As Easy as 1-2-3

My son has always been a great dancer. He LOVES to move and groove to music. Since he was just an infant, he was most happy when we were moving around, dancing together to a variety of tunes. He is the first one, despite normally being pretty shy, to stand up and dance in school or a group. And I have to say, he has some pretty good moves! Little Man has rhythm. I don't know where in his genetic code this was passed down because his father and I look like we're being stung by swarm of killer bees everything we "feel" the music. He is good. Lately, Little Man has been obsessed with Power Rangers. He has certain "karate" moves that he busts out when he is fighting the bad guys. It is quite cute and entertaining.

Yesterday, I took Little Man out to lunch and on the way home, "Boom Boom Pow" by Black Eyed Peas came on the radio. To say that Little Man loved it, is putting it mildly. He was moving away in his car seat and had all the right facial expressions to match. He asked me to buy it when we got home. As we entered the house, he told me he had a dance to teach me. Oy Vey. So I asked Little Man the name of this dance, it's "Flipping the Kick". Okay, so here is what I got down, exactly, per his instructions, "You put two fingers on the ground, like this,Mommy. Put your fingers down and do a kick, one, two times. Jump into the sky, roll over and flip, like this. You have to do this 3, 4 times. Maybe two ones. And then you kick the bad guy, jump up and flip into the car. Flip inside and then flip over the car, 5,6,7,8, 9 times. Okay? Then throw your jacket off, Mommy, throw is off and then spin around and around. And then, after you spin and flip, stop to break it down (at this point he stops and shakes his butt, HA! Break it down, I love it!). Okay, break it down like this (continues booty shake). And then kick one more time and put your fingers into the sky." Sounds easy enough...now let Mommy try.

A little back story before I go on to embarrass myself, I am in physical therapy for problems with my sciatica nerve. Yes, this is probably the same pain that you hear your 80-something year-old grandma complain about. I'm having problems due to the devastation that was inflicted upon my pelvis birthing my two huge boys. My pelvis separated and now the joints are loose and uneven. Ouch. Make that a double. Lately, I am hobbling and crawling around the house (seriously, I'm hurtin'), so trying to keep up with a 3 year-old's dance moves probably isn't smart. So, I decide to try anyway. I flip and twirl on the ground when "ZAP!" an excruciating bolt of pain shoots down my right leg, leaving me whimpering on the floor. Little Man checks on me and I recover. Five minutes later, Little Man is dancing away when he stops and falls to the ground and yells, "OUCH, I'M OLD!" This is how my kids see me! Not a hip and fit mommy, but a pathetic bag of old meat crying on the floor. On that note, time to go exercise.

Veteran's Day

I just read such an amazing book that it literally brought me to tears. I just finished reading Where Men Win Glory by Jon Krakauer. I love everything this author writes, Into Thin Air, Into the Wild, Under the Banner of Heaven, everything. This one is by far my favorite. This book is the story of Pat Tillman, the NFL safety on the Arizona Cardinals who left a multi-million dollar contract to fight in Afghanistan. At the start, we know that Tillman was killed by friendly fire in 2004. Knowing this, you know the story is not going to be a happy one, but it is an absolute page turner. I finished the book last night and was really and truly crying, hard. Little Man felt so bad he asked, "why are you sad, mommy?' I told him that my book was sad. He seemed so confused, "then don't read it, mommy, pick a different book." I told him that I liked my book and he could not understand how I could like a book that was making me cry, tears of sadness. He then went to our bookcase and brought over, God Few Tired of Us, a book about the lost boys of Sudan. Not exactly a good pick to make me less emotionl, another tear-jerker of a read, for sure. I cannot recommend this book enough. Not everyone will agree with Krakauer's politics, although I think many will. For the past 8 years I have intentional kept myself a little in the dark with the "War on Terror". I hate to admit that I was the person who put their head in the sand when I felt overwhelmed and powerless. During the last administration, I felt like all power was taken away from the people and I was afraid that the more I knew, the more enraged I would become. This book snapped me out of that fog. This book highlights just what a terrible situation our troops are in. I think it's apropos to think about all of the service men and women in Iraq and Afghanistan today (and our vets at home) and just what a tremendous job they have in front of them. I have much respect for Pat Tillman's mom, Dannie Tillman. I think you will too. Of course, this book made me think about the world that will be waiting for my boys in 15 or so years. I hope it's a world where humans have learned to respect one another and the planet that we live on. We don't all have to like one another or agree with everyone's politics, but we must learn to respect one another and learn to live with our hearts full of love for something, anything, instead of consumed with hate. Maybe our kids will grow up and teach us all a thing or two. I certainly hope so.

Rough and Tumble

The other night, Little Man, (my 3 year-old) broke 2 of his teeth. According to the dentist, we have to play a game of "wait and see" to see if they fall out or not. His poor, beautiful teeth! Boys and their rough play! Then again, I used to wrestle with my older brother ALL THE TIME as a kid. I loved to climb trees and beat up on boys, too. I just can't imagine the craziness that these walls will contain in the upcoming years as Mr.Man ( my 10 month-old, I know, weird nickname, but that's what it is!) gets older and can really raise havoc with his older brother. When Little Man has friends over now, it's madness, times 10. They love to run around, laugh and be zany little boys. It is all friendly play, not aggressive at all, so I let them play. Studies have shown that boys who are allowed to rough house play, tend to actually be less violent as adults. (Studies have shown too, that boys who are allowed to pretend play with toy guns are actually less violent as adults, as well). I don't mind the almost out-of-control boy wackiness. I know a lot of moms that cannot stand it, but I appreciate it. Give me that over drama, any day! My main concern, is injuries, like Little Man's broken teeth. There was quite a bit of blood afterward, definitely made my tummy flip a few times. Yuck. It's not out first foray into injuries in this house either, not by a long shot. My son is only 3 and he has had many trips to the doctor for bumps and bruises. Here's a short list:

1. A trip just a few days after his first birthday for falling in a wagon and splitting his frenulum (small piece of tissue holding your upper lip to your gums). So, so gross.

2. Just a few days after the above incident, we were back in because Little Man ran his poor, little hands up and down our new wood dog pen in the back and had about 15 splinters deeply inbedded in both hands. Doc had to manually remove each one with a NEEDLE! Lots of screams in her office that day.

3. Fell down backwards, on our basement stairs , landing on the base of his neck. This one scared me to the core, it was horrifying to see him fall and not be able to grab him in time. He cried for 5 minutes, then was totally fine.

4. Losing control of his big wheel riding down a hill and flipping over and hitting his head on a huge ceramic planter.

5. Slipping on a blanket while dancing and cutting his teeth right through his bottom lip.

Oh gosh, I'm feeling like a terrible mother! Look at these injuries. Being a mommy of active boys is not easy. Active kids, in general, I guess. I know my kids are going to keep me on my toes, especially once they become older and more daring...yikes. I hope they just don't follow in their Daddy's footsteps and decide to go running with the bulls in Pamplona...

Love Thy Neighbor

For some crazy reason, my neighbor think it's okay to call me fat to my face. See, the thing is too, I'm post-baby chubby, yes, but I don't think I'm "fat". Maybe I'm in denial. Yeah, I am, so what? I'm a good 20 pounds away from my average weight. I gain a lot of weight when I birth my big boys (9 lbs for my first, almost 10 for my second). With my first, I gained, SIXTY pounds while pregnant. I lost 55 lbs of that after I had him, but it took me almost two years. Yes, a long time. My post-pregnancy hormones make it really hard for the weight to come off. I try like hell, and it does come off, but s-l-o-w-l-y. With my second boy, I gained 48 pounds and I have lost 30, with about 20 more needed. I had my baby 9 months ago and I'm only losing a couple pounds a month, ugh. Anyhow, I know I'm chubby and I am trying like hell to change that. I don't know why my neighbor, who is overweight herself, thinks it's okay to call me out on this, but she does. And I've had it. The first two weight encounters I had with her, I had while pregnant. I excused the rudeness, because a lot of people think a woman's weight is open season when she's with child. I don't understand it, and it still hurts, but some people think because they're are two (or more) of you in that body, it must sting less. I got comments while preggo with my second about being "big", was I "sure I wasn't carrying twins?" and "wow, you're really ready to POP! (when I was about 2 months away, actually). I thought it wasn't polite, but I didn't expect the fat jokes to return, post-pregnancy.



This afternoon, I was out in the beautiful Autumn sun with my two boys, in the front yard. We have an incredibly beautiful maple tree in the front that drops leaves of crimson and gold this time of year. I grabbed two big pumpkins and set up an inpromtu photo shoot. As I was out there, my old-world Italian neighbor,who is her in 80's, with a heavy Italian accent walked over to give my boys some Halloween candy (including a gigantic bag of Baby Ruth for my NINE MONTH OLD). Anyhow, I thanked her up and down for her kindness, exchanged some pleasantries and when back to my camera. My neighbor, let's call her, Gina, decided that there was no longer a need for social formalities, she was going for my heart. "Lisa, you look fat. Chubby. You look so chubby". Pan to me with my jaw on the floor, stunned. "Your face used to be so skinny, not-so-much now." Um, thanks Gina. I'm actually still fat from my having my baby. Thank you for pointing this out. "You must sleep a lot, Lisa. You get chubby when you sleep a lot, like me." "Um, no Gina, I get about 4 hours of sleep a night and don't sit down for more than 5 minutes all day, except for dinner. I'm fat from my pregnancy, not activity level. Thanks, have a good night." I wish I had put her in her place more, but I was so stunned, I didn't know what to do. I definitely didn't think that a nice family afternoon in the yard would turn into an attack on my appearance. Why does she think this is okay? I actually have great relationship with all of my other neighbors, too! Listen, I wasn't stunned by the content of what she said. I know I'm chubby and I wish the weight was coming off faster. I'm still breastfeeding and this weight is coming off like molasses, but I'm getting there, damn! I wasn't stunned like I would be if my mom called me up and told me I was adopted, I see myself everyday. I just didn't think a neighbor would feel a need to remind me. Thank, Gina, eat poop. Yep, my come-backs are no better than my son's.

To the Future Person Who First Captures My Son's Heart

I don't know your name yet, what you look like or what exactly it is about you that drew my son in. I don't know any of these things yet, but I know that one day, you will draw my son in and he will be yours for the taking. You see, my son has always been a gentle, loving, sensitive little guy. From the moment that he was born, he felt so deeply what those around him were feeling. If I cried, he cried with much more intensity. If I was laughing, he filled the room with his giggles and if I smiled, his grin beamed from ear to ear. As a toddler, if I was frustrated, he would take it in and pound his little fists on the table, as if, to help me vent out my own anger. He loves and always has. He had always been a sensitive little guy and sometimes this has hurt him. He was always the boy on the playground that liked to play fair and would give up his toy if someone else wanted it enough. We tried to show him how to have his own voice and how to think of himself sometimes. If another kid made a mean comment, as kids so often do, he felt it to his core. He would ask me, "what did I do, mommy, to make them say that?" It always broke my heart, but I was so happy to know that my son had a heart full of love, empathy and compassion. Don't get me wrong, he had his moments, but for the most part, he has always been a sweet and caring boy. We said from the moment that he was born, he felt everything 1000%. Life excites him. Little things bring him joy and light him up like a million watt light bulb. Music, sports, gardening, reading, painting, dancing, being around others, you name it, and this boy loves it. He has always danced and sang his little heart out. His smile, oh his smile. You know that his smile could break down and build back up, even the grumpiest of grumps. His dimples will break your heart, a thousands times over. He is never is short on compliments and "I love you's". He always had them at just the right moments, too. One time when he was just about 3 years-old, he followed me into a dressing room to try on some new clothes. I was feeling oh-so-horrible about my post-baby body from just having had his baby brother and quietly broke down in tears while looking at my reflection in the mirror. I turned around, as I didn't want him to see me sad. He grabbed me hand and said, "Mommy, you look so beautiful. This shirt is so cute on you." There was no better comment from no better person than that right there. He has a knack for knowing the best thing to say at just the perfect time. When he hugs, he hugs with his whole heart. He loves to give kisses on the cheek and hold your hand when you need a little comfort. If you need a laugh, he is right there telling his usual, silly jokes. A person that is lucky enough to grab his heart is incredibly special. And this is why I am writing to you. There is something or many things about you that my son finds amazing. If he finds you amazing, I'm sure I will too. Although, I can't guarantee that I will trust you right away. I'm one tough mommy and a mama bear with my boys. I protect and I know young love can hurt down deep. So please, take care of my boy. He loves you and has opened up his beautiful soul, wide open to you. Handle it with care. Whatever you do, show him respect and the gentle, loving care that I am sure that he has always shown you. He was born a loving boy who feels, so any cut that you give it going to cut deep. Love can hurt and life can be hard, this happens. I cannot protect my boy from everything, but I would like for his first try at love to not be too hard on his heart. Oh, and if you ever want to completely make his day, turn the music up loud and just dance. That and some chocolate chip cookies. Well, it always seemed to work when he was three.

The Untimely Demise of Miss Gorgeous

My oldest son had some sad, sad news to share the other night. I asked him how his girlfriend, Gorgeous, was doing. Her full name is, (well, was) Gorgeous Countess. How does my son even know what a Countess is? Did he hear me trash talking about obnoxious socialites from my guilty pleasure, The Real Housewives of New York? Anyhow, back to the issue at hand. Gorgeous Countess has died. What? Little Man told me that "Gorgeous died. She got old. She went to see Grandma Betty in Heaven." Ugh, this conversation was doing downhill and dark fast. I was happy that it was old age that got Gorgeous and not something else. I asked how old she was and Little man said, "137". Well, I'm not happy to know that Gorgeous is gone, but it's interesting that my 3 year-old could have had a father-in-law that fought in the civil war.

The Man Room

My husband wants a man room. Let me explain, as this might sound, a little weird. My husband drools at the thought of a room, all to himself. One tucked away in the basement with ugly, comfortable chairs, a stocked mini-fridge and a tv. A tv dedicated to non-stop sports and ESPN. He says that one day, he wants a room to himself, away from it all (read: me) where he can relax. He says he needs a room because I have "the whole house". Huh? We share a bedroom with our 9-month old, I am still nursing, I have NO personal space. He then counters with "well, you got to decorate every room, so they're yours". I didn't know a mish-mash of cheap Ikea furniture counted as "decorating". But if so, I'm awesome. My husband wants a room where guys can hang out. Here's the thing about guys hanging out, NOTHING happens. Listening to two dudes talk and hang out is about exciting as watching a sponge dry. Listen, I love my husband and I truly believe he is, maybe, the smartest person I know. Name a country and he can tell you their current leader, the ruling party's history, and their current economic situation. He is a smart guy. He is a smart guy who doesn't seem smart when hanging out with other dudes. Why? Because guys don't seem smart when they're around one another. Their conversations are sparse and mono-syllabic, but there is a comfort they find in that. Less is more and men just like to feel at ease with not having to fill every available second with the spoken word. It is kind of nice. I don't know why my husband needs a separate room for this, but wait, yes I do. If I had to live with a woman who liked to talk as much as I do, I would want a separate room to vegetate in, as well. I just wonder what this house will sound like in 10 years when the boys want to hang out with Dad and Mom is wandering around to all of the rooms looking for someone to talk about the latest study on vitamin D with...

Big Guy, Big Responsibilites

My 3 year-old told me tonight that he could not eat dinner, no way, no how. Why you ask? He couldn't eat his taco, rice and broccoli because he had to "get to his first night of work". He then told me that if he didn't get to work, he wouldn't be able to pay for cable for "his girl". Hmm, his girl? I asked for details and he happily gave them. According to my son, he had a girlfriend named Gorgeous. Yes, Gorgeous. And Gorgeous was "his girl". He had to go to work because they liked watching cable and since he's a "guy" now he has to pay for cable. Gorgeous lives "in the city in Africa", she speaks Spanish and she's a magician, to boot. He told me that he lives in Africa too, I just didn't know it. I always knew that my son would grow up and go live a big guy life, I just expect for it to happen before Kindergarten.

Ravenous? Not so much.

Growing up with a giant for a brother (well, maybe not a giant, but he is 6'6") with a very high metabolism, I thought all boys ate a refridgerator worth of food every day (and still felt slightly unsatisfied...) My brother was and still is a string bean. He is tall, skinny and could eat a horse and ask what else there is to eat. My husband is an eater. Not quite on the same level as my brother, but an eater. My Dad is obsessed with food, as well. I have spent my life around males that have always gone above and beyond the "daily suggested calorie intake". Assuming that most males devour food, I thought having two boys would break the bank. I understand that infants and toddlers don't quite have the appetite of a teenager, but I do know from teaching preschool that I saw many a little guy consume 3 whole bagels and then ask for more. When I was pregnant with our first, I imagined having to work 3 jobs just to keep our fridge stocked when puberty hit. In actuality, my boys don't eat. They are busy, on the move and simply not interested in food. How could this be? My husband and I are eaters and love food a little too much. Our first born is healthy, active and eats just enough to keep him going. Our second son is 9 months old and cries when he sees his high chair. The kid is just not into food. We have tried everything and he pretty much just wants refried beans, guacamole and platanos. A budding foodie, perhaps? I do know that we have to see a specialist this week because his weight gain is less than stellar. I hope they just tell us that we have a stubborn kid with excellent taste.

Queen of the Castle

I'm a woman surrounded by males. My husband and I both have small families. My husband's mom passed away before I met him and his only aunt passed away recently. He has his dad, one uncle and one male cousin. I have my mom (only female family member), dad and one older brother. He never intends on getting married, so I will never have a sister-in-law, nor any nieces. My only Grandma passed away last year. I have two beautiful sons and my best friend is a guy. I am swimming in a sea of testosterone! And I don't mind it one bit. When I was pregnant with our second boy, I felt certain that it was a girl. I was wrong. Everyone assumed that I was so sad when we found out he was, in fact, a boy. But you know what? I was excited! I was so happy to give my son, a brother. Plus, I love being a mommy to boys. I did worry about when my boys got older, would they leave and forget their mommy? My husband reassured me that his mom was his best friend. Boys don't forget their mommies. I then became worried that the boys would be so in awe of Daddy when they were older that mom would be "boring". I am terrible at sports and have no coordination. Would I ever be able to keep up and have fun with my house of boys? My husband, smart guy that he is, had such a great point. He said, "Listen, being the only woman in the house means that you will ALWAYS be the Queen!" Good point. Excellent point, actually. Life with a house of males is crazy and FUN. I love it. If we have a third child, of course, I would be so very happy to have a girl, but just as happy to have another boy. Whether you have one kid or more, daughters, sons or a mix of two, it's all wonderful. This blog is just about me, a lone female in a house of males. I'm talking about the crazy and hilarious adventures that happen every day with so many XY chromosomes pairs together in one small house, raising hell.