Grit

The Coop in the middle and leading the pack.

I observed something in my oldest this weekend. Something I liked, but can't really describe. But I think it was grit.

He is such a good little breaststroke swimmer. Really. This is not me bragging. He is good at it. He's a natural. His body was made for it. He loves it.

The other strokes are just warm up for what he considers the big race. Because the Indiviual Medley -- or IM -- includes the breaststroke he likes that one too. Saturday, however, he DQd in the IM. After absolutely improving in every way on butterfly, he settled into a questionable pace for backstroke and then -- and this will be all swimmer-y and technical -- he flipped an illegal turn on the back to breast transition. Guh. And he knew it. So the rest of the race was just painful for him.

Out of the water he put on a good face. I actually thought to myself, "Oh I guess Coop IS a 9-year-old who swims for fun. This doesn't bother him at all." Plus, I'd like to point out, he caught up his first relay team to ensure a win, won the breaststroke, placed in the 100-meter freestyle, and swam up with the 11-12-year-olds in the 4x50-meter freestyle relay to win. This one DQ out of five very successful races seemed like peanuts.

Then Sunday rolled around and we went about our business. A family walk cut short by a going-away party at the swimming pool. None of the other kids are swim team kids. So I knew Coop would get in some relaxing play in the water.

When I showed up to take him home, I found him away from the group and in the lap pool. The kid was swimming his turn over and over and over, again. I had to tell him he was wonderful. Get out. Rest.

Some of us have this. This drive to practice so much that we not only do something perfectly, we never do anything but perfect. Some of us don't. Coop has two gifts. He was given great turn-out and a body for breastroke. But he also has the gift of grit. It's the second I admire.

Swim team friends are fun friends!

FBSG: The Field Trips

Every Fall Break adventure should be sprinkled with field trip. That is not to say you should take your children somewhere new every day they are on break. This will exhaust them. It also sets you up for disaster once summer comes. Those little brains of theirs remember that load of activity and will expect it all. Summer. Long. Do yourself a favor and be mediocre during Fall Break.

We had 5 trips a field. This sounds like a lot over 10 days, but two of the trips were actually repeat locations.

Trip No. 1: The Zoo

I had the pleasure of being invited to join some other mothers and their sons to the zoo on the first day of break. This was a herd of 2^nd grade-kindergarten boys and four moms. There were a lot of boys. As is our lot in life, we live 17 miles away from the zoo. Once boys were loaded, we’d driven the 30 minutes, and found a parking spot, and renewed our zoo membership to the tune of $100, the sky – which had been forecast to be 70 degrees and sunny – turned cloudy and black. We even felt a few drops.

While I’d like to say we are usually very prepared for this type of thing, the only coat in the car was mine. So, I marched myself right into the gift shop and bought sweatshirts for everyone. I then got sucked into buying huge stuffed animals. It was like a whole thing. Blah!

Please note how large my kindergartner is (on left end).

The next few hours were enjoyable. The boys were with their friends. I was with mine. And we didn’t loose anyone. Have you ever noticed there is a time limit on such peace? Someone in the group of 8 starts to whine a little bit and complain of hunger, the lead dogs start to stray a little farther from the group, the pensive observers start to linger a little longer at each exhibit and you can tell the end is near. This is when I decided to call it quits. Call me a party pooper but I can tell when I’m about to yell at my kids and I don’t want to do that in front of people, so I left.  Everyone should know when to leave.

Trip No 2: Haunted Party Shop

All of the costumes in our house were decided but we were missing some parts and pieces. Before I plunged into trying to sew something before Halloween we decided to visit a costume shop in Old Towne Littleton.  It was super creepy. Mason’s heart rate soared and he was trembling and he had to be carried in. (Yes, we’re those parents.) Once inside he relaxed and cozied up to the deli case filled with body parts. My husband and I jumped our original costume ship and decided on new ones on the spot. Then we procured a few of the small things we needed for the kids’ costumes. I’m totally looking forward to showing off those pictures next week.

Trip No 3: Lifetime Fitness Swimming Pool

I’m always in favor of killing two birds with one stone. Remember the request to go swimming? When another mom friend of mine asked what our plans for Fall Break were (I think she was trolling for ideas) I confessed that our plans were modest, just the swimming pool. Then she saved my day. She offered up her club’s pool and decided to join us.

Off we traveled to Lifetime Fitness. I signed in which was a total cluster and the kids jumped in the pool. Then a lifeguard approached me and informed me that if I didn’t plan on getting in the pool my kids would have to take a swim test. Part of me laughed inside because I was like, “Yeah, my son wants your job.” The other part of me was like, “Oh, I wonder if my other son will have performance anxiety about this.” But I offered them up he pulled them aside -- to another pool in fact -- and told them to swim a lap without stopping, touching the wall or rope, or needing help of any kind. Cooper jumped in, swam his lap, and started back toward the other pool. Mason started a negotiation. Then he methodically slipped into the pool and started swimming. Without a struggle he swam the full lap, climbed out of the pool then looked up at the guy (goggles still on) and shrugged his shoulders as if to say, “Is that all you got?”

Proud of those two. We may get Mason to do swim team, yet.

I also want to say, this is a brilliant system and I sincerely think more pools should have this rule. 

Trip No 4: A Traffic Jam

One of our field trips was to the city. Yes, I said it. We’ve become that suburban. Wanting to see our friends who had recently moved closer to downtown from the burbs we planned a dinner date at their house – two moms, five boys.

But something, I don’t know what, had traffic all snarly. A drive that literally takes 30 minutes turned into 90 minutes! Let’s review. Trapped in a tin can with two small boys. Dinner time. 90 minutes of snail pace movement.

It was an extraordinary reminder that I don’t like commuting at all.

Trip No 5: The Zoo, II

OK. I know what you’re thinking. Why? Because it is never the same. We met some friends and the weather was much better. We didn’t stay as long, but we saw more. It was great. Well, except for the part when the boy elephant let it all hang out – if you know what I mean. That was so uncomfortable. My boys couldn’t even laugh, they were horrified into silence.  Oh did I mention we were with friends, girl friends?!?!?!?

The most exciting part of the second zoo adventure was our license plate hunt. This is a game we play pretty much non-stop everywhere we go. But for some reason early in the trip we could tell we were going to have a record day. The object of the game is to find as many different states’ plates as possible. I don’t mean vanity plates or one state’s multiple versions. I mean different states. We saw 28! Also, there are a lot of Texans here.

What Happened In Vegas

This is Van #1: Sadie, Me, Devin, Rachel, Marc, Lindsey.

I did something really incredible. Really. Like the kind of thing that buoys you up and makes you feel both loved and worth being loved.

Now I’m talking crazy and putting too romantic a point on a very plain event. I ran a race. Nope. That’s not it.

I boarded a plane, carrying two small bags filled with running clothes, tennis shoes, an iPod, a Garmin, 3 headlamps, and 4 reflective vests.

When I sat down in my excellently spacious exit row seat the joker next to me asked if I was traveling to Vegas for business, or pleasure. I hesitated and said, “I’m going to run a race.”

Here's my youngest brother and I, he's deciding if he can finish with heat stroke. He finished. He's a stud.

I’m going to run a race has been the sentence to sum up everything I’ve done since June. It was a good excuse. No one argues with this excuse. I’ll pass on a glass of wine because; I’m going to run a race. Why yes, I’ll have another slice of pie. I need the calories; I’m going to run a race. I’m waking up before the sun for training; I’m going to run a race. No questions, no badgering, no bullying, no pushing, no stink eye.

And it was nice.

But when I told this nice gentleman with a voice like Penn and Teller (whichever one of them talks) he raised an eyebrow and said, “What kind of race.”

A short description of Ragnar Relay, Las Vegas and I got an earful of how foolish I was. Not just from him, but from the whole row!

And it was nice.

I'm that little reflective T you see on the left of the picture.

There is a courage that comes from doing what others think is senseless, particularly if you’re prepared -- and for once in my life -- I was prepared. So, I was confident – though a little afraid of the dark – and ready to take on this adventure known as the Ragnar.

When I think about why I agreed to train and travel and participate in this particular relay there is really only one answer. My brother asked me. He said it would be fun. He said it would bond our family together. He said I could finish. And I believed him.

Obviously, that's me in the pink diaper shorts. Why do running shorts look like diapers!?!?!

Now that it’s all over and we did indeed finish I’ve been shuffling through the photos and I’ve come to this conclusion. I didn’t go to Vegas to run a race. I went to Vegas to discover who is my family.

And it was nice.

It turns out; family is more than your brothers and sister. It’s not just your parents. It is your running partner who logged countless miles and hours at your side and converted you to early morning runs. It is your husband who stayed behind to watch the kids. It is a neighbor who sent you a text in the middle of the night to wish you luck. It is one of the other 1st grade mothers who wrote you an e-mail just to tell you how amazing you are just days before the race. It is the woman you’ve known since you were 5 who saved you from chaos and provided you a safe and quiet place to land after the race. It’s anyone and everyone who touches your life and knows that those who have felt the greatest need for help give the most relevant help. Oh my gosh, I love my family!

The whole family, but not the whole team. From left to right: Trent, Andrew, Me, Dad, Mom, Adam, Devin.

Aside from learning that I like my family, I determined I want to test myself. Running through the desert in the middle of the night wasn’t as hard as I thought it was going to be. I think a marathon is next, my friends. (Or I could be convinced to do another 200-mile relay with a 6-man team.) So, if you’re wondering…

I’m going to run a race.

A picture just to prove I never take myself TOO seriously.

I Run My Life

I can't remember if it was a phone call or an e-mail from my brother Devin. But at some point last year I agreed to be in a Ragnar Relay with him. And there have been times during my training that I've wondered what I was doing. But I've had a great partner in crime encouraging me and here I am just a week out and I am ready. For real.

Here's what I have learned while running.

Running suits me. I can run for a long time. I can run by myself. I don't mind running every day.

I run my life. If I'm not on a trail running as fast as I can, I'm trying to fit as much into my day as I can. My husband says this is my life running me. That is fine. But it's just how I do things. So if I weren't running 45 miles a week I'd be doing something that rushes me around.

I have a high tolerance for pain. And a low tolerance for nausea.

I don't like running in the dark. Or the rain. Or snow. Loathe snow.

I think about a lot of weird stuff when I'm running. For instance when I'm getting really tired I almost always think about Kenyans who just wake up one day and think, "I'm going to invite my brother and his wife to dinner. I better go ask him." Then the little Kenyan runs 30 miles to the next village and invites said brother to dinner and turns around to run home. Yes, I'm that weird.

I believe in possibility, not reality. I know our team can't win the Ragnar. But I'm going to win. What I will win is yet to be determined, but I'm ready to accept it.

I cannot run faster than my 5-year-old after running 16 miles. He loved winning -- so maybe that means he'll follow in my track shoes.

PS -- If you live in or near Las Vegas and you would like to cheer us on... that would be incredible.

From His Sick Bed

Collecting my thoughts is impossible. Organizing them is far worse. So, I could approach this from a chronological standpoint, or I could relate to you one little moment on one afternoon that will shed some light on some of the shi-izzle that is going down here.

Due to construction, everyone in our house has been reassigned a sleeping space. Little Mason's sleeping space is currently a mattress on the floor of his brother's bedroom. This is not an ideal situation for anyone, however, Mason seems to enjoy having sleepovers with Cooper and he has commented many times that he likes his space (though he did tell me I should turn it into a couch -- not actually have him sleep on a couch but find another mattress to lean against the wall next to the mattress that is on the floor and make a couch out of the bed). I have made every effort to make this nook very comfortable. I have moved in his favorite puppies and penguins. I let him buy new crib sheets from IKEA in what he refers to as "batman blue" for his little mattress. Cooper has donated two extra pillows to Mason's cause, just in case he rolls off the mattress. They stay up late reading stories to each other and singing silly songs. They have been tired every morning when I wake them up for school, but it is like an extended camping trip that they enjoy. Let me also add that while Cooper has a full size bed that he could share with Mason, Mason prefers the floor to sleeping with Cooper. I can appreciate this. Cooper is a furnace that never stops moving. Sleeping next to him is like sharing a sleeping bag with a feverish pot-bellied pig.

AN-Y-WAY... besides becoming Mason's sleeping space it has become his sick bed.
This past week Mason was with Cooper and me at the rec center watching Coop's karate lesson. He was sitting on a bench and I was running on a treadmill. He decided to get up and walk behind the row of exercise machines. He tripped and fell and when he put his hands out to catch himself his right hand hit the moving belt of the treadmill.
Now, I know treadmills are dangerous. I unplug the treadmill at my in-laws house when we are there. I don't let my children play on them. Mason wasn't roughing around, he wasn't trying to touch it. He just tripped and fell. He thought that getting hurt by a treadmill would get him in trouble. So when he got hurt he lied to me and told me he fell on the brick wall next to the treadmill.

Obviously there was like this big rush of first-aid and fretting (Note to gym managers, when a patron tells you they need first aid don't page the 16-year-old lifeguard. Call 9-1-1). Though I could see it was bad, I just kept thinking all he did was fall on bricks. He doesn't need to go to the emergency room. A lot of people saw it and the conclusion from everyone was to just wait until morning and see. Mason's opinion was that it "hurts worser than when my private parts got slammed." By morning it was swollen, encrusted, and oozing -- an appetizing combination -- and I decided to take him to the pediatrician. That is when Mason decided to confess. He had actually fallen on the treadmill and did I want to send him to timeout?

The first doctor appointment was intense. The lack of attention the night before had created some scenarios that disguised the signals of his actual condition. The skin trauma was in fact severe enough that the pediatrician elected to table further testing to determine if Mason's fingers were fractured. This left us all focusing on two little fingers that looked as if they would require skin grafts to restore tissue loss.

We've since learned that the fingers are not broken. Phew! And we are fairly certain that plastic surgery to restore skin thickness is not necessary. Major phew! We're still changing the dressing twice a day and following doctor's orders to the letter because we want to avoid joint contracture. This just means that as the skin heals it gets a little tight and if we're not careful it will make it so that Mason can't open his hand all the way (I think that's what it means. Doctors talk this way to confuse mothers. Even smart mothers.). So far his range of motion is not affected.
All that mess has meant that Mason has spent some quiet time reading books and playing with sticker books because he can't draw as well as he would like. Oh, and he can't go to swimming lessons until the lesions are closed. His current plight is mild. And it would feel mild rather than frenetic if he were sleeping in his own bed, not sharing a bathroom with everyone in the family, and if his mother knew where she temporarily stashed the first aid kit.

Through this small medical mishap I learned that my job as a parent is to recognize the vulnerability that comes when a child realizes he made a mistake. I can't make the consequences of accidents and poor choices so scary that my children make more poor choices rather than trusting me.

And let me tell you, there are certain jobs I could never do. Being a pediatric nurse, physician's assistant, or doctor who has to debris burned skin on a small child or infant is one of them.

Lastly everyone in the family has been witness to the basic truth that sometimes more pain reveals new growth and if we can just endure it, everything will be restored with time. One other thing, brush up on your first aid.

Tight

I planned a peaceful send off for my oldest on his first day of first grade. Followed by an equally peaceful kid-free brunch with other elementary moms, followed by a much needed coffee date with one of my besties, followed by some sewing and shipping of backlogged etsy orders. And then maybe run 7-10 miles depending on the heat. Instead, this...

7:30 a.m.
Coop wakes up and sleepily walks downstairs to my room. I shout, "Oh my gosh, first graaaaaaaade!" He rubbed his eyes and turned around and walked away from me without so much as lifting an eyebrow.

8
I realize that due to yesterday's adventure he has no shoes to wear to school. Attempts to dry in dryer left them hot, stinky, and still wet. Begin frantic search through every closet. Call all neighbors with boys ages 7 to 17 looking for cast off tennis shoes. Find a pair of 11s in little brother's closet, Coop wears a 13 1/2 (but I don't actually know this because I've been making him wear 12s all summer).

8:30
Load car to drive little brother to summer camp -- which begins at 8:40. Cooper is barefoot because we're hoping his shoes will dry by the time we get back and before we leave for the first day of first grade.

8:40
Arrive at summer camp to discover that Mason left his lunch on the step. Grrrrrrr.

8:50
Shoes still wet. I suggest he wear flip flops. He says -- and I'm not kidding -- "Mom we need tennis shoes for P.E. It's for our own safety." Stuff huge feet into little brother's shoes and take proverbial first day of first grade photo in front of house. Coop's feet look like horses hooves. He is hobbling. And I'm really worried about state of affairs. But I grab Mason's lunch and decide to drive Coop to school since I'm not 100 percent sure he can walk with bound feet.


8:58
I guess all parents have decided to drive their children to school because it is an absolute cluster surrounding the school. Cooper starts freaking out because he REALLY appreciates punctuality. Really.

9:02
Coop prances (his feet are clearly killing him) past principal who says, "Don't worry I haven't heard the last bell, yet." Does he not realize this is exactly the kind of thing that will instill panic in Coop's heart. The Coop likes to be first in line. Not last. Not sliding in just before the tardy bell. First.

9:03
Coop says, "Oh great, something is leaking." Sure enough, water bottle has leaked all over his pants and he looks like he's had an accident. Not a great look for your entrance onto the first day of first grade scene. He's now almost hyperventilating.

9:05
Last bell. Sees best friend -- who is crying -- and just about looses it, too. Lets me kiss the top of his head, then looks up with pleading eyes and says, "My feet really hurt." Limps with class into the first day of first grade.

9:15
Meet a clutch of elementary moms under the flagpole -- some are teary -- to craft "ladies of leisure" plan. Every single one of us has some kind of something that must be taken care of before we eat. All disperse like crazy ants to fix dilemmas before planned pig out session.

9:25
Deliver Mason's lunch to summer camp.

9:35
Breathe. Eat brunch and enjoy the company of some really amazing women.

11:30
Bolt to Nordstrom Rack to find shoes for Cooper. That is when I realize I don't know his size. And am now facing the real reason I like to wait until about a month after school starts to buy school shoes -- picked over. Like there are NO shoes. I take that back. There are hundreds of pink, sparkly choices. There are no boys shoes. Actually there is a pair of camouflage crocs in size J1, a pair of navy chuck taylors in 13 1/2, some black running shoes in a 2W, and a pair of plaid vans in a size 1. I buy all of them.

NOON
Arrive at school, check in, and hustle out to the playground to find Coop and begin the hurried and sweaty task of helping him try on shoes. Thankfully the chucks fit (I would have shot myself in the eye if those crocs had fit) and Coop releases an overtly grateful sigh of relief. Then I have to find something to cut the danged cable tie holding the two shoes together. Why doesn't my generation carry pocket knives?!?!?!

12:30
Breathe. Settle in to a nice chat with a dear friend at Starbucks. She gets me. I love her.

2:45
Pick up Mason from summer camp. He acts very happy to see me, so he also clearly gets me. I love him.

3
Return the three pairs of shoes that didn't work. Cashier at Nordstrom Rack does not get me. I do not love him or his distractingly nasty acne.

3:36
Leave Mason with daddy while I try to fit in at least three miles before 4:05 pick up. It's like 90 degrees and 75 percent humidity. I am sweating like a hurricane and arrive at pick up as slick and slimy as a wild beast, but just in time to make a really good end of first day of first grade first impression.

PS -- Maybe I'll tell you how school pictures went. Maybe not. Check back to find out.

Tumbling for Daredevils

Mason still hasn't shaken his interest in Shaun White. In an effort to channel that energy and to try to prevent major injury I signed him up for tumbling.

How this relates to my pondering yesterday, I do not know. But for now he is thrilled to be in a tumbling class with his best little friend -- who is also a boy -- and spend the afternoon balancing, somersaulting, and hanging from rings. Did I mention he's freakishly strong?

Cooper Karateka

A hiatus from photobooth Friday is in order (will return 1/20, I think).

The Coop has taken up a new interest -- Karate-do. I have a sneaking suspicion it had something to do with a very cool, older boy who lives up the street and is occasionally a helper in Cooper's classroom. But it seemed a healthy interest, so I caved. After all, there is a highly respected Shihan at our local recreational center of all places and half the kids on our street are enrolled there.


Already it is wildly popular and an improved success compared to other sports we have tried. So, I am pleased. It seems the old man is pleased, as well. And most importantly Cooper is pleased. There you have it. New pursuits.


But it's got me wondering. What makes a particular sport resonate with an individual? Why are some of us compelled to run, others to swim, and still others to bowl? As I've aged I have learned one thing for sure, some things you are meant to do. While I was never a highly disciplined runner as a youngster, it has stayed with me and I can still run an easy 7 minute mile pace for at least four miles. I'm not bragging, I'm just saying some of us are made to do certain things. The trick is finding out what you're suited to do.

And here's the question that really has me thinking. Is it body types or brains that keeps us in our endeavors? It seems most of the people in this house excel at sports that do not involve others, a.k.a. teams. Golf, running, cycling, swimming, racquetball. On the other hand I failed at soccer as a child, was never a star on ANY court. And I can't really speak for my husband, however, to my knowledge he didn't belong to a single team. But hand him a golf club, an ample ante and he'll win. He just will.

Before I forget, let me jar this line of thinking with another enigma... are these traits inherited or nurtured? I believe the seal on our informal family survey will be when Mason makes his declaration. As the youngest he has served as a great spectator, but is approaching the age where activity is calling to him. Will he pick football (not if I'm paying for the registration) or ...

Stay tuned, time will tell.



PS -- I am considering one of 2 half marathons and I'd like to hear from some of my runner friends. Have you heard of either of these? And which one should I do?

1) Tacoma Narrows Half
www.tacomanarrowshalf.com

OR

2) You Go Girl! Half Marathon & 10K
runyougogirl.com

Good Luck

How long do you think a 4-year-old can hold out while staring down the foil wrapper of a chocolate bar?

Sadly we'll never know because I snatched this sucker up and ate quite a bit of it myself before stashing it in my chocolate hiding place. That's right, I've got one. It's right by... on second thought... where it is, is none of anyone's business.

There is also a hiding place -- known only to my husband -- that conceals the candy that was in my Christmas stocking. He graciously lets me open my stocking, eat a little bit, and then hides the rest for me. He knows I want him to hide it. In fact, I accidentally found the stash the other day and screamed for him to save me and re-hide the stash before I inhaled it.

Then I also have piles of candy in plain sight. This is for my own torture. Mostly it's Crunch bars and Tootsie Rolls left over from Halloween. No one around here wants them. But they mysteriously disappear in a moment of weakness. Here's the thing with my will power. It is absolute. As in, if there is something I want I eat absolutely all of it.

If you have a resolution to eat or drink less of anything this year -- I wish you good luck. I really do.

PS -- I've actually tested the self-devised theory of eating so much chocolate you make yourself sick and then never touch the stuff again. Theory is built around the same concept of people waking up after a night of drinking WAY TOO MUCH and swearing they will never drink alcohol, again. Or those folks who can't see or smell Jägermeister, Goldschläger, or Midori without turning green. It's a great theory. Turns out, try as I might, I cannot seem to meet required consumption threshold to sicken on chocolate.

I Once Believed

Here's an idea, let's review the incomplete list of myths I once believed.

I believed that when my children started school I would have more time.

I believed that with my children in school and not hanging on my leg/arm/back I would make more effective use of my time.

I believed that with a little more time, and being more effective, I would get my house clean, laundry done, and have hot, healthy cuisine to serve my family at least 2 if not 3 nights a week.

I believed that with my children in school I would not feel guilty about spending more time in the gym. See first belief.

I believed that with my children in school I would be able to throw away toys without them noticing.

I believed that I would finish my to-tackle list.

I believed that with the quiet of the house -- noise followed children to school -- that I would have a chance to think intellectual thoughts and not child-provoked nonsense like, "I wonder if that soybean will fit in Mason's nose?"

I believed that while my children were eating lunch away from me I would have an opportunity to eat something other than chicken nuggets for lunch.

Ummmmm, yeah, that about covers it.

PHOTO NOTE: I'm starting the take-a-picture-of-your-child-on-picture-day-before-they-leave-for-school tradition as I failed to follow through on the take-a-picture-of-your-child-on-the-first-day-of-school tradition. This is installment no. 1 of 15 between now and 2025.

Beside Myself

I am absolutely angry. That's right, bent out of shape! I lost my phone. More accurately, I left it behind in a gym class and when I returned to get it less than an hour later it was gone. Gone. Gone. Gone. Like stolen gone. Grrrrrrr...

Despite telling myself that whoever took it needed it far more than I did, I'm livid. If you know me, you know that when I get mad I am fierce. In the midst of researching new phone options I was struck down by what went missing with my palm-sized technology. My lists.

Not just any lists but two of my very favorite, most treasured lists. The lists of books to read (that have not yet made it onto my master list at goodreads.com) and my list of kidisms (that have not yet made it onto the blog). I had transcribed a 20-minute conversation that Cooper had with a pretty girl at the park -- which is so so so funny. And now it is gone.

First things first. If you haven't been able to reach me as of late, that is why. I have NO idea how civilization sustained itself without smartphones. This experiment in being out-of-touch has made me over-the-top disorganized, frenzied with useless running back and forth to use landlines and desktops, and maniacally ignorant of the world around me.

Next, if you need to get ahold of me, tough. The phone I want is backordered for weeks.

Lastly, I have learned, a smartphone isn't all it's chalked up to be. And when I have a new one in hand -- oh you know it is just a matter of time -- I will leave it at home more often. Namely, trips to the pool without phones are blissful. I won't be taking that bad boy to the gym, ever again. I think I burned more calories this week without it. And I absolutely am making dinnertime a phone-free zone.

PS -- If you have a book suggestion for my new and improved book list, leave a comment here.

Go Ahead, Make My Day

I've doled out quite a bit of advice lately. But today, I decided to follow my own.

You see, I've recently made the decision to start going to another gym. I've previously been sweating it out at our local recreation center. But couldn't pass up a 2-year membership offered through Costco to another gym -- one I'm certainly not going to plug here. I'm having a bit of buyer's remorse.

In part because many of my friends are at the recreation center. But mostly because the fake boobs/beefhead/belly button ring/spray tan factor at the new gym. It's a bit of a cougar den over there and I don't really fit in. I haven't met anyone and I feel really alone when I go there. (Doesn't do much to motivate me into working out.)

This new gym has a large playroom for the kids with amenities like a jungle gym, Wii, ball pit, and lots and lots of toys. For the first week the boys loved it. But yesterday when I picked them up Cooper was whimpering and complaining that no one wanted to be his friend. I didn't really sympathize. I advised him to do the following (I think I repeated word for word something my mother used to say to me every time I changed schools):

Just introduce yourself. Say, "Hi my name is Cooper. What's your name? Can we be friends?"

He looked at me, rolled his eyes, then dropped his chin to his chest and scuffed along kicking imaginary cans in front of him.

Today we rushed to the gym. I dropped the kids in the playroom, reminding Cooper that he just needed to introduce himself and everyone would want to be his friend, and scurried down to the classroom where I volunteered to kick my own butt. (Whose idea was it to have resolutions anyway?)

About halfway through class I was feeling pretty silly. I didn't recognize a soul in the room and was feeling pretty lonely, like no one wanted to be my friend. I guess you know what's coming. Well, I introduced myself to three people and one was really nice. It worked! (Though that's a pretty crumby success rate.)

Here's the deal. Be friendly. Smile and smile back when people smile at you. While it's right for children to have a healthy respect for strangers (if not act downright impolite). But it doesn't make a lot of sense for adults. You might make my day.

PHOTO NOTE: I caught Mason in the kitchen with the rice krispies. I'm fairly certain he ate half a pan by himself. I ate the other half -- which is real reason I have to go to the gym.

Be Prepared

You can never be too prepared. That's what I always say. Mind you I say it. It's a great theory, but in fact I'm rarely entirely prepared. I have my shining moments. Snack and drinks for the kids at the gym... and enough for all the friends we meet there. "Neo to Go" in my purse the instant anyone falls and skins a knee. Gifts for any and all friends who may or may not invite us to their birthday parties at any time in the coming four years.

Then I have my not so shining moments. Forget my golf shoes when I go golfing. And of course it never fails that when I don't have a diaper (or wipes) the baby has a total blow out.

But enough about me. Cooper has his own sense of being prepared. He's always gotta have a guy in hand. That is to say, a Superman, Batman, or Ninja Turtle clutched in his sweaty palm if we go anywhere. You just never know when you'll need to be protected/entertained, I guess. And as you can see from this picture, he's a little cautious about soap in the eyes.

If he leaves a room he stops, looks back, then sternly says, "Mommy, make sure Mason doesn't crash my lego spaceship!" Last night he asked me to keep the fan in his room on, "Just in case I fart in the night. I don't want it to get too stinky in here." He's got all the bases covered.

Each day brings something new and makes me realize... I GOTTA BE PREPARED!

See That Speck?

I didn't think he'd do it. When I challenged Cooper to run across a very long field at the park and then back he took off so fast I didn't even get a chance to set my watch. By the time I got my camera out he was headed back. He's so fast. I can't believe it. Am I allowed to say I hope he runs track?

It's That Time

Our days are a rush of hurry-ups and waits. It seems like we're in a never-ending ebb and flow of bustling to get somewhere or just taking our time while the baby naps. But there are a few times during the day that I know are cherished by the boys.


Cooper's Favorite Times of Day:

The Moment His Coach Walks Him Past My Gym Class -- It is amazing to see the look on Cooper's face when he is marched (with the rest of his class) past my gym classes. He always peeks into the window, searches for me, and then radiates and waves frantically as soon as he sees me. Sometimes he even points to me and says, "That's my mom." I know he loves that moment because he often tells me about it later in the day. I just don't know why.

When Mason Naps -- During Mason's naptime Cooper once again rules the roost. As an oldest child myself I can relate to this feeling and I pretty much let him do whatever he chooses. He usually picks things that Mason isn't doing, yet, such as "workbooks" or computer games. His workbooks are literally workbooks that I bought at the teacher supply store. He has one in every subject imagineable. He loves working through them and getting a sticker for completed pages.

Story time -- Each night our boys are read to. When Steve's in town, we each take a boy and read to them. When he's out of town I read to them simultaneously. After stories they go to sleep, so what I should really call story time is negotiation 101. Cooper is a master.

Anytime Dad Comes Home -- I do mean any time that Steve comes home, whether from Costa Rica or a quick trip to Costco, Cooper runs to meet him at the door. Then he hugs him and growls [bear hug].

Stay Tuned. I'll tell you Mason's favorite times of day tomorrow.

PS -- Speaking of bedtime, at the risk of revealing too much, I wanted to share with you something funny that Cooper said last night. I was reading him a bedtime story. He hopped off the bed, ran to the wall, flattened himself against the wall (back to the wall), made a funny face and ran back to the bed. When he hopped back on the bed I instantly smelled what he had done against the wall. I said, "Coooooperrrrr! That stinks. Did you fart?!?!?" Incredulous he said, "It's my room. I can fart in here."

PHOTO NOTE: Another picture of Cooper helping with the bathroom remodel.

New Me Shops for a Workout

For an old lady with two kids I think I can still run pretty fast, jump pretty high/far, go the distance. But I still don't like what I look like in shorts and/or swimsuits. So, the new me is looking for some workout routines.

I started out in boot camp. My local gym doesn't really have a good boot camp. So, I tried the new class that everyone is talking about -- ZUMBA. Now, I've been hearing about Zumba from some of my friends who workout downtown in the fancy gyms. It's been growing in popularity for about a year and I'm just finally getting to it -- ahh, life in the burbs.

If you don't know what Zumba is, go to youtube and do a search. If you know me well, or if you have ever seen me on the dance floor, seeing the routines alone will crack. you. up! But, I went because after all the new me is about trying things I don't want to try.

A few of my thoughts on the class...

1. I got sweaty, so it's a good workout.
2. I have never felt so white in my life.
3. Judging from the ladies in the room, we Midwesterners aren't too comfortable with our sexuality.
4. If you threw in a pole... well, you get the idea.
5. I'll probably keep going 2 times a week.

The secret to the class is to stand somewhere where your own image is not visible in the mirror. Then you can't see your uncoordinated, lacking-all-rhythm self. You just watch the hot instructor who has "permanent" boobs and cut abs (replete with a 1-carat diamond stud in her bellybutton). Pretty soon you think you look like she does. Just don't look at a mirror on the way out.

New Me

My name is Hooli. I don't wake up early. I don't go to the gym. I use excuses like, "My husband travels too much." and, "I have two little boys." as a crutch/excuse to getting out of going new places and meeting new people. But it is a new day, a new me.

At 5:25 a.m. I woke up uttered, "I hope I live to regret this." and trudged to the gym. As hubby is home today I thought I would take advantage and slip out of the house without my kids for an hour at the gym. For some reason I wanted to try Boot Camp class.

I arrived knowing no one and not knowing what to expect. But it doesn't really matter, because the new me tries things. Right? Puh-leez. I don't. I shouldn't have, anyway. The class was so easy. I could have done the workout in 4-inch heel leather boots. Perhaps that's why it's called Boot Camp.

But a little more about the new me. I've decided I'm done with feeling lonely and over-worked when hubby needs to travel. There's no need for it. This past week I did more on my own and with my kids than ever before.

One night the kids and I accepted an invitation to dinner at a neighbors. They have two girls the same ages as my two boys. We fixed dinner and chatted while the kids ran wild in the basement. When we went down to check on the kids we found Coop in a dress!





Perhaps this isn't the start of the new me, but the new him?!!?!?!? One thing I did notice, he picked the nicest get-up in the most masculine colors. (He would only go so far -- no pink, no crown, no princess shoes.). And after a few times down the slide he realized that a skirt can be a cumbersome thing. He ripped it off and would have no more.

It's My Birthday

6-ish a.m.
Wake up and roll over fully expecting to say something like, "Seriously, It's my birthday. Can't we sleep in." Only to find that my oldest son has decided to sneak in bed with us.

7:30 ish
The little one starts crying, ready for someone to come and get him out of his crib. He's happy to have mommy pick him up and take him down to mommy and daddy's bed. The whole family watches cartoons.


8-ish
OK. We all need to stop living in denial. Time to wake up and get to the gym

8:45
Mom is about to blow her top. Get in the freaking car and let's go to the gym, already!

9-10:15
Gym time. Mom tries a new class, Zumba. It's some Latin dancing thing and I've never felt older!


11-ish
Errands and lunch at Costco. Birthday lunch consists of pizza, hot dog, and churros.

12:30 p.m.
Baby sacks out in the car. Rush home to pour him into the crib. Coop play video games. And I try to do nothing. But accidentally clean the house in anticipation for date night. Also plant a Madam Julia Clematis in honor of my birthday. Hope it actually grows.

2
Nap time is over. Now it's time for snacks.

3-ish
Shower while kids run around the house eating KIX and watching Spiderman.

4-ish
Coop cries because he realizes he's not invited to the birthday dinner.


5:30
Babysitter arrives. Yeah. Let's get out of here and have a date. Next stop Melting Pot.

9:30
Home already?!??! I guess we're just conditioned to come home early on school nights.


PS -- Thanks to everyone who sent me an e-mail, a shout-out on their blog, called me, or sent me card/letter for my birthday. I really appreciated all the efforts.

PHOTO NOTES: Random pictures of the boys playing and enjoying my family birthday dinner (yesterday).

16,596

Today I walked 16,596 steps. Is that a lot? Didn't seem like much. I actually had kinda a slow day... read a book on the patio while watching the boys play in the grass.

It hailed today, so I wasn't able to take my usual walk with the boys. While we watched it come down from the porch, Cooper kept saying, "Oh Man! This is Hell!" Of course he was trying to say hail.

Also, shipped the little quilt. It has all the time in the world to get to where it's going, so I just used First Class... and it cost less than $4.

Here's some photos from our Copper Whopper of a Good Time Trip

Brotherly Love

Listening to the boys in the bike trailer is a little like listening to bunnies die in a window well.