Baby Makes Three

Partying, Alex's Way

2012-01-15T15:08:00.000-08:00

As soon as Alex learned his birth month and date sometime last summer, he became obsessed with planning the ultimate party. And for several months, we thought long and hard about what to do; the theme was obvious: Star Wars, but how to implement a Star Wars party beyond a mere theme stamped on paper plates and napkins was the tricky part.

Originally I was considering having the party at our house: bounce house in the backyard and a couple of actors dressed up as Darth Vader and Obi-Wan Kenobi (yup, it's available) but December weather can be tricky, and I was worried about Plan B in case of rain... 19 kids running around my house was a stressful proposition. New plan.

Fast forward to October and a mom-friend who I see every T/Th during karate mentioned that she had her son's birthday party at the Dojo and it was fabulous.

Cue music and moment of brilliance.

Alex was going to have his Star Wars birthday party : Jedi Training Academy at the Dojo, emulating what Disneyland offers: it was perfect.

I ran to talk to the owner of the Dojo, and a quick deposit later, the ball was rolling. 2 hours of black belt supervised activities to include lightsaber training, running around, a bounce house, lunch and cake.

As we got closer to the party, I started to get excited, and Party City became a regular stop on my errand runs. I managed to find 22 inflatable light up lightsabers, 22 Darth Vader masks, Star Wars party favors including pencils, sharpeners, lollipops, character plates, cups, napkins, center pieces, balloons, table covers, you name it, it's available, and of course, there was the 6 feet tall Darth Vader cardboard cutout I ordered on Amazon (he now lives in the billiard room.) I ordered the cake, but had to special order the cake toppers with the light up lightsabers because it just wouldn't be right without them. The kids were getting pizza, but I catered antipasti platters, salad, and deli meats and cheeses for the parents, and of course, I baked 6 dozen star wars cookies the night before.

finally the 2nd Saturday of December rolled around, and it was party time. And it was a huge hit. We had 19 kids between the ages of 18 months and 5 join us at the Dojo to celebrate Alex's 4th birthday, and I have to say, as a mom, nothing can warm a heart faster than seeing a little boy's birthday party come together, the gargantuan, constant, smile on his face, and on his friends' faces as they go totally crazy, laughing and running, full of happy shrieks, and their parents, many of whom I'm meeting for the first time, are taking time out of their day to celebrate my kid. Warm and fuzzy all over.

The kids had a blast. Half the group went into the bounce house with a member of the black belt club supervising, the other half suited up with masks and lightsabers, and Sensei Marco, Alex's awesome karate instructor, put the soundtrack on and began instructing the kids in swordplay. It was the most fabulous, hilariously awesome thing I've ever seen. If you ever wondered whether four year olds with masks and swords could behave themselves, follow directions, and not clobber the crap out of each other, the answer is a miraculous yes. 25 minutes later, the groups switched, before I knew it the pizza arrived, we were eating, singing happy birthday, cutting cake, and then the kids, with full bellies, returned back to the bounce house (nobody puked!) and back to the Jedi Academy.

Alex got his Star Wars party, and after 2 hours, I got to go home happy. And the biggest bonus was the kid actually slept through the whole night without awaking once. That never happens... worth every penny.

Bathroom Talk

2011-10-13T17:37:00.000-07:00

The last couple of days, it's been blistering hot here in SoCal. i'm talking triple digits coastal; yesterday, my car registered 102 degrees at 330pm, today, it was 92. Luckily, we have access to pools, so after giving up at the playground (it's covered in shade giving circus like tent tops, but even in the shade, our little ones were turning pink from over-heating) we headed to our community pool. I had bathing suits and towels packed since I figured after karate and park, we'd end up in those clear blue highly chlorinated community waters, so Alex and I get to the clubhouse and change in the main bathroom, instead of the perpetually damp icky bathroom that smells like bleach right next to the pools.

The bathrooms is very clean, smells like citrus air freshener, has a nice Tuscan design, and I warn Alex not to touch anything, not even the walls because I'm still petrified of the semi-public restroom, but have over the years improved my relationship with such facility due to necessity (motherhood, it'll do it... little kids have to poop at the most inconvenient locations...)

So I'm changing. Top and bra off, bikini top strapped on. Alex picks up my bra out of my bag. He's giggling, he knows that it's a little naughtier than a t-shirt... I'm looking at him, waiting to hear what gem comes out of his mouth.

"Is that a pirate booby trap?"

Yes.

"it's like Panda and Master Shifu at dinner."

Yes.

If you've seen the movie, you get why he was trying to put it on.

I guess from now on, I wear a pirate booby trap.

Roughin' It

2011-09-11T08:14:00.001-07:00

I am not a camper. I just don't like it. I wish I did. But I don't. And I know this because of I have gone camping hundreds of times. Why would i do that since I don't like it? Peer pressure, academic requirement, self-inflicted misery, that's why.

I went to this funky converted tobacco plantation eco-hippy, and in my opinion, occasionally hypocritically snobby and lacking self-awareness, private prep school in Annapolis, from 5th-12 grade. From the 6th grade on, we had "mandatory" (private schools really can't force you to do anything...) camping trips spanning from two nights to a week long, which included everything from backpacking through the Shenandoah Mountains in late Fall (let me add, that means it can be sweaty hot during the day, and freezing cold at night), sleeping TENT-LESS in 40 degree or colder temperatures, (oh yes, you read that right), weeks at Wye Island, biology trips on Assateague Island, and Point Lookout, canoeing creeks, bays, and mucking waist deep in marshlands, taking samples of flora and fauna, keeping field guide journals, collecting bugs, sketching frogs (this one I enjoyed) foraging (we had field experts, don't worry), building fires, eating lots of peanut butter, and weathering mass lighting storms in May, huddled with the other 30 kids in your class under a single tarp and desperately trying to dig a moat around the perimeter so as to minimize sleeping bag soaking. Oh yeah, let's not forget hanging of food in trees because of wild animals, and that time those pesky not-so wild horses took down a tent. Don't get me wrong, the views were beautiful, I love hiking, I don't even mind cooking outdoors and filling a canteen out of a creek. What I don't like is the hygiene/sanitation/sleeping on the ground situation. Just not my thing.

I have a problem not uncommon to many, and unfortunately, Alex inherited it: shy bladder. Hate public restrooms, and no restroom, sometimes even worse, although not always... I have peed in a wheat field, behind a tree. over a bush, and hated every second of it, trying to convince myself that I was not about to get bit on the ass but some forest creature nor fall over into a growth of poison ivy. And for whatever reason, I always had to pee late at night, in pitch cold black, in the middle of the mountains; luckily I had wonderful girlfriends who were all too familiar with my paralyzing potty fear, who'd go with me, hold the flashlight 10 feet away, and wait patiently, chatting the whole time to help me calm down, so I could go... and I don't even want to discuss the fact that once puberty hit, for whatever reason, camping trips always fell on that time of the month, for my whole class. That was awesome.

Then the shower. I like to shower. It makes me feel awake, better, relaxed. There are no showers in the woods. And then there's a mosquito problem. I'm from the mid-Atlantic, humid, marshland, brackish water. Heaven for the tiny flying vampires. Ever take an outdoor shower in September in 90 degree heat and 90 degree humidity? You're dinner for the airborne bastards. And after hiking up Old Rag and sweating up a storm, it would be nice to bathe, or at least rinse off, before getting into PJ's and tucking into a mummy's wrapping... or sleeping bag. But nope. Technically, not an option - except that I was also the (step) daugther of an avid sailor - who kindly provided me with my first ever solar shower, a 3 gallon plastic bag to fill with freshwater and hang from a tree to warm up all day in the sun light. Come dusk, it's time to take the little hose, a bottle of biodegreadable body and hair wash, and rinse off. Yup, I did it. I was the first student in Key's history (my school was Key...) to bring and set up a portable shower during the week long 8th grade May trip to Wye Island. I smelled lovely. My hair was fluffy. One of the boys professed his love for me. Camping was bearable that week. The following year, the trend caught one.

i also do not love trying to sleep while frozen. About half of our camping trips were tentless. Those would be the late Fall ones in the Shenandoah Mountains. Days are warm. You get sweaty hiking. There are bugs. Nights... Cold. Instead, my whole class would pile under a giant tarp with no sides, sleeping huddled like sardines to stay warm, and yes, it did snow a couple of times. I'm a light sleeper, and always cold. A thin pad and a thermal sleeping bag do not a bed make. Total and absolute misery. Then there were the late spring trips. It can be very storms, as in crazy thunder and lightning storms with torrential sideways rain and whipping wine. It can be very hot and humid. It can also drop to brutally cold in the same week. That's the unpredictable mid-Atlantic. It's not fun to sleep in any of those conditions in a hot tent or tentless, unprotected.

And I'm a contact lens wearer. Big pain in the butt when there's not standing mirror, no sink to wash hands, no place to balance lens case while removing lenses in pitch black, fumbling for glasses. It's easier on a turbulent flight.

For the record, I loved weekend on my parents' sailboat, overnights along the Chesapeake Bay, anchoring in small inlets, eating as the boat gently rocked, showering with a hand held shower head in 3 square feet of space in the only bathroom (yes, I know it's called the head) on board. The mosquitoes didn't bother me so much, the jellyfish were a different problem... so I'm not all high maintenance.

Anyway, luckily I'm married to an equally big princess (Peter despises camping more than I do, believe it or not) and so it's never been an issue for us. And I feel like I got a preview of how miserable Peter would be on a camping trip if forced for whatever reason to go, during last week's mass power outage that put 2.5 million SDG&E customers at the mercy of a September heat wave.

Of course the power went out when we had a massive spell in the 90's, very unusual for these parts. Temperatures in San Clemente reached 99 degrees, and the day of the outage, it was 95 degrees in my courtyard. I had the ceiling fans on, but trying to manage without using too much electricity, I opted to keep the a/c off, figuring that the power grids were already getting overloaded. Turns out, they weren't, but we still had an outage. (Human error in Arizona.) Next thing i know, all power off, and we are sweating bullets in the house. I call Pete; newport has power, different electric company. Go figure. A couple of hours later and a couple more increasingly frustrated calls from me, he's on his way home, promising to stop at Whole Foods on the way home to pick up dinner (since opening our fridge during and outage is a no no.) I got the candles, matches, flashlights and batteries all lined up, and Pete got home before Sunset, grocery bag in hand.

I had to laugh.

He brought home baguette and brie, marinated mushrooms, good quality dried salami, tomato and spinach pasta salad, and a beautiful bottle of French sparkling rose for me. We had a bag of left over ice from last week's party in the secondary freezer, we pulled out our galvanized drink tub, filled it, shoved in some bottles of water, my cocktail, Alex's milk, Pete's beer, laid out our picnic, watched the Brie melt onto the bread in the heat, set out Alex's fully charged portable DVD player, and once the sun set and the temperatures dropped to the high 60's, the candles were lit, as was the outdoor fireplace, Despicable Me was on, and Peter even managed to grill some chicken apple sausage for Alex by flashlight.

This was our style of camping. This, was fun.

Power came back on by 10.

Officially a School Boy

2011-09-07T14:33:00.001-07:00

Alex on his 1st full Day of School!

"Mommy, this is Earth." Then Earth fell off the base and rolled across the floor.

It's Official! Peter and I are now parents have a school boy. It's a funny feeling, a mixture of shock, excitement, a hint of sadness with a pinch of bittersweet. My little baby isn't a baby anymore, he's a big boy who's potty trained, carries a lunch bag and a backpack, has friends whose names I have yet to learn, and he now has a 2 semester schedule - welcome to the real world kid!

I was pretty nervous about how this week was going to go. All summer I've been trying to talk up preschool, that it'll be just like camp but more fun with more friends. He wasn't buying it, and his unyielding response was to loudly protest the topic of school and proclaim vehemently his refusal to attend. I wonder if he was sabotaging potty training simply to avoid going?

Peter was getting ready to leave for business in Chicago, Babka is in Italy, and so I knew on Tuesday morning, it was just going to be me and the monkey. He had new student orientation on Tuesday from 10-noon, so Monday night we chatted, and before bed I told him that he needed to get a good night's sleep because he had a big day coming up, that he and I were going to his new preschool (which we visited several times over the last few months so that he could get used to the idea, meet some of the staff, see how awesome it is) to meet his teachers and see his new classroom. For whatever reason, this didn't elicit the usual rebuff, so I was hopeful.

Tuesday morning we got up at 6am, got showered, dressed, ate a good breakfast, packed a lunch, walked the dog, and with time to spare ran a couple errands, and at 945 we were in the reception of his new school. Every other prior visit, we'd walk in the door and Alex would shut down, refuse to speak (highly unusual) and try to run out the door. This morning, he recognized a couple familiar faces, said high, and sat on the kid-sized sofa under a lovely paper Maple Tree wall art and waited patiently for 10am. At that point, his lovely new teacher came to see us, introduced herself officially, and led him into the classroom, where he immediately began to explore the stations set up consistent with the school's philosophy of learning (my little free spirit will thrive in this environment for preschool, as he's not ready for a more academic, structured setting. I started off in this type of program too and loved it.) A few minutes later, 3 rambunctious boys arrive, Alex introduces himself, and with one little boy in particular, I could see the bond forming - they both picked up counting rods, turned them into swords, and proceeded to play Jedi-Power Rangers. It was love at first site. After taking him down to the playground and showing him all the fun that awaits him, we left for the day. I felt good about how things would turn out.

Today, was the first full day of class with no parents. Again, I was extremely nervous, unsure of how he'd react to me leaving him there. After we dropped off his backpack into his cubby, put his lunch bag on the lunch shelf, we made our way to intake on the playground; I saw a lot of teary faces, kids with the 1st day blues or nervous about being left behind, and I was sure that Alex, who's usually a little barnacle, would be attached to my hip and screaming for me.

Um. Not quite,

I asked him for a big hug and kiss, and he actually said no, turned away from me, and walked to the play equipment.

I sat there frozen, squatting in the wood chips, wondering what just happened.

No goodbye hug. No big scene. No tears. My kid was already 8 feet off the ground in his spaceship, chatting with other kids, hands on the steering wheel, and on his way down the slide. I went to his teacher and told her that he just kind left me there hanging, unsure of what to do.

"You can go if you want."

So I left the playground, not quite knowing how to deal with my first glimpse of parental irrelevance, and stood up the hill overlooking the playground for about 15 minutes, making sure that Alex didn't all of a sudden realize that I left and freak out.

15 minutes later, he was still happy as a clam. And I became the mom of a school boy.

Waiting for Orientation to begin.

What did I do with all that free time? Ha. 3.5 hours flies by, especially since his school is not in our city.
I sat in my car for another 10 minutes, a/c on (it's in the 90's this week, yuck) and emailed Pete, unsure of what to do. He missed this whole 1st day, which really disappointed him, but I'm grateful to Alex that he took the anxiety out of the whole process by just being his wonderful, playful, excited to meet new friends self.

I ran to the gym for an 1.5 dance class, changed, ran to the post office. And poof. Back on the freeway for pick up.

And I can't believe that for whatever reason, the child who doesn't nap, is fast asleep upstairs.

So this is how people navigate more than 1 kid... NOT THAT THERE'S ANYTHING TO SPECULATE ABOUT...

Pre-Travel

2011-09-01T06:49:00.000-07:00

The night before a trip, husband and wife are packing.
Or rather, they are supposed to be packing. Wife is packing. Husband is nowhere to be found.
Wife is standing over her very small luggage trying to figure out how to fit clothing for cool and warm weather, day and night outings, appropriate shoes, plus liquid cosmetics.
Wife has laid out several full outfits of the same color palette with accessories so that she can double dip shoes.
Cosmetics are categorized on the bathroom counter according to material (powder, cream, actual liquid), ounces, and divided into carry-on, check-in, and double baggy.
Travel day outfit, reading material, and phone charger are placed within small carry-on along with wallet, cell, 4 days itinerary and driving directions to all appointments,

Husband still not packed. Husband's luggage still unzipped, empty on floor of closet. Wife concerned. Wife specifically requested that husband pack the night before, not the day-of, as his is usual practice which induces wife's stress to new heights.

Husband sheepishly walks in to master bathroom where wife is ziplocking cosmetics prior to placement in secondary lined cosmetic bags.

"Can you help me?"

"Sure. What do you need?"

"I can't turn on the washer."

Wife pauses. Looks at husband.

"Why do you need to turn on the washer? I told you I was doing laundry today, you were supposed to give me whatever you needed for the trip."

Husband purposefully sidesteps question, knowing full well the statement was accurate.

He repeats request in an amended format.

"Can you show me how to turn on the washer?" Slightly embarrassed, pleading tone.

Wife can't help herself.

"You seriously don't know how to turn on our washer? We've had those machines for 15 months."

Husband puts on innocent face.

"I've never turned on the washer before."

Wife starts adding months up in her head.

"You are telling me that you haven't done a single load of your own laundry in as least the last 15 months?"

Husband smiles. Big.

"I have you." Hug.

"Yes. i Know..." Wife is fully aware husband has not done laundry in the last 15 months.

"Will you wash this small pile for me?" Sweet pleading.

"It's 9pm. After the wash cycle which will take just under an hour, you need to dry your clothes, another 20-30 minutes. I don't plan on doing laundry at 11pm, which is why I did laundry earlier today, and asked you to make sure you gave me whatever you needed washed. In fact, that's what the rectangular white wicker box next to the shower and your sink is for. It's called a hamper. It's where we put dirty clothes so they get washed."

"Please."

"Come downstairs with me, carry your own dirty clothes, and I'll show you where the power button is."

Sincere question:

"There's a power button?"

"Yes. It's a big round button that reads 'power.' There was your problem, I'm betting your second problem was where to put the detergent. Do you even know where our laundry room is?"

Husband feigns hurt feelings.

"Of course I do. It's next to the room where you make dinner."

To this day, husband has yet to do a load of his own laundry in the new house.

Potty Training 101

2011-08-27T18:04:00.001-07:00

When new parents say that they wish that the baby was born with directions, veteran parents soothe those debutant nerves with the reassurance that instincts will soon kick in, and the rest, well, we figure it out.

I have been on both sides of that conversation. The lost new mom. Feeling helpless. Totally in the dark. Screaming baby, crying baby, hungry baby, soiled baby, tired baby; each cry means something else, apparently, supposedly, but when was I going to be able to identify which cry signals which problem? Eventually, I the ability manifested. And then he learned to communicate, and then he learned to actually speak (mommy, this water gun looks like a geyser! Mommy, this tastes yucky…,) and now, while navigating toddlerdom is a different beast from the infant days (thankfully!), that overwhelming sensation of cluelessness has dissipated, and I’m not longer stuck in that fog of panic otherwise known as, “I am just trying not to break the baby…” (How many new moms knew how wiggly a newborn could be?) And as recently as this week, I got to be the friend who sincerely meant it when telling her friend of a 6 weeks old, it gets easier. Much much easier. (Well, depends on how you define easier… what I meant was, you get the hang of it.)

I wish that I could say the same thing for potty training. That it gets easier. That being a parent for the last 3+ years clues you into the mysteries of why poop in the potty is such an up hill battle.

For me, 3 years was totally inadequate preparation for the 7 months that I can now proudly say are behind us.

For this, there needs to be a primer. Here is mine.

And I don’t mean Dr. So and So’s suggestions, declarations, methods, and guarantees, available in hardcover, soft bound, signed, 2nd and 3rd editions, kindle, glossy excerpt from I’m A Better Parent than You magazine, and the lecture with visuals available on You Tube… I mean, the “Hey, I totally understand that the sticker chart and M&M reward route didn’t do a damn thing to get your kid potty trained; here’s the helpful suggestion for training the impossible to train toddler who should otherwise be trained.”

Yup. That’s us. And why shouldn’t it be? Not like Alex has been easy, typical, or generally quiet, calm, or compliant with any other aspect of daily life (um, let’s not even talk about staying put in his own bed…) it just wouldn’t be as fun…

1. The sticker chart. Months 24-36.
Yes. We tried this from the beginning. Right after his 2nd birthday I purchased a snazzy little pea soup green Baby Bjorn potty (it matched the walls on the master bedroom in our other house) and kept it in the master bathroom. He used to sit on it fully clothed, pick it up, walk around with it, put it on his head (never used at this point) but the interest stopped there. After showers and first thing in the morning I started sitting him on the potty, letting him see that there was nothing scary about it, hoping that he’d take to it. He’d pee once in a while. Sometimes he’d just sit there for 10, 12. 14 minutes, watching Seasame Street or some other mind numbing educational children’s program. (Who the hell developed Wonder Pets? Shoot Me Now.) Since he was a) young b) boy, I didn’t push anything, and it became clear to me, potty training was not at all on the child’s to-do list. But we kept at it all year, mornings and evenings on the potty to pee. That’s about it. He’d get a sticker for going pee, and at first he cared about what sticker he would get, but after a while, the sticker phenomenon got old, he realized, it’s just a sticker, you can’t play with a sticker, it doesn’t make a noise, it doesn’t taste like chocolate, and you cant’ really throw it at mommy or the dogs, so it’s really not much of a reward. Turns out, the child really doesn’t care about stickers. Stickers = bust.

2. Elmo Goes Potty. Months 24-36.
I naively thought that if Alex watched the DVD I purchased, Elmo goes potty, he’d want to emulate the behavior. I was so stupid.

3. M&M’s. Months 36-38.
Not really wanting to introduce the child to candy, I did my benefit/risk analysis, and figured savings in diapers outweighed fear of dental complications (and our dentist told me his teeth looked great on our last visit thanks to his general distaste for hard or gummy candy and lack of love for juices), so I bought a giant bag (as in, multiple lbs) of M&M’s that to this day is kept in our master bathroom above a vanity cabinet, and as of his 3rd birthday, if he went pee pee in the potty, he’d get to choose 3 colors. This started to show some progress. In the meantime, we moved into a bigger house, so I realized we needed more than 1 potty if we wanted to reach the goal in time. Two more potty purchases later (1 for the car, 1 for the downstairs bath, the other upstairs) and I was ready to go. We continued the M&M reward method until we had a huge bag of M&M’s, minus all the blue ones. Apparently the blue ones tasted better. It was sometime February, and while he’d pee on the potty when sat there and bribed, he still wouldn’t go on his own, wouldn’t forewarn us, and usually fought the whole process. Things were not going well.

4. Shooting Pee.
Boys like to shoot things. It’s something inherent in the DNA, even if you don’t let them play with guns, they manage to turn everything into a gun – Alex first learned about guns at Disneyland of all places… Thanks to the Buzz Lightyear ride. It’s like a lightbulb went off in his head, his testosterone kicked into high gear, and well… as a girlfriend put it plainly, they were raised to be Spartans, can’t fight the Gladiator urge. So, I tried the recommend method of telling him to “shoot” pee into the toilet. I even had thin paper based toilet friendly targets that you throw into the toilet so the kid can take aim. He didn’t buy it. Bust.

5. Naked Potty Training.
A lot of parents swear by this method, and so of course, we gave it a try. It’s usually much easier to master in the summer with the obvious benefit of warm weather, and the trick is to stay at home on lockdown for a weekend or week, keep the kid out of pants and diapers all together, usually in the backyard with a potty in reach, and after a couple accidents, the kid should gravitate towards the potty, recognizing the feeling of the need to go and associating it with heading to the potty to do the Doo.
Not as simple as it sounds. And I will illustrate with actual examples.
The following is true.
a) Naked potty training on a warm early spring day. Naked child runs through mom and dad’s bathroom, asks dad to open the door to the master balcony off the bathroom. Dad accommodates, takes son out onto balcony to view backyard. Dad starts laughing hysterically. Mom walks out on the balcony to find out what’s so funny. Mom witnesses toddler peeing off the balcony, finding it extremely funny, laughing hysterically, dad can’t keep from laughing along. Mom mortified. BUST.
b) Mom put child on potty, who goes pee. Mom pleased, flushes pee, washes son’s hands and her own. While washing her own hands, son runs into hallway. Comes back into the bedroom.
“I made poo poo.”
Confused look on mom’s face.
“You made what?”
“I made poo poo. Big poo poo.”
“What do you mean you made big poo poo? Where?”
“Out there.” Son points to doorway.
I don’t even need to finish the story. You can figured it out. Mom mortified. BUST. We gave up on the naked potty training.

6. Months 38… On… Big Ticket Bribery.

Finally, I had to take matters into my own hands and use what I knew would work with our son – the gift of lightsabers that actually make noise and light up, water guns, large scale lawn mower bubbles makers, toy cars (yay for the $1 bins), trucks, books, cheap DVD’s, gooey chocolates in blue wrappers (Dove coconut Easter candy), and pool noodles. Mind you, this was still cheaper than a month’s worth of diapers, so it was worth a shot. I made massive purchases at Toys R Us and Wal-Mart of the above-mentioned items, put them in a huge box in the downstairs guest room in plain sight of the adjoining bathroom, and explained to Alex that if he peed in the potty (and we finally switched to the regular toilet, much easier, cleaner, and would get him used to public restrooms faster) he would get a small toy, and if he pooped in the potty he would get one of the big ticket items (as in lightsabers, bubble blower, Star Wars Storm Trooper guns, etc…). Soon enough, Alex was peeing in the potty, and amassing a fine collection of water guns (pack of 5 for $1 goes a long way). By this point, we were heading to Florida, and I was getting desperate. Poop still wasn’t happening in the potty.

7. Star Wars Cookies

An obvious reward tactic is finding something that your kid loves, and running with it. Obviously, my box of tricks was going to run out and I really didn’t want to spend a fortune restocking toys for a toddler who is already a tad bit spoiled, slightly over-indulged, so I needed a Plan B. (And yes, I know my kid is terribly spoiled in some respects. We’re addressing this slowly…)

The easiest and economical solution: Williams Sonoma just happened to come out with Star Wars cookie molds – and voila! Every pee in the potty landed him his choice of a Star Wars shaped cookies – Yoda, Darth Vader, Boba Fett, or Storm Trooper. But poop was still a problem.

8. Feeding the Hungry Potty.

I bet you didn’t know that some kids have major anxiety about potty training, something to do with the flushing sounds, and not understanding where everything goes. I started to understand that this was most likely Alex’s major obstacle, and I needed a creative solution to properly deal with it. This is where having amazing mom friends comes in very handy. I bumped into a girlfriend of mine and her girlfriend, and we get to talking, and we all have boys, potty training topic naturally comes up, and then they enlightened me on the brilliant methodology for dealing with a kid who was clearly anxious about the process; tell the child that the potty is hungry and needs to be fed, his mouth his wide open and ready to eat, and when he flushes, he says thank you. First, I couldn’t stop laughing when I heard this because it was so simple, slightly ridiculous, kind of gross. But, desperate as I was, I was willing to try it. Believe it or not, this worked for us. Alex started to sort of befriend the potty, it wasn’t a scary thing but a hungry household staple, and needed to be fed. The anxiety began to lessen, I could see the light at the end of the tunnel. Finally, one day before karate, I knew he had to poop, he did the dance, a short of shimmy with a nervous face and attempted to run away from me to go hide under the billiard table (don’t ask if you can’t figure it out), I caught him and ran him to the bathroom, and for 30 minutes I begged and pleaded for him to poop in the potty, I brought out the big ticket bubble gun blower that was shaped like a lawn mower trimmer thing, let him hold it, pleaded with him to feed the potty… AND WE DID IT! (I think I cried.) We were ready to head to Florida.

9. No Other Choice. Months 41+

In the Keys, we were in the pool for hours at a time and at the beach, and we explained to Alex that he wouldn’t be allowed at either activity if he didn’t go on the potty. He loved the warm waters of the lagoon, ocean and pool and the friends he got to play with - we didn’t have the big box of toys but we had the threat of going back to the hotel room and staying there. Who knew all we needed to do was go on a tropical vacation to get the ball continually rolling?

10. Contiued reward, accolades, applause…

From his 3rd birthday, it took a solid 7 months to really nail down the whole process, to get him to tell us when we needed to go, and to actually sit down and go without major argument. To this day, he still says “No Thanks” when I ask if he has to go, and then direct him to the potty anyway only to see that yup, he had to go… he just didn’t want to stop whatever it was that he was doing. We had a lot of accidents along the way, and once in a while, they still happen – which is why I always carry a change of clothes in the Darth Vader back pack. We remind him that Jedi’s go in the potty, and we’ve even called Yoda to tell him about poop in the potty, and Alex is very proud when he learns that Yoda is impressed with his achievement. It took patience I didn’t think I had, and sometimes… didn’t actually have – there were plenty of times when Pete got frustrated and desperate emails from me, not understanding what I was doing wrong, why other kids potty trained in 3 days, 2 weeks, and we were struggling for months; I needed to make sure this happened, since a prerequisite to his new preschool which absolutely HAD TO HAPPEN was a diaper-free status. I had known he was ready since for the last year he stayed dry through the night, but it took me a while to understand the right way to go about doing this.
I actually learned a valuable lesson through this rather frustrating milestone process. I was reminded that kids are not cookie cutter, and what works for one may not work for another; and the fact that one kid was trained by age 2, and another trained in a weekend, has absolutely no bearing on what our experience will be like, and it’s unfair of me to make any sort of comparison.
I’m beyond thrilled to be out of diapers, although it’s a funny feeling – he’s definitely not my little baby anymore… now he’s my big ol’ baby… 41 lbs, 41 inches. It’s a relief that we’re in Buzz Lightning undies and preschool starts this Fall!

Napa!

2011-08-21T07:43:00.001-07:00

When Pete and I celebrated our 9th wedding anniversary last June, he handed me a card which read that his present to me was a family trip to Tahoe - the only catch being, it's up to me to plan. Naturally ecstatic, since I'd never been, I set to planning our little holiday - only to have to put the brakes on our adventure when a major hiccup occurred with our rental and I had to switch gears, focus on a replacement tenant, get paperwork done, one out, house repaired, one in.

In the meantime, as I'm slowly falling apart physically (separate blog entry... but good news, I don't have lupus - yes, at times it was that kind of summer) my mom walks in to Alex's room as I'm standing on the top step of a 7 foot ladder attaching sticky tack to the back of tiny little glow in the dark stars and affixing them to the ceiling and takes a good look at me, unshowered, hair in messy ponytail, bags under eyes, and tells me, as only a mom will, that I look terrible.

No Sh-t.

Stress from dealing with a broken lease, finding a new tenant, Alex's forever refusal to sleep a single night through in his own bed, too many trips to doctors' offices to figure out why my hands are shaking and why I can't sleep and why I have so much concurrent nervous energy and fatigue simply started to wear on me. I knew that.

So kinda uncharacteristically and out of the blue, she asks whether Pete and I wanted to go away for a week, just the two of us, for some R & R.

Um, yes. Sort of. A week was way too long to leave Alex, so we discussed, figured 3 nights was a good middle ground, and since it was just the two of us, we'd postpone Tahoe when it's a family trip, and head up to Napa instead. For the last couple of years I've been mildly obsessed with a property called the Carneros Inn, which I had seen on a luxury travel show on Bravo, and it just so happened that one of Pete's associates just returned from a weekend getaway from the very same spot and said it was fabulous.

They had availability. We booked a cottage. Jet Blue LB to Sacramento. Kisses to our son who thought we were having a meeting with Yoda.

We were off!

The Inn is set up like a village, complete with restaurants, post office, market, and boutique. We pulled up and saw what looked like Restoration Hardware meets the Hamptons but with a Northern European Flair architecture, and I was in heaven. It is a closed property, so that you have to be a guest to access almost everything but the restaurants, so we called our name in through the gate, drove in, and saw the clusters of cottages en route to checkin at the Hilltop. It felt like summer camp. With wine.

We were escorted by golf cart to our cottage, #3 with the Blue door, complete with mailbox and porch rocking chairs, and i was giddy with excitement. Or maybe it was glass of Cade Sauvignon Blanc that I received at check in.

First building cluster to see on the property - Farm Restaurant, we ate here night #1, delicious. Bocce courts. Post office and market to the right.

We reserved a Premiere King Cottage, it was adorable. The room was adequately spacious, with a wood burning fireplace that we actually used, but what made the cottage worth the price was the backyard set up...

Enormous bathroom with soaking tub, heated floors (yes, I used this feature, it was chilly mornings and evenings) and INDOOR/OUTDOOR SHOWER! This was way too fun.
The indoor shower was enormous, literally could fit a family of 6, but the best part was the shower was a walk through, so that you could open a door in the shower that leads outside, latch the door open, and poof! You were in the outdoor shower section.

(Beautiful flora and fauna)

So here's the outdoor shower. It came down like warm rain, and every morning after my work out, around the time the sun burned through the clouds, I enjoyed my outdoor shower, and then every night before dinner, under the stars, same deal. It was amazing.

Shot of our enclosed yard. We had beautiful French doors that opened up to our private garden surrounded by a very high aluminum wall. Pete had to do quite a bit of work on this trip, so a lot of reading was done on the lounge chairs with convenient overhanging heaters... and wine.

The point of the trip was R&R, for both of us, so while we did go wine tasting, we also enjoyed just slowing down. Mornings I went to the gym while Peter went for his run - there was a 4 mile loop that went along a bunch of wineries like Artesa and Michael Mondavi (relation?) and some Plumpjack affiliates, and we even borrowed bikes and did a nice tour along the rolling hills - and I managed not to tip over. Then, I'd pick up coffee and bagels for us, we'd come back to the cottage, Pete would field emails, calls, I had the morning paper and a book - that I actually managed to read! And soon the morning would be over and we'd be off to our daily appointment for wine tasting.

In the afternoons after wine tasting, we'd retire to the adult pool at Hilltop - this is where the reception building is, another restaurant, the spa, the boutique (packing light didn't do me much good, the temperatures dropped so much that I had to pick up pants and a sweat shirt), bike rentals, and the salt water infiniti pool that overlooked fields, rolling hills, and the cow. I loved this cow. Actually, everybody at the pool loved the cow.

View from the pool. Not bad.

The only appointment we had on Monday was at Hall in Rutherford, which was past Frog's Leap, up a hill, past Auberge de Soleil, up... up... up... till you hit the most amazing bird's eye view from the Napa Valley. The owners of our local wine shop set up the tour for us, and while the wine was fabulous, the Hall's art collection (mostly living artists) is unparalleled and was the highlight for me.

This photo doesn't do the tasting room or the light fixture justice, but this was absolutely the most awe-inspiring chandelier I have ever seen. It was custom made for the Halls after they saw the artist's work hanging in Grand Central Station - and it is a replica of a 300 years old grape vine, complete with to-scale root structure - which is the bulk of the light fixture. Hanging from the chandelier are 1600+ swarovski crystals, representing each day Kathryn Hall was the U.S. Ambassador to Austria. I couldn't stop staring.

Monday night we ate at Bottega, and while I was disappointed in our seating despite 3 weeks in advance reservations, the food was very good. I was thrilled to have Nickel & Nickel by the glass, and the polenta under glass was hands out, brilliant.

Tuesday, our only appointment was Schramsburg, thank you Holly for the rec! And I LOVED this tour. We hoofed it up to Calistoga, where it was 15 degrees hotter than down at the other end of the valley, and after learning of the winery's amazing history (as in 1861... amazing) and enjoying the musings of our very talented tour guide, we enjoyed 5 outstanding pourings, and I learned that i actually enjoy the Pinot Noir based bubbles (but, they are not red...) Cremant was delicious, and has been served at the White House since Nixon, so we picked up a nice bottle to enjoy at the hotel before dinner at Bouchon.

Tuesday night was Bouchon, a spot-on Paris style bistro, and even at 8:30 at night, the place was bustling and noisy and fabulous, as it should be. Given the environment, I stuck to Kir Royal and devoured my mussels in Chorizo broth and enjoyed the fresh house baked bread right off the table (tres tres French.) Pete, not normally a red meat eater, couldn't resist the steak. We're not used to eating that late or being up that late socially, so by the time my second drink came and I had soaked up all the broth with the bread, I was ready to head back to the hotel and curl up with my book.

It was a wonderfully restful trip, although next year we're hoping to return, and bring Alex - just hire a babysitter at night...

Catching Up

2011-07-02T15:55:00.000-07:00

As Alex gets older, I have less and less "free time" (ha, do moms ever have actual "free time?) - we're always on the go, on a schedule, busy as bees. But for some reason, today Alex decided to fall asleep in the middle of the afternoon which never happens (or maybe is was the gorgeous beach day and 3 hours in the ocean plus sand castle building and a run up and down the length of Salt Creek) so I decided to quickly post pics of what's been going on in our lives for the last 4 months. It's not really a post, just a mish mash of photos taken since March, since I don't have time to write as the grocery store is calling my name and Pete just got back from his run so I can take off before we get the grill going for dinner...

Our new citrus trees! I've planted Valencia oranges, another lime (Persian), another lemon (Meyer this time), so now we have a grand total of 6 citrus trees. I'm very excited. And they are producing deliciousness year round.

If there's an empty basket around, Alex must sit in it. His rules, not mine.

I threw a little Easter party for Alex and his friends, including some egg decorating. Surprisingly, not a disasterous mess!

Icing the Easter cake.

Egg hunt time!

Alex has karate twice a week, loves it; he's made some great friends, and passed his yellow belt test! At least once a month, the kids have a sparring session in full gear. Ali and I are in the background as Alex was demonstrating his Kung Fu Panda knowledge.

And he passed his yellow belt test! Pete left work early and made it to the test - the kids get up in front of the entire testing crowd + parents and complete their combinations required for a particular belt. Alex was the youngest testing at the Dojo, we were very proud. I think I may have shed a happy tear.

Getting that energy out!

It was a cold spring, we did a lot of baking. Star Wars cookies are a must have at any play date... and it came in handy for potty training.

Over Memorial Day weekend, I had a sudden urge to play croquet. So we got a set, and now enjoy family lawn games.

This was a project of mine. The dining room was marred by the very ugly builder's light fixture, and it was such an eyesore, I had to get rid of it; into the garage it went, and I started looking around consignment shops around town and came across this Italian made chandelier in a shop in PCH in Laguna. It was in terrible shape when I got it, but 18 hours later, after lots of wire brush scrubbing, polishing, and hand cramps, voila, it's brassy beauty shines through. It took me a while to rehang all of the crystals, but it was worth it. I plan to paint the room cranberry after Labor Day.

6lbs of oranges doesn't make a lot of juice...

Celebrating Alex's 3.5 half birthday. He was thrilled that he gets both December and June dates.

Bet you didn't know we have an actual working farm next to the Bella Collina golf course here in town. I think I'm going to sign up for the produce pick up program, Saturday mornings - basket of whatever's fresh, a recipe, and fresh bread, homemade mango infused honey.

At Pottery Barn. Who knew I could get this excited about a chair? We bought the floor sample and it now resides on the master bedroom balcony. Alex and I have been spending quite a bit of time sitting together in it; morning coffee and breakfast get taken up there now that the summer heat has shown up.

My chandelier. Again.

Food always tastes better outside.

Alex and I got dad a Wii for Father's Day. Or should I say, Alex got a Wii. Mario Kart is a favorite.

Awards ceremony at The Little Gym.

Summer's here! Too bad water park water isn't heated. Somebody got spoiled in the Keys.

Pool time with dad.

Turns out, my thumb is a little greener than I first thought. We've been doing a lot of gardening, and we've even planted a pumpkin patch which should be ready just in time for Halloween.

Drumming at a friend's house.

Rock on!

First Flight to Paradise

2011-06-23T10:24:00.000-07:00

When I told Alex that he was going to fly high in the sky where Astro Boy patrols in the Millennium Falcon piloted by Han Solo and Luke Skywalker to visit the Pirate Islands, his eyes grew wider than his smile and the excitement began to build. When I told him that he wouldn’t be allowed on the Millennium Falcon if he didn’t poop in the potty, despite a lot of argument, negotiation, big old Crocodile tears, it finally happened after a year of desperate trying on my part to get him to do it– a huge step for us, and as far as I’m concerned, this single act paid for the all 3 plane tickets (if you know how much diapers, pull ups & wipes cost, plus environmental waste, you’ll agree.) Don’t worry, this post is not about potty training, that’s a whole other entry. I know you’re waiting with baited breath.

Anyway, on Friday, the day before our departure, I packed my luggage as well as Alex’s (and 2 days into the trip I realized I should’ve packed Peter’s as well… but again, different blog post about the virtue of the male versus female sensibility.) Alex had been waiting for a chance to sport his PB Kids matching Star Wars backpack and roller bag, and this was his big debut. So once all the flip flops, bathing suits, and every numeric SPF were safely in their designated sections and Ziploc bags, we moved the 8 pieces of baggage to the side doors, including carry-ons, and attempted to turn in early so that we could be bright eyed for our 2:30am wake up. Yup. 2:30. Wasn’t sure how that was going to go.

Naturally, I was in and out of terrible sleep, being an insomniac usually between 1-4 anyway, and a light sleeper the rest of the night; so at 2:10, I told myself to screw it, feed the fish, and get the coffee maker on. Everything went smoothly, since getting up that early to go to a tropical location made it much easier. Alex was in his car seat by 3:15 and we were pulling out of the driveway, with a very excited toddler who couldn’t help but announce very loudly that we were going to fly in the Millennium Falcon.

He stayed up the whole drive to LAX, and we made it with almost 2 hours to spare for our 6am flight despite the 405 SHUT DOWN and DETOUR through Long Beach. That’s right. SHUT DOWN and DETOUR. Which wouldn’t have been a big deal since it was 4am on a Saturday morning by the time we got there, but for the fact that the signs leading us through the detour stopped 3/4 of the way through the detour, and all of a sudden the compass on the car had us going East in a less than desirable neighborhood (lots of bars on the windows) and the three adults in the car (me, Pete, mom who was kind enough to get up at this miserable hour to drive our car home so we didn’t have to leave it in long term parking) looked at each other and decided that the AM/PM would be a wise stop for directions. So out I prance, a little overly jovial for 4am, to a mildly confused attendant who kindly redirected us back towards the direction we came, about 2 miles south west, towards another freeway which would take us South, then North, then back to the 405 N. Needless to say, he agreed with us that the detour signs and their counterparts who posted them failed miserably.

At LAX, we took advantage of the overpriced curbside check-in since we didn’t really feel like lugging all those bags plus car seat plus toddler inch by inch through the AA check-in; 2 minutes later, we were heading to an empty security line, where the stern TSA agent asked Alex his name, to which he responded “Luke Skywalker, Jedi;” it was nice to see a frown melt into a fit of laughter that quickly, and the line that was forming behind us got a kick out of our kid as well, despite the early hour. Off to our gate and breakfast, and before we knew it, with Swiss efficiency, we were boarded, belted, and taking off to Miami Int’l.

It was a pretty amazing warm and fuzzy moment to watch my son’s excitement as we taxi’d and took off, and for the next 2 hours he named each flight attendant a character from Star Wars, and we managed to occupy him with Duck Tales on the portable DVD player, snacks, a minute with the coloring book, and finally, he passed out.

The flight was an easy 4.5 hours, and with an early arrival, we landed in Miami to blue skies and a “train trip” to the baggage carousel, where all of our bags plus car seat were the very first ones down the chute. I don’t know what I did right in the universe that week, but I wasn’t about to tempt fate. Yes, I did thank God so far and asked him to keep it up. Please.

Naturally, Alex loved the train, the shuttle to the car rental, and was happy with a milk sippy cup as we drove the 80 miles south through the Keys to beautifully rustic Islamorada, a group of small islands that are part of the Upper Keys. We arrived at the Cheeca Lodge & Spa, an oceanfront 27 acre haven on Matacumbe Key, and took a deep breath. Vacation. The first get in the plane and go someplace tropical since our (not fabulous) honeymoon 9 years ago. Pete was long overdue.

Upon check in we were handed 2 glasses of champagne in the Tommy Bahama inspired lobby, with dark wood and ceiling fans that replaced the frigid a/c usually found in the south, and I almost teared up from happiness. The lobby was small, and by 5 paces I was at the back glass double doors and staring at warm water. Perfection.

We checked into our double queen with fridge (not mini-bar, fridge, major bonus points for moms traveling with kids who don’t need mini liquors and overpriced candy bars but a cool place to keep milk and yogurts.) We had a large screened in balcony which allowed us to keep the sliding glass doors open all night long – my only “complaint” (more an observation) was that while our room was supposed to be golf course view, we were totally obstructed by enormous palm leave, couldn’t see anything but the sky. On the flip side, we had total privacy, which is good since I have a habit of just disrobing without paying mind to open windows, and there was no direct sunlight to fry the room.

It was 88 degrees, blue sky, not too humid. Amazing.

Naturally, the first thing we did was toss on bathing suits and sunscreen, and head out to the water. There was an ocean front pool, Tiki Bar, plenty of ocean front lounge seating, a huge pier, and ocean front lagoon filled with fish for the kids in which to “snorkel,” but the beach was… well. Wasn’t. Sinking feeling set in. I was used to the beaches in the BVI’s, soft, white, powders – this was more rough, pebbly, not a spot you’d put a towel down it. I could see Pete’s disappointment too.

But this didn’t last; 1. No need to lay towel in sand. That’s what the excessive number of lounge chairs were for. 2. No sand castle building! We do plenty of that at home. 3. Exceptional pool and fish filled lagoon – Alex could practice swimming in both, no barracuda, sting rays, or tarpon. 4. We still could go in the ocean – warm, gorgeous 88 degrees clear ocean with NO waves. Perfect for me.

First dip in the lagoon

Naturally, Alex saw the lagoon with waterfall, and immediately we were in. And then he discovered that the lagoon was filled with small and medium sized fish, and we stayed in for the better part of the next week…

The next 24 hours, Pete and I spent a lot of time learning how to just relax. It had been a while since we weren’t on a schedule- no work demands, no contractors in the house, appointments, groceries, dry cleaners, dogs, cooking, karate, gymnastics… so after I hopped on the elliptical, Pete went for a gorgeous 4 miles run, and Alex spent a day in 3 different bodies of water, we figured out that it was ok to just do nothing. Or at least, not get in the car.

The bulk of our beautiful stay was spent at the resort, where we kayaked 2 miles roundtrip everyday south of the resort to admire the beautiful coastline, real estate, and take a look at some amazing marine life in the 3-4 feet of water. We saw mostly rays and a few fish, but there was a lot of low growing plant life. We would float by sandbars, so at one point Pete thought it would be fun if we took turns getting out of the kayak for a photo – so we were standing in less than waist deep of water with Alex- which was fine while I was in the kayak taking the pictures of Pete and Alex, and then when it was my turn, I got out on the side of the kayak going against the very small current, but current nonetheless, and all of a sudden I’m there with Alex in my arms and Pete in the kayak is starting to gently, slowly, float away from me – which in retrospect wasn’t a big deal because I was in 2 feet of water, he had both paddles, and was within 6 feet of me at the farthest, but I am a panicky type in water, and all of a sudden my bare feet started to tingle and the gently swaying plant life started to reach out and grab me and I had the biggest creepy crawly feeling and … yes, freaked out in the water. Big surprise. Pete, laughing, told me to smile for the pictures, which I did through gritted teeth, and then he paddled back over to us (again, 6 long feet), grabbed Alex, and I threw myself into the kayak. Good thing we saw the huge Tarpon the next day…

Alex got a snorkel and mask, and practiced his swimming skills, we lounged by the pool, in the pool which was kept at a comfortable 90 degrees, walked around the resort, managed to work out, ate absolutely amazing locally caught seafood (Islamorada is considered the fishing capital of the world, and now I know why), - I’ve got to give Cheeca lodge massive credit for excellent food – I normally don’t eat much on vacation and frankly don’t want to given the whole constantly in a bathing suit scenario, but the food at the Lodge was so darn good, I cleaned my plate at every meal; I discovered and fell in love with Conch Fritters, and of course, took advantage of the amazing sushi on site, and most nights we got “take out” from the sushi restaurant at the resort where they prepared it picnic style of us and served us anywhere we wanted – which was usually on the gorgeous outdoor lounge furniture overlooking the ocean….

and we even saw a shark feeding…

I could technically walk across Matacumbe Key from East to West in about 5 minutes – it’s was a long skinny glorified sandbar, and we were on the Ocean side, as opposed to the Bay Side. The Bay Side looked more like what you see in movies about the Gulf of Florida – thick green vegetation, very still water, sharks, crocodiles. In fact, this area is the only area in the Northern Hemisphere that has true crocodiles… awesome, I know… Luckily, the sharks were also predominantly on the Bay Side as opposed to the Ocean Side, so guess which side we didn’t get in the water? Yup. Bay. But Alex and Pete did see the daily shark feeding at dusk when we went to a fabulous dinner at the Islamorada Fish Company just across the street from Cheeca Lodge on the Bay Side – nurse sharks, bull sharks, and tiger sharks all know where to get dinner. I stayed at the table and finished my margarita.

We had originally planned to venture down to Key West since we had a car rental, but time got away from us, and we ended up staying on Matacumbe Key. Pete didn’t shave for the whole week. I knew he was loving life.

Cheeca Lodge has a long pier used to dock the recreational boats but also is used for “fishing” – catch and release fishing which was naturally a huge hit with Alex. We bought live shrimp bait and he and Pete spent an hour carefully lowering the line in the water to “fish” – nothing was caught, so nothing had to get released, but Alex was thrilled. At one point huge black 4 foot long finned water creatures casting enormous shadows started circling the pier – mommy had a small heart attack at the sight, since I didn’t know it they were sharks or Tarpon. Turns out… Tarpon. Yay.

One big activity towards the end of the week was a quick 10 minute drive south to Robbie’s of Islamorada, a great restaurant made up of picnic style tables Bay front serving only freshly and locally caught seafood (think street food style) and beer (fresh mahi tacos and a corona made for very happy parents), overlooking the water; after a delicious lunch, we bought 3 buckets of bait, joined a flock of greedy pelicans on the private pier, and fed these giant biting fish called Tarpon (no fishing value and also protected in the Keys under Catch and Release laws) – the Tarpon numbered in the hundreds that day, some measuring up to 6 feet long, and were excited enough about the lunch hour that they were jumping out of the water to grab bait out of tourists’ hands – note, there was a precautionary sign indicating the danger of dangling a hand full of bait over the water… a couple people did get nipped. No blood though. The tarpon feeding was of course a highlight for Alex.

Friday was our last full day on the island and by that point, we figured out how to vacation. It was also our best day, and one that I will cherish for the rest of my life. A couple of day earlier I had decided to splurge and arranged for a private boat charter to take us on a couple hours water adventure. So Friday just after lunch Pete, Alex and I headed down to the pier to meet Captain Steve and board our vessel. Alex was a champ about wearing his life jacket, a relief to us that we didn’t have to battle a protesting toddler, and so in his vest he went, and off we went. Captain Steve took us a coulple of miles due East from the resort into open ocean, where depths in the clear blue water reached no more than 15 feet. We reached a protected reef area where boats are not permitted to drop anchors in order to safeguard the coral, and so we anchored to a mooring buoy (a big floating ball) and cut the engine. I was the first one in the water, which at 88 degrees in 88 degrees heat was ideal, next we lowered Alex in with us, in his life jacket and on his noodle, and then Pete jumped in. For the next 45 minutes, we snorkeled the reefs; Alex was absolutely giddy, life jacket and goggles on, holding on to his noodle, putting his face in the water to see the “Nemos.” We saw thousands of beautiful fish - schools of silvery fish, clown fish (a major bonus given the Nemo reference), purple and yellow fish, and the highlight for me was two giant parrot fish (I’m talking larger than our Cavalier Harrison) feeding on coral by repeatedly pecking so loudly I could hear it; towards the end of our swim, Pete and Alex were about 20 feet away from me, as I boldly decided to follow the parrot fish, and all of a sudden I look down and see an enormous sting ray that had a circumference of at least 6 feet and a stinger that was at 4 feet long… and it was elegantly flapping its wings? In a constant motion in order to cover itself with sand – but that stinger was still out and about and a little too long… and if you know me at all, you know that I’m nervous in the water to begin with, and so this is where panic started to set it. The lapping of the water against my mask went from peaceful and relaxing to deafening, I could hear my own heart beating, my breath got shorter, muscles tightened, but I didn’t want to freak out for no reason, and I didn’t want to freak Pete out, so I motioned to him and he and Alex swam in my direction, and stopped to see the ray doing its dance as we headed back towards the boat. A minute later I froze, since out of the corner of my eye I saw something shiny, and looked to my left – a perfectly still 3-4 foot long silver spear was suspended in the water, looking at me sideways with one eye… barracuda. Great. I’ve snorkeled in the BVI’s several times and have gotten caught in schools of barracuda before, so I was happy to see no more than one as opposed to… more than one. But still, where there’s one, there’s more. So I grabbed Alex’s noodle with him on it, and swam as fast as I could back to the boat while trying not to freak out more. Captain Steve lifted Alex into the boat first, who was so thrilled to tell him about the fish in the water, and next Pete and I climbed up the ladder, and our dear Captain handed us cold beers from the cooler, Alex got his apple juice. Once the beers were open Pete looked at me nervously and asked if I saw the barracuda to which I replied yes, that would be the moment where I grabbed Alex and swam like hell back to the boat; he laughed, admitting that he saw it too right after the ray, and was hoping I hadn’t since he was afraid I’d have a mini heart attack.

Captain Steve then took us to a sandbar a couple miles north of where we had snorkeled, about a mile off the coast this time; we found ourselves standing in 18 inches of pool-clarity water and white pebbly sand, and he anchored alongside other boaters who were wading and picnicking, and while we enjoyed and early happy hour, Alex played with water guns and inflatables. We finally climbed back into the boat, and after Alex demanded that Captain Steve go “faster and faster” we went on a little tour along the coast and headed back to the resort for rest and pool time before our last dinner on the island.

For our last night, we dined at the Morada Bay Café, a bay side restaurant also across the street from our resort, with chairs and tables in the sand and maybe the most glorious sunset I’ve ever seen. We enjoyed tapas style seafood, of course my conch fritters, Alex added red snapper to his diet, and we finally got in a slice of key lime pie.

We were sorry to leave, since vacation is so sweet, but now our appetite is whetted, and we’re looking forward to making more wonderful family memories next year. I’m thinking Turks & Caicos?

Remodeling The World's Ugliest Bathroom

2011-05-21T08:11:00.001-07:00

I had to laugh when I saw Jen's post about remodeling a highly stylized and extremely turquoise bathroom, since I had the same concept on the brain for our house.

Our master bath was an eyesore. And I also believe it was one of the primary reasons the house that we purchased was not high on the list of some other prospective buyers - it really all came down to the shag.

There was shag everywhere (which has been replaced with hardwood in 4 rooms downstairs already) including the MASTER BATHROOM. Totally awful. Totally disgusting. And to make matters worse, the counters were the cheapest, crappiest blah beige junk with a pathetic attempt at at accent. If they had at least gone for plain white, it would've been less offensive...

So, exactly a year after we moved in, we remodeled the master bath. I wanted a grey and white huge, with a hint of beige - to keep the colder, stone feel but not going into too much of the Tuscan spa bath which is so rampant in our community.

I had the walls painted grey last summer, knowing what direction I was headed, but hadn't picked out counters or floors yet.

After getting 3 separate bids with a range of difference of about 33%, I went with Ray, who did our hardwood floors downstairs. Best price, quality work, and we knew his crew.
I knew that i wanted white and grey flecked marble counters. So I went to the wholesaler and picked a slab that I loved immediately. Took 2 minutes.

I stared at floor tiles for days. And finally chose 3 to bring home. The choice was an easy one, given my paint color. Done.

We left for Florida, and since my mom was staying behind, saw this as the perfect time to have the remodel done so that we wouldn't have to deal with in-bathroom construction, which also would have impeded access to our closet. Plus, Alex would've turned into Handy Manny and tried to assist. Not the most helpful.

We came home to a new and improved, beautiful bathroom. Much better. Our over-sized shower was not part of the remodel, that'll have to wait until next year. But I can deal.

I may or may not have the cabinets refinished. Same with the shudders. But at least I'm not staring at that heinous shag anymore.

Indulging Jen and Katherine

2011-03-31T10:41:00.000-07:00

Since i'm sick at home in a bathrobe while my mom took alex to the petting zoo... I'm indulging Jen & Kat:

1. 4 Places I go....

the gym - it's my happy place of an hour off
the petting zoo in san juan - it's alex's happy place
any one of a half dozen parks
south coast plaza. not much else to do with a kid on a rainy day - they've got a carousel, a toy store, and a glass elevator. amazingly entertaining when you're 3.

2. 4 Favorite Smells...

freshly cut grass
toothpaste
lemonade
Alex. he has a certain smell. (a good one.)

3. 4 Favorite Shows or Movies...

Top Chef (although I'm so sick right now, i fell asleep before the finale, reruns!)
Idol (this season particularly)
The OC (season one)
Gossip Girl (season one)

4. Some recommendations....

Take more time off. Life is short.
Hold the door open for the person behind you.

Some bad words

2011-03-18T12:23:00.000-07:00

Some words are inherently bad words; you know the words I’m talking about, all those that fall into the category that I was taught as a child not to say, or rather repeat – since my mother, growing up speaking Slovak but also Hungarian, a language revered for its ability to express the foulest sentiments to an unparalleled and untranslateable degree - could swear like the best of them; the adults-only locution started to appear somewhere around my late teenage years; by college, gems like ‘sh-t,’ as in “oh ‘sh-t.. sh-t sh-t sh-t sh-t sh-t!’ what did he/she/I do last night?” were part of the weekly discourse. By law school, my swearing increased with an algorithmic certainty, and by the time I was a county serf (I’m sorry, county litigator…) and battled daily with a cast of Public Defenders, my sense of verbal propriety flocked to higher ground and I developed the mouth of a sailor.

Then there’s a different category of bad words. Much more nefarious than a mere dropped explitive post stubbing of toe, and one that doesn’t just fall into the adult world, but into that of children.

Motherhood has changed me in a million ways. For the better. Usually. But I’ve also become sensitive… hyper-sensitive? Overly-sensitive? Sympathetic? Less selfish? To explain: I’ve never been a crier. But for some reason, post-child, tears come a lot more easily. Call it hormones, sleep deprivation, fear of losing my happiness, or a greater appreciation for the preciousness of life… all of the above. In our little community, and San Clemente is really a little town – you can’t walk out the door without bumping into just about everybody (therefore, lip gloss always in the bag, sunglasses on if I haven’t had a chance to shower…) – other moms’ heartaches become my own, other moms’ pain haunt me.

Which brings me to the part about bad words. Recently, I’ve had to learn about that whole second category of bad words; evil, terrible, cruel words that strike at the heart of parents and their beloved children.
Words I wish I would never have to know include Diffuse Intrinsic Pontine Glioma. This, is the worst category I can think of…
This past week, beautiful 5 1/2 years old Maddie James from Capistrano Beach, who looked like she could have been Alex’s older sister, passed away after a terrible and brief battle with an inoperable pediatric brain tumor – see above DIPG- that took her away only 2.5 months after her initial diagnosis. I have shed tears throughout the last 10 weeks as I followed her caring bridge website, which was brought to my attention by a mutual friend. This full of life little angel, whom I never met but still mourn, said goodbye to her parents, after having learned some of the worst words ever. Her parents have set up a foundation to honor Maddie, and are hoping to raise sufficient funds to build the Maddie James Seaside Learning Center at the Dana Point Ocean Institute. (See http://maddiejamesfoundation.org/about.)

And there have been a lot of tears these past couple of months in our house. And this time there are more bad words that hit a lot closer to home. Other evil words: Aplastic Anemia.
In February we got a call from Pete’s baby-sister, 16 yrs old Brianna whom many of you might remember from my wedding (our flower girl). She had just been released from Children’s Hospital Los Angeles after a 2 weeks stint, and now had the battle of a lifetime ahead of her, following a diagnosis of the above bad word.

When she told us about it, she really didn’t explain what it was. Rare. Blood Disorder. Anemia. OK. Have heard of anemia before. Pregnant women, we get tested for it. Iron pills, right?
Nope.
Peter and I immediately went to the Mayo Clinic website before we got in touch with his parents, and this was the beginning of all the scary words I never wanted to know.

Aplastic anemia is a rare blood disease (only approx 300 Americans per year are diagnosed) that stems from a failure in the bone marrow to function properly- basically, no red, white blood cells, no platelets. The causes can vary – from resulting as a side effect to chemotherapy or other aggressive drugs to being a side effect of an auto-immune disease or an unfortunate result of pregnancy; then there are the genetic cases (which are universally lethal – the life expectancy is to age 20, and since Brianna was adopted and our family doesn’t have a full medical history of extended family, my in-laws went through an excruciating week waiting for pathology to see what Brianna’s fate was in terms of the type of anemia she suffered from.) Finally, there are unknown as to cause cases; this is where Brianna falls. There are various degrees of the disease, from serious to very serious to fatal. Brianna is in the very serious category.
The day before the whole nightmare started, Brianna had a dance concert, had been tired and not feeling well, and had been bruising a lot more than would be expected from rehearsals. Still, aside from the basic concern, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. The day after the concert, she felt ill, tired, so she stayed home from school. And collapsed. My sister-in-law, Alex’s beloved Aunt Ali, was home when it happened, found Brianna, and she and her mom dialed 911. Chaos ensued, terrible other diagnoses were thrown around the ER (apparently the default in the ER is leukemia… but for the fact that this is the polar opposite- instead of over production, this is total lack of…), and finally, at Children’s Hospital LA, the pediatric hemotologist tossed out the correct bad words.

Since Brianna’s stay in the hospital, she’s been able to be home which is considered more sanitary than the hospital. She’s taking a bunch of strong medications and the prognosis is hopeful; we all remain cautiously optimistic, as she has responded to treatment well. She’s had to have transfusions at the beginning, but luckily from a single donor, and her piccline has made life a little bit easier; poor thing is bruised from all the initial needle pricks, and already had to have a bone marrow sample drawn (we don’t like to talk about the alternative if the medication doesn’t work… the only option at that point is a transplant.) She has not been able to return to school since the medications kill her immune system so that it can rebuild itself, but hopefully by the end of spring/early summer, she can star in another role in the school play… (she had to give up the lead she worked so hard to get in a production that is on tonight – the good news is that she’s finally well enough to be allowed out into public, and is able to attend the play.) She’s basically homebound, but since our visit last weekend, she has been able to go to a restaurant and of course, tonight is date night with her adorable boyfriend at the high school.

We’ve visited her up in San Marino a few times, spirits are high, she’s got youth and positive vibes on her side.

I just wish never knew what aplastic anemia meant.

Once Upon a Time There Was a Very Mean Little Balloon

2010-12-12T21:35:00.000-08:00

Once upon a time... specifically 12/12/07, there was a very mean little balloon who was making a certain enormously overdue mommy-to be a little bit unhappy. After a few hours of whimpering and a new level of back pain, and a wonderful husband who force fed his uncomfortable wife an English muffin despite major protests, she fell asleep, knowing that the next day was going to be the biggest day of her life. And a long one.

And 4cm later, she checked into a hospital, and was hooked up to ... every machine possible. And a drip. And you've most likely read the story, so no need to go into details.

At 10 cm, a weary but ready mommy-to - be grabbed her oxygen mask, mustered up every ounce of courage, muscle, strength, and sheer will she could get her hands on, and used years of dance training to isolate stomach muscles that she wasn't sure still existed under the enormous balloon her stomach had become ... and she worked harder than ever in her entire life to push out a watermelon sized bundle of pure angelic cherubic love. All 9lbs, 13 ounces, 21 inches of him. Yes, I wear it like a bumper sticker. The kid was huge.

And after the vitals were checked and all was a go, she started in awe, amazement, and let's admit, shock, at what had just emerged... from her. A baby. An entire baby. Living, breathing, being. Otherwise, known as Alex. The Alex. And more recently, he has begun to refer to himself as Astro Boy or Buzz Lightyear...

And here the once mommy-to be sits on the floor of her family room in total darkness but for the laptop screen, 3 years later from the date of the Mean Little Balloon.

How times have changed, how times have been wonderful. Astro Boy/Buzz Lightyear is asleep in his room (for how long, who knows, hopefully he'll stay in his bed tonight until at least 4am - he still likes to hoof it down the hall and jump in with his parents to cuddle the night away). Despite the fact that his actual 3rd birthday is tomorrow, there was a celebration today since Daddy was home and he actually had already located his stash of birthday presents which he kept visiting (downstairs guest room, not creative enough) and plucking a gift at a time and bringing it into the family, announcing "this is my present. i need to open it." so, the parents caved, and some gifts have been opened. The Cat in the Hat lithograph is in his room, and his new Buzz Lightyear is tucked in safely at the foot of his bed.

Now, the once mommy-to be is now full time mommy, and ready for bed, about the same time as she went to bed 3 years ago today. WIthout the back pain or that knarly little bastard of a balloon.

Project House

2010-12-02T22:21:00.000-08:00

In honor of my absolute favorite time of the year (from Halloween until the New Year), as well as in honor of our recent slew of home improvement projects, and as a reward for sitting through a very long wait and doctor's appointment, followed by emergent breathing treatments (for me), followed by another long wait and a series of x-rays ( don't worry, not for Alex, for me), Alex and I built a gingerbread house on Tuesday.

We spent way too much money at the candy store (pre-doctor's appointment), and my child ate about half the bag which turned out to be a series of bribes by me to get him to make it though the day (we had a tough day, he was a champ) - I was just happy that there was candy left to put on the house by the time we got home that night.

An hour and a half later, voila, the Sugar Villa was complete, and Alex had a new sentence " I want to eat candy cane." Time to call the dentist.

I've been excited to throw together a post to update on our many home improvement projects that started as soon as we closed escrow. You might remember, we began with painting mom's bedroom and Alex's bedroom (blue stripes anyone?) And then of course there was the beloved master closet. Ahhh. My happy place. Despite the shag carpet, I love it, although I've run out of shoe room and now have moved across the closet to Pete's side (he doesn't notice.) I'm going to turn one of my walls into a sort of photo mural - big baby picture of me, shots from the Paris wedding, college, the family. animals. We'll see.

First on the list was a reluctant, albeit unexpected improvement - we had not one water disaster but 2, the 2nd happened when one of our 2 hot water heaters decided to burst 6 weeks after move in and flooded part of the downstairs; so out went the shag in the downstairs guest room (yes, that's my old bedroom furniture from h.s. & college) and in went new floors. Much better. That showed us how much we HATED the shag, and planted to seed for what we'd wanted to do anyway... yank out the shag, bit by bit.

By SoCAl standards, we have a decent size lot. approx 16,000 ft sq, which requires a lot more work then I realized. We have Salvador and his team weekly, but I'm in charge of the actual gardening - scary thought. I would love to garden, I have wished by thumb green. It's more turquoise to brown. But I try.

We actually had to replace a lot of the sprinklers, they were badly done, and there's a lot more to do, but budget budget...

I've planted flowers, I'm working on reviving the roses (they were infested with all sorts of problems, rust, mildew, bugs, other problems - so thanks to a Martha Stewart quick tutorial on rose upkeep, I chopped them down, spray them regularly, and they've started to come back beautifully with much healthier leaves.) This shot was taken last summer. I also started to grow tomatoes in pots - actually had good luck with those, and small herb gardens.

My dream is to have a proper garden, but the soil is TERRIBLE - all clay, some construction debris, plenty of electrical wiring from the outdoor lighting and sound systems, so that gets in the way. We'd also like to get better use out of all the outdoor space, boccee ball court in the plans. Maybe a putting green. We'll see. I'd like to plant a lot more citrus.

Right after I returned from Paris, we took on another house project: painting. The majority of the house consisted of white walls - institutional, sterile, hospital like white walls. Impersonal, awful. I couldn't stand it, so I went and got samples and took a brush to different rooms of the house to my mom's horror- so we immediately got professionals in to cover the mess that I had made. For our bedroom we chose a true Scripps green, I wanted something warm and inviting but not a typical or bland color (I love my neutrals, but for the bedroom I wanted something more exciting.)

I found Potty Barn bedding that matched perfectly, and it went well with our hard to match slightly orange tinted wood plantation shudders.

Our bathroom is a cool grey, but I'll wait to show pics until we put in floors (yes, there is still heinous shag in the master bath... don't get me started.) The counters, tub, and shower will all go eventually - but that's going to require some savings...

I also got to do a room that I've always wanted to do - instead of a formal living which we'll never use, we agreed to do a billiard room/ adult play room which doubles as my little Dr. Seuss gallery. While in law school I fell in love with Ted Geisel's work that I used to admire at the Fingerhut Gallery in La Jolla, and one Christmas Pete got me my first lithograph, a Grinch print, and a year later for Valentine's Day he gave me Martini Bird, and so my collection was born. We also have Sunbathing Bird, Sneeches, and for Alex's 3rd birthday, a Cat in the Hat print is at the framers right now. I chose a deep red that matches the downstairs bathroom by the office and front door, and was so excited to do the ceiling to show of the double crown molding. Pete wants a flat screen in the corner - that's his major artistic contribution, as long as I don't have to see it from the front door... and we're going to start looking for a table this month, and we'll put it some elegant high round bar tables and stools.

Next was the very important gate. We wanted to be able to use our courtyard with Alex - but of course, he's prone to running down the driveway, down the sidewalk, and down the street... so we needed some containment for him, his toys, and the animals. It took me 5 months of back and forth with the Board, but I think they finally got sick of me and gave in... We are very excited about the gate, it transformed the use of this part of the house.

Fast forward to December. I absolutely insisted on going all out for Christmas this year - it's been a big year, and I want to celebrate the end of 2010 and the beginning of 2011 as a great year. We hired a pair of guys who put up our Christmas lights, and now we're bright and shiny in the neighborhood. Honestly, people in this community go all out for the holidays, you should see the holiday decorations going up right now - we just wanted to fit in...

This is what 1,500 lights look like on a single tree.

Alex is very excited about Christmas decor, although he seems to think all holidays are called "Halloween." Oh well.

New rainy date past time: hallway golf!

I'd like to eventually rip out this heinous tile and replace with wood. Please don't tell Pete. I think he'll kill me.

This past Monday, our team came in and pulled out the ever so ugly foul outdated tasteless I can't believe the builder would ever install it shag carpet, and 2 days later, we had gorgeous wood floors in the billiard room, dining room, and family room.

What a difference!

More holiday decorating going on. Eventually I'd like to find a beautiful piece of art to go in this archway. And I'm going to repaint the foyer. And the dining room. Right now it's a boring, bland olive green. I want something spicier.

But up next, the master bathroom. I've picked out the tile. Floors are first on the list.

A Special Kind of Angel

2010-11-21T16:09:00.001-08:00

We have a lot to be thankful for in our family. There's the general thanks - thankful for everything we have, roof over our heads, food on our table, for living in such a beautiful place, for Peter's job, for family, for friends... and then this year, we have a few very specific things to be thankful for.

We are thankful for Alex's continued health - for the time, we seem to have his asthma under control - no major episodes despite a couple of colds, the most recent - his current bronchial mess, antibiotics included, and we didn't need use use the emergency medicine. For us, given months 13-24, it's a pretty amazing feat.

We're thankful that despite a few funky medical moments over the past year for me, all the scares were just scares.

We're thankful for our beautiful new home. We're looking forward to many happy memories to come.

And we're very thankful for the special angel that watches over Alex.

On September 30, we had an almost almost tragedy, but thanks to approximately 2 inches, I'd rather call it a miracle. Because the alternative still makes me nauseated and I occasionally burst into tears when left alone to think about what could've happened.

If you were in SoCAl the week of September 30, than you were sweating along with us. The a/c's were cranked up, the pools were getting used, and the fans were one high speed. Alex also came down with a terrible cold and simultaneous yet unrelated stomach virus (which lasted 10 days.) Pretty knarly. Since he was feeling so awful, he wasn't sitting in his usual spot in the family room - in the middle of the carpet in front of the couch, next to his train table and his toy garage. Instead, he was mellow, sick, hot, sitting on the sofa, in the very corner, nursing a soy milk (milk, is absolute favorite thing in the world, was verboten give the tummy issues). His toys for once, were untouched.

9/30 happened to also be one of the first days that we needed to use the fans in the house since we had such a chilly summer - averaging about 68-72 degrees for the majority of the season. I was in the kitchen, I think I was prepping Alex a light dinner or snack, something to get into his stomach, and my mom was at the kitchen table facing him. All of a sudden, I heard tremendous crashing sound and shattered glass followed by the piercing, horrified, screams of Alex. I froze for a second and then ran over to Alex. The fan had come crashing down 2 inches from Alex, shattering the glass from the light fixture. Alex's toy garage and his train table, as well as the leather cube that Alex loves to sit on, broke the fall of the fan. The fan that weighed 25lbs, with huge blades, and a light fixture that had a point at the base that served as a dagger and also pierced a perfect 2 cm hole all the way through his Sponge Bob Square Pants bat.

It took me a second to figure out what was going on, but I immediately grabbed Alex to make sure he wasn't injured. He was hysterical. Absolutely hysterical. But physically, unharmed. The blade from the fan was about 2 inches from the base of his feet; glass from the light fixture had shot up onto the sofa, but did not pierce him. For the next 15 minutes, I tried to hold it together while my son and mother continued to scream and cry. It was a horrible few minutes that seemed to take hours. Once I got everybody calmed down, and took pictures of what happened, I proceeded to clean up - I spent a good hour vacuuming the crash site, continually tracing the same grid pattern, listening to the shards of glass get sucked into the the tube and into the bag. Once the mess was cleaned up and everybody else was calmed down, it was my turn to lose it. And I did.
And then I filed a report with a consumer protection agency. I can't imagine this type of accident happening to another family, and causing some devastating injury.

I keep reminding myself that while a terrible thing happened, it could have been infinitely more terrible. Sometimes in the car I start to panic, and have to take deep breaths and check the rear view mirror to see a beautiful little man smiling back at me. Or screaming at me. Or singing the Yo Ho Ho song at me or Wheels on the Bus. I've heard people say that kids have special angels that watch over them, never really paid much attention to it - but now, I gotta say, after this, I have no doubts. So this year, Thanksgiving is a little more meaningful to us.

It's also been 2 years since my step-dad passed away, and oddly enough, tomorrow, Thanksgiving, is the actual 2 years to date; so while we'll probably have a solemn couple of moments, it's also a holiday that my step-dad loved, and I think one which deserved to be celebrated this year with him in mind. He used to be in charge of the pies, and my favorite was always his pumpkin - so in his honor, I made a pumpkin maple tart... from scratch... I hope I can do his memory justice. It was my first from scratch pie crust. Haven't tasted it yet, but it looks pretty darn good.

Heat Wave

This was the Friday after the fan incident. Alex was feeling better, his appetite was coming back, and I figured even if his stomach wasn't fully recovered, the kid deserved a cupcake. This is our favorite spot in San Clemente, he loves all the cupcakes, especially the mint chocolate one and the vanilla with sprinkles; my favorite happens to be the Cabernet Sauv cupcake (blackberry frosting, oh so delicious.)

On a happier note, here's a quick overview of our last 2 months. They've been crazy, busy, fun.
Despite having an all boy-boy, who turns everything into a ball, gun, weapon, tackles strangers, and runs around like a maniac, I'm determined to have a polite little maniac- who knows when to say please, thank you, and an excuse me follows a burp. (Instead of telling me he burped, he tells me he barfed. Close enough.) I also want him to know how to feed himself, so we've started cooking together, and yes, sometimes, in the grand Scripps tradition, we have afternoon tea. Since we can't have tea without baked goods, we make our own madeleines.

Alex is in charge of cracking the eggs, pushing any buttons, and of course, tasting.

He was also introduced to heavier rains this season, since this fall we've had some torrential storms. The "water falling down from the sky" was novel at first, but then... we started getting stir crazy. Not a whole lot to do with an energetic toddler when it's raining. We made many a trip to South Coast Plaza to visit the Puzzle toy store and carousel and run past Gucci, Fendi, Prada, Miu Miu, Escada, Bendel... Alex knows all the big names.

October also brought on the beginning of my favorite time of year. Starting with visits to pumpkin patches where we picked our own pumpkin, made friends with goats, and went on a tractor ride. We also did rounds at Disneyland, Legoland (we have passes!) and our favorite petting zoo, and hung out with friends at some of our usual haunts: Pizza, Mexican Food, Ice Cream, the cupcake place.

Me. and Alex. In a Boat. At Legoland.

Alex and Reggie.

More Rain. And Badminton.

Just another night at Pizza Port with his bud Anthony. Little boys like their big guns... it's in their DNA apparently.

The new Toy Story Ride at Disneyland. 3D. Big Hit. We now have a $20 Mr. Potato head. Thank you Disney.

La Costa Spa and Resort... we didn't play any golf or tennis or get any massages, but we had a great time just getting away for a couple of days.

It's Xmas at Disneyland!

Park date

Just another Tuesday with mom at the pier

Tree Lighting and Family Night at Fashion Island

Hot Cocoa with Mommy

Holidays at South Coast Plaza

I am also infinitely grateful for my amazing friends. Wishing everybody a very Happy Thanksgiving, and safe travels! Cheers to good health, happiness, and great friends forever.

Yes, I can still type

2010-11-17T16:27:00.000-08:00

Where have I been? It’s a valid question, and one wish I could answer… or at least answer, better. The truth of the matter is, I really don’t know. I’m here. Promise I am.

I woke up this morning and realized Thanksgiving is next week, and my guys are coming to put up our Xmas lights TODAY. Today. As in, it’s not summer anymore… back to school was a while ago, Halloween has come and gone (and I have the only child on the planet who refused to wear a costume and get free candy) and we’ve lived in this house for exactly 6 months now. Half a year! How did that happen? And Alex is turning 3 in a month. Seriously, how the hell did that happen?

And no, potty training has not been mastered yet. Separate issue. Very sore subject.

I feel like time was going at a good-to-fast but manageable pace throughout the summer – although summer herself never seemed to show up – we had a season of 68 degrees, chilly, very little pool and beach time, plenty of hot tub time, and minimal tan. I guess that’s good for all of us, less investment in anti-aging products. Then it was time for me to fly across a continent, and ocean, and onto another continent, to celebrate the union of Roni and Benoit and meet up with some fabulous friends and snack on French macaroons (there was a lot of that) and stimulate the economy with some spending on the Champs Elysees (could I be more excited about faux fur and high boots?), at the Gallery Lafayette, and our new discovery – LANCEL. The most fabulous bag store that had just launched the Ode to Brigitte Bardot campaign with a bag that I couldn’t afford, but certainly could stare at, pet lovingly, and yes, it’s what drew me and Kat into the store in the first place. Especially after we were put off by the factory like atmosphere of Louis V; we might as well have been at South Coast Plaza. A few hundred Euros later between the two of us, we made a new friend, shopkeeper Miriam from Italy, coffee snob, who pointedly pointed out that she couldn’t ‘find a decent cup of coffee in all of France. Lord only knows what she would think of a Starbucks’ pumpkin spice latte. Sacrilege? You mentioned flavored vodka to my mother and she has the response every time (insert thick accent:) “My father would turn in his grave.” Same idea I bet.

Everything back home in OC went swimmingly during my sejour abroad – Peter took a long weekend and spent 3 full days with the monkey (I got plenty an email detailing his exhaustion… um. Yeah. I do this everyday. I’m perfectly aware of our child’s energy level.) Between my mom’s trips with Alex to his twice a week swimming, Wednesday day camp, Mommy & Me, Little Gym, everybody was kept busy, and distracted until my return. Naps were lost a long time ago and sleep has been a problem with Alex since day one, so nothing was different while I was gone. And before we all knew it, I was back home, and going through an odd sense of withdrawal triggered by my week in Europe.

I used to spend so much time on the other side of the Pond, summers at boarding school in Switzerland, time in Spain, Paris, Provence, playing tennis in Vichy, trips to Eastern Europe to hang with my family, island hopping in Greece (loved the islands, forget the boat) my post senior in h.s. summer with a quick weekender in Florence to see the Ufizi, shopping for a day in Como and staying with friends in Lugano– I never realized how lucky I was, or how unusual these amazing adventures were (there were no luxury hotels involved, lots of summer camps, road trips, train trips, crashing with friends at their parents’ house, but still….); when I lived in Paris my junior year abroad, things were a little tougher on me – I was young, away from Peter, it was hard, I didn’t like where I lived, and in retrospect, I didn’t take advantage of everything the city had to offer, and the easy trips a central location and cheap train rides could provide. Oh well. C’est La Vie. But, I was still able to navigate the Paris subway system, the language came back to me in a couple of hours, and it felt like going back to a childhood second home… warm and cozy and fuzzy all over, and I even got to see old friends and visit my old dance studio in the Marais. And after getting to spend good times with Kat, Sarah, and Roni, I got a little nostalgic for the college days – not wanting to relive them, all good things must come to an end, but more along the lines of just missing everybody.

Anyway, I ramble.

As I went through a weird and unexpected withdrawal upon my return, I began to lose track of time - had friends from Switzerland come into town (specifically, friend from Lugano who I met at summer boarding school in Lausanne who I used to visit at his parents’ house in Lugano, who took me day shopping in Como and we did the weekend trip to Florence by train… very old broken Italian train… to see Botticelli’s La Primavera which I had studied in art history in h.s.) – then all of a sudden it’s October, Pete’s working up a storm, we had painters in the house doing a big project, heat wave kept in full fury, dropped temperatures, flu season, then it was the second week of October and Kit Kat came to visit for a few days (and she survived life with Alex, I’m thinking about making Girl-Scout-esque badges for all participants…. Sarah Mac Schwendy gets her fair share), another heat wave, Halloween… more Little Gym, Mommy & Me, Pete still working a ton, a trip to La Costa for the weekend, Disneyland, Legoland, daily grind, groceries, dogs, cooking, cleaning, gardening, head spinning…

And more head spinning.

And I realized I had no idea where time went. I planned my Thanksgiving menu yesterday. I bought my Xmas lights yesterday (because Loews was almost sold out, I had to run to purchase 2,000 lights to do our house… yes, 2,000.) And then it occurred to me, I’ve neglected my blog. And owed an explanation.

We’re all busy. Everybody I know is busy. Super busy. So why have I neglected my blog?
Well, I thought about it.
1. My mom steals my laptop during the day. Share computer. Tough.
2. Alex NEVER naps. Which means I never have quiet time. Which means I can’t get on the computer because he’ll hang on me, jump on me, or try to type for me. That would be a really interesting blog.
3. We’re hardly home during the day. I now have the scheduled child. Makes blogging hard. Can’t take laptop to the park. Will get sandy.
4. I put Alex to bed every night, and by the time I’m done with that, shower, clean up the kitchen, pay attention to Peter, it’s 10pm and I’m ready to pass out (only to wake up in a couple of hours and stare at the ceiling with terrible insomnia.) Honestly, I’m just not that amusing these days.
5. The little ‘me’ time I have is spent at the gym. I kickbox, dance, take coreboard, and have started pole fitness and am back on the reformer… (yes, 10 years college reunion may have sparked a little fire under my bottom.)
6. I’ve been at a loss for blog topics. Although, they’re starting to formulate again.

I’ve decided that none of these are good enough reasons to neglect the blog. As it’s been such a happy place for me.

So I’ve kicked my own ass, and have decided to return.

See, I’m typing right now. My mom is at the farmer’s market. So the computer is available. Alex is wide awake. He’s next to me, surrounded by toys, and the emptied carton of juice boxes he removed from the pantry and brought over to me. His snacks are a bit scattered, he has tried to help me type, and I’m a bad mommy relying on the television for

Paris, Toujours

2010-09-17T12:34:00.001-07:00

This post is so belated... almost obsolete, I don't know if it's worth it, since most of these photos have been seen already, and there's no text - mostly because Sarah and Kat covered the trip beautifully. So here we go, and I intend to return soon (to blogging...)

Paris, j'arrive!

2010-08-23T07:23:00.000-07:00

It's been a very busy summer, and while we've only been able to have a few beach days because the weather just didn't want to heat up, we've spent a lot of time in the water, thanks to a 92 degree pool at Waterbabies Swim School and our own pool and jacuzzi. Alex had an epiphone the first week of his second session of swim, it kinda clicked, and now, with some coaxing, he can swim under water a few feet. Major proud moment for the mommy. Now, if I could only get him to keep his goggles on.

So yes, I've spent a lot of time in my own cold pool, in our jacuzzi, and in our heated community pools (we don't heat our own pool, way too expensive.) I've been amused to learn that while most kids eagerly jump in any body of water despite frigid temperatures, we are raising a brattier breed here in the OC, where if the pools are heated to at least 82, the little boys don't want to go in; I put Alex in our pool with me to practice our swimming, as I do almost every day, and he threw and absolute fit as his first toe went in, demanding to go into our "hot pool" - I think he's under the impression that the jacuzzi is a baby pool just for him; I didn't heat it up that day, and when we found out that the jacuzzi was cold and the bubbles were colder, oh the tantrum came. Followed by a nap. And it's not just him. His friends are no different. oh well. Spoiled spoiled spoiled. And I love them for it, since they're creatures of our own making...

Anyway, we've been busy swimming, and enjoying gymnastics, where Alex walks the beam, somersaults, climbs the uneven and parallel bars, practices balance, jumping, kicking, throwing, running, and anything else I can do to get the wiggles out. Thank you Little Gym.

As we approach the end of August, I'm finding that I need to switch gears - and go out of total mommy mode

into international traveler mode. Since... I leave tomorrow for Paris to meet up with Katherine and Sarah L, and on Friday we travel to Calvados, Normandy to celebrate the wedding of our Scripps girlfriend Roni (ok, now that she's an adult, people call her Veronica) and Benoit, who's native to the region.

Originally, Pete and Alex were supposed to travel with me (I kinda knew about the wedding last summer, and dates were finalized last Xmas), we were going to do a week before the wedding in Provence, and take the train up to Normandy, amazing family vacation! But, as usual, poor Pete's job strikes again, a federal trial date had been set long before, and the case wasn't go anywhere, which meant neither was he. So in June when I finally had to sit down and book my ticket and hotel reservations, I accepted the fact that my European summer holiday with my family would just have to wait, and that I'd be traveling solo to see my girls.

Change of perspective, change of attitude made it easier to accept, but this is the first time I'll be away from Alex for 24 hours (Sarah M's wedding, I went back and forth between Claremont and home, so 17 hours apart is the longest for me thus far...) and I have to admit, I've been having the occasional panic attack about leaving. I've made contact phone number lists, friends, playdates, doctors, as well as drafted out Alex's weekly schedule of activities. He's now one of those over-scheduled kids:

Monday: free day
Tuesday: swim lessons; afternoon errands, playdate
Wednesday: summer camp, farmer's market with mom
Thursday: swim lessons, afternoon, pool time
Friday: gymnastics at Little Gym. afternoon pool time

My mom is going to be Alex's primary care-giver during the day in my absence, with a little help from my SIL Ali who lives in San Clemente, and wouldn't you know, Pete's trial, the one that wouldn't go away, finally settled at midnight 4 days ago, and so even though it's too late to plan our family trip, he's got an easier schedule now and will have much more time to spend with Alex in my absence (no 5am-1am days this week!) so I can rest much easier now.

I'm almost totally packed, including carry on, and ready to take on France. It's been a decade since I've been back, which is hard for me to believe since I spent so much time abroad as a kid. Traveling isn't the same anymore...

Wednesday morning I fly in and Kat and I are meeting at our hotel, Le Meridien Etoile, and then we hit the tourist sights. Thursday, Sarah flies in, Thursday night we're having dinner with an old friend of mine, who kinda is France's Ryan Seacrest;

Video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zJnlmxWRty8

he was an actor and now is a successful radio personality and television producer. We met as kids at a tennis camp in Vichy 15 years ago, and have been friends every since - we've managed to see each other both in France and the U.S. over the years, and last year we had cocktails together in Laguna and I met his beautiful fiancee. This time, we're having dinner on his turf, he's making the dinner reservations. Hoping Paris can handle 3 Scripps girls. Outift already picked out.

Friday we 3 girls hop a train to Caen and will be taken to Chateau La Cheneviere; the wedding reception takes place at the chateau after a church ceremony, and yes, we get to stay at the chateau -which has been reserved exclusively for the wedding guests. Fairy Tale weekend!!

That night, rehearsal, (oh yeah, Sarah and I are bridesmaids; yay for Roni's choosing a BCBG gown for us to wear!), Saturday wedding,

Sunday, brunch in Normandy, then I'm back to Paris; dinner with another girlfriend, Monday shopping, Tuesday, back to LAX.
It's going to be a busy week.

My French is so rusty.

The Littler d.

2010-07-21T21:15:00.000-07:00

I've been on pins and needles all day, blog-stalking and compulsively checking d's facebook status, anxiously anticipating the arrival (ok, first labor) of the littler d.

and here she is.

This gorgeous child arrived today, fashionably late, weighing in at a glamorous 7 lbs 10ounces, and having pushed a mellon through my own.... insert appropriate term... let me just say, that is not small feat, little girls can produce beautiful, big, healthy babies.

And this one is a beauty, Look at that mouth, it belongs to a supermodel! What a pout!

And she looks like a feisty one, coming at her own sweet time. Devon and Patrick, congrats, you've got your hands full in the most amazing, wonderful, and precious way. Welcome to the world of parenting. You're in good company. None of us know what we're doing.

Can't wait to watch her grow!

XOXO

Before you learn to surf, you must learn to swim

2010-07-16T06:00:00.001-07:00

Alex went into the ocean for the first time when he was 6 months old, which makes sense since we live at the beach with a climate that permits such activities almost year around. I've mentioned before that being from a family of the land-locked country variety, and having been raised on the wave-less banks of the Chesapeake Bay, I'm not particularly comfortable in the ocean (I like to see what wants to eat me, thank you very much) and I don't particularly love swimming - I love the water, I love to stand and soak and float in my pink floatie complete with cup holders, but swimming, face in water, hair wet. not really my thing. not that i can't swim. i can. I was on swim team as a kid, did the whole lifeguard thing at camp when I was 12, but I just don't love it. So I was determined to make sure Alex didn't have the same aversion to swimming as I did. Not to mention that fact that we are surrounded by coastline, and pools in every backyard, so we, like every family we know, insisted that he learn how to swim as early as possible. We kinda have that pool in the side yard too... can make a mother nervous.

There's also that other issue that we live in a predominantly surfing community, and for whatever reasons, Alex thinks he's a surfer.. and has hair to match it. So if he's gonna surf, he's gotta learn to swim.

So this summer Alex has begun his swim training at Waterbabies, a swim school here in town; it's a canopy-shaded pool in the backyard of a cute bungalow heated to 90+ degrees, 2 lessons going at once, 3 kids in each lesson, for 30 minutes, all different levels. Alex has lessons twice a week, and we'll probably keep going year round.

The instructors take each kid for a couple minutes at a time, rotating amongst the kids, while the other 2 play on the ledge, parents within grabbing distance in case a foot slips off and the kid goes under. This way, even while the lesson isn't going on, the kids are getting used to being in the water and becoming more comfortable, and also allows the teacher to maintain the child's attention span to focus on the lesson for only a couple of minutes at a time, because that's all a 2 years old is going to give you, and the kids don't get frustrated or exhausted because there is actually only 10-15 minutes of actually lessons.

The first week Alex didn't cry; he didn't realize what was going on Day 1, he loves the pool, and his instructor Miss Sarah didn't force the issue with him, didn't want to freak him out, so she didn't put him under water. She did notice that he was unusually strong, and commented that it's not going to be easy to make him do anything that he doesn't want to do - he's got that death grip down, hands arms, legs and feet. He will hold on and not let go. Day 2, still week 1, he figured out what was going on, and while he still didn't cry, he wasn't as excited about going to swim school. By week 2, he was less thrilled, and now that we're in week 3, after watching that other kids cry... sometimes through the whole lesson, he finally broke down and freaked out during the floating on his back part. He hates it. Every kid hates it. Which is funny to me since he can breath. He doesn't mind going under water at all, it's just the vulnerable being on his back in the water part that really pisses him off.

At the Level 1 stage, which is Alex's class, the focus is on learning to take a breath to go under, floating on the back, learning to kick, learning arm movements that will eventually turn into strokes, and improving comfort levels in the water. Alex has really improved his ability to take a breath, and however reluctantly, will put his face into the water before being made to. I was really proud of him yesterday, back-floating tears aside, since his instructor Miss Sarah was very complimentary of his breath improvement. It's hard to watch your kid freak out in a panic and allow the instructor to take control, but Miss Sarah is very soft spoken, very encouraging, does an amazing job with this age group, so I'm able to mask my grinding teeth and hands balled into fists out over anxiety over hearing my kid cry with a big ol' smile to help your kid calm down, hands remain under knees, fists hidden.

In the meantime, now that the weather warmed up and it actually looks like summer, Alex and I will be spending a lot of time at the beach, where he can work on his sand-castle digging, occasional jaunts into knee deep water with me, and lots of running around with his boogie board.

So the Conversation Went Something Like This...

2010-07-05T23:05:00.001-07:00

...and the conversation went something like this.

Thursday: the day of the water burst

"This is an emergency, I need to get the plumber here immediately."

"He'll be at your house between 1 and 5pm."

"But it's 9am."

"1 and 5 pm. That's the best we can do."

5pm.
"Hi, it's 5pm. Where is the plumber that was supposed to be here no later than 5pm?"

"He's en route."

545. Arrival time. Plumber meets me at the side of the house. Opens outdoor utility closet. Looks at water heater.

"You need a new water heater."

"I know that."

"I'll be back on Tuesday between 10-1pm to install the new one."

"You can't do it before Tuesday of next week?"

"No."

"Ok, so Tuesday I'll see you, between 10-1pm."

Tuesday morning, 830am.

"Hi, I'd like to confirm that the plumber is supposed to be here between 10am-1pm in order to install the new water heater."

"He's en route."

"He's en route?"

"Yes. He needed to pick up the water heater and get his car gassed up, but he's en route."

12pm.

"Hi, you said that the plumber was en route several hours ago, where is the plumber?"

"He's en route."

"You said that earlier. He's still en route?"

"Yes. He had trouble with his gas card and needed a new one, but he's en route now."

"Gas card?"

"Yes, his gas card."

"Ok."

1:30pm.

"Hi, the plumber was supposed to be here bewteen 10-1pm, it's 130 now. Where is he?"

"He's en route."

"Yes, I've heard that."

"He had trouble with his gas card."

"Yeah, you told me that earlier."

"Can I put you on hold for a minute while I call him?"

"sure."

"Well, he's en route now. He'll be there within the hour, I've confirmed with him."

3pm,

Phone call to the home warranty company.

"Hi. I've been waiting for the plumber that you sent out to me since 9am; he was supposed to be here between 10-1pm, it's now 3, I've spoken to the dispatcher repeatedly who keeps telling me he's en route. Can you please follow up for me since I can't get anywhere with them?"

"Can you hold while I call the plumbing company?"

"Yes."

On hold

"Mrs.. Wooo-shi-tick....?"

"it's Woo-ce-tich."

"Oh, well, I just spoke with the dispatcher, she said he's en route."

"I know she said that at 830 this morning. and several times since."

"Apparently he had trouble with his gas card."

"I heard that too, and I don't really care at this point. What I do care about is that this company is wasting my time"

"They assured me he'll be there within the hour."

"So, 4pm, I should expect him?"

"Yes, within an hour. 4pm."

4pm. Nobody arrives. Phone call to plumbing company.

"Hi, I've been waiting for your plumber since 9am, when I was told at 830am he was en route for an appointment that was to take place between 10-1pm. You've been wasting my time all day telling me that he's en route, you told the same thing to my home warranty shield. Would you please tell me where the plumber is since he was supposed to be here by 4, and it's not 4:05?"

"Can you hold please?"

"Yes."

"He couldn't get the water heater."

"What do you mean he couldn't get the water heater? You've been telling me all day that he's en route when in fact he doesn't have the water heater?"

"Yes... he couldn't get the heater. But I've spoken to my manager. He'll get it today, definitely today, he'll get it done today, he'll be there today."

"You're telling me that it'll definitely be today? It's after 4 pm now. What time does your distributor close today? 5? So you think you'll get there by 5 to pick it up and get the order done and then get to my house and have it done? What, at like 7? So can you confirm for me, does your distributor close after 5?"

"No. They close at 5."

"So when you say it'll get done definitely today, that's a false statement. Because it won't get done today, right? You'll just have me waiting for another hour, wasting another hour of my day, which you've been doing since 830 this morning?"

"Um. I guess not definitely today."

"Ok, so not today. Tomorrow then?"

"Yes, tomorrow. You'll be the first appointment tomorrow. 9-11am."

Hang up phone.

Phone call from plumber at 730 pm.

"Hi, sorry about today. Our plumber quit."

"He quit?"

"Yes."

"So the whole time you were telling me he was en route, couldn't get gas, en route again, then didn't get the heater, the whole time you wasted my day, he in fact had quit and nobody was coming?"

"um. we'll have somebody out there first thing in the morning. 9-11."

"9-11 is not the first thing in the morning."

Next day.

930am. Phone call to home warranty: recap of the absolute none sense I went through with plumber. Request that they follow up that plumber shows up since my phone calls were futile.

1030. No plumber

11. No plumber

11:45. Guess who shows up with the water heater? The PLUMBER WHO APPARENTLY HAD QUIT!!

It's almost comical.

Water heater installed.

Phone rings.
Automated message.
This is home warranty following up to make sure your home repair was completed and you're completely satisfied.

GRRRRRRRRRRRRRR.

Everything Happens in 3's, right?

2010-06-24T19:59:00.000-07:00

I can't believe this. It's like May all over again. except it's June.

Our water heater burst today. Totally burst. As in two 50 gallon tanks were gushing water out of the heaters and along the side of the house. Except that water doesn't just go in one direction. It goes in 3. To the garage. A flooded garage. And into the house. A flooded house. That's right. A flooded house. More specifically, a flooded guest room, walk in closet, and guest bathroom,

What does this mean?

Replacing a water heater. Surprise! I went back to the inspection report done during escrow. No indication. Hmmmmph. Letter being written.

What else does this mean? Tearing out walls, putting in hot dryers, dehumidifiers, anti-mold sprays, ripping out carpet and padding due to water damage, damaged furniture.... And a big flipping insurance deductible. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

Seriously. We just went through this in May when that fire sprinkler burst on the second story and caused 2 stories worth of damage.

Here we go again. Here we frickin' go again.

2 insurance companies. Dryers are in. and on. Energy Bill? Up. Plastic up. Tape down.
Have I showered today? NO. Why? No hot water. The plumber... on an emergency basis. Had a time frame. 1-5pm. What time did he come? 530. we had shut the water off. I'd really like a shower. I guess I'll settle for wine. A bottle. Of wine. Red. BITCH. That's the name of the wine.

seriously. When it rains my life , it flipping pours.
Must remind myself. This is not a tragedy. Gulf Coast. Tragedy. Perspective Courtney, perspective. But it's still a piss off. Still expensive.

And yes. Peter has trial on Monday. Excellent.

More wine needed. Good idea.

The closet... and other stuff.

2010-06-20T08:22:00.000-07:00

I feel like I was just in Santa Monica for Devon's shower and this morning when I woke up to get Peter's Father's Day gifts on the table and card out, I realized that it's been 6 weeks and in the meantime I've lost 7lbs and fear that I've started to go bald... why?
The move.
But we're done.
I had no idea that so much work was going to go into prepping the townhouse for the new tenant. But she's got the keys, utilities have been transfered. We're done.

The gardener came and did a substantial overhaul; the cleaning lady came, my handyman came, we replaced filters and light bulbs and removed baby gates and patched up walls; We repainted the upstairs, I did the downstairs (yes I did! No taping involved, just large touch-up areas and I'm proud to say it came out beautifully.) The masterbedroom is no longer pea-soup green but a lovely Almond Latte.

We removed (as in cut out unit that was attached to floor and wall) the HUGE built-in desk from the 3rd bedroom which was formerly our office, (let's just say disposal of large objects, tricky, must make arrangements) which also meant... new carpet, since the geniuses who built the house installed the carpet after they built the desk and cut around the desk so that there was an enormous hole in the middle of the room. Just great. And that was beautiful, barely used carpet.

Oh yeah, carpets were cleaned. Windows were washed. Garage was scrubbed. We donated furniture and clothing to American Veterans, and I had the city pick up large items for disposal that were not in good enough shape to be donated.

All of this was done after we moved since I needed the house to be vacant. So I had a month between our move and my tenant's move in date to get everything ready while unpacking while watching Alex while Pete has been the busiest in his career and out-of-town or in court or arbitration or mediation or deposition more than ever... let's just say he wasn't even around to unpack a single box. Seriously. Not a single box. He was too busy getting up at 330am to go to work. Seriously.
Do I miss being a lawyer?
No.

But it got done. There are moments I get nostalgic and miss the old house. We love that house. But then I remember.
We really love the new house.
Despite all the initial hiccups. Growing pains. (Yes, there have been many repairs in the new house.)

From the backyard

But I have my rose garden, like every Scripps dorm needs.

And the pool.

Alex is a big fan and gets himself ready to go, pool toys in hand, announcing "I wanna go pool." He also wants to go helicopter, choo choo, Shamu... there are a lot of places he apparently wants to go...

He's gotten used to the house quickly.

So has Harrison.

The boys on our first night in the house, May 14th, the sofa is in the master.

And what's not to love about a closet bigger than my college dorm? Or 2 college dorms... My mom gave me and Peter a closet as a housewarming (funny, since she moved in with us!)

So Milenka, my closet guru, and I designed a closet for me and Peter to share based on our needs, and I've since organized it according to length, season, category, and frequency of use.

Peter didn't even have time to unpack his closet. I did that too. But at least I got to do it my way.

Kinda love the closet...

process

2010-05-17T15:05:00.000-07:00

I'm not even going to discuss the second story burst fire sprinkler that caused two stories worth of damage... since I still have a construction crew working on repairs right now; our front hallway looks like that final scene of ET with all the plastic tubes.

but Alex's room is done.

and we're working on the garden, carpenters are building bookcases. my closet is done. we're in!

Big Boy Bed

2010-05-11T12:28:00.001-07:00

Even though Pete and I haven't moved in yet, Alex and I slept over last night since dad's in San Francisco for work; we slumber partied in Alex's fabulous new room in his fabulous new bed. Here he is this morning all cozy in the big boy bed.

The guard rail is en route.

My favorite wall

2010-05-10T21:13:00.000-07:00

Alex's room is done, and I think it's perfect. Now, we need to hang pictures.

His furniture was assembled today - he has a beautiful new twin bed and a matching bookcase from PB Kids. I've slowly been moving his toys into the new house, and right now the family room is covered in Thomas the Train.

The plasma is up, we had to rebuild part of the entertainment unit to mount it, still needs to be stained. Office bookcase are in process. More to come.

The Before Picture

2010-05-03T16:37:00.000-07:00

She who is not crafty must find somebody who is.

I am sadly, pathetically, horribly, incompetent when it comes to anything that requires the remotest amount of dexterity; I do not paint or draw or sculpt, I have a terrible time assembling anything... everything... no sewing, quilting, glue-gunning, or stapling, definitely no hammers and nails, no chain saws, cooking often goes left of edible.

So I cheat. Or seek out assistance? I research design showcases rooms online, comb through Pottery Barn, PB Kids, Ethan Allen, and Restoration Hardware websites and catalogues, trying to figure out furniture, color combinations, accents, and accessories. (Um, wouldn't it be wonderful to actually be able to afford to furnish a home as I'd like?)

And it turns out the PB Kids catalogue and website feels my pain, understands my needs, and so they created a color guide to all of their interior decor within the magazine, online, AND, even have a full Benjamin Moore Zero VOC paint palette ready and waiting and my neighborhood hardware store in Capistrano, where I can mix and match colors and they all go with the current PB Kids furniture and bedding palettes, since that's the paint they use.

Last night our painter, fabulous Jose, came to the new house and helped me test out samples. We have decided to paint Alex's room in 2 shades of Blue, the base will be Old Blue Jeans, and the accent wall is Old Glory (the 2 big ones on the right, the far left one in real life came out with a purple hue, we vetoed) - where I've decided to alternate colors with horizontal stripes the length of the wall behind his bed since I can't hang anything on the wall above his bed due to earthquake safety. His bathroom will also be Old Blue Jeans, and eventually I'd like to replace the ugly camel tile in his room with a fun blue tile. His room will be a surf/nautical/aquatic theme, and PB Kids is the source of his new curtains, bed, bookcase, (to be assembled by our favorite handyman), and I'm commissioning a piece of art from my girlfriend's husband who is a graphic designer- the print will be a blond hair little boy carrying his surfboard with the name "Alex" printed on the top.
I'd also like to hang wire fish from the ceiling, newest accent in the Pottery Barn catalogue. We'll see how that goes.

The Knowing Nod

2010-04-20T15:15:00.001-07:00

Not the most exciting post. It's about the trash trucks.

I missed a call from my sister in law this afternoon because it's Tuesday. Trash Day. Trash and Recycling. Alex's favorite day of the week. At approximately 1:10pm, Alex heard the rumbling of the giant recycling truck as it clamored down our street, clumsily picking up brown recycling bins with its giant fork lift and dropping bottles, cans, and paper products into its giant bed; once he hears that beloved sound, he screams out "big truck, poo poo, poo poo" and runs to the backyard where I hoist him up onto my shoulders so he can watch the recycling truck in action on our block. I don't get the fascination, but he loves it. and when the truck made its way back up the block, we had to run out the front door and watch from our steps, even if somebody wasn't exactly wearing pants. Such a boy!
Earlier this morning, we went through a similar scenario, but with the garbage truck, a slightly smellier prospect for fun. For the first time in his 28 months, Alex slept a FULL 12 HOURS IN HIS OWN BED (thanks be to God!!! I am SO stinkin' tired, I needed the glimmer of hope that my child will in fact sleep on his own one day!) and so he missed his usual 730am truck observation from our bedroom window, a favorite weekday morning activity. Instead, he slept in until after 8am, (again, woo hoo for me, i even got a shower in all by myself!) and then we had to go through the morning routine of potty, dress, breakfast, bottle, Seasame Street/Curious George, mommy hot coffee, mommy papaya, doggie breakfast, put stamps on mail, make necessary phone calls, pray for tenant with viable finances, check email, plan park play dates and errands. By this point, poor Harrison really needed to poop, and since Lola won't walk on a leash and I need to keep Alex confined and he's outgrown the Kelty backpack, I left Lola at home (we have a patch of grass for her, it's plenty big for a teacup pomeranian), put Alex in his buggy (he still fits, knees above the steering wheel), and we took Harrison for his morning calisthenics. Harrison never wants to be left alone home, Cavaliers crave company, but, if you've met Harrison, you're fully aware that he's a little hefty, a little lazy, and a lot willful. Great. another willful personality in my family. Anyway, we went off on our walk around the neighborhood, and I had to walk towards the market and sushi restaurant so that Harrison would actually move, and of course, what else do we see, but the trash truck doing its commercial rounds. Yay. I could smell it a block away.
We got to the intersection at the end of the shopping plaza where the dumpsters are carefully camouflaged behind cement walls and wood pergolas, and I watched as my son took a deep breath, sat straight up, froze with a pacifier in each hand, and watched the truck go into action. The garbage man rolled out the dumpster from behind the locked door, we could see the lid moving and then the whole smelly box emerged, to which Alex exclaimed "I see poo poo!" Yes. Yes, we see poo poo. At this point, Harrison decided to make a big poop on the side walk next to the rose garden leading up to the Aveda hair salon, just as a customer was walking towards us. Yes, I had bags and picked it up. Yes, she was a dog lover and merely remarked that her dog always does the same thing. Mild crimson facial coloring from me. Alex continued to stare and point at the truck. Then the giant fork in front (not the measly side fork that picks up our small bins) grabbed the dumpster, hoisted it up and over the front, and sent a week's worth of supermarket trash crashing down. "Poo Poo!" Again, yes, poo poo. Thrilling.
A mom was in a black volvo SUV, pulling out of her parking spot when all of this was going on; she was at a stop sign, but no other cars were there, and she had just paused, and watched the whole thing- the dog pooping, me getting tangled in the leash, me squatting next to my 2 yrs old in his buggy with dog poo in a bag in my hand while the child joyfully witnessed the wonder of trash day, and me clapping along with my child, careful not to fling the dog poo bag around while exerting the appropriate amount of enthusiasm for the sanitation vehicle's successful pick-up, singing The Wheels On the Truck Go Round and Round... I don't know if we knew each other. She looked familiar: Thin, blond, housewife in sunglasses, baseball hat, work out gear in large new model SUV, coffee in hand, child in rear forward facing car seat, bumper sticker outlining all members of immediate family + K9, blue tooth on ear... maybe we go to the same MOPS group, maybe we've met at the pool or park or ran to hold the door open for each other at coffee shop as we've tried maneuver out of coffee shop with stroller too wide for door, caffeinated beverage and eager dog anxiously waiting outside for our return while child throws sippy cup around side of stroller back into coffee shop which then spills onto already slippery stone floor which requires a return trip inside coffee shop while holding door open with foot and one hand on handle of stroller while reaching for napkins to mop up spill....
I looked up, still squatting on the side walk next to Alex in the buggy, Harrison in the rose garden, holding the dog poo bag, and there she was Volvo mom, I felt a little ridiculous, as we were watching a trash truck, and I had clapped wildly with a dog poop bag in my hand (could've put the bag down but didn't want anybody to think I was abandoning dog crap in public space as opposed to depositing in designated receptacle) and she most likely heard my out of tune singing. And instead of looking away and driving off, she smiled at me, that kind closed mouth grin from mouth to eyes, and gave me the all knowing mom nod that lets the rest of us know, we've all been there: squatting on the side of the road with dog poo bags in our hands, watching the trash truck with our kids.

Baby Beluga in the Deep Blue Sea...

2010-04-15T16:02:00.001-07:00

The Saturday before Easter, Peter called me and Ali (my Sister in Law) very early in the morning while we were at the gym for our 8am kickboxing fix and left me a message that when we got home, he needed to get ready quickly because we were going to Sea World.

No time to shower, (gross, i know) I threw on clothes, and we headed down the 5 for an hour until we hit the park. I don't know if it's the time of year, or the bad press surrounding the Shamu accident a while back, but the crowd was small and tame, and easy to maneuver, and we had a blast. And yes, you can drink over priced watered down beer while you walk the park. Amazing, I know. Thank you Anheiser Busch.

Alex is finally old enough to really enjoy more than just the rides, the Seasame Street section, and the giant Elmo. He really loved the Shamu show, and per my request, we sat in the 3rd row and got totally soaked. Was not thrilled about getting splashed with Shamu water in the face. Alex loved the jumping Shamu, was less thrilled with the 3rd time we were splashed, and Pete and I used our heads and upper bodies to shield him from the water (I had no idea we were going to get that wet.)

This is an eel. Ali and I named him Virgil. He was talking to us.

For the record, Alex is not drinking a beer. And neither was I. Pete asked me to hold his for a second while he took pics of me and Alex and Ali, then Ali handed Alex her beer and jumped out of the shot. Apparently the siblings had planned this.

Alex's favorite area was the shark exhibit. We went again and again. Such a boy.

He really enjoyed the Beluga whale exhibit

Thanks to the promo for SoCal residents, our one day tickets now give us entry for the rest of the year. We'll be seeing a lot more Elmo this summer, since our Disney annual passes expire soon.

Happy Easter (a week later)

2010-04-10T16:47:00.000-07:00

For the Love of Shoes

2010-04-05T16:08:00.000-07:00

This is what we do on Friday nights... our fabulous neighbors Meg and Fab stopped by, my sister-in-law Ali was over, and Pete got home from work at a decent hour. Alex got a hold of Fab's shoes, and of course, turned it into entertainment for all of us.

Soccer Stud

2010-03-22T15:29:00.000-07:00

My little soccer stud was on fire at the park on Saturday, making his parents gleam with pride as we watched him master eye-hand-foot coordination with his newest soccer ball.

I never enjoyed playing soccer in middle school PE, and in all honestly, I was really rotten at it - the idea of a ball flying at me without a racquet in my hand to defend myself just didn't appeal, nor did the idea of chasing a ball down a field. Tennis was always my thing. So you can imagine my surprise (and relief) upon seeing Alex fully embrace the footed sport.

He practiced kicking the ball on the ground, but soon graduated to throwing the ball and kicking it mid-air.

I think he's making his Godfather Dave S., who played soccer for Pomona, very proud.

I know Pete was all smiles.

Almost Home Sweet Home

2010-03-12T13:33:00.000-08:00

I have a confession to make:

I love real estate.

I mean, really love it.

It's like my porn. I could spend hours flipping through the pages of Dream Homes Magazine, the Orange County, Los Angeles, San Diego, and International editions are all spectacular, carefully studying kitchens, bathrooms, floors, hardware, closets, windows, fixtures, furniture, paint, tile.

I love model homes, Christmas house tour fundraisers, and open houses.

I obsessively read Pottery Barn and Restoration Hardware catalogues, Architectural Digest, and even subscribe to Martha Stewart Living for the monthly feature homes.

Now, I'm excited to have my own home project, as we are officially in escrow set to close April 16h. We agreed to lease the property back to the seller for 2 weeks so they can find new accommodations, and we're planning to move mid-May.

We had the inspection on Wednesday, and the property got a gleaming report card; this gave me an opportunity to take pictures of every angle of every room in order to preserve a visual notebook for myself in preparation of certain changes we plan to make. It's going to be a long term project, but a fun one. I have to say, the seller has very American/American Country taste in furnishings, which is the absolute opposite of mine; there were a lot of silk and dried flowers, floral prints, colors I don't use in my home, but all that is easily ignored.

Here's a tour of the house:

The First thing we plan to do is to install an electric gate in the arched entry of the driveway in order to contain the child, the three dogs, and all bikes, trikes, and balls. We are planning a faux wood gate to maximize privacy. The casita looking building on the right is actually the 3rd garage. Some plans converted it into a guest house. We need the storage.

This is the driveway/courtyard. There's a fountain, not really sure why, but this is a side courtyard that will be a nice place for me to sit, with the gate closed, and Alex can zoom around in his electric fire truck, on his scooter, and tricycle, with no fear of passing cars.

Project #2 on the list right after the gate, we are building up the office so it's got proper bookcases and drawers. If you've seen our upstairs office, you know we actually use it all the time and have way to many legal manuals for a small bookcase.

Laundry room

Eat-in kitchen. We really liked this table, so we asked the seller if we could buy it from them.

Alex taking in his new home. Door to the backyard and family room.

Family room; the TV is actually not built in, no idea if they plan to leave it behind, we'll see; it's 8 years old, not worth it for us to buy from them.

I love this kitchen, the cabinets have this amazing burnt edge details, it's huge, plenty of cabinets - except for the bright white appliances! They don't match at all ! We were really shocked that they didn't have stainless steel, and I don't give Pete enough credit, when we got home from the inspection, that was the first thing he mentioned, the ridiculous white appliances. All in good time, they'll be swapped out. Project #3, we're installing pull out shelving in the cabinets. Mom had it in her old house, she can't live without them.

Dining room. I don't care for the furniture, the faux plant, but it's the right size, not too big or small, and has a nice view overlooking the pool and facing glass french doors into the courtyard. But, it's got carpet. Upgraded shag carpet. I've never seen carpet in a dining room before. Rug, always, but carpet, no. Project #4, we will replace the carpet with wood floors to complement the hall and butler's pantry tile. The dining furniture going in this room is from my mom's house, a 200 years old gorgeous dining table and bar that my mom bought when we lived in London when I was a baby. Mom was really adamant about a proper dining room.

French doors facing the dining room that open up to the courtyard. Alex loved running up and down the main floor hallway, front door to back door.

This is the bathroom at the front of the house to serve the office, living, and dining rooms; it's the nicest bathroom in the house in all honesty in terms of upgrades and detail, minus the faux fern.

Bathroom shot 2

This is the formal living at the entry of the house. I am of the opinion that in this day, in most family homes, the formal living room is a lost cause, never used except maybe during holidays. We decided that we don't need a formal living room, so for the time being, it will be used as Alex's playroom with the plan that it's going to be a billiard room. SO much more fun. I'd like to eventually rip out the shag carpet and install wood floors, paint the walls a deep red, kind of like the bathroom, and I want to display all my Dr. Seuss lithographs, hang a flat screen TV, and have a couple bar stools and tables in there, with the idea that it's the family game room. This has been a plan of ours for years, we just needed the house. The Seller's agent was very happy when we told her that the seller is welcome to take the turquoise window treatments, as they are not our taste. The curtains in the dining room are coming down ASAP as well.

Food pantry!

Hallway

View from stairs. We are going to rip out the shag carpet that covers the stairs all the way through the entire upstairs floor. Project #5, in about 6 months or so. Mom and I picked out carpet yesterday. We said absolutely no to wool. It sheds like a dog. I'd also like to nix the heinous banister and replace the whole thing with wrought iron... to match the front gate...

Approaching the master bedroom.

Mom's upstairs office nook. Mine is in the kitchen. Peter gets a whole room.

The loft is adjacent to mom's room, so we're going to put a door in and have that be her apartment. This is the view of the hallway from what is her doorway.

Upstairs loft, aka Babka's living room.

Clearly, she's not a fan of the denim and plaid furniture. Told you, American Country not our taste. Window treatments are coming down too. And in her bedroom. She's very sad about losing her large walk in closet, so we're also giving her the walk-in closet in the downstairs guest bedroom.

Mom's room. There will be changes made. Windows to start.

Entering the master.

Master. We will have a couch in the nook, just not that one.

I do not care for the master bath counter tops. Or the hardware. That's a down the line project. Replace counters, and hopefully backsplash. Don't get me started on the carpet... in the bathroom. Shag. We will eventually put down proper flooring. And rip out the tiles in the powder room that make me want to gag. Alex's and my mom's bathrooms also need new counter tops, and frankly, the floors should go too.

Alongside project Gate is project closet - we will build up the master closet prior to moving in. This is a big pet peeve of my mom's. My shoes need a proper home.

View from balcony off master bath. Doubtful we'll ever sit up there.

I'm a big fan of awning. That's the dining room window.

Beer fridge!

Pool in the side yard is already baby proofed! Good reason to start Alex in swim lessons ASAP, nonetheless.

Alex and Babka in the courtyard.

View from inside the courtyard looking out. Need that gate.

Alex's room is pretty small, there is a bathroom, and I like the plantation shudders and fan; we're happy that there are plantation shudders throughout the entire house, and fans in every bedroom. Much more efficient in the summer than running the a/c. The family decorated this room in a surfer theme, so we're going to stick with it - being the only permanent fixture is the surfer theme window treatment, cute enough for the time being. Once Alex doesn't need his bed against the wall I'll probably swap it out; I had originally planned a surfer room for him anyway, then waffled and went with Dr. Seuss, now he'll have both, since his current duvet cover and throw pillow is Seuss. I might do a Seuss shower curtain and towel hanging.

Back of the house, view from yard.

Now, it's time to prep our house and list it for lease. I can't believe I'm going to be a landlord.

Sit. Pee. Clap. Flush. Sticker.

2010-03-06T14:31:00.000-08:00

Day ONE of active potty training. Alex sat, peed, we clapped, we flushed, and he got his first Elmo sticker. There have been many more since then.

The general rule of potty training is that boys tend to master the art later than girls, with an expectation that around age 3, little men should be able to hold, communicate, and go. I never understood why there was a difference until I had a boy. Apparently, boys have weaker bladders, they can't hold it long enough to get to a potty, generally they are delayed talkers (compared to girls) and so they have trouble communicating that they have to go, and little boys, at least the one that lives with me, can be very impatient and refuse to sit still for periods, preventing meaningful training.

I get all of this. But statistically, American kids are also some of the last ones to potty train, and I have a hard time believing American bladders are weaker than the rest of the world, so I decided to at least try the potty with Alex.

Last summer I bought a Bjorn potty in a lovely lime green, to match our bathroom, and left it on the floor under the towel rack just so Alex could see it, get used to it, we could talk about it ...
conversation goes something like this...
"Alex, that's your potty!"
"Potty?"
"Yes, your big boy potty!"
"Baby potty!"

... and I know this is an over-share, especially for those without child, but kids love to go potty with mommy (and mommy needs to watch junior even from the powder room to make sure he's not scaling a bookcase or something), so this way, when I have to go, he can practice sitting, and we wave to each other from our respective seating. Yes. I know. Never pictured myself doing this either. I can't even pee in an airport without major mental preparation.

Day ONE potty training: I discovered he needed to wear his potty uniform: Hooded towel for warmth, with bat, clearly for protection. Maybe Star Wars had been one the TV or something?

Anyway, Alex got used to having the potty in the bathroom, and loved to practice sitting on it, sometimes fully clothed, sometimes after a bath or shower. A couple of times he'd pee, but nothing consistent, we didn't want to push him, he was only about 20 months at this point; we were just hoping he'd take to the idea of how fun the potty was versus a diaper, instead of suffering separation anxiety as a lot of other kids do (not joking... apparently some kids are anxious about poo going in the potty and flushing it down the toilet since they don't understand what happens to it next. My mother assured me that I was not one of those children. I didn't care where the poo went. I just wanted it gone.)

My next step was to relate his favorite thing in the world, Elmo, (what else?) to this project.
So I purchased Elmo Goes Potty on DVD. A nightmare for me? Yes.
Does he love it?
Yes.
Do I often hear
"Elmo potty?"
Yes.
Katherine can attest to this. She's seen the DVD as well.

If it's a tool to help the process, I'll take it, even if I have to stomach more Elmo. And there's a song. Yes. A song. About going pee and poo in the potty.
I don't recommend watching this while you're eating.

But he loves it.

About 4-6 weeks ago, I decided that start Alex on the potty with more regularity, and even know he has yet to tell me when he has to go so I can get him to the potty quickly, I figured that the one time of day that was a sure thing was the big morning pee, so every morning, first thing, before we do anything else, he goes to sit on the potty; and I'd say 99% of the time, he goes. It's winter and his little feet have to rest on the cold tile, and he's really into his hooded animal towels, so I wrapped him up while he was going that first time, and it stuck, and now I think he treats it like his uniform. The bat? He's always got a bat in hand. Sometimes a pacifier. Don't care. As long as he goes in the potty.
So when he goes, the whole family celebrates. He gets so excited when he pees, he looks down, looks up at me with this huge smile, exclaims,
"Pee Pee in Potty! Baby potty! Elmo potty!"
"Yes, baby potty, just like Elmo goes potty."
And then there's major clapping and excited jumping up and down and accolades galore, and sometimes we sing the pee pee song. No, I will not sing it for you.
And he picks up his own potty, hands it to me, so we can dump, rinse, dump again, he flushes, closes the powder room door, and he picks out an Elmo sticker and ceremoniously sticks it on the high tech super fancy Potty Chart. (Leslie and Devon, ideas for improvement?) And we wash hands. Sometimes we go through this process 2-3 times, since he gets so excited about peeing, he holds it mid-stream so we can dump, flush, sticker... so we sit him back down until we feel he's empty.

Mission accomplished, sticker on the chart, now watching Elmo Goes Potty.

Things have been going so well in the morning that we've also graduated to night time attempts. Usually after a bath or shower, he put on his hooded towel, and like a caped monster, he runs like a madman down the hallway and plops down on the potty. This one is a little tricker since he doesn't always have to go, and sometimes he gets impatient and doesn't want to sit still long enough to try, and instead gets up and does a naked run around the upstairs (usually with hooded towel on flapping behind him), and there have been occasions where he plays Catch the Naked Child, and Pete and I are chasing him back into his room to get a diaper on him before...
the hose down.
And that happens. Often enough.
Which is why I have a rug over the carpet in his room, centered enough so that it's usually the one that catches the spills. A couple of weeks ago I had just tackled him and was about to get the diaper on him when he decided to hose me down. Oh yeah. Full on spray. He got my foot, pant leg, arm, even though I vainly attempted to use the diaper as a shield.
This is why I keep carpet cleaner in the upstairs laundry room. And this rug will have a very short life. Once potty training is over, gone.

Next step. A mid-day pee.

Who Said It was a Buyer's Market?

2010-03-05T15:17:00.001-08:00

As I've already blogged-explained, prior to this whole biopsy nightmare, we had a not-so -small real estate project on the horizon.
The day Alex and I went to visit his Godmother Sarah, my mom received and accepted an offer on her house, and 18 days later it closed escrow (that was the same weekend we found that house with the huge valley views, I got a sinus infection, that house went into escrow because word traveled to another buyer that we were making an offer so they scurried and beat us to hit, above asking price, whatcha gonne do?, and 2 days later I found out I was lumpy...)
Since then, mom has obviously moved out of her home, and is camping out amid packed boxes in her cute month-to-month rental with a one step kitchen (and by one step, I mean you take one step and you've walked through it) and beautiful ocean views. She's still within 5 minutes drive of us.
Despite my lumpiness, we've been on the mad hunt for the perfect home, and even though we're supposedly in a recession, and even though we're apparently in a buyer's market, there isn't much inventory worth visiting.
I've seen a dozen or so homes, without being impressed; since our criteria is a little unusual given the merging of two families, we were first adamant about space, 3 car garage, a "big" yard (relative to OC) for 3 dogs, and plenty of privacy for everybody. My mom needed a wing, or a casita, or something that would allow her to have her own retreat, and would allow us to have our own place.
Not easy to find.

Short sales are all over the place, but not the square footage we needed, and a lot were damaged - owners angry about their circumstances pulled fixtures out of walls, left holes, messes, food in fridges (oh yeah, you get the picture.) A big turn off. And then you have to deal with the banks. And if it's a decent house, a good buy - the bidding war!! Last week we actually made an uncharacteristic move, making a blind offer on a home, still in Talega, right square footage, views, pool, 5 bed + office, and it turns out, there were 11 other offers made on the house that same week, most of them also blind, and it turned into a big ol' mess, and after we submitted our offer we got to see it, and it was just not love at first sight; house was beautiful, dark wood, built-ins, wrought iron fixtures, but the pool in the backyard scared me because of the child, and the house itself just seemed... dark. and cold. I didn't want to amend our offer to bump up the price, so we let that one go.

After looking and looking, within our criteria, I spent one afternoon driving around Talega and ventured into one of my favorite neighborhoods, one that I fell in love with in 2003 when I sauntered through the models on a rainy Saturday my 2nd years of law school (Pete was still in Nashville, I had make the gross mistake of transferring... hindsight. It's a bitch.) I have always wanted to live in this community, but thought that there was basically no chance in the distant future. Homes in that neighborhood almost NEVER come on the market.

BUT THEN ONE DID!
And it's not a short sale!

I didn't know why I loved this house so much until Holly reminded me... it looks just like a Scripps dorm!

I love this house. I can see my family in this house. It's light and bright and there's plenty of space for everybody; yes, I'm really annoyed over the fact that there's CARPET IN THE MASTER BATHROOM... !!! my personal pet peeve, especially when potty training a boy, and all bathrooms except one are underwhelming in terms of upgrades, and the downstairs floor is tile not wood, and there's carpet in the dining room, living, and family rooms - and it's a modified shag, and the appliances are not stainless steel... But, I'm also not a brat. I can get over all of that.

And those are cosmetic projects that we can undertake down the line. This house was just perfect for us because it's the only one with a floor plan that can accommodate us, and a lot that can handle the child and dogs.
Upstairs, you'll find 3 bedrooms and 3 bathrooms, plus a huge loft which is more like a secondary family room; one bedroom is right off the loft, so we're planning to put a door in the loft, move my mom into the adjacent bedroom with bathroom, and she'll have her own little apartment. Of course, Alex will most likely adopt that loft as his and leave a trail of toys, but that's a given.
Alex's bedroom would be the one closest to ours, it's already got a surfer's theme, perfect, and the master is off on its own, with its own living room, adobe fireplace, and big (not fabulous) bathroom and huge closet. I keep reminding myself... we're paying for the floor plan... the lot. Not the bathroom. Not in this case.

Downstairs you'll find 2 more bedrooms, the guest bedroom that we'll keep as a bedroom overlooks the backyard, and I have a feeling our regular guests will include my sister-in-law Ali who spends at least one night a week with us anyway, and of course, the MacShwendy's. The guest bedroom at the front of the house will be the law office. or Pete's office. The formal living room will be turned into either Alex's playroom or a billiard room - I've always wanted to have a room with a pool table with all of our Dr. Seuss lithographs on display, maybe some high bar tables and stools, a flat screen?

The backyard is big, a grassy space, with built in bbq and bar, outdoor fireplace, and the side yard is a gated off pool and jacuzzi - which is already baby proofed, and there's no door directly from the house to the pool, so I'm not going to be in panic mode all the time!!

We're planning to install an electric gate at the entry of the driveway - the big arch, and then we'll have a large enclosed courtyard for Alex's bikes, trikes, balls, and all things that roll. This was a huge selling point for this house. There's even a fountain on the side.

We've gone back and forth with the seller 5 times, it sounds like last night's counter offer might do the trick... we should know more by the end of the weekend.

In the meantime, Alex and I are covering ourselves in chalk...

trying not to get too
excited... yet.

and fighting the never-ending asthma battle. Damn cold.

Maybe there will be champagne popping on Sunday. Maybe.

PHEW

2010-02-26T16:45:00.000-08:00

IT"S NOT C-NCER!!!

I don't even want to spell the word out, I'm so terrified of it.

Thursday finally came. After 1.5 hours waiting in the exam room with a 2 yrs old on my lap, the doctor came in. She hadn't even ready the results yet.
She pulls up the screen... muttering muttering.
"Congratulations! It's not c-ncer!"
Oh thank goodness.

The biopsy should have drained all the fluid from the lumps, and they are expected to shrink; I have another ultrasound in a month to see what's going on, if they are growing, they will be removed. Otherwise. I'm good to go. I have a feeling this is the type of issue that will probably be watched the rest of my life, but I can handle that. I just needed to hear some good news.

Now, on to more important issues like real estate and potty training.

We have a potty chart. And an outfit. Details to come, since nothing is more fun than poop and naked babies running around and hosing down mommy.

Thursday

2010-02-23T14:28:00.001-08:00

Thursday is the new Friday/Monday, at least in the medical profession.

As I was putting Alex down for his nap, I got all in my head nerves again, so I called my primary, to learn that they had just gotten the results, and that I need to come in to get them... so Thursday.

Thursday is earlier than Friday, and at least any potential bad news isn't ruining my Tuesday, since Tuesday is dance class day, as is Wednesday. So Wednesday is safe too.
Or maybe there is no bad news and they just want me to come in because that's how it's done... or maybe so I have to pay my co-pay?
Wait...
am I being cynical?
Sorry.
I would say I'm not myself these days, but since I'm always cynical, I'm absolutely myself. Good sign?

So the goal is to keep busy for the next 48 hours. I'm about to make eggplant rollitini with mint, that should take a couple of hours, then Alex will be up, I have dance, come home and it's the bedtime routine... and oh yeah, this morning before going to the park we found a house, and we're putting an offer in , site unseen.
Are we nuts?
Yes.
The question is, to what degree?
A little bit about the house, since this is so much more fun than Beatrice and Belinda.
It's in our greater community of Agrestic.
It came on the market this morning.
By 10am, there were 3 offers being submitted.
We were going to be number 4.
There are sure to be more.
It's a short sale. Priced right. Which is why we're in the middle of a bidding war right now.
4700 sq ft, 5 bed, 7 bath, 15,000 ft lot with pool and built in fireplace. Corner lot on a cul de sac, very pretty from the outside, mom and I drove by it. and from the pictures online, the kitchen is insane.
The owner is refusing to show the house today.
Why should she, since we're all crazy enough to be willing to bid over asking price when we haven't even seen it yet.
The bank is closing bids tomorrow morning.
Who knew in a recession, you could still sell overpriced real estate, however underpriced, within 24 hours?
Our agent is drafting the papers.
Mom's house already closed escrow.

I also have a house in second place, that we were about to submit on until this other one came up.

Light at the end of the tunnel?

Why Don't They Just Take Their TIme...

2010-02-22T15:23:00.001-08:00

Hmph.

I'm still waiting. Patiently.

Not so patiently.

I'm already not a good sleeper. I sleep lightly. I awake multiple times a night. Saturday, despite total exhaustion, I was up until after 2am, just staring at the ceiling. I listened to Peter breathe, in and out. I waited for Alex to run down the hall. I sustained a coughing fit, left over from that pesky sinus infection that got me to the doctor in the first place a couple of weeks ago, and some time between 230-3am, I must have drifted off to sleep, only to be up again at 7. So we did the only thing we could think of to completely occupy and entertain me, we packed up the family and went to Disneyland.

Unfortunately, Monday arrived, and I'm back to staring at the phone as the number I'm looking for fails to register on caller ID.
I've tried to keep myself busy.

I took an early dance class this morning while Alex played in the nursery with his buddies for an hour; then he and I went grocery shopping at Trader Joe's, then vacuumed the whole downstairs, washed the floors, scrubbed the kitchen, did dishes, did laundry, fed and napped the child, paid bills, answered emails, planned out dinner, and am hoping to make it to kickboxing tonight. And still I have time to crawl into my head, for just a minute or two, and send myself into a panic. During dance this morning, I defeated the purpose of being there in the first place - and in the middle of a grapevine-turn-box step, I started wondering whether I had missed a call, whether there was going to be a voicemail on my machine asking me to come into the office to get the biopsy results... I lost my choreography, and found myself a mambo too late to get into my cha-cha, and was just standing still. So embarrassing when you're in the middle of the front row and realize you're staring into space...

I'm sure I'm ok. Lumps are lumps, they happen, 90% are benign annoyances. I'm a pretty typical kid, I should easily fall into that 90%.
I just don't understand why I was told Friday/Monday when most likely it won't be for a few more days. Just don't give me a timeline... I'd be much less nuts.

The Waiting Game...

2010-02-19T14:24:00.000-08:00

Waiting for a phone call from the doctor is like waiting for water to boil... and forgetting to turn on the stove. It's a Friday, I'm sure that pathology was in no rush to get the info to the Radiology department, which then would have to contact my primary physician... who probably doesn't work on Friday afternoons. I don't know that for a fact. I'm just assuming. Since that's the type of thing that happens to me.

Wednesday's ultrasound guided biopsy went as well as possible, I guess. It was uncomfortable but not horrible, although those lidocaine injections... wow. that was really not fun at all. Pete said I had a poker face the whole time, he couldn't tell that I was unhappy - must've been the nice little pill I was allowed to take ahead of time. I'm still a bit sore, a bit itchy at the puncture sights, but not visibly swollen anymore, although reddish, just looks like sunburn. They found multiple cysts on the left side, damn little band of sorority girls, but that didn't concern the radiologist at all; they did find Beatrice on the right side, and apparently her twin sister, Belinda.
Great.
Samples were taken from both bitches.

I'm trying to keep myself occupied, which isn't easy. I mean, I'm always occupied, I have a 2 yrs old, but that's not what I mean by occupied. I can still climb into my head and convince myself that I've got three months to live while I'm changing a diaper... so I've decided that today should be spent house hunting. That's what I did back in November 2005 when I was waiting for my Bar exam results, and that was the day we found our current house. That night, when I found out I passed, we called the realtor and put in the offer. 3 days later, we were in escrow.

My mom is set to close escrow this week, she moved out of her house today, so maybe it's an omen. Maybe I'm going to get good news, find a house to buy, move mom out of her temporary digs (although, must say, she's in a cute summer type rental with ocean view), and this will all be over just as quickly as it started.

Here's to hoping.

2.5 cm

2010-02-16T09:53:00.000-08:00

2.5 cm. That's just under one inch. That's the diameter of the lump on the right side of my thyroid that the ultrasound revealed, which is why my thyroid was inflamed in the first place.

I'll spare you the details of my doctor's appointment last week; there were a lot of tears. From me. But my doctor was very impressed with my blotting technique, I didn't even smudge my mascara, no eyelashes out of place. I've got skills.

The lump, or node, or whatever you want to call it (anything but a tumor) is a nasty little thing, it even has its own cysts.

The next step is a biopsy. To rule out cancer. I hate the C word. Which is scheduled for tomorrow. 9am. At the hospital. Under at CAT scan. Peter's taking the day off to go with me, mom's got Alex, my SIL will be available for backup.

I'm not excited.

I've already spoken to the radiology nurse. She was very nice. And she ok'd my sedative. Which made her even nicer.

I've already grieved. Now I'm just annoyed.

So my sister in law and I decided to name the lump so we can be mad at it in a productive way.

The lump is named Beatrice. The Little B-tch.
We're gonna get her.

Pathology will take about 24-48 hours, and from there we'll decide the next step. Surgery. No surgery.
Hopefully no surgery.

To cope with all this, I bought myself a present. New store in town, Swirl. Got a very cute black dress with knotted belt. It's my party dress, to wear to Beatrice's funeral. The Little B-tch.

So Not Eye-Deal.

2010-02-09T13:51:00.000-08:00

A lot of ups and downs this week.

Up, mom's house in escrow.
Down, house we wanted to put an offer on got snatched up. (More about this to come when I'm feeling snarky.)
Up, Found 4 more exquisite houses that I loved that are big enough, that are more elegant than the Miami Vice house, and require zero changes.
Down, all 4 are more expensive.
Up, Pete got a raise.
Down, I got a sinus infection.
Up, My doctor was able to see me today and I'm already on antibiotics.
Down, my thyroid is inflamed.

Here we are back to the stupid thyroid question, and that DARN LITTLE EYE.

So Dr. H was feeling my glands for inflammation.

She's Czech, from Prague. No grammatical articles used.

"This is new. Your thyroid is inflamed."

"Ok."

"When was your last blood test."

"Ugh. Three times since last physical in February. Always negative thyroid. Negative for everything else."

Checking notes from neurologist. Notes there. Blood results not.

"I called them, they confirmed nothing showed up."

"You have to call them and have them transfer all results to my office."

"They were supposed to have done that, I filled out the form."

"They didn't."

"Ok."

"You need ultrasound."

"Ok."

"Ultrasound thyroid, and nuclear testing."

"Nuclear what?"

"In hospital. You drink liquid. It's 24 hours."

"Excellent."

"Could the inflammation have something to do with my eye?"

"Yes. Maybe."

"But all the blood tests were negative."

"False negatives can happen."

"Great."

I schedule tomorrow's ultrasound with the radiologist. Not quite ready to call the hospital for the nuclear thing. Sounds scary.

Call Pete.

"Guess what. I have a sinus infection. And my car has to stay in the shop until tomorrow. Oh, And an inflamed thyroid."

"What does that mean?"

"I'm on antibiotics. The car repair is going to be expensive. And I need an ultrasound and something nuclear."

"Do you have to drink that thing that leaves a trace."

"Yup. Must call hospital for that one."

"I'm googling it right now."
Pause.
"Google says it can be caused by diet, peanuts, spinach, iodine. You eat all this stuff. Maybe it's your diet."
Always the optimist. Love him for that.
"Could it be your cold?"

"I don't think it has anything to do with my cold. Doc says this type of thing usually can be treated with medicine."

Hang up, pick up antibiotics for sinus infection. See friendly pharmacist.

"Oh no, is Alex ok?" She knows us from the emergency pick-up of albuterol and prednisone that started 13 months again.

"Alex is great. This time it's for me. Sinus infection. No big deal."

Return to mom's house to find Alex and mom watching in Family Room. Alex has a bowl on his head, chasing Gracie around the kitchen.

House in escrow. Yay!

"So, Dr. H thinks it's my thyroid again."

"You need to go to an endocrinologist. You must have a specialist if you have thyroid problem. I have endocrinologist."

"Slow down mom, first, ultrasound and nuclear thing. Then, results. Then determination of need for specialist. Welcome to HMO."

Since car in shop, must install big clunky car seat in mom's new car. Goldfish crumbs spill out of nowhere all over beautiful untouched black leather interior.
Darn it.
I go to get vacuum. Mom tells me to stop being ridiculous, she'll clean it later.

I try not to think about eye thing.

Install car seat. Wish I could be handy type chick and not clumsy incapable chick. Car seat in. Sturdy. Safe to drive 2 miles home.

Mom drops us off. Me, Alex, Harrison, Lola. Staring at each other. Housekeeper gone. Really quiet in house.

Try not to freak out. Try not to cry. Didn't do me much good last time. And with sinus infection, not a good idea.

I'm out of tissues. Forget to pick up at store when getting prescription.

Damn it. Toilet paper rough on nose.

Searching for pocket tissues.

Want to snuggle child, but don't want to get him sick.

Put him down for nap, lay down with him till he falls asleep.

At least I've got him around to cheer me up.

Pete calls three more times.

"Will try to come home early." Code for I'll hide from view so that at 630 when somebody decides they need something last minute, I won't be found...
Never works out in our favor.

"I know you'll try...." Code for darn antibiotics and sinus infection for not letting me drink wine to cope with eye issue.

Hot chocolate I guess. Fitting that it's raining today. And that Harrison decided he had to poop at 545am while it was pouring.

The Great House Hunt Continues - Maybe Wet February is Lucky for Us?

2010-02-06T15:28:00.000-08:00

In December 2004 Peter and I departed San Diego and moved back to Orange County, leaving our vacant condo and first home purchase empty, waiting to be sold; in February 2005, just over 2 months later, during a very wet winter spell, we handed over the keys to a happy new owner.

It appears that wet February is our lucky time for real estate sales.

Yesterday, during a torrential downpour, as I sat in dead traffic on the 210 on my way back to San Clemente from a wonderful visit with Sarah in Glendale, Alex peacefully slumbering, thankfully, in his car seat, I get two voicemails from my mom's real estate agent and another one from my mom. My car isn't Bluetooth'd, and I hate the ear piece, so taking advantage of the fact that my car was surviving on fumes and I was desperate for a gas station, I pulled off the freeway, filled up my car, and as I was still parked, checked my voicemail.

Mom's house had a feasible offer on the table.

A couple with grown children had been house hunting like crazy since they sold their own home, are camping out in a hotel, saw my mom's house, and jumped on it. The offer came in almost immediately after they left the house, they are 100% cash buyers and so there are no banks to deal with, and they want to move in within 2-3 weeks.

Yikes. If you've ever met my mom, take her usual bouncy personality, multiply 100 times, throw in anxiety about moving, a freak out about short escrow, and still no idea about where we're going to buy, and you get the picture of her initial reaction.

Well, she calmed down a bit. We discussed. Looks like buyer will agree to our counter terms, and most likely escrow will open on Monday.

Time to find the next house.

During today's rainstorm, Peter and I, Alex, and my mom, may have found a house.
My mom initially screened on Friday, and we did a return trip to see it today.

I think it may be what we're looking for.

On top of San Clemente in the hills is a beautiful gated community of custom estates, over looking the ocean on one side and endless hills and canyons on the other. I love this neighborhood.

The home was built in the 90's, go figure, the architecture screams that... but I'm willing to overlook certain aspects for the sake of the possibility of living in this utopic community.

The house was built by the current owner in 1996, and was designed to be an executive entertainer's home; it has a spacious foyer, full suite downstairs, formal dining and living, spacious kitchen and family room, built in bar with wine fridge, and french doors throughout that open up to a back yard with pool, spa, insane views of the canyons, and a side yard with built in bbq and grassy area for a dog run. The floors are grey slated tile, not my favorite, not my pick, but in a year, we'll consider ripping them out and replacing with wood; the kitchen is white with dark granite - flecked with black and grey; again, not my favorite, but I'm willing to deal with it given that the kitchen itself is smartly designed with lots of counter space, cabinets, drawers, proper pantry, and natural light. The owner's wife moved out, and it appears that she took her furniture with her, so I made a point of ignoring the current very bachelor esque furniture - black leather... stools, sofa... not a great look.

Here's the house. I know, staring at garages, not my favorite thing. But we needed a 3 car garage home, and there are canyons behind the house, no place else to put them. If we were to purchase this house, we'd eventually repaint the exterior to try and tame the oh so Miami Vice palette.

The house is 4600 ft, has 4 bedroom suites, 1 down, 3 up, with another half bath down, bonus loft upstairs which would be Alex's play area, 3 car garage, balconies off of every upstairs master, with ocean views from the master bedroom which includes its own very 90's fireplace and living room.

View from the pool and backyard

View of front door from stair well; that's our agent Cheryl; to the left is the formal living room - we may turn that into a game area with billiard table

Bird' eye view of dining room from stairwell

View of Great family room and kitchen, Peter and Alex are with Cheryl; the pool and backyard would be to the left;

Fun little extra- here's the built in bar complete with wine rack and wine fridge, and let me just say, it's clear the seller like to entertain; it was well stocked, and even had an open bottle of red Wild Horse on the counter, one of my favorite table wines; omen? I think we'd get use out of this niche. It's right off the family room, surround sound, wiring for a flat screen, and tons of built-ins.

Alex and Peter on the landing on their way to the bonus loft; right now, it's used as a game space with a huge air hockey table; while Alex is a toddler, we'd use it as a toy area; as he gets older, I'd like to turn it into a teen lounge...

Big master... huge master actually. With 2 balconies and views to the ocean, enormous bathroom with closets and built-ins, and off to my left is the living room currently used as an office.

Time to get Alex into swimming lessons. And safety-fence it with Catch-A-Kid... but it'll be amazing for summer parties...

We may be putting in an offer on Monday...

The Great House Hunt

2010-02-02T13:00:00.000-08:00

As some of you may already know, we're house hunting. Yes, we have a house. Yes, we're keeping that house. We're trying to buy another house.

With my mother.

Yes, it sounds crazy, but hear me out.
And Peter's on board. It was his idea.

We closed escrow on our 1634ft townhome in 2006. That means, it's selling for about 60% of what we paid. Which means, we're keeping this house for a very very long time. We decided that we'd like to give it to Alex one day, if he wants it. In the meantime, we're going to turn it into a rental.
So where do we go? and how on earth can we buy another house?

Well, my mom was widowed last year, and now lives alone in a 4 bedroom house she doesn't need. So, after talking about how much time she already spends at our house, and how she'd like to spend more time in Slovakia and Austria visiting our family and her friends, we decided that it just might be a good idea to sell her house and buy a really big house and move everybody in together. Her house is on the market right now.

I can already hear the gasps. You're moving back in with your mother? Isn't it every teenage girl's goal to move OUT?

Ok, I know what you're saying... and yes. I get it. We need space. Privacy. Separate wings.

So that's what we're looking at. And today, we're going back to a house that we saw this morning that I've had my eye on for months, and the price just dropped to still ridiculous but one that we can handle.
It's a Cape Code in San Juan Cap, 5500 ft, 7 car garage, pool, separate spa and fire pit off a gated side court yard, electric gate that opens up to an enclosed motor court (perfect for Alex's bikes, trikes, and trucks), 2 staircases, formal dining, living, family room, a 1500 ft lofted game room... There are riding trails, stables, and paddocks in the neighborhood.
I LOVE this house. From the outside.
We'll see what the inside has to offer, as of 2pm today.
There are 2 offers on the house already, it's a short sale, but the bank hasn't accepted any yet. No idea if we'll get into a bidding war. But I just have a feeling about this house. I can see Alex in this house. I can see me in this house. It's an East Coast house.
It felt like home. My home. And I think I really really really want it.

We went to see another house this morning. My Princess house. 7500ft, ridiculously big, with a 2000ft master... but the princess would have to hire a general contractor, a construction crew. and demolish the rest of the neighborhood.

He May Look Like Daddy, But He's All Mommy...

2010-01-29T14:58:00.000-08:00

When Alex was one week old, I was sitting in our office on the computer while he slept in the bassinette; Eva was doing the rounds with the vacuum, and when it was time for me to make room for her, she peeked in to admire my sleeping baby, then did a double take as she analyzed a photo of Pete and his dad hanging on the wall, and exclaimed that Alex looks just like Grandpa Pete. Yes he did. And at 8 weeks he still looked exactly like Grandpa Pete. And at 2 years in his Santa picture he was a carbon copy of one of my sister-in-law; and some of our friends have even nicknamed Alex Re-Pete because of the remarkable family resemblance.
And it's true. He looks exactly like my husband and his family, although there are instances that I can see glimpses of me in him, facial expressions that I've seen in my baby pictures that show up on his face. Usually when he's mad. He looks like me when he's mad. Go figure.
But, I have to say, the more you get to know Alex, and his real personality shines through, the more I show up.

Not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing. But there it is.

I have an anal retentive, compulsive, perfectionist toddler.

And I know where some of it comes from...

I was the seven years old who would not eat without scrubbing my hands until they were bleeding, and couldn't make it out of a bathroom unless I had a paper towel to use on the door handle; I would eat french fries until the point of where I was holding it between my fingers, and then toss the human hand touched tip; my underwear had to rest perfectly on my bottom (don't ask), the seam of my socks had to line perfectly from big toe to pinky toe, and absolutely NO bumps could show up in my hairstyle or I'd completely freak out and my mother had to redo it until I was satisfied; I could not, and still to this day, cannot get into an unmade bed, I freak out if I see loose hair (anywhere... oh god...), and I've been known to wake up at 3am and go downstairs to redo the dishes. This happened yesterday. I can't stand anything on the dining table unless it's dinnerware related... There are times when I'm overcome with hysteria, or the compulsive need to fix or rearrange, and I can't really let it go until I do what I need to do.
I've never been laid back. It's just not me.

I must drive Pete crazy.

I should have known that karma was going to bite me one day, as my mother loves to point out how I was a giant pain in the ass and would be a hysterical two years old because the trim on my socks didn't line up equally on both ankles, and it's only fair that i go through the same thing with Alex.
But on the flip side, when he throws one of his Type A fits, I think I'm pretty darn empathetic, because I know where it's coming from, and I know he's not doing it because he wants to aggravate me, but rather because he just can't stand what's going on.

On Tuesday trash day, when we walk Harrison around the neighborhood, Alex goes up and down the blocks, pointing at tipped over cans screaming "Uh Oh Uh Oh" until I right them and shut the lids. It's ok. I don't mind. I'm picking up dog poop anyway. My hands will be disinfected in boiling hot water. And it brings my child peace. He won't wear sweatshirts without hoods, pants without pockets, and no shoes in the house. He rearranges furniture, both at home and at Pottery Barn, and hates having dirty hands. He won't ride in the car without his bat, and he always makes sure his seatbelt is fastened in the grocery store buggy. He helps me fluff pillows in the morning as we make the bed, and he never ever lets me wear my hair in a ponytail. Certain sweaters with bulky sleeves are off limits for me, and he knows how to apply sunscreen and chap stick. He has very strong opinions about the recent over-pruning by our landscapers, he puts the empty dog bowls in the kitchen sink, and throws everything away, even if not technically trash. He put laundry in the hamper, and knows that food that touches the floor is for the dogs... usually. And he simulates picking up dog poop with our doggie poo bags, pointing out all the droppings my neighbors fail to clean up.

Clearly, he's not going to be a free spirit... but looking at the parents, it makes sense. Alex is at home in his sweater vest.

Children with Four Legs

2010-01-27T16:01:00.000-08:00

Before there was Alex, there was Lola and Harrison. And before Lola and Harrison there was just Harrison.

When you have a child, it is very easy to forget/neglect/get frustrated quickly with the four legged children, who sometimes like to remind you that they did come first, that they love you unconditionally, that they never needed diapers and were potty trained within a couple months of birth, and are much easier to get to sleep, feed, and in and out of the car.

I am absolutely guilty of failing to pay as much attention to my dogs as I used to, especially given the fact that Harrison, when he was an only child, used to enjoy meals at Tent City on Coronado, day trips to leash-less dog beach, and many visits to Muttropolis in la Jolla for treats and sweets.

So I felt the need to dedicate this blog post to them. Because I love them. dearly. even when they bark at the most inopportune times. even when they have diarrhea in the middle of the night and wake me up and it's freezing and I just finally got Alex to bed...

And even when it's raining outside.

I Blame the Tree

2010-01-06T14:37:00.000-08:00

Alex has a brand new vocabulary.
It seems to have exploded since his 2nd birthday. He repeats everything that I say, and has taken it beyond mere parroting, but understands what he is saying, identifying most objects that he comes across on a daily basis successfully. He's also began to string words together, forming the most basic sentences: "Mommy sit, doggie eat," another 2 years feat I'm enjoying. But with this new vocabulary comes a silent new awareness - not only for him, but for his parents, as we have had to learn the hard way that he's paying attention to every single word we say. And so along with this wonderful new vocabulary that I'm so very proud of, came a couple of words that I'm not so proud of....

and I blame the tree.

This is a different type of Christmas story.

(although I included typical Christmas pictures. We had a wonderful Christmas Eve with my mom and Sister-in-law Ali at our house. Having a kid definitely made Christmas so much more magical, and this year we were really able to enjoy ourselves.)

Right after Alex's second birthday party, which took place a few days prior to his actual birthday, Alex caught a cold - again... Yes. The second one in just as many weeks. And yes, it went to wheezing. Again. Yes, The second time in just as many weeks. BUT, the good news was that we were able to treat it without a call to the doctor or steroids, so it wasn't too bad, and so not the point of this story, but totally relevant.... Just like with any kid, Alex can't sleep when he has trouble breathing, so on a Friday morning, he awoke at 3:30am wheezing and coughing, and after a breathing treatment and some heavy cuddling, I realized that this was the beginning of our day. We were up, there was no getting him back to sleep. And so, we tossed an DVD on, thankful that he's old enough to be entertained by Elmo, the Muppets, Pinnochio, and Shrek.

The medication kicked in as it was supposed to, as I needed it to, so I was not in any sort of panic, and in fact was relieved to see him improve so quickly after his first treatment. 3 hours later, we did another, and 3 hours later, another, and things were definitely plateauing if not improving, which was a sure sign that I wasn't running to the doctor that day. That was a big enough early Christmas gift to last me the rest of '09/'10! Since Alex's asthma was in a mild form, Pete left for work, and the child was happy and bouncy and full of energy at 10am, the only draw back was 1) It was raining and cold and we couldn't go walk around outside 2) Over exertion and excitement would really cause him to start coughing so profusely that he would projectile vomit. Everywhere. And we'd seen enough of that over the last 6.5 hours.

I needed to find an activity. An asthma friendly activity that could be done in the cold and rain.

I decided Alex and I would go buy a Christmas tree.

Just the two of us.

Great idea. So I bundle up myself and the child, and take a detour from the usual nursery in downtown San Clemente and do something that I NEVER thought I would do... but we're in a recession, things change. I drove to Wal-Mart. Yes. Wal-Mart. Yuck. And parked the car. And pulled Alex out of his car seat, put his coat and hat on, and walked over to a roped off area full of tree stacked in mini-roped off areas.
Trees started at 2 feet tall and went up to 12-15 feet tall. We looked at the 5 footers and decided that they were just too short. So I took Alex over to the 7 foot tall group, and let him pick out a tree. Of course, he pointed to the very first tree he could reach, excitedly exclaimed "Tree!" and I let fate (aka my child) decide that the tree he chose was to be our tree.

Just to be on the safe side, I asked the attendant to untie the tree (poor tree looked like a mummy tied in ropes), and we shook it out, it was fresh, and perfect. I went to hand him money, and instead the attendant handed me a ticket and instructed me to go inside... of Wal Mart... to pay. Ugh ugh ugh. I really loathe going inside Wal-Mart. Last time I was there I saw a mother pushing a cart with her infant in the seat wearing nothing but a diaper - absolutely nothing! I cringe!! But I couldn't beat buying a beautiful fresh tree for $45, so I reluctantly took the ticket, went inside to the lawn and garden section, and we waited patiently in line to pay.
The gentleman standing in line in front of me either was a father of young children or was just filled with the holiday spirit, because when it was his turn to pay, he kindly invited me to go before him, seeing that I was starting to have to wrestle the 2 years old away from the Santa and Reindeer lights display.
We paid for our tree, got the car, and drove to the entrance of the tree lot where two attendants trimmed the base and tied it to the top of my Land Rover.

"How far do you live?" The attendant asked me.

"In Talega, just up the hill. Why?"

"I don't need to time too much. No freeway?"

"Um, no freeway, but I think we should just play it safe."

"But you're not far? Talega? Yes?"

"Talega, yes. But it's a tree. On the roof of my car."

The other attendant chimes in.

"I think we should tie it securely just to be sure."

And so there they stand, in my driver's and passenger's doorways, tying a tree to the roof of my car, which luckily has a rack on top. I tip the guys, Alex and I get in the car, and off we go.
Now please remember, by this point, it's after 11am, I'd been up since 330am. Things started to go downhill at this point.

We get home. I I open the garage. And I drive in. Boom.
Crap. Crap Crap Crap Crap Crap.
It was more like. Sh-t!!!!. Sh-t. Sh-t. Sh-t. Sh-t. Sh-t. I was so tired and starting to get to that stage of fatigue where I get careless and loopy and a little nutty... and I kinda sorta totally forgot that the tree was on the top of the car. And with my worse than a sailor's mouth, I expressed my frustration. So there we sat in the car. With a tree on our roof. In the garage. Stuck. So not ideal. So I throw the car into reverse. And back out of the garage into my courtyard. Boom. And the tree dislodges from the roof of my car and slowly rolls down my windshield. So there I sit in the driver's seat. With Alex in the car seat. My garage open. And my Christmas tree on the hood of my car. Excellent.
Sh-t.Sh-t.Sh-t.Sh-t.Sh-t.
G-d damn m-other f-king Christmas Tree...

Oh yes. They came pouring out. All of them. The very naughty words that I used so often as an attorney.

So not in the holiday mood at this point.

I'm bundled up head to toe because of the rain, but at this point I Just start sweating. I heave the Christmas tree off of the hood of my car and drag it into the garage; Alex is still in his carseat and quite amused at this point, I think. I jump back in the car and pull into and shut the garage behind me.
Now I'm mad at the Christmas tree. Very mad.
I've hit the irrational part of fatigue at this point. I know myself. I know what happens when I get really tired. I learned this about myself during my first semester of law school, finals - when I spent two weeks living off of enormous amounts of coffee, sushi, and basically no sleep. I'm not calm, cool, collected in a rational way - it's more I zone into something and focus on it so stubbornly that I will complete the intended task no matter how ridiculous or stupid. And that's all it is. Stubborness. Pure, Irish stubborness.

I listen to Alex's lungs, still clear from his last treatment. I get him inside, turn on Muppet Christmas Something, move the living room sofa over 2-3 feet, grab the tree stand, and towels, and I go to work. l Alex is happily having a juice box and string cheese with Kermit singing in the back round as I drag the tree from the garage across my living room into the corner where the tree stand awaits. I almost take out everything displayed on my mantle. Sh-t.Sh-t.Sh-t.Sh-t.Sh-t. so on the floor it all goes. At this point, I had already had a 9 hours day.
I lift the heavy tree high enough to drop it in the tree stand. So far so good. Except that it's leaning at a 30 degree angle. And no matter what I do, it doesn't want to stand straight.

Sh-t.Sh-t.Sh-t.Sh-t.Sh-t.

So I fight with the tree for a while and get it to stand up straight.

I drop to the floor and start screwing in the stand using alternating screws. Alex loved this part, and joined me under the tree to help.
We get up to admire the tree.
It's leaning at a 30 degree angle again.
Sh-t.Sh-t.Sh-t.Sh-t.Sh-t.
Back and forth we go, under the tree, staring at the tree.
IT'S NOT STRAIGHT!!!!

I realize I'm being unproductive. and am really really mad at the tree.
Time to pull it together. I force myself to take a break. Alex and I have lunch, and I take a deep breath.
But then irrational me shows up again. She's really tired.
I refuse to be defeated by this Christmas tree.
So I try again. To Alex's delight.
We go back under the Christmas tree.
And we look at it.
And it leans.

Sh-t.Sh-t.Sh-t.Sh-t.Sh-t.

And we go back under. And we look again.

By this point, I am drenched with sweat, my back is breaking, and I want to throw the tree out with the garbage.
Why don't I just wait for Pete to come home and help?
Don't ask that question. That would make sense. Nothing makes sense with irrational tired me. So Pete's not part of this story.
FINALLY, the tree is straight. Perfectly straight. And looks great. But the back of the tree is brushing up against the wall. And the outlet for the lights is back there. And I can't reach the outlet. And dry pine needles are a huge fire hazard. And so tired me becomes freaked out me, and I run to the garage and grab my giant landscaping shears, I balance myself on the arm of my sofa, wedged between the tree and the windows, and I start madly chopping at the back of the tree. Alex is at a safe distance, staring at his crazy mommy. Yes. she's totally lost her mind at this point.
But the tree is straight. The fire hazard has been eradicated. And now I'm annoyed staring at the mess of pine needles and branches strewn across my downstairs.
Oh yes. I'm extremely annoyed.
So we get out the broom and vacuum, activities that Alex absolutely adores, and I sweep up branches and vacuum up pine needles as the child happily assists me, helpfully pointing to where "Eva" should clean (he seems to think that our cleaning lady and the vacuum share a name... I'm working on that with him.)
Totally vindicated, with a straight tree, and a clean house, I achingly carry the now tired toddler up to his room, he has another breathing treatment and goes down for his nap. I hop in the shower, and can't wait for Peter to come home so I can show him the tree. (Decorations would follow several days down the road.)

Later that night after dinner, I'm plopped on the couch ready to pass out, telling Peter about my day, and my tree debacle, start to finish. Peter is in the kitchen with Alex getting him some water. Peter hands Alex his cup with a handle, and I guess the cup was wet because it slipped out of Alex's hand, smashing onto the hardwood floor, breaking the handle.

"SHEEEEEEEEEEEET."

It was like slow motion.

The word came out of my little cherub's mouth.

Oh my gosh. Oh my gosh. Oh my gosh. Oh my gosh. Oh my gosh. Oh my gosh.

Pete looked at me. I looked at him,

"Did he just say?"

"Yup."

Oh my gosh. Oh my gosh. Oh my gosh.
We both started cracking up.
This isn't good.

"What did mommy teach you today?"

I was horrified. I was mortified. My child is 2 and already swears.

At least he used it in a proper context.

I blame the tree.

TWO!!

2009-12-14T14:58:00.001-08:00

I really can't believe that it was two years ago yesterday that we welcomed Alex to this world after a very long day (and that mean little balloon the day and night before). Time has flown by in the blink of an eye, as it feels like just yesterday I was a little lost, a little hopeless, and a lot overwhelmed, as I tried to navigate the earliest, exhausting days of debutante motherhood. Now I'm a few steps closer to veteran status, and feel like I have the war wounds to prove it; I'm capable of simultaneously driving and catching vomit, I've done it more than a few times; I'm unafraid of the most explosive diapers, well versed in all things Barney, Thomas the Train, Bob the Builder, with a living room and office full of the largest Tonka trucks a boy could need (we have the full squad, fire trucks, dump trucks, ambulance, police, and of course, rescue helicopters and planes); we've got every Disney and Pixar DVD available to purchase, in the vein hope that something will entertain the child, I'm always in possession of a diaper bag full of enough supplies to last a week in the wilderness, and I can assemble pretty much anything. I'm still mommy-nuts, although I don't think we ever grow out of that phase; I still insist on pesticide free, hormone free, antibiotic free, organic, fair trade, locally grown, blah blah blah..., and I don't let Alex in the kitchen during the rare instance that the microwave is in use. I'm still perpetually sanitizing my child and everything he could possible touch, but I blame the outbreak of flu this year for my perhaps excited and reactionary attitude towards his health. (And give me a break, every cold goes asthma, I've got an excuse.) I can survive off of very little sleep, eat standing up while doing dishes with a child hanging off of one arm, and I can anticipate every move he's going to make, every thing he's going to climb, everything he's going to throw. And I've got Goodnight Moon memorized.

It's been an amazing two years.

And despite a rough end of week, we had an amazing time celebrating Alex's birthday.

Yesterday, Sunday December 13th, was Alex's actual birthday, and we couldn't think of a better way to celebrate than to spend it at the happiest place on earth.

We went to Disneyland.

As of Friday it was off the menu no thanks to some heavy wheezing that started on Thursday at 3am, but thanks to the chewable steroid we have from Dr. Amazing and some round the clock heavy duty inhaled medication, we were able to kill the problem in 48 hours, and on Sunday morning when his lungs were free and clear, we prayed that the sun would come out and dry up the soggy ground, and that the crowds would be too scared to fill up the park. And off we went.

We were lucky on Sunday. The rain did stop. The Sun did come out. The rides were dry. And the crowds were slow to come, so we managed to get on Flying Dumbo, Alice in Wonderland, Pirates, Jungle Cruise, and the Carousel without much of a wait.

Last week we attended at an amazing engagement party for Ashley, my girlfriend Jessica's sister, at their parents beautiful house in Dana Point. We mentioned to their cousins, Kirk and Catherine, whom we've become friends with (who have daughters, ages 3.5 and 2,) that we were hoping to celebrate Alex's birthday at "DL" (that's what the annual passholders call it... that would be us) and we were lucky enough to be able to meet up with them on Pirates; as we were exiting our boat, they were getting on it, and after a couple of exchanged text messages we located each other in French Quarter for lunch and a musical number featuring the Frog Princess. Yes. I know you're excited. The kids loved it.

We hit up Toon Town, saw Minnie, Goofie, Daisy, the Evil Queen from Snow White, although Alex's excitement for each character waned the closer in proximity we got.

The kids navigated their way through the crowded French Quarter, tried their hands at the Sword in the Stone, and we ended the day on the carousel before we decided to call it quits in the hopes that all children would pass out in the car on the drive home.

Of course, we couldn't leave Disneyland without indulging in some sort of sweet, and the smell of the freshly baked waffle cones called to me.

Alex and I split a mint sundae, although splitting it would be generous - he ate most of it.

Alex has become quite the lady's man, and found himself torn between the McKay sisters; he seems to dig older women.

We deemed the day a total success, since not only did we not get rained on, but Alex didn't throw one tantrum, didn't shed one tear; who says the two's are terrible? He even was polite enough to fall asleep in the car on the way home, waking up just in time for my mom to get to our house for Sunday dinner. (Ali usually joins us but she's fighting the flu.) In honor of the first meal I had right after giving birth, we dined on an amazing sushi platter courtesy of our neighborhood Japanese steakhouse, Seasmoke (yay for take out!) and we finished decorating the Christmas tree. I'm hoping we manage to avoid breaking any ornaments this year, although that will be up to the child.

Happy Birthday Alex!

How do you explain rain?

2009-12-10T16:11:00.000-08:00

At the South Coast Plaza Christmas Carousel during our winter wardrobe shopping trip

I am fully aware of what a beautiful place Orange County is, but we So Cal residents certainly do take for granted our mild climate and year round amazing weather. I was acutely reminded of this fact on Monday when we were hit by a severe rain storm and high wind advisory, and was beginning to panic due to the fact that the following day, Tuesday, was to be Alex's outdoor birthday party play date, celebrating the BIG 2.

Monday morning, as I stood outside, drenched, with an umbrella that served little purpose, a coat that wasn't water resistant (I don't own a raincoat) and two dogs who had to poop but really didn't enjoy getting soaked, I checked the weather on my iphone which told me that it's 39 degrees outside. What the hell? In San Clemente?
Once both dogs finally talked themselves into pottying, we hauled it back inside and I flipped on the heat, returning to my bedroom to find two happy snoozers. (Yes, Alex was in my room. More on that another time.)

"You're wet." Pete opened an eye.

"Yes I am. And I'm cold." I shoved two frozen hands under the blankets and found his chest.

"Ahhh. You're mean."

"You didn't have to walk the dogs in the rain."

Once Prince Charming (aka Alex, who usually doesn't choose to rise before 8am, (um, but he doesn't sleep in his own bed through the night and he will not go to bed before 930 however hard I try) decided to get up, I took him downstairs to feed him and the wet animals breakfast.

The new winter fleece pj's

I opened the backdoor to grab the dogs' dishes which I had forgotten outside the night before, and Alex came charging out in the downpour.

Modeling the new winter hat and slippers

Alex was immediately started by the giant, cold falling drops and froze in his tracks. I had the bowls in my hands and tried to scoot him inside with my elbow but he, big surprise, ran away from me in the opposite direction. He had a giant smile on his face and looked up at the sky and pointed.

"Water!"

"yes. water. rain!"

It occurred to me that Alex had absolutely no idea what was going on, since it hasn't rained here in months, and as far as he knows, he's never seen rain, or at least doesn't remember ever seeing it.

Not many two years olds are shocked by rain. I had to laugh.

On a slightly more pathetic note, he didn't have a wardrobe to sustain these colder temperatures and wetter weather, so we headed up to South Coast Plaza and stocked up on fleece, pants, long sleeves, sweaters, hats, and now he's the proud owner of an enormous down ski jacket. Just in case if we dip below 55 degrees again...

Now, I'm wondering how he'd react to snow.

Grinch, Keep Away

2009-12-04T14:54:00.000-08:00

I'm tired. As usual. It's par for the course. Today, I'm a bit more tired than usual, most likely because it's Friday, the end of a long week; I'm so tired that i had a tampon in one pocket and Alex's pacifier in the other, and without thinking, I grabbed out of the wrong pocket... and well let's just say I started to pay attention just in time.

I'm supposed to be getting the Xmas decorations out of the garage at this very moment and I'm trying to convince myself to do it, but instead, here I am on the computer. I made a pit stop on my way from putting Alex down for a nap to the garage and have yet to stop procrastinating. I'm promising myself a cup of tea and Pride and Prejudice in the background. That'll get me downstairs. Eventually. And there's a recession, the second installment of property taxes are due next week, I'm not really in the mood to write a large 4 figure check to the County of Orange, it certainly detracts from the shopping mood. Maybe if we get our tree up this weekend I'll feel more festive. Right now, I'm feeling a bit Grinch.

Which I shouldn't. I have a child. I have a moral obligation to him to be holly jolly and all things hoopla. Christmas is my favorite holiday, or at least, my favorite holiday season; the lights are going up, the Starbuck's drinks are back in full force, and everything is just that much sweeter when you have an almost two years old who gets excited over everything, which is infectious. It's time for me to get excited.

Alex has already been exposed to two Santa pictures (the one above was Santa #1) Poor guy had a nervous look on his face the whole time, looking at me as I stood 2 feet from him, wondering why the hell he was sitting on this old man's lap (and one day, he will be instructed that under no circumstances is he every to sit on any old man's lap, but this is the one exception and we haven't gotten to the Stranger Danger lecture yet. Next year.) Luckily, he wasn't there long enough to freak out and produce tears, and just as I saw his nerves kicking in, the photo op was finished and he was back in my arms; the second Santa picture (not posted) makes me much happier - he's smiling on a rocking horse with Santa in the back round - no odd physical contact, no Stranger Danger lecture needed. My mom and i tried Christmas shopping with him at Fashion Island... what were we thinking?

Instead, as an homage to Alex's new absolute favorite movie, the Polar Express, my mom and I decided to do a more toddler friendly activity and took him to Irvine Park Railroad, to engage in his absolute favorite activity, riding the train; we did several loops on the train, took a long walk, watched the ducks, lunch, and walked over to the tiny county zoo (where a large grunting Mountain Lion and I came face to face with only a feeble chain link fence and a cactus separating the 2 feet between us which resulted in me, with Alex tightly in my arms, and my mom in tow, hauling it out of there like the place was one fire.)

OK.
I'm going downstairs to sort through the holiday boxes in the garage. It's time for Alex's wooden advent house to make its first ever debut.

Wish me luck.

An Early Christmas Lesson

2009-11-22T14:49:00.000-08:00

Most parents I know strive to raise good kids - not perfect kids, just good kids. And I place myself and Peter into that category. I think we've decided that while we have high expectations for Alex and place education at the forefront, and want him to be a responsible, self-reliant, consciencious, contributing member of society, at this stage there's no point in placing an undue burden on such a young mind. We haven't cracked open the SAT vocab study guide quite yet... Next year. But I feel that it isn't too early to teach Alex lessons in appreciation, humility, sharing, and the hardest of all - giving without expectations of return. And while this is a life long lesson, one that I re-learn on a regular basis, the terrible 2's seems like a great time to start.

I've got to give Alex major credit - he's very good at sharing; if I ask him to hand over a toy to another child, whether it's his own or somebody else's, he's usually compliant without too much fuss; but he knows that at the playground, if it's his own toy, he'll get it back, and if it's not his, there are plenty of others to use.

This week, Alex graduated from the concept of basic sharing to giving, as he participated in Operation Christmas Child through my MOPS group (Mothers of Preschoolers... life saver!) at the San Clemente Pres Church. My girlfriend Jess, who's the mom of Alex's BFF Anthony, and I, along with a couple other mommies from our group, collected shoeboxes filled with Christmas toys for Operation Christmas Child, that then will be distributed around the world through an organization called Samaritan's Purse.

I hit up the toys and school supply aisles at our local Wal-Mart, picking up coloring books, pencils and colorful erasers, crayons, street chalk, packs of Matchbox cars, a toy motorcycle, hard candy, and some wild animal figurines, all the time crossing my fingers that everything will fit into the box. As soon as I got home, Alex helped me wrap the biggest shoebox I could find (thank you men's shoes!) and we proceeded to squeeze in all the toys.

It took Alex about 1 second to identify what was going into the box - the package of 6 Matchbox cars immediately caught is eye, so we began the game of unpacking and repacking the box. Over and over and over again.

And Alex surveyed each toy item carefully before moving onto the next. But he always returned to the package of 6 cars. And there he sat, looking at me, babbling at me, "car car car," waiving the box frantically, trying to peel back the cardboard from the plastic display. And there I sat, responding to him that these toys were for a little boy someplace else in the world who didn't have baskets and bins full of toys, and that Alex was helping make somebody's Christmas a little more special, a little more fun, by giving away those cars. And then of course, I showed him the handful of his own Matchbox cars that were on the floor next to him. Apparently, they weren't as good as the ones sealed in the box, but that was to be expected. Toys are always better when they're for somebody else.

Eventually, Alex grew tired of trying to open the box of cars and me taking it away from him to repack the shoe box, or he was tired of listening to me tell him that the toys are for another "baby" (he calls all little kids babies.) So, he got over it, let me pack up the box one last time, label and rubber band it, and he went to the staircase and unpacked my remaining shopping bags.

I heard a funny crunching noise, and had no idea what was going on; I think at this point I had moved to unload the dishwasher and could here him babbling away and going through bags but I couldn't see him since he was around the corner - then I saw what he got into- he got a hold of the brand new diaper genie refill, and within 2 minutes, this was the result. I had 2 options, freak out or laugh hysterically. I chose the latter. Much less stress.