Family Portraits

Yuck.

I mean,truly, it was a horrible experience. Wardrobe malfunctions aside, usually family portraits are at worst OK and at best a lot of fun. Our family portrait, for this year, sucked.

Yep. That is the best diction that I can muster to describe it: it sucked.

We didn't do a family portrait last year because I truly did not have the energy or the need for a new picture in my living room. This year, since the Chub is not an infant, and you can't tell who it is in the picture (well, any reasonable human being with two brain cells to rub together can...but I digress) it was time to get a new one done.

Oh, yay.

The kids' outfits, as I said yesterday, matched perfectly. (I'm so completely jonesing for my Nikon--that still isn't back from the shop yet) If I had the capability, I'd post a pic of their cute little outfits. You'll just have to trust me. I'll eventually be able to post. B.J. and I did not go shopping for a new outfit for pictures. Why? I don't know. Chalk it up to lethargy or cheapness. Either would work. Amazingly, B.J. rummages though his closet and finds a pair of black slacks and a purplish dress shirt that coordinates nicely with the kids' clothes. That left me. Oh, joy.

I have had a continual wardrobe crisis for about the past 8 months or so. I lost enough weight that my clothes got too big. A good thing, right? So, I did the Dr. Phil thing and promptly got rid of all my too-big clothes (Dr. Phil says get rid of them unless you plan to fit into them again...I do NOT plan to fit into them EVER again). And, because money is always tight, and time even tighter I have not really gotten around to replacing my wardrobe. My poor co-workers must be sick-to-death of seeing me in the same 5 outfits; I know I am. Back to pictures: I have a purplish sweater but it didn't work, along with just about every other thing in my closet. I finally settled on (through barely contained tears) dark wash jeans and a (too embarrassing to admit) old black velvet top. I resolved that we'd just have our portrait 'from the waist up'. WRONG!

Whatever the photographer was thinking, I'll never know. Clearly, the whole family, except mom, looks great. Dressed up, color coordinated, picture-perfect. I tell her about my 'waist up' theory. Fat lot of good it did. She poses us, on the floor, mom (me) in front sort of leaning over to the side full body shot, B.J. squatting behind me, Peanut standing behind me on the other side, and a cranky, screaming, whiny chublet in the front of me. This is just the beginning.

Internally I'm groaning to myself, what part of 'from the waist up ONLY' did she not understand? And, to make matters worse, she is trying to get chubber to look happier than someone marching to the guillotine (his current pose) by making silly noises, playing peek-a-boo through an empty box. Normally, this type of activity makes little kids giggle and smile. Or, at least snap out of their funk. It succeeds grandly in making Chublet more and more angry. He actually becomes incensed, complete with more screaming, and, my personal favorite, throwing himself on the floor in the 'rug' pose. Can this woman simply not shut up? Can she not see she's not helping, but making things worse? For all intents and purposes, she cannot.

So, we scream our way through the family shot. When we reviewed the pictures, there was only ONE shot where we were all looking the same direction, and Chub was not openly screaming: the picture with me, full-body in front. With B.J.'s white sweat socks showing. Classy. I think we'll be the modern equivalent to a Norman Rockwell...

Family portrait done, we proceeded to torment ourselves and the kids some more: sibling shots. Let's just say that went over like a lead balloon. For a change, Peanut was compliant, smiled on cue, tilted her head 'just so' and sat still. Who was this child? On the other hand, there was the chublet: cranky, angry, flopping in the floor. The proverbial little kid pitching a fit in the grocery store. You know exactly what I'm talking about.

The kids' photos were so horrible, I didn't buy even one of them. Even the photographer who reviewed the proofs with us covered up Chublet's face and said, "these would be great if we could cut this out." I agreed.

So, the moral of the story? I don't know. All I do know is that my wardrobe malfunction will be immortalized in our 2007 Family/Christmas portrait. I'll forever remember how entirely two years old Chublet was, and that the Peanut was proportionally angelic to Chublet's evilness.

We have rescheduled the kids' portrait for next weekend. Let's hope it is less of a toddler rodeo. Please.

Some of my Favorite Things: Favorite Pool in the US

This is my favorite pool. In fact, this pool is one of my all-time favorite places in the entire United States.

This is Coral Gables Venetian Pool. I count some of my happiest memories as a child as coming from spending time with my mom and my grandmother at Venetian Pool.

There is quite a lot of history to this beautiful place. For my family there are at least 3 generations worth of history at this pool. My grandmother took my mother and her siblings as children to swim. And, if I could dig through family photos and find them, there are pictures showing that I was brought her as a little girl to swim, too.

I always loved coming here. It was so refreshing, and, in some instances, downright cold to swim in the clear spring-fed waters. I loved to swim with my grandma into the 'grotto' and under the water into the caves that were formed from the native coral rock that is everywhere in Miami.

Thinking of Venetian Pool, I can't help but remember stories of my mother and her siblings playing in the water here. One story in particular always springs to mind: When my Aunt J. was about 3 years old she managed to climb to the top of the rock cliff all by herself, and jumped off. Yep, they said even though J. couldn't swim a stroke, she took a flying leap off of the 25' high cliff and landed in the water. Luckily people jumped in right away and pulled her out of the water before she drowned. Nobody could believe she did it, and they were never able to figure out just why she decided to jump off. All of this took place in the mid 1940's.

I am so glad to see that this pool is on the national registry of historical places. It gives me peace of mind that such a treasure in the 'Gables will be preserved for many generations to come. I look forward to someday being able to take my own children to swim at Venetian Pool, to continue the legacy that was left to me by my mother and my grandmother.

This post is dedicated to you, Grammy and Nana. I miss and love you both. Thank you for giving me such good memories and for all the good times playing at the pool (and the beach!). I will never forget.

Why did both of them have to get sick for us to have a nice day together?

That is the question B.J. asked me as we were cleaning up the kitchen this evening.

I don't know. Why is it that once both of our little monkeys are with the sniffles that we have a nice family afternoon together? Maybe it is because they've both slowed down enough to leave 'warp drive.' Maybe it is because, praise the Lord, we had an entire day free of sibling squabbles and rivalry. Maybe we'll never actually know.

We really did have a nice afternoon today. We decided that since it was so rainy and ugly outside today that there were two options open to us: 1) lay around the house all day like slugs, watching DVDs (for the millionth time), or 2) load up the family in the mommy-mobile, spend some of the money burning a hole in our pockets up at IKEA.

We chose option 2.

On the drive up the kids snoozed and/or spaced out. It was quite nice as it allowed us a modicum of peace and quiet that we usually do not get to enjoy on family car trips. The drive would have been really nice if I hadn't been white-knuckling the arm rest all the way to the store. When it rains and pours (as it often does in this state) and the traffic doesn't slow down and there's oh, say, less than 2 car-lengths between the cars--and very poor visibility--I turn into a nervous wreck. I worry (with what possible change to life's outcomes, I don't know) endlessly that there will be a massive pile-up of cars on the interstate. It is fruitless for me to do so, but I suppose it is a little Post-traumatic stress left over from a really bad car-wreck I was in when I was about 18 (it was a 3 car pile-up).

While we were at IKEA the kids were fantastic. They stuck with us, followed directions, ate their lunch without any screaming, throwing of food, or planning a massive coup d'état. I call that a successful trip. Although we did not have any luck finding the right measurements for wooden mini-blinds (dang! that means it will be at least $100 per window...and I have how many windows in my house? 1...2...5....7....) we did find some really neat little gadgets and storage devices.

Once home, the peace continued. After checking my vital stats more than once to see if I had passed to the hereafter, we managed another beautifully orchestrated and peaceful meal. The chubber was too tired to keep his little eyelids open, and passed out in my arms on the couch post-meal.

This left us open to make some pumpkin bread (thanks for the inspiration from Martin Bliss). Generally Chublet is my co-conspirator in gustatory experimentation, but tonight Peanutzilla wanted to help out. Normally, Peanut attempting to be my helper in the kitchen results in a melt-down (hers and mine) because impulse control and the ability to follow simple directions are more difficult that you could imagine. But, tonight the good vibe of the afternoon followed with us. Peanut was compliant, helpful, cheery, and we had fun measuring, dumping, and mixing the dough. Not a temper-tantrum or melt-down to be seen.

I just love when we have good days. They truly are so far and few between for our family. Usually Peanut and Chubb-chubb like to 'tag-team' with the naughty behavior. Once one is subdued the other jumps in with 'round 2' of bad behavior. Today, it wasn't the case. It makes me wonder if this is what an average middle-of-the-road family experiences on a somewhat frequent basis. I hope so.

What a lovely day. Perhaps sickness is underrated? I hate to think today was as good as it was due to both of them having a cold...

I'll just savor the memory of this afternoon, and hold tight to it for those days that are more frequent in this household, the days where mommy is red in the face and the monkeys are swinging from the proverbial chandelier.

Cruising toward the end of an epoch

I just love Craig's List. It is like the eBay for weenies. Like me.

You know the people who pretend to be techno-savvy, but are really only mediocre at the computer stuff. The folks who would love to be able to be one of those eBay whizzes who sells snow to Eskimos online and makes a mint doing it? Yea. That's me. Craig's List is less hassle, less risk, and no credit card numbers involved. I can and do handle that. It lets me dabble in online sales, without all the commitment.

I sell random stuff on Craig's list. Probably the strangest thing I sold (in under 24 hours, mind you) was my old Amana Dryer. It worked as well as you'd expect a 10 year old used dryer to work. And, someone bought it *snaps fingers* just. like. that.

The most recent of my sales on the list was this: A three-sided 'Little Tykes' play structure.

Over the summer I watched my two babies play on/with it less and less. It was becoming clear that its usefulness and time at my doorstep was coming to an end. It was with mixed emotions that I posted it to Craig's List. A part of me was thrilled to have more room on my back porch, but another part of me didn't want the fun with it to end.

I remember when I found the little play structure, I was so thrilled! I had been coveting one of these structures for Peanut because it would be a lot of fun for her, and it would be easy enough that (given her physical limitations) she would be able to play on it and feel good about herself.

Peanut, and later Chubbers, had such fun playing on it. They both could climb, slide, and play under it in the 'fort'. It was just the right size. But, as I said, over the summer it became more and more clear its time was done.

So, it was with great sadness that I posted it on Craig's list. I half hoped it wouldn't sell. If it didn't sell, silly as it sounds, it was a way to keep a small vestige of 'babyhood' around. I've been slowly but surely getting rid of all my baby paraphernalia. The baby-car-seat: Gone. The changing table and glider rocker: gone. I have the crib disassembled and ready to be sold in the garage, but I'm dragging my feet.

I don't know why, but it seems so sad to let go of all these things. I posted it online about a month ago, and as of yesterday the play structure is gone.

It is the end of a period in our lives. I debate with myself, and B.J. whether or not we want a third baby. I know in Heaven I will have all three of my babies, one is already waiting for me. But here, on Earth, I wonder if we're done. Most days I know that we are; but then there are other days where I get this dull ache in my core that yearns for another of those sweet little bundles. I sometimes really miss that sweet milky breath, and rocking a tiny little love to sleep. Some days.

I feel like if I get rid of all of my baby stuff, it sort of seals the deal: we're done. Finito. Fin.

*sigh*

I am looking forward to the new stages we're about to enter: Kindergarten and (for Chub-chub) preschool. It just seems so strange to think: no more babies.

I wonder if all moms feel this way? Do you ever find that peace where you know in your heart and your mind "I'm done."? Some days I think I have that feeling, but then something happens--I see or smell or hear something that pulls on my heart strings and I'm lost, all over again.

Yippee-ki-yay

Life with small children is never dull. In fact, life is always a surprise, and you never really know what type of surprise it is going to be.

Sometimes, the surprise is: Look at me! I learned how to take my diaper off and finger-paint with poop! (that is one unpleasant surprise I walked into after my 18 month old daughter woke up from nap...eugh, that was awful). Other times the surprises are like: Wow, I'm a big boy now! I learned how to climb up the ladder to the BIG slide at the park and I can now go up and slide down all by myself (yet another, more pleasant, surprise I had with my son...at the age of 13 months old (a mite scary, truth be told). He was so proud of himself).

Life is always interesting, especially with my little rugrats. Take for instance, the morning toddler rodeo. Toddler Rodeo? you say. Yes. Toddler Rodeo.

Every morning life gets extremely interesting anywhere between 6-6:45am (oh, joy, I just love early morning adventures...NOT). Chubbers wakes up with what my husband and I have come to call "monster pee-pee pants"--super soaked and fully filled wet diapers--and needs to be changed immediately (or there are...shall we say, nasty repercussions). Chubbers doesn't like to have his mega pee-pee pants changed. I don't know why he'd like to stay in them. If it were me, after a good 10+hours of marinating in my own urine, I think I'd like a fresh pair of diaper pants to, well, soil all over again. That is not the case with the boy. At least you can't say we don't get our money's worth out of the before-bed diaper.



The toddler rodeo begins with parent A or B walking into Chubber's room and saying good morning, giving him hugs, and gently telling him he has wet pants (we're trying to get that association with potty-wet pants for toileting...it may prove to be futile...) and needs to get his pee-pee diaper off. It is at this point in time that Chub defiantly (and definitely) shakes his head and protests "NO!!". Then he squirms to get down, or performs my all time favorite pose "the dead fish" (where he gets extremely heavy and limp, while simultaneously 'melting' out of my arms).

Once those tried-but-true tactics fail, he proceeds to allow us to lay him down to change him--but it is all a part of his carefully crafted master-plan of escape (too bad that the two-year-old don't realize that when you apply the same tactical strategies every morning, the unsuspecting victim (parent A or B) anticipates your moves...). He looks sweet and innocent laying there, until you start to remove the wet diaper. Then, a la salt water crocodiles from Australia, he begins performing death-rolls. It is amazing just how incredibly difficult it is to pull an angry-doesn't-want-a-diaper-change-toddler out of a death roll.



At this point in time whichever parent is changing him employs his or her own strategy to whip off the sodden (2lb. +) diaper and reposition the boy onto a clean diaper. I, personally, like the technique where I plead, pathetically, for the boy to be still followed up by getting him more or less spread-eagle and pinning his arms and legs with my legs so that I can complete my task.



Changing Chubbers in the morning is one of those tasks that I don't even attempt without at least one cup of coffee in my system. I just don't.



Now, the Rodeo wouldn't be all that awful, really, except for the fact that Chubbers has his own cheering section: The Peanut (heh, heh...like a 'Peanut Gallery'...). Peanut, likes to wander into his room as we're changing him and loves to watch her brother flip and flop around like some sort of game fish landed on 20# test line. She grins with glee while chorusing "I want to see the poop!" regardless of whether or not there is any fecal matter. I can already see visions of my sweet little girl on the playground in the future, being the one to instigate the chanting of "Fight...fight...fight" when Johnny and Isaac have a little tête à tête on the first grade playground. Lord, help me.



By the time that the monster pee-pee pants have made their way into the pee-pee bucket (the Diaper Champ) the elapsed time is approximately 10 minutes, parent A or B is thoroughly exhausted, and the boy toddles off to start his glorious, brand-new day.



Parenting; never a dull moment. Nope.

Busy, tired, ugh

I feel like I'm flying around here like a loony-toon. I have about 2 weeks left until I go back to work, and as usual, the time starts to go by fast. Like, someone hit the x32 fast-forward button. Like I'm in the movie 'Click.' It is going by even faster due to Chub-chub and his new bed.



Chubbers is out of his crib and into a toddler bed (or the floor)--on a good day. He can't seem to handle the freedom of not being in a 'cage' (crib). It is kind of like parents who haven't had a day to themselves in months, and they're so excited, nervous, scared, elated that they just run around in circles bumping into objects and walls not knowing what to do with themselves, or how to handle it. Chubbers is the same way. Just without a crib.



Last night B.J. was putting him down to bed (that's his job) and I left the house for some much needed retail therapy. When I got home I found out that Chub-o had been his typical nightmare self. He didn't want to go to bed, so he popped up and screamed, alternately, for about an hour before conking out. Then, he decided that mommy really did need to experience the joy of an angry, over-tired toddler, and woke up screaming at 11pm, 2am, and 3:45am, finally waking at 5:45am.



Oh, what joy. I feel like I have a newborn again. I think I got, maybe, 2 solid hours of sleep last night. At 5:45am I decided, blearily, when it was clear that my offspring wasn't going to sleep, that I'd lay in bed and the boy could crawl into bed with me (which he did, and then proceeded to poke me in the face and randomly on my torso, just for giggles and grins--ANNOYING!!) or run amok in the house tearing things from the shelves, walls, and whipping out a can of Krylon for some preschool art--I DIDN'T CARE!! Let me sleep, please! This system of apathy and loving neglect worked until 6:15am, when the automatic coffee pot began brewing and I finally gave up trying to sleep and succumbed to the draw of my caffeine addiction.



When will it end? This is what I get for having a daughter, whom when we put her int a big-girl bed (directly into a 'Full', not a toddler bed) she laid down for bed, popped up only one time, and thereafter slept peacefully through the night. Oh, sweet Lord, when will the boy simply lay down and sleep peacefully, like a little angel, again?



Thank goodness my coffee maker decided to work this morning. I don't know if I could have faced the world if it hadn't.

Sunriver

Well, here I am, at last, with time to write about our little holiday in the mountains. In a nutshell: we had a blast, and we definitely got the most 'bang for our buck.' We were up in Sunriver from Friday through Wednesday--our first real 'vacation' since Chubbers was born.

Our Holiday week started out on a funky note. But, then, when you're talking about me, would it start out any other way? We had hoped B.J. would luck out and get Thursday, July 5Th off, so that we could head up on the Fourth of July--but no such luck. Ya win some, you lose some, and with that we packed up the van on Thursday evening/Friday morning and were about ready to head out of the driveway (quite literally, we were all buckled in, engine running) and B.J. gets a call on his cell phone.


'Oh crap.' I thought to myself. Something has come up--the house caught fire, the roads were washed out, lemmings are falling from the sky (hey, when I panic, I do it up right). Nothing so dramatic as all that, thankfully. Just an hour and a half detour added to our drive to swing by the in-laws house and pick up the accidentally forgotten pool passes for our vacation (they were going to be dropped off at the Sunriver house...but life got in the way). No biggie. There's a reason why I have a built-in DVD player in my van--PARENTAL SANITY!

En route to getting the passes in Eugene, my meticulously mapped out Letterboxing (click the link, and it will fill you in--yes, I keep saying I'll write a blog, I've been too lazy so far...) route got all messed up--as in the stops were off of HWY 20/22 and we would be driving up HWY 58 to get to our destination. I decide this won't work, and, besides, after my raspberry mocha from the Evil Empire I had to pee, and thus the Peanut and I detoured to the U. of O. to a) go pee, and b) print out a new letterboxing agenda that worked with HWY 58. (Yes, indeed, I am insanely obsessed with my hobby.).

It was interesting to see the changes at my Alma Mater. It has been a total of 7 years since I received my B.A., and 5 years since my Master's degree. The exterior of the university hasn't much changed, but I noticed subtle interior changes; changes that made me feel old. That surely sucked. I had to ask the librarian for help (how on earth do you print out stuff anymore...?). But, with a little patience we were 'good to go.' With new letterboxing agenda and little Peanut in hand, we walked across campus, met B.J. outside of MacArthur Court, and yo-ho-ho and away we go.

The drive is beautiful, and we've forgotten how green and lush the vegetation is on the way up to Willamette Pass. It had been a full 4 years since we had driven to Sunriver via 58. Time flies when you're having babies.


We stop in LaPine to do a little letterboxing/hiking. It is good for the kiddos (and us) to stretch and move around; we reach our box and are rewarded with views like this: The view of the Deschutes river from the hidden letterbox location at "Big Tree" (incidentally, a 1,000 foot tall ponderosa pine tree--'big tree' as a site name seemed a trifle understated).



When we make it to Sunriver we immediately dump off our stuff and head to the pool. It is hotter than a frying pan, and we're all hot, dusty, tired, and in serious need of some refreshing. The pool definitely does the trick. In fact, we spend every afternoon for each day of our holiday at either the North or South pool--miraculously (and thanks to a neurotic sunblock-a-holic) nobody but B.J. (who refuses to wear sunblock) gets burned. Yippee! I have accomplished my personal goal of no sun burnt babies and very little tan lines. I just love the new continuous spray sunblocks--I can even get my own back with them, and they dry almost instantly. (Yes, this is me in my swimsuit from hell.)


We did a lot of walking around in Sunriver, but the majority of our walking around and hiking came in the form of letterboxing. This is the insane (and utterly fun) letterboxing itinerary we followed: Pilot Butte--I just love this picture I took of of Peanut and Chub-chub on the top of the butte:


Peanut climbed up on the post all by herself, with no prompting from me, and as you can see Chubbers is in the dirt--something that would be repeated again, and again, during this trip, prompting us to nickname Chubbers "Pigpen" in honor of the chronically filthy Peanuts character.

We also went to sites at: Shevlin Park Covered Bridge (in Tumalo); Sawyer Park: #1 (couldn't find box 2 or 3--very frustrating); Hollinshead Park; Widgi Creek (next-door to the Seventh Mountain Resort) and Cascade Lakes Scenic Byway.


Another box we found was called Quacker Backer Central Oregon Where I waited with the kiddos in the van since it was out in the brush (we're talking no paved roads, here) and not developmentally appropriate for a 1.5 year old and a 4 year old to tag-along. While waiting I got out of the van periodically to look to see if B.J. had headed back yet (he was far enough out I couldn't see or hear him) and in the process, brain-trust that I can be, [I am not thinking of wild animals out here] I startle and in turn am startled by an 800lb. ELK! I about peed my pants (I had to go already and was doin' the dance) with fright.


It was at that point I, after I recovered my wits, I began looking at the various animal tracks in the dust and mud where we were, and only then did I notice the abundance of Elk and Deer tracks (cool) and (gulp) Lynx tracks! I could hardly wait for B.J. to get back--all the while having visions of him being mauled violently after unknowingly startling a sleeping wild cat while looking for a letterbox. In the end, no harm, no foul. It turned out to be a really cool and really, really, remotely placed stamp.


We had several other 'attempted' letterboxes--boxes we tried to locate but later found out I missed finding one by 5' (grrr! how frustrating) and also finding out a number of the boxes were missing (double grrr! it would be nice if the box owners would take the 'clue' out of circulation if they aren't available!!).


One of our adventures that resulted from chasing down a missing box was visiting the Lava Cast Forest. When we embarked on this journey, we didn't realize that it involved going off-road to get to the hike. Off-road. In. A. Mini-van. (secretly, I think that this was so totally exciting!). If I still had had my Explorer, going off-road, down dirt trails, over curbs, through small rivers--no big deal. But, this was in a van. Pretty gutsy. The picture doesn't look too bad, but just imagine an old-time aluminum wash board. Yep, you know the kind. Now, apply that zig-zag pattern, horizontally with 3-4" grooves to the road. For NINE miles. Then you have an idea. The kids had a blast. Little kids love to go "uhhhhh" (a monotonous tone with the voice) when going over a few bumps in suburbia, well, they had the time of their lives going 'uhhhh' for 9 miles each way. B.J. and I laughed so hard. Where is Bill Cosby, when you want him? We ended up not finding the box (the author informed me it was missing) but the sites, and geology we learned about was worth it--me being the dyed-in-the-wool-geek that I am, I just ate it up. (I'm going to ROCK! at Jeopardy! some day, all because I went to the Lava Cast Forest). We saw where the Lava flow had gone around the trunks of trees and, miraculously made 'casts' of the trees. Pretty cool beans.


We also went on a wild goose chase at Newberry National Volcanic Monument. It was o.k. though, because, again (me being a geek) we learned a ton about our local geology, and got in a couple of cool hikes (Big Obsidian Flow & Newberry Crater). The views were spectacular.



We spent the entire week together, as a family. It was fun, relaxing, and a good way for all of us to connect. However, like all good things, this too, had to come to an end.

We (B.J. and I) have been coming up to Sunriver together for the past 11 years (B.J. has been coming since he was 4 or 5 years old). We have shared a lot of good times together at the Sunriver house, we've grown, changed, and learned a lot. So, it was with bittersweet tears that we said goodbye this time. This visit was our last visit, ever, to this house. The family has decided that the house has served its purpose and it is time to move on. And thus has ended another chapter in our lives together: Goodbye Sunriver.










We made the most of it, and it was a good run.

Chubbers re-enacts 'A Christmas Story'

From the Christmas movie classic: A Christmas Story

"Now, Randy, can you show me how the little piggies eat? How do the little
piggies eat?"

"That's my little Piggy!"

*Chubbers dove 'head first' into his refried beans. Apparently, he likes them.

Bliss on a pink two-wheeler

I sparkled. Yes. I absolutely sparkled in my joy of watching the Peanut's accomplishments.

Yesterday afternoon, after we had our highly-nutritious dinner (fresh from Costco's deli) of chicken and penne Alfredo, I took Peanut outside to burn off some energy and enjoy the day. It was a perfectly beautiful day: clear blue sky, cool gentle breeze blowing, and lots of golden vitamin-D rich sunshine, all in a package 70 degree deal.

In a word: perfect.

After a long winter of steel gray days and endless drizzle (a.k.a. Northwest sunshine) that has enough humidity to chill you to the bone, a day like yesterday is a gift from Above. We must (or rather I have to...) cherish such days--we need squirrel away the acorns of memory to pull out and nibble on during our dreary, gray winters. Sometimes, it is all that sustains us when the weather report has been "cloudy, with ongoing showers, followed by more overcast days and a possible low front and more rain....".

Anyhow, I decided to take full advantage of our day and I made the executive decision that Peanut needed to practice riding her new pink bicycle.

Yikes.

The last two times we'd taken her out on her bicycle went like this: get to the end of the driveway, park the bike on the sidewalk, plop the Peanut on her seat and....she becomes belligerent, whiny, and cries and has a fit until we finally let her quit (after having put on a great show for the neighbors of cajoling, wheedling, pleading with her to "Just try it sweetie, it is so much fun. You'll love it!" to have her blood-curdling reply of "NOOO!!!!! I DON'T WANT TO!!!!!!!!!!" Very fun, you know, working toward that 'worst-parent-in-the-world award.).

Well, I had decided that we would muster all of our 'little-engine-that-could' energy and 'whip' the riding the bike thing. Ha.

Ha.

Ha.

Ha.

Actually, much to my delight that is exactly what we did. Peanut climbed on her bicycle (by herself) and pedaled slowly down the sidewalk with me sauntering behind. As we got to the street corner I asked her "Do you want to go to the park?"

"Sure. I go fast!" she cheerfully informed me.

So off to the park (about 2 blocks from our house, on our same street) we go. Once we get there, as usual there's multiple little league games going on, surrounded by parents cheering on their little sluggers, and younger ( sometimes older) siblings playing on the grass, entertaining themselves.

And "BIG" kids riding bikes.

Peanut wants to be a "BIG" kid. And ride a bike like a "BIG" kid. This is good for us, because it spurs her on to emulate her peers.

As we get to the track the surrounds the fields, Peanut's confidence begins to build. It is the most magical thing to observe-- confidence building, that is. She begins to pedal a little faster, and gain a little more distance. She's now pedaling 5-10 feet ahead of me. This is fantastic. Especially, because the last time, once we got past the screaming-Mimi fit, she pedaled so slow that even at my slowest gait, she trailed me by about 15 feet. Let's put it this way: If I had sat down every 20 steps I could have enjoyed a tea by the time she caught up with me.

I'm beginning to have to walk a bit faster. Perhaps, you could even describe it as walking briskly. (A bonus: I get a little much needed exercise.)

Peanut is gaining even more speed and confidence as she goes along. I periodically call out to her "Don't crash into people! Say 'Excuse me'. Go around them..." all the while mentally panicking: What if she falls down? She'll never get back on her bike. She'll lose her confidence. Oh jeez, don't hit that little kid...Oh, please, dear Lord, don't let her fall down.

She's cruising along at a good beginner speed--at about 50 feet ahead of me! If I decided to hoof it at a jog, I doubt I could have kept pace with her. I am completely in awe at this point. Less than 24 hours earlier she pitched such a fit I thought for sure Child Protective Services would be called, and now, here she was, doing it. Actually doing it, and enjoying herself.

Then it happens: she falls down.

While trying to go around a couple with a baby in a stroller, she loses her balance, over compensates and crashes. (insert bomb exploding noise: here) I do run to her at this point--boobs swinging embarrassingly, like to give myself a black-eye--and scoop her into my arms. My poor baby is sobbing and has received a trophy of some 'road-rash' on her knee. Luckily, the fall didn't really even break the skin, just 'skinned' her knee a bit. I cuddle my girl on my shoulder and assure her she's o.k. Talking to her about how proud of her I am that she tried to go around the people and not crash into them. Talking to her about how she's a big girl. That she is four. And that because she is four, she's a big girl and will be all right.

That does the trick. She calms down, climbs back onto her bicycle and tentatively pedals forward. "Mommy, hold me." She commands.

"No, sweetie. I can't. I'm right her for you. You're safe." I reply. Again, it works. I don't want her to quit now, and forever associate falling down with her bicycle--if she does, she'll never get back on it. That is just the way the Peanut works. And, if I hold her as she rides, she'll never feel safe if I let go. What do I do? I swallow the lump of pain, grief, fear, and anxiety in my throat and say to her what I did. And, it worked. She pedaled slowly (very, very, slowly) and her confidence sprouted up again and began to grow. Then, she saw another little girl, about 7 years-old going 'fast' and off Peanut went. Lickety-split, she's going again. Pedaling quickly, sitting up straight and proud. And riding her pink bicycle.

Watching my beautiful little peanut ride her little pink two-wheeler was one of the most beautiful sights I've seen. I thought to myself: here is my beautiful little girl, 4 years old, riding a bicycle. And, this is the same beautiful little girl who I used to have to drive 45 minutes to a bigger metropolitan area to do physical therapy. The same little girl who did not roll over, sit up, push up, crawl, walk...without direct and intense pediatric physical therapy.

The same beautiful little girl.

It took my breath away and brought tears to my eyes. My beautiful little girl had just passed another huge childhood milestone: riding a bicycle.

We, who are naturally disposed to do things, often take for granted those things we do without effort. There are so many different neurological 'hurdles' that take place to do the most basic physical things. Most of us do them without trying; Peanut does them with great effort. I marvel when I think of the gross motor skills needed to pedal a bicycle, the synaptic relays that happen in a fraction of a second in order for all the muscles, bones, and nerves to 'fire' correctly and produce the desired result. It is truly amazing. The Great Engineer knew what he was doing.

Somewhere, someone said that the human body is the greatest engineering feat ever completed. After watching my Peanut ride her little pink two-wheeled bicycle I'm inclined to think whomever said it was right.

I am so proud of my little girl. Verbose as I am, words fail to capture the emotion I feel toward Peanut and her accomplishment. She's the most amazing little being and never ceases to surprise me with all that she CAN do.

I've lost my Chub-chub

Chub-chub is gone. I've lost him.

I can't really say exactly what day or time of day it happened, but he's gone. I miss him so much, I'll likely never get over it.

You see, we went to Winco this afternoon to do the requisite grocery shopping (yag) and I had Peanut and the Chub-chub with me. When I went in I did my 'pre-trip check': kids: check, money: check, shopping cart: check, grocery list: check. All things set to rock and roll, and get my least favorite chore (after cleaning the floors) taken care of.

It was an uneventful trip. I managed 8 grocery bags worth of meat, fresh produce, spices, and various canned/frozen goods for a mere $87. I was feeling pretty good.

Then it happened: I realized I lost my little Chubber. Somewhere between putting the groceries in the back of the van and depositing my cart in the shopping cart corral my baby was no more.

You see, I had my boy wrapped in my arms, his silky little blond head resting heavily on my shoulder, hair tickling my cheek, with his strong little body melding itself bonelessly to me, his brown leather shoes banging into my legs just above my knees. When did this happen? When did my baby turn into this cuddly and beautiful sleepy little boy? He really is turning into a little boy. He's most certainly a toddler who will be 2 years old this August.

Looking at him in the rear view mirror on the way home I watched as the lids of his sparkly cerulean blue eyes became too heavy to hold up, and the dust the sandman had sprinkled upon him took him to the land of nod. I wondered: how much longer will he be even this little? I have so completely enjoyed his babyhood. I, for once, am not guilty of 'wishing away' his little years. Quite the contrary, I've wished I could keep him little for just a while longer. I'll never forget the first seconds I saw him when he came to see me in this world; I'll never forget the bliss I felt as I nursed him at my breast or breathing in his sweet milky breath as I rocked him before bed.

My mother and dad always told me that as you get older that time starts to go by faster; they never told me that when I had my own babies that if you so much as blink that a season goes by. And, that no matter what, they don't stay small: 'babies don't keep' is what a picture frame I have says. I have never heard such an understatement.

I will cherish all the time I have with my boy (and my girl) while they are small. The time is so fleeting, and only the Good Lord knows how much longer they'll want to snuggle down into my neck and wrap sticky fingers 'round the tendrils of my hair. How many more little wet kisses have I been granted? I'll never know until they're gone.

For now, I'll hold tight to my little ones while they're small and while I still can.

Post-it / Rant-it

The Peanut celebrated her 4th Birthday on the 28th of April. I cannot believe that she's already 4--that I have been in charge of the growth, development, love, and nurturing of another human being for 4 years. I. Have. Been. A. Parent. For. Four. Years.

Wow.

In a nutshell, her birthday party was great. She had a blast. [I'll post pictures. Later.] I can't ask for more than that.

Other than I was a schmuck and forgot to mail one (if not more than one) invitation and left someone special feeling left out. I feel crappy about it. It also made me annoyed at B.J. He has done absolutely 0 beyond the barest minimum to help me out with her party/health issues/etc. lately.

It is annoying.

Like I can reasonably organize:
The Chub-chub; the house (cleaning, shopping, groceries, laundry.....); my job, the three separate Grant proposals that I've been working on at the same time; Peanut's doctor appointments, her therapist, the research study she involved with, her medications(S!!! as in plural); a marriage; planning a party; and maintain sanity without help!?

Yeah. Right.

It could be worse. At least Peanut had a great B'day.

Oprah: On Autism

Oprah has Autism as her topic for today. I'm going to carve out that hour from my schedule to watch the show and see what she has to present.

See, I've been struggling with Autism, or rather I've been struggling with my daughter Peanut's (NB) Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD) lately. I have been really doing well dealing with her diagnosis and being an advocate for her, but the day before yesterday I just lost it. I was sitting in the hot tub with my husband, B., trying to relax, but I wound up sitting there whining and blubbering about how I felt like I couldn't handle Peanut's ASD. See, we've only had a diagnosis of ASD for the Peanut since February 2007. And we're still in that blinding snowstorm that is trying to sort out our emotions, find the best treatment options for Peanut, and be good parents (all at the same moment in time). It is quite overwhelming.

For example, it is like dealing with your taxes and all the government forms that go along with them every day, just the tax laws change daily, and sometimes hourly, and you aren't privy to those changes. Dealing with the emotions you feel as a parent with a child diagnosed with ASD is like: "here, things aren't the same as you expected, they've changed, I'm not going to tell you the changes, and if you screw up, well....that's just tough. You'll get a melt-down for a reward and you'll have to start from square one. Oh, yeah, and your deadline for everything to be dealt with just got shortened by an undisclosed amount of time. You'll have virtually no support from anyone, and, just for good measure, you'll need to beg, whine, wheedle, threaten and shout to get any services covered by your insurance--that is once you've jumped through the proverbial hoops to get the services in the first place. Tootles! Have fun!!!!"

But, to return to my original train of thought: I'm thrilled that Oprah is going to feature Autism. I've already emailed my family and friends about the upcoming show. I hope that some of them will watch. Maybe they'll get a more open understanding of why Peanut is the way she is, and realize that she's not being a 'bad girl' or that we're not 'rotten parents.' Peanut is just hard-wired differently and has a unique perception of the world that no one else has.