In 270 we trust

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.