions - which usually provoke a protest). And then this happened: 

Kai was tugging on Demps and I corrected him, saying that it hurt Dempsey. "Owie." Jules took Kai by the hand and walked him into the next room. (I watched through the doorway.) He pointed to the floor and said, "Kai. Sit down. Sit down right there." (It cracked me up to see Kai obey him immediately.) "Kai," Jules said. "We don't pull people. It hurts." (I love that Demps is a person.) "You can get up now." Kai just stared up him. Jules repeated in a kind brotherly tone, "You can stand up now." Then he helped him up and and walked him back into the kitchen.

 This was the kind of day I needed. And speaking of awesome older brothers, have you seen this fab story that's basically gone viral?

PS: Day 36 also rocked because...  I ran 2 miles, made dinner in the slow cooker, scored 4 shirts at Banana Republic for $30, TOTAL, and used gift cards to pay. Got great work done at New Moon with Ri. Ran into two of my favorite profs from UVM.  Visited with Penelope and amazing little Amelia, who snuggled on my shoulder for nearly an hour. I'll expect an equally wonderful Day 63. 

PPS: I think that Green Mountain Coffee Roasters' brilliant campaign (see above) is a sign that I should take the plunge and buy the Keurig I've been contemplating. Your thoughts?

Day 35

Yes, I take things too personally. But come on... when your 3-year-old says (for not the first time) that he doesn't want you to read to him because he "doesn't like you. [I] only like Daddy." And then when you tell him that saying things like that makes people feel badly and you feel like you're going to cry, he laughs maniacally and says, "Cry! CRY!"... You can't help but wonder what you're doing to make you so apparently sucky and what sort of sucky parenting tactics must have led to this sort of bad behavior. You sort of just want to take a bath in a bottle of wine.  Or something like that. #ithoughtonlyteenagerswereassholestotheirparents