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!