The house of silent doors

This weekend marked some incredible highs and pitiful lows. The highs begin with a super-successful dinner party, punctuated by a melt-in-your-mouth, possibly never to be re-created brisket. Of course there were good friends, good conversation, and a sweetheart of a boy who shared his toys and sat happily chatting at the dinner table.

Saturday morning Luke suggested that we make waffles together ("Good idea, doctor," he congratulated himself) and we sang songs and mixed and poured, making way more waffles than we would possibly want to eat in a three-person household. As an aside, I should have considered that the making of the waffles was possibly more fun than the eating of the waffles, when Sunday morning he wanted to make waffles again, and I just had to laugh because our refrigerator and freezer are now groaningly full with waffles, leaking little square compartmentalized pieces of dough out the sides and top.

Incredibly, following the waffle extravaganza, we decided to go out to Mexican for lunch. That brought about my favorite memory of the weekend, which is the expression on Luke's face after he glommed down on the hot salsa: His mouth dropped open and his eyes bugged out, and he croaked, "Need...milk..." and then after a few chugs he went right back to eating happily, none the worse for wear.

Sunday morning's trip to the park involved the expenditure of approximately 15 calories by Luke: He wanted to be carried from the car to the sand, then he sat and played with some diggers with intense concentration, never moving from a three-foot radius away from me, and then he sat on the bench feeding the ducks and watching them from behind my enormous black fly-eye sunglasses, until he announced that it was time to go home. I'd say he's more or less a mellow dude. Maybe just tired. Or maybe, as Dave suggests, he has too much going on inside that big head of his (scientific theories? complex drum rhythms?) to be bothered with pointless running around at the park.

Sunday night we had dinner with friends at a mediocre Greek place, which was vastly improved by good conversation and a happy Luke, who got down from his seat to go over and lean his head on Dan the Man's knee and ask him to read books. We had such a good time that we all decided to head back to our house for apple pie and the official breaking out of Luke's new drum ("Hooray!"). Unbelievably, Luke and Kaitlin actually found it more fun to entertain us with a marching band than to sit and eat pie and ice cream - go figure.

The lows sort of bottomed out on Sunday morning when it became clear that I have been fat and cranky and hungry not because I am pregnant, but just because I'm fat and cranky and hungry. The worst part is the sudden reversal: I had been dancing on air in part because I thought it *might* *actually* be happening...until that particular fantasy came to a sudden and unceremonious halt. So. Enough said on that because I don't want to revisit it.

Saturday morning while I was in my "I think I'm pregnant" reverie, Dave and Luke took on the project of rehanging all of the doors in the house, which changed our daily sitcom soundtrack from "Screeeeeeeeeeech......Wahhhhhhh!" every time we shut Luke's door at night and he realizes we're gone from the room, to a silent little "poof," and they're closed. All weekend long I was thrown off by the lack of noise and I found myself going back and shutting and re-shutting the doors, waiting for a noise. It's a strange thing, a quiet house. Maybe we need some new noises around here.

Finally, a few late-breaking entries to the Luke-tionary...These are some of the more mysterious constructions that would leave anyone baffled if they were to come to our house:

Soo-doo = Cereal
Yassat = Restaurant (which took me forever to figure out)
Puh-pul med-sen = Purple medicine, aka Dimetapp, which cures all ills.

The lack of noise that I hear upstairs must mean that Dave is shutting the door and Luke is finally asleep. Now that I brought the sad part up, I can't seem to focus enough to end on a bright note. Dave and I are just going to lug our tired, old bodies over to the couch to watch "Big Love" and finally rest and relax.

out of the blue

Just a few quick adds to the Luke-tionary from yesterday...a few things he came up with that I had no idea he had in his brain:

1) In the new hippo book, he pointed out the "palm trees."
2) When we got home from Costco I found him sitting in the playroom, eating an apple from the jumbo tray of apples I bought, and he told me, "Having a picnic."
3) In the car he wanted me to sing "Michael Row," and I asked him if he wanted me to sing the funny version (fast), which he did and I did. Apparently it went on too long because a few minutes later he said, "No - Slowly!" And I said, "Slowly?" Yes. That's what he wanted. Baby's first adverb! (sniff, sniff)...

Luke-tionary

Yesterday turned out OK, though as I described it to Dave, if my brain were a pie chart, at least 1/2 of it would be devoted to Luke/family and work is only a small part of the remainder. Is that bad? I thought about them all day while I was gone, and when my flight was 90 minutes late coming home, I thought that perhaps this wasn't much worth it. Sure, I proved something to myself, but all in all I'd rather be here than stuck up in Sacto.

So........it's about time for new entries in the Luke dictionary:

"Worka-worka-workshop" = Let's go work in the workshop!
"Masa masa and poos-pasa" = Tamales and pupusas
"Mommy, a-tah-ning? Tahning, Mommy, tahning!" = Mommy, please pretend you are crying so we can play that very odd little game where you cry for my own amusement until I say "feel better."
"Nah-nat" = Napkin
"Bob-a-Didda" = Bob the Builder
"Wanna read books down-tairs" = I don't want to go to bed
"Puh-buh me" = Pardon me (after the big fish eats the smaller fish and burps)
"Moo-dic" = Music
"Baby song" = Dan Zanes' "Pay Me (Baby?) My Money Down"
"Vewy, vewy ow"/ "Ow fork" = very very dangerous/pointy fork
"Ray!" = Hooray!
"His-DO-REEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" = the grand finale of "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer," complete with wild banging of drums and clashing of cymbals, followed by a very deep bow.

horn of plenty

So I'm squeezing into this chair after having squeezed into my pants and squeezed through the doorway of the office. How did I ever gain so much weight, I might ask myself. I think it can be traced back to the end of nursing, though there may have been some cookies, Mexican food, office snacks, and goldfish that had something to do with it too.

But that didn't stop me and the rest of the team here from celebrating St. Patrick's Day (or excuse me, St. Patrick's Season as it has turned into) in fine style, with a multi-faceted parade (marching bands! bagpipes! cloggers! clowns! people throwing candy! crazy people doing line dances with hand-trucks full of cases of beer!) and a fine corned beef and cabbage dinner at Suzi and Boom-Boom's house. Luke was a little worse for wear by the end of the day yesterday, which is possibly what resulted in him sleeping until 8:35 this morning.

Luke has had a lot of new stimulation in the last two days. Dave finally got tired of the slow trickle of second-rate books that I brought home from the $1 store, so he went all out and just ordered a whole bunch of cool books and music and one DVD from Amazon. It's basically been the "horn of plenty" since it arrived because every time there's a dull moment we can pull out a new book or put on Dan Zanes. Another fave new toy is the $3 green shamrock trumpet from the parade. Funny, while we were at the parade I thought to myself, "These horns are really cool and they aren't all that loud." Then you take away the open air and the crowd of thousands, and you get back in the house, and let me tell you, it is pretty darned loud. ("Mommy say, 'too youd!'")

Today we added to the stimulation by going back down to the beach to see the continuation of the St. Pat's festival and to join in the drum circle. I didn't think it was possible but even Luke finally had his fill of drumming, in just about one hour, when he said, "Bye, drum circle," and headed off in the direction of some construction equipment.

I'm not so happy about traveling tomorrow, particularly because the arrangements and logistics have kind of bled into my long weekend, but I made my decision so I'm headed out of town. I feel even weirder about it now because Luke is in a hyper-mommy mode at the moment (more so than usual) and I know he's going to be thrown off when I'm not there tomorrow for the first time EVER. (Did I mention that already?) Luke now wants me to put him to sleep rather than Dave, though I was able to pinpoint one possible reason last night when I discovered a very large difference in our sleep-putting-down methods: Dave sits on the floor next to the bed and pats him and leaves the room, whereas I climb into the bed and curl up with him and he falls asleep holding my hand. Hmmmm, is all I can say. We'll see how it goes tomorrow. I just can't wait until the next time I have an opportunity to hear, "I yuv you, Mommy!"

Orange truck

Not feeling especially bloggy today, but I have this bagelhead picture, so I feel compelled to think of something to say to go along with it. We saw Charlotte Diamond ("I am a pizza") today, but the thrill of the concert was vastly overshadowed by the thrill of a little orange maintenance truck outside the performing arts center, causing Luke to spend the entire concert saying "Wanna see orange truck!" Darn near worth the price of admission. Remind me not to spend $40 a pop to see the Wiggles if there's a chance there's going to be any kind of maintenance vehicles parked outside.

Later we had another special Mommy-Lukey lunch (I'm sorry, Mommy-Doctor lunch, as Luke kept reminding me) that once again involved large quantities of milkshake and very little of anything else of substance.

I guess I'm just totally thrown off by being off on Thursday instead of Wednesday. It's also coupled with a little bit of anxiety about my first "day" away from Luke coming up on Monday. I'm going to be leaving at the crack of dawn for Sacramento, and for the first time won't be there to see him in the morning. I mean I know he'll survive but it's a little weird to have that piece of knowledge about the future and then watch yourself overcompensating in the present.

One nice side-benefit of my topsy-turvy schedule was finally making it to our Thursday night class again, and we got a near hero's welcome when we walked in the door. Then we got home and Dave bought an entire new box of books for Luke, necessitating many additional minutes of reading and giggling before the topic of sleep came up. As I type, it's 9:38 and I'm still hearing laughing and a significant amount of pounding coming from upstairs.

Tomorrow it's a St. Patrick's Day party at the park, probably a Costco trip, and the near-certainty of many hours spent working in the workshop and/or watching one of our two taped episodes of Bob-A-Didda on TV (can we please find another episode somewhere? please?). But it's been a good day. Let's hear it for big trucks, thick sweet beverages, and lots of mommy time.

red and yellow and pink and green

Emotions have run the gamut this week. We've had tears, crazy-running-around happiness, and sticky, sticky pinkeye. Luke is home from school today, after having been sent home yesterday with the dreaded eye goop. Luckily for all we have Aunt Suzi to come over and babysit for the day. It's funny, I have a little relief that he's not going to school today because things have been so up-and-down with his emotions and behavior and attitude toward school. Yesterday morning Dave and I were both nervous (not around Luke of course) about how the day was going to go. After a fantastic three-day weekend off from school, filled with activity, Luke woke up early, super-floppy, demanding medicine, and otherwise seemingly knowing that it was a school day. When it came time for me to leave, he begged to go back upstairs and go to sleep. Of course we learned soon enough that he wasn't *actually* tired. Finally Dave managed to get him off to school and dropped off with relatively minor screaming and crying. Then he went on to have a good day that actually involved laughing at the funny Flubber. Who knew? He even got an early reprieve as his eyes were sealed shut after his nap, earning him a one-way ticket home.

This week was going to be a rare three-days-in-a-row week for Luke at school; now, as I said, I guess I'm feeling a little relief that he doesn't have to face that test just yet. But either way, we've got a great long weekend ahead: Charlotte Diamond concert on Thursday; Shabbat with Hatcher and Eitan on Friday; St. Patrick's Day parade on Saturday; and drum circle on Sunday.

Our life is different now, no two ways about it. Mostly it's a big change for Dave in the mornings without Silvia. We now have dishes in the sink, laundry in various states of messiness around the house, unmade bed, various fuzzballs all around the house, lunch and sheets that need to be packed and unpacked, and a boy that needs to be carted and dropped off. But there are too many pluses on the plus side to even think about these things. The real challenge, I think, is going to be getting us all on the same page of "happy" about school and our new life.

One final note from the Luke archives: The other night we were reading Corduroy, and when we got to the page where he wakes up in the morning and Lisa is standing there preparing to buy him, I asked Luke, "What does the girl say?" - expecting to hear "I'm Lisa."

Luke looks at her and says, "I got da money."

The ambassador

We're officially in the toddler universe right now, and it's a confusing and downright strange place sometimes. (Why, for instance, did Luke need to get up from dinner three separate times to confirm that Dave's shoes were tied?). I think Harvey Karp is right that sometimes you have to look at yourself as an ambassador to this little proto-caveman world.

For instance - I think Dave probably said it better today already but - for the record - Luke's big accomplishment today was going down for a nap at school. On Thursday he had been a little skeptical about the idea of sleeping there ("Where are the beds?"). But Dave thought to mention that question to Teacher Beverly this morning, and she had the brilliant idea that it might help him if he saw her preparing the beds before naptime. So when nap time rolled around, she had him help her pull out the cot and put his sheet on it. Apparently he fell asleep within minutes of putting his head down. Teacher Beverly = My new favorite person.

We also have to realize we're dealing with a master politician. While working at his workshop he handed me a giant toy nail: "Here's special surprise, Mommy!" and I was obviously delighted. So, seeking to use this to his advantage, he sprinted over to the door of the garage (basement) and said, "Mommy, see special surprise in basement!" Of course the only special surprise in the basement is Dave's tools, which is not so much a "surprise" for me as it is "special" for Luke.

But the good thing is, he's becoming quite creative at serving as his own interpreter. Tonight he held up a jagged block and said, "Chain chack," and we were both like, "Chain what?" ("Chainsaw?" Dave suggested helpfully). Luke shook his head patiently. "No. Chain. Chooka-chooka-choo-choo!" Ahhh. Train track - of course! Now can you explain the thing about the shoelaces?

Planes, trains, and anything with wheels

Luke was a Man on the Move today; first we had a visit to the train museum, later Dave took him for a Guy's Afternoon Out at the airport (that's right, a voluntary non-travel-related trip to LAX - the first in city history). Here is a guy who likes his modes of transportation: Every night and every morning, the first and last book we read is the airplane book from Grandma and Papa. Then when we go downstairs, "Read books!" really just means "Read book!" because there's only one book we actually read downstairs these days - the "Cars and Trucks and Things that Go" book by Richard Scarry.

What is it with this seemingly male-oriented fascination with all things mechanical and in motion? I told Dave that I had a good time at the train museum, but I could see a lot of lazy Saturdays in my future as I loll around at home while the men go to the train museum for the squintillionth time. Mmmmmmmm....Lazy Saturdays....

Sorry, I got distracted there for the moment. The only other noteworthy development from the day is that the dog previously known as Medium Dog (to distinguish from Little Dog and Big Dog) and/or Doggie, is now known as Nut. It's funny because Luke is currently in the midst of a name fascination, in which he needs to know the name of every person or animal in the books we read. That leads to a lot of off-the-top-of-the-head name assignments, and Dave and I have to compare notes at the end of the day ("So the kid in the cookie book is now named William, and the mouse is called Scratchy...").

But the thing about Nut is, much like Pudgy Bear, I have no idea where Luke came up with his name. Seems somehow fitting, though, for a small fuzzy guy who's just as happy to be tossed across the room as he is to curl up and sleep after a busy day.

see-saw

Yeah, yeah, I know, get blogging already...The past three days have been such a range of ups and downs that I just collapsed in exhaustion last night. I was only a few steps behind Luke, who was almost catatonic in his zombie-ness.

So we've had a series of goods mixed with bads. Bads started with Silvia leaving, which was far sadder and tearier than I had anticipated. It made me wonder - Was I being just way too petty with all of the things that she did that really bugged me? I mean, she truly loves Luke as her own. Isn't that enough? Then I told myself that of all the things that were changing, her love for him was one thing that was not going to change. I mean, we don't have to pay her for that part of it. Or we could pay her, for instance, to babysit, now that we can afford a babysitter.

One weird thing is that the house just seems empty. Like I made a big roast the other day, and I was thinking, Silvia is going to love this - oh wait, she's not here...And when we came home yesterday, it was so weird to think that the house had been empty and not played in all day...But on the bright side, it wasn't any messier than when we left it. And hey, now we can afford having someone to come clean the house!

Luke's first day did not start very auspiciously. He woke up with a bad cold and in a sad and clingy mood. His mood perked up, though, when Dave told him it was time to go to school. He ran to the door, lunch bag in hand, beyond excited that he was going to ride in the back seat of Dave's car. But then - as the see-saw swings - it turned out that Teacher Beverly was out sick for the day. ("Where Beverly? Where Beverly?") The separation and leave-taking, as Dave reports it, was painful. But then as far as we know he was OK for the day. He was crying at naptime, and had to be patted down for 45 minutes or so and seems to have slept for an hour, and then by the time I got there he was glad to see me, but almost marginally annoyed that I was going to take him away. So, some good mixed with bad, or at least that's the best I was able to reconstruct it. Let me add that I'm more than a little frustrated that I can't really get good information about the day. I've had to do some detective work and interviewing of witnesses, but the real story lies somewhere in the recesses of Luke's brain.

I know millions of kids go to day care every day, but I'm still not fully sold on the idea. In fact, since no one out of all of the many kids we know actually goes to day care, we're sort of being viewed as an oddball test case by all of our friends. I almost feel a little defensive about it, like I'm compelled to paint a much rosier picture to them about what it's like, just to be able to justify this decision. If it goes poorly, I can just hear the wagging and clucking.

Luke was still pretty floppy today but he managed to hold it together for a fun trip to Dave's office to see Uncle Matt and Aunt Berta and Other Uncle Bill and Roxy the fish. After taking part in so many mom-discussions about discipline, and reading online comments from other moms, Bill's "there's no point in having rules" child-rearing philosophy is a welcome breath of fresh air. I get so bugged by the "you have to show them who's in charge" discipline mentality when in many cases it seems like it's more a case of an insecure parent grasping at straws for a way to assert control. Do we have a mellow kid because we deal with him in a mellow fashion, or just because he's mellow? And is it true that the firestorm of tantrums really will hit us at some point, or is it possible to just sail by that stage? For now I told Dave I'm sticking with Dad's "four c's of childrearing" - con, coerce, cajole, capitulate - with cajole being the primary motivator these days.

So we've got a lot to unpack in the next few weeks. But for now, we have a kid who is maybe/possibly/sorta OK with the idea of school and tentatively/reluctantly/hesitantly OK with the idea of staying there for the day - and who sleeps in a big-boy bed, eats in a big-boy chair, and doesn't even ask for "money milk" anymore. How about no more big changes in the next five weeks or so? Deal.

One step away

We are thisclose to sending Luke off to school for a day all by himself. And he seems to be doing alright with the teeny transition steps so far. Today was the first day he was going to eat lunch there, and although he didn't seem to be listening when I showed him his lunch bag and told him what was in it, he apparently spent the rest of the morning at home asking, "Where's Lukie's lunch bag?" When it was time to leave he ran to get the lunch bag, then slung it over his shoulders and marched out the door like a big kid on a mission.

His "doctor" affectation, while mystifying, seems to have taken hold in a big way. If you say, "Thank you, Luke" or "Sorry, Luke" or "Luke, could I please have the..." he will quickly correct you: "Thank you, doctor," - etc. As Dave puts it, he's one step away from having an imaginary friend. Well, if that's what it takes to keep the doctor happy...

workshop

Nothing much to say, just kind of blissing out after a really nice day. The "doctor's" big surprise this morning was a super-duper new workshop/tool center (thank you, Craigslist) and we didn't do much else except fix things and talk about tools. Had a nice, mellow Shabbat dinner over at Hatcher's house and the two little guys played together like longtime buddies (which, technically, they are). I guess it's part of the bounceback from being sick - and maybe Luke is feeling this too - but I have just a nice glow about what a good day it was. Yes, I ate far too many chocolate chip bars...and yes, I'm feeling very nervous about the big change looming ahead of us...but hey - it's winter and I don't have to wear a swimsuit...and Luke seems basically OK, possibly even happy about the concept of "school" thus far. (In fact yesterday, after spending two and a half hours there in the morning, he had a weird kind of electric energy about him, but in a positive way. It was almost like he was just being stimulated in a new way. At least I hope it was that, and not some new weirdo kind of virus.) And on top of all that, I have American Idol, the comfort food of television, to get me through the next few weeks. O happy, happy day.

The doctor is in

So we told Luke that today he'd be going to school with Silvia. As soon as he realized that meant he'd get to play the drums again and climb up the reading loft, he was game. Dave reports that once he finished breakfast, he jumped down from his chair and said, "Suba, go to school!"

Today was technically just the first break-in day (just a 2-hour visit) so we have yet to see how lunchtime will go...or nap time...or a full day...or the drop-off. But so far, so good.

Also, there's another kid named Luke in his class (and a kid named Duke, of all things). When Luke introduced himself as "Me llamo Lucas," the teacher asked if he wanted to be called Lucas in school. I don't think so. But he has had an oddball thing recently where he wants us to call him "the doctor." ("The doctor drumming," "The doctor using tools," etc.)Wonder if they'll indulge him on that?

overnight

So we started out with a toddler, and now all of a sudden we have a kid. How did it all happen so fast?
--Earlier this week, he weaned completely. He will now announce to anyone and everyone: "No mas money milk."
--At some point this weekend, he officially refused the booster seat and started eating happily, compliantly in the grown-up dining room chair. He even knows that he has to ask to be excused.
--Last night he had his first night in the big-boy bed. Slept through the night. Seemed fine with it, except for being a little disoriented this morning. I'm sure it's confusing because all of a sudden there's this new bed in the room, and the rocking chair is gone, and there's no mas money milk in the morning...So he basically woke up and wanted out of the room entirely. Back to more familiar pastures, like Postman Pat.
What has he morphed into? Here's a two-year-old who can sense when I am unhappy and say "Feel better, mommy" - and then turn right around and act like it is the absolute end of the world when he needs to put on a light jacket to go outside. Here's a kid who will eat "poos-pasas" and "mas masa" but who won't even touch the large bowl of spaghetti and meatballs presented to him at the fancy museum restaurant. Here's a guy who wants to be carried around said museum, and yet discusses the exhibit of ancient Greek vases (OK, "bases") for hours afterwards.
And here I am - bemused, a little befuddled, and ever curious to find out what's next. If all of this can happen today, what's in store for tomorrow?

Ow.

I was going to post a post today that consisted entirely of "Ow ow ow. Ow. Ow, ow ow ow ow ow. Ow ow ow. Ow. " But I thought the point would be made after only a few ows.

Today is Valentine's Day, which, if the past two years are any indication, has become a day of pain for me (two years ago - lack of sleep plus incessant baby-crying; last year - baby surgery plus baby unwillingness to go to sleep at night).

But also today, amazingly is the first day in almost THREE YEARS (counting back from March 2003) that my body has been entirely mine. And I don't want it. Hahahahahaha. No, I mean I'm just foggy from a cold, acutely sore from an infection of some sort, and generally just wanting to tuck myself into a very large bed. But Luke did not nurse this morning, which was the source of just a minor protest, and which was more or less resolved by giving him the rest of the chocolate "money milk" cake. So here I am - just me. I threw all caution to the wind and drank a glass of wine - yippeeee! I think Luke might be moderately OK with it because he didn't even mention it tonight. Now I just have to go through some other agonies for a week or so to get through it...and then it'll all be a breeze, right?

On a cheery romantic note: Today I was finally able to give Dave the culmination of my weeks-long project, our wedding album (we had the negatives and the proofs but we had never put it together as an official album). As we were paging through it, we came to the picture where we're up at the altar and Dave is wiping a tear from his face. We asked Luke, "What is Daddy doing?" and Luke took one glance at it and said, "Picking his nose!"

Two steps forward...

We couldn't help thinking, while we baked in the sun at the beach this morning, about our fellow family members stuck in the snow back East. Sure, we had a good time digging and shoveling and watching the waves crash. But there's something we just miss about the idea of being holed up in the house, no reason to go anywhere, hunkering down with fuzzy blankets, watching movies, and chowing down on mac-alicious party food meant to serve 60. I mean, sure, we had the beach. But we didn't have cake, you know what I mean? Sigh. You don't.

I'm at a point where I need to hunker down. It's just been too many battles over the past week, too much time spent comforting and reassuring, and looking for ways to kill the pain. Luke had an amazing few leaps ahead this weekend. He voluntarily pooped in the potty not once but twice this weekend (TMI? You tell me). And he strung together his first five-word sentence while watching Postman Pat ("Little girl want stay home."). Sounds like we're right on track, right? Well, we also had major regression of the I-hope-this-isn't-permanent kind. I had to resort to giving him a bottle, something he hasn't had since age, oh, I don't know, 16 months. And when dinnertime rolled around, he was too busy to eat because he was happily ensconced with a Baby Einstein video. Little did I know Dave had been preparing to ask me about why we haven't put him in the bed yet: "Are we infantilizing him?" - only to come home and see the bottle of milk in his hand. One battle at a time, he tells me, and I try to tell myself.

So as if we didn't have enough sand at the beach, we now have not one but two sand tables, courtesy of garage-cleaning neighbors who saw fit to throw both out on the curb. But they look just fine to us, so that'll be one more thing that Luke can do outside, to distract him from the bottle, and the Baby Einstein, and the pain...

Fix it

This week we've moved on from psychic pain to real, hard-core physical pain. Luke was diagnosed with hand-foot-mouth disease (just the mouth part at least) and it has involved some of the cruelest sores imaginable for me and him. In fact, most of the things I was prepared to describe this week fell under the TMI category. I kept thinking, "I should write about...oh, never mind." No one wants to read about it, maybe not even me fifteen years from now. Let's just say it's hideous, awful, painful, and making all of us cranky.

Since we've had so much lap time this week I've had a chance to observe lots of Luke the Reader. He has a great time with books, usually going from one object to another "Wha dis? Wha dis? Wha dis?" and so on. Other times he loves to name individual things: "That digger. That lawnmower. That forklift." Sometimes if he's particularly jolly he likes to mess around with Dave: "That pig. That pig. That pig" to everything on the page. Sometimes, if he's in bed, he just likes to hear the story, and he fills in the gaps where necessary. Like in Corduroy, when he creeps down from the shelf at night, "All shoppers gone home."

Apropos of nothing, today I had to miss the day with Luke. Instead I spent the day speaking at a conference...and I didn't get nervous or foul up or anything bad (woo-hoo!). It was just cool and easy, and I was so proud of myself. But I kept having this weird alter-ego thing where I kept trying to think of ways to incorporate Luke into my examples or anecdotes, just so people knew I was also a mom. I couldn't help it; I guess I didn't realize how much I thought of that as a central part of my identity, even as a professional person.

I came home to find Dave and Luke in the guest room, guiltily holding on to forbidden wires and plugs. Luke has an almost insatiable need to "fix" things, whether it be the car (see above) or the drums or the box that the rice steamer came in. His prize toys are the hammer from Grandpa, the chainsaw from Cousin Sam, and any tool at all, especially the forbidden ones, in daddy's garage. Sometimes his fixes cause more damage than the cuteness can justify (again, see photo above). Some fixes need to be done time and again (see the rice steamer box). That said, some things just plain need fixing, and we're all frustrated because we don't know how to fix them, other than to see what happens over time.

The Walla-Walla Pansies

We've gone through Hell Week and emerged, relatively unscathed. Work was horrible. Putting Luke to bed was horrible. Having Dave gone was horrible. Trying to buy Luke a bed and dealing with Ikea was horrible. But hey, it's all behind us now. Luke is semi-compliant at bedtime again, we have a new bed for him which he'll try for real one of these days, Dave is home, and I still have a job for now.

We took a break from all of the yuckiness yesterday by heading over to Suzi and Boom-Boom's house for the Superbowl. Suzi and Bill decked out in purple for ... the Minnesota Vikings? Luke decked out in a red football jersey for... the Redskins? Dave wore white in honor of...hmmm...the White Sox?...and I was in pink for (as Bill suggested) the Walla-Walla Pansies.

Luke's cold had gotten worse and even though he insisted that his nose had "turned off" earlier, it started running again, and he was even running a slight fever by the end of the night. But he was positively undeterred in having a (non-football-related) great time. He's serious about drumming on the big fancy set and the little bongos. He's very interested in any cooking that happens outside (read: grilling). And he's perfectly happy just running around doing goofy stuff.

Picture him in his blue footie pajamas, wearing Suzi's long pearl necklace, reaching into her jewelry cabinet, pulling out another necklace, carefully closing the door, trotting back into the living room to present someone with a new necklace, then heading back in to her room to repeat the process. Now picture him with the same PJ's and the same necklace, leaning jauntily against the ottoman, chatting and gesturing around the room with his big mug of milk. He's like a witty pajama-wearing raconteur, quick with a joke and easy with a crowd.

Now I'm trying to buy kids' sheets for Luke but I'm getting a little caught up in what it means I think about his personality. Licensed characters are out. I don't want him sleeping with the Wiggles. And don't even get me started on Elmo. Diggers are a possibility. Castles would be a possibility too, but he's more interested in the castle, not the dragons. Would that be too scary? I'd think bugs on sheets would be a little scary, as would dinosaurs. Ikea had some sheets with creepy one-eyed monsters that seem to be begging to be the subject of nightmares. Also he doesn't have any real allegiance to a particular sports team at the moment (except the Walla Walla Pansies) so it feels weird to force it.

If I could I would design custom kids' sheets: some with barbecues and flippers and mixers; some with guitars, drums, violins, pianos, and horns; and some with another non-gender-stereotyped subject matter that I have yet to come up with. Not to get all Brokeback Mountain on the world, but why do the boys have to have sports or train themes, while the girls get all the pretty flowers and colors? Why can't a kid just wear a necklace, enjoy cooking and music, and still be the coolest guy on the block?

Siamese family

"When you hold his hand, it feels like butter," said Friend Paul, as Luke dragged him across the grounds of the water garden yesterday. (Friend Paul, as Luke calls him, is Luke's favorite guy to look at in pictures, even though Luke is not entirely sure who he is.) I agree. I had a chance to hold the butter-hand all weekend as I helped him up and down various steps, accepted assorted leaves and weeds as presents, and participated in several rounds of high fives. But strangely, the same hand that can feel like butter can also carry out the Vulcan Death Grip, as in, when he is in the crib and I'm preparing to leave the room for the night.

Why is a little guy who used to love going to bed, and who still loves to play-sleep at various points throughout the day, suddenly resisting the crib so fiercely? Is it the crib (as in, he needs a new bed)? Is it being left alone in the dark (as in, he needs a nightlight)? Is it some kind of growth spurt (as in, we just have to deal with it as we muddle through a new stage)?

This morning Luke reminded me that he had been crying last night. When I asked him why, he said, "Luke want mommy." Well, sure. I know how he feels. But we can talk about it before, during, and after the fact, and make various promises and agreements with each other, but that still doesn't make him want to go to sleep.

Then there is the growth spurt possibility. Last night he mac'ed (macked? macced?) down a tamale and a half, and he would have eaten more if there were more to eat (mas masa? mas masa!). He also ate every single pea (a new accomplishment) in the bowl, then guzzled a few cups of milk. This morning he went to work on one and a half pancakes, plus a yogurt, or yoghurt as I like to call it. Who is this strange new guy, who looks so grown up but then looks you in the eye and begs you to carry him?

Tonight Dave got home from work early and I experienced irrational exuberance at the thought of us having more time with him. Maybe it's because we lost last night when Dave's dad was in the hospital, and we all got a sobering reminder of how life can be incredibly tough sometimes. Maybe it's because I'm dreading Dave being gone later this week. Maybe it's because I just feel better when both of them are in extremely close proximity. Dave rejected the idea of family play time in my car ("Let's find a different toy, maybe one that didn't cost more than $20,000") But when he was reading with Luke, all I wanted to do was curl up with them, a tangle of limbs, so that we could all be glued together. "I wish we could always be touching each other, like a Siamese family," I told them. Within seconds I realized how impractical, embarrassing, and ultimately gross that would be. Still, why can't we all at least hold hands most of the time?

I am a pizza

Our class assignment was to take the Test - the test of temperamental characteristics that attempts to characterize a child's personality - for ourselves, for our child, and for our spouse; then compare the results and prepare to argue. Don't worry, we didn't fight. But I'm laughing about some of the things that we just find "off the charts" about each other. For instance, on "physical sensitivity" - awareness of slight noises, slight differences in temperature, etc. - Dave rated me to the extreme of "not sensitive" and I rated him to the extreme of "very sensitive." And of course we know each other is more or less right. (Remember, we are 'cursed' in this house with those slider light switches, which means that every time Dave enters a room, he feels the need to adjust the light just a little more or less to get it right...) And on "positive or negative mood," Dave was all the way at the top of positive; and I think his positive nature actually colored his responses about me as more positive than I actually am. Where does Luke fall in these categories? With all the caveats about not pigeonholing a kid too early, and not mistaking 2-year-old traits for lifelong personality characteristics...I think it's pretty interesting that he seems to fall more or less right in the middle of us. Funny how that works.

But the real question is, how does this all relate to pizza? I'm not really sure - and I don't think I'm going to drag out some painful analogies to make a connection. Suffice to say, Luke made his first pizza tonight and it was delicious and we had an awesome time making it together. It got a little tricky when we were trying to flatten out the dough into a big circle and he realized that it was actually more fun to poke holes in it than smooth it out. But I think he thought the best part was putting on the meat. (If he truly had it his way, all of the pepperoni slices would be in a big pile on top of one another.) Oh, and it tasted good too.

So let's not get all bogged down in this adaptability/persistence/sensitivity/distractability matrix. It's a Friday night, we had some tasty pizza, and our lighting is perfectly adjusted. Life is sweet.

anchored

Dave called me on Monday from his cell phone; he had finished his meeting with the group at Marsha's beach house, then he took part in a conference call, which he did sitting on the beach with his toes in the sand. I ask you, is this a guy who could live anywhere but the beach?

We had gone through a whole period where we thought we were on the brink of selling our house; now it looks like we might be able to stay, at least for the forseeable future or at least until we have more additional kids than can fit in Luke's tiny bedroom. But if we left, where would we go? Affordability issues aside, are our roots in this little town so strong that we wouldn't want to be anywhere else?

A quick aside - Usually when I get on the computer in the morning it's on Dave's side and I get to see the last thing he was working on. I've been chuckling to myself every time I see that he's been researching the biological/chemical origins of life, while I'm gearing up to read celebrity fashion commentary. But Sunday morning I was a little jarred to get on the computer and see that the Moorestown weather forecast was the last thing he looked at. Are we getting at something here? (And yes, I know that Haddonfield is so cute you could pinch it.)

Then there was the astonishing revelation from Suzi and Bill that if Dave's parents were no longer part of the picture at some point, they would follow us wherever we went. Whatever anchors them to where they are now is not as strong as the pull of family, or Luke, and whomever else might come along. Whoa.

What anchors Luke? Up until yesterday, one thing was the absolute certainty that no matter how early he woke up in the morning, his mom would always be there to meet him. But he's clearly learned to be adaptable on that conviction. Yesterday I was in the shower, so Dave trudged in there to get him, and Luke was actually willing to cook at the Diaper Grill while patiently waiting for me to finish my makeup and dry my hair. Then when he finally heard the hair dryer switch off, he wasted no time asking for "Money miiiiiiiiiiilk!"

Other Luke convictions:

That when it's time to cook something, anything, "First, you crack eggs."
That when you're visiting a duckpond, a "reed" is NOT the same as a "weed" - Got that, mommy?
That all humans have an inalienable right to wear pajamas at least until after breakfast.
That for any sort of musical entertainment, the song people will always want to hear first is "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer."
That if you count to ten, you don't really need six. I mean, come on. Six?
That if something is broken, all it takes is a few rounds with a chainsaw and a hammer to fix it.
That everyone cries when he or she gets a haircut, but once they get a cookie they feel better.
That British people are hilarious for saying, "Cheerio!" I mean, they might as well be saying "Waffle!" or "Yogurt" - which are both pretty funny too, you have to admit.
That everything is funnier when you're running around naked.

What more do you need to be sure of in life?

hair-trigger

I actually started to worry about Luke in the past 24 hours, about how he is on such a hair-trigger for meltdowns. He was starting to remind me of the kid in "Parenthood" who loses his retainer and cries his eyes out. It's been stupid stuff, like dropping the cake yesterday, or spilling some juice today, setting him off into a tailspin.

Then I realized that we are in fact living parallel lives because I'm the one on a hair-trigger for criticizing Dave, or worrying about something, or sinking into the depths of depression because of - what? Things so minor they're not even worth enumerating.

It's a good thing Luke has other role models in his life, like Dave, or like Uncle Boom-Boom, whose arrival Luke so happily anticipated that he couldn't sleep for about 45 minutes into lights-out-doors-closed nap time. Dave and I were cracking up downstairs because for the longest time we kept on hearing him from upstairs, "Where's Uncle Boom-Boom? Boom-Boom here yet?"

As much as the events of yesterday's party, and today's crowded park playdate might have set Luke into a tizzy, I'm so grateful for the things that make him really calm and happy. Like drumming. Or talking about drumming. Or looking at pictures or videos of people drumming. Or anything related to cooking. Dave and I had a good little chuckle yesterday at the party because what finally helped Luke find some peace among the chaos was a little alcove, with a bench, upon which he could "cook" some foam frisbees.

Cooking is also turning out to be our chief occupation in the mornings in place of nursing, and in the evenings, or just plain whenever. The diaper table has two shelves underneath that are perfectly slatted like a grill, and the diapers are conveniently flat enough to stand in as pizza or tortillas. The possibilities are endless.

So Dave's putting Luke to bed and he's protesting - He wants to cook. Dave says no. He says, "One more diaper, Daddy." And goes and cooks one more diaper on the grill, flips it, and then he's back in Dave's lap, ready to wind down for the day.

Judgy Judgerson

OK - So I don't want to judge people, and I don't want people to judge me, and yet...I do it all the time. More so now since I have a kid, and there are so many more ways to feel superior or inferior, depending on the context. So I'm sure it's coming back to me somehow.

That means I can nit-pick about a way a particular party is thrown, or about a particular way people are choosing (or not) to teach manners to their kids, yet there I am on the flip side feeling really embarrassed about still nursing, and moderately embarrassed about having a kid who is clinging to me in fear while all other kids are romping around and having the time of their lives.

More specifically, one thing that really freaks Luke out is loud noisy gatherings with tons of kids running around. He's the opposite of the kid who's running up to grab the puppets or swat the bubbles - he's the one who's begging to be picked up and cowering in my arms. Why, why, why? Is it something that I did? And are other moms looking at me like, "She really coddles him way too much"? Tonight at the birthday party he ultimately settled in a little bit, but then he was on a meltdown hair-trigger, like when his piece of cake fell on the floor - total catastrophe.

And yet there we all were on the way home, yapping our gums about the lack of food, or the musical selection, or so-and-so's decision to do such-and-such and what a lame idea that was. And then we're home, and it's quiet, and we're all much happier. So Luke is possibly picking up on this introverted thing. Does that mean he's going to start being Judgy Judgerson too?

empathy

Our very wise teacher says that the way you teach a child empathy is by digging deep and giving all of yourself when it really means something. As in, sure, it's nice to reach out and give your kid a hug when everything is hunky-dory. But what really counts is when your kid has driven you up the wall and fried your every last nerve and is screaming about who-knows-what and you're able to go over to them and give them a big hug and say, "I know it's hard."

Possibly Luke is starting to get it because one of his new favorite games is asking me to cry about something (getting a haircut/dropping a pizza/not wanting to go to bed) and then patting me on the back and saying, "Feel better, Mommy."

But the scenario our teacher didn't cover was, what about when it's 3:30 in the morning, and your kid has inexplicably been awake since 2 am, and is ready to do anything as long as it doesn't involve going back in the crib? Are you teaching them anything if you just tell them, "I know you don't want to go to bed, but I need my sleep and I have to go to bed now"? Then you give them a big hug and go back to your room only to listen to the most anguished screams of "Where did mommy go?!?!?! Where did mommy GOoooooooo?!?!?!?!"

For the record, Dave, the King of Empathy, took over at that point and magically brought him down to calm, then peace, then sleep. But it's been a real test of push-and-pull. Do I worry about how Luke feels or how I feel?

I guess today we tested the limits by putting both of us through the ringer. First we had a doctor's appointment, with a shot. Luckily we had Reindeer on hand to go through most of it first - get his eyes checked, then his ears, then his tummy...Reindeer checked out OK, and happily, so did Luke. We were basically doing just fine up until the shot, then there was a moment or two of trauma, and then the shot was forgotten quickly enough.

Then Luke and I went on to have the Best Morning Ever. We went down to the "water" park and just played and talked, without the social pressure of other buddies or other moms to distract us. Then we had Special Mommy-Lukey Lunch at In-N-Out burger, involving large quantities of milkshake and very little burger. Then I successfully talked him out of nursing after his nap and the world didn't end.

But those experiences perhaps gave me too much confidence because I decided to swing a haircut this afternoon. I don't want to go into the full-blown details but let's just say it involved at least 20 solid minutes (I'm not kidding) of screaming, and me, Luke, and Pudgy Bear completely covered with hair (Reindeer wisely decided to sit this one out on the counter). I jokingly said to the manager afterwards, "Well, I hope we didn't drive too many of your customers away," and all she could manage to come back with was, "Not too many." Yeesh.

It's after a day like this that I just want to wrap him up and say, "I'm sorry. I know life is hard. We made it hard for you by doing most of the hard stuff all in one day. But tomorrow we have a birthday party, and the day after that we have Suzi and Bill, and I love you every single day even more than the last." I could be teaching him some real empathy. But he's busy running naked down the hall, singing "Shimmy Shimmy Cocoa Pop," and not even listening to me.

If I could draw myself right now, I would do one of those cartoon smiley faces where the smile is all squiggly up-and-down, glasses are crooked, and hair is askew.

Feel better, mommy.

Chairman Mao, Reindeer, Pudgy Bear, and Bocky-mooney

So it took me a week, but I thought of at least one small purpose for this blog. It happened when I was working on my will, of all things. I realized that I can leave Luke the entirety of my "estate" - hahahahaha - but what will he do if I'm not around to tell him the stories he'd want to know? And for that matter, what if I'm just plain alive and I want him to know what was going on way back when? So, for what it's worth, this is for Luke.

In the past few weeks we've entered the random and goofy world of imaginary play. Luke's favorite partners in crime are the three musketeers, also known as Chairman Mao, Reindeer, and Pudgy Bear. I wish I had a picture of all three, but they're an elusive bunch. They can usually be counted on to be reading books, taking a nap, or cooking up a fresh batch of diapers somewhere. Chairman Mao is a fluffy white cat that I bought as a "lovey" for Luke when I wanted him to stop nursing; the idea being that he would cuddle up with the cat whenever he wanted to nurse. That went out the window pretty quickly as soon as he and Chairman Mao decided that they were both pretty much cool with nursing. Reindeer is our cool new buddy who generally needs to be alerted as soon as any new action is being taken ("Reindeer! Change diaper!") And Pudgy Bear is the bear that Arianna gave to us and who lived most of his life as Arianna Bear until one day out of the blue Luke started calling him Pudgy Bear. I don't think he has any idea what pudgy means, and I think it is probably some attempt at "Arianna" but Pudgy Bear stuck and that's what we all call him now. He used to sleep in the crib, but now he watches Luke calmly from the floor at night. During the day he's another good old pal who's always up for a haircut or two.

Why these three and not some other animals or objects? I guess it's fair to say that these three have the most "personality", such as it is, but other than that it seems to be sort of random. Kind of like, why is the castle book such a hit, when "A Good Day for Up" never quite made it past the first-read stage? Or why is chicken parmesan one day the most amazing food in the universe (mas! mas! mas!) and another day a plate of it cannot even be allowed at the same table where we are eating? Or for that matter, what's the deal with avocados, which Luke won't go near, but suddenly bocky-mooney is all he'll eat? (That's guacamole to the uninitiated)...

Each night we usually close out the evening with some form of musical entertainment. Last night it was an all-star guitar-jamming tribute to bocky-mooney (see photo above). Tonight we sat down for a mellower concert video. Luke has his own idea of what he wants to see (mas harmonica? mas drums?). But I think he truly melted Dave's heart tonight when he said, slowly and deliberately, two words that Dave could only dream of hearing someday from his very own son: "Bob......Dylan."

Luke catalog

I still haven't decided what the purpose of this blog is, but, for posterity - a few of our favorites from the Luke dictionary:


Ah-put (open)
Bo-tan (broken) (also the name of our new rice)
Wha do-ning? (What are you doing?)
Wuh-waff (waffle)
Dee-deet (digger)
Sahz (inside or outside, depending where he wants to go)
Nut [pause] CHA-CHA! (nutcracker)
Too-too! (Thank you!) (said cheerily)

What is the purpose of this blog?

I've been forced to ask myself why I am writing this blog, exactly...The writing's not especially great or funny, and as far as recording events it's far from all-inclusive. What purpose is it serving, other than an occasional distraction for me and one or two others? Any thoughts are welcome.

So.... We're home and the process of getting there was not too bad (word to the wise for those who might be hesitant about flying cross-country with kids, wherever you may be). In fact, it seemed like Luke matured exponentially in the past two weeks since we flew back East. All signs pointed to a terrible trip: Not only did we have to wake up at 5:30 am (2:30 am) to get to the airport, but the plane was then delayed by 2 1/2 hours. That said, Luke was a jewel on the plane. He willingly sat in his seat, read books, watched videos, ate, got his diaper changed without a freakout, appeared marginally interested in the goings-on outside his window, and even slept for about an hour. As Dave observed, it was like he really understood where we were going, and what was going on. While we were en route I realized that being on a plane was one of the only times that the three of us are together in close proximity, forced to talk and read and look at each other. And as the flight was ending, I heard myself say those words I never thought I'd utter in a million years: "I wish this flight would last a little longer." Aaaaahhhh.

Making the transition back to West Coast time was another story. Luke woke up crying at 5 am yesterday morning, and by 9 am he was *begging* to put his pajamas back on and go to bed. Then he slept for three hours and was up by noon as if it was morning (uh, yeah, in Guam). We did our best to keep him up until 7:30 pm but by then he was so tired he couldn't even hold a guitar or sit on the chair to play it (which is saying a lot). Then when Dave put him down he did a total overtired hysterical freakout, unlike anything we've heard in a long time. Sigh. At least he slept until 6:30 this morning, which is pretty close to normal. Let's hope today was OK.

I'm doing OK, at work, but again it's an adjustment after so many days of people and happy noise. Here it's quiet and there's very little human interaction. I went to a bookstore at lunch and browsed and tried to remember the last time I had a day that was so internalized. Now the combined effects of time-zone confusion and bad eating choices have made me sleepy, very sleepy...

I like my job, I guess. I've boiled it down to something that I can do in a few hours a week, and no one hassles me, and I get paid with some cool state benefits. But I keep thinking I'll do it just until the Change happens - and I don't know what that change will be. When I publish my novel? Yeah, I have to write it first. When Dave's job takes us to Washington or Sacramento? Yeah, when global warming eliminates winter in both of those places. Will there be something that I do to make a change, or will it creep up on me slowly, without warning?

What is the purpose of this blog?

High school

Here I am, back in high school...Well, not really. Just back at the old homestead for New Year's Eve and Day. But I had a weird high school flashback last night at the First Night experience. Watching a high school garage band, then watching the crowds of giggling girls standing by...Was I transported back to my high school days, seeing the cool confident girls and the shyer self-conscious ones, all trying to fit in? Or was I fast-forwarding my own life and seeing Luke up on that stage as a shaggy-haired high school drummer and watching the girls as if they were watching him? Maybe this is middle age, halfway between being in high school and having a high-schooler.

Then there's the whole "moving to New Jersey" farce that Dave and I let ourselves get caught up in. We could get a nice house for a lot less money, and we would be closer to at least half the family, and I would be happy, but in what alternate universe would it actually happen?

Then there's saying goodbye to Joe and Sara and their little posse. I guess I can't really wrap my mind around what it means to only see them every eight months. I feel like we get close to getting in the groove with them, getting to know them and their lives a little better, and then *zoop* we're out of town and it's another x months until we see each other again. It's like just barely grasping something and then it slips out of my fingers. Will Sam even remember me next time? We'll try to come back in the spring but I don't know how that's going to fly financially...or time-wise for Dave...or in the balance of the other things we want to see and people we want to visit. It's just a sad little struggle I have.

But before I let myself get too far down, let me try to remember some cool Luke things. Like watching the symphony and waving his arms like the "con....doctor" Or knowing the words to "Rudolph" and the nose book. Or counting to (gasp) nine!!! Who knew that he even knew these things? What else is stored in that head of his?

I told Mom/Dad/Unk last night about my theories on being a "homebody" and not wanting to run around with the crowds on a cold New Year's Eve. Then I thought more about it and I realized that I am possibly a homebody all the time. I mean, my ideal Christmas vacation at this point is hunkering down on the couch at Mom & Dad's house and getting some free time to go to Marshall's and the shoe outlet. Talk about a limited agenda...

I told Dave a few days ago that possibly this vacation was too long...and perhaps it is for a number of reasons. But the good thing is I have tomorrow, an unplanned day, that will possibly give me enough time to unpack some of my former life here - my cello, some kid stuff in the attic upstairs, etc. I think I try to avoid it because I don't want to deal with it, but I love the fact that it's still there.

(im)perfection

No better way to capture the complete and utter delight of Christmas vacation than to think about two fuzzy pajama-clad boys reading together, tearing around the house, and scrambling to open presents. Luke is my joy; Sam is the man. Oh, and Lily...When I first saw her, she took my breath away. Those big eyes that stay glued to you...I guess the reason I haven't been blogging is because I have *no complaints* whatsoever. Life is just rich and good. When do you ever hear me saying that???

Ha, ha. Anyway, I labored over how to make a cake for Luke and I finally settled on *buying* a guitar cake pan, over Joe's scoffing, and making a drum cake to go with it. They both turned out, well, let's just say...a little less than professional. The guitar cake looks alright but the frosting colors are downright ugly. Turns out that when you add a certain amount of blue food coloring, there's no more additional red you can add to make it purple. The color just keeps getting more and more of what I like to call steel grey.

So there's that.

The drum on the other hand, is not only ugly, but sloppy. It looks like a third-grader did it - while playing a video game. I can tell you all of the various reactions before I even hear them:

Me: "This is so embarrassing." (self-deprecating over-analytical criticism)
Dad: "Could you use a knife to guide your hand while you draw the lines?" (attempt to be constructive)
Mom: "It's fine. What's the problem?" (pragmatic indifference)
Joe: "Too...many...jokes..." (brotherly mocking)
Dave: "I love it!" (unbridled adoration and enthusiasm)
Luke: "Want...cake" (single-minded determination)

Two years ago tonight, Dave and I went out to dinner with his family and then headed home for a quiet evening of rest. Not long after midnight, I uttered the fateful words that changed our lives forever: "Water...breaking!" and nothing has been the same since. I was truly freaked out in the beginning but now I am at peace. I think of our lives as kind of like the drum cake - ragged around the edges and really kind of a mess, but just so sweet.

I love you, my two-year-old boy.

not changing a thing

Yeah, so it's been six months of blogging and griping, griping and blogging. Well, let me tell you: Right now we're home again, all together, we just had Sal & Joe's, Luke is happy and even volunteered to go to bed, and I'm not changing a thing. Well, OK, so I've been healthier. And I've felt less like crud in my life. And it would be nice if my lips weren't so parched they crack every time I move them. But hey, we're cool. Really.

full circle

Well, here we are, back to Christmas again, and almost back to the East Coast again, which is where (and why) this blog started. I've been waiting all year for this, and yet I'm not ready...still need to pack, still need to put labels and ribbons on fudge, still need to address more cards, and still need to rest and have some down time with Dave. Now that I've read Joe's stollen blog, I'm reflecting more on yesterday with Dave's family, and thinking - even though I think I'm grown up, there are times when I still don't *get* it. Dave's been wrapping up work so that he spend two whole weeks with my family, and I was ready to say that I was too stressed and over-committed to spend an afternoon with his family yesterday. And his dad doesn't seem well, which makes me sad and nervous. I spend a lot of time thinking how far away I am from family, but Dave's family really is family to me here.

So, speaking of immediate family, Dave and Luke and I had one last Sunday here for the year and we decided to spend it the way we could only do it in California - at the beach, at a drum circle. Luke was in hog heaven. He jumped right in and picked up the beat, and some of the big guys were nice enough to help him with the spare drums and shakers. How many passers-bys' (passer-bys'?) pictures did he wind up in today? Enough that he's bound to be immortalized in at least one person's vacation photo album.

Luke is hilarious. Dave is a dream guy. We are rich, let me tell you, rich as kings, because we have not one but two full lives, on either side of the country.

A decade

When you read the above, please pronounce it as "a deck-uhd." Thank you.

Anyway, so it was 10 years ago today that Dave and I met at a party (notwithstanding the time we had met several years earlier, but that didn't count). We celebrated in style today, baby. Homemade waffles. Commemorative t-shirts. Rollerblading (r) on the beach. Fireworks and a boat parade. Laughing about our "million-dollar" house (it's all imaginary money, people). Laughing along with our most beautiful boy. Being completely unable to get over how much we have to be grateful for in the past 10 years.

Speaking of that boy, I have to somehow mark down the unspeakable, which is to say that he is actually weaning this week. I can't talk about it when he's around because I don't want to give him the power of suggestion. And I can't talk about it when he's not around because it's too darn sad. All I want to do is hold him on my lap and not let go. I guess I'm feeling super touchy-feely this week because of it.

There was a first-person NY Times piece last week by a mom of a 10-year-old who was trying to set boundaries on physical contact and she decided she had to cut back on the amount he jumped into her arms, played with her hair, etc. There's part of me that thinks it's a little icky; there's another part of me that feels great solidarity. I can't hold back from wanting to hold him. But maybe I'll wait a little longer than just the very week he happens to be weaning to see if it's a trend or not.

Believe it or not, there's more celebrating to be done tomorrow: Brunch at La Cabana to watch the lady cook tortillas, then a snow park and more fireworks in the afternoon. Seems like this is turning into a trend of some kind: Ten years ago, it was all I could do to drag myself to a party; now we have fireworks every day.

Buddy Rich

Luke the Drummer has been studying drumming videos online, carefully memorizing each drummer and their technique. Now he knows to ask for them by name, as evidenced by our visit to the preschool yesterday: The teacher hauled out a big box of drums and Luke jumped up and shouted, "Buddy Rich! Buddy Rich!" It was entirely lost on the teacher, but Dave and I stood in the background, crumpled up from laughing so hard.

Dave told the story much better elsewhere, but I guess I'm more distracted by the larger point of the story - that he's going to be going to daycare/preschool soon, and a lot of his funny eccentricities will probably be lost on the teacher and others. I guess I can't even talk about it right now. Everyone has heard me go on and on about the pros and cons. I guess I just want to have more time to have him sit in my lap while I can kiss his head and think about what is best for him and us. *Sigh* At-work posts never end well.

baby book

In our never-ending quest to make millions, Dave and I frequently have the conversation about how to design a product that Everyone Needs, No One Has, and Costs Very Little To Produce. We were talking yesterday about how lots of people, once they have kids, decide that they can do x, y, or z better than any other company out there that's marketing stuff - and so they wind up going into baby-oriented businesses (childproofing, swaddling blankets, etc.). Today I realized that I do have a product I could redesign, though I don't think it would make me millions: The baby book. My current baby book gives me all sorts of puzzling options for recording stuff I hadn't even planned on remembering. Example: After the baby is born, there are two full, empty pages to record "Impressions from the Hospital." Are you kidding? My impressions from the hospital could pretty much be summed up as "blrrrrgghh". Then there's tons of space to record "First Reacts to Sound" "First Temper Tantrum" "Fears" and two separate pages for "Favorite Activities" and "Favorites". As the Wiggles would say, "Huh?" "Huh?" Huh?" Anyway, what I really want is a bunch of pages where I can record "Things that Crack Us Up" and "Unexpected Words" and "Odd Habits".

"That's why you have the blog," Dave says. So until I or someone else writes a better baby book, here are some of the things I want to remember:

When Luke is eating something he really enjoys, he pumps his fork in the air with his fist and says "MMM! MMM! MMM! MMM! MMM!" (As Dad puts it, "Reviewer Luke Fratello gives it five fist pumps - it must be good!"

His eclectic compound word list includes: Dustpan, snowman, nutcracker, chopstick, chimney, trash truck.

When he's goofing around, sometimes he plays Jeff the purple sleeping Wiggle guy: He pulls a chair into the middle of the room, sits down, and very placidly closes his eyes and pretends to sleep for several minutes. (Suzi and Bill asked us yesterday - Is he giving himself a time-out?) When you wake him up, he cracks up.

When Dave sings "Michael Row the Boat Ashore" to put Luke to bed, Luke has been "singing" along with his own improvised lyrics, presumably designed to lull himself to sleep: "Dig...dump. Dig....dump. Dig....dump."

Hahahahahahahaha. I could go on and on (and I probably will) but I feel better already knowing that it's written down *somewhere.*

pit of my tummy

Well, Wednesday's post turned out to be prophetic - that is, the part about the pizza rising up and coming again. Thursday I was sicker than I can remember being in years. I thought it was food poisoning because no one else was sick and I seemed to be feeling remarkably better on Friday. But Saturday I was all wobbly and weary again, and today wasn't much better. We had the Suzi-and-Bill babysitting team over today for what was supposed to be a crazy afternoon out on the town, and it turned in to just a mild-mannered house tour, a cup of tea at a restaurant, and a quick grocery-shopping trip. Call us crazy. I'm feeling better now, albeit just a little sad because I had almost no time with Luke at all today, and because tomorrow is Monday and it may be my Day of Judgment at work. Let' s just hope we can all hold it together, with minimal interference from viruses and food-borne organisms, for the next three weeks.

whoosh

Do you ever have one of those moments where you just nearly fall over from emotion? I had one of them today, and I know I'm going to hate myself when I re-read this and see it written in this sort of overly explanatory, self-aware style that totally fails to capture the essence of the moment. But anyway, my friend Carol, an accomplished ukulele player, had promised she would send Luke her beginner ukulele. It helped that she knew he had interest, we had family uke experience (Grandma P.), and her old uke just happens to be known affectionately as L'uke. I told her she couldn't possibly want a two-year-old to be bashing around something of such great sentimental value, but anyway...
The box came today while Luke was napping, which gave me a great opportunity to open it and inspect it before prying toddler hands got ahold of it. Then the weirdest thing happened - While I was opening the box, I just suddenly felt a *whoosh* like I can't even describe. I imagined how completely tickled and happy Grandma would be to see me opening this ukulele and teaching my son to play. It was almost like I could feel her seeing me opening the box and just being completely thrilled. My eyes just completely filled with tears and I actually had to stop for a second to sort of regain my footing.
That emotion dried up pretty quickly after I completely failed to tune it properly and strummed the first note - *twoing* - sending all native Hawaiians within shouting distance running for the hills. But I got the hang of it pretty quickly and it is very cool. It's definitely a mom toy and NOT a Luke toy. I didn't show it to him after he woke up - I think I want to wait until I can play a few chords reasonably well and then he can watch me and learn how to hold it.
After dinner we heard the unmistakable sound of police siren and canned Christmas music, which could only mean one thing: The Santa float was outside our block! Given that Santa is all Luke has talked about for the past week, we couldn't miss the opportunity. I went outside to catch up with Dave and Luke, and realized belatedly that it was a photo opportunity. So I did a hundred-yard dash back to the house, then back to the float with camera in hand, huffing and puffing and pausing to get that perfect shot. Then the whoosh came again - seeing Luke totally excited about Santa, feeling like what it really means to be a parent, and feeling that last piece of pizza rising up in my throat and threatening to make a reappearance. Mmmmmm...emotions on overdrive. Yes, that's what Christmas is all about.

trash truck

I am like a balloon deflated today, without Luke or Dave or Mom and Dad. Luke had to be peeled away from us, kicking and screaming, but I suppose it was better than the alternative of us leaving him behind. Then I had to be peeled away, weepy and mopey, from Mom and Dad at the airport as they left our sunny climes for cold and distant New Jersey. I guess feeling like a balloon doesn't quite describe it - I'm more like a peeled Meyer lemon, shriveled and drippy with nothing protecting my sweet vulnerable insides but a white bumpy skin...
Oh, but before all that, we spent some time walking around the neighborhood, hot on the trail of the trash truck (think "Trash truck! Trash truck! Trash truck" multiplied a hundred times). Out on the stoops we saw representative samples of Thanksgivings gone by - wine crates, turkey boxes, and assorted fall/Halloween decor being discarded to make room for Christmas. Then we finally caught up with a trash truck, which, symbolically enough, was broken down and unable to do any of the trash-trucking that makes it so appealing.
But lest we all get super-sad reading this post, I should point out that the trash did bring us one treasure this morning: A very cool easel, discarded by our neighbors because a little shelf on the chalkboard side had broken off. A shelf? Who needs a shelf?, we said, and we had it washed up and being drawn upon by Luke before he could even say "trash truck" (again).
What's been good about this vacation? We went to the beach almost every day. Luke developed a strong attachment to "Dama" and "Papa." We ate like kings, and we ate like white trash, and it all tasted good going down. Luke learned how to say "dustpan" ("dust [pause] PAN!") We heard some good music, and we made some extremely bad (or at least loud) music. Luke pointed to the white bearded saint in the stained-glass window in church and said "Santa!" We finally managed to scrape together enough money to buy me another earplug. We saw the funniest $2.395 million house ever built, with direct garage access from the master bathroom. We bought the most beautiful Christmas tree, the first in our Pacific house, for only $19.99. We vowed to do it all again, more frequently, in the future.
Now, after a week of being surrounded by noise and loved ones, I'm alone at work, with my office-mate gone, and it's totally quiet. I'm debating - Should I call Silvia to see how Luke is?
*brief pause while I actually call Silvia - he's fine*
While I stood out on the beach with Dad yesterday, he told me that he was thinking about how in 48 hours, he'd be thinking about how just 48 hours ago he was on the beach. So THAT'S where I got it from. Pre-retroactive disappointment. I felt that way at breakfast (our last breakfast with them!), out in the yard with mom (I'll remember that the chairs were arranged that way because they were here!), doing the dishes (they used those dishes!) - missing them before they left. Why can't I just have the gift of living in the present? Will I feel that way the entire Christmas vacation, mourning the fact that we only have x days left until it's over? No! I won't do it! I'm going to sit here at my keyboard, alone at work, relishing this moment and thinking just a little sadly, of a small guy who just woke up and probably wants to see another trash truck.

fire truck

It could be me, or it could be Mom and Dad, or it could be Dave, but we all seem to agree that Luke's speech has just taken off this week. He has a few compound words and comments, and he seems to come out of nowhere with these words he knows (clown? salt?).

We've had a glorious time and I'm not quite ready for it to be over. Maybe just one more beautiful day at the beach with them to tide me over until Christmas...

We overheard them at the farmers' market this morning saying "Let's spend our winters here," and Dave and I gave each other the mental high-five.

Other than that, my only comment is "burp." We have totally pigged out. Just as an example, I cooked eggs and hash browns and pepperoni for breakfast...but then we went straight to the farmers' market where we sampled fruit, then doughnuts, then Japanese food, then fish, then we bought some pupusas, then Dad bought some satay chicken, and then we had a French chocolate crepe. Feeling full yet?

Probably more to say about Thanksgiving, but for now I'll just sign off and hope to burn off some calories by napping...

Yay

Mom and Dad are here! I love it! Luke is totally enamored with "Pa-PAAAAAA" and won't let him have a moment's peace. They're reading quietly out in the backyard right now, while Luke dozes and I'm stirring up the stuffing. Ahhh. Thanksgiving. I feel plumper already.

wheeeeeeeeeeeeee

Too bad I don't have a picture to go with today's post. If I did, it would be a big blur of me and Dave and Luke zipping along the beach at top speed, two grown-ups on Rollerblades and one tot in a jogging stroller. It has been almost THREE YEARS since we last Rollerbladed. I forgot how much fun it was. On Friday when we drove along the beach, I said to Dave, somewhat nostalgically, "Remember when we used to just go skating on the beach?" and he said, "We still can!"

So this morning we clumsily packed up the entire car, preparing for any possible diaper-changing, sun-screening, sand-digging situation, and we bumped on down the road to Playa del Rey. I wondered if it really would be like getting back on a bike, and...it was. Wheeeeeeeeeeeeee! I barely even bothered to wait for Dave and Luke. The fact that it was sunny and nearly 85 degrees outside made it simultaneously more enjoyable and more uncomfortable. We stopped for a little while, took a breather, gave Luke time to dig, and then kept going for what we clocked at approximately four-plus miles. Was there throwup earlier this weekend? Yes, yes there was. But was it all forgotten as we zipped along the smooth beach pathway? Yes, yes it was.

Luke conked out on the way back and then perked up once we got to the house. He won't go down for his nap now because all he wants to talk about is "Fast! Fast! Fast!" Maybe it'll become a new routine...Maybe there's something that we can do for our own self-interest that he will enjoy as well...Heck, maybe he'll be one of those little kids who goes around on skates like they're regular shoes. OK, now I'm scaring myself. I'm just going to relax now with that smooth, smooth skating feeling still running through my legs...

where everybody knows your name

Just got back from the downtown merchants' open house, aka "the candlelight tour" for those of you who have that as a reference point, and I had an amazing revelation: The first time I went was six years ago, when Dave was working late, and I went through the whole thing on my own, grabbing snacks and getting my raffle card stamped. I was so determined to fill that thing out that I just muscled past people and sped through the whole event. Hey, I won one of the raffles, so that was all good. But at the time I remember thinking that it would be nice to actually know some people.

Fast forward to six years later, and how cool is it that as soon as I got there I ran into a friend of mine, and we walked a little while, and then I ran into another friend, then another, and soon I had seen almost all of my friends. (And Luke got to see some reindeer, watch some big kids play in a band, and eat ice cream - what more could you want?) So I don't know how real or fake any of these friendships might be, but hey. I felt like a real mom-around-town.

I'm trying not to feel sorry for myself about Dave not being around so much. Earlier this week when I told a colleague that Dave was gone, she started telling me how hard it was when her husband, a commercial fisherman, would leave her and her two kids for six months at a time, back when there were no cell phones and only sporadic radio contact. Or tonight, it was hammered into my head again as I heard on the radio the story of a woman fearing for her husband's safety in Afghanistan. So what do I have to complain about? Well, I miss him. And I know Luke misses him. The way he lit up and practically jumped out of his skin when he saw Dave tonight was just a clue about how he feels. I wish we could have more of him spread around throughout our day (kinda like in the movie Multiplicity) to give each of us our share.

So now Dave has put Luke to bed - why am I still blogging? I guess I'll just end with this picture of Luke, because my heart swells every time I see it.

'Nuff said.

not exactly poetry today

Another "rare" at-work post since there's not much computer time at home...So this weekend turned from "Eh? So he vomited..." to super-scary "How soon until we should just take him to the hospital?" It was really like that. He couldn't hold down a single thing on Saturday, and he basically turned into lethargic noodle-man who couldn't even hold his head up. That after the scourge of Saturday morning, where we dealt with newborn-type crying for four straight hours.

Oh, AND Dave was working all weekend and left on Sunday night. AND this was the weekend that Stephanie and Dave fired Silvia, although that was obviously on the back burner.

So, how was everyone else's weekend?

Now, for some positive turns: This morning Luke woke up at 5:45 (that's not the positive part just yet), presumably wanting something to eat. But he was otherwise pretty cheery and he was pretty happy when Silvia got there, and he was actually fine with me leaving. And Silvia seemed surprised about the firing but sounded like she wasn't even thinking of leaving us. So I'm not sure where that leaves us for the long term, but for the moment we are just sort of skating.

We have no Dave tonight either. Let's just hope the next 48 hours or so stay vomit-free.

sugar

Before I even start saying things that will make people laugh at me, let me just point out that Luke threw up again this morning (in his crib) and that canceled out most possible activities that we would have undertaken today. Bummer for him, bummer for me.

So we muddled through the morning, alternating between TV, books, and computer. Then he wanted to go in the kitchen and play with Dave's coffeemaker. I know this is a problem, and I know I shouldn't even indulge this for a moment, but...after a moment he decided that what he would rather do is get a spoon so that he could play with the sugar. Since that seemed like the lesser of two evils to me, the decision was made: Our new morning activity would involve sugar.

So I got him the spoon, three big bowls, a measuring cup, the shaker filled with Cheerios, and I sat it all down on the floor. I let him pour about a cup of sugar into one of the bowls and mix it all up and pour it back and forth while saying "cook." He was happy as a sugar-sifting clam for a good 15 minutes, and I have to admit that I was congratulating myself too. Good old mom, thinking of new textures for him to play with, indulging him in his favorite activities, digging and dumping. I even did some cooking myself in the meantime.

Then things took a dark turn. I noticed that there were pockets of sugar accumulating on the floor around him and on his shirt and pants. No problem, I thought, I'll just shake him off and clean up afterwards. Then he dumped the whole pile on the floor. Not good. I tried to scoop up as much as I could and then I started trying to wipe up around him. First it got all wet and sticky. Then I noticed that it was getting hard and crusty...

One of the things that amazed me the most from that point on was how quickly it degenerated from mildly annoying to truly alarming. Before I knew it I had a completely sugar-coated guy sitting on sticky sugar-glazed floor, laced with Cheerios. It was then that he got bored and decided to get up and walk away, all sugar-crinkly, into the next room. Oy. I had to grab him, pull off his clothes, and finally corral him upstairs in the bathroom sink. At this point he was crying, I was covered in sugar, and I didn't even want to think about what the kitchen floor looked like.

So. Fast-forward to three hours later. We avoided the kitchen for the rest of the morning. Once Luke went down for his nap I had to haul out the mop and the Pine-Sol and wipe down the entire kitchen... And I'm thinking that we don't pay preschools nearly enough for what they go through.

up

At times I feel like we are living with a Martian in the house. A small, opinionated one. The kind that you have to explain everything to because it's completely brand new. These are the kinds of things I think about when I hear myself saying, "There's this thing called Christmas, where everyone gets presents, like a birthday, except there's a big man with a white beard, and his name is Santa Claus," or "It's a bat, like a black thing that flies, not like a fly, and not like the thing that you hit the ball with," or "You use the spoon to put the food in your mouth, not down your shirt." Maybe I'm the one making it all so hard to understand.

Anyway, Luke has discovered a new dimension, which is anything higher than he is. All he wants to do is climb up, and then if all environmental conditions are deemed suitable, jump down. I swear he has spent more than an hour in the past week carefully thumbing through the clothes in my closet, not because it's interesting, but because it's the only thing available to do while standing on the stepstool in there. And the jumping-off-the-hamper game seemed like fun until someone fell off and bumped his nose, and then - wait - come to think of it, it was still fun after that! More hamper jumping!

Today Luke's food also moved into a different dimension, which is to say, up and not in his stomach anymore. Wait, you say, why is Jeanne not totally freaked out or in the dumps or somehow blaming herself? Well, it happened at about 3 pm and Silvia cleaned it all up and didn't call me, which was probably a good thing, because by the time I got home he was all fresh and just about the happiest guy around. I suppose there was something gnawing at him, which would explain why he couldn't sleep last night, and why at 3:30 am he was rolling around moaning. Either way, he seems to have purged himself of the offending substance and gone back to cheery equilibrium.

Then there's the big Martian in the house, also known as Dave, whom I continue to marvel at every day. How can he work almost round the clock, manage our finances and refinancing, manage all of our home renovations, manage Luke's bedtime routine every night, muddle through our sad and confusing decisions about child care, and yet still lie down on the living room floor at the end of the day with a huge smile on his face and make me laugh? Is he just built with some different sort of chemical composition? Do they sell it in drug form? Because I think I should be taking some. Really.

Or maybe the two of them have it right and I'm the one from Mars who just doesn't get it. I've got these feelings about the childcare dilemma that are so intense and raw, but when I try to explain them I can't even get them out of my mouth. It's like I want to have this liberating feeling like he's off enjoying himself at childcare/preschool...and yet I don't want to let go of him or have to turn my back and walk away. I went from feeling sort of excited about preschool to having total sit-up-in-bed anxiety about how bad it would be, and the discussion has only just begun.

But tonight, after the liberating vomit, and the moderately confusing Christmas explanation, and the quality time spent in my closet, Luke went to bed happy. For now, that's enough to make me think that things are looking up.

that sinking feeling

A rare at-work post. Filled with conflict today over childcare and Luke's future. That feeling of dread was followed by yet another phone call from home today: Luke hurt his foot or leg, not sure how severely, at Adventureplex today. *Sigh*

In part the problem is that I'm allowing this to turn into a situation where someone else is making the call and deciding on the timing. Stephanie and Dave are moments away from firing Silvia, and as soon as they do, it's only days left on our clock before she finds a family to work for full-time. So Silvia's days are numbered.

In another part it's a matter of letting the little Silvia things bother me in the meantime - like leaving an egg in the diaper bag; or like Marti deciding that she's no longer going to come over to our house, just because I finally said something about the house being left dirty.

In part it's that while I don't want another nanny, I'm truly not ready for sending Luke off somewhere else. This is not a comment on day care, by the way, for those of you who happen to have outstanding daycares that are conveniently accessible. I don't, and I probably would have used one sooner if I had. In fact, of all the moms in all of my classes, I can only think of one who has her kid in a local daycare (one of the ones that Mom and I looked at and Mom poo-poohed). One other kid I know is in a daycare/preschool type situation, and that's because the family had a second baby and they hired a nanny for the baby while the toddler went to school.

So anyway, the part about dropping Luke off somewhere and leaving him there is not something I'm ready for just because I am certain that he won't deal with it too well. How can I get him ready for it? Would they tolerate us going there repeatedly throughout the month of December, until it was somewhere he was so used to going that he just did his little "Buh-bye!" when I dropped him off?

Oy. Big stressball here. That explains why I'm eating a lot too. At this rate I'll be prepared to roll home for Christmas, just barely being able to stuff myself into a single airline seat.

Any encouraging thoughts are welcome...

feel no pain

My two-day silence has been brought to you, in part, by the most painful, hair-tearing, teeth-gnashing lower back ache I have ever had. Yesterday when I picked up Luke I literally could not walk - I staggered out of Art Zone, dangling my clinging charge as we dragged closer and closer to our parking spot. It most likely came about through a combination of factors: poor posture at work; 30-plus-pound boy who always wants to be carried; and odd positions in which I am required to pick up said boy, including a broken crib front that does not slide down into easy baby-pick-up position.

I must have ignored my back long enough that it finally tore into me, with red neon signs, begging me to pay it some attention. And yet I still continue to pick up Luke and drag him all over creation.

At the same time tonight I was totally entertained by Luke and Eitan running around with each other after dinner. They are truly adopted siblings - entirely in synch with one another and they know exactly what each other finds hilarious. Anyway, while either one of them might throw a fit if any other kid so much as tapped them on the shoulder, they could crack each other's skulls and walk away smiling. I watched them do a total Tom-and-Jerry-type crash into each other, involving both of them falling comically on the very hard stone patio, and they just picked themselves up and continued the mayhem.

Does it hurt less if someone you really like is the root of the pain? Well, that would explain why anyone would go through childbirth once (or more than once). Could some things just be so much fun that they're worth the pain? That would explain why I continue to toss Luke in the air for the Too High/Too Low game. Are some friends worth having cracked skulls and chipped teeth for? Apparently for Luke and Eitan, if the current trend continues.

But I need to give myself some kind of break. Current vision of myself a year from now is a haggard 38-year-old, barking out mom orders while being wheeled around on a gurney...and the whispers behind my back: "She just didn't know when enough was enough..."

Yoga mom?

Someone forwarded me an article yesterday about the new demographic group they're calling "yoga moms" - the women who postpone childbearing while climbing the corporate ladder of success, then have babies whom they overindulge with ever-escalating gourmet/couture baby products. The person who forwarded the message was mad: "Just because I am a little older and had a successful career doesn't automatically make me a yoga mom. Don't lump me in with this bunch."

Am I a yoga mom? No, I don't think so. I haven't kow-towed to some of the most ridiculous trends. And I'm the bargain-hunter I've always been. But here's the thing: If I found that Fleurville diaper bag for, say, 15 bucks somewhere I'd buy it in a heartbeat.

Then again, who's to say I'm not trying to buy my way out of something? I work three days a week; Mom never did. So I try to pack those other four days into big-time quality time to make up for the lost time. Maybe that's where the super-indulgence really comes in. In fact, I was just wondering this morning if my time with Luke was kid-focused enough. I mean, we read books and all, but I never quite get into his games with total abandon. I found myself wondering if I would ever have the kind of day where we were just jumping up and down and throwing confetti everywhere. Total kid fun, but who wants to clean that up? And - getting back to the original point - why would I fault myself for not having days like that? You see my dilemma.

Luke continues to impress with his astonishing memory. We were looking at a picture from a week ago with Owen at the senior home, so he says "Yo-yo" (Owen) "up" "no" (Owen tried to climb up the stairs where he wasn't allowed) "zzzhhhhhh" (we left after they started a really loud vacuum cleaner) "dod" (we saw a seeing-eye dog coming in as we were leaving). I didn't remember half these details about the morning, but once he started narrating the story, I realized what he meant. Unbelievable.

Now I'm off to search Ebay for that Fleurville bag...

Project: Best Day Ever

I had a project yesterday that was inspired by a number of things, one of which was a comment from the peanut gallery about how I am not fully appreciating what I have in life (read: I'm all glass-is-half-empty). So yesterday, a mundane, workaday Tuesday, I made it my mission to have the Best Day Ever. Actually, I knew that would be aiming a little high but I thought I'd at least aim for a Great Day. Did my new sunny-side-up approach to life have any effect whatsoever? Well, I suppose I was a little more patient with things at work. I tried a little harder to make sure that my time with Luke was fun time and not chore time. I tried a little harder not to get frustrated by Every. Little. Thing. that Silvia does. All in all, it was genuinely an OK day. Luke and I actually had a grand old time after dinner reading the new books I bought him. The only part of the day that was truly horrible was when I put him to bed (no Dave) and he screamed bloody murder for a good 15 to 20 minutes before I finally threw in the towel and went to get him and even took him out of the crib. But astonishly, he calmed down and within a few minutes and a quick water break, went back to bed willingly and peacefully.

Today was an OK day too even though I didn't have to make an effort to convince myself of it. Luke was lotsa fun through the morning and in class, up until he had a mini cookie (TOO-TEE! TOO-TEE!) tantrum. (Ironically, the class discussion was, Why do they whine? and one of the first answers was: Because they are tired). I took him home and he fell asleep even before I got back to the house, which was funny for me because I didn't realize he had been asleep and I had been talking to him the whole time.

What was my point here? So it was a good day; maybe just a little disappointing that Dave couldn't make it home until after 7:30. He's been working so hard, and I feel bad for him, but I also feel bad for Luke missing out on that time. Tonight we had a chance to do Luke's absolute favorite thing in the world - all three of us jamming on various guitars, brooms, and shovels - but it only lasted a few seconds because it was way past bedtime.

Where am I going with this? I guess I'm just saying that I hear y'all - I'm trying to honor my blessings and make the most of them.

trick or treat

Rather than going out, Luke and I stayed home to welcome the trick-or-treaters. He was shy at first, then warmed up to the idea, and soon was taking the candy and putting it into the kids' bags. At one point we had Chinese delivery and Luke was confused as to why the delivery guy didn't want any candy.

Holding a piece of candy in one hand, he called after the guy as he walked away from the house: "Man? Man?!!!..."