VERY important questions!

Why is Calliou bald? And while we're on that topic, does he in fact possess a Big Boy voice? Rooooooosie! Oy!

Where are Max and Ruby's parents?

Why do Charlie and Lola each only have three fingers?

When Cookie Monster "eats" cookies, how come they fly all over and never actually end up in his mouth?

What does Rocket do for fuel? And aren't the Little Einstein's freezing in their little outfits - until they magically appear in snowgear?

Where did Ketzel the Dragon learn to speak Spanish?

Is the Man with the Yellow Hat getting it on with Professor Wiseman? And why isn't she Professor Wisewoman?

Sugar and spice and...super glue?

Can someone tell me exactly what Little Kid Snot is made of? Because I'm about to break out the power tools. Oh, yes I am!

Sage has had a runny nose for about a week now. It's the thick, green STICKY variety. So it's not really traveling down her face, just loitering right around her nostrils. Which she then wipes.

She ends up with a lovely crust on her nose. And her cheek. And above her eye - wherever the gooey gunk landed and then dried for all eternity.

I can't get this stuff off. I soak a washcloth in warm water, add soap, and scrub (insert sound of cat being poked in the eye with a pin and you will have a teeny idea of what Sage sounds like during this procedure). The offending crust seems like it's gone, but within a few minutes, it reappears. I swear I could use the stuff to grout the tile in the bathroom.

Or maybe I could sell it to NASA. They'd never have to worry about those pesky tiles falling off. A little Sage snot will hold 'em through re-entry. And Lord knows she makes enough of it.

I'm pondering revving up the sander. Cause seriously, there's nothing more appealing than a child will dried snot of their face. Especially when you throw a little playground dirt on it too, or perhaps a couple orange goldfish crumbs.

Luckily, I have a nice green barette that she can wear during this unforunate illness. You might as well accessorize!

Loose Lips

It is a scientifically proven fact that children are completely incapable of keeping a secret. Especially if you tell them "Don't say anything to Daddy because it's a surprise."

Asking a young child to hold in information is like drinking two gallons of water and not being able to pee.

MUST. SPILL. IT. NOW.

Or they will, physically, burst.

And so, despite this knowledge, I took Sawyer with me yesterday to pick out a birthday gift for Daddy. I was hoping to get one of those cool mortar and pestle bowls for him to make guacamole.

We headed to Williams-Sonoma at the mall. They had a really cool one made of lava rock, but David would flip if I spent $50 on a bowl, even if they had to repel down into Mauna Loa to carve out the material.



I decided to go to the Nike store to buy a new sports bra. I literally have just one I use for running, which means I wash it constantly. Then I figured David needs some running shorts to add to his collection - all of which I'm sure were purchased circa 1987.

Sawyer was VERY excited and proud to carry the bag to the car. And he mentioned how he couldn't WAIT to tell Daddy. So we had the whole talk about how it's a SURPRISE and that Daddy's birthday isn't til TOMORROW.

He agreed to keep it a secret.

And hey - we were home for 4.3 seconds before he raced over to tell David "DADDY, WE GOT YOU RUNNING PANTS FOR YOUR BIRTHDAY!"

Doh.

Hey, when you gotta go, you gotta go.

Happy Birthday, David!

Absence makes the heart grow fonder

David and I escaped from prison went away overnight - sans kids - for the first time in forever.

That time, while pregnant with Sage, I took David on a surprise trip to Vegas for his 40th birthday. Three years almost to the day, we were on our way to Vegas again.

We were both pretty amped about it. Then Sawyer came down with an awful cold and was up all Friday night. We thought, for about half a second, about staying home.

But this trip was too important. This time, it was for my friend W's wedding. There was no way I was going to miss it.

Even though it was in Vegas. Cause the thing is, I DETEST that place. The cigarette smoke alone is enough to choke a herd of cattle. ANd that's just in one small casino. I'm not into gambling, and my drinking, staying-up-all-night partying life is long gone.

But I heart my friend, and we were excited for her and for us to leave our children have some much-needed alone time.

We drove and stopped at the outlet malls along the way. My first store? Gymboree! I couldn't help myself. I mean, a Gymboree Outlet shop! You girls know what I'm talking about!

I did manage to stop in Banana Republic and found an adorable casual dress. For $35! And yet, I found myself having to completely justify spending money on something not 1) for the kids or 2) not a necessity.

We finally arrived in Vegas with an hour to spare. My friend C loaned me her cool curling iron that makes spiral curls. So I whipped that baby out and did my hair. David LOVED it and W kept complimenting me on it, so I'm going to grab one on eBay.

I had to get there early for pictures. W had asked a bunch of us to wear black, and then gave out Tiffany-blue pashminas. The effect was gorgeous!I'm third from the left in both pictures, which are tough to see but at least you get the idea. Isn't W GORGEOUS?




David took some of just me and W but somehow our camera erased them. Grrrr...

I was incredibly thrilled to meet W's birth mom (who is at the end on the far right), P. It was a bit disconcerting to speak to her, as W looks just like her. They even make the same facial expressions, which is so amazing since W was given up for adoption at birth and they didn't meet again for 24 years. And this weekend, P got to watch her daughter get married. I can't even begin to imagine her emotions.

David and I thought about our kids a lot. Of course. We missed them and talked to them on the phone quite a bit. He and I laughed discussing how Sage does a crazy dance that is a carbon copy of her brother's silly, finger-pointing, booty-shaking moves.

I was thinking how lucky we are that we have two children who are so full of personality and are so much fun to be around.

Then we arrived home.

And the whining was in full force. As was the not listening to Mommy, bickering with your sibling, and generally being little jerks. Did I also mention Sage's faucet of a nose?

Talk about a buzz-kill.

We couldn't WAIT to get them to bed. Which is sad, because we missed them so much. Apparently we just missed the cute stuff. What's also sad is that my tension level was immediately ratcheted up, and David and I fell into our sniper mode with each other - something that was absent in Vegas.

David has also caught whatever virus the kids have.

Not the best welcome home.

It could be worse, though.

It could be Vegas.

Princess and the P

P, as in pigtails, that is.

Sage's hair is just a flyaway mess of baby fluff. I can't quite bring myself to cut it again. I am willing her hair to be thick and long and am refusing to acknowledge the aforementioned fluff.

I decided that the only way to contain the monster was to put it in pigtails. Her hair seems to want to fly out to the side anyway (kinda like my boobs after having two kids, but that's another post)so I figured I'd help it.

Pigtails!

I sat her down, and with my hands, gathered her strands on one side. This was accompanied by SHRIEKING. You'd have thought I was sticking a pencil down her ear canal. The screaming. The crying. My neighbors who live across the street AND up a house heard her.

Of course, this makes the process even more enjoyable. She puts her hands up to stop me from touching her hair. Mind you, I haven't even started with the elastics yet - which just brought the caterwallering to a whole other level.

Finally, I got the piggies in.

And you know what she did? Ran into the bathroom to admire herself! She even posed for a picture (this, apparently, is her "smile for the camera" grin).



I have gotten a bit better at getting them in. The crowning glory was last night, when David took her to pick up dinner. He had rolled her window down, and at a stoplight, a woman in another car rolled down her window to get David's attention.

"I just have to tell you your daughter is SOOO cute!"

That's right, folks. My baby stops traffic!

Hello?

So when you have a blog, and things are humming along perfectly in tune, the words are flowing, the ideas are stacking up, it's a symphony. And then you take a day off because maybe you're busy or tired, and then that one day turns into two, then three, then a week, and suddenly your unposted blog becomes its own entity.

It is there, in the back of your mind. You are aware that writers need to write, and so since you are clearly not writing, you are now not a writer.

The blog takes on a life of its own. It is lurking. Empty. Tormenting you. It is a living, breathing THING that knows that you are, obviously, NOT writing. Loser!

Then you notice that you are purposely NOT writing. You have nothing interesting to say (as if). You know no one cares of your daughter gets pigtails for the first time, and is SO pleased with herself she ACTUALLY POSES FOR PICTURES! Or that your son's favorite thing to do is, when you give him a kiss, he wipes it off because he is too BIG for kisses.

You understand that you are as boring as the piece of lint or your shirt.

You start feeling bad because you know you have people who actually check this blog. If there's never anything new, these people will go away. Your blog will die a slow death.

So you are recommitted! Re-energized! You won't play seven hours straight of Scramble, even though you were 17th out of 289 players last night!!

Oy.

Thanks for all who have hung with me.

I'm back!

First Crush

My good friend JenC started a great post on MommiesWithStyle about first crushes.

Do you remember yours?

Mine was in preschool. His name was David Snyder (it was a Jewish preschool, of course) and all I remember is he had brown hair. I'm not sure why he was so dreamy, but there it is.

Then in first grade, there was a boy - I kid you not - whose name was Shaun Cassidy! He really liked another girl better, I think, but he kissed me on the nose when we were on some kind of rocking chair thing and, you know, it rocked my world. I guess. I mean, it must have, right? I don't really remember much else.

Sawyer already had his first girlfriend, but her mom went a little cuckoo on me and now they don't see each other anymore. Just today he asked when he was going to have a playdate with her. I feel bad, but I need to spare him from future MIL drama!

Sage hangs with the twins up the street, who are a year older than her. But I wouldn't call it love. Yet. We're hopeful. They're going to be very athletic, they're cute, have great parents, and they also have a little brother in case she's looking to rob the cradle.



I took this picture at the beach the other day. These two aren't crushing on each other, but hey - Sawyer could do a lot worse! This is the same girl who was reading books with him on his Race Car Bed back in the day.



Of course, while boyfriends and girlfriends may come and go, their hearts will break, but Sawyer and Sage will always have their true best friends: each other.

What was the word again? I don't think we got it the first time

Snacktime conversation

Sawyer: "God is a bad word."

Ms. S, Sawyer's preschool teacher: "God isn't a bad word!"

Sawyer: "Yeah, but God Dammit is."

L (another classmate): "Yes, God Dammit IS a bad word."

Sawyer: "Yeah, Mommy and Daddy told me God Dammit is a bad word."

L: "You're not supposed to say God Dammit."

Sawyer: "Because God Dammit is a bad word."

Other kids were speechless.

But I bet they had a good story to tell THEIR Mommy and Daddy about what they learned in school today.

We're so proud!

Redshirting aka Holding Them Back

You know, considering that I spent the majority of my professional career covering sports, I just assumed redshirting is what college athletes do in their first year, especially if they're injured.

Which just shows you what I know.

It seems that redshirting refers not to 17 or 18-year olds, but to FIVE year olds. It's the term used when you hold your kindergarten-eligible child, usually a boy, back a year.

This, despite research that shows that it makes absolutely no difference academically. Because it's not about no learnin'. Nope, it's about social readiness. Meaning, boys usually mature slower in that area (NO!) and can use an extra year of preschool.

Of course, it doesn't hurt that they'll be a year older than many of their peers and perhaps bigger, stronger and better athletically.

But what's frightening is that my daughter, as a high school freshman, could conceivably date a 20 year-old senior (over my husband's dead body, obviously).

I never realized what a common thing it is to hold your child back. When I started school, in Connecticut, the cutoff date was Dec. 31st. Which is also my birthday. So I started kindergarten when I was 4.

Being held back was for the dumbasses. I remember when a kid in our class got held back in fifth grade. All us big-time sixth graders were riding the bus when we saw him walking to the elementary school. Using our new-found maturity, we opened the windows and shouted "LAKE STREET SUCKS", to which he responded with a raised middle finger.

Good times. And yes, Lake Street was the name of our elementary school.

I graduated from high school at 17 - which is also how old I was when I started college.

Luckily, the fake ID I got turned me 21 a year ahead of my scheduled birthday, so all was not lost.

I am glad I didn't have a choice with Sawyer. He missed the cutoff date by 11 days. What if his birthday fell 11 days before it? There is a lot of pressure out here to hold your child. I have enough angst about where to send him to preschool. Deciding if he was ready for kindergarten (am I rushing him? is he ready? will he hate me later if I send him/don't send him?) would make my head pop off and helicopter around the room.

Today I took him to check out a new preschool. It's a pre-k program run by the local school system and is a quick walk right across the street. It's five days a week, for three hours a day, and costs exactly the same as what we will pay to send Sage two days a week at the preschool where Sawyer is now.

I THOUGHT the most important question I had was what their policy is on peanuts in the classroom. Frankly, that's one of the reasons I want to move Sawyer (aside from the expense). The school he attends now allows peanuts on campus. There aren't supposed to ever be any in his classroom, but there have been three occasions when this was ignored.

I am tired of worrying about it. I'm no longer up for screaming at the director until a third eye pops out of my head.

So while he checked out the room, I interrogated the teacher about their policy. I was elated to find that not only are they nut-free, but she and her two assistants are all trained in the use of an epi pen. In fact, they probably are more qualified to use it than I am.

That lifted a HUGE weight off me. Unless you've ever sent your child off to school every day wondering if he was going to die because of someone's oversight, you can't comprehend what a relief this is.

There was another mother there checking out the school with her daughter, who will turn 5 in November and so would be eligible to go to kindergarten in the fall. But she's holding her back.

The teacher said that kindergarten is much more academically stringent (thanks to the ridiculous No Child Left Behind bullshit). Parents might want their child to have an extra year of play. Because heaven forbid we try to make kindergarten just a tad bit less militant.

The preschool also has its own cutoff date. You have to be 5 by February to attend. Sawyer won't be the youngest nor the oldest in his class. I think he'll do well there. He's #1 on the waiting list (which, incidentally, is 75 pages long. I put the kids on it when Sage turned 9 months). We find out in May.

Sage won't be able to go there. She has a September birthday, so at 5, she should be starting kindergarten. My neighbor has twin boys almost exactly a year older than her (I gave birth to her on my couch while the twins had their first birthday party going on up the street). And she's holding them a year, so they will be in the same grade as Sage.

After listening to the teacher, I'm starting to think. Sage's tall for her age. She's tough. Her speech should be much better by then.

Why wouldn't she be ready?

But could she be MORE ready if she waits another year?

I have two years to think about it.

To hold or not to hold...at this moment, I'm letting her go.

Is she... DANCING??!?!?!

Sawyer knew from a very early age the dangers of stepping into the street. The first time he tried it, I screamed and acted incredibly terrified so he'd associate it with something that was dangerous and not something fun to do to get a rise out of Mommy.

I never worried about him going off the sidewalk after that. I could leave him sitting on a curb at the park while loading Sage into the car and knew he wouldn't budge.

Just recently he's been fighting me a bit about holding my hand in the parking lot, because he's a Big Boy. He knows his choices are 1) hold my hand 2) be carried 3) sit on the curb and not go anywhere.

Generally he's good and I really don't worry.

His sister, on the other hand (notice she is his sister and not my daughter when the occasion merits), is an entirely different matter. She either tries to dash into the street or, if holding my hand, decideds to go all jelly-legged so I'm practically dragging her.

It makes me crazy.

It makes her smile.

Today I took the kids to the park. It went great. Sage had a fabulous time climbing everything and going down the highest slide. Sawyer did not whine to go on the baby swings and instead got on a big kid swing and practiced pumping his legs.

No one argued when it was time to leave. We got to the end of the sidewalk, and Sawyer took one hand and Sage the other to cross the parking lot. That's when Sage decided to do her little spaghetti routine.

So I made her go back and sit on the sidewalk while I got Sawyer into the car. As soon as we got to the car, she stood up and hopped into the parking lot. I yelled at her to get back, and she did, but she just stood there.

I ran back over and sat her firmly on her butt. And as soon as I got back over to the car...there she was, back on the blacktop. I chased her back again.

She sat down. I walked over like I meant business.

And you know what she did?

She stood up. Stuck out her booty. And started shaking it, complete with Wild and Crazy Guy finger pointing. Grinning from ear to ear.

I kept a straight face. Somehow. How could I not admire her moxie? Meanwhile, my thought bubble was shouting "ARE YOU FREAKIN' KIDDING ME? YOU'RE DANCING IN MY FACE!"

This time, she came along with me nicely. I put her in her seat.

She'd already put me in my place.

I'm (not) effing Matt Damon

Movie stars never really moved me. I never got all atwitter over the new hot thing that was up on the silver screen. In fact, I was quite faithful to one for years. But then, he got kinda weird and things just weren't working out. So I had to move on.

Let's start from the beginning, though: my very first love.

I had an oversize poster of Shaun Cassidy's face in my room in fourth grade, but that was because this girl Tracey in my class had one too. And, just like her, I HAD to kiss his ginormous poster lips each night before bed. Da do ron ron ron, da do ron ron (what the hell does that even MEAN?). But since the cool paper didn't smooch back, I gave it up shortly. Hey, I was 9!

Wait - he wasn't a movie star. So I probably didn't need to share that particular gem from my childhood.

Now, when I was in high school, I met my first true love. Risky Business came out. Followed soon thereafter by All the Right Moves. I LOVED that movie, with my boy all muddy in his football uni. My friend's dad owned a video store and got me the poster. And so Tom Cruise was my first Hollywood crush. And it went on for years. Until, you know, he went all Scientolocrazy on me. The couch-jumping, Matt Lauer-insulting, L. Ron Hubbard-loving man simply forced me to dump him. I mean, what's a girl to do?

Luckily, I found someone new to heart. If truth be told, I think I had feelings for him even when I was still kinda involved with Tom. It started the first moment I saw Good Will Hunting. If you haven't seen this movie, slap yourself, then go get it. Why? Two words: Matt Damon.

He then of course went on to the Bourne movies and was voted Sexiest Man of the Year by People (They're so, like five years ago. I could've told them that!). Now, his manlove Ben Affleck is TALLER, which is appealing, but he just can't do the crooked smile like my Matt.

And so, when I saw this video for the first time, I about died.



I want to be Sarah Silverman!!!

So Jimmy Kimmel did a nice response, which is equally as hilarious. I hope you all laugh as much as I did. And I didn't even RECOGNIZE Brad Pitt!



Oh, and don't be surprised to find yourself singing these at odd times!

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.