I'm Baaaack! (I think...)

This being my first post since April, right before Bobby's fourth birthday, I'll keep it brief and to the point. I had to step away from my commitment to blogging. Not that I was exactly religious about posting in any kind of regular manner. My last few months of blogging were sporadic at best. But I keep getting gentle nudges from writing friends and distant family members who want to check out what is going on in my life. I've talked about picking up the blog wand for over a month now, but have yet to post. At this moment, I'm supposed to be working on my book, or tracking down quotes for my travel article about Point Reyes...yet, here I am.

So here is a brief summary of life in my world right now:

Shane is a week away from turning three (yikes!) and almost potty trained. Farewell to diapers for-eva! He is still obsessed with tractors, trucks, cars, and anything else with wheels. Add Scooby Doo to his obsession list as well.

Bobby is 4 1/2. He refuses to cut his coarse hair because he says he wants 'Guitar Hero' hair. Of course he is referring to the addictive video game that my family and friends play almost nonstop when the newest version comes out. I can play 'Ziggy Stardust' on medium level, thank you very much. But back to Bobby. He is learning and growing and scaring me to death with how devilish and clever he is becoming.

Both boys started preschool two days a week this September and love it. Bobby is the class clown, which is charming and challenging since he can't stop his one man comedy routine while the teacher is running circle time.

I've been writing a lot more for local newspapers and magazines. I am at the point now where I am learning to pitch stories that really interest me. I am trying to exercise my 'No' button, since that seems to be a terminal problem of mine. My YA manuscript is still lurking in my computer and filing cabinet and I am hoping to have the latest revision back in the mail to a dozen agents next month. I'm losing count on how many revisions I've done on this piece but I have decided that this will be the last one. I have done all can for my character Ashlee and her suburban world. If it is meant to be published, it will happen. If not, I think I am okay with that and ready to move on.

So, I'm back to the blog. Check every week or so for updates on life with the boys, life in front of the computer screen, and life as a suburban queen. Feel free to send lots of comments and forward blogs to moms or writers or friends who might be interested. There are a ton of blogs out there. I hope mine will be a regular stop for you!

Camilla

Who can decipher the mind of a toddler? More importantly, where the heck do they get those off the wall sayings?

Bobby, who is creeping up on age four, now so definitely not a toddler anymore, is the classic example. I can't remember when his obsession with Camilla started. I guess it would help if I blogged more about their happenings instead of writing about other things.

Who's this chick Camilla, anyway?

You know that sinful, gooey stuff called Easy Cheese, that sprays liked whipped cream out of a can on your cracker of choice? The one my friends call Sleazy Cheez? Well, for whatever reason, Bobby started calling it Camilla when he was around two years old. The name has still stuck. We see it in the store and even now, at four years old, it's the same plea:

"Mom! We need to buy some Camilla BECAUSE!"

It's more of a demand than a question, which doesn't work so well in my book.

My parents started his love affair with Camilla and they are sure to have it every time the boys stay overnight, whenever they come out to babysit. Camilla is a requirement. Camilla is his first love obsession....with cheese.

OFF WITH HIS HAIR!

My scrappy, hippy boy became a little man this morning. I dreaded it. Avoided. Pushed back the first real haircut for more months than I should have. People began to mistake him for my little daughter. And I still waited. I read an essay I wrote at an author's reading called "Boys Boys Boys" all about my denial that he is my second son and that I can't bring myself to cut his hair. The awareness was there, but still I waited.

His blonde wisps crawled past the collar of his striped shirts. I constantly wrestled his bangs away from his eyes, but his hair was so fine no gel could hold it in place. Last night, as I cuddled him in his new big boy bed, sweeping my fingers through his goldilocks that are now dimming to the same brown as his big brothers.

This morning, with no fan fare, no witnesses save one snoring dog, I took the clippers to the back of his head, used the #4 length, and brushed the hippy-girlishness right off of him. I expected a fight from him. But I guess I had fought so much internally, there was no reason for him to. He sat still, chomping on an orange. Probably, he was relieved to be what he should be. A little boy. Mommy's little boy.

Two Mall Monsters

I'm what you'd call one of those impulsive mommies, jumping into a lot of things on a whim, with no preparation involved. I guess the philosophy behind this is no excessive preparation equals no disappointment when my plans fall through...which happens soooo much living with these two little vermin smearing play dough all over my carpet.

So I woke up this morning and did my usual morning routine. Big Bear from a certain Disney show the boys like calls this the morning mambo. Mine is this:

Roll out of bed to attend to screaming, soggy toddler climbing out of crib.

Change diapers; fill sippy cups.

Crawl onto couch and put on The Wiggles Show and bide my time until the whole breakfast, make lunch for hubby routine is pushed on me.

Attach IV of coffee to arm and walk out to driveway with ratnest hair and desperate housewife bathrobe for the newspaper (my neighbors must love this).

Turn to the horoscope page and seal my fate for the day...

which brings me back to this morning and a certain whimsy in my soul. I had a coupon getting ready to expire for a portrait studio and the knowledge that I haven't had the boys' pictures done in over a year. I had coordinated silky button up dress shirts that actually fit them, although it makes them look like hustlers (or golf pros)...and absolutely no plans for the day.

My Taurean fate for the day was this: A three out of five star day, pretty normal for me. And astronomer Eugenia Last (who never misses the mark on my day forecast): Nothing should deter you from following through with your plans. You can make fabulous changes that will ensure your success.

Well hot damn!
It was off the the photo shoot with the fellas!

Except, I only have two hands to contain two other sets of hands and feet. And no appointment...although, that's never stopped me before. And no extra money to speak of since my wild and expensive (wildly expensive?) girls' weekend a few days ago.

(Check out http://www.myspace.com/withtwoboys for evidence of my naughty ways.)

But I went for it anyway because Shane's hair is adorably long and blond surfer style. And Bobby is starting preschool in two weeks, yet another milestone I cannot wait for. Bring on the pictures!

Wouldn't you know, I headed to Walmart first with my two men dressed in their finest and several bribes in my back pocket (cookies, crackers, promises for a picnic in the park)... We strolled in right at opening with a young girl with a dazed look on her face manning the small portrait studio inside. There is a reason, folks, Walmart only charges $8 for approximately 3000 photos, which I soon discovered. After waiting patiently as possible with two boys climbing chairs and swiping at computer keyboards while she searched for the appointent book, answered two personal phone calls, and finally invited them to sit in front of the neutral background, the girl spent another five minutes posing them and making strange clucking noises that were supposed to induce giggles, but instead terrified Shane. She finally leaned over the massive camera and announced:

"It's broke. And I don't know how to work it."

My jaw dropped. She continued:

"I mean, I could take their pictures, but they'd be kinda blurry soooo you probably don't want to waste your time." Nervous giggle followed. Indeed. Like I'd been standing in that lobby for close to thirty minutes, but let's not waste anybody's time.

So I packed the nearly rebelling boys back into the shopping cart to cruise Walmart and pick up some things in the hopes she'd pull it together and figure out how to work the camera.

Long story short...

I coasted by awhile later after Bobby almost knocked down a whole display of vacumn cleaners and Shane's eyes were puffed out from crying for an Elmo toy and she was still standing by the camera scratching her head.

But Eugenia Last said nothing should deter me! She used the word FABULOUS and SUCCESS in one sentence. I would not fail.

I raced to the nearest mall, balancing my cell phone up against my ear, trying to make an appointent with another studio, the one I actually had the coupon for in the first place. And indeed, my astronomer waved her fairy dust over us and got me an appointment fifteen minutes later.

And the lobby had a tv/vcr furnished with Disney movies to entertain the boys with while I did paperwork....

And the photographer was an adorable girl that actually got the boys to laugh and sit still. I contemplated stuffing her in the back of my minivan to be my live in nanny.

And the pictures turned out awesome.

And I didn't go completely overboard or out of budget when ordering.

SUCCESS!!!

Besides the havoc left in our wake when we exited the mall. Shane somehow got grease all over his hands, dress shirt, and half of the chairs in the lobby. Both boys slimed the rest of the chairs with their lollipop hands and cracker crumbs.

But I got their pictures done and it's ALL good.

You must be wondering how I have the time to write such a LONG post. I scored again because both the boys are napping in sync! YAY!

Broken Cameras and Invisible Words

My fancy shmancy digital camera has been broken for almost two months now and my boys are transforming before my eyes with nothing to capture their lives unfolding and forging ahead.

And, where I used to write weekly about their maddening hold on my world, the delightful and frustrating mini dramas that are my days and nights that blend together, I just realized that I haven't posted a blog in months, and the last one was careless and shallow at best.

The boys are growing up and I am failing them.

Like today, in the record breaking heat in the hotlands of suburbia, I followed the boys into the yard after spraying them down with sunscreen. Bobby in his Superman briefs that revealed a dark tanline across its tight waistband and his newly buzzed hair. Shane, with his thicker body and too tight Nemo swim diaper with the matching accentuated tanline. When they were just cackling and racing their trucks around the yard and pushing their slide up into the already too warm wading pool...and I was too exhausted to capture the moment. Too tired to really be in the moment. I just sat at the table with my fourth cup of coffee, in my torn Garlex Pizza shirt, a robot of a mom, chiming in with the occasional nags: Don't throw dirt at the fence. Give Shane the truck. Do you have to go potty, Bobby? Stop hurting my flowers. Are you sure you don't have to pee?

Blah blah blah.

And yet they were so vibrant and handsome, with their pre-Apollo body builds, Shane's hair white and wispy under the relentless sun. Bobby's running commentary about the airplanes flying overhead, sirens in the distance, cats and squirrels racing across the fence. Beautiful boys.

And then their was dull Mommy, downing gulps of caffeine and feeling guilty for not 'doing' anything, like beginning the edits on my latest writing project, or changing the laundry. When all I had to do was pull up a beach chair to the wading pool and just BE MOMMY instead of fretting about what a bad mommy I was.

I vow to be more of a zen-mommy, more grounded in the present and less of a nag. And to fix my broken camera. And to definitely start pounding at the keyboard once again.

Reflecting on Numbers

Whenever Memorial Day is on the very near horizon, I always sigh with relief. I have survived the crowded birthday marathon in my family, with a little money left in the bank and a few party-free weekends in the future. Bobby turned 3 close to a month ago. I jumped to 27 a week after his birthday. The weekend of my own birthday, wiped out from planning Bobby's party and stretching my budget to accomodate three other birthdays in between, I had a bit of an internal meltdown.

About the number 27. I declared with feigned enthusiasm that this would be my lucky year. 27 seems a solid, lucky number. This would be the year I finish and even sell my first novel. This will be the year I get some relief fromt the around the clock toddler care when Bobby will start preschool. This will be the year I'll find regular freelance work and start pumping money back into our dwindling savings. That was all the outward declarations.

Inside, it went more like this, when I stumbled to the computer before Desperate Housewives came on and my friend Melissa saved me from my birthday night misery after my family was asleep:

#27 Musings

Happy friggin birthday, Kelly. I turned 27 at around 6am this morning, while Bobby woke up too early with a mind numbing scream and it was physically impossible to burrow any deeper into my need to be washed pillow.

27 years old. What does a number mean, anyway? Now, I am just three stair steps away from the big 30th birthday, which I’m sure will be overhyped and under rated as any other birthday I’ve celebrated...besides my 21st, which I’d be happy to revisit year after year.

So this is another one of those inconsequential years that have flown by. No huge accomplishments or big to dos. Scary to me that my own mother was still childless at this age. She didn’t have me until she was 28. What did she do with all of that time, anyway? Dinners out with friends, and movies and barbeques and other get togethers that take on a whole different shade when looking through the bleary lenses of motherhood.

Yikes! What a miserable, measly rant reeking of cheap beer and self pity. I can't even remember, really, why I was so down. Vaguely, it had to do with the fact I couldn't really sleep in on my real birthday, at no fault of my husband's...exactly. He rolled out of bed, grouchy and mumbling, to take boy duty that morning. Then Bobby proceeded to scream on the other side of my bedroom door for the next two hours.

And we did go to the Wine Festival that afternoon with the boys and their public meltdown was quite tame compared to other doozies when I only had my own set of hands to wrangle them back into the cave of our home. Is it that I'm that much closer to being 30? Age isn't that remarkable to me. My husband, my friends are all older than me. Maybe part of it is I haven't been bringing home a paycheck for three years now since deciding to stay home with my boys. (Not counting those paychecks we are saving by not putting the boys in childcare).

And now Bobby is 3. Which is what I really sat down to write about. Instead, I'm diving into my quarter life crisis, as John Mayer calls it.

Three is a supercharged age in the early childhood arena. Mostly concerning the big P words. As in potty training. As in preschool. As in, the only preschool I can afford for Bobby only takes kids that are Potty trained. And Bobby needs to be in preschool. He needs some buddies his age. He has friends, which are really my friends' kids that live out of town. But, no playdate buddies. No friends from class that invite him to birthday parties and days at the park.

Don't get me wrong. I used to pack both the boys up for a mommy and me class once a week. We actually went for about a year, until Shane learned how to run and usually headed the opposite direction of Bobby. After one hideous incident at the park after class, I had to carry one boy under each arm, both kicking and screaming, with as much dignity as I could muster while juggling two screamers and an overstuffed diaper bag. We haven't been back since.

Moms with Boxing Gloves

Let the mommy wars begin! In the first ring, the working mom, struggling to find that tight balance as supermom and breadwinner, working professional and available nurturer. Opposite of her, the stay at home mom, knee deep in toys and trying to maintain an identity, any identity, outside her home.

It seems this debate, working versus staying at home, comes in waves, depending on what expert has spoken out on the topic or has given birth in the last few years. Apparently, the mommy wars are back and some mom’s are pulling out all the punches. Linda Hirschman has exploded onto the scene, with outspoken views on how mother’s should live their lives. She focuses on the new trend of college educated women ‘opting out’ of the workforce to stay home with their children.

Some stay at home mom’s have jumped into the ring, not happy being told that their way of life is sub-par to the working woman. Most recently, Darla Shine came out with a book Happy Housewives and is calling all mom’s to join the wave of her mamanist movement. She has come under a lot of criticism for her views on keeping a perfectly kept house and body for your family and husband. I agree with the spirit of her book, but not all of the specifics. She obviously doesn’t have toddler age children so she can make the time for going to the gym, keeping up with the latest fashions, and getting out of her pajamas before her husband comes home from work.

A new magazine has also emerged called Total180! (www.total180mag.com), which represents the spin on your life when you trade in your briefcase for a diaper bag. The three creators wanted to create a forum for at home moms to share their experiences, laugh at themselves, and show the world that staying at home is real work and that they are proud of it. They target those very women who made the difficult choice to opt out to raise their kids. Critics have also jumped down their throats, calling them a bunch of whiners who aren’t using their educations to their fullest potential. More power to them, but of course I am partial because I belong to their target audience, a college educated at home mom, who also happens to write for their magazine. It takes guts to depict the sludge of everyday life at home, while balancing it with the beauty and rewards of being your child’s primary caregiver.

A segment shown recently on Good Morning America moved me to my computer. It was aptly titled the Mommy Wars and included an interview with Linda Hirschmann and a forum of stay at home and working mothers, including Debbie Klett, one creator of Total180! magazine. Hirschmann definitely has her right to her opinions, but I was appalled by the way she came down on thisgroup of educated women. She called it irresponsible, due to the high divorce rate in America, to jeopardize our earning power. She said it was brainless and monotonous work that few mothers really seem to enjoy. Hirschmann restated again and again that mothers should have no more than one child in order to stay competitive in the workforce. Yikes!

Staying at home is a lot of physical labor, scrubbing the house down, changing diapers, bathing, feeding, and cooking. It is havoc most days, but my family thrives in the chaos because it is housed in love. Certain days are tougher than others, when it is raining outside, the boys are fighting, the laundry is piling, and I watch my husband leave for work with a quiet longing. But, I never have regrets about my education or about opting out to raise my two little legacies. My mind will still be here when my kids are older and I think the education gives me an advantage with my children, in understanding those developmental quirks and my sharpened skills of reverse psychology never go to waste.

Who is to dictate what is best for the individual woman and her family? It is hard enough just being a mother, no matter what side of the ring you are on. It seems such a waste of time to continue this battle of words, saying one type of mother is superior than the other. I’m sure every mother has their doubts, whether they admit it or not, about the choices they make in that million dollar question, when should I go back to work? Staying at home day in and day out can be monotonous, sure, but every day I spent in the workforce wasn’t always intellectually stimulating or personally validating. You must take the garbage along with the grandness, whatever side of the ring you are on. I’m sick of the attacks from both sides and wish we could all come together as a truce and be good role models for our children by not attacking our own kind. All mothers work and all mother’s think. When and how we do this is our own business and we have no right to attack other ways of life and place our way of thinking on a pedestal.

Gleaming Moments

Motherhood has its moments.

Like when I am forced to cook dinner with Shane attached to one leg while trying to open the oven door with his hand not tugging my pants down around my ankles.

Or when Bobby chooses to throw a screaming fit during my powerwalk, where I am forced to push him at high speed and am at least fifteen minutes away from home.

These are the grisly, everyday moments and people who read about them and are completely terrified to take the plunge into parenthood usually go running for the hills. An example: a well meaning writer who reviewed the new magazine total180! on salon.com a few weeks back. She said the stories of stay at home sainthood made her terrified to start a family.

But there are those gleaming moments buried in the monotony, the crying spells, and the sheer labor of it all. Like the moment when Bobby comes running towards Shane's room first thing in the morning, and says in his chirpiest voice:

"Good morning, Shaney Brainy. Hello, mommy's little binky bear. Wanna play with Bobby, my little binky bear?"

My heart just wants to melt out of its body.

And this moment now, with both boys breathing heavily in their beds, quiet and safe. I realize, for the first time in days, weeks even, I haven't yelled at the boys or pulled out my hair from the craziness of life with two toddlers. Today was actually ok. No major bruises or tears or screaming fits. Just a lot of play and hugs and even a whispered "I love you, mama" as I turned out Bobby's light.

Now that is a gleaming moment.

Motherhood isn't all terror...maybe it is a terrible, all consuming beauty, doused with some hideous moments of uncertainty, confusion, even desperation. But I am always set back on the ground when I'm flying too out of control with emotions, by a simple phrase from Bobby or an adoring, if wordless glance from Shane.

This Preschool is Closed

Ahhh, optimism. This time of year it really does get the best of me. So far, my resolutions are wilting along with my go for it attitude. The strict exercise regimen has been exchanged for stealing every last possible second in bed until my husband leaves for work and I actually have a household to run. Ha.

Another case in point: my whole preschool prototype I thought would work miracles on my home life. I figured life would run smoother if I borrowed from my days as a recreation teacher and scheduled my boys' days by the hour. Free play in the morning, dressed by 9am, outdoor play if weather permits, art and cooking projects, blah blah blah. Well, the structure of my preschool seems to be groaning.

I mean, really, what was I thinking exactly? This is NOT a school, but a house, that is run 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, with sparse holidays when the grandparents take the boys on a whim. Of course (most) preschools have some semblance of order. The teachers only work eight hour days, if that, then get to send the little rugrats back home. So not the case in my household.

I have lowered my standards for this would be school. Instead of scheduling by the hour, I'm aiming for the day. Like, Fridays are library day. This means Bobby throws an exponential temper tantrum as soon as we walk through the sliding doors and I slap the overdue books that he hasn't bothered looking at in days anyway on the returns runway. Then, Shane bolts for the wooden puzzle pieces and bangs them with the force of a teenager onto the mini-tables. Then Bobby gets reprimanded by me, then the librarian, for screaming or running along the aisles. Then, Shane pulls down the enormous globe on the librarians desk. Then, Bobby starts banging the keys on the computer keyboards. Then, the mothers of the mellow children who actually sit on the couches and page through crusty books give me the look, you know, the one of admonishment. Tsk, tsk, and all that. And this is all withing twenty minutes. I won't even go into the meltdown that plays out in the parking lot when it is time to leave...

Hmmm, seems I got distracted there for a minute.

Oh, the daily schedule. Friday-Library, then the boys get to watch a full length movie that they checked out. It seems a fair balance to me, being that I am completely exhausted after the excursion out into the threatening public where my boys are so intent on wreaking havoc. You would think I keep them locked in cages at home, the way they take off running away from me.

Well, in all honesty, I only have one themed day. The rest are just checks on the calendar, one step closer to the weekend where I'll have my right-hand man at home to help me out.

So farewell to optimism, I've fallen back to my reality and it isn't even February yet.

A Day in the Life...

If you have no idea what the heck this is all about, go to http://www.mommiesmagazine.net/news/123
and read this week's At Home Havoc column.

Day 1

Bobby crawls into bed just after 5am. Yikes! Not a good start to the preschool day.

6:20am. The would-be teacher drags her butt out of the warm bed to hit the elliptical machine for some New Years inspired exercising.

6:40. Ahh coffee and a shower. The old one-two combo to survive a morning of toddler mayhem.

7:40 Bye bye Daddy. Boys up and enjoying the hot wheels on the train table. No major fights as of yet.

8:00 Breakfast of ‘baby pancakes’ as Bobby calls them, and fruit cocktail. And they actually eat content at the table for a good fifteen minutes. Bobby even asks for seconds. Could this possibly avert the sporadic snacking throughout the day?

8:30-9:00 Breakfast clean up. Mommy sets up a Little People village on the train table and dresses the boys. Promises of a field trip to the library if only Shane will stop the teething crying and constant drooling.

9:00-9:45 Fifteen minutes of story time on the couch while Shane scrambles up and over the book, almost falls to the floor on his head, then is furious because I won’t let him straddle the arm of the couch. Bobby pissed that his brother is interrupting the story.

10:00-11:00 Library chaos. Shane shoving crusty wood puzzle pieces onto his swollen gums the moment I turn around to grab Bobby from stealing a book from another unsuspecting toddler. All in all, a successful trip. No huge tantrums or mama dramas. Bobby actually gets into his car seat without protest.

11:30 Lunch of chicken nuggets, corn and grated cheese (don’t ask) with a globby mixture of ketchup and ranch for dip. Boys rubbing their eyes.


12:00 Diaper changes (Bobby refuses to try potty once again, big surprise there), milkie, and a group snuggle with the train library book. Then it’s off to bed for BOTH of the boys. Mommy uses veiled bribery to get Bobby to take a nap (we get to bake muffins if he takes a nap. There is our cooking/science curriculum!)

12:50 Mama gets to finish reading the paper and move files around on the computer, then check email when she should be doing lunch dishes and straightening the chaotic living room, and doing laundry.

1:48 Somebody tear me away from the computer. I think the laundry is getting moldy! Is that a Shane cry I’m hearing?

2:00 Shane is out and about. Would-be teacher is cleaning clutter and doing dishes to get ready for the great muffin bake off.

3:00 Bobby zooms out of the room grinning, claiming he’s going to bake a muffin patch. First video of the day for Shane to keep him out of the way (Baby Einstein), and Bobby and Mama get to work on cracking eggs, mixing flour, and squeezing lemons.

4:00 Mmmm, Mama and both boys snack on fresh baked lemon poppyseed muffins. Back to the train table with blocks, hot wheels, and trains.

5:15 Daddy home and Mama officially calls the preschool day over. Boys play, Mommy cooks dinner and all fall into bed by 8:00. What a day!

First day was promising. At Pollard Preschool we covered: reading, science (muffins), table toys (trains, cars, etc.). TV log for the boys: 45 minutes...yay!

ALAS....

That was what you would call a false start, or maybe a false positive. Bobby has not napped at the scheduled nap time since Day 1 (it is now Day 9). Shane continues to cut evil white daggers out of his swollen gums, which possesses him with a demonic whine that lasts ten hours a day (if you add it all up). Neither boy has slept through the night. Mama has not gotten out of bed before the boys, due to the cruel amount of sleep deprivation, and is resorting to coffee binges and several "WHY ME!!!" rants throughout the day.

Coming next week...

Toddler Boot Camp.

A Better Mama

Resolution fever has overtaken my brain this past week. I'm always a sucker for self improvement, lists of goals and objectives, and loads of pensive thoughts about where my life is going. Of course I have all the standard ones I have every year... lose some weight and exercize, drink less, write more, and on and on. You'll be scared to know I actually downloaded a free goal setting workbook online (www.higherawareness.com) and I am actually working through the twenty plus pages while the boys battle it out over the train table. I came to a few conclusions that can only mean...I have a higher awareness. (HEE HEE)

1. I need to take better care of myself or the whole family ship could go down.

2. The thing I want most for 2006 is to be a better mom.

Now, I know I am a good mom. I think it is pretty easy to be a good mom. I'm striving to be better and here is why: better is more elevated, and to me, it implies that I will constantly be improving my skills and my relationships with my little guys. I vow to work on my patience (no eye rolling behind Chops's back when he wrecks his train tracks and demands I fix them immediately,or when Bubba's steady whine and leg cling-on tactics are going into their 11th hour). I vow to be more playful, to get on the floor more with the boys, to let them run free outside rather than have their brain's dulled by way too much television.

Now, I'm not aiming for the best or the most perfect mama. I want to work for something I know that I can do. I can be a better mama and they deserve a better mama. Hopefully, as I become better, they can do the same. (I'm referring to Bobby's charade at the park today where he took off running after a pack of wild boys on scooters and ran right for the street. I wish HE was old enough for New Year's resolutions, because he would most certainly be vowing to be a better listener to his frazzled mother.)

Check out my Mommies Magazine column coming out next week for my newest strategy...get ready, boys, for preschool to come to our house!

Santa Says

I had a new playing card to deal out to my two year old, Chops, this past month. It is the timely, spirited Santa card, replete with bribery and idle threats. A typical scenario would play out something like this...

"Chops, stop messing with the cat."

"NO! That's MY cat."

"Kitty cat scratches. Stop pulling on his tail."

Devious smile accompanies the gentle tugging of the cat's tail flicking with agitation.

"Chops, Santa is watching you right now and he doesn't like it when you don't listen to Mama. What is he going to do with all those toys the elves are making for you? He won't bring them to boys who don't listen to their mommies."

Head tilts in interest and he quickly withdraws the offending hand and moves on to scribbling wall with crayon.

Repeat previous conversation, inserting, "Drop the crayon!" for every "Leave kitty alone" remark.

I'm not proud I have to resort to bribery when it comes to my two year old. And, even blatant bribery using a figure of a religious holiday, began to lose its effects come mid-December. Threats of no toys or trains from the elusive Santa soon failed to register even a glancing acknowledgement from Chops.

Well, to shorten my long long trial that was December, I have resolved not to use that trick next year. Chops is on to me. After all the idle threats, hands on my hips, smoke billowing out of my ears... Chops still managed to get that train table and set from Santa. Instead of coal and dog food in his stocking, he found treats and hot wheels and a whole clutter of toys from the dutiful elves.

Maybe I should learn a thing or two from Santa. Tis the season for forgiveness. Santa is a symbol. He came through with the toys, but I have the power to take them away. Heh heh heh!

A Bunch of Bulls

Chops and I have been at it all week. I really didn't believe it was possible to be so at odds with my own flesh and blood son. Sure, he is smack in the middle of those terrible twos. It seems everything lately is preceded by a whine or a NO. I consider myself a fairly level, well educated woman who can certainly handle whatever a careening toddler chooses to deal me. But, I never banked on how deep he can sink those claws under my skin. I have been thinking about it all week, in between mostly one sided arguments with Chops, who miraculously loses his hearing if I ask him to do something as simple as sit in his carseat so I can strap him in before we get moving.

I finally have it figured out. The astros are closing in on us. Meaning, I think this might be an astrological symptom. He is a Taurus. I am a Taurus. Two of our strongest traits are stubbornness and bull headed tempers.

Ah Ha!

That combined with his particularly hideous age and stage, combined with my lack of sleep and mounting stress over the upcoming holidays...and we now have the whole reason why our quiet suburban house is in serious danger of erupting into toxic spouts of lava tears and shouts.

I'm really not being dramatic or overreacting. This week alone, Chops and I have probably averaged three epic battles every twenty minutes. That makes for a very long day when he refuses to nap, which is like every day.

Yes, I can take some measure of comfort in the fact that he will someday outgrow these devious days of toddlerhood. But Chops and I will never outgrow being stubborn bulls, always butting heads in our epic battle of wills. Who will win out? I'm really not sure at this point. All I know is that this bull needs a serious vacation.

OK, Just One More...

Here it was less than a week ago that I vowed to stay away from the time draining blog. And here I am now sitting in my dark office, all of my boys asleep in the house, and having all sorts of thoughts in my head. Why keep it to myself?

Chops is having issues with bedtime and naptime. The nap isn't there to be my afternoon crutch anymore. If he does happen to drift off, it is usually on the couch, after one too many Teletubbies, Boo Bahs, or other demented PBS shows. So even if he is napping, he is central in the household and any noise is bound to wake him up. Which brings me to my next problem.

The days Chops does succumb to the nap are the days when bedtime becomes a battle. He simply will not go down. Lately, I've been so exhausted by 8:00, that it doesn't even occur to me to let him stay up later to run out of steam. I can barely keep my eyes open to make sure he isn't torturing the cat or wiping diaper cream on the carpet (yep, that really happened). So we do the normal routine and march him to bed with a sippy cup of milk (don't alert the parenting police about the sippy cup in bed). Then I read him a few stories, always the same ones. It is to the point where I don't even need to look at the words anymore. In fact, one desperate night when we couldn't find one of his favorite books, I actually recited the whole thing to him...But I digress...

Usually, he would go right down without a fight. I knew this big boy bed thing was going a little too smoothly. I can handle giving up the nap, to some extent. But mess with the golden hour of bedtime? From 5:00pm on, I cast furtive glances at the clock in countdown for that moment of peace in the household when I can finally get my house back into order before the wrecking crew is up to their old tricks again the next morning. Or more likely, that moment when I can flop on the couch without a biting pre-toddler hanging all over me or Chops shouting MILK! PLEASE! The moment my butt hits the sofa.

Due to our recent exhaustion, Robbie and I have taken to lying in bed with Chops to help him calm down and fall asleep. Robbie started it. There, I said it. Although, I've taken up right where he left off. That is why I'm sitting here typing after 10:00. I've been lying with Chops for the past hour or so with a squirmy worm of a toddler and my own thoughts. And I really didn't feel so bad about lying there with him.

I read a lot of parenting magazines. It's part research for my own writing and part fascination with all the conflicting advice from the gazillion so called experts out there. There are the hippies sprawled out on the family bed against the tight asses who virtually crate train their babies in their cribs. I have always bounced between the two extremes and have managed really well. So I got to thinking about all those experts and how most would say I shouldn't give in and lay down with my son. I should march him back to his room over and over and over again. Don't give in! Don't lay down!

I know I'm being dramatic but blame it on the exhaustion. As I was laying there listening to Chops ramble on: "Cuddle Mama. Cuddle Sponge Bob pillow. Yogurt dinner." and on and on he rambled, I might add, I thought this. If I died tomorrow, would I want my last day with Chops posted on the outside of his door ordering him back into bed over and over frustrating the hell out of both of us? Or would I want that last night to be under his race car quilt, cuddled up next to him, rubbing his stubbly hair and soft skin, listening to his toddler speak until it finally slowed to a rhythmic snore?

Don't get me wrong though. This laying in bed with Chops for an hour or two every night simply isn't going to fly much longer. But the moments cuddled warm and safe in his pile of blankets are a sacrifice I'm willing to make every now and then. I don't think I'll let him nap tomorrow...

Blogging Break

I just wanted to thank all of you who have been reading and commenting on my crazy life with a household of boys. Luckily, all of the viruses/rashes have been remedied and all of us are healthy. Well, except for our Black Lab Sadie, who we just found out, will need an expensive surgery to repair a torn ligament. Things are already tight so it will take some creative budgeting and borrowing to pay the $2-3000 for her to be the same lively pup once again.

The online magazine (www.mommiesmagazine.com) I have been working on is steadily doing better, although it still is not a source of income yet. As of now, I'm viewing it as editing and publishing experience for me. Something will have to change soon with the income situation, because I just may have to go back to work if I don't start making money freelance writing. That isn't necessarily a bad thing. The break from the household would probably be good for my sanity, but it would also mean less time spent with Robbie, since I would have to work nights and/or weekends. Plus, it would also take time and energy away from my writing. The other startup magazine I wrote a feature article for Total180! is set to be published in November, and I'm really hoping it will take off as well. Look for it on the newsstands and if you are a stay at home mom and can spare $15 (believe me, I understand if you can't!), go to www.total180mag.com and subscribe to this fun and fresh magazine. The incredible ladies are fronting a lot of the expenses of publishing the first issue, so every little bit helps.

So what is the point of all these ramblings? I think it is time to take a break from the blogging for awhile because Chops isn't napping anymore and I only have a tiny window of freedom where I can write and clean and shower, etc. I'm sure I will pick it up again someday when things have settled and I get into a better writing routine.

Everyone pray for me. Pray that the boys don't drive me completely nuts, that Sadie will recover nicely from her surgery, and that I will make the big time with my writing in the next few years! It's been fun stepping on the blogging bandwagon and I'm sure I'll be back!

Always on Call

I remember when my stepfather used to work for a trucking company back when I was very young. There would always be those nights when he wore the beeper, meaning he was at the company's mercy, at all hours of the day and night. I remember thinking how unfair that was for him. He couldn't have too many drinks with dinner and it was inevitable that tiny pager would start blaring in the middle of his favorite show or mid-snore. But the beauty of his pager was that after his shift was over, he could finally turn the thing off.

Oh, if I could only be so lucky. I don't have a need for a pager. There are no annoying beeps to wake me in the middle of the night or to force me off the couch during a particularly juicy scene from "Desperate Housewives." I might as well have one, because it is during those times that the boys start in, needing a new diaper, more food, a fresh sippy cup, a toy repair, and on and on.

I am always under the radar. They have no qualms about waking me up from a deep sleep so I can stumble around a room and crawl under a crib in search of a binky. They don't care if the muse suddenly strikes me and I have to absolutely get something down on paper. Those are the moments they have a nasty diaper blow out or a conked head on the linoleum floor.

Even this past week, Robbie was on vacation and I was doing the happy dance. Finally! It won't be JUST MOMMY in the house all day. I had visions of sleeping in until 9:00, tapping away on the computer and sending off some stories...which of course would lead to riches and glory.

HA!

Monday morning I was all set to sleep in. Chops wasn't having it. He has no problem if Daddy is sleeping, but if Mommy dares to stay behind the closed bedroom door, he throws his full 35 pounds of boy into the door, screams, and whines until I completely give up on the stolen hours of sleep and stomp out to the kitchen for a pot of coffee. Ditto for a peaceful shower. Or for that story that will never be written.

Where is the off button on this Mommy pager? Can somebody please show me? I think the last time that it was truly off was during our girls trip to Tahoe back in May. There I could stay up as late as I wanted because no one would be waiting in my room to wake me up at dawn. There I could keep the shades closed and lounge in bed until 3 in the afternoon.

Oh, please take me there again!

A House Full of Sicklies

There is something about illness in a household of young children. Call it cruel fate and mass contagion. Cruel fate because we have our big camping trip planned for this weekend, which of course is now overshadowed by empty bottles of children's tylenol, cast off teething rings, and a lingering stench of vomit in Chops's room. Mass contagion, because what started as Bubba's feverish, listless weekend thought to be caused by hardcore teething, was actually a case of roseola...which he so lovingly passed to his brother, though Chops still hasn't broken out in the dreaded rash yet.

Not to mention our Black Lab Sadie is now nicknamed Tri-Pod, because she's only walking on three paws, with no apparent cause.

What's next? A nice case of chicken pox or a broken arm for Mommy or Daddy? The house burning down?

I know, I'm being morbid. You try being cooped up all week with two cranky, steaming hot kids who are only content when Boo-Bahs, Teletubbies, or Thomas the Train are on. You try sitting with your dog for half an our working over every inch of her toe pads, claws, ankles, and legs to solve the great tri-pod mystery.

This will be a short post because we are preparing to dash out of town to hopefully escape the madness. Unlikely, since we'll have the sicklies in tow with us. I'll probably return with tales of laughter and disaster from Lake Camanche next week.

No More Whining

My household was swelling with whines this week. Chops may very well be the most guilty, whining and screaming for everything from ice cream cones, to the truck Bubba was playing with, or the fact that I wouldn't let him sit in the drivers seat of my minivan on the way to the library. And once we got to the library...ooooooh boy, the whining escalated into a full blown tantrum, to where we were literally escorted out of the children's section by one of the librarians. She was only trying to be helpful, I admit. She shooed us outside and took my library card and pile of books and brought them back out to us. I still felt like the naughty school girl with the dunce cap on, even though she was very understanding.

Bubba is more of the night time whiner, of the midnight variety. Blame it on incoming teeth, that chipotle marinated pork he devoured for dinner...whatever. Several times over the week, his screams burst out from his room and seemed to crawl over my skin. I felt bad for the little guy, but I was so incredibly frustrated and needing him to sleep so I could have some semblance of sanity.

I was probably the biggest culprit of them all. Luckily for everyone else in the household, the whines mainly seethed and swirled in my own head. They went something like this: "Another *&#*## dirty diaper!" or "He cannot be awake AGAIN." or "Chops, if you open that fridge one more time I may have to grab the cordless screwdriver and drill it through my eye!"

I know, not my finest hours, but at least I internalized it and didn't subject the boys to my inward rants, raves, groans, and sighs. Of course, everyone could sense Mommy wasn't a happy camper and that I was a tad edgy (exaggeration of the year, there.) Suffice to say, I was feeling a bit sorry for myself and very ready to give Robbie my two weeks notice so he could begin searching for a new mommy.

Then came Katrina. The sick and sad news footage that never goes away. Images of the sick, the dying, the deceased broadcast on all the networks. Last night, I watched World News Tonight with Brian Williams and a photographer shared his account from the confines of New Orleans, where a crowd of thousands gathered at the convention center. Bodies of the starved and dehydrated lined the walls. A man held out a 3 week old baby with listless eyes, who hadn't had any milk in three days and would probably die. A mother cradled a toddler who she couldn't wake up, he was so dehydrated.

Well, there was my reality check and a big slap in the face. Here I had been, whining to myself all week. And in another part of the country, people are losing everything. My boys can be maddening and draining, but they are so full of life and energy and vibrance. As of now, we are the richest family in the world. And I promise, no more whining.

Now, if only Chops would make that same promise....

Milestones: A Pile Up of Memories

Bubba has been crawling for almost a month now. A milestone of all milestones. With a few reckless, flailing arm and knee movements, my household was propelled into one of two mobile, energy draining sons. No longer can I set one down and be guaranteed that I will find him in the same vicinity when I return from the laundry, the bathroom, or wherever I escape to. A mixture of sadness and pride fills my heart. Sadness, that the days of babyhood will soon be over and I will have another full blown toddler careening through the household, banging his head on various exposed corners and table edges. Pride in his ability to master a skill, his glee in finally being able to go after anything his heart desires, or at least anything he wishes to mouth.

All of these milestones my two sons reach. I feel they come and go faster than reckless tides, that come in and out of the ocean and wash away memories with the newer ones. Where once I always had a charged video camera within arms reach for Chops's victories, now I have none. I had every intention of capturing that steep learning curve of Bubba's new crawling career. How, at first, he just swam on the carpet, his chubby arms working front and back, like one of those killer whales that the trainer motions up to the side of the pool, head and tail in a perfect arch. From swimming to the constant rocking, on hands and knees, punctuated by cries of frustration for the toys just out of reach, of his older brother, teasing him, just out of reach. Then the baby yoga antics of last week. The downward dog, where Bubba's body made the perfect V: his hands planted firmly under his shoulders, knees straight and off the ground, only his tiptoes grazing the carpet.

First it was a feeble one, two, three baby crawls before he reached the elusive toy and collapsed back onto his stomach to investigate his find. Another milestone, also within this same week, was pulling himself up to sitting by himself. Which usually ended up with Bubba so excited and impressed with himself that he would fall straight back and smack his head on whatever was behind him...carpet, chair legs, Chops's dump trucks. The shrieks, the quick cuddle from mama, and he went right back to doing it again.

Last week Chops had his own major milestone. He suddenly decided he didn't need to sleep in the crib anymore and graduated to his monstrous race car bed that takes up half of his room. We've had both beds set up in his room since Bubba was born 10 months ago, convinced then that Chops was a big boy and ready to plan great escapes from behind the bars of his crib. He never quite escaped and the overflow of toys from his room seeped into our living room. But NOW, he is such the man cuddled in his hot wheels comforter, surrounded by his five blankies, his bucket of cars and a litter of books around the perimeter of his mattress. And he did it all on his own...one day actually staying in his race car bed during naptime instead of playing 'sneak up on Mommy when I'm supposed to be sleeping.'

Milestones. My video camera battery has been dead for months and I'm missing it all. The baby book collects dust on my shelf. I know Bubba is the last baby, yet I don't clutch to his babyhood as one would normally presume. I spend a lot of time living for the future, when the boys are finally out of diapers and we can use all that money we are saving for family camping trips, sports leagues, trips to amusement parks and baseball games. Meanwhile, the boys transform before my eyes. Each day, each moment, is some milestone. I woke up one day and realized Chops had gone from a babbling toddler, to a little boy that was actually stringing words together as on a carefully beaded pearl necklace. First, slowly and gingerly, but now, actually sounding like a real boy. What was once whines and finger points are now "Git white milk now, please..." I want to tie a recorder around his neck and record it for posterity.

It is a household of milestones occurring everyday. Bubba's first time wolfing down a chicken nugget. I foresee many hours of the boys begging for McDonald's in the future. Chops's first lefty pitch. Do we have a future major leaguer on our hands? Yet I get caught up in dreams of the future, where things will surely be easier than changing diapers and trying to reason with a tantrum-throwing two year old. Instead of marveling in the tidbits of everyday, I'm drowning in overflowing laundry baskets and kitchens always drained of food.

I gather up these most recent milestones and sit quietly with them in my mind. Soon there will be first words and first steps for Bubba. Soon there will be first days of school and first back-talking for Chops. In the now, the milestone is this: everyone is perfect and healthy. Everyone is developing at their perfect pace. And the love in my house is surely enough to crowd out the dropped dog hairs, overflowing diaper pails, and empty pantry.