Love Tanked.

Perched on the edge of our big new tub, yoga pants rolled above my knees, I stretch one leg across to the far side, smoothing shaving gel over my legs. I'm careful with the razor; the two little bodies in the water have to be kept safe. I shave quickly, the swick swick swick of the blade againt my leg barely audible over splashing and giggling from my companions. I am utilitarian in my mission: make the most of these minutes while the kids are safely occupied in the tub and save a few minutes later when I take my own shower. They are anything but: merchildren of a wild sea, soap-bubble ice cream cone makers, Cinderella wiping the walls clean so she can get to the Ball and meet the Prince.

I am the laziest mom in the world. I am the most clever. I am a failure at prioritizing myself. I am Mother Earth.

Little bodies, slick and with a film of white bubbles on kneecaps and shoulder blades and under their chins. They acquiesce, standing still long enough for me to tousle their hair dry and wrap them, burrito style, in towels. I turn and they make a break for it, climbing up onto my bed and jumping, giggles and somersaults and wet towels and clean teeth and toes.

We read books. Sometimes I am patient with the inumerable questions and interruptions, small hands pointing details of the illustrations out to me. Sometimes I am bone tired, refusing any attempts at plot dissection or character analysis of Curious George. I mean, for fuck's sake---it says right there in the first two sentences of every damn tale that the damn monkey is curious. Must we revisit this each time?

Potty. Blankets. Kisses. Maybe a song (Mother Earth), maybe not (lazy).

The days are long and the nights are short. Other times, not so much. I fall asleep on the couch or I don't. I stay up too late, reading in silence because if I don't get a slice of quiet time with no one watching stupid movies (I Am Number 4????) and no one asking me for a snack or a book or a craft or to discuss some bill we need to pay or requesting some marital relations I will short circuit in a matter of days. The tell tale signs will include irrational loss of temper, profanity under my breath, and a clear realization that I'm being a huge ass + a complete lack of giving a shit about it.

Then later, from a dreamless sleep, a creak in the hallway and the light thump-thump of steps. A warm body - so warm -  climbing up next to me. Without rising fully into consciousness my arm raises, scooping up the radiant warmth and swathing my baby in my own blankets. My baby. My sweetest, purest flesh of my flesh. Her: warm belly, long hair, long legs, feet intertwining instantly with my legs, morning breath all night long. Him: shaggy mop, cheeks so soft, hands finding my arm or my face or my neck, breath like honey and milk.

I may think about moving them. Kicking them out. Tough love. Independence. Space.

Fuck tough love.

Fuck independence.

And space? The warm bodies and soft skin. The tiny snores and toes tucked under my knees and wide, warm palm on my cheek. Breath in. Breath out. How can they invade my space, when they are so much a part of me.

I used to worry that I was doing it all wrong. My husband, that dear and kind man, remembers the manuscript of parenting, lackidaisically reminding me that we should kick them out of our bed. I might agree. I might invite him to be the one to crawl out of that cocoon of cuddles and walk tired, fuzzy kids back to own rooms. I might just not comment, the morning light peeking in the bathroom window and lighting their apricot cheeks in golds and roses.

Fuck doing it all wrong. The night hours - those darkest hours of the day when the stars are pulled over the earth in a silken blanket and dreams dance behind heavy lids. The night hours matter too. We all need our love tank filled. We all need closeness and space, tucked toes and a warm palm on your neck, morning and milk-honey breath. Circulating the air, sharing atoms and oxygen and breaths and blankets. The love tank is emptied by long days of work and school. Rushed dinners. Early bedtimes to quash bad moods. The love tank is filled with couch cuddle puddles and ice cream runs in our pajamas and bath time with warm water and bubbles. By nighttime cuddles in shared dream-space. I might be doing it all wrong. We all might. Fuck doing it all right.

In the morning, the bathroom tile will be cold and the coffee timer has only a 45% chance of being set. There will be breakfast to figure out. Lunch to pack with nothing appealing to include in it and the freezer packs unfrozen and still in the backpack. Clothes to select. Socks to hunt down and shoes to put on and hair to brush. Someone will be running late or too tired or hungry enough for three breakfasts when time scarcely allows for one. There will be school drop off and commuting to work and long days. There will be a day's end that comes at least an hour later than you'd planned and a rushed dinner that contains nothing organic and at least one thing microwaved. Fantasize about indulgent grocery store trips when the cart brims with leafy greens and fruits of all kinds and organic free range chicken and then the beep of the microwave will end this reverie as you remember that you're out of milk and don't have coffee creamer for tomorrow morning's caffeine rush.

There's no such thing as doing it all wrong. Doing it all right? Same thing. You just do. You dress and you bathe and you feed and you stress and you love and love and love until your brain is abuzz and your heart is hot pink infected with all that love. You pretend to be sleeping when the kids sneak into bed, surreptitiously curling a blanketed arm over them to wrap them in your love bubble. You hope for the best. You hope you're doing something right. You see in the glow of the alarm clock their long lashes and sleep-swollen lips and you remember a time when they were brand new and you spent hours just watching them sleep. You hope to god you're not doing it wrong.

There is no right. There is no wrong. There is only a love tank, ready to fill and be filled.

Learning to Let Them Go.

Last night before bed, Luca picked her outfit for the first day of kindergarten: a brown dress with pink polka dots and her new brown shoes. Rohan asked me to get his orange 'buttons' shirt, and I selected some new khaki shorts to go with it. I packed Luca's lunch, cutting her turkey sandwich ino a star and a letter 'L' and including a strawberry cupcake she chose at the grocery store. I scrawled 'Rohan K' on the inside of an old t-shirt and pair of shorts with a Sharpie and tied them into a bag with his name on the outside. Extra clothes for school, in case he has an accident. Luca's bag was packed with her purple pencil case and a towel for after-lunch rest time. Everything was ready to go.

We took a bath together, the three of us, washing the manes and tails of every My Little Pony in the house and also washing Luca and Rohan's new hairstyles. Hers: bangs. His: short and neat.

Before bed, Luca told me she was worried about kindergarten because even though she can count, "Sometimes I skip a number." I assured her it was ok, and that lots of kids skip numbers and she was goign to school so she could learn how to remember ALL the numbers when she counts. That seemed to satisfy her, and before she rolled over to close her eyes she smiled at me and told me she was excited to start school.

This morning both kids were still sleeping when I got out of bed, so I went and woke them by rubbing their back and telling them it was time for school. Luca jumped out of bed, excited to put on her pretty dress and take her new backpack to class. Mo was a little slower going, telling me several times that he didn't want to go to preschool. I got them downstairs, dressed, and sitting in front of Bubble Guppies so I could finish getting everything ready to go.

The morning was punctuated with Rohan's sadface, as he told me several times he didn't want to go to preschool. I didn't know what to say to him other than to fill him with platitudes about how preschool is super fun and he's going to make a lot of new friends and learn new things. It didn't work. He was curled on the recliner in a ball telling me he didn't want to go. Even Luca chimed in, telling him how she was worried about preschool but it ended up being so fun and she made lots of friends. He still wasn't convinced entirely.

We parked down the street from the elementary school, following a crowd of other parents as they led kids large and small to the playground to line up for their first day. Each of my hands held a tiny hand of one of my children, and if you think for a second I didn't feel the power of that moment you must never have met me.

We got to school a few minutes before the first bell, found the spot where Luca's class lines up in the mornings, and waited. I could tell Luca was nervous, and Rohan could too which made him nervous which in turn made ME nervous and on the verge of tears. We stood together in a cluster eyeing the other kids and their parents. I was trying to guess which kids would be the nicest and hoping my kid would be seated next to them, and Luca was probably admiring all the Hello Kitty backpacks jealously. Her teacher made her rounds, checking to be sure all the right kids were in her line and she knew how they were all to get home every day that week and I tried to look friendly by half-smiling at the other parents while behind my sunglasses my eyes nervously scanned the group of new kids and parents.

I leaned in close to her, feeling very sentimental as every ounce of mama love burned in my throat, and whispered into her cheek, "Luca, I'm so very very proud of you and school is going to be amaz--" and she cut me off. "Mom," she said impatiently, "your breath stinks like coffee." Sentimental moment over.

I wasn't sure how Luca would do when the time came to walk into the school with her class. After two years of preschool this is sort of old hat to her, but it was a different school and this is a new teacher and new classmates and new rules and a new schedule. Leading up to the first week, she was really excited, so we went with that and played up the excitement in the hopes it would pay off the first day. And while she was a bit nervous, clinging to my hand most of the morning, when the time came to kiss her good-bye she was ready to go.

We stood there, Mo and I, watching her walk away from us and into big kid school. She turned several times and waved, blowing kisses as we enthusiastically waved and blew kisses back. I snapped pictures through tears I'd held in until that moment, and as she passed through the doors and disappeared down the hall to her first day of Kindergarten, I turned with Rohan, took 4 steps across the basketball court, and was stopped cold by a wave of heavy tears. Rohan was looking at me sadly, so I scooped him into my arms as I cried, and he burrowed his head under my chin, his right cheek flat against my collarbone and his left arm stretched wide to pull me into a hug.

That moment? I will never forget it. And when I looked down into my son's big blue eyes, he was crying too. We stood there for a moment, holding each other together, then he walked beside me to the car holding my hand the whole way there.

The ride to preschool for Rohan's first day was quiet. My right arm was stretched into the back seat, and he held my right hand in both of his for the whole drive. We got there much too fast and before I knew it I was unbuckling Rohan's carseat and pulling his backpack out to rest it on his shoulders. Thankfully, his hesitation and nerves had calmed some and he didn't try to change my mind about leaving him in preschool that day. Because, I swear, if he'd asked me at that moment to let him stay home one more day I would have burrowed him to me and whisked him home so we could snuggle on the couch together for a whole day.

There wasn't much time for long sentimental good-byes once we got to preschool. Most of the kids were there already and the class was just sitting down for circle time. One of the high schoolers that works in the class came right over and greeted Rohan, taking his hand and leading him to his space on the rug. And suddenly, I had two kids in school. Just like that. Babies, done. Kids, here.

I knew I should leave, but I couldn't. I needed one more hug and kiss from my son. Needed to sniff his skin and feel the softness of his blonde hair and remind him to be good and kind and listen well. So I waited patiently for circle time to end and the kids to go wash their hands and I grabbed him and held him close to me for a kiss. And then, I watched him walk away and join the other kids at the little circular table for snacks.

I walked out alone, sat in my car, and let the tears come. I was crying from pride that a new phase of their lives is starting, and in equal measure from sadness that the last chapter is ending. No longer can I even pretend they are my babies. They are big kids now, with classmates and teachers and lunch bags and friends. They bring home pictures and classwork with their names scrawled across the top. They ask questions such as, "Mama, how does a car turn all the wheels the same at once?" (him) and, "Are whales mammals? Because I know that dolphins are and whales feed their babies milk too."

Learning to let them go and let them grow up is hard for me. I absolutely adore the people they are becoming. I beam at the praise from their teachers. I smile when I hear about new friends and eating in a cafeteria and recess and music class and share day. My throat tightens and my heart feels like it will burst as I witness them growing minute by minute into the little adults they will someday become.

This will be a big year. I'm trusting my kids to teachers and other families and their kids. I'm letting my kids go and grow. And I cannot wait to look back at this time in our lives and remember it sweetness.



Little Loves.

For my mom's Christmas gift, a friend who's starting up her photography business agreed to take pictues of her with my kids. And as a bonus, that means *I* get pictures of her and the kids.

Lucky me.

I mean, if that doesn't send your uterus into a fit of baby-wanting, what will?

PS: And I finally ran tonight, after a month of slacking. Pat's Run in 3 weeks! ---->

More to Come.

I actually have quite a few posts to write, but I'm in the midst of work drama, so for now....just a picture:

My two blonde loves and their BFF.

THREE!

Friday was Rohan's birthday. He's three now. THREE. It's so...not a baby. I'm not sure I'm ready for that, you know?

He is everything good a mom could wish for: smart, funny as hell, so kind, protective of those he loves, gentle in spirit, cute, cuddly, tender and wild and free. He's amazing in so many ways, and he has brought so much joy into our lives in the past 3 years. I could never have imagined the joy and intense happiness he brings into our home and our family.

Not only is he the world's sweetest boy, he's the bravest and most good natured as well. You can see his right wrist is wrapped in this picture. He was burned at a restuarant by hot water a week before his birthday, and sustained 2nd degree burns that required treatment by urgent care, then his pediatrician, then the burn center at Maricopa Medical Center. He had to have his wound 'debrided twice a day (we soaked him in the tub for about 20 minutes, then had to wipe the area gently with a cloth to remove the film that would form over the burn as it healed), which I KNOW hurt like hell. He had to sit on a hospital bed surrounded by strangers and have multiple people inspect him and eventually remove his blisters and wrap his arm. He couldn't climb into his own car seat, pull down his own pants to go potty, or hold anything with his right hand. And yet, he almost never complained. Not only did he let the doctors and us do everything we needed to do to help him heal (and elicited major compliments and swooning from every medical professional he flirted with along the way), he really blew me away with his generous heart. At the hospital, a staff person came in with toys to entertain/distract him, and one toy included his choice of stuffed animal to be his 'patient': a pink kitty or a green bird. He chose the kitty, holding it and dressing its imaginary wound, and to our surprise the staff said it was ours to keep. We left from the hospital to get Luca at preschool, and he handed that pink kitty right over to her, telling me he picked it because he knew his sister would like it, and he wanted her to keep it.

What kind of 2 (almost 3) year old kid is that selfless and thoughtful and generous? Mine.

Happy 3rd birthday, big guy. From the day you swam into our lives you've made our world brighter, sweeter, and more fun.

I'm Falling Behind.

On running. (Eek! Pat's Run soooo clooooose)

On housework (Hello, giant mountain of laundry to hang and put away!)

On the meditation challenge.

On grocery shopping.

On blogging.

On writing that book I want to write.

On plucking my eyebrows.

On work.

On fun.


I spent 4 days in Washington, D.C. this past week, and I'm mentally and emotionally exhausted. But, oddly, more sure of the things that matter to me in life and more able to define my work than ever before.

I visited the Hill. I bit my tongue when an old man on the plane warned my friend and me not to 'turn into Democrats' during out visit, chalking it up to old people cluelessness. Plus, he had adorably oversized ears and a huge belt buckle. And anyone who knows me well knows I have a soft spot for sweet, clueless old men.

I visited the Holocaust museum for the first time. It has been on my list since my first visit in 2006, and this week I checked off that box. I even got hit on while touring the 4th floor, which was mildly flattering but more so disconcerting and sort of creepy.

I saw people I've come to consider good friends thanks to a common profession and regular conference run-ins. I drank too much rum and danced with other people, whom I consider good friends because they are. Because we've shared offices and desserts and jokes and life stories. Because we've cried in front of each other and held space to witness each others' successes and challenges and heartbreaks and joys. I got a shout-out from a professional woman I admire greatly. I was invited to a very small and, in my mind, prestigious meeting with a federal agency. I ran after a woman in the hotel lobby who had come to the conference to share her personal story, just so I could thank her for the bravery and power of her words. I listened to a keynote speech that made me tear up with the power of humanity.

And then I came home. I walked onto the curb outside of the terminal and from the backseat of my mom's truck I saw two bright eyed kids practically pouncing out of their seats at the sight of me. We held hands the whole way home and when I put them down to nap I eagerly waited for them to wake. When Rohan crawled in beside me at night, stealing my covers and my physical space, I huddled into his warmth and felt his hair brush my face and I begged my body to stay awake a little longer so I could breathe in his sweetness.

I woke up surrounded by blonde hair and peach-soft cheeks and wanted to freeze that moment.

I am behind on cuddles and kisses and story time. I am behind on glitter and markers and bottles of Elmer's glue. I am behind on soccer practice and couch cuddle puddles and popcorn and hot chocolate.

But I am full up on contentment and love.

Your Favorite Part of Today.

Luca and I have a routine that's become a sweet moment right before I tuck her in for the night. We read books, collect stuffed animals (right now it's the two Minnie Mouse dolls she got for Christmas), sing a song, and then I kiss her goodnight. Before I leave her room, I always say to her, "Tell me your favorite part of today."

Sometimes it was something that happened at school. Other days, it was a treat she got before bed or taking a bath with her brother or going to the zoo.

Today, her favorite part was, and I quote, "Going to the doctor."

Yeah, she's not your typical 4 year old. And I like it that way. That girl....she is her own person through and through.
________________________________________

About a month ago, I went online and filled out a form to request a boundary exception for her when she starts kindergarten this fall. We live just a few minutes' walk from a perfectly acceptable elementary school, but the hours of school don't jive well with our schedules. So when my mom suggested we apply to get her into the elementary school across from her house, with the helpful offer to watch her before and after school and walk her to campus and home every day, we couldn't say no. It might help that this school gets excellent ratings, is part of a fabulous district, and is the same school my siblings (well, 2 of them) and I attended.

She was accepted, which was a huge relief and also really bittersweet. Because while I was happy she was accepted into our choice school, I'm still not sure where the last nearly-5 years went. I keep expecting to find them hidden in the back of the kitchen pantry behind old granola bars and lost ziploc baggies. But, of course, it never happens. They just disappeared into the vapor of time.

_________________________________________

Since we're out of district, we had about 10 days between the time we got the letter and the last day to secure our spot. And before we could register her officially, Luca needed to catch up on some shots from her 4 year appointment, which we missed because she was sick and I failed to reschedule.

I got to her school early today, rushing her into her backpack and out the door and making it to the Dr just in time for her appointment. The appointment itself was relatively uneventful, with her pediatrician proclaiming her perfectly healthy and 'obviously very smart' (you KNOW I have to gloat about that one, right?). She is 38.2 pounds (50th%) and 44 inches (87th%) and was meeting or exceeding all the markers the pediatrician requested of her. Poor girl did have to get 4 shots, which made her cry, but after that was done she left with a sucker, 3 bracelets, a sticker, and 4 band-aids.

We left from there to her school, where she met one of the ladies in the front office and we got a stack of paperwork to complete. And with that, she's officially signed up and ready to be a kindergartner. I mean...what?!?

_________________________________________

A quick call to my mom confirmed Rohan was still napping, so with her blessing I took Luca on a special mommy-daughter date to our favorite local coffee shop. I let her order a chocolate milk and pick a treat (carrot muffin with frosting), and we sat together outside in the warm afternoon sun by a huge fountain, talking about kindergarten. Eventually, she made her way to the fountain and splashed in it a bit.

As I watched, she would dip her hands in the cold water and run to a line of tiles on the ground, crawling on her knees and leaving a single wet handprint on each tile. Something about the carefree sweetness of the moment made me get out of my seat, and before I knew it we were tracing wet fingers on the patio, drawing hearts and writing our initials and using large and small handprints mixed together to create water butterflies.

Without realizing it, time had passed. The shadows were lengthening and the water was no longer cold on our hands. We carried our plate back inside the coffee shop and headed to the car. I reached for her hand in the parking lot and she smiled up at me and said, "I want to walk like a big kid. Can I do it myself?" So I let her. Instead of leading her, I walked beside her, joining in her game of "Don't step on cracks or white lines" until we made it to the car. Side by side.

__________________________________________

I know it's just the start of a new chapter. I lose full minutes absorbed in her face and her imagination. I lose full days and weeks just getting by and trying to remember to hold on to this sweet time in her life as tightly as I can while also letting her go. In the small space between our bodies, not linked by our hands, she became less a little kid and more a girl. Independent. Wise beyond her years. Spirited. And tender.

__________________________________________

After dinner and a movie and page after page of Where the Sidewalk Ends, I tucked her in under her pink blanket and traced the silhouette of her cheeks with a finger. There is no baby left in that face, but those eyes I stare into are the same eyes I've stared into since the day she was born. She was always this wise, this sage. If she can hold onto any trait of her early years as she moves through childhood and closer to becoming an adult, I hope it's the ability to be completely oblivious to what she's 'supposed' to be or think or say. I hope that moments making water butterflies and sharing carrot muffins are the sweet and mundane memories of her childhood.

__________________________________________

"Mommy?"
"Yeah, sweetie?"
"Did you know that some people say there was a man who walked on water and he didn't even fall in?"
"Oh, yeah. I did, honey."
"Oh."
"Where did you hear that?"
"I don't know. Someone told me."
"Oh? And what do you think about that?"
"It sounds like a bigger fib than even kids tell, mommy."
::pause::
"Well, you know, Luca, sometimes people believe in stories like that because of how they make them feel. Maybe they believe he walked on water and didn't fall in. Or maybe they don't believe it either, but they like how it makes them feel. They want to imagine they could walk on top of water too."
"Yeah."
::pause::
"You know what I think, mommy? I think it doesn't matter about walking on water and not falling in. I think it matters most that you're kind to people. And then maybe if you are kind enough even if they are sad, they can close their eyes and imagine they can walk on water too. Like that man."
"Oh, I like that."
"Me too, mommy."

Happy Heart Day.

8.

Today marks our 8 year wedding anniversary. In 8 years, we've sold 1 home, moved 3 times, gotten pregnant twice and had two kids, started new jobs, traveled, camped, fought and made up, faced some hard times and been blessed immeasurably.

I would say I love my husband as much today as I did the day I married him, but that's not exactly true. I love him just the same, and more, as I did 8 years ago when we stood up in front of friends and family and promised our lives and our futures to each other.

New Years Tradition: 2012.

The past two New Years Days, Rohan has woken me before the sun was up, and before Darrick and Luca were up as well, and we've ventured out in the apricot and rose morning to take a photo.

January 1, 2010.

January 1, 2011.

This year, we all slept in until about 7, when I grabbed him in his jammies and ran him outside for our photo op. He's almost too big to hold on one hip while taking a picture, so I ended up in this one. I can't believe the difference in him year to year. And I'm more than a little sad to think that this time next year I probably won't be able to hold him on a hip for our first photo of the new year. And how many more years before he won't even humor my love for a good photo op anyhow?

But, for now? For 2012? We stood together in the middle of the same street and smiled our hearts away. I love this sweet moment we steal just for us. What a way to kick off a new year!

January 1, 2012

Christmas Eve 2011.

The stockings are stuffed. The presents have been delivered by Santa. Cookies were nibbled by the big guy himself, and the reindeer appreciated the apple slices as much as Santa appreciated the note dictated to mommy to leave with the treats.

We even managed two family pictures before tucking some very excited kids into bed tonight.

Before bed, I bathed the kids, put them in their special Christmas jammies (bonus to them being almost the same size is I buy one pack of 2 jammies and they both fit in a pair!), and read them The Night Before Christmas. We've been reading it for a few weeks now, a couple nights a week, and Luca has almost the whole thing memorized. Her favorite is yelling the reindeers' names out*. Mo's favorite part is the last page, which to him seems to say, "Good night good night good night to Merry Christmas all night!".

We tucked them into bed and they quickly fell to sleep, not doubt fatigued from a full day of crafts, junk food, home baked treats, movies, and Christmas excitement. I wrapped the presents and drank a warm drink with a splash or three of Kahlua. I hung the coffee filter snowflakes Luca and I made today all over the tree. Santa made sure to drink some milk and nibble the cookies left on a table by the recliner, and his reindeer no doubt loved the apple slices.

The world is quiet and peaceful right now. I should be in bed, but I'm soaking up the last little bit of pre-Christmas cheer to be had this year. This past week we've all been home together, and while we made an effort to get out of the house to visit family and shop and go out to eat, more often than not we bunkered down with blankets on the floor and Christmas music and movies playing on the TV. We baked cookies. We decorated them, then ate them by the fistful. We made so many crafty ornaments that the only ones hanging on our tree that were not made by the kids are a wedding ornament we received made of blown glass, a Santa ornament Darrick and I bought on our trip to Europe pre-babies, and one I bought at Michael's with 4 snowmen and a handpainted glitter glue script with our names and the year. We glued and glittered and cut and pasted. We made gifts for family. I read 3 books. We made a mess of the house each day and went on a cleaning binge, throwing out 3 bags of trash and donating 4 bags of old toys. We stayed up late and slept in past 6 a.m. This year may have sucked in so many ways, but this week alone more than made amends for all of 2011.

I'll head to bed soon, and before I know it two excited kids will run down the stairs and squeal with excitement to see Santa was here. They will giggle and run in circles, tearing wrapping paper with abandon and playing with new toys. We will eat. We will love on their cousins and spend time with family. It will feel like magic, and because of them, it will BE magic.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!

______________________________________

On the topic of reindeer names, a conversation recently in the car:

Luca: "Mommy, which of the reindeer do you want to be?"
Me: "Hmm...maybe Prancer? Prancer sounds happy. What about you?"
Luca: "Vixen!"
Husband: "Not a chance."

What We Teach Our Kids.

We met my family for 'brunch' on Sunday at a cute little restaurant in Gilbert. Over delicious food, we wished my oldest brother a happy birthday and talked about the upcoming holidays. Driving home, I skipped the freeway in favor of streets that take us by big houses and huge green yards dotted with horses and herding dogs.

Soon enough, the suburban splendor gives way to a pocket of town between the meal and home where you're more likely to see big families pushing a stroller and dragging 3 little ones down the road, each of them clutching a few bags from the grocery store. Doing their part to get the food home without a car. People hanging around outside convenience stores in a way that's completely benign but instills a small flutter of caution in my belly if the store they are haunting is one where I need to stop for gas.

We sat at a red light talking about our plans for the rest of the day, when suddenly my husband asked why I thought that big white car was stopped at such a funny angle, halfway in the center lane used for left turns, one turn signal appearing to blink but showing them turning the opposite direction from that which the car's nose was pointed. My gut kicked in and I answered, "Who knows." and looked up at the red light, waiting for it to change.

"I think they need help," my husband answered. And so, as the light turned I flipped on my blinker to get over to the right lane and turn onto the road behind the car, but someone was in my way. Instead I decided at the last minute to go straight and make a right into the convenience store's parking lot. My husband was compelled to go see why the car was stopped where it was, hastily blocking half a lane of traffic. I'm not as good a citizen as he is and would have driven on, but the truth of my husband is this: you never doubt that you're safe when he's around. It's not just the fact he's bigger than most other men. It's not even his street smarts from growing up in one of the worst parts of the Valley. It's just that I always assume that his knack for talking to people and making them feel instantly safe with him around will transfer to strangers. Even strangers in dodgy cars in dodgy neighborhoods.

Just as I parked the car, a big guy - bigger than my husband - stepped out of its driver side door and went around back to begin leaning his body against the rear fender. Not thinking twice, my husband had his door open before our car was in park and was darting across 2 empty lanes to help. I watched him as he leaned into the trunk as well and his whole lower body hunkered down to move the car forward slowly on sleepy wheels. Within a few seconds, they were crossing the road and the big man was jumping in the front seat to steer the car into the lot where we were parked.

"What's daddy doin', mama?" asked Rohan in back.
"Don't worry, buddy," Luca answered before I could, "he's helping that man with the big car. It's the right thing to do, you know."

A lump sat in my throat as I smiled and caught her eyes in my rearview mirror. I nodded in agreement.

Seconds later, Darrick was pulling open the passenger door. "He ran out of gas," he told me. "Oh," I stupidly answered. My brain wasn't connecting what he was saying, so he did the work for me. "Right over there, on that corner...that station has gas and this one doesn't."

We turned out and made our way to the convenience store across the street. He grabbed a fistful of dollar bills and went inside. I watched him in my car's side mirror as he disappeared through sliding doors and reappeared with a gallon jug of water. Stopping by some plants, he emptied the whole thing and then came to the pump. Three dollars later, the gallon jug was nearly full and we left the parking lot to go back over to the man with the big white car.

I pulled intot he spot right next to him, all 4 of our windows down because the kids were curious and wanted to hear what was happening. "You came back." said the man, astonished and grateful.

I reached behind my seat and pulled out an empty water bottle. With a pocket knife, the man cut out the base of the bottle and used it as a funnel to pour a gallon of gas into his car. Darrick talked to him as he did so, in a voice I couldn't really hear. And anyhow, even if I'd been able to properly listen in, The Grinch was on the radio and the kids were demanding that I turn up the volume.

Getting back into the car, Darrick told me the man had thanked him. He worked just down the street at a restaurant as a chef and had worked an unusual early morning shift to make some extra holiday cash. He thought he had enough gas to make it the three miles home, but obviously he'd been wrong. He turned toward the convenience store to get gas, forgetting that it was the one across the street that had gas pumps. He had offered Darrick money as a thank you. Darrick turned it down. He offered us a free dinner the next night at his restaurant, and Darrick said we'd try to make it.

He thanked us profusely. I put my hand on my husband's arm as we drove away, told him he did a good thing.

"Nah. He needed help. We've all been there. It's the right thing to do, you know," he replied, as Luca caught my eye in the mirror and smiled.

Thankful Wall.

Last year, we had the Thankful Tree. This year, I wanted to do something like that again, but different. And what better place to do it than surrounding the new french doors we installed this summer?

Nevermind this totally highlights the fact we need to finish the interior door frames. I am loving having fall all over that wall.

Also, while you're excusing my door frames, pleae also ignore the mess. I DO live with 2 little kids and a husband.

The process is simple. I free-form cut leaves out of red, orange, yellow, and brown construction paper and try to get at least one member of the household to tell me what they are thankful for each day. It gets written down, attributed, dated, and taped to the wall. Some of my favorites include Luca's proclamation that she is thankful for her 'buttocks' and 'Santa' and Rohan's proclamation of thanks for 'pretty awesome'. I can only assume he's being thankful for his own astounding level of awesome with that one. It's sometimes a challenge to get a 'thankful' from the kids each day. Luca sort of gets it, partly because she remembers doing this last year and partly because they do 'thankful' activities all of November in preschool. Mo, on the other hand, stares at you like you just spouted a second nose if you ask him to tell you what he is thankful for. Instead, I ask him what makes him happy or what/who he loves.

But my favorite leaf, hands-down? This little red guy who lost his stem and won Luca's favor. I asked what she was thankful for, and she grabbed the leaf and said she'd write it herself thankyouverymuch. She even added her name (though I cheated and did the date for her, since dates are still a very abstract concept for her):

And just because I am in love with how this looks, another angle on the whole wall of thanks:

We Tricked. We Treated. And Now, It's A Downhill Run To Thankful.

Halloween this year could easily be put into the 'extra fun' category. We had just the right mix of excitement over the festivities and simple joy that comes with kids so little that EVERYthing about the holidays is SO MUCH FUN!

As far as I know, Rohan has never watched Super Man cartoons, so imagine my surprise when I asked what he wanted to be for Halloween and his answer was an emphatic "Supeeer Man!". Fortunately, after looking at pictures online, Luca became excited about the idea of being Super Girl, and my mom offered to make their costumes.

Other than the shirts, which were purchased at the store for less than it would have cost her to make something similar, she made their entire costumes, down to the fake boots. In a word? Awesome.

They were a hit in the neighborhood and got SO MUCH candy it's almost criminal. Already I squirreled some away to work and have plans to make even more of it disappear.

But before Trick or Treating, there was a preschool party for a certain honey bee:

Yeah, that's Luca again. Nothing says 'diva 4 year old' like a wardrobe change between the party and the outing. We were worried she'd mess up her Super Girl costume, so we took her to Goodwill to get her a witch costume (her request), but instead she fell in LOVE with this bee hoodie. For under $8, we got her that and the black and gold tutu, and she was set. I had plans to get a yellow shirt and put black stripes on it because a hoodie? in Arizona? on Halloween? Not weather appropriate. It was a high of 91 yesterday afternoon. But life got in the way, and I didn't get her the shirt. Luckily, the teachers at her school have all the kids put on 'normal' clothes after they trick or treat on campus, so we didn't have to worry after all. And Daddy dressed as the Grim Reaper (I really need to improve my Halloween make-up skills...he looks sad, not scary!) which was pretty awesome as well.



All in all, Halloween was great, and the kids already can't wait for next year! Tonight as I was getting him ready for bed, Rohan said, "You just wead da book and den we go walk and say "TRICK OR TREAT!" and den bed?" Optimistic little dude. Love him.

Now we are facing down the barrel of a LOT of holiday prep work and fun. We made a decision to pay off 2 credit lines we have open before year's end, as both have interest-free payments until January 1 (they were for major dental work I needed and insurance barely covered), which means money will be tight for presents this year. We're ok with that. We have SO MUCH already, and I am planning on making a few gifts and keeping it simple for the kids. And I confess I am very much looking forward to kissing 2011 goodbye! We've had a hard run of it in many ways, and January is shaping up in such a way that I think a lot of the things we've been stressed over will be resolved. In addition to paying off 2 credit lines, we had one of those life events that knocks the wind out of you when it happens but ends up being for the best recently. Our beloved day care provider, who watched Luca for 3 years and has watched Mo since he was 4 months old is moving a few hours north of us in mid-November. We were sad and stressed and just anxious when we found out, until my mom insisted we let her take over Mo duties through May when Darrick starts his summer break. This is perfect, because it means we don't have to search for a new provider for the next 6-ish months and after summer break he'll move to preschool and Luca will be in kindergarten. It's also perfect because it's going to mean several hundred more dollars in our pockets every month. Add that to getting rid of 2 credit payments a month, and we're finally going to be seeing a change in our financial situation for the positive.

With all this optimism abounding, I am VERY MUCH looking forward to taking some time off around the holidays to be with my family and to keeping things simple and spending this holiday season witha  focus on building traditions rather than building piles of stuff.

Last year, when November came and it was time to pack away the Halloween in favor of pretending it's winter, we created a Thankful Tree. I think we'll do something similar this year and I'm excited to involve both kids.

Welcome sweet November!!

Just Love.

Reasons I Love My Husband.

We went to the mall today with the sole mission of spending a gift card I have on some new work clothes. Our mission was partially successful, and after we were done the kids were hungry and thirsty. They wanted pretzels and cheese, so we obliged, and in an odd turn of events we got 1 for free.

We went to sit on some couches to eat, and spied a woman by herself. Her clothes were a touch wacky and she was rocking back and forth on the couch opposite us. I smiled at her, but she didn't seem to see me.

My husband followed me over and saw the woman. Without a second thought, he said to her, "Hey, would you like a pretzel? We have an extra." To my surprise, she said yes.

When we left the mall, I told him I thought that was nice of him, offering this woman all alone a pretzel. And I told him I was surprised she said yes. Though she was clearly dancing to music only she could hear, she had a pile of bags beside her, so I assumed she had money.

"Those were Wal-Mart bags, honey. I just saw her and figured maybe she deserved to have someone give her something without her begging for it or having to work her butt off to get it."

"That was awesome of you, babe. That's why I married you."

"Well, thanks. But I didn't do it for the recognition. I just thought she might need someone to be nice to her."

Back Burner.

My husband was roped into coaching football this year. It's the Freshman "B" team...a group of guys who couldn't quite make the cut for the Freshman "A" team. And now they are relying on him to coach them into better skills and hopefully a slot on the JV Team next year. You know...the REAL JV team, not the "B" team where they only get the games the "A" team can't/doesn't take.

If you don't really know my husband, you think he knows a lot about football. You probably even wonder how many years he played in high school. You assume he's got Sunday Ticket and is a rabid fan. Being 6'5" and broad shouldered, it comes with the territory.

His knowledge of football is really sort of paltry. He knows enough to yell at the ref while he drinks a beer and watches a game. And then we beg him to turn off the TV so we can go/see/do and next thing you know it's spring training for baseball and we've only watched pieces of a few games.

So coaching is a challenge for him. He feels bad that he doesn't know drills and plays. Crap, he feels bad that he doesn't know what a Cornerback does. But he'll learn, and I know he will. My husband is amazing in many ways, but his dedication to his students is one of his most amazing qualities. For those nervous and falsely pompous freshmen all fighting to be a hero, he'll do anything. Including dragging his family to the Wednesday night game of the Freshman "A" squad on a day that hit 116.

So there we were, watching him stand on the field and try to soak up football through osmosis, when we ran into the wife of the "A" squad's head coach. Her eldest daughter is in Luca's preschool class this year. Her other daughter is a year younger than Rohan. And she's pregnant with Baby #3.

We made small talk which quickly turned to kid talk which then switched to baby talk. First, about the son she is expecting and how excited they are. Next, to how nervous they are to have 3 under 4. That's 3 kids in daycare/preschool at the same time on 2 teachers' salaries in case you were counting. Which she was.

And then she asked me that fateful question, "Just 2 for you guys?" and I stumbled over my response.

If you'd asked me in those hormone-laden days and weeks after Rohan's birth, when I was flying high on my amazing little family and feeling like SuperWoman, I'd have insisted there was another baby in our future. Truth be told, I still feel pretty strongly that we're not done. It's almost like there's another little baby waiting in the wings, and on those days when Darrick and I both talk wistfully about sweet newborn peach cheeks and baby fuzz I can see it like it's a foregone conclusion. We joke about how maybe this next one will look like me rather than being another little Daddy Clone. We talk about how much easier it will be to afford the baby when Luca's in kindergarten, or even better when she's in 1st grade and Rohan is 1 year away from Kinder (i.e. one year away from us not having to PAY for his schooling). We let Luca muse over possible baby names (She wants a girl, who will be named Flower, of course.).

But on other days? Our life as a family of 4 is pretty sweet. We have a rhythm. We have balance. We have dreams of a future that involves long road trips and a 10 year anniversary trip somewhere exotic. We don't miss diapers, especially now that we're down to only using a few Pull Ups a week since most mornings at least 1 kid wakes dry. We have faith that just about the time we're done paying for daycare/preschool we'll also have paid off our car and all our credit cards and we'll be able to live without worrying about money for 4 days before every payday. We have a small car that we hope will last for many years and doesn't really have room for a 3rd carseat.

But then: pretty soon Luca will be in a booster seat, which takes less space than a carseat. And soon enough our daycare/preschool costs will go down dramatically. And....and....and....and.....

It's a stalemate. And I don't know what should be our next move. I don't think Darrick does either, so most days we don't talk about the subject at all. On a date night recently, when conversation was flowing and I looked at my best friend across the table from me, I had the courage to lay it all out. I asked him if he thought he'd ever want to have another baby, even though I was sure I knew his answer. I guess I was feeling brave enough to hear him say no; he was done.

He didn't say that at all. He also didn't say he wants another baby someday for sure. In fact, it turns out that if we're perfectly attuned in any way at all, it's in uncertainty. Neither of us knows what the future will hold, and we're not ready to permanently close the door on babies in the future. So for now, we're moving it to the back burner. We're committed to reaching some other goals together first, from paying off the car and other debts to some home improvements. And we're talking careers long-term and a possible career shift for one of us. I guess time will tell whether or not another baby will fit into our life, and I'm finally ok with the decision not to make any decision at all.

Not Whole Yet.

 I feel lately like I am working on ME in phases.

Not linear phases, even. Strange phases that start and stop and overlap. There aren't enough hours in the day to give energy to everything that piques my interest and to every bit of motivation for self-betterment I experience.

I'm piecing it together. It's not a whole picture yet and I honestly can't say I see a time when it will be. Right now I want to do X so that in a few years I can do Y, but in order to do that A, B, and C must be in order.

It's tiring, sometimes. It's exhausting to try to remember which iron is in which fire and why the crap I bothered to put it there in the first place.

And then I remember I'm happiest when I keep it simple. Simple goals. Simple relationships. Simple home. Simple fun. Simple health. Simple food.

I have to remind myself to put good out there, into the great unknown that we all share so that it can spread and lay seeds of good elsewhere. I have to remember NOT to put good out there, into the great unknown we all share so that I can get it back someday. I have to remember to bite my tongue when someone makes me crazy because it's the kind thing to do, not because I am afraid of being caught. I have to care for myself so that my kids can learn to do the same when they are older.

I used to say I love to bake, but hate to cook. That cooking was a waste because no one appreciates it. It might take 40 minutes to make a dinner that my husband and son can polish off in less than 4. "Why bother?" I would say.

But when it looks like this, it seems like maybe it's worth it after all:

Cous Cous, pan seared chicken with garlic, cucumber, tomato, corn off the cob, black beans (drain and rinse) and scallions.

Somewhere along the line, I realized that the memories I want for my kids are not necessarily the ones we're actively creating. We eliminated background noise. Going out to eat during the week. Arguments over where the shoes should go at night.

We created a quiet home. Music while the kids play. The sights and smells of dinner being made with love. Healthy and hearty foods. Shoe baskets for each family member.

(What? The shoes everywhere could drive a girl batty!)

Sometimes we keep the kids up a little late, and night swim. We watch the stars pull their faces through the night sky. We watch the kids watching the stars. We carry damp naked bodies, sticky with honeydew drippings and warm with fatigue, up to the bath. We sing songs about washing our hair; brushing our teeth. We tuck into bed and kiss and 'ting tongs' and kiss once more. We sit downstairs and await the first little bunny hops from upstairs and tell them to 'get back in bed'. They protest, but secretly I think they love it. I think they love the routine. The warm soapy water and cool green lotion and soft blankets on clean skin and mommy and daddy shushing them and admonishing them to bed.

The safety. The security. The love.

The smell of garlic lingering in the kitchen. The dishsoap bubbles crackling and leaving little prints all over the dirty dishes.

All I can do is hope that someday, these things are part of their memories of a happy childhood.

Double-Braggin' It.

Rohan's officially potty trained. I guess it's safe to say this now that it's been a few months, though I'm pretty sure the law of the universe says tomorrow he'll poop all over our new floors.

I took the day off work on Tuesday to spend time with good friends who were in town from St. Louis. The morning involved pool time, Goowill hunting, lunch at a favorite pizza spot, a Target run, and then home for naps. Rohan was acting a little like he needed to pee as we left Target, but he denied it so I figured we'd be home in 10 minutes and he could go then. Only he fell asleep in the car and couldn't be roused. No problem, I figured, and I strapped a diaper onto his sleeping body.

A mere 45 minutes into naptime, he was standing in the hall upstairs crying for me. I went up, wondering why he was awake already, and found him clutching his diaper. Figuring he'd wet it, I scooped him up and discovered it was dry. On a hunch, I took him to the bathroom, took off the diaper, and supported his sleepy body in the potty. He peed, leaned into me, and closed his eyes. Back to bed we went, where he was fast asleep again for another hour. Odd, I thought. And then I realized: he'd woken to pee. But I knew it was probably a fluke.

Not so. Since then, he's done this same thing to me 3 times, to my mom while at her house once, and one more time to Luca, who happily escorted him to the bathroom and helped him out. Yeah, she's really an awesome big sister. And it's not just naptime. The past two nights he's done this as well, peeing on the potty before letting me tuck him right back into bed. I'm considering putting a little training potty in his room and putting him to bed in undies. Any of my readers out there have insight on whether that tactic would work or backfire?

Either way, I remain 100% impressed by his ability to pretty much potty train himself only 3 months after his second birthday. That boy is amazing!

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We spent most of today prepping the last area of downstairs for laminates. Our entry way feeds into the stairs, the garage, the front door, and the den, which is sunken and includes two steps. When we ripped up our tile back in October of last year, we didn't rip out everything on those steps because we didn't know what we'd do in that area. Today, we realized it needed to be stripped and cleaned in order for the entry flooring to be completed. Once that was done, we installed more floors, took the old sliders and stove to donate at the Habitat for Humanity REStore and Goodwill, and then came home for more flooring work. Darrick did most of the work while I entertained/intercepted the kids and made lunches and dinners to keep everyone's bellies happy.

After dinner, Darrick and Rohan went to my ILs' house to check on their pets and pool since they are out of town until tomorrow. Left alone, Luca suddenly deemed our night, "Girls' Night Out Only" (I think she heard me talking about a GNO invite I'd received earlier in the day) and decided we should do something 'just for the girls'. So, together we colored pictures, then put on our suits and went for a swim. She kept saying over and over how it was time for 'just the girls' and how 'the boys can't come with us', and then she would get very giddy and laugh loudly before running into my arms and giving me kisses and cuddles. We played basketball in the pool and she practiced floating, then together we came inside to put on 'super warm jammies' and watch a 'kid show' (Netflix of the show BusyTown). It was so amazing to get to spend even a few hours one-on-one with my girl, and to see her excited about it as well. We spend as much time together as possible when I'm not working, but the truth is I very rarely get one-on-one quality time with either kid to do whatever they want and luxuriate in it being special time for us together. I love watching my sweet baby growing into a sweet girl, listening to her ideas for games and her stories. I love hearing her thoughts and being asked by her to do things together. There is just something so sweet about individual relationships with each of my kids. Before I had two, I worried I'd get along with one better or feel more bonded to one over the other, but the reality is I have so much love for both of them that sometimes it overwhelms me. I see the girl Luca is slowly blooming into, and I love that girl, but I also really, genuinenly like her. She's smart and creative and imaginative. She's kind and tender and loving and just the right amount of sassy. And she loves spending special time with her mama and doing things that are ours and ours alone. And I love her even more for that.

That's Life.

This week was not a banner week for me in terms of WW. I did well with the eating and exercise, but sort of blew it all by going out to mexican food with friends who were in town for the week.

Here's how I dealt with that: I ordered a skinny (125 calorie) margarita and chicken street tacos (under 500 calories). And I ate chips. And, I went to the meeting today knowing I was probably going to see a gain. And I did. And you know what? I am ok with it. As my meeting leader said to me today, "That # isn't the truth. Your week was the truth." And my week was something I was pretty proud of. For this to be a lifestyle for me, I have to be able to splurge on mexican food and a margarita and not stress over it showing on the scale.

Look, everyone wants to get on the scale and see a smaller number every week. I'm no different. But I also am willing to accept that life happens and I'm not going to give up a night out with friends for a smaller number in the morning. Also, I'm proud of the dinner choice I made. In the past, I would have ordered up a bean burrito with a side of sour cream and a normal margarita and eaten endless chips. Was I a dietician's dream? No way. Was I a healthier version of me? Yep.

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For workouts, I've been mixing up netflix DVDs that you can get with just a streaming membership. It costs me something like $7/month and I watch 4-5 a week, which is close enough to free for me. I mix up boot camp, pilates, yoga, dance/salsa/zumba style, and general cardio workouts. There are some days when I've worked out the night before and wake up feeling it in my legs and glutes and abs and shoulders. And there are other mornings when, the night before I got super sweaty and I wake up in the morning not even feeling it and wondering whether or not it was worth it. It's always worth it. I might wake up tomorrow and wish I'd said no to pretzel M&Ms, but I know for a fact I won't wake up tomorrow and regret the workout I did tonight.

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On a different note, I've had several moments this year when I've done something kind for someone and been the recipient of random acts of kindness in return. Like the time I bought the coffee and donut for the guy behind me in the Dunkin drive through, and a week later the man in front of me bought my coffee at Circle K. I don't do it for the reward. Or the praise. Or the hope that someone will 'get me back' for it. I do it because it's the kind of thing the person I strive to be would do. The person I strive to be would see the girl dressed in heels and a pencil skirt looking paranoid over her shoulder as she went into Circle K and a disheveled man followed her, and would go inside and offer that other girl a ride. The girl I want to be would hold open the door for the mom with a double stroller who's obviously stressed and struggling to get through as not 1 but THREE men stand behind her and wait impatiently for her to get out of their way. The person I hope I am would see a girl in line in front of her at the gas station have her card declined, then see that same girl and her young son sitting in the parking lot looking lost and would insist that she take $5 to get enough gas to get home.

But more than doing things because they are examples of the person I want to imagine myself into being, I do them because I want my kids to see. I want to be an example of how we treat others: with kindness and respect and humor and heart. I want them to know that it's ok to help someone you don't know who looks scared and in need. That it's kind to lend an able hand to someone struggling. That sometimes $5 to a mom whose car window is duct-taped up might make the difference in her week. And when I see the way my kids think and feel and process, I have a true glimmer of hope that it's working and paying off. I took them both to Goodwill yesterday in search of a bookshelf for their books. It was almost lunchtime and they were restless. And Goodwill is a haven for curious hands and wild toddlers. Maybe it was the novelty of having a weekday off with both kids, alone, but my patience was at a maximum and they were doing such an amazing job of listening to my 'rules'. As we headed down an aisle, a woman stopped me. "Mom," she said, "I like how you talk to those kids. And I can tell they have good parents because they are just so well-behaved. It makes this old lady so happy to see you young parents doing things right and raising up your kids with kindness." I almost cried. We talked for a few minutes and I thanked her from my heart for taking the 20 seconds it took to brighten my entire week.

Words have power. Kindness has power, and it grows exponentially.