This Is My Brain on Sprout...

Anyone wondering why I may be forgetful or ditsy at times. I can recite these on command. One only knows what other vital information is being purged from my brain to accommodate this baby "crack". There should be a warning for adults listening to this.

....Any questions?

Oh, and Happy New Year! Here's to 2010 and all that it brings!

TV Rots Your Brain

We got over 21 inches of snow this weekend, more than Baeleigh has EVER seen in her lifetime. She seemed excited to go out and play in it. At least until she actually went outside and played in it. I will grant her this, the snow came up to probably her upper thighs and was not that easy to walk in.

Saturday was just a quick romp with daddy. Some snowball fights, a couple of snow angels, being thrown into piles of snow. Sunday was shoveling day. So, Baeleigh was pretty much on her own, other than the few snow angels that she and I did together, attempting a snowman (not good snow for that) and me demonstrating that she could do a belly flop into the snow and not get hurt. After that, I had to help clear the impossible driveway (thinking that we would get our next door neighbor to help plow it for us - another story!). After about 10 minutes, I find her staring at us. I'm watching you guys, she says. The little supervisor. Are you serious?? Go play! How often do we get almost two feet of snow?! Go build a fort. No, I wanna help. So, I ask her to push the snow off to the sides of our perimeter we've created. That lasted about five minutes. I'm tiiiired, she says. Tired? You haven't done anything. I wanna go in. WHAT?! Are you crazy?! It's boring out here. Obviously, I need to read this kid some Calvin & Hobbes.

Now I can relate to not having a buddy to play in the snow with, but mommy and daddy had some (huh, a lot) of shoveling to do. So, I take another break to play in the snow with her, but the child is practically listless. I'll come out again tomorrow, she says. I wanna go back inside. Sad. SpongeBob wins over two feet of snow.

What is with these kids today? No imagination. I think I'll need to cut back on the TV watching. TV is rotting her brain. Maybe I should rethink the ski school trip this year too. Is she gonna just sit on the sidelines bored? Maybe just some snowtubing until I see more interest.

Musings of a Six Year Old

Baeleigh asked me tonight when daddy was going to be home. I told her that he was working late. Why? He's moving his office closer to home. Oh yeah, that's great! Mommy, you work really far away, why don't you move your office closer to home? Well, that's a little easier said than done, honey. Oh, is that because you aren't as strong as daddy?

You can't help but laugh, especially when I'm visually a 19-story building being carried on my shoulders.

Birthday Bae

Today my baby turns six. Though she'd hate to hear me call her "my baby". (That's Gavin right? She's the big girl.) Looking at her new pictures, though, it was hard to see just that. The baby-ness in her face is nearly gone, exclusive of those squeezable cheeks she's inherited from yours truly, and mommy has to come to grips with her baby growing up.

Baeleigh, I can see, struggles with that same dichotomy. She straddles the world of babies but also dipping her toe into childhood. She's a very smart and quick-witted girl, and this is easily confused with maturity ahead of her years. I often find myself debating and/or negotiating with my six-year old, only to remind myself that hey, I'm in charge here. Mind you, I fully expect these power struggles to persist throughout our relationship, and at times welcome it. Yet, Baeleigh also doubles as mommy's sidekick. She is the mirror image of me, my mini-me. I see a beautiful, smart, funny and gregarious little girl developing, and I am very proud of her. It's the willfulness and ambitious drive that I see so clearly in her that has also gotten me to this point in my life. I wish the same for her. I have high expectations, hopes and dreams for her. Happy birthday, my little monkey. I love you.

And, two days ago Miss Bae learned to tie her shoes. Just in time for her birthday.

Santa's Calling

In my devious attempt to pry Christmas ideas out of my 5-year old, I may have told my daughter a little white lie. Santa called me. Yep, you heard, he called me. Has me on speed dial. Asked me what Baeleigh, who was a good girl this year, wanted for Christmas. You see he was putting together his preliminary list of toys for all the good kids, and wanted to know if there was one thing in the whole wide world that Baeleigh wanted what it would be.

Baeleigh's eyes were practically bugging out of her head. Santa called? You? Yeah, that's right. Me. I'm very tight with Santa. Me and him go way back. The skeptical eyebrow is still raised. So, I coaxed, "If you could have anything you wanted, what would it be?" "Weeeelllll," she said, looking frantically around the room like the idea was going to pop off the wall or from under the bed. "A doll that I can feed." Seriously? That's it. "Baeleigh, you have two dolls, both sitting in that crib over there and you don't play with either of them." "Ummmmm. I dunno." This was like pulling teeth. She's only pointed and practically shouted at me every time some new fangled toy comes on TV that mommy basically ignores the whole dramatic scene. Yeah, yeah, you want that. I get it. Ok, maybe I should have taken notes. So, sue me. The only thing I remember is Zhu Zhu pets, an annoying interactive hamster crappily made and of course the hottest thing since talking Elmo for this Christmas season. However, now that I've bought one of the damn things (at twice the retail price mind you) and persuaded my mother to purchase all the accessories, she doesn't even acknowledge the ad when it comes on TV. It's like the dollhouse and Littlest Pet Shop crap from last year that sites in the corner of the playroom as apparently the basement spiders' quarters.

After Baeleigh succeeded in fully frustrating her mother, what does she ask me? Mommy, how did Santa call you? My cell phone, duh. Mommy, Santa does not have a cell phone. Um, yes, he does. Give me his number, she says, drop dead serious. No way, Jose. Yes, Mommy. North Pole.

Satisfied, but I think still skeptical, she let it go. What is it with no mythical icons not being able to have cell phones?? I can understand her skepticism of the Easter Bunny. I mean come on, it's a four-legged furry animal, but Santa. Please. Cut mommy some slack and just play along. Ok?

Where's the Balance?

Out the window, that's where! I'd say I have no idea where the month went, but I know where it went, and where it's going and how it will be until at least Thanksgiving. And, I have to say I'm struggling with that. The everyday day-to-day is hard enough to keep up with. Let alone when you have a deliverable, or two, the size of say a newly constructed power plant.

Typically it isn't THIS intense at work, but lately I've been working long hours and not uncommonly weekends. I can sort of see the light at the end of the tunnel but couple that with holidays, unforeseen flu (possibly swine) and signing up for a 10K (months before I knew my schedule would be like this, mind you) that I haven't had time to train for but really want to still do (and will do tomorrow) and I think you see how I have a recipe to fail. At least at something. And, of course, I won't let that be work. Meaning what's shorted? You guessed it - family.

I keep thinking that I'll reach some sort of epiphany in household/family organization. This said epiphany never seems to arrive. The schedule I attempt to create is never followed. The husband is overwhelmed in his new demands. Things I typically take care of. Full-time, long stretch care of the kids, with no help from super-mom. The grocery store. Dinner (or should I say pick-up). Packing lunches. Early unexpected kid pick-ups. Doctor's appointments. So I'm left to barely tread water, put out fires and keep everyone as healthy as possible.

And thank goodness for two great sets of grandparents that live so close by to help keep the kids busy, away from cooties and ushered back and forth to dance classes.

Deep breath in, deep breath out. But, we will survive. HEY, HEY!

The Dog Ate My Homework

With Bae starting kindergarten this year, I'm not sure who was more eager, me or her. I have always wanted to be a hands-on parent. The kind that participated in PTA, maybe baked some birthday cupcakes for class, looked over my kids' school work, helped them their homework. I got my wish, minus the PTA for the moment (that's another story). Chalk that up to my competitive and ambitious nature. Little did I know that I needed to be careful what I wished for.

Every night Baeleigh brings home her folder, containing all her assignments of the day and any homework that she might have. Ah, but it also contains every flyer, permission slip, application, Scholastic and student document. There is something daily. Every day I ask her, "Baeleigh, do you have any homework?" "No," she says, "No, wait, YES!" Inevitably, it's not her homework, it's mine. And, I have to say, I'm a little overwhelmed as a kindergarten parent. Does this get easier? Will there be a test? Do I need to study for 1st grade? Can I say the dog ate my homework?

Stream of Consciousness

Sometimes I feel like my little brain just can't hold all of the details that I'm trying to remember, such as doctor appointments, what day tomorrow is at school (e.g., Violet Day), items on the grocery list this week, or just calling my mom to see how her month off from work is. I thought it might be amusing to just see what bubbles up in my mind in the next five minutes. So, here goes:

• Looking down at Baeleigh's Kindergarten supply list: The list seems shorter than I thought, but what does my child need 4 boxes of 16-pack crayons for? I need to sign up for school email alerts.
• My orchid is looking incredibly unhealthy today, and after entering day four of ownership I think I got jipped out of $13.99. Hmm, haven't water the plants in my office today - that was on my to-do list. Not that the orchid needs water.
• Why are there so many motorcycles that rev their engines in my office's neighborhood?
• Should I cut back on my soda consumption? I took two grocery bags full of cans down to recycling yesterday, and I'm staring at the new accumulation (one soda) on my desk.
• The kids need baths tonight.
• One last night before Tommy heads out of town, and a good night of sleep. Does he only choose to make it a "family night" tonight because "So you think you can dance" is on? Working out tomorrow night will hopefully make me sleepy.
• Should I circulate an email to ask my co-workers to contribute to a baby welcoming basket for one of my staff?
• When is my financial advisor ever going to call back about our retirement accounts?
• What is tomorrow at Bae's school? Guess I gotta go look that up.

Quite an eclectic mix of thoughts, wouldn't you say? Some are distractions, but mostly it's just a lot to keep organized in my head. Now, if I can only find that perfect system, and then train Tommy on it. I feel like I need a triage station in my kitchen or something. Or maybe I'll just take on Tommy's mentality of it all and just assume that he'll take care of it. I do like the sound of THAT plan.

Women Need Details - Or At Least This Woman Does

Would it be that hard for certain people to elaborate on their commentary? For example:

I bought a very cute Juicy Couture (one sale) one piece bathing suit, and Tommy responds: "Huh. A one piece. Well, you are older and a mom. Uh, it's cute, just don't stop wearing bikinis." Does that mean I should return it??

I got my hair cut short last night. Tommy's reaction: "Well, you look older. It's different!" Always a good reaction to a girl who thinks it's a super-cute hair cut and specifically told the hair stylist to not give her a "mom haircut". What's with this "older" and "mom" thing?

His mom's reaction to my hair cut last night: "Grandmother still remembers when you were upset over Tommy shaving his hair off for the first time." Huh? What does that have to do with my hair?! Should Tommy be upset that I cut my hair?

Baeleigh when asked why she's on red at school: "I don't know" or "'Cuz." Ugh.

Deliverables to my boss on a daily basis. "Looks fine." "Looks Ok." Or simply no comment and just forwarded on. I only hear negative feedback. But usually, it's crickets. Is "fine" or "OK" mediocre or a good job? I dunno. I just want to know that I'm exceling at my job.

I don't need a life story but give me a little more detail, please. Otherwise, my pessimistic self is left to interpret her own ideas of this evaluation. And that's never good.

Face Painting, Four Eyes and False Tales

My goal was to spend some quality time with Baeleigh today, much needed with all the daycare drama of late. Here are a few things that I learned today:

Lesson #1: Under promise and over deliver.
Whole Foods (WF) had sent out via Facebook a promotion for the Second Sunday Farmer's Market, complete with free face painting this Sunday a week or so back. Perfect for both Mommy and Baeleigh. After arriving at WF at 12:30pm, finding a stupid parking space on Level II of the garage, lugging two hot, cranky kids into the store and thinking it odd that not one child had his/her face painted, I inquired at the customer service desk. "Huh" was pretty much my response. The farmer's market and said face-painting was not there. Luckily, I had my blackberry and googled it. Apparently, it was actually down at Ridgely Avenue - wherever that was. Already promised and staring down into Baeleigh's eager eyes, I endeavored to find this damn place. My low-blood sugar, short-tempered self then lugged the kids back up the parking garage ramp, packed the kids back into the car (wrestling Gavin's unwilling arms under the car seat straps) and turned on the GPS. Farmer's market found, I unpacked the kids, made Gavin a bottle, wrestled his arms again with the raptor claws now attached permanently to his bottle and strolled them down to the face-painting tent. Baeleigh got her garden princess face and we were now on our way - gee, that only took about an hour and a half and most of my afternoon for something that literally took all of 5 minutes to do. Hey, WF, you wanna be a little clearer on the location of your promoted events (that aren't even YOURS in the first place or even remotely NEAR the vicinity of your store) and not waste a parent's day! Next time I won't be opening my mouth about where we are going (which I typically don't to Baeleigh for this specific reason but had to bribe her away from the grandparents somehow!)

Lesson #2: Running into walls and tripping over your own feet is not just klutziness.
It was more of a precaution, well-check sort of exam than me thinking that something actually needed to be checked. I had really thought that Baeleigh's more frequent comments about needing to sit closer to the TV or up close during story time was just a ploy to either sit where she wanted or just be the center of attention. These requests were typically part of a fight with teachers to sit in a chair or in the spot in the circle that she wanted. Mommy was floored as she began reciting the eye exam lines though. It was obvious to even me that she could not read the 20/20 line and it was even worse on her left side. Astigmatism. As mommy began to come to the realization that her daughter would need glasses, she also felt a deep tinge of guilt for not having taken her sooner. The doctor alleviated my fears commending me that I had brought her in sooner than most parents who typically don't bring their kids in until seven or eight. I think Baeleigh picked out about 10 or 15 pairs of glasses - 13 of which were pink of course - before I finally got her to narrow down to one, a hot pink wire Barbie frame. Pretty spiffy! She'll need glasses to correct her vision and possibly vision therapy (which I had never heard of).

False Tales - Lesson #3: What you don't tell her to not hurt her, will.
In an effort to finally end the pirate look that Baeleigh has been sporting for probably six months now, I trolled the mall looking for another store that might have a spring-loaded ear piercing gun. We had tried Claire's before and that might as well have been a hot poker through her ear - torturous and slow. I recalled Piercing Pagoda. I thought I had her by bribing her with ice cream and a little white lie that it wouldn't hurt. That worked until she actually got in the chair and the poor lady pulled out the pen to mark said ear. Then, that deal went out the window. Begging while appease a most-opportunely ticked off, I've-had-it-with-this-stroller-mommy Gavin, I conned her into just letting the lady see if the earring would be even. (It's weak, I know, but I was desperate.) She was almost with me, after having squinched away from me and the lady for about a good 15 minutes, not buying any of our B.S. But somehow, this lady managed to convince her she was just cleaning it, and in that split second that she let her guard done. Cha-chink! I was done. Then, came the worst part, she screamed like I just cut her ear off in the middle of the mall, with everybody staring at me like I've just qualified for the Worst Mommy of the Year Award. At least it's done. Hopefully, that'll be one of those memories she'll supress. Not one of my brightest moments as Mommy I suppose. I'm such a bad liar anyway.

Red Light, GREEN Light

I used to play this game as a kid. Along with freeze tag and Red Rover. I never knew that somehow I'd be playing a version of it as an adult. Except now, it's not so much a game as a direct reflection of how well my day is going.

You see, Baeleigh's behavior system at daycare is based off a stoplight scheme. Green = good. Yellow = warning. Red = bad. Pretty simple. Five greens in a row and she gets to pick from the treasure box, except over the last several months she hasn't even seen that treasure box. In fact, she's more typically on red than green. In turn, Mommy, after a hard day at work, gets to come home to that big, fat Red. It looms over me as I drive home - is she or isn't she? As soon as I walk in the door, you can almost feel the thickness of the air, the silence - the "Uh-oh, she's home." The gig is up and any last few giggles that I hear before I come in the door cease. I might be approached by a sad face, a suck-up or simply tears. All of which quickly forewarn me of what's next in store.

And, the new predicament has been how to approach discplining her for this "red" day without making Mommy (or Daddy) the evil, mean parents. Difficult, to say the least. Especially, when it's the third in a row and you want relief from disciplining just as much as she does. We've tried timeouts, no TV, early bedtimes and nothing seems to break it. My new approach is to focus more on the positive of what she can do if she's on green and reasoning with her that she creates her own destiny. More of a "you can DO it!" sort of pep talk, but she still has to "do the time", so to speak" for her crime. Sometimes this works and sometimes it doesn't. Today - she's on green. And, I let out a big sigh of relief that I can go home and celebrate that green with her.

If anybody's got any other suggestion though, I'm all ears.

A Plague On Our House

I'll spare everyone the nasty details of Gavin's croup ER two weekends ago, but I am left to wonder if that original virus that seemed to trigger this croup will EVER leave our house? A few days later, and I've had some weird cold/sore throat/achy/fever thing going on, and it has continued on for practically TWO WEEKS. I feel like I'm going to cough up a lung. I've downed nearly a bottle of NyQuil in five days, dragging myself to work. Meanwhile, Gavin's getting better, and Tommy gets worse. He's complaining of the same thing. Luckily, Baeleigh seems oblivious - hmmm, might she be the harbinger again? She was originally the one coughing when we were in Florida, followed by Gavin then picking up this weird virus mess. Is it possible to spray her down with Lysol daily before school? No? Ok, bad plan.

Now, I have these persistent headaches. At first, I thought it was from my cough, or my visit from Aunt Flo, or work-related stress but now I don't know what to think. I'm downing pratically 1500 mg to 2000 mg in Tylenol (Excedrin, Midol, whatever) in a day and yet there it stays. A dull, agonizing good-luck-with-focusing-on-anything-let-alone-reading-something headache. Tommy thinks I should "have my cat scanned". Maybe I should. And, in the last two days this phlegmy, congested, sore throat thing is back. What the hell! Maybe it's swine flu...

Show Me Some Attitude

On Sunday, I got to be a Room Mom for Baeleigh's first dance recital. What is a Room Mom you ask? Well, it is the star role of helping to entertain, dress, primp, feed, take to the bathroom a gaggle of 5-7 year olds backstage during their dance recital.

Although I saw the whole show as a ticket-holder the previous night, Baeleigh was also performing on Sunday. Rather than pay another $16 to basically be there to pick up my kid. I volunteered as a Room Mom. As her number neared, I lined the girls up in the hallway. When it was our turn we filed in, and I figured I'd have to wait at the door until she was brought out again. But, No! I walked in right behind her and stood there waiting our turn behind the curtain, mixed in with several other dance groups all equally as excited to take the stage. The same curtain that I hid behind in my high school years for school performances and dance classes. Some of the girls were huddled together running through their numbers one last time. Instructors were tucked behind the front black drapes mimicking the dance numbers and exaggerately singing the words to the song for the little 2-3 year olds that were onstage performing to follow. The tech crew was swirling around all of us.

As we were waiting I said, "Show me some attitude out there!" And, Baeleigh looks up at me totally perplexed, "But Mommy, why do you want me to show you attitude? You want me to be MEAN!" OK, bad choice of words. I laughed, and said, "No, honey. Just smile and boogie your hiney off out there!" Then, one of the instructers said, "Alright, girls, show me some ENERGY!". Yeah, "energy", that's the word I was looking for! And, with that, her number was next and I touched her back to prod her to her spot behind the curtain and said "Have fun, honey! Smile! I love you!" She skipped herself out to her spot and did her thing. She did better even than the evening before. I was so proud! The lights went down and she came running back to me, I hugged her and scurried back to our backstage room. "You did great! Did you have fun?!" "YEAH!"

We went up to the balcony for the rest of the show, and she just sat on the edge of her seat watching almost the entire thing. I mean, come on, she's a five year old. Of course, there was some rough-housing and mischief!

So, do I play Room Mom again next year - 4.5 hours of action-packed responsiblity for about 3 minutes of wonderful...wow, that's a tough one! But, maybe...

What Little Girls' Dreams Are Made Of

As I'm pulling into dayare this morning, Baeleigh posed an interesting question. "Mommy, is Disney World in the clouds?" "What makes you think that?", I asked. "Because we have to fly on an airplane in the sky, so it's in the sky?" So that's what a 5-year old little girl dreams up when you tell her that she's going to Disney World! I was thinking back to all of the fairytales that I could remember where a castle is sitting on a puffy cloud in the sky with unicorns and fairies.

I'm not sure who's more excited at leaving for Disney World in two weeks, me or her. Never again will she see things with such imaginative, magical and innocent eyes. I wish that could still see things from her perspective. Maybe I'll at least get a glimmer of what it's like. Oh to be five again!

The "Low Singer"

You can't help but either giggle or gasp at Baeleigh trying to "sing" along to the radio. Sometimes I shocked to hear her spout out most of the chorus line of a rather risque song, like Flo Rida's Low, or Pink's So What. And, other times, I giggle to myself at how hard she trying to sing along because normally it comes out more like: "So, we -na-na-ba-na-now, yeeeeaaaah. Na, na, na, ana, suck with out you". In case you didn't figure that one out, it was Kelly Clarkson's My Life Would Suck Without You.

So, this morning, carpooling together as we normally do on Wednesdays. Both kids in the car, Tommy was waiting on me to hop in and Baeleigh was in full effect, attempting Ms. Clarkson's song again. Tommy, finding this amusing, decided he would mock her and "sing" along to the song as well. Baeleigh, taking offense to Daddy's rendition, pipes up, "You're making fun of me Daddy! That's NOT what I sound like! I'm not singing like that!", and juts out the magical drama queen lip she's so apt to apply nowadays. So much drama for a 5 year old! But that didn't seem to stop her from seranading me again in the car while Daddy took Gavin in to daycare about 10 minutes later. I guess that was so like 10 minutes ago.

Oh, what are we in for in the future! Yikes.

P.S. For my Seinfeld lovers, the title is reminescent of the "low talker".

Thud!

No mommy wants to hear that ugly sound. It's never good. Gavin is definitely my little daredevil. But when I'm working only three feet away from him while he's sitting in his chair attached to the island, it pains me to know that I could have prevented it. I had turned my back for just a couple of minutes and heard him wriggling (but he always wriggles). Since it was around dinner time and he had not really taken a good afternoon nap, he was fussy. Then, THUD! Playing it back in my head, I'm not exactly sure of the timing of it all. I just felt my heart skip and my stomach knot up to hear that sound. I peeked around the corner of the island to what seemed like a split second after the fall. And, I recall hearing swwzzzzip kind of sound. The one leg of seat pushed open wide. Gavin was face down on the floor and not crying. It was only a 2 1/2 to 3 foot fall, but it didn't matter. I grabbed him and he wailed, but he quieted quickly. "What had I done to my poor baby" is all I could think. Tommy was bathing Baeleigh and I told him what had happened and then sat down with Gavin in the rocking chair. He rested his head on my chest and began to go to sleep, which worried me after a fall like that. Tommy asked if he had any bruises, but I hadn't seen anything at first and was so wrapped up in comforting him that I didn't really look. But, as I made him sit up, there it was -- about a silver dollar size purple "goose egg" above his right temple, sprinkled with pin-sized blood blisters. So, rash decision or not, overly-protective mommy or not, I decided that we'd have to make an ER visit. Luckily, everything turned out fine, and maybe I over-reacted. A little. But, I would have never slept that night wondering constantly if he was OK, never forgiving myself if it was something worse. We still checked him frequently last night. He's such a shallow-breath sleeper.

I'm just glad that he's fine. And, believe it or not, the ER visit only took an hour! World record!

Easter Bunnies Don't Have Cell Phones

In an attempt to shoo away my daughter Easter morning for 15 more minutes of sleep, we told her that if she didn't listen we were going to call up the Easter Bunny to return for her basket. Her response, "Easter Bunnies don't have cell phones!" How is it that I can make her believe that some mythical bunny will come and bring her chocolate and toys in the same basket used every year, but I can't make her believe that he has a cell phone? Still trying to figure that one out.

Meanwhile, I'm munching on Starburst and probably eating my fourth chocolate bunny. I mean she can't eat ALL that candy herself, right? Who needs a five year old hyped up on sugar every day you come home? And, er, nutrition, she needs to eat a balanced meal and no junk.

And, I wonder why the last three pounds of pregnancy weight won't come off.

It's Not Easy Being...Catholic?

I wouldn't characterize myself as the most religious person, but I'm trying my best to rediscover my faith here and I don't feel like my faith is cutting me much slack. Take for instance Gavin's baptism. Now, I understand the underlying concept behind needing to have at least one Catholic in the mix of godparents, but practicing as in on a regular basis? Shaaa. Does the church really understand how hard that is to find? Meanwhile, it only unmotivates me to press on with becoming a "good Catholic". Sort of a Catch-22, don't you think? My intentions are pure. I want to baptize my son, but I have to run through so many hurdles to get it done, it only exasperates me. We ran into this problem the last time but luckily had one friend that met the prerequisites and stood in as godfather for Baeleigh. Unfortunately, we're so busy, we barely have time to see him. Again, we confront the same issue now with Gavin. Who do we appoint godparents that will continue to be a strong, continuous influence in our children's lives? Instead, the church makes me base this on how "good" of a Catholic they are. Although I understand their purpose, I don't really see that as fair. I'm just asking for a little leniency in the rules here - isn't it good enough that you are "Catholic"? Are you necessarily a bad influence because you aren't "practicing" (e.g., contributing, registered)? Maybe that might be part of the reason why fewer are practicing these days.

He Crawls!

From Gavin

From Gavin

From Gavin

After weeks (a couple of months even) of "flying Gavin", downward dog (yoga you neophytes) and the "seal", Gavin finally figured out that his hands served as a integral part to the whole crawling process. Aptly nicknamed Turtle since he first popped his head up to see where Mommy was one morning when he was about 3 months old, he resembles one even more so now. Picking up his hands and dramatically smacking them back down on the floor, plodding along, just like a turtle. Turning that egg-shaped noggin of his to and fro. Of course, as soon as he learns this fantastic new trick, what's next on his agenda? Proceed to pull out all of the DVDs in the bottom shelf of a nearby bookcase.

Nature versus Nurture

Certainly you could argue either way the root causes of personality and behavior being either natural or taught. But having a son now, I might have to say that I lean more towards the nature side of things. I've heard countless times that boys are more aggressive than girls, but until now I tended to believe that it was something that the parents instilled in them. Sort of like the same stereotypical habits that we tend to force on our kids. You know - boys don't play with barbies, but GI Joe's and trucks. Girls are dainty and prissy. Boys are aggressive or rowdy. Up until Gavin, I had the tomboy in Baeleigh. She broke that stereotype and I kind of felt like I helped her express herself in that manner. I didn't want her to conform to the sterotypes and I allowed her explore things that weren't necessarily girly - working on cars with Daddy for instance. Yes, she'll play with dolls but she also loves to watch Daddy race. She's rowdy and boisterous and loves to play outside and get dirty.

Granted Gavin is only 8 months and is a very laid back child, but he has quite the aggressive side in him as well. Take for instance, his baths. He splashes water all over the place and in his face like it's going out of style. Baeleigh maybe kicked her feet, and didn't want the water to get in her face. Gavin will just haul off and smack you, just for the heck of it and giggle when you say "Ow". If he's sleepy, you better bob-and-weave and keep your facial appendages out of reach because he will grab at your nose, ears, lips and just yank as hard as he can. Along with smacking your face. He's not the snuggler. Baeleigh was. He will jump all day in or on whatever he happens to be placed - jumperoo, high chair, floor, table, your lap - and never tires of attempting downward dog or trying to "fly" Super Gavin style to his next location. (Though, insiders tell me that the little bugger has begun crawling, though we have yet to catch him in the act.) He roars at me like a lion daily, heck constantly. Baeleigh was the laugher, the giggler. Gavin isn't. He watches (no make that studies) and strategizes on his next beatdown. (Ok, I exaggerate a little.) And, it's this aggression that I wonder about. I didn't teach him to be this way. I don't treat him differently or condone the hitting or pulling of hair, etc. So, my summation is that it must be nature. He's a boy, that's what boys do right?

Ok, now I can relate. All the times that my girlfriends said boys will be boys, I thought "whatever". Now, I know it's true. Though, this scares me because my friends with toddler boys tell me all about the super-hero acts that I have yet to look forward to - jumping off of the coffee room table for instance. Oh, I'm in for it.

Snow Angels 101

From Snow Day - March 2, 2009

After getting about 12 inches of snow between Sunday and Monday, Baeleigh and I ventured outside during Gavin's nap to play in the snow. It was too cold to take him outside, and windy. Unfortunately, it wasn't the snowmen-making kind of snow but perfect for making snow angels. Baeleigh demonstrates her expertise.

Move Over Rocky!

It's always easy to commit to a race, whether for the philanthropic afterglow or sheer evocation of awe in others. Regardless, I have committed to the first 10K in probably six years and first race since having Gavin. (Hell, make that Baeleigh.) You see, my intentions are always in the right place when I commit but something always ends up screwing up those plans and I have to back out at the last minute. Now, I can't take blame for 2007's Governor's Bay Bridge Run disaster. I was on the bus, dammit, ready to run that bridge (or walk whichever got me across the finish line). Ironically, the wind kept me from participating in that over-achieving, ill-trained-for venture. But this time will be different. ("That's what she said." - Note "The Office" reference irony in this statement.)

So, here I am, with about three months to train for a 10K in Annapolis - the Zooma 10K race to be "the" event. Sounds fun - I mean there is food, alcohol, and spa treatments that await me at the finish line, what could be better?! And, I'm paired up with my friend, Corita, who has also been trying to do a race (and has ended up in my same situation). Unmotivated and just plain tired from this dreary, cold weather, I hope to find the fire in myself tonight as I mount the dreaded treadmill. And, what is my goal, you ask? Let's see, last time I made it a whole 1/2 mile before I was nearly hyperventilating and thinking that my legs would fall off. I blame that partly on not being able to focus from my annoying earplugs that tease me through my whole run by slowing working themselves out of my ears. Will they or won't they fall out? So, I cram them back into my ears hoping that they might - this time - get wedged into my brain, stuck on some ear wax or something to keep them in. This process repeats about every 2 minutes or so. Very, very annoying. But will I go buy another pair of ear buds? No. Instead, I torture myself about 2-3 times a week. Maybe tomorrow I'll buy a pair. But I've been down this road (no pun intended), thinking this WILL BE the pair, lifting my eyes up to the heavens. Looking at the box in the store with a stupid grin on my face, dreaming of that great, long run I will accomplish. And, then I go to the gym and yeah....not so much. Do I have big ear holes? What is the freakin' problem. Anyway, I digress.

I WILL run again tonight. My goal? 3/4 of a mile. I aim high, don't I? Well, you gotta start somewhere. And, hopefully it'll be warm in the next two weeks and I can finally go outside, where I don't have a pedometer to stare at every 15 seconds but just the beat of my iPod. Pray for me.

A.D.D.

Not sure if it's a by-product of my job or if I'm just exasperated by current events, but I seem to have the attention span of a fly lately. Whether a briefing by a co-worker or Tommy just simply telling me a quick update on his race car, ...get to the point. When did my life turn into the equivalent of sound bites and bullets? Hmmm. And, I was thinking that I'd give up the F word for Lent. Maybe I need to re-think that selection - though still a good one I think - and go with "Slow the eff down and smell the effing roses!"

So What?! I'm Still a Rockstar

On the way to grandmother's yesterday, my daughter busts outs in perfect duet with Pink on the radio, "So, what? I'm still a rock star and I don't need you. And, guess what, I'm having more fun and I'll show you. Tonight. I'm alright. I'm just fine". Ok, note to self: maybe it's about time that mommy started listening to more (ok, make that only) NPR or 103.5FM.

She "sings" along to practically anything on the radio nowadays. It's not unlikely to hear her chant "Womanizer" when that comes on either. Luckily, most of this, at this point, comes out as more of mumbles. Nor does she understand most of what's she's actually singing. But, let me just tell you how many times she's indicated, "Mommy that's my favorite song" to Flo Rida. Yikes. Shes loves the "low, low, low" part.

Bad mommy. Bad mommy.

Stop, Or He'll Pop

After feeding Gavin sweet potatoes (it was either that or peas or green beans)Saturday morning, I decided to have a little conversation with my mother-in-law, G, about feeding Gavin only fruits for dinner. Why my mother-in-law, G, finds it weird that I request that Gavin eat a veggie for dinner is beyond me. Don't you eat veggies for dinner?

I broached the subject Monday night, along with he can eat a whole jar if he wants too. Or a half jar of veggie and half a jar of fruit. Mix in a little cereal to fill him up. That does add up to one whole jar, right? Where the disconnect was in that conversation, I'm not sure, but I do know that I was informed by Tommy this morning that he had one heck of a poo. Come to think of it (Tommy said), he was damn near roly-poly last night when he went to bed. Poor kid. Wanna make a bet that poor child, not knowing his own limits, gobbled down a whole jar and a bowl full of cereal. Wouldn't surprise me. And, on top of that, Tommy's feeding him his bedtime bottle two hours later. I'm surprised he didn't pop.

Out of the Mouths of Babes

Now I know I didn't teach my 5-year-old this word: Sexy. Having bopped downstairs with this get-up on, Baeleigh then proceeded to walk over to me and say, "Sex-y!" What?! And, just where did you learn that word from? Ummmm. Yeah, suddenly we draw a blank. Who do we implicate? Well, I'll spare the accused but let's just say it was from daycare. Oh, what wonderful things they learn at daycare. Needless to say, Baeleigh was told not to say that word again. But I have to wonder, does she have some spirit in her reliving the flower power days of Woodstock and the 60s? Where in the world did she come up with this outfit? Kids.

Go West, Young Woman

Colorado

For the first time in about 13 years, I went out to visit family in Colorado. Not only were we visiting Stef, having moved out there about 6 months ago, but also my Aunt Debra and Uncle Tab, Kaitlin and Justin. I haven't seen Kaitlyn since she was about 5 and I think Justin was maybe eleven. Ironically, it was Jess, Stef and Aunt Vickie that I went out with the last time as well and since then we have carried on the saying, "bada bing, bada boom". It was just a cute little phrase that Kaitlin said one time while we were out there and it's just stuck with us every since. Kaitlin has no idea what we are referring to at this point, yet we still find it hysterically funny every time we say it.

Everything looked the same to me. Their house, the mountains, the town. Though, I'm sure to them it's very different. It's still difficult for me to digest the fact that Kaitlin and Justin are in their teens and early twenties. It was so great to catch up with everyone. I can see in Justin where I was in my later years of college. And, I know that he will find his way. He just needs to hang in there. Looking back at that time in my life, I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life anymore. I had basically done an about-face on my direction in life, thinking originally that I wanted to be an attorney or judge on international environmental issues. It was as if someone just turned off the treadmill on me. But, I found my way, and he will too.

I can see that has taken her first steps at settling in to a new town, with new friends, and new horizons. I'm so proud of what she has accomplished. Just turn the heat on and stop freezing yourself. (Not that I have room to talk when I keep our house at 69.) And it was nice to just have some girl chats and hear some well-needed advice to know that you aren't the only one with your demons.

I'm so glad that I made that trip. I just reaffirmed for me how much I love my family and how much I enjoy our closeness. I hope that never changes.

Until next time girls, bada bing bada boom!

Back to Christmas Basics

As I said before, I wanted nothing more than to just savor the whole idea of Christmas this year. With Gavin sick all month and my Dad recently discovering that he has melanoma, it only underscored how important it was to enjoy the time with my family and just appreciate what we have together. I think my Christmas wish was granted.

This was our second year of testing out the whole breakfast at my house with my parents, then off to Tommy's parents for linner (lunch/dinner) and then lastly my Dad's side of the family for dessert and games. In theory, it seems that this should work out. It's roughly 3 hours for everyone, though everyone is never satisfied with the schedule. Oh, well, you can't please everyone. And, this seems to work out the best for us right now. This was the kind of tediousness that I vowed not to have interrupt my "perfect" Christmas. I guess you could say that this is also a New Year's resolution for now. Not to worry so much about what others want or how to please everyone, to just do what makes Crissy happy. It's a hard one, I know, but a good one.

Leading up to Christmas couldn't have been more exciting in our household. Baeleigh was very much into the whole Santa thing. As a matter of fact, Tommy even found a Santa radar website that tracked Santa on Christmas Eve. It had broadcasts of Santa in whatever particular city he was in. Pretty cute. She loved it. We even showed her where Santa was before she went to bed that night. Nova Scotia - very close. She was so excited. As a team player Tommy of course felt obligated to eat the nearly pound of fudge and milk left for Santa, including the one that was accidentally dropped into the glass of milk. Tough job.

Baeleigh, You're Toto

For about a month leading up to her daycare's annual play, Baeleigh had been teased that she was Toto, the dog. (This year the play was Wizard of Oz.) We've had to explain to her that being Toto was actually cool and that her friends were probably just jealous that she had that part. I mean she was actually in the whole play, not just one scene after all.

The play turned out to be adorable. Baeleigh came running down the aisle barking to start off the play. In true Baeleigh-style though, it was sprinkled with well-timed interjections of "I can't see", "Stop hitting me with your axe" and just generally readjusting her hugely over-sized costume. Baeleigh never fails to be the life of the party.