Easter Egg hunt

Future proctologist?

Let's hope not!

Forever young

Mommy, I'm growing up so fast.

Oh no! I will miss little boy Sawyer so much!

That's okay, Mommy. I'm still right here. I'm not going into the forest. I'm right here!

Fashion Loves Company

Sage's newest fashion accessory is her Little Einstein's hooded towel. The child wakes up in the morning, comes downstairs, and starts yelling for Rocket. She wears it constantly around the house, but what's trendsetting if you're not showing it off to the world?

She will not leave home without it. She's worn it to Target, to the grocery store, to preschool to pick up Sawyer.

And she thinks Garbo looks really cool wearing it too..

This is where it starts

Sawyer has talked about a little girl in his preschool class, J, since he started going last September. We finally arranged a playdate. It took the two about an hour to really start playing together. Then there was no stopping them. They sat in the red wagon in our garage and made an "apartment" - though neither could say what an apartment was. Apparently, it consisted of collecting every piece of play food and any other toy they could grab and stowing it in the wagon. Then they both sat and pulled a blanket over their laps.

Today they both went to a birthday party of another girl from preschool. But it might as well have been another playdate a deux. Because they didn't really interact with anyone else. They spent most of the party walking around holding hands like a sweet little couple. Of course, being that they are 3, there was a lot of tugging each other in opposite directions. Most of the time, J won - something Sawyer should get used to!

J is a cutie, with long strawberry blonde hair and bright blue eyes. She's also very similar to Sawyer in temperment - not too crazy.

So now my boy has his very first girlfriend. The first of many, we're sure. At least, so far, he's chosen wisely.

Shoes, glorious shoes!

My daughter has a problem. A BIG problem. I can only conclude that it is hereditary, passed along with her long legs, tilted eyes and pouty lips.

This all came to light when I took her to Nordstrom to buy her a pair of sandals. Not only did she bat away and declare "NO!" to several pairs I tried to put on her, she also became fixated on a certain pair she just HAD TO HAVE!

Then I dared look at shoes for Sawyer (who was at preschool at the time). Sage started pulling shoes off the displays. These were for big girls, but Sage did not care. Because she saw the Bling. The Sparkle. This was the absolute greatest shoe ever put on this planet, and Sage knew exactly what to do with it. She put it right on. And started parading around before making a break for the door.

Luckily, I caught her before my daughter got her first criminal offense. But I couldn't blame her. Because as you all know, I cannot resist anything that reflects light. I am like a goat, attracted to the shiny stuff.

And on shoes. SHOES! My little girl, my heart, also has the gene. I'm so proud!

Life Lesson

We went to the park this morning, where Sawyer found a little boy to play with. He is now at the age where he will try to make a friend on his own, which is infinitely more fun than hanging with Mommy and his baby sister.

This little boy, whose name was John, turns 3 in April, so he's a few months younger than Sawyer. His mother, an older mom, told me John is not very verbal but is very physical. Anyway, he and Sawyer had a great time going down slides together (on the little kids equipment), climbing up ladders, and chasing each other.

But then John went up on the big kids' equipment. Sawyer gamely followed - until John found an older boy and the two started zipping down the big scary slides that Sawyer won't dare go on. So my poor little guy sat down on the bridge near those slides while the other two boys raced around like crazy. Soon, Sawyer walked back down the stairs. Alone. Because John has no fear of big bumpy slides that can bounce your spleen into your throat.

I could tell by the slump of his shoulders and his slow steps that Sawyer was disappointed to lose his new friend.

My heart broke.

When I pointed out John to Sawyer a few moments later and told Sawyer, "there's John, he's going down the twisty slide, would you like to play too?" Sawyer looked interested for a moment. But then he told me that he was "too busy digging in the sand" and didn't want to play with John anymore.

What do I say? Friends will move on. They will like someone else better because he can climb higher or run faster or he's not cool enough or he wears the wrong jeans - or any other reason that has nothing to do with Sawyer at all. He shouldn't change who he is because of what someone else wants. He is still so, so special, with a smile that melts glaciers and a twinkle in his eye unsurpassed by all the stars in the heavens.

But Sawyer is 3. All he knows is that on this sunny, perfect day, he was left behind. Luckily, it's nothing that a handful of goldfish crackers and making a really cool sand castle can't fix.

If only it could always be that easy to heal my boy's hurt.

The Joy of Two

Ugh

So I'd been working on a post, actually putting some time and effort into it, and I signed off AOL before saving it. It's like the sunken souffle conundrum: once it falls flat, is it worth eating anyway because it's chocolate, or do I start over from scratch? Let me ponder...

These eyes..

No idea where her eye color comes from...

In this picture I would call them Couch Khaki. But sometimes they are really blue. And sometimes light green. Grey, maybe?

Look out, A-Rod!

Sawyer had one of the biggest days of his life Monday. He didn't realize it, of course. He had no way of knowing that, from the moment I saw on the blurry screen that little blob with a teeny pulse, beating away, I would dream of this moment.

Yep, it was Sawyer's first day of T ball. And he LOVED it. I think most parents want their kids to love what they love (unless, possibly, if Mom's true passion is crack and Dad prefers prostitutes). So it filled my heart to see Sawyer enjoying my favorite sport so much. At 3, it's not so much baseball as it is setting 12 cats free in room with catnip air freshner. They ran. And ran. Chased balls. Two kids knocked heads. When Sawyer took his turn at bat, he raced after his ball like it was the last cookie on earth rather than running around the bases.

And all along, Sawyer kept shouting "I'm having so much fun at t ball!"

He didn't care that he was the slowest (and also, I think, the youngest) kid. He wasn't worried about how far he hit the ball, or about his follow through, or whether he touched every (or any!) base.

Watching him I am reminded of what we've lost along the way. The pure joy of it. We get older and competitive and self-doubting. Cynical. We don't remember the love of feeling our body run and leap and bounce. And fly.

We forget the laughter.

Bald is..sad

So one of my favorite daily reads is dooce. This woman is a brilliant writer. To the point that when I read her stuff, I want to pop my eyeballs out with a barbecue fork (you know what I'm talking about, the kind with a long handle that you use to flip over your slab of beef on the grill or whatever) because I've been a professional writer for 18 years and I'm nowhere close. I am overcome with envy/admiration.

Anyway.

She had a column today about Britney Spears that definitely reflected some of the opinions I had on the subject. Go to her website to read hers - or you can hang out here and see what I think (which is why you're here in the first place, right?).

I feel sorry for Britney. It does seem like she's acting out on a grand scale (kind of like Lindsay Lohan) and you can't help but wonder what is up. Is this just another spoiled wealthy star being, well, a spoiled wealthy star? Or is it something more, like possibly post-partum?

I did not suffer from post-partum depression. Still, I have had some awful thoughts about my babies. I have envisioned throwing my daughter, who literally cried for the first 7 months of her life, against a wall, right down to the thud of her body hitting the plaster and then the ensuing, blessed silence.

I have purple-faced screamed at my children. I have lied in bed at night, my stomach knotted as I have promised, promised I'd be more patient, a better mother, the next day.

But I'm not 23 or whatever Britney is. I don't have millions of dollars. I don't have fame. I can't imagine the kind of cocktail Britney might have going on, and I'm not talking about the dozen or so she must've had to think flashing her crotch was a good idea. Maybe it's motherhood, Being Britney, and then, possibly, PPD on a very public scale.

It is impossible for me to watch a mother, any mother, do what she is doing and not feel sad. Because isn't motherhood the common thread that binds Britney and me and every mom out there, regardless of race, religion, social status, fame, money? Don't we think about her children, and wonder what the hell she is doing? Do we dismiss it as an immature girl who doesn't care, or do we pause and wonder, could that have been me?

Smile!

Sawyer, Sage and I went to the lake here in town. Sawyer loves to ride his scooter around it, so I put Sage in the jogger and off we went. We stopped for a snack and to watch the ducks. There was a man taking some pictures.

Mommy, I don't think the ducks want the man to take pictures of them.

Why not?

Because the ducks are not saying Cheese!

Signs you are a bad mommy...

You shoo your children into the garage to play so you can scarf down rice krispie treats without having to share...

You turn your back on your children while they are watching TV so you can suck down your 3 year-old's Frostee Jr. You get a case of brain freeze so bad you're sure your left eyeball is going to pop out of your head and hit the ceiling. Your 17 month-old spots the cup that you've put back on the table as if it contains a hairy poop and holds out her hand for the spoon. Your 17 month-old has her first taste of Frostee. Her teeth - and eyeballs - remain where they are supposed to be...

To reward yourself, you purchase the tee shirt pictured above, which comes complete with a pink rhinestone in a tooth.. You can order it here .

We don't really KNOW Lincoln..

Me: "David, I think it's Lincoln's birthday today."
Sawyer, clapping his hands: "Do I get to have cake?"

Sawyer: "Daddy? Why do you have a fat belly?"
David: "Because I eat too many snacks."
Sawyer: "Daddy, you should only eat a little bit of snacks, okay?"

The problem with TV..

is that my son has now developed a British accent from watching too much Charlie and Lola. He has become Madonna.

13.1, baby!

Well, I did it (I'm the one on the right, with my friend K). My first half-marathon. It was...painful. At least the final three miles were! I had horrible calf cramps by then, but I managed to finish at 2:22 (and I actually got teary-eyed when I crossed the finish line), which was within our goal time range of somewhere between 2:15 and 2:30.

By the time I walked through the chute, got my chip snipped off and grabbed water, my calves were cramping so badly I was walking like a sailor after shore leave. All I wanted was a banana - and they were ALL OUT! I grabbed a blueberry bagel and started crawling, er, walking to find David. It took him awhile to find me, but when he did, I was SO happy to see him. We found my training partner, K, who finished five minutes ahead of me, and took some pics (I'll post later).

People, running that far hurts. I wasn't even winded, just felt like I wanted to lie down and nap - right there on the pavement of PCH. It wasn't until I got home that I realized I actually did have an injury. I noticed on my running shirt there was a long streak of brown, kind of like I'd hugged a short person who had a lot of foundation on her face. So then I took off my sports bra, and that's when I saw the blood: I'd chafed the skin off under both breasts - and Lord knows I can't afford to lose any volume off the girls!

The Final Countdown..

My first half-marathon starts in less than 12 hours. Or is it fewer than 12 hours? I can never remember the rule. Didn't they have to change the signs at the grocery store from 10 items or less to 10 items or fewer? Maybe 10 is the cutoff. It'd be nice if 10 miles were the cutoff for the half, but unfortunately, it's 13.1 miles. I have everything ready: my bib, my chip, my shot blocks, my outfit, my breakfast..Now all I need is for my body to cooperate. We drove part of the course today. It's funny how long even six miles looks when it's stretched out in a straight line in front of you. Anyway, wish me luck!

Duh..

I have come to the brilliant conclusion that when I'm not sick, I run a whole lot better. When I am sick, I just feel like the Worst Runner Ever. Then I have days like today, when I'm keeping up with the lead pack and feel strong (despite the pain on the side of my butt that I bruised after my spectacular fall Monday). It's like having PMS: you can't figure out why you're crying at the Country Crock commercials until a day later when you get your period.

Four more days until the half-marathon...

Pussycat Dolls

Should I be concerned that my 3 year-old boy is singing "Don't you wish your girlfriend was HOT like ME?"