Oh, she did

Sage is, shall we say, unimpressed. She laughs at yelling. Giggles at timeout. Nothing phases this girl (altho, throwing her into her crib instead of on the naughty step tonight did suprise her, so score one for Mommy!).

We were reading books on the couch, and, as Sage refuses to let me actually read to her (I do it, Mommy!), she was crawling off and on me as Sawyer listened to me read Mike and the Steam Shovel (anyone read that one? anyone find it kind of weird that this grown man's best friend is a steam shovel named Maryanne? Discuss.).

Then, she decided I was paying too much attention to her brother. So she took a shot at my face.

Sawyer looked at her, leaned in and said "OH NO YOU DI-N'T!"

All that was missing was a head bob and snapping fingers.

Last shootout at the OK Corral

The weather is getting warmer. And the sun is back. So I called my friend Ciaran and demanded she and her son meet me and the kids at her local park.

See, Ciaran is pregnant and is having her c-section Friday. But she's just come off bedrest, hasn't slept in, oh, maybe eight weeks, and is in constant pain from a baby that's all but hanging out at this point.

Otherwise, she's doing great. Her hair is just fab, long, blonde and flat-ironed. I have been rocking the 80's big hair look, but I contained it in a ponytail so as not to frighten her into early delivery (she's already in preterm labor) or scare her innocent son.

Everyone was having a lovely time. The park is small and the entire thing is shaded. I will now go off on a small rant about how all the parks in MY town were recently redone. While still in the planning stages, the head of the parks department met with local moms to get recommendations of what we'd like. The NUMBER ONE thing we all requested was that the parks have a shade structure. Guess how many have it? That's right. A big fat NONE. Not a one. And it's hot here. A lot. REALLY HOT. Africa hot. Tarzan couldn't take this hot (you get bonus points if you can identify what movie the last two sentences come from).

So for most of the summer, no one uses these gleaming, spanking-new play structures. Because if you touch them, you don't leave a fingerprints. You leave the first three layers of your skin.

Okay. Back on task. It got time for the kids to have their snack. They ate nicely, and even shared their grapes with Ciaran's son. Then everyone went off to play again.

Suddenly I hear Sage calling for me in her distress whine (which is different from her normal whine, in that it's a little higher pitched and more urgent). I look over, and notice a stain spreading down the right leg of her light purple pants. The same purple pants that, the only other time she's worn them, became soaked with contaminated ocean when she got a little too close to the surf.

Now, I could not figure out how this happened. She's still in diapers. So I call her over. And her walk...oh, her walk...think old-time westerns. Think cowboys. After a few days of riding in the saddle. I could almost hear her spurs clanking. Or do they jingle?

She seriously tried to walk without having to touch her pants. Go ahead, try it! It took her about 45 minutes to reach the spot where I waited, about 10 feet away. Just kidding. It was only 25 minutes. I went and got her, and we went off to the side. Where I pulled down her pants. To find a completely dry diaper. On a completely soaked child.

One of the sides had come undone. So now it was off to the parking lot. She was naked from the waist down but still was walking like she was trying to avoid inner thigh chafe.

Until we got to the parking lot, that is. Then she bolted. The exhibitionist! I grabbed her and rummaged around in the car to find a pair of Sawyer's old red sweat pants.

She was happy. And dry.

Back to the park she ran, ready to play.

I'm thinking it just might be time for pull-ups.

Well, dang, I must've done growed up!

David and I dropped the kids of an mother-in-laws mid-morning and left to do all kinds of romantic things. First stop? Ikea. I mean, how can we exchange meaningful looks over storage bins with our children running all over the place?

So we're at a stoplight after exiting the highway, and David looks at the car next to us and says, "Are they smoking a BONG in there?"

I glance over, and to my amazement, I see the driver taking a hit off not a bong (although I was amazed my never-even-looked-at-a-joint-nevermind-smoked-one husband even came up with the word 'bong') but a pipe.

I was shocked. I mean, they were DRIVING! And they weren't, like, 16. They were probably 20.

I got VERY agitated, much to David's surprise. He thinks that because, back in the day, and I mean REALLY back in the day, I might have partaken of the sweet weed (not that I inhaled, mind you!) from time to time that I'd be totally chill about it.

But NO! They clearly saw us looking at them as they chased their hits with a swig of Starbucks. Apparently the sight of my eyes bulging out of my head didn't register. They didn't even break into uncontrollable giggles.

I made David go slow once the light changed so I could write down their license plate, and then insisted he call his friend who's a cop in the town. Of course, he didn't answer his phone.

Did I let this drop? Oh no no no, my friends. Once we got to Ikea a few moments later, I made him call another friend who's a reserve Orange County sheriff. I got on the phone and asked what we could've done.

He said we should've called 911, and then possibly followed the car for a bit to let the cops know where they were. AND that they had a fatality last week when some guy who was totally stoned crashed into a car with a family in it.

MY POINT EXACTLY!

I'm not sure when it happened. I was not a poster child for safe driving with some of the stupid shit I did as a teenager. I drank and drove. I smoked and drove (but only once, because I got lost in my own neighborhood and that scared the bejeebus out of me). I feel VERY lucky that nothing ever happened, that I didn't kill someone else or myself.

It must be the mom thing. All I could think of today was what if they hit a car with a child in it? I was really angry. Because what they were doing was astonishingly stupid. And selfish.

I'm sorry we didn't call 911 and get those suckers pulled over. Hopefully, they got to wherever they were going safely. The bad news is, they won't have learned their lesson.

The End of an Era

We moved Sawyer into his Race Car Bed when he was 19 months old. We made the change not because he crawled out of his crib (he still won't climb out after he's climbed in to visit Sage), but because we evicted him.

Sage was on the way. Our pediatrician advised us to move him a few months before her arrival, so he wouldn't feel like he was being replaced. Even though he was. Cribwise, that is.

We figured, since he was so young, the transition would be a bit easier if we put him into something he loved. So we found Race Car Bed, and it was indeed love at first sight for him. He got to SLEEP IN A RACE CAR!

We also loved it because for the first few months he was in it, he DIDN'T REALIZE HE COULD ACTUALLY GET OUT OF IT ON HIS OWN! He'd just call for us when he woke up, just like he did in his crib.

This is from his first day in it.



There were no nighttime wanderings to worry about. For awhile, anyway.

He even liked to entertain the ladies in there.



He did really well in it. But over the past six months, he started coming into our bed for a few hours in the middle of the night. We began thinking that maybe he was waking up because he wasn't comfortable.

A crib mattress isn't exactly big on support. So we started looking for furniture. Then life happened, and we stopped for awhile. We finally, finally decided it was time.

We went. We decided. We went back. We changed our minds.

But today, David and Sawyer drove away in the empty SUV and returned with a bed, dresser, night stand and under-bed drawers.

Meanwhile, I dismantled Race Car Bed. And like a moron, totally forgot to take one last picture of him in it. DOH!

Then Sawyer and I went to Target. We bought shark camflauge sheets. And a waterproof mattress pad.

Now he wants me to, like, actually paint the room. He's tired of that babyish animals mural. He's a big boy in a Big Boy Bed. He wants fighter jets (cue theme to Top Gun).

And right this moment, he is sleeping in his new bed. Right next to pillows that I piled up on one side so that he doesn't roll off and crack his head open on the dresser that's next to it.

Seems like so long ago when he spent his first night in Race Car Bed and I covered every inch of the floor with pillows - even though it was like two inches off the ground AND the edges of the bed were higher than the mattress.

I was teary then. My baby was no longer a baby. I'm teary now (nitrous, anyone?)

I figure I'm entitled. Every milestone should be celebrated with a sniffle or two.

Mommy needs the nitrous!

This morning, my easy going guy was very excited. He was going to the dentist. The last time he went, he got to meet Mr. Thirsty (the suction) and Mr. Squirty (the water thing). He was decked out in a big recliner and got to watch Ratatouille on the TV on the ceiling.

Best of all, when he was done, he got to select a toy from the treasure box.

So when he knew he was going again, and was getting a filling, he wasn't phased.The boy had no clue.

But I did. Cause I knew exactly what was about to happen to him. I've got 16 fillings in my own teeth. Not a pretty sight.

I blame my parents.

Duh.

I don't remember going to the dentist much as a kid. Maybe twice? I loved me my sugar. I brushed, but didn't know about flossing.

When I was out of college and had dental insurance, I went on my own. The dentist had his practice in his house. His wife was the hygenist. And most of the people from our department went there.

The best was when I had to tell them that I had broken up with the first guy I went with there and now was dating a new guy - both who worked in the same department. I wanted to make sure they kept everyone straight.

This dentist was great. Very low key. Which was a good thing, since I need basically every tooth in my face filled. He even gave me the choice of filling my wisdom teeth or yanking them out. I opted to keep all body parts.

Then I moved. And moved again. And again, all the way across the country. TEN years had passed, and no trips to the dentist. Finally, last year, I went to a new dentist, who went to dental school with David's brother.

I braced myself. Could my cavities now have cavities?

HaHA! Not a one! But I must say, I am now a militant flosser, brusher and whitener, and go in for my cleaning every six months.

That's why I started to feel guilty that my kids had not yet been to see a dentist. I kept meaning to do it, but that list is long and the days short. Thing is, both of them were early and often teethers. Sage cut her first at 4 1/2 months. Sawyer was a little later, at 6 months, but both had 16 teeth by age 1.

So by ages 4 and almost 2 1/2, their baby teeth had already been around the block a few times. Not to mention some juice and, occasionally, some candy.

I finally brought them in last month, only to find that Sawyer has a cavity. Which is what brought us to the dentist today. Usually, David is in charge of all things procedural, but he'd left at 6:30 a.m. for a business meeting in LA.

I dropped Sage off at a neighbor's and off we went. By the time we got there, I was a nervous wreck.

Sawyer was to get nitrous oxide, otherwise known as laughing gas. Possible side affect? Nausea and vomiting! I DON'T DO BARF!

I was also worried about how he'd react in general. He was in a room with no doors. I was sitting in the doorway, but couldn't reach him. They reclined him in the chair, put on the sunglasses to help shield him from the bright lights, and placed the little pink mask on his nose.

He was watching Madagascar. He soon started to giggle.

The dentist - who is 7 months pregnant - talked to him about everything she was doing. And he was fine. Until the drilling started. They had to put some stuff in his mouth to keep it open so he wouldn't bite the drill and he got really scared.

He started crying. I could hear him over the buzz of the drill. Luckily, he couldn't see my tears.

I've seen my boy cry a gazillion times. Usually, it's because he's gotten in trouble or didn't get his own way. That doesn't move me.

But this. My little guy, who is always so brave when it comes to going to the doctor, was terrified. It got me. I cried for him and with him.

And then it was over. And he was back to making his crazy growling noises which he thinks are funny.

He hopped off the chair. Picked out his toy. Was totally excited to go get a milkshake.

Later that afternoon, after a solid three hour nap and some crying over his swollen tongue - he'd been biting it before the novicaine wore off - he said "Mommy, I had fun at the dentist today."

Wha?

At his core, he's tough.

The best part is he's already forgiven me for putting him through it.

I know this, because while I was in the kitchen about to get dinner ready, he told me.

"I love you with all my heart, Mommy."

Well, I USED to be in shape

I was supposed to run with one of my training partners this weekend, but she was not feeling well and cancelled. I really, really needed to run.

These past few weeks have been rather stressful, as you might imagine. My biggest stress reliever has been running. But with the pregnancy/miscarriage, I had some forced time off. Plus, David has been out of town, so I haven't even been able to go to spin.

I figured the silver lining would be I'd given my foot plenty of time to chill out. So I decided to do an easy run on my own. I was hoping for five miles, but as soon as I started, I knew three was more reasonable.

I huffed. I watched a woman zip right by me, only to see her stretching later and notice that she is pregant. And faster than me.

I soon discovered that a) my foot still hurts and b) being out of shape sucks.

Add this to the fact that I have been a carbo load without a race.

I'm surprised I can fit into any of my pants.

This blows.

To top it off, I have a pain in my side exactly like I had after doing my marathon.

I am calling my podiatrist tomorrow and starting on a series of shots in my foot ASAP. I'm supposed to be training for another marathon, which is in June. Hear that, neuroma? I need you OUT of my FOOT!

I want my miles back.

No No? NO!

I tried. I really did. And though I was not successful at eliminating that ugly word from my vocabulary (or theirs, either, I might add), there were a couple of surprises.

1) I don't say it as indiscriminantly as I thought.
2) There are times when I blurt it out before Sawyer even finishes his sentence and
3) Sage hears it a lot more than Sawyer.

The first one came at 8:32 a.m., when Sawyer was sitting on the toilet and claimed he was done doing his poopy. I replied "No, you're not done." But you know, this was true. He was not done. And he needed to be done because we were leaving for the aquarium within the hour.

Next came at 8:56 a.m. It was issued to Sage. "If you don't eat your breakfast, than no aquarium." Wait - is that techinically a No?

There were three No's at the aquarium. All directed at Sage. One was shouted when she insisted on running behind a building where I couldn't see her. Another came when she continued to splash water in the touch pools despite my repeatedly asking her to stop. And the third was...actually, I don't remember. I have written down on my notepaper that there were three. Rest assured, she deserved it!

The next two came when Sage, who fell asleep 10 minutes from our house and then did not transfer, refused to take her nap. She kept asking for things that she threw out of her crib. Then, finally, I heard her say "PRIVACY in my bed" which meant she'd done a big poop. So she got what she wanted, which was for me to come get her.

Sawyer did not nap either, so now I have to napless kids. Imagine! They decided to ride their rocking horse together. They were laughing and having a fabulous time. But Mean Mommy didn't like the way it was tilting and told them NO, it was dangerous, only one at a time. They looked at me like I had just grown a third eye in the middle of my head. In retrospect, they were probably fine and my Wet Blanket NO was unecessary. Ugh.

The final one came when Sawyer started to ask me for a treat and I cut him off with a stern NO before he got the words out. I felt bad about that one, as it was pure reaction. I believe I actually clamped by hands over my mouth but it was too late. That crazy NO was already out and filling the air of the living room.

I did wonder, upon review, how I could've handled each situation differently. What other words could I have used to stop certain unpleasant or unsafe behaviors?

I think No is just easier than trying to be more diplomatic. It's short. To the point. But it's not always effective.

So my next act is to find different words. I'd like to be more positive. Sometimes it does seem like saying No is just a very bad habit. I don't want them to feel shut down by the No Backhand.

The point of the project was for me to become more aware. And now I can work on it.

Unless they do something REALLY egregious, like try to steal my Cadbury Mini Eggs (yes, it's the season again!).

Any thoughts? I'm dying to hear if anyone else tried it!

A quick break

I will try to update all of you tomorrow on my No No project, and am eager to hear how you all did! But David is FINALLY coming home from four days in Hawaii (yes, including on Valentine's Day, when it was 47 degrees, rainy and windy here) and I'm too tired from having to, you know, take care of the kids and all that.

So I will just post a pic from Monday, when it was warm and sunny enough to have an awesome beach day. In February, people! Enjoy!

The no No project

So have you ever collapsed on the couch after putting your kids to bed and wondered if they both think their names are now "NO!"? Because you find yourself saying that word a lot. Maybe too much. Somehow it just flies out of your mouth the second they ask you for something. Or even just look at you.

You could just be grumpy. Or tired of the constant whining. Demanding. So unreasonable, these kids! First they want to be fed. Then they want their butts wiped. What next - they'll want us to, like, play with them too? The nerve!

I started to wonder if it would be possible to go through an entire day without saying "No" to them. Unless their life was in danger or something. There must be a better way to handle their requests or redirect their behavior.

Right?

I'm going to find out. Tomorrow, I'm going to attempt to go the entire day without uttering that two-letter word. Think it's possible? It'll be a challenge.

I will report back on how it goes. Anyone else want to give it a try? And no fair asking anyone else to yell "NO!" for you!

NONONONONONONONONONONO!!!

Sorry. Just had to get that out of my system. Let the kinder, gentler Mommyhood begin.

Thank you...

Thank you, thank you, thank you. To everyone who took a moment out of their day to offer me words of sympathy and encouragement.

It is simply amazing to me that I have the support of so many wonderful women - most of whom I've never met. It means more than I can say.

I am now a member of a club that I supported but hoped never to join. The membership requirement is one of the most heartwrenching experiences a woman can have. I know I have a lot of company there. And that is sad.

For those of you who've asked, I'm doing pretty well. I'm almost back to normal physically. Emotionally...it comes and goes. Sometimes it's difficult to see pregnant women, especially at the park. I can't help remembering being pregnant with Sage while spending hours at the park with Sawyer, pushing him in a swing.

I think about how that should be me again. But it's not. And I'm slowly accepting it.

I'm reminded every day how lucky I am to have two healthy, beautiful children. Maybe I'm greedy for asking for just one more.

We don't know whether we'll try again.

Either way, I'll be okay.

Sort of pregnant

I learned over the past week that you can, in fact, be sort of pregnant.

It happens when you get a positive pregnancy test, but a blood test shows your hormone levels are not where they should be. So you have to get tested again. And you're still pregnant, but not enough pregnant. So back you go to get yet another test.

The adventure starts when you pee in the dark onto a stick and you actually see a second distinct pink line appearing right next to the first pink line.

You stare at the line for a bit. You let it sink in. You tell your husband. But not anyone else. It's a delicious secret, one to be savored in private.

Soon you're off to the races as you ride an amazingly rapid acceleration of the imagination.

You figure out your due date. You look at your two children and imagine a third snuggled right in with them. You wonder how it will all work out. You think boy. No, girl. Should you even find out? And NAMES! Juliet, maybe, after your aunt. Your husband loves Kingston for a boy. How can you fit your Dad's name, Gerald, into all this?

Where will you put the child can your kids share a room are you doing the right thing adding another child areyoureadyforthebabythingalloveragain

and then

Oh.

It all

comes

to a screeching

halt.

Two days later you are told that your numbers show you are only a week or two pregnant, not the almost six weeks the calendar says you should be. You spend the entire weekend wondering why your breasts are no longer tender. You poke them enough and they, you know, sort of feel sore but maybe it's from all that jabbing you're doing.

But you're not spotting anymore so this is a good sign, right? You have stopped going down the Three Kids Road and enter a nebulous zone known as Limbo.

I've always loved the limbo. Back in the day I was actually quite good at it. For some reason I could really get low under that stick. One time, in my early 20s, I was at a wedding and when I shimmied under that really low stick, my hair practically brushing the floor, I noticed my boyfriend at the time wildly waving at me.

Wow, I thought. He must be REALLY impressed with my flexibility! Not so much, as it turns out. He was trying to tell me that I was successfully flashing the entire dancefloor. So much for that short dress.

This Limbo, however? Not fun. At all. You can't be excited about a potential life because you're too terrified that it's over. But you don't know. So you go along in equal doses of optimism and devestation.

Then comes time for your next test. Which is when you find out that your numbers are rising, but they've only doubled while they should have quadrupled. So that while you are, in fact, pregnant, you are told that you should be incredibly cautious.

Who knew hope was such a grey area.

Then you start bleeding. And you know. If you're honest with yourself you knew as soon as you had that first blood test, as soon as your pregnancy symptoms vanished like they were never there.

You take a shower and mix your tears with hot, hot water. You wonder if maybe it's happening because this embaby somehow knew that you're not a great mother; that sometimes you yell or don't pay attention and who wants any part of that?

You tell it it is loved. You will it go grow.

But it doesn't.

The third test confirms it.

It's over.

You look at your two healthy children and feel incredibly lucky. You feel guilty for being so astonishingly sad.

Still, your grief colors you.

You were a little bit, gloriously pregnant.

And now you're not.

You hug your children.

Because you can.

In summation...

I HEART this woman's blog. She's an amazing writer. I want to be like her when I grow up. And, she has a daughter named Sage, so she obviously has great taste in names!

Anyway, her post from yesterday sums up my feelings about Super Tuesday. Except she can actually, you know, write it REALLY well and hilariously.

Mom101

Talk to me Goose

Sawyer loves planes. LOVES them. He spends hours playing with his toy planes, flying them around and making his airplane noises - which involves a lot of spraying spit.

He lands them on his aircraft carrier. He flies them in the car. He takes them to sleep at night.

He loves them so much, that when he was not yet even two, his father decided it was time for Sawyer to be indoctrinated into that sacred club. You know, the Members Only one that consists of those of you who can recite, word for word, every line of Top Gun (admit it, you're now humming, "You've Lost That Loving Feeling").

Nevermind that there are lots of swears in it. No f-bombs, but plenty of Jesus Christs, son of a bitches and shits.

Sawyer was a hyperverbal child. He spoke relatively early and often. So he had no trouble learning the lines to this movie. He especially enjoyed climbing into his car seat while exclaiming "G-d dammit!"

That was pretty much it for me. No more Top Gun for Sawyer. He soon forgot about The Airplane Movie (he only wanted to watch those scenes). For well over a year and a half, at least.

Then David decided the other day to show him a video of him riding his scooter when he was 2 1/2. It was achingly cute to see our little guy zipping around the lake so fast when he was so small. Except for one problem. The soundtrack David put to the video was Highway to the Danger Zone (or, as Sage now sings it, the Danger Goan).

Like waving a crackpipe in front of a recovering addict, Top Gun was back with a vengeance. Turn and burn. Take me to bed or lose me forever. I feel the need. The need, for speed, OW!

Sawyer knows all of these.

David tiVoed the movie when it was shown on AMC so Sawyer could watch the clean version. Yeah. He just went right on reciting the lines, filling in the shits as needed. And did you know it's okay to say bitch on TV? Altho he did assure me that it was okay to say "Some of a bench."

So then David edited the movie to have just Sawyer's favorite scenes. The swears are now all gone. Maybe eventually Sawyer will forget about his favorite expletives when he doesn't hear them four times a day (from the movie, that is. Mommy is a whole other story).

I'm thinking this is all going to work perfectly. Then earlier this evening, Sage was upstairs. She put her little face inbetween the rails and yelled "Mommy! Yook at me!" She proceeded to jump as she yelled "Dammit!"

Then she laughed.

"Sawyer said it, Mommy."

18 and WHA?????

I'd love to come up with a witty post, but...my Patriots lost today. How could this be? They were going to go 19-0. Complete their perfect season. I was going to get another chance to gloat celebrate.

So I will now be observing a moment of silence for my boys. And then I'll be back to my regular blogging.

If I can ever recover...sigh...