The Sweet Life of Little Ones

I was reading my friend Kristen's blog, and her post today, "Things I Will Miss Someday" and it inspired me to write my own. You can read her blog here http://chinacat.dnsalias.org/roller/sunfrog/

So here is my own list of things that I love more than anything now and that I know will not always be. My little guys are growing up. One day they will fall in love, explore the world and make their way. I want my boys to grow up feeling safe, loved and happy. I want them to have confidence in themselves, adventure in their hearts and the strength to put themselves out there and take risks. I know that I will always be important to them, but I will not always be the center of their little world. Here are some things that I will most definitely miss.

I will miss the cuddles that I get while breastfeeding. That snuggle time is the best. The whole world seems to stop while your little one is craddled in your arms, happily eating and reaching up to grab your face. Pure contentment.

Warm, little bare feet in my bed. We have co-slept with both of our little guys. Little Man is off in his own room, in his own "big boy bed", but Baby Boy still spends the second half of his night cuddled up next to me. I will miss waking up, leaning over and hearing his soft breathing while sound asleep. Oh and those cute little morning smiles when we both wake up.

My boys adorable little voices. I know their voices are only going to get deeper and more grown-up, so I try to remember all of their cute little giggles and songs now.

Mixed-up little toddler/preschooler sayings. I crack up at all of my son's little "translations". For example he calls taxi cabs, "cabbage cars", and deodorant, "deodor-ade".

Sleepy face rubs. I will miss seeing Baby Boy ball up his little fists and run his eyes when fatigue sets in.

Naps with my boys. Nothing beats snuggling up with them on a rainy day, reading some books and taking a snooze.

Silly Dance Time. On a weekly basis, we put on some music, each grab a musical instrument and sing and dance ourselves silly. This is my older son's favorite time in the world, mine too. I know one day they will think this is beyond lame, but for now it is nothing but pure happiness and glee.

The un-jaded heart of a little one. I LOVE how my little guy will get excited for just about everything. You can tell him you're going to the library and he will jump for joy (even though we go 1-2 times a week...) A three year-old still gets so excited about an extra book before bed or making pancakes with mom on a lazy Sunday morning. A 16 year-old? Not so much.

Matchbox cars/Hot Wheels in every room and cabinet in the house.

Messy morning bed head.

The joy on my son's face when he sees me pick him up from school and the first big bear hug that I get when he sees me.

Baby giggles in a bubble bath. And all of the happy splashing that goes with it.

Cute little baby butts crawling across the floor after a bath. (And the mad dash he makes, FULL of giggles when he see me chasing after him).

Running through the sprinkler, with shrieks of joy, on a hot summer day. Followed by an ice cream cone, naturally.

I will miss my older son as a three year-old and my younger boy as a 12 month-old. Next year, they will be different little people, and so on for each year after that. Only now can I enjoy them at this age and all of the adorable quirks and joys that go with it. I embrace and love it all. Why can't we bottle some up to enjoy later? Ten to twenty years from now, I could go, grab that bottle from January 30, 2010, dust it off and enjoy Little Man splashing in his bath, getting into train flannel PJ's and telling me that he can't eat kale because "it is meant for rabbits not boys". I'd get to hear Baby Boy giggle with delight whenever I smell his stinky feet, sweet kisses on my face, his entire face red with tomato sauce from dinner and a head full of blond, bouncy curls.

I will miss it all, absolutely all of it. I love my life, I love my boys and I get teary-eyed just thinking about them growing up. This is just the perfect age for them to be. I can love them and they think Mommy and Daddy are just the coolest. Who can beat that? I will truly miss every beautiful, crazy thing about our life right now. I love it and I hope they grow up knowing how much I love my life with them. I love being their mommy and not a moment of my life goes un-appreciated. A mother's love just may be the most powerful thing there is or ever was.

Oh, and I'll also miss the little pitter-pat of footie pajamas running to my bedroom door each morning to say, "Wake Up, Mommy! It's a brand new day!". It certainly is, my beautiful boy.

*Get inspired and write your list,too. If you do post, share your address in the comments. If you don't have a blog, just share some here anyway. :) *

What Am I Teaching This Kid?

I have the utter inability to contain my laughter, even in the most inappropriate of situations. I have a long history of laughing at the worst times during a lecture or reinforcing naughty behavior in my kids. I truly cannot help it. Try as I might, I cannot build an inner dam strong enough to hold back my giggles. My husband says that there is no hope for me and he's right . Our son is a really sweet, empathetic, well-behaved kid (like his mom, he's not a rule-breaker) but he has had some moments at school where he has been the "silly kid" or shall we say, "class clown". I think some responsibility for that lays directly on my shoulders. A little on my history...

As far back as I can remember, I was always getting in trouble for laughing in class. I was never a rule-breaker (still to this day), but I did get disciplined for fighting the laughs. I would try everything to stop myself, biting the insides of my cheeks, stabbing my pencil into my leg, thinking about something sad and dire, but nothing worked. I can still laugh today thinking back to my Freshman year in high school. One day, my language arts teacher decided to spice things up in class a bit and wake us up from our boredom by acting out a fight scene from Romeo and Juliet. With great fervor, he attacked a chair with a ruler. In doing so, he slipped, fell, and farted. Come on, how could I possibly NOT laugh? Here's the thing though. I nicknamed him "Mr Butterbuns" and laughed about it every single day for the rest of the year. Everyday, I walked into class and swore that I wouldn't laugh, and I failed, BIG TIME. Fast forward 10 years when I am in class, as a 24-year old, getting my teaching credential (oh, the irony!). I am in class when my friend starts making some lame jokes about farting on my toothbrush (unfortunately, you read that right). Oh no, the tidal wave of laughs was unleashed. Yes, I have a very sophisticated sense of humor. I know it's a total dud of a joke now, but for some reason, it hit me that day. Here's the worst part, the next day our professor approaches us, very upset. Of course, she addresses me as the main part of her problem. "I know you were laughing in class yesterday and I think it's wrong and inappropriate to laugh at my accent. English is my second language." Oh no, do I really have to explain this? I'd rather by known as a girl with a base-level sense of humor than what she was suggesting. I had to come clean (it was mortifying). "Listen, I would never laugh at someones accent. I am telling you the truth when I say that I was laughing at a very childish, crude joke." She pushed me further and I had to admit that I laughed at the idea of flatulence of a dental hygiene device. She looked at me with such disgust. Not only did she think I was a liar but was that really the best that I could come up with?

I got in trouble so many times over the years. I would fight back my giggles during meetings with my boss, who was the VP of the company (it was only the two us in the meeting, too, I'm pathetic). To this day, I laugh during every massage that I get because I think back to a story that my friend told to me. During a rubdown, his masseuse bent his knees to his stomach, causing him to cut the cheese on the table. HA! I will laugh at the weirdest times during a massage just thinking about it and have to awkwardly say, "Sorry, I am just ticklish". Even when they are like 6 feet away...

I can't control my responses when I am the student and I even have trouble even when I am the teacher. I had a group of 4th graders that named their team, "Cheetah's Anus". I told them to try again and to be more appropriate. Their next attempt was "Rings Around UrANUS". I bolted from the table and pretended to reorganize a cabinet while I pulled myself together. I really am the worst! Don't get me started about the time a kindergartner dropped an F-bomb in class.

With Little Man, I have to pull in my husband when my son says something funny but not something we want him to repeat. I found out this summer that my problem is genetic (it's not my fault! right?). My Dad was sitting at the dinner table with us when Little Man said something hilarious (but not acceptable). As I was explaining to my son why he couldn't say that, I look to my dad, laughing quietly with a dish towel over his head to hide his reaction. I was doomed from birth, really. When out to dinner one night, my son farted (accidentally) at the dinner table in front of our waiter. I said, "what do you say?" which is my prompt for him to say "excuse me". Instead he said, "Mommy, it's not nice to blame your farts on me." HA HA HA! That is funny stuff! But it's not nice to lie, and I couldn't encourage that. Especially with the waiter looking at me like I was the lowest of the low, blaming my gas on my son. Cue my exit to the bathroom while my husband stepped in. I'm worthless in these situations. If you're funny, mommy cannot tell you no without a suppressed grin on her face. Last summer, my son walked into school and told his teacher that his brother "Likes to cut the Babybels"! I was dying! Get it? Babybels, like mini-cheeses because he's a baby and his farts are tiny? Too funny. My son's teachers had to stop him from rhyming kid's names into nicknames after he came up with "Tuna" for one girl in class. The poor girl! The worst part is that the first time his teacher told me about it, you can only guess my reaction...

Ralph and Chuck: Our Unwanted House Guests

The dreaded rotavirus struck our house again. Just the mere mention of nausea or puking will give me the sweats and send me into a state of panic. I loathe the stomach flu (who doesn't?). Not only do I loathe puking, but I am practically phobic of the act. Some people fear spiders, some fear heights, I fear puking. In college, many friends of mine were puking on a weekly basis from over-consumption of booze. I made sure to always keep myself just shy of that debauchery because I was so terrified of throwing up. Everything about it is misery. Those few hours of feeling "off", and then the slow and steady build-up to ralphing. Ugh. I am a person who has the pain drawn out particularly long (or maybe I am that much of a drama queen to believe that it is drawn out especially long, just for me). I am laying on the bathroom tiles, begging for the contents of my stomach to explode forth, but my stomach just teases me with gags, on agonizing end, until I finally get the pleasure of getting the act over with. Yuck.



My phobia of gastroenteritis never affects my parenting. I am always there to soothe our children when they get a tummy bug, always. But the moment they first puke, I am in a full-blown state of hysteria on the inside. I am a calm, caring mommy on the outside and a total basket case on the inside. I purell and wash my hands like crazy and do everything I can to avoid the dreaded germs, but it's inevitable. There is not much you can do when your kids manage to puke on your body multiple times, each and every time they get sick. And like clockwork, a few days after their first upchuck appearance, mine soon follows. Never my husband, just me.



So, as a preface to this little tale of our fluid-filled house this week, I was a terrible, terrible mother. Just awful! A week and a half ago, Baby Boy celebrated his very first birthday. I stayed up late the night before to make him a yellow cake with chocolate frosting, from scratch (even the delicious frosting). I was excited because the tradition in our house is cake for breakfast on the day of one's birthday. Baby Boy woke up and we slowly got ourselves and Grandpa (who was in town visiting for the week) up to see our little baby dig into his very first cake. Little Man, his older brother, was in a bad mood from the moment he woke up that day. He told me that he didn't feel like celebrating his brother's birthday, at all, and did not want to sing, eat cake nor go to the Children's Museum. I was sure this was just a case of jealousy. Afterall, this was his first time of having to celebrate another kid's birthday in his own house. He told me that he had a stomach ache and I just didn't believe him. Everytime that I cuddled with Baby Boy and wished him a Happy 1st, Little Man would push him aside and try to get onto my lap. I reminded him about sharing attention and days and that one day soon he, too, would get a big birthday. He would mention again his tummy, and I brushed it aside. I am truly wretched (oy my mommy guilt!). Fast forward to all of us dressed and ready to go when Grandpa says "Little Man is not feeling well, maybe we should cancel" to which I replied, "No, it's a birthday jealousy-ache not a tummy ache". Not ten seconds later and Little Man was heard puking on his bed. OH MAN. I felt like the WORST MOTHER IN THE WORLD. I am the queen mum when it comes to comforting my kids in time of illness. I hold them and let them sleep in my arms at night when they have a tummy bug because I know how awful they feel. I go without sleep and comfort to help them and this time I failed. Big time. He had told me all morning about his sick tummy and I ignored him. I really didn't know! Oh gosh, don't judge me too harshly! I made up for it after the fact. I promise that I did. The whole day got changed around and now Baby Boy can hold this over his brother's head for years to come, "You know, I got robbed of my first birthday because of you..."



Grandpa was here and helped a lot. He continued to drink from Little Man's cup and share his food the entire time that Little Man was sick. I thought it was absolute lunacy, but my father-in-law assured me, "Nah, I won't get sick." I practically bathed in bleach and this guy was sharing drinks with my son. Guess who got sick and who didn't? So this week, all the rest of us got sick (except Grandpa) and it sucked. Baby Boy handled his first tummy bug like a champ. Not a minute after puking all over his bed and he was back to giggling and being his cheerful self. This was at 3am, too. We're out of the woods now and I am hoping that ralph and chuck don't show up for, at least, another year. Oh stomach flu karma, be kind to me! Okay that sounded incredibly selfish. Let's try this again, oh stomach flu karma be kind to my family!



And on a side note, if you have littles ones in your house and want a nice bonding moment to share with them, dance to Justin Roberts, "In the Car". It's truly special. Hold them tight, let the world rest and enjoy the time together.

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.