I don't like that mouse!

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?

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

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

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!!

The kitty has fat fingers!

The first of two Easter egg hunts.

Adam and his godfather, my brother Shawn. They already have a special bond.

By the second egg hunt, Adam knew what was up. He was on a mission.

Adam is 20 months old now and weighs about 23 lbs. He’s walking and talking and it seems like a million years ago that he was a 7 lb. 10 oz. newborn. A newborn that did nothing more than sleep, poop, and eat.
And eat.
And eat.
He ate every two hours. Once I returned to work after my three-month maternity leave, I pumped twice a day, regardless of how busy my workload was, because if I didn’t, Adam would starve at daycare. I hated the pressure of being his sole source of nourishment.
And it was annoying lugging that breast pump around, even though it was disguised to look like your run-of-the-mill backpack. The male editor of our magazine once asked me why I was carrying two workbags and I told him he probably didn’t want to know. Most men—especially those without children—get squeamish at the words “breast pump.” Those who have seen a breast pump in action are even more traumatized.
I nursed Adam because it was so good for him (all-natural ingredients), it was free, and it was convenient (always the right temp and no bottles to wash!) but I was ready to be done by the time I decided to wean him, at six months.
We bought some formula and lo and behold, he drank it. I figured ‘Heck, this weaning thing is gonna be a piece of cake!’ After about a week, he broke out in hives, so we brought him to the doctor. Dr. P tested his blood and turns out he’s really allergic to cow’s milk (there’s cow’s milk protein in regular formula) and slightly allergic to eggs. We tried to switch him to soy formula, but he went on a Formula Strike, so I was forced to breastfeed for another long month.
When I was done, I was DONE.
Just the other day someone at work asked me if I was still nursing, and to be honest, the thought of breastfeeding him at his age just seems, excuse me for sounding like a total prude, but dirty. I know it’s recommended/encouraged that you breastfeed for a year or more, but when your kid is able to ask for your boob, or crawl up on your lap and unbutton your blouse, then—in my opinion—it’s time to wean. I keep thinking of the British YouTube video I saw of two elementary-aged girls still breastfeeding. Their mom thought it was the most natural thing in the world. The older daughter, she was probably 10, was so big she had to lie down on the couch to access her “snack.” I remember her saying in a lilting British accent, “We call the right one Milksie because it makes more milk!” (oh, spare me, nicknames for her mom’s boobs?!?) and the mom laughing about the fact that her girls got mad at her whenever she wore a bra.
Needless to say, that whole video was very disturbing.

I need to change the subject.

About the photos: We had a good but busy time Easter weekend. On Saturday we celebrated our niece April’s 16th birthday in Forest Lake, and since my sister Mary and her husband Ben and the kids were coming, my parents had an Easter egg hunt for the kids. The weather was beautiful and everyone was in good spirits. I can’t believe my niece is 16!
We stayed overnight in Forest Lake and celebrated Easter with my mom’s side in the afternoon (Easter egg hunt #2). It was nice to see my grandma, who has been in poor health for awhile now. I don't see her that often since she lives about two hours away in Rice Lake, Wis. She’s 80 and the last of my surviving grandparents. We used to be much closer until she started dating Mel, a crabby old man who seems pissed off at the world. She must’ve been lonely and wanted companionship, because I don’t know what else she sees in him. I didn't realize how frail she was until she came into the house using a cane. It broke my heart.
Later that day we went over to Aaron’s mom’s house in Coon Rapids and spent some quality time with the “crew.” I lucked out with his family and fortunately get along with everyone. Adam was in his element eating dirt and following Grandma everywhere she went.


Adam didn’t walk until he was 15 months old—a very late learner—but he talks all the time. Aaron likes to joke that while Adam’s daycare buddies were learning to walk, Adam was sitting there, watching and learning new words. He was soaking it all in.
Two nights ago he was sitting in his high chair, watching a squirrel up in a tree and he got all excited and announced, “Squirrel up der! Jump down! I go get it! Jacket on. Ok?” Whenever he wants to go outside he’ll say “Jacket on. Ok?”
It’s crazy that I can actually understand his train of thought now.
He speaks in actual sentences: “Where Mama go?” “I don’t want to.” “Oh man!” “You do it.” “I want to get down.” “I want more.” (That one comes out sounding like I wanna-mohz).
He says “MOVE” when we’re doing the dishes together and he wants to run his spoon under the water. I’m trying to teach him to say “my turn” or “excuse me” instead but somehow I don’t think he will, although he is polite enough to say “bless you” after you sneeze.
When he gets mad, he shouts “BYE!” and then chucks whatever he’s holding. It’s like this total act of defiance. He will throw every stuffed animal out of his crib when he doesn’t want to sleep. I always know when he’s up in the middle of the night because I hear the thud, thud, thud of stuffed animals hitting the ground before he starts crying for me. The worst is when he starts wailing and says, “Mama, I wanna get down, PLEASE!” If he didn’t throw that please in there, it would sound more like whining—which is easy to ignore because it's so irritating—but the please brings it to a whole new level of pleading (one I can’t ignore).

He wants to be outside all the time. Doesn’t matter if it’s freezing-ass cold out and his nose is running like a faucet, he still wants to be outside—looking for rocks, dogs, or birds or playing with his ball. Lately it’s become a struggle to get him into his carseat, too. He doesn’t want to sit in the car, he wants to play outside. On our 15-minute drive home from daycare yesterday he told me he wanted to “get out RIGHT NOW and GO WALKING!”
Patience may not be his greatest virtue.

He loves playing in that germy little play area at Maplewood Mall. He’s in his element when he’s able to watch the bigger kids run and scream and play. Sometimes he forgets where he is and will stop in his tracks to stare at them. This is very annoying when it happens at the top of the slide and other kids are behind him, waiting to get down. He has been compared to Aaron in this respect. (We don’t call his dad “starin’ Aaron” for nothing!)
At the playground, he likes to slide down the slide head-first, arms in front of him like Superboy, or crawl on anything that’s crawl-able, or swing higher and higher and higher.
He's not scared of heights or speed or large plastic horses or going around in circles. I know this because I took him on the carousel at the mall and he was beaming the whole ride, especially whenever we passed my mom and Aaron, when he would wave and shout "Hi Daddy! Hi Grandma!" and then laugh like a maniac.

He has ingested dirt on more than one occasion. How can dirt taste good?

He has been to two Wild hockey games (and managed to sit through two of the three periods, thanks to his newfound interest in popcorn), and can identify basketball and baseball games on TV. He has a pint-sized basketball hoop in the house and plays ball with Aaron at least once a week.

Before you give him too much credit for being a boy’s boy, he also likes to play with my makeup while I’m getting ready in the morning. He’ll take a makeup brush, open my bronzer, rub it around, sweep it across his forehead, smile, and announce, “MY MAKEUP.” (Hey, at least he’s not playing with my tampons anymore.)

What did Adam remember about our visit to Como Zoo early this spring with Grandma and Grandpa, Uncle Shawny (who, by the way, he adores) and April? Not the monkeys, the tigers, or the penguins. He remembered the giraffe and the zebra and their “poopies!” I blame myself for pointing this out. I blame the daycare kids for laughing and encouraging that response.

He likes to make funny faces in the mirror with me, he will perform his pacifier trick on command (he puts it in upside-down and twirls it around without touching it with his fingers. This is harder than it seems. Both Aaron and I tried to do it and couldn’t figure it out. Yes, both Aaron and I put a pacifier in our mouth and attempted to spin it. We are not beyond that behavior), and he still likes to turn his plastic bowls into hats after he’s done eating. (messy, messy, messy) He also likes to wipe food in his hair. I have to give him a bath nearly every night because of this.

His latest expression is saying, “Well, hi” when you walk into a room. He also made me laugh recently when he announced “The kitty has fat fingers!” when talking about Pip (so that’s what those paws look like to a toddler!) and just the other day, when a bus pulled up in front of our house to bring the neighbor kids to school, Adam’s mouth dropped open in his typical animated manner, he looked at me, exclaimed “BUS!” then added in an amazed tone “PEOPLE ON IT.” I don’t know if he thought all buses were empty or what, but the fact that there were kids on it really threw him for a loop.

He likes looking at photos almost as much as I do. Could this be a genetic trait? He’ll bring the flip photo album over to me about once a week, climb up on my lap, then ask “Who’s that?” while we look at our friends and relatives and identify each and every one of them.

Seeing as how he has voluntarily given himself time outs, I’m thinking that he doesn’t consider them to be any sort of real threat/punishment. Just last weekend he put himself into a time out. When Aaron told him that he wasn’t being naughty and didn’t need to stand in the corner, he walked up to the dining room table, slapped it, then promptly went back to his spot in the corner.

We have regressed with the whole sleep thing and are (once again) having issues. What I wouldn’t give for a whole night of uninterrupted sleep …

He is OBSESSED with Aaron’s mom. She’s like the Pied Piper. Whenever she’s in a room, kids gravitate toward her and follow her around like lost puppies. I have never seen anything like it. Ever. It’s amazing. They’re spellbound in her presence.
“Gramma-gramma-gramma-GRAMMA!” “Where Gramma go?” “I want Gramma. I miss Gramma. I WANT GRAMMA!” I am invisible when Grandma is around, which, most of the time, is perfectly fine with me. I mean, I get it. She’s Grandma. He’s supposed to be crazy about her. That’s part of the Grandma “gig.” Plus it gives me an opportunity to catch up with Adam’s Auntie Amy or Auntie April or Uncle Josh or Josh’s sweet girlfriend Anita—all of whom I love. But sometimes it’s kind of, I don’t know, hurtful that he prefers her over me. No one wants to be second-best, ya know?

We regularly see his cousins Max (exactly 2 months older than Adam and about a foot taller), Morgan (three weeks older), Lane (4), Logan (almost one) and Kayla (9) on Aaron’s side; April (16), Eva (7), Leo (5) and Lou (3) on my side; and his little friends Greta (2) and Sadie (9 mo) who we make a point of seeing fairly regularly. He has many little friends in our lovely state as well as Wisconsin, Michigan, California, Colorado, Texas, Kentucky and New York.
His circle of friends will expand when my friend Karla has another baby this fall and my friend Amy gets knocked up after her wedding this spring. I can’t wait for Amy to experience the joys and pains of motherhood along with the rest of us girls. Megan, Karla, Amy, Tonya and I have been close friends since high school—we’ve experienced first kisses, first boyfriends, first (crappy) jobs, first “real” jobs, and everything that comes along with finding good men and marrying them—so it’s only fitting that we get to experience parenthood together, too.

Adam’s favorite foods are hot dogs, hamburgers, FRENCH FRIES, strawberries, oranges, grapes, crackers, fruit snacks, and waffles. He eats chicken and turkey and fish and pork, but prefers red meat over white. He eats corn and broccoli and carrots but isn’t crazy about beans or squash. We have to bribe him to drink his soy milk (he’d have juice 24-7 if we let him). He tried some whip cream the other day, smiled his big Cheshire grin, then proclaimed “I LIKE IT!” We’re still too nervous to give him straight cheese or milk, but we’re slowly introducing milk products into his diet. So far, so good.

Aaron and I were in Wisconsin this past weekend for my college friend Sara’s bachelorette party and another college friend’s tenth anniversary party on Saturday—and while we had fun hanging out with the adults (and drinking lots of beer)—we really missed Adam. On Sunday, when we picked up the little squirt from my parents’ house, his face lit up like the sky on the Fourth of July. “Mama! Daddy!” he yelled from his high chair. “Mama! Daddy! HOLD IT!” (Hold it = hold me in Adam’s world). I guess I didn’t realize just how much I missed him until I saw his adorable little face. When I unbuckled him from his high chair, he announced “Kisses,” grabbed my face and planted a wet one on me. It was a very touching moment. He wouldn’t let me out of his sight that whole night and would yell “NO, MAMA, HOLD IT!” if I attempted to set him down. (My arms got very sore.)
These days, I hold him whenever he asks me to because I know he won’t be small forever. I dance with him whenever he asks me to because I know that will change one day, too. I have to appreciate this phase while I can. In the blink of an eye, he’ll be in another stage of development—and this phase—with that sweet voice and those high-pitched giggles and a never-ending vocabulary of new words and that hilarious “big-boy” swagger where he swings one arm dramatically as he walks, these pieces of Adam will be part of his past.
Time slips by so quickly. I felt that way at my 10-year high school reunion, and again at my 15 last summer. I think I was a little bit in denial about aging, but when I got to my last reunion and looked around the room and realized that my high school acquaintances—the people who were also victims of bad 80s/90s fashion trends, those who sat next to me in class and on the bus to away meets, friends from elementary school slumber parties and junior high dances—are a bunch of balding, beer-bellied, wrinkled adults AND THEY’RE MY AGE, it was a major reality check. We remember what Michael Jackson looked like “before.” We made friendship bracelets for one another. We traded stickers. And now many of us have kids. Some have been divorced (some multiple times). Many have lost grandparents; some have even lost parents. Some are still very trendy and some need serious makeovers (Clinton? Stacey? An intervention, please?)
I guess I realized then that time doesn’t slow down for anyone, regardless of how young you feel ... it will always keep marching on, whether you want it to or not. With every passing phase of Adam’s development I feel a twinge of sadness that he’s growing up too fast, so I try to live in the moment as much as I can.

Gene Simmons ain't got nothin' on him

Adam, pictured with my good friend Amy and Adam's two little buddies, Sadie and Greta. (Daughters of two of my dearest friends, Megan and Karla.) He's one crazy little guy!

Think it's time to move?

After a fresh snowfall about four years ago, while my husband was out of town skiing with some friends, I decided to shovel our sidewalk. It was late, but I didn’t realize how late because the streetlights were reflecting off the snow banks, making it seem earlier than it was. It was quiet and peaceful outside, the air was cool and crisp, and it felt good to be exerting some energy. So, there I am, lost in my thoughts, shoveling away, when a car pulls up across the street and a guy gets out. His friend stays in the passenger seat. My women’s intuition kicks in and I start feeling nervous. Something doesn’t seem right. He crosses the street and walks toward me. I keep shoveling, wondering if I could use the shovel as a weapon if I had to, wishing I had paid better attention in my self-defense class back in college.
He tells me that his friend’s car broke down and they need a few bucks for gas money.
“For five bucks I can finish shoveling,” he says.
I’m almost done shoveling and tell him thanks, but I’m almost done (and I was).
“We need gas money,” he says again. “I can finish shoveling for you.”
I try to remain calm as I suggest that he ask a neighbor instead. He shakes his head no. I realize he’s not going anywhere and tell him, “Let me go inside the house and see what I have.”
I try not to break into an all-out sprint, my heart racing, and barely remember to leave the shovel outside. Once I’m in the kitchen I lock the door with hands shaking harder than a senior with Parkinson’s. I figure he’ll get the hint that I’m not coming back outside and go away.
I am wrong.
A few minutes later, he starts banging on the front door. He’s not politely knocking. He’s banging. I’m home alone and frozen with fear. What do I do? What do I do? He’s going to break in and rob me. He’s going to rape me. He’s going to murder me. Ohmygodohmygodohmygod.
I do what any self-respecting 29-year-old would do and call my dad, even though he lives 30 minutes away.
“There’s a guy outside banging on the front door and he wanted gas money and I don’t want to call 911 if it’s not an emergency and I’m home alone and—”
My dad cuts me off, “Call 911.”
“I don’t want to bother them,” I answer. “What if he’s harmless?”
“What if he’s not?” he asks.
Good point.
I tell my dad I’ll call him right back. I hang up the landline, take my cell phone to the stairwell (for some reason I feel safe there), and call 911. I have never called 911 before. For anything. The dispatcher is very nice and tells me I am the third person in the area to call with a similar complaint. She wants me to stay on the line with her until an officer arrives. In the meantime, my poor dad is trying to reach me on our landline and I’m not picking up so he’s thinking he should jump in his truck and drive 100 mph to get to me and make sure I’m alright. I can hear the phone ringing and ringing but I am too nervous to get up out of my hiding ‘spot’ to answer it (I don’t want the Bad Guy to see me), plus I am on my cell phone with the dispatcher. The phone is ringing, my heart is pounding, and the whole time this guy is relentlessly banging on the front door. It feels like the perfect set-up for a horror movie.
After what seems like an eternity (in actuality probably a few minutes), a squad car arrives—cherries flashing—and I am finally able to stop holding my breath. I am covered in a cold sweat. I hang up with the dispatcher and call my dad back, apologizing for nearly giving him a heart attack. He’s just glad I’m alright. I peer out the window to see a young officer (my hero) talking to the a-holes. I wait inside the house. As soon as I see the big dude get in his car, I venture outside. The driver notices me, WAVES and smiles, like this is all some sick joke to him.
The officer tells me that he knows both men well and they are wanted for crimes in California, but since California doesn’t extradite, we—unfortunately—are stuck with them in Minnesota.
“They’re fairly harmless,” the officer tries to reassure me.
All I hear was “wanted for crimes.” I don’t think to ask what the crimes were. I don’t think much of anything except that I’m sure as hell not sleeping in that house alone.
The officer waits outside while I run inside and hastily pack an overnight bag. My adrenaline is pumping. I exceed the speed limit by quite a few miles as I drive up to my parents’ house. I call my husband to tell him the story, but it doesn’t sound as scary when I’m relaying it to him. It sounds like I over-exaggerated.
That whole winter I was paranoid about those guys returning to seek revenge on me. And four years later, I still don’t feel entirely safe in my neighborhood.

* Since then, there was a gang-related drive-by shooting on our street, a gang rape two blocks down from our house (the victim was six months pregnant), and two well-publicized baseball bat attacks—one victim a 49-year-old woman battling cancer; the other an 18-year-old guy—at the park we used to regularly exercise in. I know crime can happen in any neighborhood, but this is ridiculous.