The New Normal

Own spot! and Who will be the bride?

2012-02-17T01:14:00.000-08:00

Adam acting goofy. Love those silly faces.

Stop the press! I think this was the first time Ben said "Cheese!" and smiled for the camera. He hasn't done it since.

Adam with his sweet, smart, adorable cousin Max. The boys are exactly two months apart in age. They were both wearing Grandpa Lowell's hats.

Celebrating Christmas/my mom's birthday at my sister Mary's house, complete with a fun foosball tournament.

Adam loves the computer.

It is 3:14 a.m. and I should be sleeping. I can't sleep. I'm too anxious about work. I wake up when Ben does and can't shut my brain off. It's very frustrating.

So ... why not just get up and write? Yeah, Chrissy, that makes TOTAL sense.

I wrote a long, long, looooong letter detailing Ben and Adam's milestones and recent developments about a month ago, but had some computer "issues" at work (as in, my computer was upgraded and the IT guy accidentally wiped out my desktop, forcing me to lose hundreds of photos and personal files). It was tragic. I thought I was over it, but obviously I still harbor some resentment. I keep remembering things that are now floating around in cyberspace. If only IT Guy had let me burn those CDs (he said it would take too long). If only he had let me put more folders on the shared drive (he said it was almost full and he would just copy my desktop to his hard drive and then transfer it back to my computer)!
Oh well. Live and learn.

Ok ... here goes my second attempt at that same post.
Ben is in a very independent phase right now. Everything is "Own spot!" and "I do!" and "I do!" and "I do!" He wants to do things like put on his shoes and take off his coat and while I love that he wants to learn, sometimes it really slows things down when I'm frantically trying to get out the door.

He is VERY attached to his blankets. He has a green one and blue one and wants them in the car, at Target, at nap time, at bed time, any time he's on the couch, any time he remembers to ask for them. We never gave him a Nuk to soothe him/calm him down (successfully avoiding attachment issues there), but looks like we'll be fighting a similar battle some day when it's time to take "blankies" away.

He likes to put on Chapstick by rubbing it under his chin. (Apparently he has zero depth perception, just like his mom.)

He gets into EVERYTHING. I can't tell you how many times he's fallen off a dining room chair or tried to climb onto the table or scared the crap out of us by cranking up the volume on our stereo and hitting the "power" button or ate crayons (seriously, numerous times!) or tried to crawl into the dryer or done something at daycare like smeared glue stick on his lips or pinched a finger in a door or jumped on the couch like a crazy man (the list goes on). I love that he's curious, but he's already missing a front tooth and I'd really appreciate it if we could stay out of the ER for awhile now.

He finally, after MONTHS of coaching, will tell you that his name is Ben, and not respond with "Adam." He knows my name is Chrissy and daddy is Aaron and brother is Adam. He also says Grandma (Domma) and Grandpa (Bob) and all of his aunts and uncles names, and can identify all of his little friends at daycare.

He is affectionate on his terms. No kisses or hugs on demand (he'll say "No-wuh" like a teenager if you demand a hug or kiss), but that makes them even more special because they happen spontaneously. Adam is the opposite, generous with his hugs and kisses and honestly one of the sweetest boys I know.

Ben likes to pretend he's fixing things with Adam's tools and loves the tool bench at my parents house (and wanted to play with the super loud chainsaw and drill when we were over there watching the Super Bowl). I wonder if some of these interests are ingrained. Will Ben be the son who comes over to fix our washing machine one day and Adam will be the son who helps us figure out the latest technological gadget? (Is it bad that I'm already thinking this way?)
Adam was into books and puzzles when he was 2, and I think because of this, his vocabulary was pretty impressive (he could have a conversation with you like an adult); Ben is more into "fix-it" type toys and doesn't have the patience for books (which could be why he doesn't say as much as his big brother did at this age). Adam still loves learning-type toys, but could care less about the tool bench.

Both boys LOVE playing catch with the football, slapping a hockey puck around the kitchen, playing "bowling" with their plastic bowling set, throwing any type of ball, and shooting hoops in our living room. They both enjoy swimming lessons, too. Ben's favorite thing is jumping into the pool; Adam's favorite thing is the back float. (Just another example of their very different personalities.)

Adam questions everything. He asked me the other day, if Uncles Jay and Pete got married, what would they do when the 'marrying man' said "You may kiss the bride?"

Adam is really into computer games (sproutonline.com), Angry Birds, and his Leapster Explorer. He also likes Scooby Doo, Tom & Jerry, superhero anything, and Star Wars. Ben's favorite cartoon is Caillou. And I think they watch a lot of Raffi at daycare.

They both love animals. Sometimes we go to PetSmart on our way home (free entertainment) and look at the fish, birds, and rescue cats, patiently waiting to be adopted. When we get over to the cat section, Ben starts exclaiming "KITTY!" over and over and Adam starts talking in the voice most people reserve for babies. There was a shy yellow tabby hiding behind his cat carrier and I can't stop thinking about that cute little guy. He just seemed so scared and lonely. I wish we had a house more conducive for a cat ... but we tried that already when Aaron brought a stray home, per his coworker's prompting, back in 2005. It was awful. We named the cat "Afton" (after Afton Alps, where we got engaged) and we brought it to the vet, where we paid $200 to have it treated for ear mites (ewww!) and I think we must've gotten it shots then, too. I can't remember. As it turned out, Afton was craaaaaaaazy (climbing up the blinds crazy) and stinky and had a lot of stomach issues, and there was no good place to hide the litter box, so it was in our living room. I was constantly opening windows and burning candles. Then, for some reason, we had to bring her to the vet AGAIN and the vet told us she was pregnant. What?! She was just a kitty! (Babies havin' babies, story of our times.) Probably a week after that, Aaron's coworker said Afton was not a stray after all, there were "Lost Cat" signs up around her neighborhood, so we very happily returned her. The owners left Aaron a six-pack of home-brewed beer on their front porch for our "troubles." We decided, after that experience, to wait until we lived in a bigger house before venturing down the pet road again.

Ok. Now I'm tired. My next post = winter recap! Ice fishing contest, snowboarding adventure, baby shower fun, birthday snowtubing and more!

Year in Review

2012-01-03T13:35:00.000-08:00

Following the lead of my blogging friends, I thought I would reflect on 2011.

1. What did you do in 2011 that you’d never done before?
Stood up in my friend Rem’s wedding, visited Washington, D.C., scheduled a surgery at Children’s Hospital for poor little Ben to have his front tooth extracted (he ran into a wall at daycare).

2. Did you keep your New Year’s resolutions, and will you make more for next year?
I make the same one every year — move more, eat less.

3. Did anyone close to you have a child?
Lots of 2011 babies: my college friend Sara had Ian, cousin Sara had Lily, and friends Emily had Clare, Julie had Jack, Morgan had Easton, and Tonya had Evan. I love watching my friends become parents, but wish those in Illinois, Wisconsin, California, Oregon, and Idaho lived closer!

4. Did anyone close to you die?
No, but one friend lost her mom and another lost her dad and it was heartbreaking. It’s hard to watch your friends suffer when you know you can’t really do anything to take the pain away.

5. Where did you travel?
Green Bay in June for the annual Bellin Run 10K/after-party/college reunion; Washington, D.C. in July with Tonya and Sam (Travis, Tonya's brother and our friend, has lived out there for 10 years and was the best tour guide EVER); Bluefin Bay on Lake Superior with the immediate family in September (such a blast!); and Minocqua, Wis. for a craaaazy weekend away with college girls.

6. What would you like to have in 2012 that you lacked in 2011?
A body like Brooke Burke.

7. What dates from 2011 will remain etched upon your memory?
Jan. 4 – my mom turned 60. April 16 — our sixth anniversary. May 7 — Rem and Jim’s wedding. June 6 — Ben’s first birthday. August 11 – Adam’s fourth birthday. June 16 — Aaron’s 38th (?!) birthday. October 15 — Evan is born.

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?
Not blowing a fuse at work, even when I was pushed to the breaking point. Trust me, that’s an achievement.

9. What was your biggest failure?
I can think of a few, but I don't think it's healthy to dwell on the negative.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury?
Yes! I hurt my left ankle playing softball and it hasn’t been the same since. The doc said I broke off a piece of cartilage. I hope it isn’t floating around in there indefinitely.

11. What was the best thing you bought?
It’s a tie between our 2011 MacBook Pro and a much-needed kid-free vacation in DC.

12. Whose behavior merited celebration?
Aaron. My rock.

13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?
Those fighting so hard to pass the amendment to ban gay marriage. I don’t understand why this issue is a priority when the economy is a mess and people still don’t have adequate health care.

14. Where did most of your money go?
Daycare, mortgage, car payment, grocery bills, usual mundane grown-up “stuff.”

15. What did you get really, really, really excited about?
Rem’s bachelorette party and wedding, trip to DC, introducing Adam and Ben to any new experience. I love seeing them grow and change. Every milestone is worthy of a celebration.

16. What song will always remind you of 2011?
“Faster” by Matt Nathanson. I smile whenever Adam sings along. “You taste like sunlight and strawberry bubblegum …”

17. Compared to this time last year, are you: a) happier or sadder? b) thinner or fatter? c) richer or poorer?

a) Happier (I'm getting more sleep!)
b) Fatter. I was breastfeeding last year — after I stopped, I packed on 10 lbs. I know I need to start working out again, just have to force myself to DO IT.
c) Maybe a little richer (thanks to Aaron’s job, not mine!)

18. What do you wish you’d done more of?
Exercised. Learned something new (the piano? sign language?) Volunteered somewhere.

19. What do you wish you’d done less of?
Wasted time on Facebook. Such a horrible time suck (but so addictive!)

20. How did you spend Christmas?
Lots of parties. Lots of laughter. Lots of delicious food and drinks. Surrounded by love.

21. What was your favorite TV program?
Modern Family, AI, DWTS, How I Met Your Mother, The Big Bang Theory

22. Do you hate anyone now that you didn’t hate this time last year?
No — I don’t hate anyone. I do, however, STRONGLY dislike the way certain people act.

23. What was the best book you read?
Room: A Novel, by Emma Donoghue. LOVED, LOVED, LOVED that book!!!

24. What was your greatest musical discovery?
Dessa. Such talent. (And such a great role model for young girls.)

25. What did you want and get?
Another year of good health for my family and friends!

26. What did you want and not get?
A raise?

27. What was your favorite film of this year?
Bridesmaids

28. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?
I was 36. The weekend before my birthday, a group of dear friends and family went snowtubing at Green Acres, followed by bowling at Pinz. I had a nice bday dinner with my family on my actual birthday. I don’t care what anyone says — you’re never “too old” to celebrate another birthday. Every year we're above the earth is reason enough to have a party. (Plus it's a great excuse to get friends together - something that happens less and less often as you get older.)

29. What one [or three] thing[s] would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?
I know this sounds stupid, but I really can’t think of anything. I’m in a pretty good place in life right now.

30. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2011?
Practical? Comfortable? Definitely not sexy or sassy — gotta work on that for 2012!

31. What kept you sane?
Aaron. My boys. My "sisters" (in-laws). My girlfriends. Regular visits to my parents’ house in Forest Lake.

32. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?
I have totally lost touch with celebrity gossip … I can’t think of anyone!

33. What political issue stirred you the most?
The amendment to ban gay marriage.

34. Who did you miss?
My friends who live in different time zones. My grandma.

35. Who was the best new person you met?
All those babies — with more babies to come in 2012 (I can't wait for Rem to have those twin girls and I would bet money that there will be more pregnancy/adoption announcements coming SOON!)

36. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2011.
There are no pediatric dentists on-call at the Regions Hospital Emergency Room. HA! In all seriousness, though, I really love this quote from a 114-year-old man when asked for the secret to living a good, long life:
"Wake up every morning and tell yourself 'This is going to be a good day,' and then make it that way."

Grateful

2011-12-21T12:06:00.001-08:00

I volunteered as a “Toy Shop Elf” at the Salvation Army’s Minneapolis Toy Shop yesterday, and it was a very rewarding and eye-opening experience — just in time for Christmas. My job was to escort adults while they “shopped” for gifts for their kids (up to age 12). There were stations set up for 0-2 years, 3-5 years, 6-9 years, and 10 and up, with boy and girl gifts in each station. Each person was allowed to choose two small toys (puzzles, games, dolls, etc.) or one large toy (ice skates, table-top air hockey game, boom box, remote-controlled car, etc.) per child, so basically I was there to help them decide, get them in and out as efficiently as possible, and make sure they didn’t try to take advantage of the system (I like to think that everyone would be honest if they were given the opportunity to shop alone, but there are always a few who feel entitled to more than their share).
Some observations
• Just because people are down on their luck doesn’t mean they don’t have an Xbox or Nintendo DS or CD or DVD players — I didn’t see a single video game on the tables of “goods,” and I only saw two CDs and two movies (and one was The Breakup!). I think a video game, movie, or CD would be a great gift for the right kid.
• I don’t know how many times a mom asked me if we had anything princess for her princess-obsessed daughter (a few books, that was it), and I didn’t see any Thomas the Train toys for boys. In the 3.5 hours I was there, I saw a total of two Barbies, which kind of surprised me. Do you think people shop differently than they would for a friend or relative when they’re donating to Toys for Tots or some other gift donation program? It seemed that way to me, but maybe the selection was just heavily game-focused the night I volunteered. (Not that there’s anything wrong with Candyland or Chutes or Ladders, but what kid doesn’t love a good toy on Christmas Day?!)
• I helped one frail young woman who grabbed my hand in her pale, bony hand, looked me in the eye, then said “Thank you SO much for doing this. Bless you. This means so much to me.” She then proceeded to tell me that her 7-year-old son, Kayden, was getting only one gift this year — and this was it. “If not for this program, he wouldn’t be getting anything,” she said through her tears. “And he’s such a good boy—he never asks for anything.” I almost started crying! She wound up choosing Battleship for him, so they could play the game together. I was tempted to tell her to grab another gift, just because she was so thankful, but I think she was the kind of person who would have refused.
• “Heaven” spelled backwards “Nevaeh” (Nev-ay-ah) was a popular name a few years ago, although I have yet to meet a Nevaeh in person. Last night I helped two women with a daughter named Nevaeh, my friend Alex also helped two women with daughters named Nevaeh. I also helped a woman who had a son named “Jamin.” I looked at the name, then asked her “Jammin’?” She shook her head no and said “No, his full name is Benjamin. We call him Jah-men for short.” (Ok then. That’s a new nickname for Benjamin!)
• Good parents are good parents, regardless of their income level. I know people who make over six figures who have greedy, spoiled kids, and I know people who are living in poverty who have respectful, polite, appreciative kids. Sometimes I think the kids who grow up without much of anything become the most giving adults.

The whole experience made me appreciate my family, my friends, my job, Aaron’s job (and good benefits), our little house (some would consider it a luxury), our car (even with a broken timing belt) so-so-so much.

Nothin' but love

2011-12-02T09:09:00.000-08:00

Taking a cue from my dear friend Amanda, I thought I would write about the things I love—the things that make me who I am, the things that made me who I was before I was married and had kids. It’s a given that my family makes me insanely happy, and my friends … so this list doesn’t include things like “I love that Aaron is the most stand-up guy I know, not only as a husband but as a dad, son, brother, and friend. I love that he's open-minded and sensitive and smart and funny and firm in his beliefs and stylish and handsome (my heart still skips a beat) and a great cook and a willing masseuse and that he's so modest he won't even tell me when he hits a home run (I have to hear it through the grapevine) and a hard worker and that he makes me feel like the luckiest girl in the world to have married him and, and, and ...” or “I love Adam’s curious personality and love of reading books and his beautiful big green eyes and mop of blond hair and the way he’ll spring out of bed and run downstairs just to give me another hug and kiss before I leave and, and, and ...” or “I love the fact that Ben will wear hats and wigs and buckets on his head just to get us to laugh and his big expressive brown eyes and his playful, fearless personality and the way he will grab my face and give me a sloppy kiss and, and, and ...” No, this list isn’t about my family and friends and why I love them, it’s about me. (As selfish as that sounds.) So, here goes:

I love chocolate chip cookies (no walnuts, please). I love a trashy People or US Weekly magazine every now and then. I love turtlenecks, jeans, and boots, although I do not always love the weather that accompanies that attire. I love bracelets. I love how clean the earth smells after a hard spring rain. I love Heath bars, my sister Mary’s homemade caramels, cheesecake ice cream, banana cream pie, Werther’s Originals, and chocolate covered potato chips (sooo good!). I love Scattergories, Cranium, Pictionary, Sequence, Password, Dominoes, Quelf, and Scrabble. I love crossword puzzles. I can talk to just about anyone and love meeting new people (I take after my dad). I love watching reality TV shows— American Idol, Dancing with the Stars, The Bachelor. I love British accents. I love being surrounded by women—friends, family, and coworkers—who are the epitome of smart is sexy. I love my Tacori wedding ring. I love a glass of white wine, but prefer a glass of good beer (Alaskan Amber, Leinie’s Honeyweiss with a slice of lemon, Summit EPA). I love snowboarding. I love the smell of Downy fabric softener. I love the diversity of the East Side (but could do without the crime). I love learning about the Victorian era—the homes, the fashions, the politics, the traditions. It seems like such a romantic time in history. I love the uncensored conversations, sense of camaraderie, and free-flowing laughter at baby showers, bachelorette parties, and girls’ nights out. I love tailgating before a Saints or Twins game. I love foreign and independent films (Amelie!). I love the loyalty, dedication, and enthusiasm of Packers fans. I love cats, and once told my mom I would have cats—not kids—when I “grew up.” I love when the muscles in my legs itch at the start of a long run—a reminder that I’m actually moving my body instead of sitting on the couch. I love that I was taught early on to respect and take care of the earth. I love clean-smelling candles. I love camping. I love watching track and field, gymnastics, figure skating, and snowboarding during the Olympics. I love that I helped elect our first black president. I love 80s music. I love lawn games. I love experimenting with new hair colors and styles. I love the annual ice fishing contest. I love pineapple. I love my brothers' hilarious impersonations. I love shopping and digging for a deal. I love Jack Black. I love Twilight Woods lotion from Bath & Body Works, it reminds me of college and sandalwood incense. I love watching Ellen (if I'm home on a weekday) and Chelsea Lately (if I'm up late). I love the humor of Mitch Hedberg. I love that I got to see Ellen's stand-up comedy in Portland and one of Mitch's shows in Seattle a year before he died. I love funky knee-high socks. I love Italian food. I love when I have time to actually wrap a gift rather than sticking it in a gift bag. I love everything about Halloween. I love that my Christmas card list includes friends in California, Colorado, DC, Idaho, Illinois, Indiana, Iowa, Michigan, Minnesota, Nebraska, New York, North Dakota, Oregon, Pennsylvania, South Dakota, Washington, and Wisconsin. I love scarves, but only in the fall or winter. (I know it’s a fashion statement, but wearing a scarf on a hot summer day seems ridiculous to me.) I love Meryl Streep, Tina Fey, Natalie Portman, Susan Sarandon, Salma Hayek, Charlize Theron. I love Macy's, Target, Marshall's. I love the old SNL cast, when the show was actually funny. I love that I am able to be present—in the moment—instead of always worrying about the past or fretting about the future. I love a good book. I love bonfires on chilly autumn nights. I love the color orange. I love documentaries. I love my mom’s chowmein hot dish. I love glitter, sparkles, sequins. I love community festivals. I love hugs that are actual hugs and not just polite pats on the back or awkward half-squeezes. I love boot-leg and flare-leg pants. I love it when someone positively defies a stereotype. I love Olay Total Effects UV Moisturizer + SPF 15 and wear it every single day. I love bowling (high score = 160.) I love the love and support in a room during a wedding. I love cheering for dedicated distance runners during marathons, and have traveled to Duluth for Grandma’s Marathon (3 times), Chicago (once) and down the street to the TC Marathon (3 times) to be “moral support” to friends who were running. I love the Beastie Boys, David Gray, Mumford and Sons, the Dixie Chicks, Dave Matthews Band, Pink, the Jayhawks, Michael Jackson, Bjork, The Mighty Mighty Bosstones, Soul Coughing, Bon Jovi, the Rolling Stones. I love my tattoo and what it stands for. I love sassy short hair. I love people who don't take themselves too seriously. I love top shelf margaritas with lots of salt on the rim. I love all dogs, but prefer medium-sized pooches over tiny ankle-biting yip-yips. I love having friends over, but would love it even more if we had the space to entertain. I love being exposed to new music when a friend makes me a mixed CD. I love Lancome Juicy Tubes lip gloss. I love Marie Clare. I love my long fingers, and still wish I had learned to play the piano. I love my comfortable yoga pants with the stretchy waistband. I love receiving homemade gifts. I love a clean-cut GQ man (never have been a fan of long hair on guys). I love delicate little tear drop earrings vs. giant dangly hoops. I love that I’m friends with so many talented artists and writers— creative types. I love Christmas (and every single one of our nine Christmas parties!). I love being a mix of French, German, Norwegian, and Swedish. I love taking photos. I love people who are modest about their beauty, their talent, their success. I love fast, easy recipes. I love Aveda products. I love hiking. I love celebrating birthdays with friends and family. I love Bradley Cooper, Paul Walker, Mark Ruffalo, John Krasinski, Dane Cook, David Spade, Anderson Cooper. I love going on long road trips. I love parties with a theme. I love the classic style of Ralph Lauren. I love going on double dates with my parents. I love being part of a family that truly enjoys one another's company. I love zipping down a hill on an inner tube in the dead of winter — makes me feel like a kid again. I love pretty, lacy underwear. I love creating and watching slideshows. I love the mountains, the ocean, the friendly people, the microbrews, the weather in Oregon. I love The Notebook. I love, love, love the music of Prince. I love learning. I love when a plane comes to a gently rolling stop, signaling that we have safely landed. I love people who aren't too materialistic. I love the twinkle of Christmas lights against a snowy background, the smell of real Christmas trees, having unique holiday traditions (in my family it's the annual drawing contest). I love how a man can put on just the right amount of cologne and instantly become more sexy. I love “going to the lake.” I love that I work in Minneapolis and have so many options for lunch. I love listening to KS95, Cities 97, the Current, and even 102.9. I love The Office, Modern Family, 30 Rock, Mad Men, How I Met Your Mother, The Big Bang Theory, and Parks and Rec. I love our goose down comforter. I love women who aren’t afraid to speak their minds, even if I don’t always agree with what they’re saying. I love that I get paid to write. I love Asian, arts and crafts, Moroccan, Mediterranean, French, and traditional decorating styles. I love the Minnesota State Fair. I love Ryan Gosling’s body in Crazy, Stupid, Love. I love hats of all shapes and colors. I love Starbuck’s salted caramel hot chocolate. I love libraries and bookstores. I love that I can grow old without growing boring. I love asking questions and finding out what makes people tick. I love planning get-togethers. I love getting a “real” letter or card in the mail. I love maroon or purple nail polish (only on special occasions). I love men who lean to the left. I love Chipotle burrito bowls with lime squeezed on top of everything. I love going to the theater. I love Greek salads. I love the sound of kids laughing. I love the beauty of the North Shore. I love watching my friends become parents. I love Ansel Adams, pop art, and anything stained glass. I love my warm (yet clunky) winter boots. I love garlic mashed potatoes. I love dancing. I love happy endings.

I believe in the glamorous life

2011-09-15T14:44:00.000-07:00

I got my hair cut! My sister-in-law Trish gave me the angled bob I’ve been wanting for awhile now. I showed her this pic of Keira Knightley and I think she did a GREAT job copying the style with my fine, stick-straight hair.

Hair inspiration

I love having short hair again. It is so much more “me” than long hair. It makes me feel more stylish, more sassy, more fun. (Plus I can’t wear it in a ponytail like I was doing all the time with long hair, I actually have to spend a few minutes styling it, which is a good thing if you ask me -- it's easy to get lazy about your appearance (I'm too tired/ I'm too old/ I'm already married, so who cares anyhow?). I don't want to get lazy. I don't ever want to get stuck in a rut ... or a decade. I'm not trendy but I like to think that I at least pay attention to the trends so I kind of know what's going on with the "hip" crowd. I look at some of the girls I graduated with and I think, "Seriously? You have the EXACT SAME HAIR YOU HAD IN THE 90s?? Why are you so scared to try something new???" That makes me sound like a bitchy, conceited know-it-all, which is totally NOT my personality, I just wish (some) people tried new styles every now and then, just to mix it up, just because we can.

Speaking of fashion (and my new hair!), the pic below was taken at the Neiman Marcus Fashion Night Out Sept. 8 at the downtown Minneapolis Neiman Marcus. I’m pictured here with the VP of our company, Jamie (aka fearless leader), my marketing department (oh how I LOVE these girls! They are smart, funny, kind, fashionable, and make going to work every morning fun rather than dreadful), and my good friend Katie D. (our magazine’s style editor). Katie helped pull products for the fashion show and then emceed the big event. She looked like a glamorous movie star! It was a fun night, and made me realize that if you have the courage to be outrageous, you should go for it (stay true to yourself!), shoes really do make or break an outfit, and a genuine smile is often your best accessory.

L to R: Jamie, me, Katie K., Alex, Katie D., Kelly and Sara (my boss) at Neiman Marcus Fashion Night Out.

Tested

2011-09-06T19:08:00.000-07:00

I've seen many parents try to maintain their composure when their toddlers throw tantrums at the grocery store or Target or the mall, and I'm sure I've been both annoyed and sympathetic when it happened, but somehow - in my delusional mind - I didn't think it would happen to me. Not that I think my kids are perfect by ANY MEANS, I just figured, by now, we had the whole shopping thing down. Adam has been my shopping buddy since he was only a few weeks old and Ben has been on the same path. I've taken them into the dressing room at Macy's (I know, pushing my luck here), I've taken them on long, drawn-out grocery shopping trips, up and down the aisles at Target looking for the Noxzema (it's FACE SOAP, it shouldn't be so difficult to locate!), to Marshall's for specific items (a strapless bra) and not-so-specific items (that book is on sale? I love this sweater! I need a brown belt, don't I?). Usually our trips are uneventful.
Not today. Today was a day that tested my patience and made me question my parenting skills. (or lack of) I cried today, out of anger and frustration, and I hardly ever break down like that.
Adam, Ben and I were at the checkout at Marshall's when Adam asked to be let out of the cart. I scooped him out, we were almost done, and he marched over the beverage case (since when does Marshall's sell cold beverages at the checkout, anyhow?)
"Hey Mom, can I get a Sprite?" I glanced at the water (a better choice) but I was kind of thirsty for a Sprite, too, so I said yeah, fine, just bring it on over so we could ring it up. He proudly set the Sprite on the counter, then noticed a rack of Jellybeans. "I changed my mind. I want Jellybeans."
Too late. The transaction had been made and I wanted to go.
"I got you a Sprite," I pointed at the green bottle.
"NO! I WANT THE JELLYBEANS!" he screamed, clutching the little baggy like he was a crack addict and this was 50 rocks.
I tried to grab the candy, only to have him shriek even louder "I WANT THESE! I WANT THESE JELLYBEANS!"
When I tried to take them nicely, gently from his hand, he held on even tighter and shrieked, "NOOOOOO! I WANT THEM! GIVE THEM TO MEEEEEE!"
I knelt down at his level, tried to calmly (key word = tried) explain that I bought him a Sprite and he needed to put the candy back and we were going NOW and he screamed at the top of his lungs. It was an ear-piercing ugly shriek.
WTF do you do in a situation like that? It feels like all of a sudden there are 10,000 people in the store, staring at you and your little monster, and you're so embarrassed and so angry it's all you can do not to:
a.) Start screaming back at him
b.) Swear at him like a truck driver
b.) Leave him standing there (anyone want a naughty kid?)
c.) Break down and cry

I was so furious I don't even know how I managed to get the Jellybeans out of his hand, remember my wallet, remember my bag, remember Ben, get Adam out of the store, get us all safely to the car, get them buckled into their carseats, and drive us home without rear-ending the cars in front of us. The screaming didn't stop, either, which only aggravated the situation. What do you do when your kid starts shrieking like a wild animal? I think it's his way of getting attention, and I think it happens when he's overtired (nap time has been a challenge at daycare), and I know he's not being horrible ON PURPOSE (keep repeating: "I love my son, I love my son, I love my son, he's usually a smart, funny, affectionate, sweet boy who is only temporarily acting like a deranged lunatic.")
Talk about testing boundaries and pushing buttons. My buttons weren't just being pushed, they were being jabbed with blunt force trauma.
"You were HORRIBLE in that store! We do NOT act like that, Adam! We do NOT treat one another like that! You're going to bed early tonight!" was about all I could choke out before I called Aaron on my drive home and totally lost my shit and started venting to him and yelling at him for playing softball and not being home for moral support (sorry, Aaron! I love you!) and then started crying. Aaron was very sympathetic and listened patiently while I blew off steam.
I managed to pull it together enough to wipe away the tears, get the boys in the house and make dinner, but then started crying AGAIN when my brother Shawn called. I was overly sensitive and running on empty and I didn't even think I was going to cry until I heard his voice. He instantly went into protective big brother mode and I think I freaked him out, because he sounded really concerned and suggested I go to Mom and Dad's house for the night. Then he told me to call him if I needed to talk, then suggested again that I go to Mom and Dad's house for the night. The hard thing is, I can't run to my parents when I'm having a bad day, because I'm a grown-up now with kids of my own. I'm a MOM. I HAVE to figure it out. This is my life now.
Adam was distraught by my tears, "Why are you crying? You never do that. I don't want you to cry. That makes me sad." And he was distraught when I told him he was going to bed early without any bedtime books, and I tried to talk rationally to him and explain WHY he was being punished and why it's not OK to have tantrums in stores and why he has GOT to stop screaming when he's mad at daycare and use his words instead and who knows if he's comprehending any of it. Is this just an awful phase or am I going to be googling "defiant child" in the future (please God NO)?
Why does it seem like everyone else totally has this parenting thing under control?

The day that changed my life

2011-08-12T12:28:00.000-07:00

I remember it well — the day that changed my life more than any other day possibly could — the day I became a mom.

It was Friday, Aug. 10 — nearly one full week after my estimated due date — and I had decided that I was not going into work again, I didn’t have the mental stamina to make it through another eight-hour day with people constantly asking, “Still no baby?”
(World’s dumbest question when I was VERY VISIBLY pregnant!!)
So I chose to stay home that day, Aaron chose to go to work, and to be honest I have no recollection of what, exactly, I did while waiting, waiting, waiting for Wee One to arrive, but I’m sure it was something along the lines of watching TV, talking on the phone, and surfing the Internet. I didn’t know what to expect, as far as when I’d know it was “go” time (other than the obvious – if my water broke), but I did know I was supposed to chart my contractions for consistency and when they were 5-1-1 (five minutes apart, one minute in length, for an hour’s time), it would be time to head to Fairview.
How will I know it’s a contraction?
“Oh, you’ll know,” everyone said.
Some time after Aaron got home from work, my stomach started getting really hard—almost like my muscles were clenching into a tight ball around the baby—so we took out a sheet of paper and started charting. I’d tell Aaron “I’m having one now” and he’d watch the clock and I’d tell him “Ok, it’s over” and he’d write down the time. We were very obedient about following our doctor’s orders. Why get to the hospital too soon when we could have the luxury of laboring at home? We even drove up to Blockbuster and rented a movie as a distraction — The Pursuit of Happyness. Around 9 p.m., we called Peggy, our doula, and told her we thought tonight was the night, and I remember feeling bad because she was about to take a bath and go to bed. Instead she came right over to our house. I lit a candle and we sat in the living room and Peggy showed us photos of her recent vacation. I silently endured more painful contractions (squeezing the couch pillow for support) until after 11 p.m., when I told them we HAD to go NOW. Peggy took a photo of us leaving the house to mark the momentous occasion and boom! Just like that we were on our way to the hospital, Aaron trying not to speed and me trying not to break his hand every time another contraction gripped me. I’m sure Peggy was just trying to stay awake in her car behind us.
By the time we got to Fairview I was dilated to an 8 — and nearly missed my opportunity to get an epidural. The anesthetist couldn’t remember the code to unlock the cart holding the miracle drug and I, at that point, could hardly stand the pain. That was the only time I was tempted to drop an F-bomb. Peggy squeezed my hips and rocked with me and somehow I made it through until I got the epidural, which allowed me to finally relax. I remember being hooked up to the fetal monitor and watching the lines get all squiggly on the paper and thinking, “HOLY SHIT! I just had a contraction and I DIDN’T EVEN FEEL IT! THIS EPIDURAL IS AMAZING!”
The rest of the night is kind of a blur. I know my labor slowed way down after getting the epidural, to the point that the nurse gave me pitocin to get the show on the road again (such a tease to be in pain, feel no pain, then go right back to feeling pain again) and after awhile it started to feel like I couldn't really breathe and there was a giant elephant sitting on my chest. Peggy thought maybe my epidural had been administered too high. I also reacted to being in labor with violent shaking, like I had Parkinson's disease. I think it freaked out Aaron more than me. (I had one thing on my mind: GETTING THAT BOWLING BALL OUT OF ME.) When it was time to push, wow. Talk about exhausting!!! I felt like I was running a marathon! I pushed for over 2 hours, with Aaron holding my hand and feeding me ice and rubbing my forehead and Peggy holding my leg (the nurse was holding my other leg) and I felt like Adam would never come out. His head kept getting hung up on my pelvic bone. I only delivered him after having a sort of out-of-body experience. I still think it was divine intervention, because I have never felt my grandma’s presence as strongly as I did in that moment. Maybe it was the drugs, but I like to think she was there with me, giving me strength.
At 7:20 a.m. our 7 lb. 10 oz. baby finally arrived. Aaron announced “It’s a boy!” and I was honestly surprised — I thought for sure I was having a girl — and someone asked what his name was and we both answered "Adam Lowell" (Lowell is Aaron's grandpa) and a nurse cleaned him off and swaddled him and laid him on my chest and he stared at me with his big eyes and my heart grew a billion times bigger. Aaron and I started crying. And then my parents and Aaron’s mom came into the room to meet their grandchild (they had been waiting in the waiting room all night!) and we opened a bottle of champagne and drank out of paper cups and it was such an emotional experience.
Hard to believe that was four years ago. Happy fourth birthday to our sweet, imaginative, curious, inquisitive, friendly, open-minded, observant, opinionated, funny, smart, articulate, beautiful boy Adam. We love you to the moon and back.

Caged

2011-08-09T13:15:00.000-07:00

“I don’t ever want you to put me in a cage, Mom.”
“What?”
“I don’t ever want you to put me in a cage, like that cage under our house.”
Oh crap. Why did I have to tell him that I’ve seen rabbits squeeze through the lattice under our porch? Why-oh-why-oh-why did I tell him that? Haven’t I learned my lesson by now about his overactive imagination?
“I would never put you in a cage, Adam. And you would never fit under our porch. You’re too big.”
“Yeah. Only rabbits fit under there. And slugs. And snakes.”
“Yep.”
Shoot! Why did I just confirm that snakes might live under there? Seriously, Chrissy, what’s wrong with you?!
“And I don’t want to live in a cage at the zoo, either.”
“No, Adam, you will never have to live in a cage. You will live in a nice house forever.”
[or a teeny tiny dorm room, or a shitty rental with a bunch of your college friends, or a cramped little apartment when you’re broke and on your own for the first time.]
“I want to live in THIS house FOREVER with you and dad and Ben.”
“We’ll live here for awhile, and then one day we will move to a different house, and then one day you’ll be a grown-up and you’ll want to move out.”
“No I won’t.”
Good God, I sure hope so.
“Ok, Adam. Our family will always be together.”
This is just a white lie, right? I mean, we’ll always be together in thought and spirit, no matter where we happen to be living. No need to get all picky about the technicalities.
“And Mom, I PROMISE you I am not going to play T-ball and I am NOT going to school. I am NOT going to school unless Grandma Patti and you and dad and Ben go with me.”
“Adam, you worry way too much for an almost 4-year-old.”
"Yeah, we should just go to Poach-lay."

Later that day:
"Mom, you won't believe what Adam told me today."
*Brief recap of conversation.
Silence.
"Mom? Are you there?"
"Yeah, I'm here. I was just wondering if I watched that Oprah show about the girl who lived in a dog cage while I was babysitting Adam."
Great. At least I will have an explanation when social services comes knocking on my door.

My wish, for you, is that this life becomes all that you want it to

2011-07-22T11:53:00.000-07:00

Somehow, between my last post and this one, Ben turned one. And started walking. And talking! It's really, really amazing how much a kid can change—from a baby to a little person—in the span of one year.

Happy first birthday to my beautiful boy. I love you more than words can express.

Likes = food, food, food, food (he weighs 29 lbs.!), balloons ("ball"), baseballs, basketballs, footballs, hockey pucks, holding the plastic bat and swatting at the ball, trying to wrangle toys away from Adam, cats, dogs, birds, go-go-going all the time, giving open-mouthed kisses (not always on command), the remote, his blue blanket, his bottle ("baba"), staring at cute girls, testing his voice by screaming, playing in the sand, climbing the steps when he knows he's not supposed to, making a mess with the water table, pushing the toy lawnmower, waking up with a smile on his face every single morning, singing songs in the car, eating toilet paper (hey! just like that one girl on "Strange Addictions!"), saying "NO!", wearing hats and sunglasses, taking off his diaper, laughing at anyone who makes funny faces or funny noises or tickles him or squeezes him or kisses that one spot under his chin.

Dislikes = green beans, reading books (he tries to rip the book out of your hands), sitting still, snuggling, letting Adam do a puzzle/put together Legos/play ball with Aaron/sit on my lap without being involved in some way (ah yes, the sibling rivalry has already started), getting his hair cut, and being contained (let's just say it's never fun putting him in his carseat).

What a year it has been.

I had an emotionally draining and physically uncomfortable pregnancy that felt like it would NEVER end, delivered a gorgeous, healthy 9 lb. 7 oz. baby without an epidural, suffered from diastasis recti, or abdominal separation, post-partum, where my stomach muscles spread apart, making it painful to sit after having Ben ((according to befitmom.com, "separation can occur anytime in the last half of pregnancy but is most problematic after pregnancy when the abdominal wall is weak and does not provide adequate support for the torso and internal organs" - and is sometimes caused by having a large baby), was diagnosed with the unbearably itchy post-pregnancy rash PUPPP, had a hard time breathing for at least a week because my organs were all floating back down to where they belonged after giant Ben shoved them all out of place, and—on top of all that was recovering from an episiotomy. Fun. Add to that the job of breastfeeding a baby who wanted to eat every two hours and man oh man. Those first few weeks were ROUGH. And then I got into a groove and totally enjoyed my maternity leave. I appreciated my time off with Ben more than I ever did with Adam — we visited friends and went shopping and sat outside and went to the beach and made the most of our summer off. I felt like we really bonded.
And then it was back to work and pumping twice a day (I nursed Ben for a year) and trying to remember all of those moments that seem so insignificant but really weave the fabric of our lives.
Wow.
That year went by fast.
And as much as I loved the mobile newborn stage (they smell so good, don't they?!), I also love how Ben is communicating and so curious and strong-willed and opinionated already. I can't wait to see what his future holds.

Shooting the targets

2011-05-25T15:52:00.000-07:00

Potty training superstar!

If you would have told my 18-year-old self that wiping my oldest son’s butt would signify a major milestone moment in my life (and in his) — a moment so monumental that I would eventually dedicate an entire blog to it — I would have first asked you what the hell a blog was and then told you to go take another hit.
May 14-15, 2011 will go down in infamy as the END OF DIAPERS (during the daytime, anyhow) for Adam. After months of resistance from our sweet guy — tears and screaming and fits and kicking and indifference and bribes that didn’t work and more tears — Aaron and I were adamant.
This is it, kid. Underwear or bust.
We put him in his Toy Story III undies that morning, then headed to Andover to visit Rick (Aaron’s dad) and his girlfriend Tami during their garage sale. (I packed some back-up underwear and pants just in case.)
**Side note: We found out on May 14 that Rick had been in a bad motorcycle crash on May 7. He fractured eight ribs, split the skin on his forehead, wound up with some nasty road rash on his arms, and was in the hospital for four days (longer than when you have a baby!!) — and no one had bothered calling us. Rick’s excuse? “Why do I always have to be the one with drama in my life? I didn’t want this to be another one of those calls.”
Still, I wish someone had told us. He’s family!
The crash went down like this: Rick and Tami were enjoying the sunny, 70-degree day (while Aaron and I were at Rem and Jim’s wedding), taking their Harleys for a spin, when a vehicle in front of them veered into Rick’s lane and nearly came to an abrupt stop right there on Highway 10. Rick—driving defensively—knew he could either read-end the car or roll his bike, so he made the split-second decision to roll his bike. He said his crash bar helped a ton, preventing the heavy motorcycle from landing on top of him, which could have crushed his leg. Apparently the guy in the car who had veered (the driver at fault) was looking at the side of the highway for a friend whose car had stalled, and didn’t see the friend’s car until the very last minute. And poor Tami witnessed the entire accident. Can you imagine?! I think I would have a heart attack.
When we saw him, Rick was walking very gingerly and was pretty hopped up on pain meds, but he seemed to be doing as good as could be expected, considering the circumstances. I’m just so relieved it wasn’t worse, especially considering the fact that he wasn’t wearing a helmet!!!

I didn't even realize I had this photo on the computer - Aaron's dad Rick with cousins Morgan and Adam back in 2007. Thank God my father-in-law's motorcycle crash wasn't worse than scrapes, bruises, and eight fractured ribs.

After visiting Rick and Tami, we drove to Maple Grove to see our niece April get ready for her senior prom. It was fun hanging out with Shawn, Trish, April and Mary Kaye (my sister-in-law’s mom) at Mary Kaye’s townhome, the designated meeting place based on Mary Kaye’s close proximity to April’s mom’s house. I felt old when I realized my own senior prom was 18 years ago. I can still remember talking about prom with Amy every day during track practice. I think the days leading up to prom — and the anticipation of the “big event” — were just as much fun as the actual dinner/dance. Prom was at the Landmark Center in St. Paul rather than our high school gym (pretty typical to have prom at a fancy venue when you live in the Twin Cities). Amy & P.A., Treina & Nate (I think that was his name, anyhow, he was a shy underclassman and prom was the first time I met him), and my boyfriend Brian and I had photos taken at my parents’ house before we met up with Sara & John and Kerri & Tony at Sara’s parents’ house in Maplewood. Our group had dinner together at Gallivan’s (now Matty B’s Supper Club on Wabasha in St. Paul) before heading over to the Landmark Center for the grand march and big dance, including plenty of "hip hop smooth out on the R&B tip with pop feel, appeal, to it!" And some Jodeci and Janet Jackson and Whitney and Mariah and SWV and P.M. Dawn and Snap and Boyz II Men and Beastie Boys and Chili Peppers and Dr. Dre and Tag Team (Whoomp! There it is!) and lots of other oldies but goodies. I wish I had our prom soundtrack.

My 1993 prom theme was "Wonderful tonight" by Eric Clapton. My date was my high school (and college) boyfriend Brian, who bought blue Doc Martens to match my dress, then returned them the next day. Ahh, the memories. (My memory of this photo? The photographer had to ask Brian to move his hand off my butt before he snapped this shot.) Brian and I are still good friends today. He and his wife Jen live out in Colorado, but we get together whenever he's home visiting. His mom does daycare for us.

Anyhow, I got off track. Back to 2011! We were in Maple Grove to take photos of April on her prom day. We had Adam sit on the potty while April and her friend Amarah, who had a baby just four weeks before prom, got ready together. While I sat by Adam for moral support, I was able to eavesdrop on A & A’s conversation. (“Do you like this eye shadow, April? Is it too blue?” “No! It looks soooo pretty!” [Pretty is NOT the word I would have used, I would have said ‘garish,’ but I’m a crusty old mom, what do I know about teenagers’ makeup trends?] “I don’t know if I love my dress anymore. Do you like it? Do you think I look alright?” [You had a baby a MONTH AGO. You look amazing. Now shut up.] “What do you think of this lipstick? Does it look OK? Is it too pink?” [How insecure are you girls? No, that’s not fair. I remember being that way, too. You look beautiful!]
After what felt like forever, the girls were ready. It was a big ordeal when Troy, April's boyfriend, came over. April wanted to be sure he didn’t see her until she was “TOTALLY ready” (I can only imagine what she’ll be like on her wedding day if she’s this way about prom!) and Troy did the obligatory “oohing and ahhing” and “You look beautiful.” And she DID look beautiful. Her dress was much more innocent Disney princess than Jersey Shore skank. Even though I give her credit for being pretty stylish/tasteful, I wasn’t sure what to expect. I approved 100 percent.

April and Troy. *sigh* Young love.

April and her best friend Amarah, who had Baby Aiden a month before prom. I can't imagine being a teen mom. April has been a wonderful support system to Amarah throughout her pregnancy, and now that she's a new mama. (April has three younger siblings and tons of babysitting experience.)

Nothin' but love for this girl.

We took photos upstairs by the bookcase, then decided the background was too busy and moved downstairs in front of the fireplace for more poses … and through it all, Adam’s bladder somehow did not burst into a billion tiny pieces.
After we said goodbye, we went back to our house for an evening with absolutely nothing on the calendar (a rare occurrence). It magically worked out that all four of us were able to take a nap at the same time. I love it when that happens! We got up, made dinner, and still—nothing going for Adam. He sat on and then stood beside the toilet without any progress. Aaron patiently next to Adam for over an hour, reading him potty books and randomly dropping Cheerios into the toilet bowl in an attempt to turn the experience into a fun game and answering questions and making small talk. Finally Aaron got the bright idea to push a little on Adam’s tummy to force the flow. It can’t be healthy to hold your pee from 7:30 a.m. to 7:30 p.m. (hello, can you say UTI?) And lo and behold, Adam went potty for the first time ever — in the big potty! It was a landmark event. I cheered and Ben clapped and Aaron cheered and we all high-fived and hugged. Our little bathroom was a very celebratory place Saturday evening. Adam called Grandma Patti, Uncle Josh, Uncle Shawny and “Uncle” Jeremy. (And would have called my parents, too, but they were at Jesus Christ Superstar at the Chanhassen.) “Do you wanna hear my big, BIG news?!” he’d ask in his high-pitched animated voice. “This is REALLY HUGE NEWS! I’m wearing big boy underwear and I just peed in the potty!! LIKE A BIG BOY!”
It is moments like this when the parenting challenges, the frustrations, the moments when you wonder if your child has a personal vendetta against you fade into the background and you are overcome with a flood of emotions — mainly love and pride.
“I don’t want to be done going potty yet! I want to shoot the targets! I want to stand here!” Adam shouted in excitement. “See those bubbles? I MADE THOSE!”
It was as if we had created a potty monster. Not so long ago, he would act like he was being murdered if you even suggested sitting on the toilet, and now you couldn’t get him away from the throne! Who was this kid?!
This is the encouragement he needs, I thought. A few successful attempts to see how easy it is, and pretty soon his diaper-wearing days will be a hazy memory … at least, until he’s a 95-year-old man having trouble with incontinence.
The next morning, I woke at 7 a.m. to get ready for my dear friend Julie’s baby shower brunch (I was in charge of pastries and I still needed to stop at Byerly’s to buy them, plus the shower was down in Lakeville and I had no clue where I was going, which turned into a bigger headache than I ever could have imagined). Adam popped out of bed when he heard me getting ready in the bathroom. For the Love of God, why can’t little kids just sleep in on the weekend?
When I got him dressed, I put him in some cute little Cars underwear and felt the immature urge to stick my tongue out at the diaper basket. (Ha! Adam doesn’t need you now, you over-priced Huggies diapers!)
“If you have to pee, you tell Dad.”
“I know,” he answered and smiled angelically.
I didn’t think much about it.
I left the house at 9 a.m., had a lovely time at the shower—catching up with Julie and some fun friends I don’t get to see nearly often enough—and returned to the house around 1 p.m.
When I walked in the door, Adam was in a timeout. He had peed on the floor not once, not twice, but THREE times (the third time while he was in a timeout for peeing on the floor the second time).
My mood spiraled from happy to “oh, crap!” in about 2.2 seconds. Aaron was understandably exasperated. Adam was sulking. Ben was his usual happy-go-lucky self.

Sweet, sweet Ben.

After I cleaned up the puddle, it was pretty obvious that Adam had to go #2. I tried to put him on the toilet and he lost it—I’m talking a screaming, crying, kicking hissy-fit meltdown. I actually left him crying upstairs and went outside for a minute to regain my composure before asking Aaron, who was about to mow the lawn, to please come back inside and help me. (I fully admit it. I don’t know how to deal with Adam when he screams like a wild animal, and Aaron seems to know what to do or say to gain control of the situation.)
It was as if last night and Adam’s potty successes had never happened.
After Adam calmed down (he refused to sit on the toilet and we decided not to force the issue), he reluctantly took a nap, and when he woke up I tried again to get him to sit on the potty. He swore up, down, and sideways that he didn’t have to go, so I left him alone. The whole family went to the grocery store (I once again brought a change of underwear and pants “just in case”) and Adam stayed dry. When we arrived back home, Aaron fed Ben his dinner while I brought Adam upstairs to try again. (Every time we do the whole “you take one kid, I’ll take the other” routine, I feel so fortunate not to be a single parent. How do those amazing people not drop from sheer exhaustion?)
I was confused as to why Adam suddenly had an aversion to going to the bathroom. Now that he figured out how to pee standing up, he didn’t seem nearly as “scared of the flush,” so whatever was bugging him was a new fear. I decided to play therapist.
“Ok Adam, what’s going on?” I asked him.
“I don’t want to go,” he whined.
“What are you scared of?”
“I don’t want to go! I don’t, I don’t, I don’t,” he pouted. His belly was as bloated as one of those National Geographic photos.
“Should I put some Cheerios in there?” I asked, smoothing a piece of hair behind his ear.
He didn’t respond. I dropped three Cheerios in the bowl and watched them float. This could be a looong wait.
“You’ll feel better if you let it out,” I told him.
“I don’t want to let it out,” he answered stubbornly. “I want it to stay inside me.”
Ok, maybe now we were getting somewhere. I think I read about kids who were scared of losing part of themselves in the whole going-to-the-bathroom process.
“Your pee doesn’t want to stay inside you,” I told him. “It’s dark inside your body. Your pee wants to get out and go swimming! Yeah, it wants to go swimming in the toilet! It’s bright and sunny out here, it wants to be OUT!”
“It does?” he asked me with wide eyes.
“Wouldn’t you?”
And within minutes of my pep talk, Adam was peeing! “Look, Mom, I’m going! I’m hitting the targets! Look, look, look!”

He's a big kid now!

Hooray for small victories! After we celebrated (more cheering and clapping and high-fiving) and he washed his hands with his very own foaming Dora hand soap, we had dinner, the whole family played outside, he took a bath, and then he went again before bed!
On Monday we sent him to daycare in underwear. I was nervous all day about what might happen, and was surprised when I rolled into the cul-de-sac and saw him playing with his “buddies” in the same pants I had dressed him in that morning. That had to be a good sign.
“You have a superstar here!” our daycare provider Mary exclaimed when I walked over to the driveway. “NO accidents, and he went FOUR TIMES today!”
Say what?
“Mom, I didn’t have ANY accidents,” Adam repeated, his voice filled with pride. “I’m a big boy!”
“Yes you are! I’m so proud of you!” I gave him a big hug. (All the while thinking, “No accidents?!? Is this for real or am I being punked?”)
It was for real. He was beaming. Mary was amazed at how quicky he was catching on. (In defense of those 2 and 3-year-olds who take quite a bit longer to figure out the whole potty training thing, Adam was just a few months shy of 4 (!!) when it finally clicked for him. That's a long time to observe others.)
Aaron echoed my happy/proud sentiments when Adam gave him a call from the car. I think we were both under the impression that there would have been at least one accident.
It’s been 10 days since we started potty training and Mary says we can stop calling it “training” now because he’s trained (except for overnight … we’ll tackle that eventually). He’s very good about letting us know when he has to go— either by telling us outright or sending us subliminal messages like a puppy would, by cocking his head to the side, looking at us with those big eyes, and just standing there obediently until we figure out he has to go (the first time he gave me that look I thought he did something wrong). He’s currently in an independent/stubborn stage where he wants to do everything himself, which sometimes works out and sometimes doesn’t. He can wash his own hands, but he’s not always the best at, um, getting his pants back on. Sometimes things bunch up where they shouldn't. (It’s all a learning process, right?!)
I wish I knew why Adam had been so resistant for so long. I wish I had some good advice for other moms who will have to go down the potty training road within the next few years, but I don’t. Every kid, every parent, every situation is so drastically different ... what works for one won't work for all. I know. We tried just about everything with Adam.
Summarizing the wise words of my sweet friend Amanda, many times parents will feel like they're doing something wrong (especially when going down the dangerous Road of Comparisons), but at the end of the day, YOU make the decisions, because you know what’s right for your little family.
I wish everyone had this mentality. Our world would be a much more supportive place.

From March to May

2011-05-16T13:11:00.000-07:00

My good friend Morgan, who lives out in Oregon, pointed out that I haven't blogged in awhile. I've been slacking! Here are some photos since the last time I blogged — a sneak peek into what's been going on in my life since the snow finally (reluctantly!) decided to melt. I think spring has arrived. It's been a long, cold winter.

Adam with his Uncle Shawny. Never a dull moment!

Sometimes I like to put girly things in Ben's hair to see what he'd look like as Summer (that was our girl name both times I was pregnant). I promise I don't do this on a regular basis. He's such an easy target, though! He never tries to remove the headbands, he just lets me mess with him. Such a good-natured baby.

I helped host a bachelorette party for my good friend Amy on April 9. The bridesmaids and I booked a 1,000-square-foot suite at a hotel downtown Minneapolis for food, drinks, gifts and socializing before weaving down the street to The W (martinis!) and Lyon's Pub (dancing!) that evening. It was a blast. *Note to self: A group of mid-to-late 30-something women, many of them moms + Jello shots, "jungle juice," wine & beer = Crazy town. Let's just say that MANY of us needed Gatorade and Tylenol the next morning.

Almost bar close and still goin' strong ...

My cousin Sara flew in from San Francisco with her fiance, Jeremy, for three Minnesota baby showers the weekend of April 8-10. I helped host a family shower with my mom (who—let's be honest—did most of the work) and my Aunt Karen. Sara is one of those, "What? You're 34 weeks pregnant?! You're hardly showing!!" beautiful, glowing, happy pregnant girls. She is due at the end of May with Baby Lillian (Lily) and at her shower April 10 she had only gained 10 pounds. I was running on empty at the shower, going on 3 hours of sleep after Rem's wild bachelorette party. The guys all went bowling during the baby shower, so I was on Adam & Ben duty as well. Thankfully Adam is pretty self-sufficient, and there were plenty of relatives willing to help out with Ben. Sara was so appreciative of everything - the food, the gifts, the games. I only wish she didn't live so far away!!

Our first of three Easter egg hunts. This one was taken at our daycare party the Thursday prior to Easter Sunday.

Adam is busy searching for his coin-filled eggs at my parents' house in Forest Lake on Easter; later that day he played with his cousins and received more Easter treats at Grandma Patti's.

Swimming lessons! Adam became more brave as the sessions went on. Ben took to the water immediately. He even let us dunk him without crying. (The instructors coached us on that, or I would've been terrified to stick his head underwater!)

I was honored to be the matron of honor in my good friend Amy's wedding May 7. Beautiful, happy bride and groom, beautiful weather, beautiful church, beautiful reception. Everything was perfect! I even gave a speech and didn't faint!

I am so in love with this boy! Not a day goes by that I don't count my blessings.

Nothing better than celebrating with some of your very best friends (it didn't hurt that there was free beer & wine, a photobooth, and a dance floor, either!) Tonya & AJ were with us in spirit. Stupid expensive flights.

The groom singing "International Harvester." It's a country song that speaks to his farming roots. I will never hear that song again without thinking of Jim. He was on top of the world that night, as every groom should be!

Such a fun reception! Rem looked like a fairytale princess, right up until the very end of the evening. Her happiness was infectious. Jim and Amy truly are best friends.

Mother's Day brunch. How did I get so lucky to be the mama of these little boys?!

This was at my friend Julie's baby shower. I love watching my friends become parents. It's such an exciting time!

Adam, our little ham.

Ben, our jumper. He was jumping so intensely he wore himself out and fell asleep right in his exersaucer.

Stay tuned! I will post a real story soon!

In 270 we trust

2011-03-30T13:51:00.000-07:00

My bus

Colorful cast of characters
Old lady with full-blown black mustache
Middle-aged mom in the Brokeback cattle rancher’s jacket:
“Hi honey. Did you do your homework? Is your brother there? What time is your game tomorrow? No, we’re not going out to eat tonight. We’re having leftovers. Yes, the nasty spaghetti. Well too bad. That’s what we’re having. What? I’m cutting out. Gotta go.”
Annoying (yet friendly) loud girl with no concept of bus-level volume control
Jenny, the pretty blonde with piercing blue eyes who is always smiling, always laughing
The greasy guy in the worn leather jacket who stares out the window, absent-mindedly twisting his wedding band around and around his finger, his face blank and expressionless
The chic with the unflattering too-short haircut who once snapped at another passenger, “I don’t care if she’s driving slow. The roads are icy. Do you want to get there ALIVE?”
The skinny woman with the hairy knees
Most of us have little in common beyond the fact that we work downtown, we ride the same bus, we live near Maplewood
iPads, iPhones, iPods
Texting, reading, dozing
Relaxing
Too hot
Too cold
Too stuffy
What is that smell?!
One time I sat in the seat across from a little girl who was crying and crying (while her mom ignored her) and then puked all over. Her mom didn't try to clean it up. And there it sat.
Once I sat by either a coke head or someone who should be medicated for ADHD
During our 30 minute ride together, she clipped coupons, brushed her hair, read the newspaper, made a grocery list, filed her fingernails, and frantically searched in her massive red bag for a cough drop, a piece of gum, her bus pass, her hands shaking like a leaf
Another time I sat by a drunk bum who slurred profanities during the entire ride (no wonder why that seat was empty)
A new bus driver every three months
The Middle Eastern dude who used to drive ridiculously fast down the exit ramps
The chubby lady with a terrible case of rosacia who is too scared to drive on the shoulder of the road
The nervous woman who once hit a car during a snowstorm and didn’t realize what she had done until another bus driver passed us, screaming out her window “YOU HIT THAT LADY’S CAR BACK THERE!”
The soft-spoken black woman who kept apologizing when the bus broke down near the 35W/36 interchange
Russ, the bus driver everyone seems to know by name, a happy-go-lucky guy who works part-time as a clown
The grey-bearded grandfatherly gentleman from Russia with the kind eyes and warm smile
We all have one goal in the morning: Make it to Minneapolis on time for work
In the evening we just want to get home to our loved ones.

A lesson in sharing

2011-03-07T13:30:00.001-08:00

1. Adam showing Ben his computer.

2. Ben wants that computer ... BAD.

3. This is MINE.

4. It might be yours, but you can let your brother play with it, too. This is what we call SHARING.

5. Adam gave up and moved on to play with his Legos. Ben = HA! Defeat!

Home is wherever I'm with you

2011-02-04T13:50:00.000-08:00

The Sorenson fam, Christmas 2010. Christmas is so much fun when you're able to share it with little ones. Ben is too young for Santa, and Adam was scared (we avoided Santa at the mall and I had to reassure him that Santa wouldn't come into the house on Christmas Eve, I would meet him at the end of the driveway for the gift drop-off), but it was a blast to watch him open his gifts. Such pure joy! Such excitement! Ben and Adam each received four gifts from Santa. That's our tradition now - "something they want, something they need, something to play with, and something to read." Aaron and I don't want our boys to become greedy and unappreciative around the holidays like some kids. Maybe it's hard to prevent that from happening, but we'll do our best.

Coolest "little" brother; best big brother. I wanted to show off their cute Christmas shirts from Auntie Trish & Uncle Shawny (it would've helped if they had smiled, but I couldn't expect a miracle). It's only been a little over a month since Christmas and already it seems like it happened a year ago. Funny how time seems to accelerate when you become a parent.

Hello, downtime.

It’s been awhile.

For the first time in weeks and weeks, I have a slow day. My brain can relaaaaaaaaaaaaax. Ahhhh.

In the past month, I celebrated my mom’s 60^th birthday, took part in an intervention to confront a loved one’s addiction (talk about a nerve-wracking/emotional experience), dressed up for our “glamorous” company party at The Dakota (*note to self - feather boas are itchy!), accompanied my good friend Rem to The Wedding Shoppe to see her try on her gown (she is going to be a gorgeous bride!), then went bridesmaid dress shopping with the girls in the wedding party (and found a super cute dress! Holla! Now to lose 10 pounds …), celebrated Christmas at the MOA with my in-laws (what a fantastic tradition to start – the gift of an experience rather than more toys), participated in an ice fishing contest on a below-zero day and lost all feeling in my fingers while I grilled hot dogs and brats (and witnessed some serious signs of craziness when my brother’s friend ate not one, not two, but three raw LIVE minnows. Seriously. Just swallowed them whole like they were goldfish crackers rather than slippery, slimy, living, breathing fish who just moments before had been obliviously swimming around in the minnow bucket. His judgment MAY have been impaired by the two bottles of Hot 100 he consumed. I’m just sayin’), met up at the Children’s Museum with good friends Amy and Broder and our buddy Becky and her little ones—sweet nearly 3-year-old Georgie and adorable 11-pound Ellena, in town from San Diego (11 pounds! I forget how TINY that is!), nearly lost my mind here at work, felt absolutely HORRIBLE when I developed mastitis (an inflammation of the breast, commonly caused by a plugged milk duct) and had the following symptoms: a painful, inflamed boob, chills (I was shaking like I had Parkinson’s disease), deep, agonizing muscle aches that only subsided after a scorching hot bath, a headache similar to the ones I used to get the morning after doing too many tequila shots, and dizziness/nausea that made for a hellish bus ride home and an equally hellish experience picking up the kids from daycare. I had to ask Adam not to talk to me at one point because it took all of my energy just to concentrate on driving. Poor kiddo!! I felt like such a mean mom!!

I read online that mastitis can be caused by stress/feeling run-down (BINGO!) and was thankful that Aaron is such a hands-on dad who didn’t mind leaving work a little early, making dinner, giving the boys a bath, and reading them books so that I could get some much-needed rest. I felt nearly “back to normal” the next day after some ibuprofen, a trip to the doc, and a prescription for antibiotics. Thank God for antibiotics!

Snowtubing is a sure-fire way to beat the winter blahs. Not pictured = my father-in-law Rick, niece Kayla & nephew Lane, brother-in-law Josh, sister-in-law Amy, her boyfriend Jake, and our friends Luke, Lisa, Ryan & Leah. (They were on the kiddie hill at the time we took this pic.)

At the end of January I celebrated another year by snowtubing at Green Acres with a wonderful mix of some of my very favorite people in the world – minus a few “key” players (you know who you are!) My mother-in-law was kind enough to watch the little ones in the chalet while we were out on the hills, which was hugely convenient for us. Thank you, Patti! That night we also went bowling at Pinz with a few more close friends (birthday luck = I had the high score of 136!!), and on Sunday we enjoyed a home-cooked dinner with the fam at our house — well, we enjoyed it until Adam proceeded to get really sick and throw up on Aaron’s plate, then the dining room floor, and finally into his plastic yellow Easter basket, then reassured everyone, “I’m OK! I’m OK!” as barf ran down his chin. Turns out the poor lil’ guy had the flu (no wonder he was so clingy on Sunday). He looked so helpless lying on the living room couch with a cool washcloth on his forehead. It really tugs at the heartstrings to see your child in any sort of discomfort. I can understand now why my mom had to leave the L&D room when I was giving birth to Adam! (But then again, she was somehow able to handle it when I gave birth to Ben, and that time I didn’t have an epidural! Maybe she knew what to expect the second time?)

On my actual birthday, I went to work, had lunch with my buddies and cupcakes with my marketing team, received an outpouring of well wishes on FB, received bday cards from friends in Minnesota, Wisconsin, Chicago and Idaho, had a Chipotle dinner with my boys (“poach-lay!” according to Adam), and talked to each of my “girls” on the phone. It was perfect, in every way possible.

This weekend we’re having a sleepover at Aaron’s mom’s house. Yes I am 36 and I’m going to a “slumber party.” It’s become an annual tradition to sleep over on the day that we celebrate Josh’s sobriety (four years this year! We're so proud of him!), April goes all-out with a cake and everything. Looks like there will be six adults and five kids spending the night – not including Aaron’s sister Amy and our nieces Kayla and Morgan who have other obligations. I wonder who will get the spare bedroom? Maybe we’ll have to arm wrestle for it.
On Sunday we’re watching the Super Bowl game at our friends’ Russ and Katie’s house. I should clarify: Aaron will be watching the game. I will be watching the commercials and talking to Katie during the game. I don’t really care about football, but I am rooting for the Packers, if only because I have a lot of college friends from UWEC (three who live in Green Bay) who do care about football and I know how much it means to them if the Packers win.

BEN:

Ben is 8 months old on Sunday and still growing like a weed. At his last checkup Nov. 18, he weighed 23 lb. 11 oz. and was 27 ½ inches. Nearly three months later, he’s over 25 lbs. – wearing 18 or 18-24 months now rather than 12 or 12-18. I’m curious what his stats will be at this 9-month appointment in March. As it is he's off the charts.

GIMME MORE CARROTS!!

He eats baby food a few times each day (loves the mango smoothie and sweet potato; not a huge fan of green beans and peas) and has mastered the art of eating Puffs — he now gets more in his mouth than stuck on his fingers, lips, or onesie. He’s a very mellow, even-tempered baby and while he isn’t as quick to smile as Adam was at this age, once you get him laughing (tickling him, barking like a dog, singing in an off-key tone), it’s one of my favorite sounds in the world. Plus he has five teeth now (two top teeth—complete with a Sandra Bernhard gap) and three on the bottom, so his smiles are even more adorable!

You can't see Ben's teeth in this pic, taken at Christmas, but he has five of them now - three on the bottom and two on top.

His cheeks are incredibly chubby, and his eyes are extremely expressive, like he’s trying to figure out the world and all the crazies in it (us included). He could spend hours in his Jumparoo and has earned the nickname “Ballerina” and “Twinkle toes” at daycare because while he’s jumping, he clicks his heels together—mid-air—then slides his feet on the ground, so it’s a sort of jump/click/slide pattern. He actually wore a hole in his shoes from doing this so much at daycare. He’s like most 8-month-olds as far as “What’s this toy? Interesting! Let me see what it tastes like!” so we have to be very careful that Adam isn’t playing with ‘choke-ables’ near his baby brother. Some of those Lego pieces are downright hazardous!! When he's hungry, he sucks on his sleeve. He also sucks on his sleeve after every bite of baby food and when he's tired. It's how he soothes himself. He loves it when we sing to him, whether it's "Twinkle, twinkle" or "I'm sittin' here I'm one day old" or "Baby, you're amazing" (or anything, really). He does great sitting on his own but isn’t even close to crawling, which is partly our fault for not forcing him to do tummy time (it’s so hard to ignore his groans and cries of protest when we put him on his stomach – my reaction is to immediately scoop him up). His hair is brown and fuzzy and I spend a lot of time kissing the top of his head. When I look at him, I feel like we share an intense and special bond and my heart feels like it’s going to burst with love and pride. Sometimes I can’t believe that he’s only been part of our family for eight short months.

ADAM:

Three generations: Aaron, Adam and Grandma Patti on Christmas Eve. In recent months Adam has become camera-shy, so it's a major feat when I can get a pic of him smiling.

Oh smart, sweet, funny, beautiful Adam, where do I begin? For starters, his imagination continues to grow in leaps and bounds, from playing hockey in the kitchen (he has told me on numerous occasions to “GET OFF THE ICE!” while he’s shooting his puck around the linoleum floor) to playing with his Little People and announcing, “You got the yellow paper! You’re going to Hollywood!” (Think we watch too much American Idol??) I’m glad that he’s creative and imaginative and not one of those kids who race home to play video games or watch TV, with the exception of his favorite shows “Silly” (aka America’s Funniest Home Videos), Fireman Sam, or Caillou on Sprout. Speaking of Caillou, what happened to his hair?

Aaron loves that Adam is as interested in sports as he is, even though he’s too young to fully understand the rules. When he’s not playing hockey, he’s playing football, baseball, or basketball (his basketball hoop is Ben’s exersaucer). He likes to paint and color and is happy to sit and put stickers all over a piece of construction paper, then peel those stickers off and try to stick them on other things. He’s a recovering scissors addict, and for many, many weeks all he wanted to do was cut paper into billions of tiny pieces. Every night I was sweeping up piles of construction paper, junkmail envelopes, various candy wrappers, and the occasional Christmas card (I promise we only lost two this way).

He’s still really clingy when I’m holding Ben and whines, “Hold me, Mom!” whenever I have my hands free. I know that he’s jealous of the time I spend with his brother and this is his way of getting equal face time. I can’t always hold him when he wants me to, but I do love dancing with him in the kitchen. It’s simple moments like that—when I’m spinning Adam around to Edward Sharpe & the Magnetic Zeros “Home” or our Mumford & Sons mix (courtesy of Uncle Jeremy) and he’s laughing uncontrollably and Aaron is holding Ben who is also laughing uncontrollably—that I feel so, so lucky. I hope I remember these moments when I’m 90 and reminiscing about “the good ol’ days.”

I love that Adam is curious about the world, asking “Why?” and “How come?” and I love that he's so genuinely interested in people (he loves looking through our photo album and asking, “You were at Julie’s wedding in this picture, right, Mom? This is Abby and Sara. What were you and dad doing here? That’s Grandma! Look at Uncle Shawny’s fish! Look! That’s Tonya!”) and I love that he's constantly soaking up new information. I also love that it takes so little to get him excited. (Usually, all I have to do is mention Grandma Patti.)

Sometimes I forget, at this age, kids are such sponges. One day, when I was hurrying to get out the door by 7:15 (our usual weekday morning scramble), Adam announced, “I realized something Mom.”

The word stopped me in my tracks.

“You what?”

“I realized something,” he repeated.

“What did you realize?” I asked with a smile.

“I realized that someone picked up my cars and trucks and put them in my red tub when I was asleep,” he answered matter-of-factly.

(When I relayed this message to Aaron, he answered, “Nice. Our kid thinks we’re his maid service.” Not the point of the story, Aaron!!!)

I also forget how heart-wrenchingly honest a little 3-year-old can be.

On the drive home from daycare Wed. night, I was lost in thought – worrying about something trivial like what to have for dinner or whether or not I remembered to contact that one difficult client with her latest round of copy changes or if I should stop and get gas now or in the morning when Adam’s sweet little voice broke into my thoughts.

“I cried today, Mom.”

I turned down the Laurie Berkner CD to give him my full attention. “Why did you cry?”

“I cried because Zander yelled at me,” he answered.

“Why did he yell at you?”
“I knocked over his tower,” Adam said. “But it was an AX-IDENT. It wasn’t on PURPOSE.”

It probably wasn’t an accident, I’m guessing that he had every intention of knocking down that tower, but I felt privileged somehow that he was willing to share this information with me, rather than the usual yes/no conversation of “Were you good today?” and “Did you play outside today?” and “Did you have something good for lunch?”

I worry that some day he won’t want to share his day with me, that I will have to pry information out of him (and even then I’ll only receive “yes/no” answers), so these rare moments of insight into his day, and his feelings, affect me more than they probably should.

“Did you say you were sorry for knocking over his tower?” I asked.

“No. And he didn’t say he was sorry for yelling at me.”

Ah, Adam. Life is all about disappointments and learning how to roll with the punches and apologizing to your friends when you mess up. I didn’t tell him that, though. Instead I said, “Do you want to go to McDonald’s tonight?”

And even though I know those Happy Meals are basically boxes of fat and sodium, and it probably makes me a bad mom for even suggesting it, I didn’t care. I can’t protect him from all the pain and disappointment in the world, but I still have the power of making a sad little 3-year-old boy happy with the mere suggestion of French fries, and if you could’ve seen the smile on his face, you would’ve known I made the right decision.

Funny things are everywhere

2011-01-28T18:51:00.000-08:00

While waiting in line tonight at CVS to have a prescription filled, I overheard this conversation between two 20-something guys. I was pretty much staring at the backs of their heads, but I think they were in their 20s. "A" had little zig-zags shaved into the back of his hair and "B" had on a black stocking cap. Sorry I can't give a better description than that!

A. I dunno why Snoop came in concert. Who even listens to him anymore? He's OLD.
B. I dunno. It's like Dr. Dre comin' or somethin'. It's all hype.
A. Would you buy a CD if Snoop came out with a new one?
B. Naw. He made enough songs. He should be done.
A. Come to think of it, I never bought a CD. I never been in a CD store.
B. No shit? Never?
A. Nope.
B. I went in one once.
**Silence while they both stare at the attractive pharmacist**
B. I wrote a paper about legalizing prostitution
A. You shoulda interviewed some prostitutes on Payne. You woulda got points for journalism.
B. Who would I interview? That one midget?
A. I heard about her.
B. Or that one transvestite?
A. His name is Candy. I talked to him before. He's a pretty nice guy.
B. I saw him once and I was like 'That chick is a DUDE!'
A. Yeah.
A. I got hit on once by a gay guy. On Facebook.
B. I hate it when that happens.
A. Yeah, it's kinda irritating. Happens to me a lot.
B. Well, guess you could take that as a compliment.

I almost wished I had to wait in line even longer so I could've eavesdropped some more.

I promise to post about the boys next week. It's been nuts at work and then I got really sick with mastitis (oh the joys of breastfeeding) but things should be back to normal at this time next week, when I'm (gasp, gasp) 36!!

No simple answers

2011-01-12T11:03:00.000-08:00

As I sit here at work (trying to) write about landscape design, I keep losing my train of thought and find myself thinking about what happened in Arizona this past Saturday — six people died and 13 were wounded when Jared Loughner went on a shooting rampage at a town meeting. It reminds me of how I felt after 9/11. Angry, sad, worried, scared that being in the wrong place at the wrong time can cost innocent people our lives. Is nothing “safe” anymore? One minute these people were at a meet-and-greet at a Safeway; the next minute bullets were flying and people were dying. Those families will never ever be the same — they were robbed of future memories with their husbands, wives, moms, dads, brothers, sisters, daughters, sons, close friends — thanks to the actions of a ~~fucked up idiot~~ mentally unstable young man. So many questions; so much heartache.
And now the finger-pointing. To be honest, I’m a little sick of the political back-and-forth (from both parties) on the wake of this tragedy. I’ve read op-ed pieces about gun control and violent campaign rhetoric and a toxic environment teeming with hate speech; who or what is to blame for this senseless murder spree? What motivates a person to commit a heinous crime like this? The Left blames the Right, the Right blames the Left, and we go around and around and around and this poisonous political climate never changes.
Why do Americans insist on beating each other up for the tragedies we suffer? Isn’t this a red flag that our level of hostility has reached an all-time high? That we must return to civility in our public and private debates, open the lines of communication, and share a message of tolerance?

21 + 39 years of experience

2011-01-04T19:54:00.000-08:00

HAPPY 60th BIRTHDAY to my beautiful mama - one of my very best friends!

And now, in honor of mothers everywhere, here's a catchy little song:

Get up out of bed
Wash your face
Brush your teeth
Comb your sleepy head
Here’s your clothes
And your shoes
Hear the words I said
Get up now
Get up and make your bed
Are you hot?
Are you cold?
Are you wearing that?
Where's your books and your lunch and your homework at?
Grab your coat and your gloves and your scarf and hat
And after school, don’t forget, you have to feed the cat
Eat your breakfast
The experts tell us it’s the most important meal of all
Take your vitamins so you will grow up one day to be big and tall

Chew carefully
But hurry
The bus is here
Wait just a sec!
Come back here!
Did you wash behind your ears?
Play outside
Don’t play rough
Would you just play fair?
Be polite
You'll make more friends
When you take the time to share
Work it out
Wait your turn
It's not polite to stare
Get along
Don’t make me come down there!
Clean your room
Fold your clothes
Put your stuff away
Make your bed
Do it now
We don't have all day!
Were you born in a barn?
Would you like some hay?
Excuse me? Can you even hear a word I say?

Where you going and with whom and what time do you think you’re coming home?
Say thank you, please, excuse me everywhere you go
You’ll appreciate my wisdom
Someday when you’re older and you’re grown
Can’t wait ’til you have a couple little children of your own!
You’ll thank me for the counsel I gave you so willingly
But right now
I thank you NOT to roll your eyes at me
Close your mouth when you chew
Would appreciate
Take a bite
Maybe two
Of the stuff you hate
Use your fork
Do not burp!
Or I’ll set you straight
This isn't a restaurant! Now PLEASE just eat the food I put on your plate
Just do your best
Life is a test
I don’t care who started it
You’re grounded 'til your 36
And if all your friends jumped off a cliff
Would you jump too?

If I’ve said it once, I’ve said at least a thousand times before
You’re too old to act this way
It must be your dad’s DNA
Look at me when I am talking
Stand up straight when you're walking
A place for everything
And everything in its place
Stop crying or I’ll give you something real to cry about
Oh!
Brush your teeth
Wash your face
Get your PJs on
Get in bed
Give me a hug
Let's pray together now
Don’t ever forget
I love you VERY MUCH
**KISS**
And tomorrow we will do this all again because a mom’s work never ends
You don’t need the reason why
Because
Because
Because
Because
I said so
I said so
I said so
I said so
I’m the Mom

Every day I hope to be, the mother that you are to me. I love you more than you know.

Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

2010-12-02T11:07:00.000-08:00

Ok, so maybe the title of this post is SLIGHTLY dramatic, but it's one of those days where I feel like I can't catch up, no matter how fast I run. I feel slightly dizzy and short of breath. Is this a mild anxiety attack?

I should have known my day would be more bad than good when I saw two very odd things while on the bus into Minneapolis this morning.
The first was a hearse in the Quarry McDonald's drive-thru (so ... you're either on your way to picking up a dead person or dropping off a dead person and you have the sudden urge for a Sausage McMuffin? Seriously?) and then I saw three adults, shivering in the biting 10-degree cold, puffing on cigarettes RIGHT NEXT to the Cancer Survivor's Park on Marquette.
Um, isn't that sort of ... I don't know ... disrespectful?

The heat wasn't working on the bus and my toes went numb (should've worn my winter boots), and when I got to my desk I had four voicemail messages and 26 emails — only ONE "fun" email from my friend Amy, the others from clients — complete with one email marked "high priority" with that annoying red exclamation point and a subject line of "NEW TEXT - please don't get me fired" from a client who has now officially earned "diva" status.
It was all downhill from there.

On the bright side (there's always a silver lining, right?!), I didn't snap at anyone or break down in tears or get up and walk out, and I **think** I was nice to my coworkers, even though I felt irritable. Whenever we felt frustrated, we laughed.
I figure if you can't laugh, you might cry, so you gotta laugh.
Plus I enjoyed a phenomenal Greek salad and chocolate chip cookie for lunch. And I ate the whole cookie, even though it was nearly as big as my head.
And I don't even feel a little bit guilty about it.
Because sometimes it's the little things—like having a sense of humor and enjoying a giant chocolate chip cookie— that help get you through the day.

A few of my favorite things

2010-11-20T20:24:00.000-08:00

In honor of Oprah giving her audience "a few of her favorite things" like seven-day cruises, ridiculously expensive jewelry, and designer shoes and bags, I thought I'd make my own list. Plus, it's less than a week before Thanksgiving when everyone gets all sentimental about what they're thankful for, so I thought it was good timing.

1. My boys, my friends, my extended family (cliche, yes, but so true)
2. Good health. Every time I do any sort of exercise, which isn't often enough (shout out to the Guts 'n Butts class!) I try not to get too negative about how hard it is or how much it hurts or how I wish I was on the couch because at least I have the ability to work out. I remind myself that there are people with physical disabilities, people with serious illnesses, people with injuries who—for whatever reason—cannot work out and wish they could so shut up already and hold that plank pose.
3. The clean-cut GQ look vs. the rocker or rugged look
4. Aveda Brilliant shampoo and conditioner
5. Chocolate chip cookies (no walnuts) fresh out of the oven, a top-shelf margarita with a Mexican meal, a juicy burger (California-style) cooked on the grill
6. Sitting around a fire, the smell and crackling sound of wood burning, the mesmerizing glow of the orange and yellow flames, the heat that takes the chill out of the air.
7. Flowerbomb perfume & LaCoste Essential cologne
8. Turtlenecks or t-shirts with blue jeans and tall boots
9. When people do good deeds without needing to be recognized
10. Prince, DMB, Jack Johnson, Dixie Chicks, David Gray, Indigo Girls
11. People who are passionate about their jobs, their hobbies, life in general
12. Those sometimes annoying but absolutely necessary eternal optimists
13. Writing!
14. Christmas and Halloween
15. Sandalwood, vanilla, sea breeze, sugar cookie scented candles
16. Fellow sponges who like to absorb, absorb, absorb
17. Glittery eyeshadow and rhinestone bracelets (sparkle in moderation)
18. Road trips to visit good buddies
19. Bear hugs from people who mean it
20. Good listeners who really listen and aren't just thinking of what they're going to say next
21. Inspiring books and movies
22. Small kids with big personalities
23. Aaron - the most altruistic person I've ever known
24. Dancing at wedding receptions
25. Our goose down comforter
26. Ben's belly laughs and Adam's uncontrollable giggles
27. The Victorian era
28. Mitch Hedberg
29. Friends and family (they're so amazing it's worth repeating)
30. Camping with the crew at Hok-si-la
31. Puppies and kitties (of all ages)
32. A home-cooked meal, by someone other than me
33. Summer weekends with my family, parents, brothers, SIL, and niece in Forest Lake
34. Watching the Olympics - esp gymnastics and figure skating
35. Anyone with an open mind and heart
36. Modern Family, The Office, Ellen (love her!), 30 Rock (big fan of Tina Fey), Glee, DWTS, AI, trashy reality shows
37. Word games, lawn games, bar games, drinking games
38. When the underdogs win
39. Running, snowboarding, softball, shopping, socializing, planning get-togethers, bachelorette parties, baby/bridal showers (more games!), play dates, BBQs, holiday gatherings, milestone birthday celebrations, reunions, happy hours, GNO, dinners with friends/family
40. Uninterrupted sleep

One year ago ...

2010-11-11T12:05:00.000-08:00

When she entered the room, I knew something was wrong. She wasn’t smiling. She sat down and stated matter-of-factly, “You’re ten weeks along.”
“I know, I’m SHOCKED,” I answered with a smile. “Two negative pregnancy tests later. Who’dve thought?”
She didn’t return my smile. Where was my congratulations?
“I think the sonographer said I was ten weeks, six days,” I added. “Almost eleven weeks.”
“Are you? I just saw ten weeks on your ultrasound, I didn’t look at the days,” Dr. S responded while pulling out a sheet of blank white paper. Immediately she got down to business by drawing a picture on the paper of a bean-shaped baby.
“This early in a pregnancy we can only look at a few things. There was a heartbeat, so that’s good (she drew a little spot on the bean where the heart was), and the crown-to-rump length is measuring right, so that’s good (she drew an arrow from the top of the bean to the bottom), but there’s one thing that’s concerning to me.”
Concerning? As in wrong? Something is wrong with my baby? Don't panic. Don't panic.
She drew a balloon-like structure on top of the bean and circled it.
“I think there might be a gut herniation,” she said, tapping the circle. “That means there’s a weakness in the stomach wall, and the baby’s bowels and intestines are forming outside, rather than inside the body.”
Gut herniation?
I stared at her face, willing her to say more, yet not wanting to hear anything. Her eye contact was unwavering.
“It could either be gastroschisis, which is a physical abnormality that can be repaired through surgery at birth, or it could be an omphalocele, which might indicate a genetic cause. Most babies with omphaloceles have other serious medical issues.”
Ompha-what? Oh-my-god, oh-my-god, oh-my-god. This isn’t happening. This is a bad dream. This isn't my life. This can't be my life.
“Can you write those words down for my husband?” I finally asked, holding back tears.
She dutifully wrote them down, pausing a second to think about how omphalocele was spelled.
Is this what it felt like to drown? Time was standing still. I couldn’t breathe.She was supposed to be telling me, “Everything looks beautiful” like Dr. E had told me after Adam’s ultrasound. She was supposed to be smiling and sending me on my way.
“I want you to call a specialist today to set up another ultrasound. Sometimes I send people there and it’s nothing, but this looks like something and I want you to have a consultation. They have better ultrasound equipment than we do. If it’s an omphalocele, you can have a CVS test done to determine which genetic markers are causing the problem,” she said.
A genetic marker?
I stared at her, not knowing what to say, how to respond, what to think.
“Let me show you what I’m seeing on the ultrasound,” she said, breaking the silence.
I followed her out to the hallway, where she stopped at a computer, pointed at the fetus on the screen, then showed me what looked like a ball on my baby’s belly.
“Do you see this here? This shouldn’t be here,” she said. “That’s why I’m concerned.”
I nodded. There was no denying that there was a tiny little circle on the baby’s belly. And if she said it wasn’t supposed to be there, she should know. She went to school for this. I just have a journalism degree.
I felt numb. We walked back to the room, where she once again got out her notepad.
“Here’s the number for the Maternal Fetal Medicine Center. I’ll fax over your records so you can make an appointment right away.” She wrote down the number, then looked at me and said, “I’m sorry that I have to tell you this.”
“It’s not your fault,” I answered, remembering my manners. I am, after all, Minnesota Nice, even in the wake of hearing devastating news.
“I think we should still do some standardized blood tests and give you the H1N1 vaccination before you leave here today,” she said. “Do you have time for some lab work?”
I had been at the doctor’s office since 10 a.m., it was now after noon. I had waited 40 minutes for my ultrasound, then another 30 minutes to see the doctor. I felt faint with hunger and worry. I didn’t even know if I’d be able to make it to the parking lot without passing out.
“I need to eat lunch or I’ll faint.”
“Go get something to eat and come back when you’re done. I’ll leave your file at the front desk,” she said. “Come back any time today.”
I left the office, the office that—such a short time ago—had been the place where I had felt relieved, happy, and excited to discover that my baby had a strong heartbeat and I was almost 11 weeks along! How crazy since I had taken two negative tests in September and October and my first positive pregnancy test was taken only two weeks ago. This meant that I didn't have to keep my pregnancy a secret; I could start telling people any time now! That feeling was replaced with a sense of dread and foreboding. Is this how people feel when they find out they have an incurable disease or when they receive bad news that a loved one has died? Like your world has been altered and will never be the same again?
I’m sure I looked like a deer caught in headlights as I passed the other pregnant women in the waiting room and walked out to my car. Dazed, confused, scared to death. I drove across the parking lot to the closest fast food restaurant, not even sure I could eat but knowing I should try, and ordered comfort food: a thick chocolate milkshake and a filet of fish. I almost dropped my money when I was handing it to the cashier.
I felt like saying, “I’m sorry, I’m a little distracted. I just found out my ultrasound was abnormal and, to tell you the truth, I’m absolutely terrified of what that could mean.”
I’m surprised I didn’t rear-end the car in front of me. I pulled off to a corner of the lot, attempted to eat a few bites of my sandwich, took a long, slow drink of my shake, then got out my cell phone. The hard part would be calling Aaron.
I called him at work, no answer. I called him on his Blackberry, no answer. I tried his cell phone and hoped he would pick up. I needed to talk to someone. I needed a friend. I needed Aaron.
He was in a noisy lunchroom, sounding cheerful. As far as he knew, everything was fine. I told him he might want to leave the lunchroom because I had some bad news. As soon as I told him what the doctor had told me, I lost it. I was sobbing. SOBBING. He said all the right things (I can’t remember what he said anymore, but I know he made me feel better). He looked up some of the words online and read the definitions out loud. He volunteered to leave work and go back to the clinic with me. I told him no, that was OK, he was going to have to take a day off for our appointment with the specialist, he should save his vacation time. I’d pull it together. (somehow)
“We’ll get through this. I love you.” It was very reassuring to know he—no matter what obstacles we face—would always be there. For better or for worse. He was just as invested in the health and well-being of our future child as I was. I love him SO much.
I regained my composure, checked my splotchy face and red eyes in the rear-view mirror (I was vain even during a crisis, glad I hadn’t worn liquid eye liner that morning), and went back to the clinic, feeling just as scared but maybe a little less alone. A chatty lab tech drew numerous vials of my blood and gave me the H1N1 shot, congratulated me on my pregnancy, and asked where I’d be delivering and where I’d delivered before and if I had a good experience there, and blah-blah-blah. It was sort of nice that she didn’t know that I had just received news that shook me to my core; all she knew was that I was going to have a baby. She didn’t treat me any different than any other newly pregnant patient. When she was finished, I asked if I could talk to Dr. S again. I’m not sure why I felt the need to see her one more time, but I had the afternoon off and nothing but time on my hands, so I told the lab tech that I would wait as long as I had to. It was another hour before the doc squeezed me in. I can’t remember everything I asked her (it’s kind of a blur) but she was forthright in her answers. I do remember asking, “I can call the specialist when I leave here and they’ll have my records? I don’t have to wait until the end of the day or anything?”
“No, call them right away. I’ll fax this over right now,” she promised.
The sooner I could see the specialist, the sooner I would have answers. I needed answers.
“Am I considered a high-risk pregnancy now?” I asked.
“It all depends on what the specialist tells you,” she answered. “Your baby might need surgery immediately, and if that's the case, you’ll want to make sure you’re at the best place for that procedure.”
Yes, OK, I’ll call them, thank-you, goodbye.
I’m usually a glass-half-full kind of girl; I wasn’t used to feeling weighted down by sadness. I was sad that there could be something wrong with our baby, our poor defenseless baby, and I felt guilty that maybe I had somehow caused this -- I took not one but TWO pregnancy tests that both tested negative, and because I didn't know I was pregnant, I hadn't been exactly careful about my alcohol intake. How many pints of beer had I had in the past two months? How many glasses of wine did I have at that AHA Gala? What if this was all my fault? I was scared that our lives would be turned upside down – lengthy hospital stays and regular doctor’s appointments and always worrying about our child’s health. I felt cheated that we couldn’t celebrate this pregnancy until we knew what was going on. I started thinking about all the people I knew who had perfectly healthy babies and felt a twinge of jealousy. Why was this happening to us? (Isn’t that the million-dollar question?)
When I got home, I felt this compelling need to talk to someone. I wanted to tell my parents, but I didn't want to burden them with worry. One of my best friends, Tonya, is a nurse who lives out in Idaho. She knows me better than I know myself. I decided to call her. Thankfully she answered on the first ring. I spilled my guts. She listened patiently, never interjecting or interrupting or throwing in a forced, cheery sentiment. I (surprisingly) didn’t break down crying, but I came close a few times. I felt so much better after telling her, it was a relief to think out loud after processing the information. She told me not to worry about possible scenarios until I had all the facts. She told me she loves me and she’d be thinking of us and made me promise I’d call her after I made another appointment. She told me she would talk to her coworkers about the situation and see if anyone knew anything. I wish she didn’t live so far away. I miss her.
Aaron came home early with a beautiful bouquet of flowers for me. We hugged. We talked. We sat on the couch together—no TV, no radio, no books. Just silence ... lost in our own thoughts. I was completely depressed. What if it was worse than I thought?
I tried calling the specialist around 3:30 and was told, despite what my doctor had promised, my clinic hadn’t faxed anything over yet. I couldn’t make an appointment until they had my records. I called my clinic and explained the situation. The girl I talked with promised to fax the info over right away. I waited until 4 and called the specialist again. This was urgent.
“We received one page from your clinic, but we didn’t receive your records. I don’t know why they’d do that. They know we need to have your records before you can make an appointment,” the woman said, sounding annoyed. She volunteered to call the clinic on my behalf and “if they send your information today, I’ll call you before 4:30.” She seemed to understand my urgency. I appreciated that.
And then it was time to get Adam from daycare. We realized, with disappointment, there would be no appointment made today. We would have to wait until Monday. Waiting, waiting, waiting.
When we got to Adam’s daycare, the sight of him was the brightest spot in the darkest day. His smile filled my heart. Our pride and joy.
I wasn’t feeling very social, but I tried to act normal when our daycare provider asked why we were both there to get Adam.
“I left early so the three of us could get something to eat,” Aaron lied.
“French fries?” Adam asked. “I love French fries!”
“Yeah, that's what we're gonna have,” I told him, picking him up and kissing his cheek. Oh, innocent unsuspecting Adam.
We went to a chain restaurant, where I have never enjoyed a meal less. I could barely carry on a conversation. I picked at my food. Everything tasted like cardboard.
When we got home, I got on the computer and started Googling right away. I read horror stories and I read medical miracles. Some stories left me feeling even more depressed (babies spending months in the NICU); some stories filled me with hope (gut herniation babies who had grown up to become normal, productive adults. Adults without belly buttons, but healthy adults).
“How can you Google things when you don’t know exactly what the situation is?” Aaron asked.
“I just need to,” I answered. I couldn’t explain why. Maybe because it gave me a sense of control? I don’t know. I went to bed early that night, feeling emotionally drained, but I couldn’t fall asleep. Wide awake, I stared at the ceiling. My mind raced. My heart raced. I tossed and turned. Every time I dozed off, I’d wake with a start and within moments would feel a sense of hopelessness and fear. I did a lot of praying.
The next morning, we tried to carry on as usual. Aaron did yard work with Adam, I cleaned the house. That afternoon, we met my mom and grandma at the apple orchard. I couldn’t stop staring at the healthy kids playing around us. I wanted to tell my mom that I was pregnant but I couldn't. I needed to be armed with facts. And I didn’t want to tell my mom without my dad around. We’d wait until we had more information. I felt like a ticking time bomb.
It was a beautiful day and we spent a lot of time outdoors. The fresh air was great, but I didn’t sleep much better Saturday night.
On Sunday, we drove down to a small town in southern Minnesota to visit Aaron’s grandma Margaret, who—weeks before our visit—had lost her husband after 55 years of marriage. (Adam's middle name is Lowell after Aaron's beloved grandpa.) She was doing amazingly well considering the circumstances. If she could stay strong in the wake of losing her husband; I could stay strong while facing the unknown. For once, I didn’t obsess over the baby and actually enjoyed the visit. Being there with her allowed me to forget my own troubles.
On Monday, I called the specialist, was told my records STILL hadn’t been faxed over, left a voicemail for Marge in the medical records department urging her—no, pleading with her—to send those records so I could make an appointment, then I tried to get some work done at the magazine (key word = tried). At 4 p.m., I called the clinic again and was told, “Christina S.? I faxed your records this afternoon.”
About damn time!
I hung up and dialed Fairview’s number and spoke with a very sweet girl who told me that yes, they received my records and Dr. So-and-So took a long look at my scans and—what I was expecting to hear was this: “And she wants you to come in right away. Can you make an appointment for tomorrow?” But instead I heard this: “She thinks everything looks perfectly normal. A lot of babies look this way at ten weeks gestation. She doesn’t want you to make an appointment here for at least one to two weeks, just to make sure everything is developing properly, but she’s not concerned.”
Say what? I almost dropped the phone.
“I’ve been worried sick all weekend,” I told her. “You don’t even know how reassuring your words are.”
“Oh honey, don't worry. The odds are that this is nothing. Just for your peace of mind, though, we'll make an appointment for around Thanksgiving.”
I could hardly believe what I was hearing. Someone pinch me. That was the best possible news we could have received.
I hung up and relayed the news to the three people who knew about the situation: Aaron, Tonya, and my boss Sara (who had also been amazing and supportive and knew just what to say). I was shocked, excited, and most of all, HOPEFUL. I knew I wouldn’t be able to breathe easy until the baby was born (talk about a crazy pregnancy so far!!) but I was cautiously optimistic. I didn’t want to be too confident just in case there was an issue, but finally, finally I had some good news to hold onto. I could breathe again.

And one year later, this is our little bean. Healthy as any five-month-old could ever be.

Parthenon, schmarthenon

2010-11-03T12:20:00.000-07:00

Aaron is here right now.

And I am here.

It's not Greece, but really, I can't complain.

Sunny days, sweepin’ the clouds away …

2010-10-22T07:30:00.000-07:00

Adam’s new favorite song lyrics are: “Sunny days, sweepin’ the clouds away …”
It’s weird to hear him singing the same song I used to sing when I was a kid. Who knew Sesame Street would still be popular, 30 years after I watched the show? I can remember sitting Indian style in front of our TV, watching Mr. Rogers and his land of make-believe, the Electric Company (“One-two-three-four-five, six-seven-eight-nine-ten, eleven twe-ehl-ehl-elve!”), and Sesame Street. I remember learning sign language from Linda, Spanish words from Maria, and watching the Twiddlebugs on Bert and Ernie’s windowsill. And I vividly remember how badly I wanted to tell Mr. Hooper when he was talking to “Bird” about his “fictitious friend,” Snuffleupagus, that “Snuffy was REAL! Look! He’s RIGHT OVER THERE! LOOK!”
The song might be the same, but the characters have changed since I watched the show. I grew up without Elmo, Prairie Dawn, Baby Bear, Abby Cadabby, or Zoe … and now that I really think about it, why weren’t there more girl muppets on the show in the late 70s/early 80s? I mean, they hired a multi-racial cast and a woman with a hearing impairment, they had two boy puppets “rooming together,” and yet didn’t create ANY girl muppets to represent the xx chromosomes? What’s up with that?
And even though it’s still educational TV, some of the messages are different today than they were “back in the day.” We watched Sesame Street before it was PC.
For example, Cookie Monster was allowed to eat piles of cookies without introducing a ‘healthy habit.’ We didn’t have to worry about childhood obesity because we were too busy riding our bikes around the neighborhood. We didn’t have to worry about moderation because we knew to only take a few instead of eating the whole box. And we didn’t have the song “A Cookie Is a Sometime Food.” We had “C is for Cookie”!
“C is for cookie, that’s good enough for me, C is for cookie, that’s good enough for me … cookie-cookie-cookie starts with C!”

Another similarity between my youth and Adam’s: Candyland. Only, to Adam, it’s SANDYland, and when we play, he dictates what color your game piece will be (he's always yellow, his favorite color) and he likes to be in charge of drawing the cards. He doesn’t really get the whole winning and losing thing, so we don’t have to worry about letting him win (actually, even if he did care about winning/losing, I wouldn’t let him win). And so far, he’s been a very gracious loser. The last time we played, Aaron won, I finished second, and Adam was last, but rather than letting him think he came in last, we told him he came in THIRD PLACE, GOOD JOB!

He has named various toys Walter, Craig, and Emily. And he still has his baby doll, Sobie, who sometimes acts out Adam’s fears. “Sobie doesn’t want to use the potty because she’s scared of the flush. Sobie doesn’t like the Easter Bunny because he’s too big. Sobie thinks those firecracks are TOO LOUD.”

Adam loves going to Aaron's softball games because he knows he'll get to play at the park.

After we arrive home from daycare, he usually asks if he can have something to eat or drink before dinner, and by drink, I mean he wants juice. The doctor told us that toddlers should drink milk and water and only have juice once a day (at most), so I told him no, he already had juice at daycare.
“I’m obsessed with juice, Mom, right?” he asked with a grin. (Only when he said ‘obsessed,’ it sounded more like ‘assessed.’)
Did he learn that from us? Or at daycare? What three-year-old uses the word obsessed?

He loves to do what we’re doing, whether it’s “lawning” the grass (he follows after Aaron with his toy mower), doing the dishes (resulting in a huge puddle of water on the floor), or helping with laundry (I let him put the clothes in the dryer). He feels so grown up and important when he helps out. There will come a time, in the not-so-distant future, when we’ll have to force him to mow the lawn or do the dishes, so I’m trying to appreciate his eagerness to help before he becomes a lazy teenager.

He's a lovable little goofball.

He is athletic already, just like his dear ol’ dad. He can hit a ball without using a tee, kick a soccer ball across the yard, and make contact with a golf ball. I think that sports will come naturally to him, just like Aaron. And he genuinely enjoys sports. He could spend hours outside, playing ball.
I played summer softball from third grade through high school, I was on the gymnastics and cross-country teams in junior high and high school (my best mile time was 7:30, what I wouldn't give to run that fast again!), and I competed in indoor and outdoor track even at UW-Eau Claire, but aside from being pretty good at the 200 and 400 meter dash and triple jump (love), I was middle-of-the-pack when it came to sports. Average Joe. I would almost bet money that Aaron was picked first in gym class. He’s 37 years old and he can still hit a home run, spike a volleyball, and fearlessly ski or snowboard down black diamond runs. I mean, he finished his first marathon in 2005 in three hours and 30 minutes — just a few minutes shy of qualifying for Boston. He’s "that" guy (without being a pompous a-hole). I’m glad Adam seems to have Aaron’s natural athleticism.

He enjoys meeting new people and having friends over to our house and saying hi to total strangers and socializing, just like his dear ol’ mom.

Good fathers make good sons.

Adam is definitely in the “why?” phase of learning, which I find equally charming and irritating. I think it’s wonderful that he’s curious, unless I’m in a mad scramble to get out the door and he’s drilling me with “What are you looking for? Why can't you find your keys? Why are you wearing your black boots today? Why are you running upstairs? What did you forget? Can I come with you?" and then - when we're on the road, it's more questions: "What are those trucks doing to the street? Why is that guy on a motorcycle? Why are you slowing down? Where is that bus going? Birds fly, right Mom? Why do they fly? What is that billin over there? OH, it's an apartment BUILDING. Why do people live in apartment buildings? Why is that lady standing there? Oh, it's a BUS STOP. Why is she taking the bus? Oh, maybe she doesn't have a car. But we have two cars, right Mom? Why do we have to bring the library books back today? Why is that policeman there? Oh, he's PULLING HER OVER for driving too fast. Are you driving too fast, Mom?"
I try to answer all of his questions, even if I don't really know how. (That truck is fixing the street because it was broken. Birds fly because they have little legs and it's easier than walking. People live in apartment buildings because they like that they don't have to shovel snow in the winter. *Had to get creative there.) I'm just waiting for the day when he asks me why the sky is blue or the grass is green. Better study up on that answer right now.

Sometimes Adam acts so grown up, I forget he's only three.

Yesterday he told me he needs to eat dinner to “keep up his en-erz-jee.”
Omg was that cute.
“Right Mom? My en-erz … en-erj … en-erz … what did I say Mom?”
I laughed out loud as he tried to figure out the correct pronunciation.
“Yes, your ENERGY,” I said.
“Oh, yeah, my EN-ERZ-JEE,” he responded while shaking his head in an all-knowing way.

Speaking of eating, he is an incredibly picky eater. At three years old, he weighs 28 pounds and is exactly three feet tall. We worry about his lack of an appetite because he’s so pint-sized. We constantly introduce him to new foods and encourage him to try everything once. Aaron has used Green Eggs and Ham as an example, and it even worked: “Remember how Sam I Am tried to get his friend to eat green eggs and ham and he wouldn’t try it? And then, when he tried it, he liked it?”
A few of his favorite foods = French fries, hummus with pita chips, rootbeer “popicos,” eggs, watermelon, mac and cheese, sloppy joe’s, bananas, apples, corn on the cob, and hot dogs. I realize this could be a better (more nutritional) list, but I also realize it could be a lot worse.

Adam and his Benny Bobber.

He is a kind and loving big brother and told me that he “protects” Ben at daycare. (From what? Flying peas? Germy hands? I don’t know, but it was a sweet sentiment.)
When Ben is crying, he approaches him with a big smile on his face and says in his cartoon-like animated high-pitched voice, "It's OK, Benny Bobber. It's your Big Brother Adam. Don't cry."

The best thing about digital cameras = capturing moments like this.

He has an absolutely incredible memory. I hope he uses it to his advantage once school starts.

He loves it when he read him books at night. His new favorite is Curious George.

He is strong-willed (aka stubborn) and will sit at the kitchen table for TWO HOURS rather than take five bites of his meatloaf. He has also received numerous timeouts for screaming, running away, and defiantly refusing to listen. Whoever dubbed it the 'terrible twos' clearly did not have a 3-year-old, but I'll save that for another post.

Adam on our vacation in Okoboji, Iowa singing "Tonight's gonna be a good night." He knows almost all of the words and refers to it as "his song."

When I’m feeding Ben, his jealous side comes out and all of a sudden, no matter what he’s doing, he wants to be right next to me. He'll stop playing Legos or cars and climb onto the couch and wedgehimselfagainstmelikethis. I feel sorry for Ben, who gets jabbed in the head with Adam’s elbow or knee while he’s trying to eat. And even though it can get crowded with all three of us smashed together on one side of the couch, it’s also really endearing. Having little kids is kind of like your wedding day, when everyone tells you to remember to step back and take it all in, because it will be over before you know it. I’m trying, really trying, to soak it all in and appreciate every day.
I hope I will be reading this post one day years from now and the memories will come flooding back ... how small and innocent my boys were and how life was filled with endless possibilities for their future ... how I could grab them and hold them close to my heart and kiss them over and over and tickle them and squeeze them and laugh as they'd giggle and squeal and let me do it. And when we fall asleep at night, Aaron is beside me, Adam is sleeping soundly in his bedroom next to ours, and Ben is sleeping in his bassinet beside us and we’re all together, safe and healthy and happy and loved and in love and tomorrow is another day for more of the same, in only the best possible way.

Everything is going to come out just fine

2010-09-29T12:43:00.001-07:00

In every parent’s journey, there are certain challenges and struggles that you accept as part of the parenting process. When I was weaning Adam from breast milk to formula at six months, for example, I assumed it would be a tough transition — but never in a million years knew just how tough. It never once dawned on me that he might have an allergy to the cow’s milk protein in formula, which meant he would have to drink expensive soy formula until he was one, and then avoid all foods containing cow’s milk (fortunately, he outgrew his allergy and now loves cheese, asks for milk before bed, and would eat butter by the spoons-full if we let him).
We thought we were going to be in for a fight when we transitioned him from co-sleeping in our bed to sleeping alone in his ‘big boy bed’ which is one of the reasons we avoided it for so long. I had nightmares of doing the whole Super Nanny thing and silently walking him back to his room over and over again until we were both crying out of frustration and sleep-deprivation. I envisioned him screaming and sobbing until he threw up. I thought he would hate us.
He surprised us and transitioned effortlessly. He has never climbed out of his bed in the middle of the night (it’s like he doesn’t realize he can get out of his bed unless he’s waking up on his own), and now, when we stay overnight somewhere, he wants us to make him a bed on the floor rather than sleep between us. If I had known how easy it would be, I would’ve bought him his own bed much, much sooner.

The pacifier was another bad habit we knew we had to break, yet put it off because we dreaded his reaction. (Really it was just me who dreaded his reaction. Aaron was ready to do whatever it took to get him to stop using a Nuk.) Adam was so attached to his “Nukies” that I expected a great big sob-fest when we took them away. Would he be able to sleep without them? Would he try to steal Ben’s pacifier? Would he start acting out? We told him that babies used Nuks and he told us he’d get rid of them when the baby came – surprise, surprise — that didn’t happen. Then he told us he’d get rid of them when he turned three and, to be honest, that day might have come and gone if not for our daycare provider making the decision for us. The day after he turned three, his Nuks were in the trash at daycare. He didn’t cry without them that first day, and that night he only asked for his Nukies two or three times. Each time I told him the garbage man brought them to the garbage dump and they were gone and he accepted this answer. A few times he’d ask me, “Are my Nukies in the garbage truck?” And I’d somberly nod yes and he’d answer “Ohhh” in a sad way, and that was the end of that. It didn’t dawn on him that we could buy new ones at Target.
Getting him into his own bed and getting him to give up his Nuks were two battles we were prepared to fight — two battles that weren’t battles at all. The potty thing, though, could easily become a real battle. We haven’t pushed the issue too much because, from everything I’ve read, if a kid isn’t ready, no amount of bribing with Skittles or asking him if he wants to be a big boy or praising his cousins or reading potty books or promising him a toy will do any good. It will cause the parents to stress out and feel frustrated and the child to feel stressed out and frustrated and who has the energy for that?
But Adam is three now, and he’s smart enough to know when he’s going and there’s really no reason for him NOT to use the potty. Aaron is getting impatient and pushing the issue more and more and I have to admit, the idea of having just one kid in diapers is very appealing (less work, less expense) so I need to buck up and get on board, too. We recently bought him big boy underwear and he was bursting with pride in his Thomas the Train undies … until he peed on the floor. I'm hoping that he just needs to have one successful experience for it to click. My mom said she potty trained me by stripping me down and putting the potty chair in the living room. We're willing to try this tactic. Fingers crossed.

I am not invisible

2010-09-17T12:18:00.000-07:00

At the "Best of" party with my hubby Aaron, SIL Trish and big brother Shawn.

I wish there was a better pic of the dress, but you get the general idea.

ON Tuesday night we had a work event at the swanky W Hotel — our annual “Best Of” party when we celebrate those who have been chosen as the “best in the cities” (best new fitness class, pastry chef, hat-maker, perfume shop, you get the idea). It’s basically a “who’s who” hip party scene; an event that makes me proud to say I work at this mag.
I went to our company’s inaugural “Best Of” party in 2008, missed the party last year due to a family funeral, and was so excited to go this year that we lined up babysitters (my parents) so Aaron could meet me there. My brother Shawn and fun sister-in-law Trish were meeting us there, as were our friends Jodi and Walter.
When I was choosing my attire a few nights in advance of the fiesta, I pulled a dress out of my closet (one I had purchased years ago and never worn), tried it on, thought it looked fine, and basically put it out of my mind. The morning of the event, I packed up my curling iron, some makeup, the brown dress, my comfortable brown Mary Janes, and headed out the door.
Within an hour of being at work, it started. The questions.
“What are you wearing tonight, Kelly?” “Julie, what are you wearing?” “Alex, can I see your dress?” “Will this dress look OK?” “Should I wear the black tights or the grey ones?”
There definitely wasn’t this much buzz the first year we had the event. Some people dressed up, some didn’t. But this was the third year. And my coworkers were all about the fancy.
My friend Kelly’s dress was hanging in a bag in her cube. When I asked to see it, she slipped the plastic bag off the hanger and underneath was a very stylish royal blue strapless cocktail dress. I overheard Julie describing her dress as a little silver and black number that she was going to pair with some tall black boots. Mallika was going home to change into a satiny one-shouldered black dress. Alex’s dress was an adorable LBD with ruffles around the neckline.
“I’m starting to think I’m going to be underdressed” I wrote in an email to my friend Kirsten.
“I am not cocktaily at all... I’m Graysville,” she wrote back. “Gray boots, gray skirt, gray and purple little jacket thing. I never had time to go shopping. I wouldn’t worry about being underdressed!”
I went over to my friend Amanda’s cube. “I think I’m going to be underdressed,” I told her. (Amanda is often my voice of reason here at work.)
“Mary is wearing what she has on right now,” she pointed out.
Mary was wearing pants. Mary is very practical.
Jamie sent me an email asking, “Should I wear pants or a dress?”
“Wear a dress!” I wrote back.
Tabitha emailed me an image of a short, tight, sassy dress she was considering for the party. “Is this going to be OK?”
“Definitely! Sassy is good!” I wrote back.
I was about to realize that I was the one who needed fashion advice.

The plan was for Kelly and I to meet the rest of our marketing team at 5 p.m. to finish stuffing gift bags. At 4 p.m. I headed over to the bathroom to get ready. Plugged in my curling iron, took my dress out of my Lunds/Byerly’s bag (not nice enough to require an actual hanger), set my makeup on the counter. Awesome. I was going to be ahead of schedule. That never happens.
As soon as I had my dress on, I knew it was all wrong. It wrapped around my waist and came down to a few inches below my knees. A silky tank top underneath did an excellent job of covering me up. My chunky heels were way too casual. I stepped in front of the full-length mirror and examined myself from the front and side. These are the words that ran through my head: “Dowdy. Frumpy. Boring. Plain, plain, plain.”
I was glad I was alone in the bathroom. In a split second I hurried back into the stall and took the dress off. It was an alright dress, for a casual business lunch, maybe. But this wasn’t a casual business lunch. This was going to be a cocktail party with no shortage of cleavage and legs — a cocktail party crawling with hip, young, HOT coworkers and clients wearing spiky heels and trendy dresses.
Fuck it. I was not going to wear that thing. I was tired of blending in. I always blend in. I wanted to feel hip and trendy and maybe (gasp, gasp) even sexy.
I feel like I need to preface what I’m about to write by saying that I am madly in love with my husband, he makes me feel beautiful, and I don’t have a burning desire to morph into Kim Kardashian (or some other Hollywood bombshell) just to see what it’s like to be your average guy’s wet dream. But, I don’t know, when you’re married and you have kids and you become comfortable in your routine, you start to feel sort of invisible. The problem is, I have always blended in — even when I was younger (I was never the girl getting hit on. If a guy ever bought me a drink, it was most likely because he was hitting on one of my friends and didn’t want me to feel left out) — and now that I’m 35 (!) and have two kids, I’m a little bit bored with playing it safe and being the “good girl.” I’m finally ready to step out of the box and take certain risks.
I honestly think it took having two kids to get to this point, as backwards as that may be. I am a lot less modest now, that’s for sure. (Breastfeeding will do that to you.)
As soon as I made the decision to reject my dress, my mission became urgent. I just had to find a replacement dress. This was a fashion emergency!!
Even though I couldn’t afford it.
Even though I was supposed to be helping my department stuff gift bags in less than 45 minutes.
I threw my pants and sweater back on, stuffed my brown dress into my work bag (sorry, brown dress!), gathered up my makeup, and prepared to do some serious shopping in record time. (Gotta love the fact that 50 city blocks are connected through the skyway system!) Do I go to Macy’s? Target? Where was I guaranteed to find a fun outfit that wouldn’t break the bank?
I decided to check out the sales racks at Sak’s Off Fifth. I tried on a purple bubble dress with a low back that was straight out of Sex and the City. Price tag = $80 (on sale). I instantly felt hip. It was perfect! I put it on hold. I couldn’t quite commit but I didn’t want to put it back, either.
It’s funny how your priorities shift when you’re in a mad rush to buy something. Normally I wouldn’t even consider spending $80 on a dress like that. And then the rational side of my brain kicked in. How many times would I wear it? Was the quality worth $80? Was it as cute as I thought or was I just desperate? Would it look like I was wearing a short purple bag?
If I couldn’t find anything else, I would buy that dress. And eat PBJ until my next paycheck. “But it’s just a dress,” the rational side of me hissed. “Right now it seems like a necessity, but it’s not going to matter in a few days, once people start forgetting about this party.”
“I don’t care,” said the ‘this-is-how-I-got-into-credit-card-debt-back-in-college’ side of me. “I want to feel cute!”
And with that, off I went to Len Druskin for some shoes. I found a pair of black velvet heels on sale for $20 (half off). They had my size. These shoes were a million times better than my original choice. I was so distracted at the register that the cashier had to prompt me to sign my check card slip. “Long day?” she asked with a smile. If I would’ve been honest, I would’ve told her “No, I’m frantically trying to buy an entire outfit in 15 minutes, even though I’ve had months to prepare for this event because, turns out, I hate the outfit I brought. And guess what? I have about $200 in my account to last me the next few weeks. And yet here I am out shopping! Ha ha! Isn’t that funny?”
“Yeah, long day,” I replied.
I raced down to Marshall’s and went directly to the dresses. In record time I had six dresses piled over my arms. I didn’t really want to buy a black dress since I knew most people would be wearing black (plus I have a number of black dresses in my closet) but when I tried on the dresses, the fun, colorful ones did nothing for me.
The last dress I tried on was a black dress, and as soon as it was on I knew it was the dress: A black tank-style dress with layers of ruffles and little sparkles in the fabric. It was form fitting but not too tight. It was short but not slutty. It showed just the right amount of cleavage without being all 'Hey, everyone, check out these DDs!' It was comfortable. It had just the right amount of glitter to be fun without being obnoxious. And it was only $25! SCORE!
I hurried back to work, changed in record time, put powder on my sweaty face, sprayed on some Flowerbomb perfume, and tried to do something with my pathetic hair (I am not a long hair person and I know deep down that my hair looks a million times better when I have short hair — but it’s taken me so long to grow it out that I’m not quite ready to cut it just yet). I put on the dress, the heels, some dangly earrings and lipstick, all ‘special occasion items,’ and when I was all put together I felt GOOD about myself. I didn’t feel boring and frumpy. I actually felt kind of fun.
I’m not as thin or as toned as I’d like to be, but you know what? I’m not as heavy as I used to be, either. Just a little over three months ago I had an extra 40 pounds on my frame and a nearly 10 pound baby chillin’ in my uterus. And maybe, when I’m older, I’ll wish I had the figure I have right now (imperfections and all) and I’ll be glad I bought a dress that didn’t hide my body but actually highlighted some of it. The questions were: Did I have the confidence to wear the dress without feeling like I needed to keep my coat on all night? Could I wear it without self-consciously pulling it down or tugging it up?
Yes I could.
And I did.
And you know what? I had an absolute blast.

Maternity leave

2010-07-19T10:13:00.000-07:00

Adam (far right)with little friends Ryan, Leah, and Greta at a surprise get-together for Aaron's birthday June 16 (not pictured: Broder, Aliza, and Ben). We had a beer tasting in the backyard, with 12 adults and 7 kids in attendance. It was so much fun we might try to make it an annual event.

Ben at five or six weeks old, wearing a onesie that Adam wore at three months. Ben is now two months old and weighs 14 pounds. Adam is almost three years old and weighs 28 pounds. Soon Ben will be Adam's big little brother.

A typical weekday:

1:30 a.m. - 2 a.m - Feed Ben in a hazy stupor.

4 a.m. - 4:30 a.m. - Another feeding.

5 a.m. - The alarm goes off. Why does Aaron set it so early? He NEVER gets up the first time it goes off. I have to nudge him, tell him "The alarm is going off. It's going to wake up Adam and Ben." and then listen to it go off at least two more times before he finally quits hitting snooze and gets up for the day.

6:30 a.m. - Ben starts stirring in his bassinet. Yep, he's hungry AGAIN.

7 a.m. - Aaron and Adam kiss us goodbye. (Aaron brings Adam to daycare at least three times a week.) Ben is wide awake now, and all I want is a nap. We watch the Today show.
I eat breakfast, check my email, and take a shower to wake up. Ben chills out in his bouncy chair while I shower.

9 a.m. - I feed Ben while watching Ellen - the highlight of my morning.

10 a.m. - 11 a.m. (or around there) - I sneak in a nap if I'm lucky.

What happens around lunch time varies from day to day. Some days, I'm a totally unproductive lump and spend the afternoon on the couch watching Mad Men re-runs or Snooki and "The Situation" act like idiots on The Jersey Shore. On those days, it's all I can do to put in a load of laundry and figure out what's for dinner. I pick up Adam from daycare at 4 and Aaron gets home around 6 so I have plenty of time to be lazy. Other days, I try to visit people or go somewhere just to force myself to get out of the house (Target, Byerly's, the mall, etc.) Sometimes I keep Adam home for these visits and sometimes it's just Ben and I. It's so much more work to keep Adam home, but it's also a lot more fun, esp if we're hanging out with other kids.
Our visits over the past two months have included my mom's work; my SIL April's house in St. Francis (she's a daycare provider so we were able to see her in action with all 10 kids and OMG I honestly don't know how she does it without losing her mind!!); my friend Katie's house while she was recovering from ACL surgery; my friend Megan's house in Anoka; Aaron's work; my friend Beth's mom's house (Beth lives in Kentucky and was in town briefly); my parents' house in Forest Lake; and my friend Amy's house before she returned to work (our maternity leave overlapped for a few weeks). We also made it downtown Minneapolis twice, once to visit the office and again for a co-worker's baby shower (thanks, Katie D., for being such a good buddy & helping me out that afternoon!); Jay, Pete & cousin Max's house twice (we always feel so welcome); my SIL Tricia's salon in Wayzata (note to self: when a 3-year-old is left alone with markers while you're getting your hair done, and he suddenly becomes very quiet, he probably isn't coloring on the paper you provided him, he's probably coloring on the floor, the couch, the table, and his legs. Good thing the markers were washable!!); the Lake Elmo Park Reserve man-made swimming pond with my mom and again with my SIL Amy and nieces Kayla and Morgan (I love how clean it is there - no seaweed, no fish, no cigarette butts or bottle caps buried in the sand); and to the Maple Creek beach in Maple Grove with friends Megan and Sadie. I haven't been to the beach this much in YEARS. On a balmy summer weekday, the beach is definitely a hangout for SAH moms and their young kids. There's no shortage of 30-something women wearing skirted one-piece post-baby-body swimsuits (so long, bikinis!) with toddlers in wide-brimmed sun hats, that's for sure. The SAH mom world is still a foreign world to me. I have nothing but respect for those who choose that path—it's a lot of work (and a lot of rewards) but I know it's not the path for me (as much as I love my kids). Maybe it would be different if we were in a bigger house and a more kid-friendly neighborhood. Maybe not.
During my maternity leave we have had visitors, too - both during the day and in the evening. Daytime visitors include my mom (she has come a few times after work to hold Ben so I can take a nap); my sister Mary, niece Eva and nephew/godson Lou (they brought us some awesome Greek pizza); my friend Kirsten (we had ham sammies together and hung out in the backyard talking about her upcoming wedding); my college friend Leah who made Ben an adorable hat; my friend Amy who brought lunch over not once but twice, first Chinese food and then Mickey D's; and friends Julie & JT who brought us a delicious pie (we watched The Bachelorette together - my guilty addiction. JT and Aaron were even sucked into the show this season, even though Aaron thinks most of it is scripted/fake.)
During the first week we were home, our friends Karla, Tony, Greta and Aliza brought us a pasta dinner; my mom, dad, Aunt Karen, and grandma brought over my favorite chowmein hotdish; and my friend Jodi made us a yummy pan of lasagna. When you have a new baby, meals are SO appreciated. Heck, who am I kidding? Even without a newborn, I appreciate it when someone else cooks for us!
I was hoping we'd get out to Green Bay this summer but it didn't work out. Our first road trip with the whole fam occurred two weekends ago when we went to our friend Julie's cabin near Alexandria for a reunion with Aaron's high school group. There were 20 adults and 21 kids there (most people tented it, I used the newborn card and scored a room in the air-conditioned cabin). Thankfully, both Ben and Adam slept nearly the whole time we were in the car. On Saturday night there was a bonfire and I wound up going back to the cabin with Adam. One of our friends was holding Ben, so I left him with her. He slept in her arms for FOUR HOURS. I woke up and saw that he wasn't in his pack and play next to me and felt a physical ache for him. It sounds silly but I genuinely missed him. It's going to be more difficult returning to work than I thought (I was ready to go back after having Adam). You form such a strong bond with your baby when you spend just about every waking moment with him/her for nearly three months that I think it's only natural to have some mixed emotions about returning to work. I'm trying not to think about it too much. I still have a few weeks left of maternity leave and I'm going to make the most of them!!

One month ago ...

2010-07-07T08:17:00.000-07:00

... I became the proud mama of Ben Robert Sorenson. He arrived on June 6, one day before we were going to have him evicted (I was going to be induced) and weighed 9 lb. 7 oz., 21 3/4 inches long. My doctor predicted an 8-pounder when I went in on June 4 for my 41-week appointment but I think everyone was shocked (no one more than me) when the nurse put Ben on the scale and announced that he was over 9 pounds! Now I know why I was so uncomfortable during my pregnancy. That's a whole lot of baby!! Ben has a full head of dark hair, chubby cheeks, and adorably full, kissable lips. He looks a lot like Adam did when he was born. We might be biased, but we think he's pretty cute.

My labor and delivery story (better late than never, right?):

My water broke at 12:15 a.m. June 6 — the loud "POP!" actually woke me up — and I announced to Aaron that it was "go time." I was THRILLED to be in labor & relieved to know that I was finally about to meet Button after enduring a pregnancy that seemed to last an eternity. I called the hospital, told the labor & delivery nurse that my water broke, I was already dilated to a four, this was my second child, and I was past my due date, and she announced, "Come in within the hour."
Woo hoo! After two failed attempts at stripping my membranes, two days of false labor contractions, weeks of wondering when/where/how I'd go into labor, this was it!
We woke up Adam, called my parents, loaded up the car and were on our way. Ever since my doctor had set an induction date - at my request - I had felt torn/guilty about it. It wasn't as if the baby was in distress or my health was in jeopardy, I was just incredibly uncomfortable and needed to know when my misery would end. Whenever I thought about the induction, though, I felt selfish forcing the baby out before he/she was ready to come on his/her own. When my water broke on its own, I was relieved that I wasn't going to be messing with Mother Nature.

Aaron, Adam and I arrived at St. John's Hospital in Maplewood at 12:45 a.m. where I continued to gush amniotic fluid. I am SO GLAD my water didn't break while I was at work! I soaked through a thick bath towel during the short car ride over and completely drenched through my capri pants while walking from the parking lot to the hospital. Every time I got up I leaked a puddle of warm water. No wonder the baby didn't want to leave that safe and cozy environment!
Because we arrived after midnight, we had to enter at the ER. A nurse was there waiting for me (with a wheelchair) and I was promptly wheeled up to Labor & Delivery where my parents met up with us. I had only had two intense contractions at that point so we were able to chat for a little while until I felt another contraction coming and then I told my dad he had better go. I didn't want Adam to see me in pain so my dad and Adam promptly left. I felt emotional when I hugged my little guy goodbye. That would be the last time he was my only child. Aaron walked them out to my dad's truck and said we'd see them soon, when Adam would be a big brother, and I think the moment Aaron hugged Adam he felt pretty emotional, too.
My mom stayed with us at the hospital to experience the miracle of birth from a different perspective than being the one with her feet in the stirrups. I was glad she was there in the room with us - she's one of my very best friends and has a very calming presence.

When I was first checked by my very nice nurse Kara, I was only dilated to a four. It was discouraging (I had been at a four for a few days) and I assumed it would be a long, slow labor. Aaron got out the iPod and we started listening to my soothing labor mixes. It was such a good background distraction.

After a negative epidural experience with Adam, involving uncontrollable shaking (Aaron said it was like I had Parkinson's disease) and a heavy feeling of pressure on my chest (my doula told me later that she thought the epidural had been administered too high in my spine) my goal was to skip the epidural if possible. I wasn't adamantly opposed to getting one, but if I could do it without, great. I was glad to be able to skip the epidural. I survived the painful contractions with the help of Aaron's supportive coaching, breathing through the pain (or "riding the waves"), gripping Aaron's hand, and a dose of Nubaine, which took the edge off - like having a few glasses of wine. After enduring round after round of painful contractions — at one point I could feel the baby scraping its way down the birth canal (complete with the ring of fire and everything) and HOLY SHIT did those last few contractions hurt!! — I asked the nurse to check me again and heard some of the most beautiful words in the English language: "You're complete. Let's call the doctor. You'll be meeting your baby soon."
The pushing phase of labor, with Adam, was completely exhausting. I pushed for nearly two hours. I was too numb to know which muscles to use, leaving him hung up on my pelvic bone for what seemed like forever (sorry about that, Adam!) In retrospect, I'm surprised I didn't need a c-section. By not having an epidural this time, I was able to feel every contraction and push the way I was supposed to push, from my bottom rather than my stomach. I only pushed for 25 minutes and with one small episiotomy to make room for the baby's head, Ben entered the world at 4:06 a.m.
My placenta, however, decided to hang out in my uterus for awhile. The doctor couldn't get it to detach. She worked on it for 25 minutes (yanking the umbilical cord this way and that) before asking me, "Did you have problems delivering your placenta during Adam's birth?" No, I told her, it was a non-issue.
"If I can't get your placenta out this way, I'll have to go in and manually extract it. It will only take 15 seconds, but it will be 15 seconds of excruciating pain. Do you want another dose of Nubaine?"
All I could think was "HELL NO, you're not going to stick your arm up me and wrench this thing out after what I just went through! I can't handle any more pain. I WILL GET THIS THING OUT OF ME ON MY OWN!"
I just delivered a nearly 10 pound BABY! I could expel a one-pound pancake-shaped organ!
My beautiful son was in a corner of the room crying on the scale and being oohed and ahhed over by the nurse and Aaron and my mom — after so much time waiting to meet him he was HERE! And I wanted to see him and hold him and ooh and ahh too! — why wasn't this the end of my birth story?
I felt another contraction coming and asked if I could try to push. I pushed with every ounce of determination and strength I could find and somehow dislodged the placenta myself.
THANK YOU GOD.
Since my experience, I've heard through the grapevine that when a doctor has to forcibly remove your placenta, it feels like being ripped in two.

After I rested for a bit, Ben was placed on my chest and took to nursing like a champ. (We struggled getting Adam to latch. Ben knew what to do right away.) A nurse helped modest me take a bath (weird), I put on my own nightgown (so maybe I am a little bit vain - but those hospital gowns are HIDEOUS!) and at 8 a.m. we had our first visitor, Aaron's mom. After that, we had a steady stream of visitors all day/night Sunday and a few on Monday afternoon for a total of 30 visitors, mostly immediate family and a few close friends. Adam was a proud big brother. He talked to Ben in a high-pitched voice and wanted to hold his baby brother right away. Surprisingly, he didn't seem jealous at all and still doesn't even a month later. (I'm sure that it helped that he received numerous "big brother" gifts from people, too.) The only time he seems annoyed is when I nurse Ben and can't play with him during feedings.
By Monday, Aaron and I were running on empty - three hours of sleep over a 36-hour period, and those three hours of sleep only because we sent Ben to the nursery. Our hospital strongly encourages "rooming in," or keeping your baby in the room with you at all times, but we were both exhausted and needed just a few hours to recharge. We knew we'd get uninterrupted sleep if we weren't constantly checking on Ben.
Even though we were exhausted and I was healing, all we wanted to do was get home, sleep in our bed, and begin our "new normal" as a family of four. We chose to be discharged a day early and actually went out to Chili's with my family after leaving the hospital. In retrospect, that was probably a little over-zealous, but I knew it would be awhile before I'd be having dinner at a restaurant again. Ben slept the whole time in his car seat.

Ben has been a great baby - and super cuddly! His favorite position is up on your shoulder, all scrunched up in a ball. I think that's how he was in utero. So far he lets anyone hold him - it doesn't matter if the person is anxious or nervous or awkward around babies. He's been held by family, friends, and members of our softball team. He smiles already, has rolled over from his stomach to his back a few times, and knows his A,B,Cs (ha ha!) He's extremely strong for being only a month old. I don't know what he weighs, but he wears three month outfits so I'm guessing he's 13 or 14 pounds. My only complaints are that his days and nights are mixed up, he struggles with gas/pooping, and he eats ALL THE TIME (every two hours). I feed him up to 12 times a day, and the constant feeding on demand gets old fast. I breastfed Adam for seven months and that's my goal this time, too, even though I hate the thought of pumping at work again.

After a rollercoaster pregnancy, I'm so, so, so relieved that Ben was born healthy. Throughout my pregnancy people asked me if I wanted a boy or girl, and I don't think they fully believed me when I said I didn't care as long as the baby was healthy. All of the stars have to be perfectly aligned in order to carry a healthy baby to term - so many things can happen to disturb the balance along the way - that when you deliver a healthy baby, you feel truly blessed. And that's how I feel. We have two beautiful, healthy sons. I don't want to play Russian roulette again. I can't imagine going through another mentally and physically grueling pregnancy like I did with Ben, not to mention the fact that my recovery was much, much harder than with Adam (my stomach wall separated from carrying such a large baby, I had painful hemmies, I broke out in a crazy hormone-induced super itchy rash a few days after delivery, etc.)
And yet I don't know that our family is complete. I'm open to the idea of adoption within the next few years. (I can picture us with a little girl from China.) Who knows. Maybe I'll change my mind once Ben is older and my memory starts getting fuzzy.

Right now Ben is snoozing in his swing and Adam is playing with his Legos and I feel closer than ever to Aaron (I love that he loves his family so much. He is an unbelievably helpful hands-on dad). Life is good. I am blessed beyond blessed.

Beach ball

2010-06-02T13:45:00.000-07:00

When I dropped Adam off at daycare yesterday, his 2-year-old friend, Morgan, walked up to me, pointed at my gigantic pregnant belly, and announced, "BALL!"
"She was up north at her cabin this weekend, and I bet she was playing with a beach ball," my daycare provider Mary laughed.
"BALL!" she announced again, this time lifting my dress to get a better look.
I laughed and Mary laughed and even Morgan started laughing.
"No, this is a baby," I told her.
"Baby BALL!" she announced.
If you can't laugh, you might cry, so I try to keep on laughing.

I am a patient girl ...

2010-06-02T13:07:00.000-07:00

I am still pregnant. It's been draining for me mentally & physically. At my 40-week apppointment yesterday, my doctor said I was 3 cm dilated - an extra centimeter from my last appointment (we went to Stillwater with friends on Memorial Day and did a ton of walking. Maybe that helped?), nearly 100 percent effaced/thinned (my cervix is ready), and Baby is head down and ready to launch.
The doc stripped my membranes, which was more uncomfortable than painful. Basically she used her fingers to 'sweep' my cervix and separate the cervix from the amniotic sac. This is supposed to help speed things up as far as labor, but I think it only works when Baby is ready to arrive. I know people who had their membranes stripped three times with no results, and others who had it done once and said they went into labor less than 24 hours later.
"I'd be surprised if you weren't in labor within the next 24 to 48 hours," Dr. S. told me. "And if, by some chance, you're not, come back in Friday and I'll strip your membranes again, but I really don't think I'll be seeing you Friday."
"What happens if it doesn't work on Friday?" I asked, hoping she would say something about inducing me.
"I don't think that will be an issue. Your body is ready and something will happen after stripping your membranes twice in one week," she told me.
I was in a state of euphoria all afternoon. The end was near!
I went back home and worked for a little bit, got Adam from daycare, went grocery shopping, and made dinner. Bring on this baby!!
Last night, Aaron skipped his softball game because I started having sporadic contractions. They weren't quite Braxton Hicks, they weren't quite like I had with Adam (an intense tightening of the uterus), they were more of a cramping/pelvic pinching pressure and they were coming about every 40 minutes. Could this be it?
We made arrangements for a friend to come over in the middle of the night should I go into active labor at, say, 3 a.m. We put my parents on "high alert." (In other words, answer your damn cell phone if we call!!) We put our hospital bags in the kitchen. I did the dishes and swept the floor (who wants to come home to a dirty house?) and read Adam some books before bed. It was the first time it hit me that this could be our last time together, just Adam and I, before he was no longer our only child. It made me feel sort of sad in a way. He knows Button is coming, he knows he's going to be a big brother, but he doesn't fully comprehend just how much life is going to change. I stared into his big green eyes as I was tucking him in and he giggled and said, "You're looking at me and I'm looking at you."
"I love you," I told him, feeling sentimental.
"I love you," he replied. "Will you read me another book? A little one? I want another book! READ ME ANOTHER BOOK, MOM! I WANT ANOTHER BOOK!! DON'T LEAVE MY ROOM! I WANT ANOTHER BOOK!" (So much for an emotional moment.)
I went downstairs to watch the news with Aaron, then went to bed around 10 p.m. Just like that, my contractions fizzled out. I had a few in the middle of the night but nothing consistent enough to be the 'real deal.'
And so Aaron got up and went to work as usual this morning, I brought Adam to daycare, I came home and worked - very similar to yesterday's routine only this time I wasn't feeling euphoric. I was feeling deflated. When will this little one arrive?!
It's been nice working from home this week, even though I miss the social interaction. I just didn't think I could handle the well-intentioned "STILL no baby?!?" comments in the office. Plus I'm not feeling 100 percent (why am I SO wiped out?), I didn't want to drive downtown and deal with parking, I didn't want to take the bus, and I didn't want to worry about going into labor while at work. Also? I didn't want strangers in the skyway staring at me like I'm some exotic zoo animal. (Haven't they ever seen a really, really pregnant woman before?)
So I made my appointment for Friday morning, all the while hoping that I won't need to keep it. I am grateful that Button will be full-term when I know so many babies are born prematurely — with moderate to severe health issues — but it's incredibly hard not to feel manic depressive when your due date comes (yeah! the magical day has arrived!) and goes (boo! the magical day has gone!)
In the (somewhat modified words) of Fugazi: "I am a patient girl, I wait, I wait, I wait, I wait ..."

This baby is in no rush whatsoever

2010-05-26T07:10:00.000-07:00

I had my 39-week doctor's appointment yesterday and my doctor told me there have been no changes as far as dilating/effacing and it doesn't appear that my body is preparing for labor in any way. She can tell I'm uncomfortable and mentally drained but doesn't want to induce me just yet. And to be honest, I don't really believe in early inductions so I'm OK with that. I mean, women have been delivering healthy babies since the dawn of time, long before the invention of Pitocin and forced contractions and medically-unnecessary c-sections. It's not as if my baby is in distress in any way - it's just ME that's in distress, and I'll survive. "Think of it this way," my mom said to me after I told her about my appointment. "As long as your baby is in your womb, you won't have to listen to it crying." So true! And this way I can look forward to reading the books I just purchased, rather than waiting to read them until I return to work in August. So ... I made my 40-week appointment for June 1, where my membranes will be stripped (that sounds awful, doesn't it? But really I think it sounds worse than it is) and if that doesn't get the show on the road, I will be induced either June 5 or 6. I don't like the idea of being induced, but I do like the idea of having an "end date" and a light at the end of the tunnel, so that's the plan for now. I just keep hoping Button will arrive before then ... maybe this weekend? Fingers crossed!

Waiting for Button to arrive

2010-05-25T11:09:00.000-07:00

I am SO CLOSE to my due date (according to my 10-week ultrasound I'm due May 28 - in three days, and according to my doctor's office and my estimated last cycle, I'm due June 2) and I feel like a (really round) kid anticipating Christmas. Is today the big day? Will we get to meet Baby Button today? When will we get to know if we have another son or a daughter? Who will Button look like? How big will he/she be?
And then there are the labor and delivery thoughts that follow me throughout the day.
Will my water break on the bus? (God I hope not. "I'm so sorry, sir, you might want to move. You're about to be sitting in my amniotic fluid.") Will it break while I'm walking through the skyway? Will people think I wet my pants? Will it be a little gush or Niagra Falls? I read somewhere that only 8 percent of all pregnant women experience their water breaking, so maybe I'll be in the other 92 percent again. (The nurse had to manually break my water with Adam.)
Will my contractions be the same as they were with Adam, or completely different? Will I know - without a doubt - that I'm in active labor? Will I be able to labor at home for awhile, or feel like I should head straight to the hospital? Will I have the resolve/strength to skip the epidural? (I had a HORRIBLE reaction to the epi when having Adam ... Aaron said it was like I had Parkinson's disease, I couldn't stop shaking, and I couldn't catch my breath - it felt like I had an elephant on my chest.) Will I tear? Will Button catch on to breastfeeding right away?
Yesterday I had a particularly trying day at work. I was tired (sleeping is a challenge now that I'm carrying a mini watermelon around on my belly), I was uncomfortable, I was ANNOYED with the number of stupid people who asked, "Still no baby?!" I hit a wall mentally. I know I only have DAYS left of this pregnancy, but sometimes it feels as if I will be pregnant forever. My boss allowed me to work from home today, and after a great night of rest last night, I feel much, much better. I guess I just needed some quality sleep (and a break from the freak-show stares I receive when I'm working downtown) for an attitude adjustment. I have a doctor's appointment in 30 minutes and hopefully my doc tells me I've dilated even more. I know she can't predict when Button will come, but it sure would be nice to hear these words "I'd be surprised if you're still pregnant in a day or two."
I am so ready to meet this baby.

Power of two

2010-04-16T13:54:00.000-07:00

It's been five years (!!) since Aaron and I said "I do." What a wild ride it's been (And I wouldn't change a single thing.) I never forget how lucky I am to have married such a wonderful man. He truly is my best friend ... and a really great dad, too.

What are your middle names?
Michelle and Mark

How long have you been together?
We started dating in the spring of 2000

How long did you know each other before you started dating?
Aaron started working at Lillie News in August of 1999, a year after I started.

Who asked whom out?
He asked me out.

How old are each of you?
I was born in 1975; he was born in 1973

Whose siblings do you see the most?
Probably mine (two brothers and a sister), although we see his two sisters and brother at least once a month.

Which situation is the hardest on you as a couple?
Finding a work/parenthood/life balance

Did you go to the same school?
I took the direct route of graduating from the University of Wisconsin-Eau Claire in 4 years, he took an indirect route to the University of Minnesota after going to UMD & joining the Army (Reserves) first.

Are you from the same hometown?
I grew up in North St. Paul, he grew up in Coon Rapids

Who is smarter?
I think we’re equally intelligent.

Who is the most sensitive?
That’s a toss-up.

Where do you eat out most as a couple?
We don’t really have one specific place.

Where is the furthest you two have traveled together as a couple?
Whistler, B.C.

Who has the craziest exes?
Probably me, but I don’t like the word crazy. I’d prefer INTERESTING.

Who has the worst temper?
We’re both pretty laidback.

Who does the cooking?
Definitely Aaron — and he’s really good at it, too!

Who is the neat-freak?
Me

Who is more stubborn?
Me

Who hogs the bed?
Aaron

Who wakes up earlier?
Me on weekdays; Aaron on weekends

Where was your first date?
Sophia’s on St. Anthony Main and then to Nye’s for polka!

Who is more jealous?
I would have said me in the beginning of our relationship, now I think we have a solid foundation of trust.

What was your worst fight?
Tacos vs. burritos. No, seriously, I can't remember a "worst fight." Any fight is a bad one. Who likes to fight with their s/o?

How long did it take to get serious?
A few months. I liked him from the very first conversation we had (after-hours) at the newspaper, and my crush grew when we became lunch buddies and workout buddies. (Shout out to the NSP Community Center!)

Who eats more?
He eats more when we sit down for dinner, but I snack more throughout the day.

Who does the laundry?
Both of us

Who is more social?
Me. I love meeting people and hearing stories. And staying at wedding receptions/reunions/parties until we're two of the last few standing. (Sorry, Aaron!)

Who is more spontaneous?
Me

Who is more athletic?
Definitely Aaron ... but I enjoy playing softball and kickball and I'm glad I got back into running last year. Oh, and I'm a force to reckon with when it comes to ladder golf.

Who is more well-read?
I am, I am!

Who's better with the computer?
Aaron. He's better with all things technology. I just don't care that much. (I still use a flip phone & I don't text message. Is that so wrong?)

Who's more romantic?
Aaron. Every year on our anniversary he has sent me a bouquet of white tulips — the flower we used as centerpieces on our wedding day. And it's not just about receiving gifts, he's incredibly thoughtful, too. Sometimes the little things mean more than the big ones, ya know?

What was your wedding song?
"Power of two" by the Indigo Girls

What do you remember most about your wedding day?
Celebrating our love with our very favorite people in the world (when else can you host a big party with so many of your loved ones?), the girls getting ready together, our vows (we wrote our own), our soloist Brooke, dedicating songs to our wedding party in the party bus, stopping at the Liffey for Irish Car Bombs, heartfelt speeches, dancing the night away, feeling blessed and lucky and so, so, so happy!

"Adding up a total of a love that's true. Multiply life by the power of two ..."

Dad, I need something!

2010-04-13T13:28:00.000-07:00

top photo: Adam in his big boy bed. (Finally!) On April 3, we went to an Easter egg hunt sponsored by the Lexington Fire Department (Aaron’s dad is heavily involved and we wanted to show our support). There was not one, but two Easter bunnies roaming around at the park, which made Adam extremely skittish. You can see here, from the look on his face, that he could’ve cared less about the candy and was more concerned that the Easter bunny might somehow sneak up on him and get too close.

A conversation with Adam in March:
Me: “Good night Adam. Sleep tight.”
Adam, eyes wide open: “Did you hear that noise?”
Me (getting a little freaked out): “What noise?”
Adam (in a terrified whisper): “I think the Easter bunny is downstairs!”
Me: “Adam, the Easter bunny isn’t coming for another month. That’s a long time.”
Adam: “He’s not coming now? He’s not coming tomorrow?”
Me: “No.”
Adam: “Ok. Good night.”

Another conversation April 1:
Me: “The Easter bunny is coming in a few days, Adam. You’ll get to find Easter eggs and your Easter basket! Maybe you’ll even get some candy!”
Adam: “He’s coming now?”
Me: “No, in a few days.”
Adam: “To our house?”
Me: “Yes.”
Adam: “I don’t want him to come to our house.”
Me: “Your dad and I will let him in and let him out.”
Adam: “I don’t want him here.”
Me: “Ok. What if we ask him to drop off your basket with the neighbor?”
Adam: Silence.
Me: “What if we tell him not to come this year?”
Adam: “Good.”

Easter came and went without a whole lot of hoopla this year (besides the fact that Adam was terrified of the Easter bunny). I’m embarrassed to admit that we didn’t even make it to church.
Aaron’s daycare provider had an egg hunt for the kids on April 1, where I discovered that he really doesn’t like jellybeans (what?!) but loves those icky marshmallow Peeps. Guess who ate all of his jellybeans?
On Saturday we went to the Lexington egg hunt in the morning, where he scored a bag of Cheez-its and one plastic egg that we redeemed for a book. He got knocked down about a second into the start of the egg hunt (sheer chaos) and immediately started crying, so it was really Aaron who grabbed the crackers and egg on Adam’s behalf.
We enjoyed a more relaxed egg hunt on Easter Sunday at my parents’ house. This time the eggs were filled with coins rather than candy. His godparents, Auntie Trish and Uncle Shawn, bought him a stuffed bunny and singing card, which he will probably still be listening to in January, and he went nuts over a plastic golf set purchased by my parents (not delivered by the Easter bunny) and had fun “kipping the ball” around their backyard. Aaron has since purchased a “real” club for him from Golf Galaxy because the kid has become obsessed with golf (and baseball … and Joe Mauer … and anything with a ball, really. If he isn’t interested in playing sports when he’s older, I will be shocked.) Aaron has been SUCH a good dad, too, playing in the backyard for hours with the little squirt. I can't wait until I can lift/bend/run again and get my ENERGY back!
At 4 p.m. we went over to Grandma Patti’s house where he was spoiled yet again—this time with candy, toys, and rain boots (Patti used the boots as a basket. Really cute idea.) We ate more good food, hung out with the fam, and visited until nearly 8:30. We celebrated my brother and sister-in-law’s 26th birthday, too (the twins actual bday is April 10). I really am blessed to have married into such a wonderful family.

The big news in our household is that Adam is now sleeping in a big boy bed!!!!!!! We bought him a twin bed and started the transition a few weeks ago and he’s exceeded our wildest expectations. The first few nights I sat next to his bed until he fell asleep, and now we just have to read him a few books and tell him “We’re all in the house together and if you need anything, just yell for one of us.” With that in mind, he typically falls asleep about 10-15 minutes after we leave his room.
Actually, the first night Aaron told him that, about five minutes later—as we were watching the end of Idol—we heard an urgent, “Dad! Dad! I need something!” coming from Adam’s room.
Aaron went up to investigate. “What do you need, buddy?”
“I need something.”
“What is the something you need?”
“Um, I need lunch?”
It was pretty cute. I think he was testing Aaron’s theory to make sure we’d respond asap if he called for one of us.

In sad news, a friend’s dad passed away right before St. Patrick’s Day, at the young age of 69. She was extremely close to him, being the baby in a large Catholic family, and I can’t stop thinking about how final death is. How he was here one minute and now he’s not. How she can’t share news with him and he won’t get to see her kids grow up and she can’t hug him or kiss him or tell him she loves him. How her mom is a widow now. ☹
And another friend of a close friend’s mom passed away—very suddenly—while vacationing in Vegas. She was only 62. One minute she was simply going on vacation; the next minute her kids were flying out to Nevada to say goodbye.
I didn’t like it when my friend’s grandparents started dying, and I hate it now that we’ve moved onto the next line of defense—our parents. My dad just turned 60; my mom just turned 59. In my eyes, they’re both still so YOUNG. They haven’t had a chance to enjoy retirement yet. Can you imagine working hard your whole life and then Death cheating you out of your hard-earned retirement years? I can accept that death is part of the natural cycle of life, but I can’t accept it when someone dies suddenly before the age of 80.

On the flip side, I also have a lot of friends who either just had babies or are having babies, and I love, love, love the “Baby Boom.” Some of my closest friends had babies or are having babies. Karla had Aliza in September, AJ had Violet in January, Amanda had a baby boy, Mason, on April 7, and Amy had a baby boy, Broder, on April 9. My childhood friend Gina is due at the beginning of May, Megan is due with #2 at the end of October (yeah!), her sister is due in July, and two of my coworkers are due in July or August (one coworker is in my department and we’ve become friends through our shared pregnancies, the other is leaving in two weeks and I’ll probably never talk to her again). I keep waiting for other friends—both those here in town and those living out-of-state—to make “the announcement.” Bring on the bambinos!

As far as my own pregnancy, I’m pretty sure people stare at me with a mixture of awe/terror as I waddle into week #34. I hate feeling self-conscious. I especially feel that way when people ask, “You have HOW MUCH time left in your pregnancy?” then try to recover the shock in their voice by saying, “I didn’t mean it like that. You look good! You can’t even tell you’re pregnant from behind!” Well, good, because the last time I checked, I wasn’t carrying the baby in my ass. It’s hard not to feel defensive when someone tells you that you look HUGE.

Speaking of where this baby is hanging out, I think Button recently dropped lower in my pelvic region. Yahoo! I’m feeling so much better than I’ve felt in a long time. I was carrying so high that I could feel Button’s kicks right below the underwire on my bra and I’m pretty sure he/she was squashing my lungs, making it hard to breathe. Now I can get up out of a seated position without huffing and puffing, I can walk without waddling (as noticeably), and I can fall sleep without feeling like I’m squishing my baby (I know babies are cushioned by amniotic fluid but it's still a weird sensation to feel your baby moving underneath you at night, ya know?) I can even lie on my back for a few minutes at night without getting a panicky suffocating feeling. I wonder if this shift in how I’m carrying means Button is head down now? My doc said she won’t check until 36 weeks, so I guess – even if Button is preparing to launch – it wouldn’t really matter just yet, because he/she could still spin around in that little space and wind up transverse. I hope, hope, hope the baby is head down eventually because I would love to be spared a cesarean section.

One coworker said she loved her two c-sections and wouldn’t want a vaginal delivery. Really? She said she’s had friends tell her, “After you deliver naturally, it looks like a bomb went off down there” and “sex just isn’t the same afterward” (I disagree — your body is very, um, elastic and meant to stretch.) Another friend had four c-sections and said it was as easy as “making a dentist appointment and coming home with a baby.” Really? It’s MAJOR SURGERY. It freaks me out to think of being prepped for surgery (with Aaron suited up in scrubs to make it even more scary/real) and it freaks me out to think of having to lie flat on my back on the examining table —all naked and spread eagled … unable to move … as surgeons cut me open and REMOVE MY ORGANS (uterus, ovaries, intestines) to pull out the baby and placenta. It freaks me out to think of the risks of blood clots and painful gas buildup in my abdomen after they stitch me back up and the possibility of the c-section scar getting infected. I don’t want to have to take morphine for the pain and I don’t want to deal with a longer recovery. If the surgery is necessary (Button is breech, distressed, the cord is prolapsed, his/her noggin is just too big to squeeze through my birth canal) then by all means, safely remove my baby via c-section, but if it’s simply a matter of convenience, I’d rather endure painful contractions and an hour and a half of exhausting pushing again.

And last, but not least, spring has finally sprung!!! It is amazing how just seeing the sun again can boost everyone’s spirits.

"April prepares her green traffic light and the world thinks Go."

What comes after 16?

2010-03-17T06:34:00.000-07:00

Last night, while Adam and I were coloring (Aaron was at the Wild game), he decided to take a break in order to count the markers. His counting went like this:
"One, two, shree, four, five, six, seven, eight, ten, eleven, twelve, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, sixteen again, sixteen again, sixteen again ..."
Guess we need to work on that a little bit.

All about Button

2010-03-15T11:13:00.001-07:00

(L to R: Amy, me, Karla & Megan.) This photo was taken at my dear friend Amy's baby shower on March 7, 2010. You can see my round belly pretty clearly in this pic. I feel HUGE! Amy is due April 14 and I am due June 2. These girls are like family to me. We—along with our friend Tonya who lives out in Idaho—have been friends since elementary school or junior high.

When I was pregnant with Adam, I wrote him a letter every month, referring to him affectionately as gender-neutral “Wee One” since we didn’t know if we were having a boy or girl. I wrote about how I was feeling and what I was doing and how scared and excited and anxious I was and my hopes and dreams for our firstborn.
I feel guilty because I haven’t done that this time around with “Button.” It’s not that I’m unexcited about this pregnancy, and it’s not that I don’t have the same hopes and dreams for Button, but I just haven’t had it in me to write. Everything about this pregnancy has been different than when I was pregnant with Adam in 2007, and when I say everything, I mean everything.
For one, I didn’t get a little plus sign when I peed on the stick until the end of October, and I couldn’t for the life of me remember the date of my last period. Prior to that I had taken two pregnancy tests (one in September; one in October)—both with negative results—so assumed I had missed my period and was feeling tired because I was training for the Twin Cities 10 Mile race and was running a lot more than usual. I took a third pregnancy test on a whim one night only because we happened to have an extra one in the cupboard and I had been talking about my “weird cycles” with close friends earlier that day. Adam was asleep and Aaron was at volleyball, so it was just me and the stick. I waited a few minutes and checked it, thinking I was going to toss it in the garbage can like I had the others, and HOLY CRAP! I may not be good at math but I know what a plus sign looks like. The worst part was waiting for Aaron to get home from volleyball so I could show him. He was just as surprised/happy/nervous as I was.
We knew the exact date we had conceived Adam. With this one, I had no idea. I had already made a doctor’s appointment for my annual exam, so I knew I could talk to my doc in a week or so. At the appointment, I told my doctor my predicament, and hoped she wouldn’t think I was a complete idiot for not being more in tune with my body. I mean, I have friends who can tell when they’re ovulating (really?!) and I couldn’t even tell that I was pregnant! She reassured me that I wasn’t an idiot. She did a routine pap, asked a few questions, then gently felt above my abdomen, right above my pubic bone. “Your uterus is much larger than what it would be if you were only a few weeks along,” she told me. “Let’s get you an ultrasound today.”
Unfortunately, the ultrasound lab was booked for the rest of the afternoon, but I was able to make an appointment just three days later. For three days I worried without having a legitimate reason to worry. What if I received the bad news that my pregnancy wasn’t viable? Isn’t the statistic like one in four pregnancies ends in miscarriage? Now that I knew I was pregnant I was actually pretty psyched about expanding our family.
I returned for my ultrasound and was overjoyed to hear the ultrasound tech announce, “There’s your little baby! And there’s a good, strong heartbeat!” I think any woman who has had a fetal ultrasound can tell you that it’s surreal when you see a living being on the monitor and that the living being is INSIDE YOU. She did a few measurements and then said in the same casual tone you’d use when talking about the weather, “It looks like you’re about ten weeks along.”
Say what?!?! DID YOU JUST SAY TEN WEEKS?!? Like, I’m-almost-done-with-the-entire-first-trimester ten weeks? I was in shock.
She printed out the ultrasound photos of our cute little inch-long baby and wished me luck. Ten weeks?!?! I stepped outside to call Aaron at work. Ten weeks?!?! He was just as surprised as I was.
The doc wanted to go over my ultrasound results that same day, so I waited around for another hour and went into her office with a huge smile on my face.
She wasn’t smiling.
She told me there were some things that looked “concerning” on the ultrasound and she wanted me to see a specialist right away. I came down off my high pretty damn fast. Concerning? I’ll blog more about that experience later … the gist of it was that the doctor was worried that our baby’s intestines were growing on the outside of his/her body and I needed to see a maternal fetal medicine specialist—and maybe even a genetics counselor— before we’d know anything more specific. I have never been so terrified in my life. I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t concentrate. I obsessively googled terms that I shouldn’t have been googling without knowing all the facts. (Sometimes too much information can be a bad thing.) I hope I never have to go back to the maternal fetal clinic—it’s where all the high-risk pregnancies wind up—because it is so nerve-wracking when you’re wondering/worrying about your developing baby. It makes you feel totally helpless.
The day we were there a visibly pregnant woman was sobbing loudly in the lobby. You don’t typically see sobbing pregnant women at your ob/gyn. (not in the lobby, anyhow) From what Aaron and I gathered, she had probably just discovered that she had miscarried. She was absolutely devastated. A doc came out to the lobby to give her directions to the hospital, where she was advised to “check in immediately” after she left the clinic. We overheard the doc saying something to the couple about a D&C. A close college friend also had to have a D&C after a miscarriage and I was curious what it stood for. Here’s an explanation, courtesy of www.americanpregnancy.org: “D&C, also known as dilation and curettage, is a surgical procedure often performed after a first trimester miscarriage. Dilation means to open up the cervix; curettage means to remove the contents of the uterus. Curettage may be performed by scraping the uterine wall with a curette instrument or by a suction curettage (also called vacuum aspiration), using a vacuum-type instrument.”
It sounds so cold and clinical (I guess most medical procedures are). What it doesn't explain is the psychological damage—and utter heartbreak—a mother experiences when she loses her baby.
The poor lady was hysterical and her husband was trying to speak in a soft, soothing voice to calm her down and she kept babbling about how she’s going to have to pull her preschooler from school and who was going to watch him and his teacher already didn’t like her and what was she going to say to everyone?
My heart broke for her.
I was a bundle of nerves going into that ultrasound. I was on the track team in college and I used to get nervous before races, but those nerves were nothing compared to these nerves. Those nerves were baby bunnies; these nerves were T-Rexes. I give those doctors and nurses a lot of credit, though. What a hard environment to work in—day in and day out—and they were GOOD. They were kind and friendly and efficient and reassuring.
I felt like I was holding my breath until we had the ultrasound and the tech said, “Everything looks just fine, the intestines are exactly where they’re supposed to be.”
Everything looks just fine. Those have got to be four of the most beautiful words in the English language. Thank you, God. THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU.
The specialist came in to go over the results with us and told me that all babies go through a period of development when their intestines sort of bubble outside the body before going back in through the umbilical cord, and because my doctor probably didn’t typically look at ultrasounds before 12 weeks, she wouldn’t recognize this as normal. She then asked me if we wanted to do a first trimester screening blood test and ultrasound, to identify the baby’s risk for specific chromosomal abnormalities such as Down’s Syndrome, Trisomy-21 and Trisomy-18, “because I was at the advanced maternal age of 35 and I was already at the clinic.” After what I had gone through—worrying and agonizing about what could be wrong, beating myself up about the situation—it took me all of .2 seconds to announce, “No, no more tests.” I wasn’t going to put myself through that again. If something was wrong, we’d (hopefully) hear about it at our 20-week ultrasound. And even if our baby had a chromosomal abnormality, we wouldn’t terminate the pregnancy, so why bother with the test?
The whole experience was a real wake up call that all of the stars have to be perfectly aligned in order to have a healthy baby. I will never take that for granted again.
Other differences with this pregnancy: I was MUCH more nauseous (but only threw up twice, both times in the evening), I started showing much sooner (normal the second time around, after everything has been stretched out), I had terrible backaches in the second trimester, and I get up constantly to shift positions or go to the bathroom, sucking the energy right out of me. I went to a Guster concert at the zoo when I was 38 weeks pregnant with Adam—at the end of July—and I hardly thought twice about it. I remember having to sit while everyone else was standing (annoying peppy little college kids) but I don’t remember thinking it was all that unusual that I was there. And it was an evening concert. And I ENJOYED it!
Now I get tired if I try to stay up past 9 p.m.
I also feel like my belly is more cumbersome than it was with Adam. I’m carrying my weight differently. There are days when I wish I could hand my belly to Aaron and say, “Here you go! YOU carry this around for awhile.”
The thing is, I know Aaron would do that for me if he could. He has been unbelievably supportive during this pregnancy, just like he was the first time, maybe even more so because now we have Adam to care for/entertain. He makes dinner when I’m tired, gives me back rubs just because, and humors me when I get “cravings” (yesterday = I had to have a root beer float). I feel sorry for pregnant women who don’t have a supportive spouse.
Most recently I failed the one-hour glucose test and had to go to the hospital for a three-hour fasting glucose test—which, in two words—sucked ass. I had to fast the night before, drink 10 oz. of a sickeningly sweet sugary drink on an empty stomach (at 7:30 a.m.), have my blood drawn four times (to be fair, the phlebotomist was friendly and super fast at finding the vein/drawing the blood and even with all those needle pokes, my arm was hardly sore or bruised afterward), and sit in the lobby of the medical lab—you can’t walk around or it will alter your test results—for FOUR HOURS. I will forever be grateful to Aaron for surprising me that morning and showing up at the lab to keep me company. I had originally told him to go to work since I would just be “sitting and waiting and getting poked a few times” and he needed to save his time off for when the baby came and he’d be bored and I’d just read a book while I was sitting there and I’d be fine and blah-blah-blah but he said he could tell I was nervous (mostly about the blood draws on an empty stomach, I was worried I was going to pass out) so he came to show his support. It was nice to have him there with me while I waited between blood draws.
The first blood sample was to test my “fasting blood glucose level” and each subsequent blood draw, taken on the hour for three hours after that, was to test my blood sugar levels—after having downed the glucose solution—over a period of time.
The worst part of the entire test was the 15-20 minutes after I drank the glucose solution. I had to drink twice as much solution as the one-hour, in under five minutes. I didn’t mind the solution when I only had to drink 5 oz. in the doctor’s office, I mean, it tastes like Fanta—and really, who doesn’t like orange pop? But to drink double that amount, on an empty stomach, in five minutes …well, it was tough. After I slammed it I started feeling shaky and nauseous and wondered how I was going to make it through the rest of the morning. I closed my eyes and rocked in my chair and was glad Aaron and I were alone in the waiting room so I didn’t have to feel self conscious and I was glad when he put his hand in mine as a sort of endearing “I’m here for you” gesture. I rocked and rocked in my chair and hoped the feeling would pass … and after a few minutes it did. If I threw up, I knew I’d have to come back another day and start from the beginning, but I can’t blame my body for being confused. I’m sure it was like, “What the hell are you doing to me? You haven’t had a bite to eat since dinner lat night, and now you’re flooding me with sugar—at 7:30 a.m.! You treat me like this and I’ll tell ya what’s gonna happen, lady. You’re gonna get sick!”
The office administrators were very kind. They made sure I had one of the two comfortable chairs in the waiting area (reserved for mamas-to-be), they brought me warm blankets, they gave me control of the remote, they regularly peeked out from their perch behind the front desk to ask if I needed anything. It was nice to feel mothered.
I tried to read my new book, The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo (key word = tried. I just couldn’t concentrate), Aaron read the paper, and we both kind of watched TV (nothing too thrilling on). Eventually another pregnant girl came in, accompanied by her mother-in-law, and sat down across from us so I spent the rest of the morning eavesdropping on their conversation.
After my last blood draw at 11 a.m., Aaron and I both received $5 meal tickets to eat lunch in the hospital cafeteria while waiting for the results. I don’t think a piece of pizza ever tasted so good in my life! (At least while I was sober.)
I had a cookie and Diet Coke, too, just in case I failed my test and had to alter my diet. I was more worried about having to change my eating habits (no carbs? No sugar?) than I was worried about checking my blood sugar up to four times a day by pricking my finger.
After lunch, we had some time to kill before my lab results were ready, so we decided to look for the maternity ward. We knew we wanted to deliver at that hospital (it was close to home) but had no clue where the birthing center was located. A nice official-looking woman must have thought we looked lost and stopped to ask if she could help us. We said we were looking for the maternity ward, so she chaperoned us to the proper part of the hospital and even arranged for us to have an impromptu tour. After our tour, I’m actually kind of excited to deliver there. I like that you get to stay in one room throughout labor, delivery, recovery and postpartum, I like that it’s a secured hospital, and I like the fact that there is very little turnover in terms of staff. The rooms were spacious and the bathrooms were awesome. (The one thing I wanted to do after I had Adam was take a bath.) Bonus that the family waiting room has a kitchenette, computer, and flat-screen TV, the décor was modern and warm and inviting, and the rooms were CLEAN.
After noon, we headed back up to the lab to see if I had gestational diabetes. I was called into a room where a woman showed me four different numbers on a sheet of paper that were all below what medical professionals consider abnormal readings. “I can’t tell you that you don’t have gestational diabetes because I’m not a doctor, but I can tell you that your numbers look good,” she said with a smile.
YES! Another small victory!
That test was a week ago. Next up = an appointment in two weeks when I will receive the Rho(D) immune globulin—aka RhoGAM shot—because my blood type is A negative. Apparently about 15 percent of white folks have a negative blood type (O, A, B or AB), which doesn’t usually mean anything to me but is apparently a big deal during pregnancy. I had to have this shot when I was pregnant with Adam, too. Basically, what this means is that your blood either has the “Rh factor” or it doesn’t. If you have the Rh factor, then you're Rh+ and you have nothing to worry about. But if you don’t have the Rh factor, then you’re Rh- and this, my friends, can be bad. Your Rh- blood could recognize the Rh factor as an intruder to your bloodstream and basically attack it. RhoGAM contains enough Rh antibodies to trick the mother's immune system into not attacking her fetus's Rh-positive red blood cells. If your baby is Rh+ and your blood mixes with your baby's and you didn’t get the shot to protect you, then your body could view your baby as a foreign invader and shortly after delivery your newborn could develop a potentially deadly condition called hemolytic disease of the newborn, or HDN. When we had Adam, Aaron and I had a doula (labor coach), Peggy, and Peggy told us that she vividly remembers the days when she worked in L&D, before RhoGAM was regularly administered—and witnessing the devastation of HDN.
Give me the shot!
So … I have 11 weeks to go before my EDD and I hope the rest of my pregnancy is uneventful! I can handle the back pain, I can handle the heartburn, I can handle the ugly stretch marks and itchy skin, I can handle the jabs and punches and kicks that literally take my breath away, I can handle the interrupted sleep cycles, I can handle the shortness of breath, I can handle the embarrassing ‘pregnancy brain’ moments (like putting my pants on backwards last week and not realizing it until 1:45), I can even handle the occasional weird pregnancy side effects like pelvic pain (I slept with a pillow between my legs one night and the consequence was waking up with debilitating pelvic pain … I’m pretty sure I resembled a 90-year-old woman hobbling around) and hip pain (I couldn’t sleep last night my hips were so tender, and what do you do if you’re not supposed to sleep on your back or your stomach and it hurts to lie on both your left and your right side? Sleep while standing on your head?), but I HATE the mental agony of waiting. Forty weeks is a long time to be pregnant! And even though it’s a long time to wait, I do not want my baby to arrive before it is “fully cooked.” Button still has quite a bit of developing to do in-utero!
And whether he/she arrives at 37 weeks or 41 weeks, I know one thing for certain: My heart is ready to meet this baby.

Shine on me

2010-02-12T07:06:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, when I was outside pumping gas in this lovely five degree weather we've been having (I love Minnesota!), a striking young woman a few pumps down called over to me, “Congratulations on your pregnancy! That baby’s gonna be a real blessing!”
I smiled at her, said thank you, then joked, “I can hardly button my winter coat!” (Why couldn’t I just leave it at thank you?)
“Some women get a pregnancy glow, but girl, you absolutely SHINE," she told me.
“Thank you,” I answered, blushing.
As soon as I hung up the pump and drove away, I called Aaron to relay the compliment. I felt as giddy as a schoolgirl. Guess what, honey? Your wife doesn’t glow; she shines!
When you’re pregnant and cycling through a limited maternity wardrobe and your belly is big and round and your boobs have their own zip code and your skin is itchy and stretching and you can’t go up a flight of stairs without feeling winded and you aren’t sleeping well and you aren’t feeling exactly, um, sexy … a compliment goes a long way. The kindness of that one stranger made my whole MONTH.

The Joys of Parenting

2010-02-04T13:47:00.000-08:00

I finally, finally, FINALLY have time to breathe after nearly a month of insanity over here at the magazine. If I could have a few cocktails after work, I definitely would! January consisted of a belated out-of-town Christmas party, a work party, our 20-week ultrasound (thankfully everything looked alright), a trip to a cabin in Webster, Wis. with Aaron’s brother Josh and girlfriend Anita, three days of wedding-related activities for my friends Julie & JT’s stunning Jan. 22 wedding (I was her personal attendant), another wedding the following weekend for my close friend Megan’s little sister Casey, and a 35th birthday celebration at the Wabasha Street Caves/McGovern’s Restaurant. Whew!

Not only has work been ridiculously busy, but I haven’t been sleeping well—getting up anywhere from six to eight times a night—and Adam has decided that now is the perfect time to test out that whole “terrible two’s” theory. He pushes and pushes and pushes his boundaries with us, and I honestly don’t think time-outs have any affect on him. Yesterday he had a full-blown, ear-deafening tantrum because I wouldn’t let him throw the balls out of the ball crawl at Once Upon A Child. I think I shocked him when—after he threw the fourth ball, and after two warnings not to do that—I yanked him from his bed of rubber balls and headed straight for the exit. “I wanna play!” he screamed. “I’m not done!”
Well, Kid, I’m done. Game over. I was already annoyed that I had received a negative progress report from Adam’s daycare provider, I was tired, I was hungry, I was feeling abnormally big and awkward, and I’m sure my raging pregnancy hormones did nothing to help the situation. Adam screamed like a crazed lunatic all the way home (I tried to tune him out with the radio), then—to top it off—he insisted on walking up our sidewalk to the house, where he slipped and fell on his hands and knees, setting off another round of banshee-like wailing. His behavior improved (slightly) until dinnertime, when we got into another Meal Time Battle and he proceeded to smear his canned squash, finger-painting style, all over the table and acted like his broccoli salad and pork chop bites were the Worst Foods on Earth.
“Try a bite,” I coaxed.
“NO!” he yelled. “NO-NO-NO-NO-NOOOOOOOO!”
Our pediatrician told us that we’d “never win a food battle with a toddler” but Aaron is determined to try.
“Fine, sit there then,” Aaron told him. “You can’t play Legos or Play-Doh until you eat.” Apparently Adam is a very stubborn child, because he could’ve sat there all night. He didn’t care about not playing with his toys; he definitely wasn’t going to eat what was on his plate.
After we released him from Dinner-Time Jail, I attempted to do the dishes and I think he was craving my attention because he walked over to his play kitchen and threw the plastic food and cups and pots and pans all over the floor, then stormed out of the room like some pop diva having a hissy fit.
“Come back here and pick this stuff up!” I yelled.
“NO!”
“Do it now or I’m throwing it all in the garbage!” I threatened.
“NO! I won’t!” he responded, coming back into the kitchen to see if I was serious. I took out a new garbage bag and started ‘throwing away’ his kitchen supplies, and when that didn’t seem to do the intended trick, I asked him again to pick up the mess.
“NO!” he yelled.
That was that. I put him in his 100th time-out of the day and after what felt like an eternity (a minute, maybe two) he tearfully apologized, gave me a hug, and picked up his toys.
I gave him a nice, long bath, got him ready for bed, and watched Modern Family (the only time of the day I had any real “me” time to relax) while Aaron fed Adam a hearty dinner of ham and cheese. (We knew if he went to bed on an empty stomach we would all pay the price at around 2 a.m.)
I guess no one ever said this parenting gig was gonna be easy, and hey! Guess what? It’s going to get a whole lot more interesting when baby #2 arrives this spring.

Santa and crocodiles and Barbie, oh my!

2009-12-23T10:14:00.001-08:00

I haven’t mentioned Adam in awhile, so here goes:

Adam did not, even just a little bit, like Santa Claus this year (the ONLY way he would have anything to do with Mr. Claus is if we sat near him on a bench. I was not prepared to be photographed and hadn’t showered yet that day. Not one of the best photos of me). Can you tell how scared Adam is? Do you like the random Jolly Rancher sitting on the piano bench? And does it look to anyone else like Santa is doing the Macarena?
So, we can add “Santa” to the list of things Adam is scared of (right behind “the vacuum, firetrucks, and blowdryers.”) After last weekend, we also discovered that he was absolutely TERRIFIED of the creatures and floats at the Holidazzle parade. It didn’t help matters that someone dressed like a crocodile pretended to eat Grandma Patti’s head. That night, he told me about a hundred times, “That crocodile won’t get me.” I tried to explain that the crocodile was PRETEND, he was funny, it was a person dressed up, like on Halloween, but he didn’t get it. He talked about that damn crocodile the next day, too.

He wants a Barbie for Christmas. And a choo-choo. And a REAL monkey. And maybe some green pancakes (huh?) Santa is bringing him a Danika Patrick race car driver Barbie (no dice on the monkey, though), a book, some slippers, and a booster seat. He’ll be getting plenty of toys and clothes from his grandparents, aunts, and uncles, so we went easy this year.
I was stressed when choosing a Barbie for him. I finally chose Danika because she was wearing the most clothes, and because Aaron was OK with giving our son a race car-driving doll. Have you seen how SKANKY Barbie is today? What message are we sending to our daughters? Dress less for success? I was very disturbed while standing in the Barbie aisle at Toys R Us. Barbie sure has changed since I was a little girl.

When I told him I had a baby in my belly, he told me he has a baby in his belly, too.

When he wants to turn on the light, he says he’s going to “open the light.”

He has a baby doll named Sobie. I have no idea where he came up with that name. He’s very affectionate with her, likes to wrap her in blankets and change her diaper and carry her around. I hope he acts this way toward his baby brother/sister.

His favorite food is French fries.

He gives great hugs and sloppy wet kisses.

He’s fascinated by people. Every time we receive a Christmas card, he wants to know who’s in it (or if it’s a regular card, who sent it). When I’m on the phone, he demands to know who I’m talking to. If I say, "I'm talking to Megan." He replies, "Oh, MEGAN."

He has a great memory. A few weeks ago, when I told him we were going down to Austin, Minn. to visit Great Grandma Margaret, he replied, “Austin is a naughty boy! Austin threw his shoe at Grandma Patti! No-no Austin!” (He was referring to an incident that took place at a park this past summer.) I had to explain that Austin is a city, too, not just a naughty boy.

He already has opinions about his clothes, and my clothes. He threw a fit one morning — no kidding, a full-blown screaming and crying hissy fit–because I selected my orange coat instead of my grey one. “I don’t like that coat! Put it back! WEAR THE OTHER ONE!!” he cried. Seriously. Do most 2-year-olds even notice what coat their mom is wearing?

All of a sudden he's really into making forts in the living room. When the blanket is draped over two chairs, he wants us to “come into his house.” Last night I asked why, and he replied all matter-of-fact, “Because it’s cold out here.”
When Aaron asked why (sometimes Aaron likes to push his buttons), he responded, “That’s enough. COME INTO MY HOUSE NOW.” (yes, sir!)

Every night, before bed, I tell Adam “I love you” and now he can reply “I love you, too.”
I don’t know if he realizes what love is, but the words are music to my ears.

And now a few words about the WEATHER:

A few weeks ago, my college buddy in Milwaukee said her 4-year-old son looked out the window and started crying because the weather forecasters had predicted a snowstorm and instead all they got was cold and rain. No snow? He felt cheated.
I feel cheated because we’re supposed to get a whopping snowstorm and it’s throwing a huge wrench in everyone’s holiday travel plans. My aunt is canceling Christmas at her house in Rice Lake, Wis., my parents are worried about driving from the northern suburbs to my brother and sister-in-law’s house in the western suburbs on Christmas Eve, and even Aaron said something about “playing it by ear.” This morning my mom called me at work and casually mentioned, “We might not make it tomorrow.”
What? Might not make it? Inexcusable! Not an option! It’s Christmas Eve! We can’t celebrate without Mom and Dad! That’s absurd!
On the flip side, I have friends who are totally unfazed by the storm warning. They’re like, “Snow. Meh. We live in Minnesota. We can deal.”
I don’t mind the snow; it’s the ice that gets to me. And weather forecasters are predicting sleet and freezing rain, in addition to strong wind gusts and up to 18 inches of snow in some parts of the state.
Apparently this will be a VERY white Christmas.

Winter irritations:
Snowstorms. Warming up my car before driving (and sitting in a freezer while waiting for my car to warm up, every muscle tense from the sub-zero temps). Chiseling off my windshield and windows. White-knuckled driving when the wind is whipping the snow across my line of vision, giving me limited visibility. Black ice — causing veteran drivers to slide through stop signs even though we’re traveling slower than that 90-year-old woman who just passed on our left. Adding time to my commute (esp hard because I’m always running late). Wearing my ugly winter boots on the bus and multiple layers (long underwear) when the temps start to dip. Snotsicles. Dry skin. Chapped lips. Missing the green grass and flowers.

‘Tis the season to be crabby. Sheesh! Sorry!!!

Despite getting a (sometimes) bad rap, winter can also be pretty amazing. Winter is peaceful, tranquil, restful. It is the calming snow-covered sounds of Mother Nature on a quiet morning, the smoky smell of wood-burning fireplaces, a mug of hot chocolate warming your hands, a vivid blue sky against a blanket of white, and warm, buttery bread dipped in hearty stew. Winter is the excitement of ski vacations, the novelty of partying on ice, the thrill of the holidays. I do love Christmas.

“What is Christmas? It is tenderness for the past, courage for the present, hope for the future. It is a fervent wish that every cup may overflow with blessings rich and eternal, and that every path may lead to peace.”

Happy holidays to my AWESOME family and friends!! I hope everyone travels safely, drinks a glass of wine for me, and remembers the reason for the season. Love you!

More fun and games

2009-11-24T13:47:00.000-08:00

I stole this Q&A from my friend Katie, and if I could figure out how to link to her blog, I would.
But because I’m lame, here’s the address: www.willikat.blogspot.com.

What is your current obsession?
Healthy baby!

What are you wearing today?
Grey pants, blue and grey striped shirt, black boots, black fleece (it’s cold in the office!)

What’s for dinner?
I’m thinking Arby’s.

What would you eat for your last meal?
Rotisserie chicken, mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, corn on the cob, tiramisu. (I’m such a simpleton.)

What’s the last thing you bought?
The last “fun” things I purchased were at a holiday fair. I bought a vanilla-scented soy candle, a Nub onesie for my friend Amy’s baby (made by my friend Kirsten), and some thank-you cards (created by my friend Christy). I am very proud of my creative friends!

What are you listening to right now?
Kelly, the web editor, talking to another coworker about online ads.

If you could have a house totally paid for, fully furnished anywhere in the world, where would you like it to be?
Minnesota

If you could go anywhere in the world for the next hour, where would you go?
Only for an hour? I don’t know … Alaska? Jamaica? Ireland? Australia? Brazil?

Which language do you want to learn?
I would love to learn sign language.

What is your favorite color?
Any and all earth tones

What’s your favorite piece of clothing?
I love my orange fall coat and my black winter coat … I love my gold heels … I love my grey cable-knit turtleneck from Aaron

What is your dream job?
Writer

What’s your favorite magazine?
Minnesota Monthly! (duh)

If you had $100 now, what would you spend it on?
Insulated winter boots so that my toes don’t go numb while waiting for the bus.

Describe your personal style?
Practical, comfortable, more classic than trendy. I love wide-legged pants, turtlenecks, long-sleeved Ts, hoodies. I wear minimal makeup—unless I’m going out— then it’s all about the liquid eyeliner and lipstick!

What are you going to do after this?
Take the bus to Maplewood, get my little guy from daycare, figure out dinner, maybe go to the mall to get my niece’s birthday gift.

What are your favorite films?
Amelie, E.T. (phone home!!), Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, Wizard of Oz, The Breakfast Club, Beaches, Dirty Dancing (oh, the memories!), Shawshank Redemption

What’s your favorite fruit?
Bananas, grapes, pineapple, Honeycrisp apples, raspberries, oranges

What inspires you?
People who overcome the odds.

Do you collect anything?
Shot glasses

Your favorite books?
Charlotte’s Web is my all-time favorite book. Others I really liked: Under the Banner of Heaven, City of Thieves, 1984, The Giver, The Handmaid’s Tale, Memoirs of a Geisha, The Lovely Bones, The Bell Jar, Water for Elephants, so many others I’m forgetting (Amanda, I need to borrow more of your books! You always have such great suggestions!)

What are you currently reading?
The Secret Life of Bees (thanks to my good buddy Karla)

By what criteria do you judge a person?
Teeth and shoes. (HA! Joking!) How do people judge other people? Are they GENUINE? Kind? Friendly? Polite? Funny? Thoughtful? Interesting? Respectful? Do they constantly tell me I’m smart? Pretty? Funny?

What skill would you like to acquire immediately?
Immediately? I don’t know … balancing the millions in my checkbook?

What would you tell yourself 10 years ago? 10 years from now?
Ten years ago, I was 24, working at the newspaper, and dating JJ. Wow. That seems a lifetime ago. I would tell myself to hang in there -- I will make more than $9.35/hour writing some day, babies aren’t as scary as they seem (really, they aren’t!), and I’d say, “Chrissy -- wear some less modest clothes and show off your nice stomach!!!!”

10 years from now: I will be in my mid-40s (!), my family will be complete, and I will feel just as blessed and lucky as I do today. I would probably tell myself to enjoy my kid(s) when they’re babies, because they’ll grow up way too fast.

Trick or treat!

2009-11-03T13:27:00.000-08:00

This year was Adam's first year trick-or-treating, and I think he did pretty good considering the fact that he's a little bit of a scaredy cat right now (jack-o-lanterns? scary. ghosts? scary. masks? REALLY scary) and it was COLD outside—so cold he wore layers under his already insulated costume—and, well, you just never know how a 2-year-old will react to any new experience. We took him trick-or-treating in my parents' neighborhood of Forest Lake, and he said "trick-or-treat" at all ten houses (in a very quiet voice), and I am proud to note that he also said "thank you" after each neighbor dumped a treat (or treats) into his pumpkin bag. He's very good with his "thank you's." (Not always so good with the "please's," but we're working on it. Sometimes he can be kind of bossy.) When he put on the dalmatian costume, generously lent to us by our daycare provider Mary, he pulled on his ears (what are these things?) and complained that he couldn't see his tail. It was pretty cute. When we were done hitting up the neighbors, he helped my mom pass out candy to the older kids. And on Sunday morning, he proved that he takes after his Dear Old Mom when he made a beeline for his candy bag and ripped into a piece of chocolate even before we had breakfast. But really, isn't that part of the magical charm of Halloween? At least when you're a kid?
I love Halloween. I love it for the theatrical aspect of dressing up more than the macabre aspect of celebrating the spooky. I love carving pumpkins (I don't even mind digging out the slimy guts), I love Halloween parties and seeing how creative people can be this time of year, I love seeing photos of my nieces & nephews & friends' kids dressed as: a pumpkin (Greta), bear (Aliza), frog (Sadie), bumblebee (Morgan), gangster (Kayla), "something scary" (Lane), what was Logan??, Luke and Anakin Skywalker (Leo & Lou), a vampiress (Eva), and a whole assortment of superheroes, witches, angels, kitties, monsters, lambs, bunnies, lions, and monkeys.
Aaron and I went to our good friend Remme & Jim's Halloween party in Canada (aka Ramsey, Minn.) and had a BLAST. We have hosted the party in our East Side garage for a number of years, and it was nice to pass the torch to someone else. Jim has a huge, gorgeous home - perfect for entertaining - and both Rem and Jim were such gracious hosts (Lurch and Morticia Adams). Our group is very creative - something I absolutely love about my friends. Megan was a Renaissance-era lady in waiting, Brian was a very believable Indiana Jones, Shawn and Trish were pirates, Amy and Andy were white trash, Jodi and Walter were zombies, Russ and Katie were Fire and Ice, Luke was a beer bottle, Jeremy was an early 90s rapper. Rounding out the group were SNL cheerleaders, a sexy cop, a convict, and a drunk guy with a wig. I had fun playing The Grinch. Everyone but Adam liked my costume. He watched me get ready over at Grandma Patti's and kept saying, "Mommy is green - like a bunny!" My sister-in-law Trish theorized that he compared me to a bunny in order to get to his "happy place." Or maybe he thought I looked like a rabbit with my black nose and whiskers? He also told me a few times that he did NOT want to "hold me." (Usually he begs to be held.) The green face paint worked well, but I realized about an hour into it (like I do every year that I paint my face) that it's ITCHY when it dries! And it's messy when it starts flaking off! Aaron was Richie Tenenbaum from the Royal Tenenbaums, although guesses ranged from a caveman to the unibomber when he asked our friends if they knew who he was supposed to be. Good times!!!

Ten looooong miles

2009-10-08T08:44:00.000-07:00

Ten looooong miles

Last Friday night (10/2) Aaron, Adam and I went to the free Health & Fitness Expo to pick up my race packet. There were over 70 vendors at the St. Paul RiverCentre and while we had no intention of buying anything, we wound up spending $52 (I have the same problem at Target, when I go in for shampoo and napkins and somehow spend $75). We bought me some really cool fitted ear bud thingies (I don’t run with headphones mainly because I have a hard time finding headphones that fit my ears), a long-sleeved running shirt for race day, and some Gu Chomps for fuel (I tried a Gu gel packet once, and it was like eating a spoonful of raspberry jelly on an empty stomach. I gagged when I swallowed. I tried a Chomp at the Expo and it was yummy – like a thick and chewy Gummi Bear). I didn’t know if I’d really need “fuel” since I was only running 10 miles, but I figured it would give me something to look forward to around mile five.

My race packet contained my ChampionChip (an ingenius little invention that looks like a poker chip. You attach the plastic chip to your shoelace and—once activated—it magically records your official time), my race number, and a sweats-check bag in case I wanted to wear layers to the starting line, then drop my sweats off at a truck before the race started. When I left the Expo, I felt very “official.”

On Saturday we woke up around 8 a.m. and headed over to our friends’ Leah and Paul’s beautiful home in the Prospect Park neighborhood of Minneapolis for the Badgers/Gophers football game. College friends Jenny and Dan drove from Milwaukee with their two kids, Sam, 4, and Madigan, who will be 2 in Feb., and our friends Kay and Joe drove from Green Bay with their three kids, Grace, 3.5, Andrew, 2, and Claire, who will be one in Feb. Softball friend Kevin was there, along with a bunch of Leah and Paul’s buddies. As you can imagine, the house was loud and chaotic. It was a good kind of chaos though (even though the Badgers won). In true “house party” style, Leah and Paul even got a keg. I figured I could have a few beers since beer is full of carbs, and carbs are good before a long run, right?

After the game, we headed back to the East Side where Aaron made Adam and I a delicious spaghetti dinner (more carbo-loading!), we watched some TV, and then I went to bed. I wasn’t feeling the best … I’m guessing most of my nausea was due to nerves. I had no trouble falling asleep, but I had a heck of a time staying asleep. I tossed and turned from 3 a.m. until I finally got out of bed at 5 a.m. I showered, put on my running gear, tried to eat a slice of peanut butter toast, got Adam up and ready, and started to freak out just a little when my parents arrived at 6 a.m. to ride to the Metrodome with us. Race day was here! There was no backing out now!

As the five of us drove downtown, there was a light mist falling and the temp was around 48 degrees. It was COLD. Suddenly I didn’t feel so confident in my long-sleeved shirt and shorts. I felt like a self-conscious kid on the first day of junior high and hoped I wasn’t dressed all wrong.

Aaron took the Fifth Street exit off 94 and HOLY COW was there traffic. And traffic. And more traffic. I have taken that exit a billion times to work, and yet it looked completely different this time around. It was 6:45 a.m. and the 10-mile was set to start at 7:05 a.m., with the marathon starting an hour later. There were runners and cars everywhere. It was pretty apparent that I would miss the start of the race if I sat in the car any longer (the light changed three times and our car barely moved), so I followed the lead of other runners getting dropped off and said some hasty goodbyes (it felt weird saying, “See you at mile six!”) before kissing Aaron, patting Adam’s knee, grabbing my parents hands, then flinging the door open and bolting across the street. I followed some other runners toward the Dome (I was glad to see some of them wearing shorts like I was), stood with some people at a gate for a minute, then realized I was in a line for the marathon. I saw a small sign stating “10 mile” with an arrow to the right, and took off jogging. I was cold. I was nervous. I didn’t know exactly where I was going. I followed more runners all the way around the Metrodome to the corner of Portland and Fourth Street and was relieved to hear a traffic cop bellowing “Ten mile over here! Corral one, over there! Corral two, line up over there! Corral three that way! Corral four over there!” I headed over to corral four with 10 minutes before start time. People were chatting nervously/excitedly (most people had a running buddy) or zoning out, listening to their headphones. We were packed together and the body heat felt nice. A little after 7 a.m., the “Star Spangled Banner” blared through the speakers and we all turned to face the American flag. At 7:05 the first corral started running, at 7:08 the second group got going, at 7:11 the third corral took off, and at 7:15 it was our turn. We crossed the starting line and rushed toward the Mississippi River like a stampede. The mood was lighthearted and happy, with people joking and laughing and talking. I wondered how long that would last. I passed some runners, some runners passed me, we were all trying to find our individual pace. The first mile flew by. It felt like we had only run a block, not a mile. I glanced down at my stopwatch to see if I was on pace and was disappointed to see that I wasn’t. I was at 10:30 rather than 10 minutes. I turned it up a notch in order to shave 30 seconds off my next mile. At the second mile marker (which didn’t come quite as quickly as the first) my watch read 20 minutes. I did it! Trying to make up that time may have been my downfall, though, because I was WINDED and between miles two and three, I was faced with a boomerang incline that left me wondering if I would have enough energy to finish. How could I possibly run another seven and a half miles when I wasn’t even sure I could get up this hill? I heard some choice swear words right about then; the same four-letter words exploding in my brain. Soon after the hill, I had to use the bathroom and was glad to see some port-a-potties around the bend. I made a last-minute decision to hit the biffies and was SO GLAD that I did, even if it added minutes to my time (there was a line). Not only did I feel better physically, the brief stop gave me time to collect my thoughts. I could run ten miles. I could-I could-I could.

The first time I really noticed cheering spectators was on the Franklin Bridge, before we hit East River Road in St. Paul. Seeing cheerleaders with their signs “We’re proud of you!” “Run Fast!” “You can do it!” got me excited to see my family between miles five and six, although I knew there wouldn’t be a sign involved. When I asked Aaron if he was going to make a sign, he responded, “How about we just yell really loud instead?”

At mile four, I hit a wall. I tried to remind myself that—if I was running a marathon—I’d be at mile 20. Thank God I wasn’t running a marathon! How do they do it??? I quickly realized that if I was going to get through this race, I was going to have to play little mind games. I decided to walk through every water stop until the last mile. I had never—not once—walked during my training runs with Aaron (and we ran nine miles just the week before), but I needed to set little attainable goals in order to keep going. I really missed having my running buddy beside me. Even though I was running with thousands of others, it was lonely on the course.

At mile five, I reached into my pocket for a Gu Chomp. I popped it in my mouth and BLECH! it immediately turned into a sticky mess. I had to scrape it off my teeth with my fingers and contemplated spitting it out. So much for my fuel.

I saw my mom (holding Adam), my dad, and Aaron right after that point, at the intersection of Cleveland and Summit. I stopped to give them all a big hug. What a beautiful sight! Adam’s eyes lit up when he saw me, and I felt the exact same way. They were clapping and cheering and having a great time. I told them I’d see them at the finish.

I ran into my friend Jeremy a little down the road, and he ran alongside me, encouraging me and asking how I was doing. I was honest. It was tough.

I struggled up the Summit Avenue hill (what was up with all the freakin’ hills?!?) and at the crest I could’ve kissed a spectator on the mouth when she shouted from the sidelines, “Way to go, runners! You made it up those awful hills! It’s all downhill from here!”

At mile seven I saw my friend Kirsten, standing alone on a corner, and stopped to give her a big hug. She laughed and told me to “Keep running!”

I had a 5K left, which should’ve been enough to give me the mental endurance I needed to finish strong, but a 5K is still 3.1 miles. Not three blocks … three miles. I was grateful for the water stops and, let’s be honest, used them as an excuse to walk a few steps, regardless of whether or not I was thirsty.

I was thrilled to see mile marker 8, and even more ecstatic to see mile marker 9. I didn’t stop after mile 9. I was almost done!! I saw the Cathedral and then, around the corner, there was the Capitol in the distance. I gave it everything I had and sprinted down the hill to the finish.

My friend Lisa gave me a big hug after I crossed the finish line (she volunteers every year for the marathon) and it was great to see a familiar face and even better to know I was done!! I ran ten miles!!! I collected a banana and granola bar, a bottle of water, and my finisher T-shirt and shortly after that I saw my parents, Adam and Aaron. They said they were proud of me and asked how I felt. I told them that—next to childbirth—running ten miles was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. And even though it was a grueling mental battle, and even though my time wasn’t what I had hoped it would be (I was shooting for 1:40 and I finished at 1:47. I know I’m being too hard on myself, but I can’t help it. I keep replaying certain parts of the course over in my head and wishing I had done things differently), and even though the cold air threw my system for a loop and my lungs are just now getting back to normal—four days later—I would totally do it again.

Slow and steady

2009-09-25T08:42:00.000-07:00

That's me in the blue shorts, running a 10K race (6.2 miles) in June (I think Aaron shot this around mile five??) I was hot and sweaty and sore and ready to be DONE. I thought that race was so incredibly hard. Clearly I am crazy, because I will be running TEN MILES in a week.

I’m running the Twin Cities 10-mile race on Oct. 4, and just thinking about it fills me with a mix of anxiety and excitement. I get a nervous knot in my stomach when I picture myself getting to the Metrodome around 6 a.m.—when it’s still dark outside—and trying to navigate my way to the starting corral. (The race starts at 7:05 and I don’t want to be scrambling to get to the starting line, esp. with 6,000 other competitors.) I know I’m going to be too nervous to eat an entire banana or muffin that morning, even though I will need the fuel. I get the same way before I board an airplane. I try to eat when I’m anxious, but it’s a challenge when the food turns to cardboard in my mouth and I get a lump in my throat as I swallow. I hope I don’t have to go to the bathroom a billion times before the race starts.
I can picture the other runners around me, stretching or hopping or listening to their iPods or chatting with friends or running to the bathroom or quietly observing. Maybe I’ll befriend another loner, someone else who seems as nervous as I am, someone who can joke with me about getting to the finish line in one piece.
I wonder what the weather will be like that morning as we line up on Portland and Fifth (pleasepleaseplease no rain!) I wonder what I’ll be thinking when the starting horn goes off. (Maybe something along the lines of “HOLY SHIT! I’M GOING TO RUN FROM THE DOME TO THE CAPITOL—MINNEAPOLIS TO ST. PAUL!!! WITHOUT WALKING!?!”)
Will it be a massive stampede of runners as we head toward the Mississippi River? At what point will the crowd start to spread out? And what about that hill on Summit Avenue? That loooong hill between miles five and six? Will I even notice the beautiful homes on Summit (probably not)? Will I keep a consistent pace or peter out?
I’ve been training with my running coach, Aaron, who pushes Adam in the jogging stroller, so it will be weird not to have them alongside me, pacing me. It will be weird not to hear Adam singing “Farmer in the Dell” or “Itsy Bitsy Spider” as I struggle through another mile. Aaron won’t be next to me in a physical sense, but I’m sure I’ll hear his words of advice as I run: “Short, choppy steps uphill … long strides on the downhill … if you can run five, you can run six … if you can run six, you can run seven … you can do this. I know you can.”
I never would have thought, at the start of this summer, that I’d be running 10 miles in October. The most I had ever run was a 10K (6.2 miles), which was enough of a challenge. I huffed and puffed my way through a 10K in June and just about died. Obviously I didn’t learn my lesson, though, because in a little over a week, I will be huffing and puffing my way through 10 miles. Am I a glutton for punishment or what?

I decided to sign up for this race because:
A) The opportunity sort of fell in my lap. Our magazine is a media sponsor, so we were able to sign up a media team after the original deadline (other runners were selected based on a lottery).
B) Being part of a team would hold me accountable and prevent me from backing out.
C) I like having a goal to work toward.
D) I would love to have another baby in the next year and I’m guessing I won’t be running much during pregnancy/when that baby is little. Now or never.
E) I used to be friends with running, and I missed that relationship.

I was a varsity sprinter all four years of high school and a sprinter and triple-jumper at UW-Eau Claire, and I will always have a soft spot for track and field (I even thought about coaching at one point). Some of my best high school and college memories revolve around track … the friends, the workouts, the coaches, the parties. I loved sprinting. Short distances, though, are one thing; distance running is a whole different beast. I was on the cross-country running team in junior high, and I was pretty good (my best mile time was 7:15) but I didn’t love it. I quit CC in tenth grade and never looked back. I still had gymnastics and track so I didn’t miss it (although I did miss the fact that it kept me in shape. I gained 15 lbs. between my freshman and sophomore years).
Distance running is such a mental game. Such a small part of running is the competition. It's really an individual sport (unless you're an elite runner or something). First of all, you have to mentally commit to the run so you don’t think of last-minute excuses to back out. (Thursdays and Sundays were the days Aaron and I designated as training days, with some Saturdays thrown in, too, and we were good about keeping that schedule. When I woke up Thursday morning, I knew I would be running four miles after work. When I had a longer training run on Sunday, I mentally prepared for that run all week.)
Then, once you start running, it’s a mental game to keep running—it’s a race against yourself, a race against the clock—esp. when you’re tired and dripping with sweat. But when you finish, it’s such an awesome feeling of accomplishment.
Aaron finished Grandma’s Marathon in 2005 with an impressive time of 3:27, never stopping once for a drink of water or to catch his breath, just running, running, running for three and a half hours, and he—the Natural Runner—has even said that the best part of running is when you’re done.
But before you can be done, you have to conquer all those miles and all those thoughts. I don’t run with an iPod (they’re discouraged in the majority of longer races because of safety reasons), and sometimes it’s annoying peeling the layers of my mind. If you were able to get inside my head those first few runs, it wouldn’t have been pretty. I read somewhere that if you start a run with a negative attitude (which I used to), you will find yourself in the Bite Me Zone, thinking negative thoughts like: “This sucks. Am I almost done? This sucks. I want to walk. Why are those women hogging the ENTIRE walking path? Can’t one of them move out of the way? OMG. Could that dude behind me please PICK UP HIS DAMN FEET while he's running? That shuffling is driving me nuts! Why is that man smiling at me? Am I here for his fucking AMUSEMENT?”
So now I try to think differently as I lace up my new Asics and head out the door toward the lake. And you know what? It helps. I rarely enter the Bite Me Zone now because I remind myself that it was my choice to go for a run, and it was a good choice.
“I will do the best I can. The first mile is always the hardest; it gets a little easier after that. I really am fortunate to be able to run when there are so many people who can’t. I am taking charge and doing something good for myself. I could be sitting on the couch, but instead I'm burning calories. Keep going, keep going, keep going. Slow and steady wins the race. (Well, maybe not WINS the race, but at least finishes the race.) Remember that guy you met who ran a 10K just weeks after a hip replacement? Think about him and how he fought through the pain. Remember that story about the cancer patient running a marathon? Think about how tired she must've been. I will feel SO GOOD when I cross the finish line. I had a baby, how much harder could another mile be? I can do this.”

Wish me luck. I think I’m ready, but I’m still nervous and could use some encouraging words!

Gettin' DOWN with Shakira

2009-09-17T14:50:00.000-07:00

Last night, Shakira performed on “America’s Got Talent” and while I don’t normally watch the show, I couldn’t tear myself away from that performance. Shakira looked amazing, the song was catchy (She Wolf, just in time for Halloween!), and OMG the girl can shake it on the dance floor. As soon as Adam heard music, he ran over to the TV from where he had been playing with his “choo choo,” planted himself in front of the screen, announced “She’s DANCING!,” then promptly began IMITATING Shakira. Oh how I wish someone else had been there with me to witness it! (Aaron was playing softball.) She bent forward, he bent forward; she bent back, he attempted to bend back (2-year-olds don’t typically do a whole lot of back-bending, ya know? I think he was surprised to realize that he could bend back without tipping over); she put her hips in motion, he shook his; she dropped down to the floor and put her leg over her head, he watched like “Huh?”; she did some crazy belly dance contortion move; he finally gave up and walked away. Adam has no idea how sexual Shakira’s moves are, so I was trying really, really hard not to bust out laughing when he was imitating her. I’m fairly confident that he could’ve won some prize if I had videotaped his “performance” for Funniest Home Videos.

Adam is a funny little dude, and from what I’ve been told, he’s very verbal for having just turned two. Sometimes Aaron and I look at each other like, “Where did that come from?” when he puts two or three sentences together.

When he’s crabby, he can be very contrary. His favorite word right now is either. “I don’t want to drink my milk, either.” “I don’t want to wear my jacket, either.” “I don’t want to sit in that shopping cart, either.”

His favorite nursery rhymes are The Muffin Man, A Tisket, A Tasket, and Farmer in the Dell. I love it when he sings. I especially love it when he sings this stanza:

The wife takes the chai
The wife takes the chai
Hi-ho the dairy-o, the wife takes the chai (tea?)

Or when he belts out A Tisket, A Tasket and sings “I wrote a letter to my love, and on the way I dropped it.” (You wrote a letter to your love? Wow. And here I didn’t even think you were potty-trained yet!)

And another favorite is Old Macdonald, who has either a cow or a moose on his farm and that’s it. If I try to suggest another animal “How about a chicken? A horse? A pig?” he adamantly responds, “NO! A cow! NO! It’s a moose!”
I don’t know about you, but I don’t know ANY farmers who raise moose.

He likes to be given tasks, and if I forget to give him the honor of throwing something away, he whines. Sometimes I have to “create” garbage (pronounced as "guy-bidge" by Adam) so he can take a trip to the trash can. He also wants to sweep whenever I get out the broom, which is both sweet and somewhat annoying all at once. Oh, and the DISHES. He must help me whenever I do the dishes, standing on a chair next to me, getting about a gallon of water on the floor, announcing “MOVE!” or “’scuse me!” as he tries to wash his sippy cup (again) or his fork or bowl or whatever he’s “helping” me wash. I now realize that doing the dishes will be a loooong process, and plan accordingly.

If there’s dirt, he will find it. And get covered in it. And eat it. And get it stuck in places dirt wasn’t meant to be.

He still loves playing with balls and can now (sometimes) hit a T-ball off the T. His other favorites include his tool bench, tackle box, just about any type of animal, books about animals, puzzles, bubbles, his bubble lawnmower, his doctor’s kit, trains, trucks, and motorcycles (he has a scooter that he proudly calls his motorcycle, and whenever he hears a motorcycle, he stops what he’s doing, gasps, says “Motorcycle?” and wildly searches for it). He also loves marching bands, watching nursery rhymes on Cable’s On Demand Channel 1 (Baby Boost), “driving” those little Fred Flintstone foot-pedal cars (he’s too little to reach the pedals on Big Wheels, but he can zoom around all he wants when he’s relying on his feet to push him from A to B), riding the carousel, the park (pronounced "pike"), going for long, slow walks, going for runs in the jogging stroller, eating cheese crackers or hummus with pita chips or meatballs or pizza or ice cream or string cheese (he’s finally over his milk protein allergy! Hooray!), and those darn Nuks! We’re going to have to wean him from pacifiers soon, and it’s not going to be pretty.

After constantly talking about going potty, and announcing when he was going to poop, and asking us if we had to go poop, we bought Adam a potty chair, just to get him used to the idea. I quickly realized that he’s nowhere near ready. When I was in the shower, I came out to find his potty chair covered in about half a roll of toilet paper and a small bottle of lotion, my face powder, a little yellow candle from his bedroom, a Mickey Mouse figurine, a rubber duck, and a pair of Adam’s shorts.

He is still absolutely terrified of the vacuum.I mean TERRIFIED. He has been known to hide behind the couch when I pull it out. I wonder when he'll get over this fear?

He is now 25 months old and weighs 24 lbs., which puts him in the tenth percentile. Adam’s cousin Max is the same age and weighs 37 lbs., which puts him in the 90th percentile. I think of them as Small and Tall. His cousin Morgan, who is also the same age, is taller than him, too. If it’s true that you double your child’s height at age two to discover their adult height, Adam will be about 5-feet 6-inches tall. I don’t know how accurate those “predictions” are, though.

When I pick him up from daycare, and he races toward me, his little floppy sun hat bouncing on his head, his arms outstretched for a hug, it really is the highlight of my entire day.

Me-Me Time

2009-08-07T09:47:00.000-07:00

Adam liked wearing Aaron's shoes around the house, even though he could barely walk in them.

Me-me Time!

Inspired by Willikat, here’s a post to fill some space. I’ll write a full update later ... complete with details from our trip to Alex, Adam's bday, and camping.

1. The phone rings. Who do you want it to be? Tonya telling me she’s moving back to Minnesota.

2. When shopping at the grocery store, do you return your cart? Always

3. In a social setting, are you more of a talker or a listener? I try to do a little of both.

4. Do you take compliments well? No. I have a compliment-accepting issue. I’m working on it.

5. Do you play Sudoku? No desire

6. If abandoned alone in the wilderness, would you survive? Very doubtful. I’d probably eat poisonous berries or mushrooms or get mauled by a black bear. If I could bring my dad or Shawn with me, I’d have a better chance.

7. Did you ever go to camp as a kid? Nope, but my grandparents owned a resort, and that was better than any camp!

8. What was your favorite game as a kid? Neighborhood games like Capture the Flag, Kick the Can, etc.

9. Would you slow dance with someone that you knew was married? If they knew my intentions were innocent (just a dance), then absolutely. It’s kind of fun slow dancing with married friends.

10. Could you date someone with different religious beliefs than you? It would be tough.

11. Do you like to pursue or be pursued? Be pursued

12. Use three words to describe yourself. Inquisitive, outgoing, procrastinator

13. Do any songs make you cry? I usually get emotional when I hear the “Star Spangled Banner.” I also love “Silent Night.”

14. Are you continuing your education? No, I have my BA in journalism and I’m good with that. (Plus my student loans are finally paid off!)

15. Do you know how to shoot a gun? Yes

16. If your house was on fire, what would be the first thing you grabbed? If my loved ones were already safely out of the house, I’d probably grab my purse … or photos

17. How often do you read books? A lot. It’s how I pass the time on my bus ride to and from work.

18. Do you think more about the past, present or future? I used to live too much in the past, now I’m all about the future.

19. What is your favorite children's book? Charlotte’s Web

20. What color are your eyes? Brown

21. How tall are you? 5'6’’

22. Where is your dream house located? Oregon coast

23. Have you ever taken pictures in a photo booth? Many, many, many times

24. When was the last time you were at Olive Garden? What a weird question. I can’t remember.

25. What is the furthest place you traveled today? From St. Paul to Maplewood to Minneapolis

26. Do you like mustard? Not a big fan

27. Do you prefer to sleep or eat? Sleep

28. Do you look like your mom or dad? I have some features from both (Dad’s chin, Mom’s face shape & nose, etc.) My personality is more like my dad’s.

29. How long does it take you in the shower? 15-20 minutes

30. Can you do the splits? I did them all the time when I was a gymnast, but haven’t tried to do the splits in a long, long time. (I’m sure I’d pull a muscle.)

31. What movie do you want to see right now? My Sister’s Keeper

32. Do you think The Grudge was scary? Never saw it. I don’t watch scary movies (my brother Nick keeps telling me I should watch The Haunting in Connecticut, based on a true story. NO WAY!)

33. Do you own a camera phone? No

34. Was your mom a cheerleader? Um, no

35. What's the last letter of your middle name? E (Michelle)

36. How many hours of sleep do you get a night? Seven or so

37. Do you like Care Bears? I like gummi bears. Does that count?

38. What do you buy at the movies? Licorice

39. Do you know how to play poker? I’m ashamed to admit that I don’t know how, but I do want to learn!

40. Do you wear your seatbelt? Always

41. What do you wear to sleep? Tank top and PJ pants

42. Anything big ever happen in your hometown? Bret Hedican, hockey great (married to Kristi Yamaguchi), went to my high school, and a few years ago Mayor Sandberg declared Aug. 12 as “Bret Hedican Day” in North St. Paul … it’s also home to the world’s largest stucco snowman (44-feet-tall).

43. How many meals do you eat a day? Three

44. Is your tongue pierced? No

45. Do you like funny or serious people better? Funny

46. Ever been to L.A.? Close, just down the road in San Diego

47. Did you eat a cookie today? Not yet

48. Do you use cuss words in other languages? Caca!!!

49. Do you steal or pay for your music downloads? Pay

50. Do you hate chocolate? I’m not psycho, so no.

51. What do you and your parents fight about the most? We don’t fight.

52. Are you a gullible person? Me?

53. Do you need a boyfriend/girlfriend to be happy? No, just my husband

54. If you could have any job (assuming you have the skills) what would it be? I’d be singing and dancing on Broadway.

55. Are you easy to get along with? I think so

56. What is your favorite time of day? 4:45, when I get to see Adam’s face after a long day of work, and then again at 6 when Aaron gets home.

I don't like that mouse!

2009-07-10T07:00:00.000-07:00

Is Greta's driving REALLY that bad, Adam?
Adam's favorite game at Chuck E. Cheese was skeetball. Go figure.
Even big kids like playing games every now & then.

The girls gather for a group photo: Rem, AJ, Greta, Karla, Nora, me, Lisa, & Leah.

We went to Chuck E. Cheese last month to see our friend AJ, in town from New York (traveling solo with three kids under the age of five. I get tired just thinking about it!) and it was fun to catch up. She moved there two months ago for her husband's job and seems to like it so far (although she readily admits that she misses her friends). I was anxious to see how Adam would like Chuck E. Cheese. I mean, doesn’t every kid under the age of 75 enjoy like it there? The games (and tickets that get you nothing but cheap crap), the singing and dancing characters, the flashing lights, the excitement in the air?

A big group of us met there, and I’m sure it looked like a birthday party, with nine kids under the age of five and nine adults. After we sat down to a meal of some (really awful) pizza, the curtain parted on stage and HEY! There’s Chuck E. Cheese!

Adam looked nervous.

No, I take that back, he looked terrified.

When the giant robotic mouse started singing and doing those shaky back-and-forth dance movements, I thought Adam was going to jump out of his skin. He turned his head away from THAT HORRIBLE SIGHT, wrapped his arms tightly around my neck and told me in an urgent voice, “I don’t like that mouse. PUT HIM BACK NOW.”

I tried to explain that he’s a fun, silly mouse, he won’t hurt us, he’s PRETEND. Adam refused to look at the stage for the remainder of dinner. After we ate, we were able to distract him with games, but he made it VERY clear that he wanted nothing to do with “that mouse.” We tried to put him on a ride with Greta, and once he noticed good ol’ Chuck hanging out in the backseat, he lost it. (Refer to photo #1.)

Lately, though, he’s become obsessed with looking at pictures of Chuck E. Cheese online, so that is now our new nightly ritual. When he sees the photos, he announces, “That mouse is silly!” It’s like he’s reassuring himself that Mr. Cheese won’t rip his face off. I have to skip the photo of the giant mouse doing a line of coke, though. That one isn’t very family-friendly.

Jodi, Holly, me, Aaron, & Adam after finishing the 10K Bellin Run in Green Bay.
Lilly, Quinn & Adam at the Bellin Run after-party over at Holly and Kevin's. Adam was in his element.

Adam's first time kayaking (we were in Crivitz, Wis.). The deepest part of the river was waist-high, and there was hardly a current, so we felt safe taking him out on the river. He liked it, too!

We drove to Green Bay in early June and successfully finished the Bellin Run 10K race. (Six miles!) The race took place on a beautiful June morning and 16,000 participants signed up to run or walk it. I guess the Bellin is one of the largest 10K races in the world. In order to accommodate so many runners/walkers, we were grouped into one of seven waves. The first wave was competitive runners, and then you were classified by your estimated mile time, with five minutes between each wave. The sixth wave was for those walking the course, and the seventh wave—the one where we landed—was for strollers. We had to wait nearly an hour to even start the race, and then we had to weave around a never-ending sea of walkers for FOUR MILES before we were finally next to other runners. It was very draining. (Why didn’t they put those with jogging strollers ahead of the walkers? Does that make any sense at all?) But we still managed to finish in a little over an hour, and I only walked once for about 15 paces in order to drink some water without it splashing down the front of my shirt. Have you ever tried to drink water from a Dixie cup while trodding along? It takes talent that I clearly don’t have.

The after-party at Holly & Kevin’s house was a blast (mmm margaritas! ladder golf! a bouncy house for the little ones!), we had the opportunity to visit with college buddies Julie & fam, Kay & fam, and Sara & Jon (and check out the lovely little Green Bay Zoo), and we even drove up to Crivitz, Wis. one night to stay at Holly & Kev’s cabin. They took us kayaking down a river (Adam’s first time kayaking!), we drank beer by a bonfire, then we became voyeurs as some people across the lake shot a movie. (Horror? Porn? We had the binoculars out and we still couldn’t tell.) All in all, it was a really fun, adventure-packed weekend.

Adam's list of "I don't like its" = caterpillars, Chuck E. Cheese, the vacuum, bouncy houses, and firetrucks. Surprisingly, though, he wasn't scared of the loud "crackerworks."

On the way to my parents’ home in Forest Lake over the Fourth of July, Adam said (quietly) from the backseat “Stuck.” I figured his sippy cup was stuck in the holder or his shoe was coming off or something. Not quite. Aaron had folded a portion of the backseat down in order to get his muskie pole to fit in the Vue and didn’t think twice about the pole resting near Adam’s carseat. Adam, being a curious toddler, got his finger wedged in one of the fishing pole hoops. “STUCK!” he yelled this time, trying to get his little finger free. I turned around in my seat and tried to pull his finger out, and that’s when he started crying. Hard. Actually, it was more of a hysterical scream. His finger wouldn’t budge. I climbed into the backseat and picked up the pole (finger attached) and noticed that his finger was turning purple. I tried gently pulling (more screaming), I tried lubing his finger with lotion to see if it would slip free (it didn’t), I tried tilting the pole upward to get the blood flowing into his finger again, rationalizing that it was probably swollen because the circulation was restricted, so if I could just redirect the blood flow the finger wouldn’t be as puffy. During this ordeal, Adam was crying at the top of his lungs, I was trying to console him and feeling totally helpless in my efforts to make him feel better, and in the way back of my mind I was hoping we wouldn’t have to go to the ER with our son attached to a fishing pole. Just when I thought I couldn’t stand another agonizing scream, his finger popped free. I rubbed it until it returned to a normal color and kissed his tears away and hoped that he wouldn’t be scared of fishing poles because of that incident.

After a rocky start, though, the rest of the weekend was a lot of fun. Aaron and I are fortunate to have a place to go that’s like going to a really nice cabin, only without the drive. We went out on the boat, drank Bud Lite Lime (this beer tastes best on hot summer days), went to a parade, grilled chicken, burgers, and hotdogs, ate corn on the cob, pasta salad, and Special K bars, played bocce ball, went for a long walk, watched the fireworks, and had lunch at The Lakehouse. Sunday came way too fast.

Back to the parade: We were invited to join Aaron’s dad Rick, a fire marshal for the city of Lexington, in his firetruck during the Forest Lake Fourth of July parade. We weren’t sure if Adam would like it, so we told Rick to pick us up about halfway through the parade (just in case). I felt like a little kid at the circus. I’ve never been inside a firetruck OR been part of a parade! Adam, on the other hand, hated every second of it. He sat in the front seat with Aaron and clung to him like a kitten who had just been chased by a Doberman (if he had claws, they would’ve been imbedded in Aaron’s back). He cringed when Rick honked the horn and only relaxed when the ride was over. Much like the Chuck E. Cheese experience, he told Aaron in a quiet voice, “I don’t like this truck.” When the ride was over and we set him down on solid ground, the poor little guy was shaking like a leaf. His cousin Morgan, however, loved every minute of it and waved out the window during the entire parade. (I think she’s either practicing to be a pageant queen or a politician.)

In other news: Ever since we taught Adam the whole clinking-of-the-glasses “Cheers!” thing, he wants to do it ALL THE TIME. Not just when we’re eating, either. The last time we had a “cheers” moment we were brushing our teeth. When he proclaimed “Cheers!” and came at me with his tiny Elmo toothbrush, it took me a minute to realize that he wanted us to clink our toothbrushes together. Crazy kid.

One of my dear friends recently told me he’s in treatment for Oxycontin abuse and had been using for 2.5 years. I had no idea. It makes me think of this quote: “Be kind. For everyone you meet is fighting their own battle.” I am so grateful that a friend of his confronted him and urged him to seek treatment.

For some reason, 2009 has become the Year of Moving out of State for many of my friends. First AJ & John moved the whole family to NY (he was promoted at General Mills), my friends Christine & Pat are moving to Grant Park in Chicago in two weeks (a new job for Pat), my book club/kickball buddy Katie is moving to NYC at the beginning of August (her office moved to NY), my coworker Julie is moving to NYC mid-August (she’s 23, single, and looking for adventure), my friend Kylie is moving to Boston at the end of August (her fiancé, the editor of the magazine where I work, accepted a job there), and my cousin Sara is most likely moving to California in early fall (job change/love interest). PEOPLE, STOP MOVING AWAY FROM ME!!!!

On the plus side, I now have lots of cool places to visit!

Megan, Christine, and I at Christine's wedding. Jan. 2009. (Christine is moving to Chi-town.)

My good friend Amy with my dear cousin Sara and kickball buddy Katie. Sara is moving to Cali and Katie is heading out to the Big Apple. (Fortunately, Amy isn't going anywhere!)
My friends Kylie & Andy are moving to Boston. We're sad that they're leaving but can't wait to visit them in Beantown!

A quote I like: “People are always talking about the good old days. I wonder, why don't we talk about the good now days instead?”

No cry. We friends, OK?

2009-06-09T12:22:00.000-07:00

Adam, before The Pink Eye Episode.
(We hid the top photo in Aaron's suitcase before he left. In the bottom pic, Adam was trying black beans for the first time over at Uncle Jay & Pete's new house. He couldn't get enough of them. Who knew?)

Adam woke up on Sunday and didn’t even seem to notice that he had pink eye. He looked so pathetic, with his left eye stuck shut, and how did he react?
“Mama, GET UP! I want pancakes!”
Ok, so your vision is the same as a one-eyed pirate’s, and all you can think of is breakfast? You are so your father’s son.

I thought he might be getting pink eye Saturday night, when I noticed some eye goo, so I wasn’t at all surprised to see that he couldn’t open it the next day. That’s exactly what happened to me when I had pink eye in grade school. I remember my mom applying a warm washcloth to my eye, so that’s what I did with Adam. Worked like a charm. His eye wasn’t bloodshot, but he had a ton of “drainage.” (I know, I know, gross.)
Aaron and I called the nurse’s line and we were told that the Target near our house has a weekend clinic. We were able to get him in right away. The doctor, a nice Asian lady who kept saying to Adam, “Good boy. We FRIENDS, ok? No cry. We FRIENDS,” was so short she had to ask for Aaron’s help to reach the sterile gauze pads on the first shelf. (Can you imagine being that small?) I wonder what she would’ve done if we’d been short, too. Maybe she has a step stool hidden in the room somewhere.
Anyhow, she told us to wet the gauze, then wipe the drainage from the inside of his eye to the outside, wash our hands regularly (and his), and then gave us a prescription for an antibiotic. Twenty minutes and $9 later, we had our little bottle of eye drops.
At first Adam let us put the drops in his eyes. By the end of the night, though, he went on an Eye Drop Strike. I have never had to physically restrain him before, and had no idea that a 23-pound toddler could be so strong. I felt like I was wrestling a wildebeest.
I tried reasoning with him (“This won’t hurt, I promise. It’ll be over in a second” and guess what? Two-year-olds don’t know how to reason), I tried showing him how it’s done by putting my contact lens re-wetting drops in my eyes (he didn’t care), I tried boosting his ego (“Don’t you want to be a big boy? Big boys get eye drops”) and I tried bribes (“I’ll give you a cookie if you let me do this.”) His response? “NOOOOO! PUT IT AWAY, MOMMY! NO DROPS!” He screamed and cried and thrashed around and squeezed his eyes shut and right when I thought I was going to be able to sneak a drop in he’d dramatically turn his head like a model in a Breck commercial. That struggle made me realize just how hard this whole parenting thing would be as a single unit. Fortunately I was able to enlist Aaron’s assistance, and then later, I had my dad help me.
When I brought Adam to daycare this morning (after taking the day off yesterday, because the county requires that a child be on an antibiotic for at least 24 hours before returning to daycare and no daycare = no work), I forewarned my daycare provider, Mary, that Adam didn’t like getting the drops and would carry on like a crazed lunatic.
“Let’s try it right now,” she said. “You hold him and I’ll put the drops in.”
She made it sound so easy. I looked at the clock. I was already running late to catch my bus. Didn’t she realize this could be a 10-minute ordeal? I mean, I figured she had experience with the whole eye drops thing, since two of the kids at daycare had pink eye in the last month, but Adam was not as calm as those kids. ((Pink eye is highly contagious among little ones. Not so much for adults since we know to regularly wash our hands. Well, most of us, anyhow. I won’t name any names but there are a few people at work who should be ashamed of themselves.))
I figured Adam would go out of his head at the mention of “drops,” but surprisingly, he didn’t react at all. I wondered if maybe he has selective hearing. (It seems to be a common affliction among most men.) I mean, really, he just about went ballistic whenever I said the word.
Mary handed him two Skittles and he looked at them, blinked at her, willingly LET her put drops in both eyes, and hardly moved an inch. Where was the fight? The screaming and crying? Who was this kid? He turned his head once and made a sort of defeated whimpering sound, but that was it. I swear he behaves better for Mary than he does for me, probably because he already knows how to manipulate me.

In other news, Aaron is in Washington for work (scouting out a beef ranch with the president of Lunds/Byerly’s) and I miss him. He called when he landed in Spokane and then again after he took a private jet to the ranch in northern Washington. I asked how the ranch was, and he said it was a nice house located on 100,000 acres. I can’t even imagine that much land. He was able to call me because they were doing a photo shoot at the top of a mountain and he got cell reception “up there.” As we were talking, I could hear the horses and cowboys in the background. Real live cowboys! I told him to take lots of photos. He’s going down to Yakima today and then to Seattle on Wed. He returns on Thursday.
I would HATE it if he had to travel regularly for work (even if it did include a nice fat raise), and I know he would, too. I would rather live frugally than deal with the consequences of having my spouse gone all the time: doing everything as a single parent, going to bed feeling lonely, just knowing that he’s missing out on big events and simple everyday moments. And I can’t help but think about the high infidelity rate among business travelers, mainly because cheating is easier. (Booze readily available all the time, regularly meeting new people, freedom without home responsibilities.)
My friend Christine travels quite a bit, and you wouldn’t believe the pick-up lines she’s heard. Some of the men are so ballsy they don’t even try to pretend they’re single – as if a wedding band makes them MORE desirable or something. Slimeballs.
Anyhow ...

We’re going to Green Bay this weekend and I’m so looking forward to a little get-away. Our friends Holly & Kevin have an annual summer party (very family-friendly, they even rent one of those bouncy houses for the kids) following the Bellin Run, a 10K race. Aaron will be pushing Adam in a jogging stroller. The last time I ran the Bellin, I finished in about an hour (three years ago, before I got pregnant). I don’t have a time goal this year. My goal is to keep breathing, whether that means barely shuffling along or—as I like to dream—running at an impressive clip. The beer will taste so much better knowing I have “earned” it.

In a few weeks we’re going to a sort of “mini reunion” at Como Park with some of Aaron’s high school friends. There will be 14 kids under the age of 10 (the majority under the age of 5) and 18 adults. Can you say chaos? It will be fun to meet the kids and catch up with the adults. We haven’t seen some of those friends since our wedding four years ago. Four years! The only time I’ve seen some of their kids is in a Christmas photo.

My mom reserved a cabin in Alexandria for our annual family trip. Swimming, relaxing, boating, fishing, playing games, eating, drinking, talking, bonding. I can’t wait.

I’m super excited to go camping at Hok-si-la Campground on Lake Pepin this August. I reserved the group site again, and I think there will be ten tents if everyone goes. Yee-ha!

I’m looking forward to Adam’s second birthday party this August. Two years already?! So much has changed in the past year. Other upcoming summer birthdays: Aaron (36!), Max (2), Morgan (2), Sadie (1), Jods, Megan, and my big brother.

We don’t have any weddings on the calendar this summer, but we were invited to Kylie and Andy’s wedding in Nashville this October (we’re still trying to figure out how we can make that happen) and I was asked to be my friend Julie’s personal attendant at her wedding this January. I love, love, LOVE a good wedding!!! I figured out that I have been to 47 weddings since I turned 18. I might try to blog about it in the future.

How about you? What are you looking forward to this summer?

Jingle Bells in May

2009-05-19T10:15:00.000-07:00

Not all car rides are as much fun as this one. (On the way to the Minnesota Zoo with good friends Tonya and Amy.)

A conversation in the car ride home from daycare:

“Did you have a good day today?”

“Back-it ball.”

“You played basketball?”

“Yeah.”

“Who did you play with?”

“Daddy.”

“Daddy was at work, Silly! Did you play with Sam and Niko and Zander and Zoe?”

“Yeah.”

“What did you have for lunch?”

“Corn.”

“You had corn? What else?”

“Peanut butter.” (**I asked his daycare provider this morning if that’s what they had for lunch yesterday, and she said no, they had ham sandwiches and peas.)

“I wanna CWACKER.”

“Here ya go. Here’s a cracker. Actually, you can have two.”

“One, two, three, four, five, nine, ten, JINGLE BELLS, JINGLE BELLS!”

“You want to sing Jingle Bells? Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle all the -”

“Stop.”

“You don’t want me to sing?”

“Stop.”

And it starts already …

If you were here

2009-05-15T20:32:00.000-07:00

My family - May 2, 2009. Adam in his first tie! This was taken way past his bedtime, thus the "Another photo? What? Just get me home already!" look.

Life happenings:

One of my best friends, Amy, got married May 2 at the historic Stillwater Courthouse. I was one of her matrons of honor. It was a beautiful wedding, she was a gorgeous, happy bride, and my best friends (and family) were in attendance. I even gave a speech and didn't faint.

Being in the wedding reminded me of going to prom. The hair, the makeup, the dress, the anticipation, the planning, the pampering. What girl doesn't love that? My niece April is going to prom tomorrow. I went to prom 15 years ago. I think about my prom date Brian every time I hear "Wonderful Tonight" by Eric Clapton. I wore a cute blue dress from Dayton's, Brian bought matching blue Docs, we ate at Gallivan's with a group of friends, we were part of the grand march at the Landmark Center (such a cool prom venue), we danced, Brian complained about getting his photo taken so much, and all I asked for -- all I really wanted -- was to feel pretty and appreciated after putting so many weeks of preparation into that one night. Instead, the night ended with a big stupid fight. Oh, high school drama. I have no desire to re-do high school. Life gets so much better after that. I wish more high school kids realized that.

I love 80s music. Brings me back. How can you listen to a song like "If you were here" by Thompson Twins and not think about that scene from Sixteen Candles when Samantha (Molly Ringwald) is sitting on the table, birthday cake in the center - candles glowing, cute Jake Ryan leaning in (gazing lovingly at her *sigh*), and not get chills? What a great song. What a great movie. I guess this post is taking on a prom theme, isn't it? The plot of Sixteen Candles is about getting noticed, it's about karma, it's about being awkward - something every high school kid can relate to. And in the end, the beautiful prom queen gets dumped, the geek winds up with the prom queen, and Sam gets Jake. Everyone wins (except for maybe the prom queen).

Oops I did it again. I got on the wrong bus last week. I didn't realize it until I was halfway to my destination. This is the second time I've boarded the wrong bus since I started working downtown. In my defense, I was only one digit off, I was taking a late bus that day so wouldn't expect to recognize the driver or passengers, and there was a crush of people boarding so I didn't have as much time to pay attention to the route number. When I realized what I'd done (thinking shit-shit-shit), I called Aaron (voicemail, he was at softball), my friend Megan (she was on her way to the lake), and my friend Karla (no answer). I was too embarrassed to leave Karla a detailed message with everyone standing so close - the bus was standing room only - so I whispered, "Hi, Karla. I'm in a bit of a pickle. Call me back if you have a chance." She called me back almost immediately and volunteered to rescue me by getting Adam from daycare and then driving out to the 'burbs to pick me up from a McDonald's near the foreign park and ride. That is a true friend. She didn't act annoyed or mad or inconvenienced. She simply said that these are the sorts of things friends do for one another. I can't thank her enough. We laughed about it on the ride home, but come on! Seriously. If I do this again, I'm not telling anyone. I'm calling a cab. My friends are all very nice and understanding (and helpful) but I'd never live it down.

Adam recently told me there are turtles in our sink. When I said to him, "Silly boy! Turtles live in our sink?" He looked at me, looked at the sink, then answered (in all seriousness) "Maybe not."

I have been faithfully working out now for 8 weeks. Getting up at 5 a.m. to do a workout video isn't such a bad way to start the day. (Who thought I'd ever say that??) I started taking the stairs every morning, too, up to the sixth floor. I don't know if I've lost any weight, but I do like knowing that I'm doing something good for my body. I've also started running again with my friend Julie. Just three miles one day a week, but hey, it's better than nothing.

I miss my friend Tonya. Why did she have to stay out West when I moved back home? I feel her absence in some way just about every day. It was great having her and Sam here in town for a week. It was also really nice spending time with Becky & Little G (they live in San Diego). Becky was able to (miraculously) translate a lot of what Adam was saying. She works with kids so she speaks their language. When we brought our little ones to the zoo, this is what I heard Adam say at one point: "G-blurble-shto-er-blurble" and I smiled and answered "You're hungry?" and he looked at me in frustration, like I was insulting his intelligence, emphatically told me "No-no-no!"and then Becky said "Oh, he's talking about how Georgie is sleeping in the stroller." And Adam beamed at her, nodded yes, looked at me like "Why can't you be smart like that lady?" then went back to admiring the camels.

I think Adam needs a sibling.

I need some good Book Club suggestions. (Infidel?)

I was looking at a photo of Aaron and Adam the other night and my heart swelled. I often wonder how I got so lucky. And not just once, but twice!

I wish my friends in Colorado, Idaho, Oregon, California, New York, and DC could fly to Minnesota for free.

Keep Pots Clean Or Family Gets Sick is a way to remember kingdom, phylum, class, order, family, genus, species. (You can thank me later when you win a Trivial Pursuit pie piece.)

I really do believe there will be a cure for cancer in my lifetime. There has to be. We can't keep losing people to this terrible, heart-breaking disease.

How do marathoners do it? It is so inspiring watching them run.

I can't wait for patio season. It's been a long, miserable winter and a cold, wet spring. Enough already. I want to wear my flip-flops again!

I am addicted to chapstick.

We're going out of town in the morning with Meg, Bri and Sadie (I anticipate a very fun weekend) and I haven't done the dishes, laundry, picked up the toys, or packed.

And now, courtesy of Mitch Hedberg:
I saw this commercial on late night TV, it was for this thing you attach to a garden hose, it was like "You can water your hard-to-reach plants with this product." Who would make their plants hard to reach? That seems so very mean. "I know you need water, but I'm gonna make you hard to reach! I will throw water at you. Hopefully they will invent a product before you shrivel and die! Think like a cactus!

Good night!!