talk is cheap

Everybody knows a big talker. You know, the person who's always got the most fantastic plans that just never seem to happen.  They are going to start this new company, or they are really gunna let this person have what's coming to them, or they are going to be getting a new something any day now.

You know. Big talkers.

So yeah, talk is cheap.  Everyone talks big to some extent. We like to talk about our dreams. It feels good. It's as if talking about them makes them more tangible.  The problem is that research has shown that when we talk about our goals to other people we become less likely to achieve them because just the act of telling someone what we want to do tends to give us a sense that we have already done it.

So the moral is, keep your mouth shut. At least when it comes to goal setting.  I learned that from a TED talk.

Here's another thing I learned: good friends are cheap therapy. Sometimes you just need a good bout of verbal diarrhea to feel better.  I'm not sure why, but just talking about my day to day grievances with my best friends makes me feel so much more normal, even if their response is "That's weird."

In general, I feel like I talk too much.  Kids will do that to a person. You can't just say something once. Oh no. You have to say it three times to be heard.  It's exhausting. So I bought a megaphone.

Let me tell you, it's the best thing I've purchased as a parent next to the punching bag (Mother's Day 2010).  I don't have to say things three times. I don't even have to raise my voice to call my kids from upstairs.  Believe me, if you have kids, you need one.  

It was cheap. 

well here we are again

Oh for heaven's sakes where has the time gone?

Here's the dealio.  I can't keep up. And I don't want to. And I don't have to, because I have been smart enough not to commit to having sponsors. Sometimes to do something right. Like every 10 years or so.

Summer is just too, hummm, (busy? no. scheduled? no. hot? no, not in Carlsbad.) lazy. Summer is too lazy to blog. 

I could give a bunch of lame excuses like we are getting all new flooring and traveling for almost four weeks and I'm focusing on sticking to my workouts.  All these things would be true, but really, I just need to slow down a bit.

I think I will give myself permisson to take a Summer break. Not that I won't be around. If I have a stroke of genius you know I'll be posting it all over the internet. But if I don't, and I want to go to the pool, then I won't be here.

Until after Labor Day.

BUT, you can still connect with me on Instagram. You can find me under Secondsister. I love The Gram! Do you have the app on your phone? It's available for iPhone and Droid.  Get it. You won't be sorry. 

And I leave you with a gift. Because that's how I roll.  

A little gift, to make life with your kids this Summer just a wee bit more organized. 

These job charts are 12X16 inches. I had mine printed out and laminated at Kinkos. It cost me $8.  I laminated so we could use dry erase markers instead of printing a new chart each week. But you could do that too. Whatever! It's Summer! No worries!

My boy earns extra money around the house by doing extra chores. I made these tickets so we can keep track of how many extra chores he has done. Heaven forbid we forget. He has important things to save up for, like gum and legos.

Silly boy. Happy Summer!

I'm going to be sending out my freebies through my email list from now on. Sign up and you can download the charts and tickets and get those kids of yours doing their chores!

words with friends

The first thing that happened was the kite got away.

The dads ran after it. But alas, it was gone. What's the saying? There is nothing quite like a crisis to bring people together. 

But it turns out, we didn't really need a crisis. We clicked. Just. Like. That.

The story goes something like this:

I meet Katy online about a month ago. We chatted via Facebook, then email and then texts. Katy was coming with her family to San Diego for the weekend and so we invited them to dinner at our house. But then, the Sugar Daddy had to travel, so I asked if we could just meet up for dinner a day earlier.  

Long story short. We ended up meeting them at the Hotel Del. And staying in their villa with them overnight. 

Just to be clear, Ben and I don't do this sort of thing. It isn't like us. We are rather timid, cautious people. But I think maybe, it was meant to be.  I think maybe there was no way we could not be friends with Katy and Paul and their two kids.

We put the littles to bed and stayed up talking and laughing.

Paul and his brother invented a little game you might have heard of called Words With Friends. It was fascinating to hear the story of how they created the game and the risks they took to make their dream come true.  

Our kids played so well together. I loved seeing them have so much fun with new friends.

Thom was in heaven hanging out with a family that understands his game obsession. He had just started playing Words With Friends with his cousin a few weeks ago.  

I often wonder what my life would be like without the internet. I love that I can make new friends anywhere in the world. I love that if I am having a good day or a bad day I can simply pick up my phone or sit at my computer and tell a friend about it. 

Because, after all, having words with friends and family is what life is all about.

Connection.

This Katy girl is already the type of friend you can go make-up less and braless around. She could walk in my house, and open my fridge, and get herself a coke, and kick off her shoes, and plop down on my couch, and tell me a story, and it would be as if she and I had been friends since childhood.

Is it rare to find a new friend like that? I think so, but the internet helps.

Thanks Katy and Paul!

I'm working on pictures from the workshops. Hopefully I will have them up later this week.

to thine own self: part III create

Let me make one thing clear.

Creativity is not defined as the ability to design.  This is a fallacy that our society has imposed.

Creativity is defined as the ability to transcend traditional ideas, rules, patterns, relationships, or the like, and to create meaningful new ideas, forms, methods, interpretations, etc.; originality, progressiveness, or imagination.

Every human is creative. Alas, it is part of what makes us human.  It is why we have the Golden Gate Bridge and the internet and Godiva cheesecake. Oh God bless the soul who created Godiva cheesecake!

You, sitting here, reading this! You are creative. And guess what. You should be using that creativity and I'll tell you why.

The creative energy that resides in each of us is not benign. It is energy and is has to go somewhere. Somebody figured that out a long time ago using their creativity. I think it was Newton maybe.

E_potential -> action

So you have this energy inside of you. And if it isn't being used it gets stored, like fat, in our cells. Often it will metastasize. Which isn't good. This means it mutates into something else. Something ugly. 

Just what it becomes is varied. Everyone is different. But the feeling that we all get from this mutant energy is the same. It feels like anxiety. Like listlessness. Like agitation.

Remember when you were a kid and you were stuck in the back seat on a long road trip and you were unable to get out and play? Remember how you would have an overwhelming urge to tease your sibling or annoy your parents? That's the feeling I'm talking about. 

People are happier when they are exercising their creativity. They are more content. Their self-esteem is higher. They are better people. Period.

Now, here is the last part of my personal happiness plan. Ready?

Be creative.

That's it. Create something. Anything. Today and tomorrow and every other day after that. 

And don't worry- I've heard all the excuses about no time, no money, no ideas. 

To hell with circumstances. Create opportunity.  Bruce Lee said that.

It's not easy. Nothing worth doing is ever easy. Usually when I am working on a project I have to stop a billion times to change a diaper, get a snack, break up a fight, answer the phone or make a meal.  I can't afford to buy the top of the line supplies all the time. Sometimes I try and try and try to get something right until I am so frustrated I can hardly stand myself. It's not easy.


Sometimes you have to push boundaries. Think outside the box to make things work.

I recently saw a film that perfectly illustrates what it means to create opportunity. Here's a clip:

You were born to create. Fulfilling this potential will bring you joy. This I know for sure.

Start today. 

to thine own self: part the second- the satisfaction cup theory

Happy Friday friends.

I meant to have this message up first thing this morning but, well life happened.

First off, a big thank you to all of you who have contacted me about my post "To Thine Own Self".  I have received more emails, facebook messages and phone calls about that post than anything else I have ever written.  All of you are thanking me for having written it, but the truth is, I need to be thanking you for all your feedback. It has been a long journey for me and it makes my heart sing that others can also benefit.

I wrote the basic bones of what I do in my life to stay the happiest possible.  There is more. I never intended to write "how to" guides on being happy. I feel like I am much more adept at writing about hot glue and paint, than self improvement. However, I also want to share the things that make my life better. I think we should all be a lot more forth coming with the things that could help other people.

So I'm writing today to share with you the theory of the "Satisfaction Cup".  My father came up with this theory some years ago. Our entire family has adopted it into our lives. It goes something like this:

Everyday you wake up with an empty cup to fill.  During the day, you will fill this cup with the things you do. Every person has a different recipe for what they need to fill their cups with in order to feel happy and satisfied by the end of the day. For example, I have learned that everyday, I need to have a few hours of productive work, a few hours of creativity, some quality time with my family, exercise, a little play and down time.  If I can fit all these things into my day, I go to bed tired and very happy.

Like I said before, everyone is different. My best friend needs a lot of play in her day to feel satisfied. Another friend needs a little service to others to be happy.  You might need reading time or religious worship or lot of time to sit and do nothing. You must get real with yourself and figure out what it is you need to feel satisfied at the end of the day.

Keep in mind that there are days that vary. For instance, if you go on vacation, your day will be very different. Sundays at my house are different from other days of the week. The satisfaction cup is a general application to your everyday routine.

You will know at the end of the day if your cup isn't full. The feeling is unmistakable. You feel hungry. Maybe literally hungry, maybe figuratively hungry. If I find myself snacking late at night it is most often because my cup didn't get filled for the day. I'm not really hungry for food, I'm just trying to satisfy. Sometimes I do other things at the end of the day like waste time on the internet shopping or channel surf on t.v.  Most often the things we do when our cups hasn't been filled are negative and unproductive.  Sometimes they are even destructive, like picking fights with people or gossiping.

Yesterday I filled my cup to overflowing. I got up and got the kids bathed and dressed. Took The Boy to school and then took the two babies to the doctor for check-ups (work). After the doctor we went to TJMaxx and I shopped for a birthday gift (play). Then we went home and we had a picnic outside for lunch (quality family time). Then I ran on the treadmill and did sit-ups (exercise). I cycled the wash, did a little work on the computer, did a general pick-up through my house and baked a cake for Frankie's birthday party tomorrow (work). I took The Boy to scouts and then I spent some time creating party hats and favours for the party (creativity). We had dinner together and studied spelling words and then it was time for pajamas and bed and then a little veg time holding the babies and watching kids shows (down time). At this point I was absolutely exhausted and I ended up falling asleep instead of writing this post. But it didn't matter because my cup was already full and I was satisfied.

Not everyday is this busy or this productive. But if I can squeeze in just enough of everything I need to feel happy and satisfied, in the evening I know that my overall outlook on life will be healthy and upbeat.

Everyday you empty the contents of your satisfaction cup into your "Life Satisfaction Cup". If this cup isn't kept full, you will start to feel the effects. You will have a searching feeling. You will feel unsatisfied with the life you are living. You will tend to focus on the negative things instead of the things that make you happy.

So here's what you need to do: 

First, identify what it is you personally need in each day to feel happy and productive. Be honest. I wish I could say that giving service was one of the things I need. Alas, it is not. Think about how your long term goals play into this.

Second, check yourself throughout your day to make sure you are managing your time so that you will be able to get in all the things you need.

Third, know that everyday is different and be flexible.  If you work like a dog one day, you might not need much work in the days that follow to feel satisfied.

As I said before, happiness is not an absolute. There are so many factors that happen in our lives that play into how we feel emotionally. But the point is to work on those things that we can control.

Working toward happiness is always much better than the alternative.

Next Friday I will share with you the last aspect of my own person happiness plan. I hope you find these things as pertinent as you did the concepts in the first post.

Now carpe the diem out of today!

Sharing pics of Frankie Valentine's second birthday on Monday!

a mother is a mother is a mother

rob-sheridan.com

I've been thinking about women.  I've been thinking about how throughout the world we are so different. We lead such different lives. And yet, we are fundamentally all the same.

Did you see the documentary called "Babies"? It illustrates this point beautifully.

If you are a mother, or even if you aren't a mother but someone who has loved a child more than yourself, you are part of the collective.

Your skin might be different. Your clothes might be different. Your religious beliefs might be different. But when all that is stripped away and you are left with only your soul, I think we will see that we are daughters of one God. Sisters.

I honestly believe that the love parents have for thier children is the strongest force on Earth.  It matters not if you live in Chicago or Peru or Russia. I wish that I had more oppurtunity to meet women from other walks of life that are crazy about their children the way I am crazy about mine.  Motherhood has a way of creating insant friendships.

Anyway, these are the things that have been on my mind.

Also, I'd like to add that the two babies at the beginning of the "Babies" trailer act exactly like my two babies. That fight plays out in my house everyday. Only the skin color is different.

journey

Well we're off.

Tomorrow we will hop on a plane and take the kids to play in the snow. 

And when I say "hop on a plane", what I really mean is pack for hours, drag crying children out of bed early in the morning, schelp ourselves to the airport, disrobe the children and ourselves to go through security, eat a fattening meal and wrestle the babies for two hours to keep them quiet on the flight.

I pray one of them doesn't poop during the flight. Been there. Done that. Don't want to do it again.

My friend Wendy Whitacre is a photographer who just started a world tour. Yesterday, on her flight to Costa Rica, a woman gave birth. In the airplane. No kidding.

Now if I could just get something like that to happen, and divert the attention from my noisy kids, I'd be golden.

But you know, it's all good. I've been beaten down learned enough to know that family vacations are important. Are they miserable? Yes. But important.

Au revoir my lovelies. I see you on the other side of hell.

the obligation

photo taken by my dad

I was born of goodly parents.  Salt of the Earth types.

Hard working people.  They love God, each other and their nation.  

They are extremely predictable, never risk takers or booty shakers, but they are happy, and they taught me how to find happiness in my own life.

The blessing of such parents has a magnitude weighty enough to set a person firmly on the right path.

My mother taught me how to be a good mother. She has a knack for finding joy in life's small moments. She laughs at herself often and she's easy to please. She used the same wooden spoon to cook delicious hot meals and spank our bottoms.

My father has many interests and hobbies.  He works hard at his job and harder at his hobbies.  He's an aerospace engineer, runner, mountain biker, back country skier, photographer, kayak maker and at one point he was a world renown pigeon raiser. He also has a fierce streak of OCD and ADD.

Obviously.

With each passing year, I see the traits of my parents in myself.  Some I'm happy about. Some I'm not. 

But there's this:

Because they have lived honorable lives, and done the things which are right in the sight of God, there is an unspoken obligation.

It says that I am obligated to carry on the good name. I have no excuses. I've been taught.  This obligation is a weight on my shoulders and the ground that I stand on all at the same time.  It's strange. I hate having to live up to someone else's standard, but I firmly believe freedom is found in knowing who you are and where you came from.

I was born of goodly parents and I pray everyday that I can be one too. 

It isn't easy.

for the record

Henry Wyatt 10 weeks old

I've been thinking about infertility. Not sure why.

I don't have any grand bit of wisdom to impart.  I don't understand the complex emotions involved. I can't tell you how to deal with it.

But I know I made it through something like twelve years of wanting a child.  I know I am now standing on the other side of that trial and au revoir to that thankyouverymuch.

As I sit here on my sofa typing this, with slobber spots on my pants and little finger prints all over the furniture, these are the things that come to my mind. It's not wisdom. It's just what I know.

The joy we experienced when our children finally arrived was equal to, and may have even exceeded, the sorrow we felt at our darkest moments.

Unlike childbirth, you never forget the pain of not being able to have a child.

Just because you wanted children for much longer than most people doesn't mean your kids won't drive you up the wall. Just because you went through hell to get them here doesn't mean they will appreciate it. At the end of the day, you are just a parent like any other.

Refraining from buying baby things until you are pregnant is just a silly way of trying to insulate your feelings. Go ahead and buy stuff. It will put you ahead of the game when it finally happens.  Wanting those little baby things means you still have hope.

Feeling bitter and nasty towards others who are having babies is completely normal. It doesn't make you a bad person. However, if you behave badly in these circumstances, down the road the bitterness you feel will be of regret.

When you have infertility you must think of it as a war. You will loose battles. It will be expensive.  Plans will be made and then cast aside for new plans.  If you want to win, you will not retreat.  You will regroup and press forward.

And you will need a good mate for the fox hole. If this relationship isn't right, you might want to lay low and reconsider.

Here's the last thing I know. It took me years to realize this. In fact, it only dawned on me a few months ago.  I could never figure out why I had to go through infertility. What was I supposed to learn? Why was that part of my life path?

Here's what I know today. I had to experience infertility to lead me to adoption. I had to wait for my adopted children because at the time I started wanting them their birth mother was only fourteen. My children were to be born by this girl and only this girl. That was the plan. Sometimes the Lord has to work with logistics.

I'm not at all sure why I am writing this today.  Maybe there is someone out there that needs to hear this? I don't know.

But I'm writing it down. For the record.

the importance of dancing in the kitchen

elliot erwitt

We like to dance in our family.  None of us are any good. Not a single one.  

But dancing isn't about being smooth. Not to us anyway.  It's about an outward expression of emotion.  It's how we say, I love you, you make me happy, without words.

When I was a little girl I'd watch my parents dance or kiss and I remember feeling extremely embarrassed and thrilled at the same time.  Children love to know that their parents love each other. I still like it when my parents are affectionate. I guess it's something you never outgrow.

So my kids will see me dance with my husband. And they will sit back and belly laugh at their dad's silly moves. And I will scoop them up and dance with them, with my cheek next to theirs, twirling. Telling them without words, I love you, I love you, I love you.

Dance a little this weekend. You'll see.

Here's a little dance mix to jump start you.

scary

I have come to believe that I am a fearful person.  Not a worrier per say. Fearful.

I have a lot of special types of fears in my life. Take for example my constant fear of being hit in the face.  This is a fear founded in real life experience.  My babies regularly whack me in the face with toys and books. And on more than one occasion they have bucked and the special hard spot on the back of their cranium has smashed my perpendicular plate of the ethmoid bone (looked that one up, a girl likes to know what exactly has been crushed in her face).

The pain of having a hard little head crash into your nose is acute.  It brings tears to your eyes and swears to your lips.

So I live my life with something akin to post traumatic disorder. Constantly flinching when I catch a swift movement in my peripheral vision.

And there's the goo factor.  I live in constant fear of what goo I might encounter.  Coming across a wet patch of carpet makes me shudder. There's no telling what it might be.  If I'm lucky it's just a pool of spit. That's if I'm lucky.

I also have the special fear called nudophobia.  Fear of being nude in public.  Most phobias are unfounded, but mine is not.  My children consider my clothing to be scaffolding.  My neckline is the go-to grip used to hoist themselves up.  If I wear a skirt, they think I have a brought along an extra blanket for them to pull over their heads.  I am forever checking to make sure my boobs aren't exposed and my butt is covered.

So when I say I'm a fearful person, you can see, I'm not just blowin' smoke. 

I got issues people.

I'm planning on a lot of therapy later in life.

P.S. It's been really warm and the caged animals have been let out.

smooches

Today the Sugar Daddy and I are flying away for a romantic weekend in San Francisco to celebrate Chinese New Year.

We are leaving the rugrats with my mom.  Poor Mom. They are going to eat her for dinner. I just know it.

I keep thinking I wish we were going longer but a) my mom would hate me, and b) I talk a big game but when it comes down to it, I just couldn't be away from my babies for very long.

It's the physicality aspect that gets me.  All day I have a baby on me in some fashion. Little arms around my neck. Slobbery smooches across my face. Little bottoms on my lap. Pudgy hands around my legs as I work in the kitchen.

It's that physical contact that I start to crave.  It's involuntary, like muscle memory.  My lips start to need a fat cheek to kiss. My arms feel empty.  I feel like a crab without a shell.  Naked.

Then again, the Sugar Daddy and I haven't had a romantic weekend day hour to ourselves in a long time.  Maybe I'll be getting all the physical attention I can take.

And I'll leave it at that.

the dealer

The children love being at Grandma's house. Everyone one is so cheerful.  I've wondered if the spirit of Thanksgiving has seeped it's way into their hearts. But I thinks it's more likely attributed to the candy that Grandma is slipping them on the sly when she thinks I can't see.

She should know that I can sniff out chocolate like a blood hound.  It's a gift I have.  And chocolate on my babies breath? Well, that's never going to go undetected.

It is curious to me that this woman, who raised me with strict household rules and regulations, has all of a sudden joined the kid's team and is trying to put one past me all the time.

When did she start running a covert candy operation anyway? I've decided that since everyone seems very happy about the situation except for me, I will let it slide. In the spirit of holiday benevolence, I will turn a blind eye to this bad behavior for now.

Eat up me hearties! Because when Grandma your dealer is gone, so is your supply.


The reason grandchildren and grandparents get along so well is that they have  a common enemy. - Sam Levenson

parenthood 101

Polka Dot & Plaid

Well today is it.

Back to school for the Boy.  First grade. First time in public school.

He's not in the least bit scared.  Never has been.  Heights can send him into a hyperventilating frenzy, but new social situations? He's A-Okay. Cool as the Fonz.

I, on the other hand, have the jitters. Will he like his teacher?  Will he fit in?  Should I really be giving him Cheetos in his lunch?  Will people think I'm a bad mom for sending junk food?  Do I have to look cute at drop off or can I schlep on over in my scuzzies?

 Is this about him or me?

perspective

vases by Jane Schouten

I was looking at my children and thinking how absolutely beautiful they are.  I like to say that I can be objective because the Bird and the Little Mister don't have my genes, but really, I can't. It's all the same. Even if my children were, well, fairly homely, and let's just all admit right now that some children aren't gifted in the looks department, even if they were, I'd still think they are the cutest kids I know.

It just works like that.  It's God's way of insuring that the human species don't kill their young like other animals sometimes do.

I'm not too proud to say that mothering three little kids is incredibly hard. I really believe it is on the edge of my personal capabilities. It amazes me how these little people can reduce me to a crazed lunatic by just being kids. But just before I turn to run screaming from the house, the Bird flashes me her baby blues or I happen to glance at the Boy's freckled nose.  It tell ya, it's something that small that instantly makes me want to claim them as my own once more.

I heard Roseanne Cash being interviewed on NPR.  She was talking about an intense experience she had that was more than she could handle.  She said that in that moment, she borrowed from her future. She knew she would someday be older and wiser, more capable. She borrowed from that woman she would someday become to get through.

I love that idea.  I know that someday I will have perspective about raising my babies.  I will wish that I had enjoyed it more.  I will long to kiss squishy cheeks and breath deep their baby smell.  So these past few days I've been channeling the older April (not only is she wiser, she's skinner too because she has time to exercise).  I've been trying harder to take it all in.

Blow by blow out.

come rain or shine

Yesterday wasn't so peachy.

No, in fact, it was pure crap.

But here's where the beauty of being surrounded by children all day comes in.  They teach you stuff.

Yesterday my one-year-old taught me to find happiness in a down pour and wonder in the tiniest sliver of sunshine.

Touche', Birdie girl, touche'.

blue

Sugar Daddy has been gone and I find that I am becoming quite blue. The house is full of little bodies but it's oh so empty.  I have things to do every second of the day and yet I am bored. 

The hour I set aside to work in the studio while the babies slept was entirely unproductive.  Instead of working on a large order I have due next week, I spun slowing in my chair with my camera to my eye.  I focused here and there. I zoomed in on Finnigan's nose.

I thought about my husband, hard at work in some court room in the big bad city of Los Angeles.  I tried to picture what tie he might be wearing and I thought about how his hair brushes the tops of his ears. Salt and pepper sexy.

I listened to a little Johnny Cash. I pinched the fat on my stomache and assesed how long it will take me to run it off.  I picked some red paint off my desk. And then the Little Mister started grunting, and like clock work the Bird called out to me and that was it. My time was over.

I'm feeling blue because life is a lot of hard work these days.

And if I have to be in the trenches, then I want Sugar Daddy with me.

He's got my back.

The studio through my lens today:

the big escape

This is a true story. Names have not been changed to protect the guilty or innocent. We don't believe in crap like that.

Sugar Daddy started a new tradition. On Saturday mornings he takes the boy and the wild beast to Dog Beach. They stop at Leucadia Doughnuts on the way. Finnigan and Thom run around like banshees in the sand and surf and get all their energy out for the day.

I stay in bed and cuddle Birdie. It's wonderful.

A couple of Saturdays ago the boy came home with a pet. Now let it be known that I love animals and believe all children should be allowed to learn and grow through the responsibilities of caring for a pet.

But...

I'm not big on pets of the little variety. Mainly because they stink. Gerbils=stink. Birds=stink. Lizards, turtles and snakes=stink and creepiness.

I've never wanted my house to be a kid house. You know the type. Toys strewn about the living room. Science projects by the sink. Stinky little pets in bedrooms.

But I'm afraid it's becoming inevitable. The boy came home with a crab. His father, knowing it is easier to ask forgiveness than permission, had stopped at the pet store and bought an aquarium with all the bells and whistles.

They set it up in Thom's bathroom. "Eugene" had his new home. (Eugene, as in Eugene Crabs from Spongebob.)

Eugene stayed huddled in the corner for the first day, then he burrowed under the rocks.

Or so we thought.

On his third day at the Meeker house Eugene went on the lamb.

I was on the phone with my dad when I spotted something in the far corner of the kitchen wedged underneath the cabinets. I got closer to have a look and gasped into the receiver when it dawned on me that I was looking at Eugene's corpse.

It seems his gamble didn't pay off.

But what a display of sheer determination! People, this little crab crawled out of the tank and down the bathroom cabinets. He must have gone through Thom's room, down the hall, took a hard right, and scaled down two flights of stairs. At that point I can only imagine his excitement to see a door leading outside. Freedom at last! But he still had a ways to go, down the hall and through the kitchen. He must have been simply exhausted. I wonder what went through his mind as defeat overcame him, as he realized the door was shut tight, that he was slowly drying out with no where to go.

Poor Eugene.

"What am I going to tell him?" I asked my dad. "He's going to be so upset! He only had him a couple of days!"

I tried to break the news to Thom as gently as I possibly could. I put him on my lap. I stroked his hair and explained that Eugene was no more. I waited for the tears.

"Good." he said. "Now I can get those fish that I really wanted at the pet store."


Such sentimentality.

bogged blog

Here's a question for ya.

Why is it that when mothers of young children wear skirts, said children love to lift up the skirt and expose things that mother's seldom want exposed?

I was waiting for my burrito at Rubio's and watching a little girl slowly push her mother's dress up until an entire hip was exposed. The mother was paying for her food and didn't notice.

I, of course, got a good laugh at this, because, well, it is funny as long as it isn't happening to me.

It reminded me of the time I was paying for books and I felt a draft only to discover that Thom's head was against the small of my back and he was holding up my skirt for all the world to see.

Thank heaven it was a book store and most people's noses were buried in their books because, I guarantee, with the kind of underwear I wear- it wasn't a pretty sight. These saddle bags have a few oats in them.

Here's another question:

Why is it that sticky baby fingers always find the tender hair at the nape of your neck?

And this:

Why is it that the baby always spits up in the few seconds before you put on a dry bib?

To be honest, I'm totally bogged down in parenthood right now. Birdie was diagnosed with acid reflux and the boy has a ragging case of End of Summer Obnoxiousitis. For me this means there is a whole lot of crying going on at my house and quite frankly it has lead me to ask myself another question.

Why is it I don't drink?

the thinker

This one's a thinker.

She takes her job as littlest Meeker very seriously.

She's working diligently at being extraordinarily cute and lovable.

She's pooping and sleeping and eating.

A lot.

Especially the eating part.

She's starting to reach for things and talk to us in baby babble. I so wish I spoke goo fluently. I'd love to know what it is she has to say.

She only graces the most fortunate with a smile, however, when she finds you deserving, she smiles with her whole body, arms and legs jut out into starfish formation, toes point, fingers stretch, eyebrows raise. It's quite a sight to behold.

I think this little girl of ours, this little pontificator, is brewing up some mischief in that brain of hers. She's just biding her time until her body catches up.

Heaven help us.