Shooting the targets

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

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

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?