Newness

Today I spent an hour working one of my all time favorite piano pieces from the movie Amelie. Let me pause here a moment to mention that I do not play the piano, cannot read music and cannot carry a tune but I am on a personal quest to learn this song even if it takes me the rest of my life. YouTube has a version that has been dumbed down enough for even the likes of me to follow. With the laptop perched on the piano and an earbud in my ear, I watched the solitary fingers of the phantom piano player over and over and over while listening to the notes and then I began play. While plunking along I can actually feel my brain sparking up in dark, quiet regions, probably the same regions built up like the Hulk in the brain of my musician husband. My fingers creep around on the keys like crabs on a hot, sandy beach. They are not nimble and elegant. They are clunky and awkward but the reward of actually playing a series of notes and creating this amazing melody on my own is such a thrill. I am, for now, hooked on this and will continue to torture those around me in my efforts to prevail.

I rearranged my son’s room while he was in school this afternoon. As a child I always loved coming home to a setting such as this when my mom, finally fed up to here and here and here with my clutter and chaos, took charge and somehow made me feel like we had actually moved to a completely different house. All of my toys would seem almost new again and, oooooh, look at my bed over therrrrreeeee! But W is kind of a control freak, like me. He likes his things just so. He warns us to not touch his monster trucks or disturb the circle of cars he has made the whole length of the couch. I tried to showcase his toys in a way he’d really appreciate the new arrangement (but for the love of jeebus why does just about every boy toy have to be 3” long?). I prayed that he wouldn’t totally spaz out and refuse to re-enter his domain. It was a possibility. It has happened before. I was, however, pleasantly surprised when he came into his room after school, gasped and said, “It’s great!” His lovely dimples were the ultimate proof.

Hello.

Working like a beaver here (Speaking of beaver, I remember when I was about 12 and living in far east Texas, my best friend’s dad has a CB radio in his RV. We would hang out there, drink pink champale we swiped from her mom's secret booze hiding place and eat our way to the bottom of a hot sauce jar and bag of tortilla chips. That was pretty cool but the best part was talking on the CB to truckers. We never said dirty or bad things to them mainly because we didn’t know how to talk that way yet but we did say these two things often, “Breaker one nine for a west bound, you got an east bound a-lookin.” and “Hey, any you truckers want a commercial beaver…come back.” We had NO idea what a commercial beaver was.) Seems some event planning business has come my way along with a lovely little sponsorship sales position for this sweet film fest . We are currently looking for all sorts of sponsors for the 5 day hoo-ha so if anyone is interested, drop me a line and I’ll send you one of the most impressive decks I’ve ever seen. Will make you want to jump right in pronto. The work has encouraged me to start my own business so I’m going thru the motions of getting it all set up. VERY exciting and momma totally needs some scratch y’all. Plus I LOVE planning and participating in events, parties, shindigs, whatever you got. It’s in my blood and I feel blessed to be here. The timing is perfect as well.

W is going through some super-duper hardheaded phase that makes me want to send him to boarding school. Is there such a thing as a boarding school for belligerent tots? How about baby boot camp? Seriously, his scowls, pursed lips, folded arms and defiant attitude is making momma nutters. I thought backtalk happened at 16 not 3? Much too early for this nonsense. He does have his unbearably sweet moments where he “wubs” me and says, “I want to give you a big hug” and goodies like that but, man, he’s been a little challenging lately. Please tell me it’s temporary.

Oh, the other day the Hubs and I made la bomba shrimp and corn salad. This is serious goodness with the right collaboration of flavors, textures and color. I like to add chopped tomato, too. This is not a meal we would eat with friends because we literally stuff it in our faces like participants at a pie eating contest. There's just something about it. Give it a try for sure.

Unloading

I’m unloading baby stuff these days, putting it on Craigslist and giving it away. It’s been hard to finally come to terms with the fact that we aren't going to make a sibling for W. Three is enough though and I’m finally starting to believe it. Folding his tiny clothes into little piles and sniffing his soft toys for hints of his former infant self has been a little heart wrenching to say the least. Many reasons guided us to our decision like the fact that I turn 40 soon and don’t want to put career-oriented goals on hold again AND W is finally starting to bond with the Hubs. The thought of the possibility of another 3 years of mommy-centricity like W exhibited is unbearable. And don’t get the wrong idea, this isn’t all my decision. The Hubs has some thoughts on it, too, like he’ll be on the road and I’d be the one juggling two kiddos while running a business. Ummm…no thanks. W’s just going to have to be okay with Jelly Cat as his constant and floppy sidekick. Maybe he’ll create an imaginary friend. I never had one of those. Way too many Barbies and stuffed animals around when I was a girl. Oh, and tons of pets. I mean, ridiculous amounts of four-legged, two legged and no legged creatures. So for now and always, we are 3 plus a dog.

Recently I was thinking of some of my favorite things around the house these days. I thought I’d share them. Feel free to mention your own favs.















-A giant faux black sable blanket (not my chair pictured). Love this thing. It’s huge and weighs a ton. The whole family lives beneath it when it’s cold out. Almost the perfect substitute for a fireplace, almost.
















-Voluspa Floraison Linden Blond Tabac Perfume (whew, that’s a mouthful). Have worn it for years and people often ask me about it. Smells nice without being obtrusive.

















-My black Dearfoam house shoes. LOVE them and have gone through many pairs. I have this thing where I loathe walking around the house (any house) barefoot. Never do it. Don’t like random floor crunchies sticking to them.














-Illume pineapple cilantro scented candles.

















-Favorite coffee mug that has a ghost on it that says, “boo.” That’s what my dad has always called me since I was little.
















-The pictures and W’s art on the fridge. Very special to me.
















-Cannot live with out my daily dose of SkinCeuticals C E Ferulic. I’m not aging without a fight.
















-Soft Soap Pomegranate body wash. Awesome and cheap, especially if you by it at the Dollar store.

That's all on the list for now. Twas a very long, busy day. Time to get the tot to bed and head that way myself. Goodnight.

We All Live In A Yellow Submarine

In our household I try to make an effort to speak kindly, to add lilts in my voice to convey friendliness and interest because W is always listening and learning. When my nerves are frayed and I’m about to pack my bags and take advantage of one of those Southwest Airlines “Wanna get away?” promos I really have to make the effort to be nice. I grit my teeth and say the second thing that comes to mind, not the first because the first is cranky, mean, ugly. I have noticed lately since the little fam has been cohabitating in such close and frequent proximity that the Hubs has been expressing himself sweetly and adding the lilt, too, and no longer sounding like his interrupted, mildly interested self. I listen to him talking to W and smile to myself knowing we are all trying our best in this new and unfamiliar situation of constant family-ness. Score one for the home team.

On a daily basis I am entertained by W’s three-year-old dialogue and imagination. His little brain is currently being fed by his all time favorite movie Yellow Submarine. He started watching it on YouTube this summer and then Santa brought him a discontinued copy via Russia (totally pirated and copied it seems). He will watch it three times a day if I allow and there are many random moments where he breaks out in to a Beatles tune from the soundtrack. One recent morning on the way to school and while waiting at a light I hear a small voice in the backseat sing, “All the lonely people. Where do they all come from?” Was very poignant since it’s a corner where the homeless hang and people are waiting on the bus. He usually can’t go from one room to the other without a the soundtrack sung at the top of his lungs…All You Need Is Wub (complete with his hand shaped like a gun minus the trigger and waving around like in the film), Yellow Submarine and Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Cwub Band. He still sings Bad To The Bone, too, and it goes something like this…

“On the day I was born, a saw gadder ‘round, gage a white window, joy they bound, dista bow, see da (something, something), they could tell right away-yah I was bad to da bone, bbbbbbbaaauud…” and so on. It’s quite funny. Thank jeebus he’s forgotten about Who Let The Dogs Out. Loathe that song

His curiosities are what leave me completely in stitches. And he won’t let you get away without answering him. Interrogations usually go something like this…

“Mommy, do cats pee outside…yes or no?”
“Mommy, are cookies treats…yes or no?”

So you have to answer or the questioning never ends. The other day this was asked…

Him: “Mommy, what’s guff?”
Me: “Hmmmm…it means attitude” (I know! Lame answer but he caught me off guard.)
Him: “It means you’re wild.” (He has said in the past that Gogo, his grandma, gives him guff. Yep, she’s pretty wild.)

Good times in the Chaos household. It’s dang cold out today which really confuses things since it was in the 80’s on Sunday. Tonight’s menu is my favorite turkey chili recipe with unsweetened chocolate and cinnamon. Yes, it totally rules. The last batch of peanut butter “thigh thickening” cookies are in the oven, too. It smells like Mrs. Field’s up in here. Oh, and I’m on day 5 of the “no alcohol allowed” wagon ride. Yippee! Am going to totally blow it when I fall off on Jan. 11th at a formal little dinner we’re attending. Oh yes, I am.

iLove

Before I went to Marfa I purchased an iPhone. I needed the reliable AT&T service down in the bowels of Texas. I don’t think the Sprint folks even know that part of Texas exists because I could never get service via them with my old phone. I also needed a way to be able to keep in contact with everyone involved with the project out there while roaming the 8+ acres and neighboring towns. One of the best features of the phone is the YouTube icon which is W’s favorite. He easily figured out how to manipulate each screen to get to the YouTube option and can now waste many hours watching video after video of monster jam action. This comes in handy when meals at restaurants get too long or I have a lengthy grocery store list to fulfill. The down side is that all of the videos he likes come with really bad clips of music that have now lodged in W’s large noggin’ and he sings them all in succession many times a day. They are George Thorogood’s “Bad To The Bone”, Baha Men’s “Who Let The Dogs Out”, AC/DC’s “Thunderstruck” and some horrible teen angst tune about not wanting to live. It’s bad enough that W’s vocabulary is laced with monster truck names like Grave Digger, El Toro Loco, Monster Mutt, Predator, and Backdraft (among many others) but then you toss in those little scores sung aloud by a three-year-old and I am often just inches away from that “drinking in the closet thing” I’ve written about before. In W’s room there is no less than 20-25 monster trucks and lately he’s been asking for Santa to bring him a Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer monster truck. Santa better get on that one pronto.

I never owned an iPod prior to the one on the iPhone and it has just about changed my life. Wherever we are I can dial in W’s sleepy time music to ease him into dreamland. When we go walking I can stick it in my pocket or in the stroller and we’ve got theme music to move to. Of course there’s the ever-popular spontaneous dance party and when the iPod is on shuffle and kicks out a series of the most appropriate tunes I call it the “iPod del Fuego!” Grrrr! It comes in handy on long drives and I have found that I can stick those little white ear buds in my ears and successfully tune out the tot for about 100 miles at a time. Yeay!

Let’s not forget emailing, instant messaging, iMeditate, Spanish Word of the Day, Bright and Beyond Preschool Playtime Activities, iMoods, and that every popular camera feature. This is something else W has mastered on the iPhone. He has quite the eye for a knee high budding photographer and has captured some great images. Take a look here and in the top right corner of the blog. Cool, no?

The Long And Winding Road

It’s time I get back to the self indulgent writing exercise known as blogging. The original intent of profiling my fish bowl existence with W and the Hubs in the beginning was to keep from forgetting all of the good, bad and funny details as they whip by. At W’s ripe old age of 3, I’m finding there’s more fodder than ever before so it’s essential that the documentation continue. I want to have bragging rights when I can’t even remember my own name and have taken up residency at an assisted living compound for rock n roll widows. Question is will I remember the blog URL when I’m 80?

To briefly recap the summer, I reorganized the family unit, abandoned the Hubs and took a job in Marfa, TX, with toddler in tow. 5 months we were gone. It was glorious and challenging and beautiful and strange. I never did get W a nanny (hard to find in a town of 2,000) thus we spent TONS of quality time together. I did get him a lovely Australian Shepherd puppy that he named Ruby Tuesday, after the little cartoon Max & Ruby and the Rolling Stones tune. I needed an additional distraction for W and a new companion for me as well. As the months zoomed by I oversaw the installation of a well, an irrigation system, enough electric to power a small town, a septic system, and demolition of the home on the property. Never did I’d ever dream I’d learn about such things, a complete departure from event planning yet I found many similarities as well. Every day was an event, a chance to learn something new and it got my gerbil on a treadmill of a brain going and growing. W embraced his new surroundings and learned about tarantulas, rattlesnakes, tumbleweeds, yurts, constellations, and all sorts of life-sized construction equipment. He had 8 acres on which to roam and explore. He was never bored. Plus the community in Marfa is a true one in the sense of the word. Everyone rallies and plays together. We constantly cooked out together, ate together, met for drinks often and energized the local grapevine with gossip. In the end though, it was good to finally get off of the proverbial “island” and come home to the Hubs and our lovely home although someday I hope to return and work with those amazing folks again. Our days now are filled with getting re-acclimated, a Tuesday/Thursday school schedule, a Wednesday a.m. art class and playing catch up with the Hubs who left for 3.5 weeks about a week and a half after we returned home from our adventure.

I guess that just about catches us up, doesn’t it? Reach out and ask questions if I’ve missed anything.

Let’s tune in now to real time, where at this very moment W is peddling for his life on this…























A Christmas gift from Gogo and her awesome sig other. It’s called a Smart Cycle and I give it 5 stars. It’s great b/c he can dial it in himself without any parental assistance and he’s getting both physical and mental exercise. Anything that allows him the chance to be independent is cool with me especially since W is still suffering from a serious case of mommy-centricity and loathes being out of my orbit. Completely exhausting.

With time on my hands I have already updated my goals for 2009 list, which I will periodically profile as the New Year approaches and beyond. Writing about the lofty personal expectations will help keep me accountable. In 2008 I proved to myself that if I dream big and put my fears aside I am completely able to navigate through various self-imposed challenges and come out the other end in a much better state than I expected. I mean, that’s all easier said than done, right? I’m ready to do that again times 10 but in a way, I’m starting from scratch with no job at the moment and technically, the Hubs isn’t employed either. His new record doesn’t come out until the spring and who knows what will come of it (but I have high hopes since it TOTALLY RULES!). This a scary place in which to begin.

In the coming blog entries, I will highlight any money saving techniques we’re practicing, kid-friendly craft ideas and what’s on the menu around here. We love to cook and that’s something we’ll always burn our cash on.

So hello to all. It’s good to be back.

Share And Share Alike

This morning W absconded with the squirt bottle I use to wet my hair. He figured out how to get the nozzle to project water and spent about 15 minutes drenching his face, the walls, the bed and his hair. I tried to make him go easy on the soakage but decided there were better battles to fight as his protests could be heard in Abilene. When all was said and done he set the bottle on the bathroom floor and said, “Thank you for sharing, mama.” Oh, the guilt 'cause I really wanted him to just cut it out already.

Milestones And Regressions

-“No, I don’t want (specific item)…I want, I want (specific item)!” - Oh, how I love my son and oh, how he can drive completely insane. Is it normal for him to be the most conflicted, wishy-washy tike on the planet?

-“You’re the BAD GUY, mommy!” This is what he says to me when he’s mad at me. I’ve been the bad guy a lot lately.

-This morning he was looking for a key to his toy suitcase and he remembered that it was outside on the lawn chair. HE remembered! Pretty freakin’ awesome milestone.

-‘Memba that haircut I mentioned he needed to tame his expanding mullet? Yeah, well that trip went really bad. He screamed and cried the entire time. I’ve since had to work on his noggin’ while he naps.

-We’re back to a battle of wills in the bathtub. I’m sure the neighbors think I’m skinning him alive.

-What was W’s food of choice all day yesterday? Cheerios. All. Friggin’. Day. Oh, and what time did he finally go down for his nap. 6:30 p.m. Yeah, we got this sleeping thing all figured out. Not.

-W surprised us yesterday when he actually hit his giant plastic baseball with his giant plastic bat several times. The Hubs was an impressive pitcher, too. I mean, it takes guts to stand two feet in front of a tot swinging a bat.

This Is How We Parent

This morning W ate three bowls of peanut butter cereal. Yeah, I feed my 2.5 year-old all the Jiff flavored kernels he can stuff in his belly…but it’s the organic kind with panda bears on the box and the proceeds go to protect the furry creatures and the box is made of recycled paper and there are no harmful ingredients in the balls of peanut buttery goodness…so it’s totally okay, right?

The Hubs and I raise our tot with boundaries while letting him have the freedom to be himself, however painful that can sometimes be. We both are (sorta) cool with the fact he’s a night owl and rather than force him in to bed at an early hour, a task that proves hard and exhausting for everyone, we let him stay up to watch the Simpsons with us. Yep, that’s 10 p.m., folks, and quality programming, no? The theme song comes on and he sprints to the bed like a frat boy to the bar at last call. He laughs along with us at the jokes he can’t understand and then asks, “Whas happening, momma?” I can’t remember what I watched when I was 2.5 so I don’t think this will scar him in any way.

We’ve found ourselves with the issue of a tot who wakes in the middle of the night and is in the habit of climbing in to bed with us, which usually ends with the Hubs finishing his dreams in the downstairs bedroom. Bad. Bad. W wakes and sleepily asks for his monster truck and where his daddy is and then points with authority in the direction of the stairs, his eyes still closed. I was able to get him back to sleep in his own bed last night but he still somehow ended up in our bed. I don’t recall bringing him up but I’m sure I’m the guilty party.

W had an “accident” in the bath last night. As the two turd logs drifted to the bottom of the tub, he screamed, big tears filled his eyes and he scrambled up the walls of slippery porcelain like piranha were chewing off his toes. He was totally embarrassed and freaked. I felt bad for him and explained that everything was okay but he needed to tell me when he had to poop (oh how I loathe poop talk). We’re not at the potty training stage yet but it’s looming on the horizon of his upcoming summer. Joy. His school is initiating it so I guess we gotta hold up our end of the booty bargain. It will be nice to have him out of those expensive landfill cloggers but they’re sooooo convenient. Oh well.

It’s great to be back at home and handling the challenges of a growing child. It’s not unlike event planning actually. You can plan and prepare in advance all you want, hammer on details and get certain items in order but you never know what the client is really going to want until you’re actually together onsite. Such is the same with a toddler.

Smash Mash Crash

Pile up on the Play-Doh highway. Yes, that's BROWN Play-Doh. As a kid I never had it so good. Brown Play-Doh in 1976 meant it ended up in the yard somehow.


W made a "cupcake" with the brown stuff after clearing the collision and knowing that he loves to blow out candles, I stuck in one of those candles that relights itself after being extinguished. At first W laughed his diaper off at the mysterious phenomenon but then it started to spook him. It wasn't long before he was standing on the other side of the kitchen and refusing to sing Happy Birthday one more time and blow the candle out.

What? You don't let your tot lie on the kitchen counter in his diaper with his head resting on a dish towel while eating a Funyun? Yeah, remember those? LOVE Funyuns. Onion flavored corn chip shaped like a method of birth control. Rock!


This is what I get to hang with at the end of a busy work day. I like him way more than Funyuns.

Sprout

Monday morning as the Hubs tried to dress W for school, the tot protested and proclaimed, “I wanna wear a dress! I wanna wear a dress!” Tears streamed down his cheeks as we stared at each other in shock. I mean, I knew this day would come but so soon? Perhaps the desire originates from the makeup I let him use on occasion. He’s very good with eye shadow. My own little Ziggy Stardust.

How rapidly the kiddo is growing and his vocabulary is incredible. Listening to him verbalize his thoughts is a hoot. Latest sayings? Thoughts? Well, here they are…

“No pee pee in the bathtub.” Yes, son. You are the pee-er and there won’t be any in there if YOU don’t wee wee in it.

“No daddy (or mommy)! Go away!” This usually means you a) haven’t quite woken up yet, b) are taking a VW sized poop, c) need a cocktail. No wait, that’s me.

“C’mon daddy! Let’s play rock n roll!” Yes, this one makes the Hubs feel like a million dollars.

“That was scare-wee.” This said after falling off the bed. Again.

“I love mewsket!” Yes, you do love music.

Current songs he sings while playing the drums…
“The Robot Song” Customized from his thoughts on The Iron Giant, his current favorite flick.

“Bob Bu Da” A personalized version of Bob The Builder.

He’s afraid of it being dark in the house but not in his room. He slides his little chair under each switch and flicks them on and the house is as bright as a football field.

Word has it that W is a trendsetter at school. I was told that during the daily group sing-a-long where they chant something like, “1, 2, 3, say hello to Zeke” or something like that, W jumps up and does this wild breakdancing, donkey kick move when they call his name. Historically, the kiddos have remained seated and clapped like a PGA audience when acknowledging a classmate. W has taken it to 11. I couldn't expect anything less.

Arugula

Lordy. Where do I start? Let’s see…Britney Spears ran over another photographer’s foot? Amy Winehouse gets booed off stage? W kicks his paci addiction? Umm, yeah, let’s start with W. Way more compelling than Winehouse and Spears.

So W and I talked about a paci intervention for several days. I told him that intervention meant that the pacis go in the trash and he gets a big surprise in return and on a designated evening I presented him a toddler racetrack with all sorts of bells and whistles. His paci fell to the floor as his jaw dropped open. He gathered up the pacis I had collected and stuffed them in a paper bag. We both walked over to his trashcan and tossed them in. Simple. As. That. Sure, he mentions his long lost pacis on occasion and has been staying up in bed with me 'til about 10:30 p.m. but he also says, “Pacis in trash, pacis bye-bye.” I think the fact that we talked about paci rehab prior to paci disposal helped so it wasn’t a surprise to him that it was going to happen. Now it’s just a boy and his blankie and I couldn’t be happier.

Last weekend, our neighbors got their door kicked in and much stuff stolen. Curiously enough, we had just had a conversation with some other neighbors (they live next door to the ones that got robbed) about the abundance of break-ins in our cozy little ‘hood just the day before. After some research on our end, we found that our general area has been hit 80 times in the last month by thieves. Yeah, for real. They kick in your door, take your stuff and haul ass out. 80 times this has happened. Are we paranoid? You bet. We have since put in another deadbolt on our each of our exterior doors and installed a security system just this morning. Next up, a dog. One thing about situations like this is you really get to know who your neighbors are. We’re forming a small army. I would hate to mess with us now.

Y’all, next week is Thanksgiving. Now how did that happen?

And you know what’s better than chocolate? Boggy Creek arugula. I’m not kidding. Either on Saturday morning or Wednesday morning, get your buns in your car (or on your bike) and head over to the east side to get you some. If you haven’t been to this small farm, you have to indulge yourself. Take the kiddies, too, if you got’em. The produce is still warm from the sun and there are some free samples of different stuff to nibble. Lovely chicken coop and a tempting sand pile, too. It’s all I can do to keep from eating a whole pile of the veggies before I can get them in the fridge. Please go. It’s local. It’s fresh. It’s supportive.

How’s work, you ask? Crazy, nutso, insane. Remember that conference that we work on once a year while doing other events throughout the year? Well, last year we knocked out 80+ parties in 9 days and we’re already working on double the number of parties we were working on this time last year (cue Psycho shower scene music here). My Christmas list includes much wine and Valium.

Mr. Creepers

I can hear W clapping to the Curious George soundtrack in his room. His little palms smack loudly. It’s both sporadic and meaningful. Lately he’s been spending a lot of time playing in his room, exploring, creating, and destroying. I adore hearing his sweet voice as he talks to his cars and trucks, pretends to be a cat, makes up words to Farajaca and reads to himself. These moments in the day are precious gifts.

The other night the Hubs had a gig so W and I were tandem for the evening. As bedtime drew near, I abandoned the greatly insisted upon idea of reading the same five out of 50 books he owns and turned on the TV instead. I’m the best mom ever, I know, I know. I unfolded his Spongebob Squarepants couch and we squeezed in together. This actually means that my arse end is hanging off the edge and my weight is deforming the box-shaped frame. Spiderman 2 was on. W knows who Spiderman is but not what he’s about. Since it was a relatively calm moment in the film, we tuned in for a few minutes. It was the scene where Kirsten Dunst is at a café with Tobey Maguire and she asks him if he still loves her. During this time, W moved from being wedged in the couch to sitting on my belly. Tobey says he doesn’t love her and her character is obviously pained by this. W is engrossed by the intensity of her expression although he doesn’t understand what is going on, or so I thought. She whispered, “Kiss me. Kiss me. I have to know something. Kiss me…” or something like that. W suddenly turned to me and whispered, “Kiss me.” I burst out laughing. He did it again and started to slowly lean in all slobbery lipped. The humor of it quickly reached a super creepy level and I gently pushed him back. He gave it another go and seemed to enjoy my second grader’s reaction. In an instant his attention turned to a car flying into the plate glass window of the café and I was saved by some kick ass special effects.

Seriously y’all, that intimate kissy moment gave me the hebegeebees something fierce. What’s up with this kid?

Monster In Our Midst

We found out over the weekend that W’s favorite band is the Pixies. We put on Surfer Rosa and for 20 non-stop minutes, he ran in circles swinging the two t-shirts he swiped from the laundry pile on the couch and bobbed his head. He was intense as he bounced around in his imaginary mosh pit. He seemed possessed by the music, determined to elbow anyone in his way. I was grateful when he ran out of gas and plopped down for a drink of water. The dancing/thrashing/smashing was funny at first but then started to creep me out. Too reminiscent of teen angst already. Lordy, what we have in store for us.

W latest milestone is to defy being buckled in his car seat. He goes rigid with resistance as if I’m strapping him in the electric chair. It’s really frustrating to have to climb in the truck to secure his rigamortis frame. Today he was anti-blue or black Crocs so I chose the black ones for him. They were airborne as I was leaving the driveway. Thank goodness they’re not clogs. At the moment I can appreciate their foamy softness. What to do with the little devil…

My work hours recently changed from 9 to 5 and that’s kinda thrown things off a bit. I’m still trying to figure out how to divide the day so I get things done and take care of my mind/body/spirit somewhere therein and heckling the Hubs does not count as health care. I’m considering taking some yoga classes but the fact that I will probably die of muscular shock a third of the way through the class is discouraging. And if I don’t die in the class, I will definitely die of muscular soreness the next morning. I cancelled my gym membership Sunday after they called to tell me I owed them some money. I got so frustrated I just told them to stick their membership. What happened was that the Hubs changed the credit card number for billing but forgot to include my joint membership on the switch so suddenly I owed them $80. Fine, whatever. I can’t get over to your stinky, germy facility to work out anyway. The guilt of not going has now evaporated. Poof.

Birthday Boy

Wow kiddo,

You’re two-years-old now. Like everyone says it has whizzed by like an empty inner tube on a waterslide at Schlitterbaun. It seems like just yesterday I was propping your wobbly large noggin in my hands and hoping I wouldn’t somehow break you in half. What a good baby you were but, oh, how mommy-centric. Come to think of it, you are still very mommy-centric. I know it won’t always be this way so I embrace your constant calling out for me…”Mama, air are ewe? Mama, mama, mama…” You turned two yesterday and to commemorate it, you actually asked me if you could “nurse, nurse” which was a total surprise. You haven’t nursed in six months. The request must’ve been in honor of your fleeting infanthood and I completely respect that. Mommy sometimes wishes she had a bottle to nurse but that would be one full of white wine with hints of peach and cardamom.

Your daddy became a year older yesterday, too, and as usual, he’s not taking it so well. He even did a bit of muttering last night that we both recognized as something an elderly person would say. That was a blow. But he’s in the gym more, eating well and wearing cologne so he’s putting up a pretty good fight. Let’s keep rooting for him, okay?

We gave you a drum kit for your birthday and you love it. This is not a surprise as you are really in to rhythm and beats. And you love to sing. Loud. In the car. Just like mama. This morning was your 2-year doctor’s appointment and as we headed out of the house you asked, “Mama, takie dum dicks?” and I said, “Sure, you can take your drum sticks.” Then you said, “Mama, takie dum?” and I looked over to see you dragging the whole kit to the front door. Needless to say, we only took the dum dicks.

This is the part where I tell you how much I love you and can’t imagine my life without you. You have brought so much silliness, laughter, and fun into our little world. You have helped me to be a more patient and aware parent, friend, co-worker, and wife. You have encouraged your father and me to grow up in the best ways therefore enhancing the beautiful bond we nurture on a daily basis. I am blessed, plain and simple.

Love you up to the sky,
Mama

Little People Rule

Please tell me that at nearly two years of age it’s normal for a little boy to be as empathetic as a Red Cross volunteer. Despite W’s usual moments of defiance and resistance to anything that hints of doing something he doesn’t want to do, the kid has got a tender side that borders on creepy. For example, I was in the 4th hour of putting our grill-the-size-of-a-shiny-new-semi together (living hell) this past Saturday and W was vying for my attention, which was fair enough. I had been piecing it together for a while and he didn’t have the Hubs to defer to as he had hightailed it to a private gig out of town. I was leaning in to the silver beast for the seventh or twelfth time with the cordless drill as I hopelessly tried to get a shelf to secure to the base when W rammed me with his large, plastic dump truck. It startled me and I jumped, maybe even squeaked “Ah!” and W looked at me like I had been hit by an actual construction vehicle. Since I was sitting on the floor I was at his eye level. He came over, said “C’mere,” and hugged me. Not the full arms around the shoulders sort of hug but one where he was to my left and swung his right arm over my shoulder like a chummy dad. He said, “C’mere, “ a few more times, kept looking at me like he expected me to cry and then said, “Hug.” I obliged him but felt awkward. His parental-esque coddling was just a little too grown up. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he had given me a tap on the chin with his little fist and said, “Hang in there, kiddo.”

So we have a new grill. Unfortunately, it has been sitting in our living room since Saturday afternoon. It rained all weekend and our porch isn’t covered. Something we should’ve thought about doing during the remodel a couple of years ago. So we sat around the house and sat and sat except for Monday when I actually talked the Hubs in to going to Nordstrom’s because we were both in dire need of some new duds. This was going to be a maiden voyage for us all. Yes, I have never been to Nordstrom’s. And yes, it was pretty awesome, especially the fish aquarium in the shoe department and the pianist that played cheesy hits at warp speed. The Hubs found some shirts that looked mighty foxy on him and he even bought some cologne. Does he have a lova’? W was completely content to push his balloon around in the umbrella stroller the entire time. He followed like an obedient pup. We eventually found our way to the shoe department (of course) and I scored a sleek little pump for work. I spied a naughty looking heel that I pointed out to the Hubs. He picked one up, agreed they were completely sexy, turned them over, saw the price tag and reacted like he had just seen his mother naked. “Those cost more than the grill!” he bellowed. Yes, sweetheart, yes they do.

Lost In America

Wild week. I haven’t been able to get it together to blog. I’m on my last day of a four-day event cycle. Indiana Jones theme…skeletons, treasure chests, rubber snakes, rope bridges. This is also my last day at work for two months. I am dancing in my shoes to get out of here. My desk is cleared, boxes packed. The office is relocating while I’m away. I wanted to make the transition easier for all by hauling out my stuff and returning with it in mid-August. I’ll probably get shafted on where my new desk will end up living but right now I don’t care. I’ll deal with that later. Much later. We’re headed to the beach tomorrow morning, W and I. We’ve been reading books about the beach to get him familiar with the idea. He hasn’t been since he was this small and just learning to walk.




Now it’s all he can talk about. CaCa and her family are joining us. W was saying this morning on the way to school, “CaCa beach, yeaaaaaaaaaay!” Yeay is right, kiddo.

His last day at school is next Tuesday. I’m feeling the bittersweet sadness of it already. So are his teachers. He’ll be back later in the summer but it’s like splitting up a family. They’ll miss him and vice versa. On a somewhat related note, last Friday W came home from school with two bite marks on his little arm. His teachers didn’t mention anything about it so I asked W what happened. I asked, “Who bit you?” and pointed to the offending red circles. “Isbabell,” he replied. I talked with him about biting being bad and how it hurts our bodies and our friend’s bodies and so forth. I kissed the wounds and we went on our merry way. Several times during the weekend W pointed to the marks and said “Isbabell.” I reminded him that biting wasn’t a nice thing to do, blah, blah, blah. By the end of the weekend, he was pointing at every mosquito bite, scab and bruise on his person and blaming them all on little Isabel. He was obviously getting carried away at incriminating her and I tried to set the record straight but, damn, it was funny.

So the Hubs has sold his soul to Tony Robbins. I know, I know…awaken the giant within and all that voodoo is bunk to many but I’m telling y’all, this stuff has some super-duper powers. See, the Hubs has been dealing with some mighty big issues, decisions, demons, and such. He needed someone unbiased to assist him in making some very important choices and that someone was definitely not his biased wife. So he plunked down a hearty wad of dough and got himself a life coach. They talk every three weeks, just enough time for him to get some assigned homework on himself done. Y’all, I’m not kidding, the first time he talked to his coach things started happening right away, good things, offers, invitations, opportunities. It's like there was some unspoken barrier in our world and it's been removed. And they keep coming and now I’m getting excited because I can see the wheels of change happening for us. It’s freaky and awesome and I'm stoked to see what happens next.

Summertime, here we come.

Oh Little Man

(This is an entry to W, for W, about W so read on if you can stand the syrupy sentiments.)

Oh, kiddo…

Lately we’ve been spending big chunks of time together while the Hubs is away and it’s been pretty awesome. At times, I do find myself mentally mixing every cocktail imaginable when I have to tame your more spirited moments and I’m at my wits end of things but on the whole you’re pretty wonderful.

The other night I was curious to see how late you could stay up and, man, did I pay the price. I snuggled you into my bed thinking it would be so nice to have you fall asleep in my arms like you do when you’re ill, all cuddly and warm. This turned out to be a very bad idea and finally had to drag your flippity-floppity buns downstairs to your own room at 11:35 p.m. You won, son. You are your father’s child, oh keeper of rock star hours. I should’ve known. There are times though when we are watching Wonder Pets or Miss Spider’s Sunny Patch something or other on the couch together and you grab my arm and wrap it around your neck like a mink stole. You have no idea how happy that makes me.

You’re full of information, tons of information with details and details of those details. Sometimes you share this knowledge in a language you are cultivating on your own and you sprinkle in bits of the English language, kinda like our new cleaning lady who speaks both English and Spanish simultaneously…“I cleaned the bathroom pero no mas cleaner for the tub, o.k?” The best is when you pretend to talk on my cell phone like an attorney making a deal for a very guilty client you're representing. You wring your hands and wave them in the air like you’re stating some very pertinent facts. The best is when you pause like you’re listening to the other party talk for a moment. So real.

I’m wondering though if you’re ever going to be okay with taking a bath again. You unwillingly charge in there like I’ve got a cattle prod poking your arse when I tell you it’s bath time. Tears stream down your cheeks as we undress you. You immediately start saying and signing “All done!” as soon as your toes touch the water. Try as I may, I can’t get you interested in the hundreds of toys floating and sinking in there so we just wash up really fast and get you out of there quick. You like to look at yourself in the mirror while you cry as I bundle you in your towel. Talk about drama.

Lately you’ve been sitting at the piano and playing it with your left hand while shaking the blue egg shaker in the other. Throw in some jibber-jabber sing song stuff and I’m front and center at my own little concert, a peek in to things (and groupies) to come. This morning on our way to school you were singing Old MacDonald so loudly you’re little voice was cracking. I could barely drive I was laughing so hard. You are quite the entertainer/dramatic artist, my sweet child and you get it honest.















Besos,
Mama

And for your viewing pleasure...

Kiddo

The Hubs and I decided that since we will be taking a summer off from working and school that we’d hold W back from moving up to the bigger kids room. Wednesday was the last day for CaCa, his best bud, to be in the class. His other friend, Zane, who could easily be running for office by the way he stands there and smiles at you while never saying a word, just waiting for a photo opp by the cubby area, had his last day yesterday. Both of them cried on their final days like they knew something was about to change. It was a sad sight to see. Did they really get it? Did they really know what was about to happen? This morning, however, after I dropped off W, who, let me point out, was the first one at school at 8 a.m. because he decided to start his day at 5:45 a.m., I saw Zane getting dropped off by his mama in the other play yard. I drove slowly down the alley to observe him absorbing his new routine and he seemed absolutely thrilled, just beaming with happiness and excitement. He saw me and waved like the good politician he is and flashed the pearly whites that match his platinum hair. I waved back enthusiastically and tears welled up in my eyes. You know, you get close to the little posse of children your kiddo spends so many of the hours of the day with and you root for them and you feel their parent’s anguish when their babes are growing up so fast knowing full well you’re going to be in their shoes very, very soon.

Thankfully W is still in a cuddly state and doesn’t venture far when we’re out in public. He likes to be carried and have things explained to him as he is tenuous about his surroundings. He asks questions and makes many (sometime too many) verbal observations. All in all, he’s a very good kiddo but he’s recently encountered the world of monster trucks (the DVD came with the cars) and now everything has to “Cash!” or crash and he has become rather destructive with his toys. Just yesterday as I was standing in the driveway talking to the neighbors from across the street who have a boy a couple of months younger than W. We were saying that we needed to get the kiddos together and hang out and all that small talk. W was pushing his little school bus in the pea gravel at my feet and I commented on how that school bus was about 18 years old and formerly owned by one of my younger brothers. As what seemed to be his cue, W lifted it above his head and tossed it with a resounding crash as the plastic hit the ground. He did it again, shaking some components loose inside. Again he threw it and it bounced twice. W was very proud of himself and repeating “Cash!” over and over. Real nice, son. I’m sure the neighbors are just dying to bring their composed and calm son over to play with you. Lord, keep my son away from the WWF.

Shame On Me

Sorry about the absentee-ism, y’all. I’ve been busy and lazy and uninspired. Working on 4 MAJOR events at the job with all but one of them happening before my sabbatical starting on June 16th. All of my creative juices have been dumped there. I also worked an event this past Saturday night for a set of twin girls that turned 25. Mad Hatter theme at a local bar and let me just say that when the DJ played the much requested Sweet Home Alabama, the group of 35 went wild…and most were barefoot…in a bar. ‘Nuff said.

We decided that since I am taking W out of school for eight weeks, we should keep him in the infant room instead of moving him up like he was supposed to do. In August he will make this transition over to the bigger kids room. Several of his buddies are moving on without him though. He will see them beyond the chain-linked fence and they will touch fingertips and toss toys back and forth like a sad, romantic movie. It’s better this way.

And for your reading pleasure, here are the latest escapades and highlights of W’s world…

-First off, poop in the tub is the grossest thing ever and W thinks so too. Yes, it happened one evening and I could hear W exclaiming “Yucky!” over and over while I went to get his pajamas (for you parental watch dogs out there, for the record, W’s room is practically IN the bathroom so I wasn’t out of his sight for less than 5 seconds). At first I wasn’t so sure what the “yucky” was as the tub was filled with foamy bubbles like a giant latte but the truth was soon revealed as he recoiled on his tip toes at one end of the tub and pointed to the tan turd breaching like a baby whale at the other end. I now have OSHA on speed dial.

-W is big into giving hugs and will come at you mid-play and say, “Hug” like it’s a military command. He leans in a little, gives a noncommittal squeeze and then resumes play like it never happened. Occasionally though the hug is accompanied with a kiss, the awkward preteen, open mouth sort with eyes wide open that even gives me pause.

- His vocabulary is huge, people, and it’s totally freaky that he can actually tell me stuff now, in complete sentences and with complete meaning. He might even be keeping a journal. He’s growing much too fast.

-He now sings Melmo’s World and Old MacDonald while playing the piano. So gotta get this on film. He also counts to 5 and can say the first 5 letters of the alphabet as well. Little genius.

-Memorial Day, I awoke at 9. 9! In the a.m.! We usually are up and at ‘em no later than 7. W had gone to bed at his usual 8:30 p.m. I was certain he was either ill…or dead but the god of parenting was smiling on us and neither was true and we were all getting some freebie Zzzzzs. In fact, the last time W was sick was on May 16th so we are fast approaching a record of healthfulness but I have probably just jinxed us by writing this.

More to come…