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Test2

2010-06-28T11:09:00.001-07:00

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2009-12-19T11:44:00.000-08:00

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test of widget

2009-09-05T16:36:00.001-07:00

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Here's the big one!

Test

2009-08-17T13:20:00.000-07:00

Cookie Magazine and the PTA are sponsoring something called School Year's Eve and it's making me want to throw a party!

Chicken Pox

2009-07-06T14:37:00.001-07:00

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Testing this post out.

I never cry, but I do "well up"

2009-05-20T12:25:00.000-07:00

My eyes welled up with tears of gratefulness this morning on the blacktop of my kid's school. They had an hour long dance festival where each class did something impressive to music. Then the whole of the first, second and third grade sat down and signed "Somewhere Over the Rainbow/What a Wonderful World" to the tune of a ukelele and Israel Kamakawiwo`ole's nostalgic and sad but sweet voice.

The sky was very blue, my child was smiling, and my eyes were wet. What a wonderful world indeed, at this amazing school.

Chapter One: the longest blog post ever

2009-05-18T07:06:00.000-07:00

Before W was born, I worked for years on a novel. I finished draft #23 of it just before he was born and haven't been able to touch it since. After reading a wonderful book, The Help, this week, I just decided I'd put some of my story, based on my great grandmother's life in the deep south, out there. What the hell. Here's chapter one of "A Place Like This". Maybe I'll keep feeding chapters out into the blogosphere...or maybe it will inspire me to pick it back up again. Here goes.

***

The day her daddy shot himself started off like any other.

Hattie Blair Armstrong, five years old and impatient to get older, sighed and danced from one leg to another as she waited for the clean smell of butter and sugar to tickle her nose. It would come, like a pleasant hoped-for sneeze, when her mama finally put the cornbread in the oven. She bounced, trying not to pout, an action she knew all too well that neither of her parents, George or Diddie, would tolerate from her or any of her four brothers and sisters. She was itching to take off the long stockings she’d pulled on in half-sleep at six o’clock that morning. Though it was December, it was hot, and she squinted her eyes into her brow with the knowledge that it was only ten o’clock. The sun was just barely starting its day, and by the end of it, the six hundred acres of Mulberry Grove Plantation would be just like a big old plot of fire.

“Go outside—you can’t sit still,” Diddie said.

Hattie stilled her feet and dropped her hands by her sides, determined to stay where she was, and get dibs on licking the mixing bowl. Her sisters were always trying to cut in on the good things whenever she had been the one to put in long hours of waiting. She wasn’t particularly opposed to sharing, but she didn’t like anyone taking cuts. “Cuts!” she’d yell, even in the five and dime, knowing she’d get a hard look for tattling. Let them look, she always thought. I waited my turn.

“Go on help Mary with the eggs,” Diddie said.

“I wanna stay with you,” Hattie said. She knew she could not keep from bursting much longer, but that Diddie would force her into a chore if she made a ruckus in the kitchen. And so, like the spotted sandpipers she’d seen on the family trip to Tybee beach the week before, she began to run up and down the hallway in the rambling farmhouse, patting her dust-coated toes against the floorboards in baby steps. I can run up and down until the bowl is ready, she thought, even though she knew she would tire before then. Time will go faster and I’ll have a head start to beat out Kat if she runs inside.

In the middle of Hattie’s third trip down the hallway, the oldest Armstrong daughter, Mary, came in from gathering eggs and let the screen door slap behind her. Diddie looked up and Hattie spun around, sprinted back to the center of the kitchen, and slid into the counter with a thud.

“Oopsie,” Hattie said, rubbing her ear. Diddie smiled at her.

"Tater’s out killing a fryer," Mary said.

"Good," Diddie said. The smile disappeared from her face and she looked down to continue work on the cornbread. "We can use it too."

Convinced that Mary had not come inside to steal her prize, Hattie walked to the screen door. She was sure there was nothing more exciting than the beheading of chickens. She knew this was not a proper fascination for a little girl, but she couldn’t help herself. The chickens ran around for a good many seconds after their heads were gone, lopped off like the bad end of a carrot, and she never got tired of watching them spin around in the dust of the coop, their silenced squawks pouring out of their necks in blood. She could still feel the excitement from the last time she got to watch.

“Daddy and Palmer got plenty ducks this morning too,” Mary said, laying out the eggs on a blue checkered dishcloth. “Saw Daddy carry them out to clean in the barn.”

“I saw them too,” Hattie said, though she had not—not that morning.

She had, however, been present many mornings when her daddy and her oldest brother, Palmer, returned from hunting. Many times during the past summer she had waited on the floorboards of the screened-in porch, looked out across the corn rowed land, and watched them walk toward her from out of the distant woods. They dressed in hunting gear the color of the coffee they drank in the mornings, and that summer George and Palmer were nearly as dark as their clothes with sun, so dark Hattie could hardly see the pink hills of mosquito bites that always dotted their necks. Double-barreled shotguns rested on their shoulders, and they carried ill-fated ducks by limp rope-legs, letting them hang upside down, swinging together back and forth as if they were shaking their heads: “no, no, no.” Watching them, Hattie would giggle, excited because George and Palmer always treated her special.

"Reckon we ‘bout cleaned the area," she’d hear her father say. The noise of his boots crunching the dogwood branches and pecan shells along the ground as he walked sounded like brightly wrapped packages being opened. Before she knew it, he’d be standing right in front of her.

“Why Hattie Blair!” he’d say. “You ready for some duck pie?” He’d lift his right arm above his head and show off the bounty while he cradled his gun meticulously, though he’d already taken out the bullets. He was teasing her. The Armstrong family never had duck pie—didn’t waste the duck hiding it in buttermilk and dough when they could fry it up in slivered pieces instead and dip it in buttered grits with their fingers to eat like candy.

“No Daddy,” she’d say. “Let’s fry ‘em.”

“Aw, sugar.” George would hand off his gear to Palmer and pick Hattie up in a bear hug as he swung her around in a circle. “How bout we fix ‘em however you want.”

Because she was the baby of the five Armstrong children, Hattie was treated like a visiting celebrity for the first five and a half years of her life. Diddie put her in the finest dresses she could afford, instead of the hand-me-downs Kat and Mary had worn—part of the effort she made at one last round of the best mothering she would be able to offer. None of Hattie’s siblings could resist vying for her attention. For a time it seemed that she got the best of everything. But Palmer, who was fifteen by the time she was five, and George especially, treated her with even more partiality than everyone else. As is the case in large families, each member of the Armstrong family had someone who was his ally, someone who was always on his side, who always chose to sit by him at meals or the interminable church service—someone who would never let him—or her—down, who would always be there. Kat had Tater and Mary had Diddie and vice versa, and Hattie was lucky enough to have two: her daddy and Palmer.

The two of them never let Hattie feel left out of anything for long. Just when she’d start to feel rejected because she couldn’t stoke the fire with Tater, or play by herself with the baby chicks they ordered from Sears, Roebuck and Co., or help her mama with the cooking, it seemed her daddy would magically appear in the house for some lemonade and sing “Daddy’s little Hattie loves shortnin’ shortnin’, Daddy’s little Hattie loves shortnin’ bread!” Hattie would run to him and if he wasn’t too busy he’d scoop her up, grab a bonnet for her to wear and a parasol for him to carry over her, and take her out to the fifty-acre plot of land he farmed for himself and the family. The plot started just yards from the house, and farming it was simple compared to the challenge he faced in running the entire plantation business, especially then, in 1905, with crop prices falling and a profit getting harder and harder to make.

Diddie looked up and turned her head toward Hattie’s wanderlust gaze out the screen door. "Unh unh, Hattie Blair," she said with a smile. "You don't go out there y'hear?"
Hattie’s face bowed in disappointment and she stomped her foot. She knew she should have run ahead outside before her mama had time to notice.

“Why though?” she whined. “You said go outside.”

“Young lady,” Diddie said. “I know you’re not back-talking me. Now, you aim to lick the bowl or just pout all day long?” She turned away and slid the cornbread into the oven with her old red mitt.

There was the sound of the oven closing, and then Hattie shuddered as if the doctor was checking her knee reflexes with that funny rubber hammer. She heard a gunshot in the distance and looked up into her mama’s face, as she always did when she heard a gun, and saw the reassuring smile and dismissive headshake that told her everything was okay. She knew that all the adults dismissed the sound of gunfire just as quickly as they wondered what animal was being put down or frightened off. The sound of guns was routine at Mulberry Grove, and firing in the air was Hattie’s daddy’s favorite way of scaring the birds away from the crops. Still, she was sure she’d never get completely used to it.

"Yes ma’am!" Hattie said. She turned around like a debutante twirling in a new gown until she saw Kat, who had just appeared in the kitchen and been handed the mixing bowl by Mary. Hattie drew in her chest and said “darnnit!” under her breath—careful not to be heard—as her skirt died a quick death against her shins. After a second’s recovery, she ran to the table and shoved Kat half off her seat. Kat froze and looked at her with her hand poised in mid-air and Hattie took the opportunity to transfer a great glob of the yellow paste into her mouth with her middle and index fingers.

"Tsk. Don't you girls ruin your appetite, hear?" Diddie said. Her eyes traveled from Hattie’s puffed out cheeks to Kat’s precarious seat on the chair. Hattie smiled at her mama and a fine drop of the mixture rolled down the little ridge that ran through the center of her bottom lip. Kat sighed and pushed back against Hattie just a little, so that both sides of her bottom were supported once again. Hattie was pleased to find that even after the readjustment she still had the better position for dipping into the bowl. Because of this, she decided not to push back.

Diddie chuckled. “Well, just more of the same at a higher temperature for lunch,” she said. “Don’t imagine it makes much difference, but you’ll still be expected to drink your milk young ladies.” She leaned over the kitchen counter and touched her youngest daughter on the tip of her nose. She was always telling Hattie how much her nose looked like a cute little button. Hattie couldn’t quite see the resemblance, but hearing this still made her stomach thicken and warm.

Hattie knew it was Palmer the instant she heard the scream. No one had ever heard Palmer scream before. He was the calm one. Even when Tater lost a finger in the combine the winter before, Palmer knew just what to do and did it without a fuss. He saved the finger on ice and Mary said the doctor had praised him for his quick thinking—told him he could’ve sewn it right back on, if they’d just gotten there a few minutes earlier. Partly because it involved Palmer, and partly because it involved blood, it was one of Hattie’s favorite stories. She was sure there was no one more smart or brave than her oldest brother.

Palmer is not supposed to scream, she thought.

Palmer was supposed to carry her around in the unenclosed air, pointing out things he thought she might find interesting—anything he could tell a story about. He showed her things not fifty yards from the very house she had always lived in, but to her these trips with him were as exotic as the traveling medicine men that knocked on their door in the middle of winter.

“That there’s a peanut kernel,” Palmer would say, kneeling down in the churned-over dirt. “We’ll plow just over there next week.” He’d look out a distance away from the patch of kernels. “Maybe Miss Stumbly Bumbly will get to help.” Hattie was always so excited to get places that she tripped over things more often than not, and Palmer had taken to calling her Stumbly Bumbly as a nickname. She was thrilled to have a nickname.

“Will we grow peanut butter?” she often teased him. She knew Diddie made the peanuts into cream in the kitchen, sometimes Hattie even helped if she was allowed, but this question always made Palmer smile and tickle her.

“Silly girl,” he’d say. “Wanna get lost in the corn?”

“Yes! The corn sea!”

To get to the cornfield they had to pass the barn with the stink of manure and horses perspiring in damp hay. Although Hattie didn’t mind the smell, Palmer always stopped just before they got there and asked if she was ready to go through “the stinky tunnel.”

“One, two, three!” he said, and then he pinched her nose up so she couldn’t smell the worst part and ran with her in his arms, his hand on her nose and his other holding up her bottom, and she bounced along laughing and breathing animatedly through her mouth. When they got past the barn he’d let go and they’d fall to the ground, Hattie feeling as if they’d just conquered the world together, and Palmer pretending to be out of breath.

“Whew!” he’d say. “We made it again darlin’.” And then he’d pick her back up and trot her into the long-legged husks of corn where blown open strands of yellow silk tickled her cheeks like cat whiskers, and the world was clear and gold. At those times it was obvious to her: she was special and would always be so.

Hattie’s fingers became stuck in the cornbread residue as if in thick, drying mud. Mary said, “It’s just the chickens, Palmer hates to see them die,” which Hattie knew wasn’t the truth, and Kat, who had a tendency to stop breathing when she was frightened or nervous, echoed Palmer’s scream with her own gasp of air. Hattie looked at Diddie with wide eyes, feeling herself sinking into a place soft and dark, like a prick of blood.

The four of them were still for a few minutes. Hattie listened for any other sign of what might be happening, and at the same time, tried not to hear the shouts pinging back and forth across the yard out front. Someone called for help. Someone else ordered others to stay away. And then Diddie slowly removed her oven mitt and ran toward the door.

Just as she got to the door, Stephen arrived. When Diddie saw his face she reached behind herself like a blind woman, found only air, and then staggered back into a chair at the kitchen table. Hattie swallowed hard, and looked at Stephen. It was strange to see him at the front door, stranger, in fact, than Palmer’s scream. They had not called for Stephen, and Negro field hands—even he, who was her daddy’s most trusted tenant farmer—did not come to their front door.

Tater appeared behind Stephen on the porch and silently ushered him into the house.
“Palm—” Diddie started.

"Okay Miss Diddie,” Stephen said. “Palmer’s just fine. Just fine.” He took off his floppy khaki hat and folded it between his hands as he stood looking at Diddie, shifting in his shoes. Suddenly, he looked over at Tater and said, “Tater, go on tell Miss Hattie and Miss Kat a story now."

Oh, Hattie thought, Daddy will not like this one bit. Field hands in the house talking to Diddie and ordering us around? Oh.

Mary eased herself down into a chair next to Diddie.

Tater, who was only nine, led Hattie and Kat out of the room and on toward the back bedroom, squeezing both their hands in his left one. As she thought about the way he was hurting her fingers, Hattie noticed his right hand was trembling, but he was smiling. Or he was crying. She couldn't be sure at the time. He spoke loudly to them as they walked, as if they were out on the river in the middle of a windstorm, needing directions to get back to shore.

“Let’s go,” he said. “Story time. Time for a nap. Let’s go.” His voice was flat, as if he couldn’t hear what his own mouth was saying.

When he finally had gotten her back to the bedroom, Hattie dropped his hand and ran as fast as she could back into the kitchen, toward Stephen and Mary and Diddie. The wooden floorboards croaked like frogs as she hit them. Tater came after her, Kat following at his heels, but he couldn’t catch her in time and she got to the edge of the kitchen and reached her mama’s side just in time to hear Stephen say:
“I’m sorry, Miss Diddie. It’s Mister George. There been a shotgun accident out in the barn.” Stephen stepped back a bit from Diddie and looked down. He bowed his head low, as if he were about to pray. Diddie waited, silent. “I do believe he’s dead,” Stephen whispered.

Hattie couldn't help making a sound as if she’d just stubbed her toe. It was a single peep, and then she stood, her long blonde hair feeling one hundred pounds heavy—pulling all her weight downward to bury her feet into the wood floor like sand dollars in the surf. Faces turned toward her, but no one spoke. There was a sound like choking coming from Mary, and then, next thing Hattie could tell, Palmer was walking into the kitchen. His face looked bad, as if he’d been kept away from the sun for months. His fifteen-year-old arm muscles were little bulging apples popping out of his undershirt. His work shirt was gone. Hattie thought he looked a lot like her daddy and then she was struck again with what she’d heard Stephen tell her mama. She knew what dead was. She was unsure how long it lasted.

She looked around the kitchen, above the motionless heads all staring in a single direction. The kitchen looked smaller than it ever had before, crowded up with her brothers and sisters, mama, and Stephen. The gas oven range was on low; Diddie had been preparing her daddy’s favorite shrimp dish. The room began, as she watched it recede from herself, to smell more like burnt toast than heated butter, and through the little trail of smoke dancing out of the oven, she noticed for the first time that the orange burlap curtains over the window facing the barn were drooping. She took a few steps back and stood in the hallway. She closed her eyes and opened them back up and still everyone was there, looking stunned—not even crying—just sitting, most of them, at the dining table as if they were waiting for a meal to be served or a meeting to begin.

Then Diddie stood, walked a few steps to the middle of the kitchen, and sat down on the floor, hard and lifeless as a statue. She was breathing hard and her eyes looked wild. Hattie was scared. Her daddy had just read her a story an hour earlier and she felt she could still hear his voice. How can he be dead? she thought. Did I do something bad to make him die? When will he be back? She pinched herself to stop the questions.

Mary jerked away, ran from them, and shut herself up in her bedroom. The slam of her door and the wailing that followed behind it sent Kat into tears and she buried her face in Tater’s chest. Tater stood with his arms around her, looking out toward the barn. No one moved toward Hattie. No one looked at her. Palmer was bent over Diddie with his hand on her back, mumbling, “It’s okay Mama,” in a voice Hattie did not recognize as his. She listened to him for a while, hearing his words but forgetting their meaning, and when he started to cry too—when his knees buckled and he fell down on the kitchen floor—she looked up at the sagging curtains, confused and calm. The curtains swayed in the slight breeze coming in off the land. Maybe Daddy’ll get us new ones for Christmas, she thought. Maybe this time they’ll be red.

I have to do what on my birthday?!?

2009-05-04T15:06:00.000-07:00

We had a good old fashioned go to church for a baptism, play a soccer game, then have ten of your friends over for a baseball party birthday day yesterday. Exhausting, yes. But fun. And I was very proud of my Jewish son who does not really practice any religion (we are a bit anti religion at this point), for sitting through (and secretly enjoying) his little cousin's baptism...in church...on his birthday.

I knew he wouldn't like the idea of sitting quietly in a confusing ceremony all morning, but after a bunch of complaining, he did it and he did it in nice clothes and with a smile on his face. He loves his cousins, and also, I think he was dreaming of the rest of his day, which consisted of sports and cake. It was good for him to "share" his birthday and be willing to celebrate someone else for part of the day. Kids these days are so self-centered. I'm hoping mine aren't as selfish as they sometimes have a tendency to act, and yesterday was definitely hopeful!

The Heat is ON and the training wheels are OFF

2009-04-19T22:09:00.000-07:00

Today was the first HOT day of the year and I'm in heaven! Today we did the following:

*Chuck's donuts run at 6:30 AM
*Adult soccer game at 9 AM
*4,000th Easter Egg hunt (with family who was out of town last week) at my bro's house at noon
*Dads fall asleep for undefined time on couch inside
*SPRINKLERS! until 4 PM with cousins
*Quick trip to dear friend's for B to learn how to ride a two wheeler at 5 PM (look at Rebecca there, running in the heat, in JEANS, next to my son to make sure he doesn't fall and I get to take a damn picture. This same woman also wiped my dude's bottom at LEGOland just to give me a few more minutes to sit down on a bench. THIS is a friend indeed.)
*Home for dinner at 6 PM
*Apple Fritter I've been saving since 6:30 AM at 6:30 PM (I ONLY eat donuts at night. It's a fetish).

Fat and happy and off to bed.

Twittering your child's death

2009-04-16T05:47:00.000-07:00

Tragically, I know (not personally but through cyberspace and blogging) two moms in the past two weeks who have lost young children to illness. It has been an awfully gloom-filled time. I cannot imagine the pain of losing a child (and have asked my husband to rush me to a lock-down facility should that ever happen to us). What has made the two recent tragedies so real for so many of us online is watching the sharp turn in these two moms' Twitter updates and blog posts. One mom's stream of Tweets went within hours from casually looking for something good enough to eat at the hospital cafeteria to a panic-stricken observation of her daughter being wheeled away. She was dead a short while later. The other talked one day of kids clothing mishaps and random parenting frustrations, and then a few days later was cursing missing the medical examiner's call on cause of death for her son.

I have nothing to pass judgement on here except to commend these moms for how well they are holding up. Both are updating online friends on how to help (March of Dimes contributions, prayers, just good thoughts) and letting everyone who loves them see that they are hanging in there. I think Twitter and blogging has given these moms an incredible outlet.

But watching the mourning process this way - of someone I do not know personally but whom I have spent time reading - is chilling. It is just simply a brand new phenomenon that I never could have imagined even two years ago, and I'm not real sure what more to say about it other than that I'm glad these moms have this outlet, and boy has it been a dose of putting daily complaints in perspective for me and thousands of other readers. That alone could be worth the technological chill I have been living with these past two weeks.

LEGOland with pain

2009-04-12T11:38:00.000-07:00

Took the kids to LEGOland for the past two days, with some of their best buddies and cousins. I was really looking forward to it, until my throat started burning and I lost my voice. We left "Dad" at home to work, and I don't think I need to explain how difficult it is to keep track of two boys under 7 in an amusement park while unable to yell. We made it though, and last night when we fell into bed both boys individually told me I was the best mommy on earth for taking them on the trip. "I love you so, so much," they both said. Yes, I cried with joy.

Wizardry and Heaven

2009-04-01T11:14:00.000-07:00

So at Kepler's the other day, W picked out the NBA Coaches Playbook (yes, intricate plays real NBA coaches can study) and studied it for 30 minutes, begging me to buy it for him. I was about to buy it, with him paying half with his own money, when I reminded him that he did not have five player pawns constantly at the ready for him to run plays with. "You'll play with me," he said.

"Maybe. But I'm one. Even our whole family including you makes four. How often do you think you'll get five together to run plays?"

"Good point," he said. He's logical.

"Sure you want to spend your money on that?" I asked.

"No. I'm looking around." So he looked. And lo and behold, The Book of Wizardry popped into his peripheral vision. "Think I'll like this?" he asked. "Wizard stuff."

"I don't know," I said, hoping he would - this book is novel length and could keep him busy for QUITE a while if I wasn't mistaken. "Sit down and read the first chapter to decide."

He did. "I like it. I want to be a Wizard," he said. We bought it, together.

He began reading it aloud to me and within the next 24 hours he had chosen his Secret Wizard Name which is never to be told to ANYONE (but which his dad and I believe to be "Kobe Bryant" as you must look deep inside your soul, find what your very essence is, and then create a name around it), created his magical Wizard cup by washing a basic Ikea glass in moonbeams and cold water, and started his Wizard journal.

The activity surrounding Wizardry seems to be going well, and W seems to be very much enjoying the main theme of the book, which is "You have control over your own thoughts, and with this control, you can make things OUTSIDE of your head, happen." He could use some practice with that as he has quite a temper.

Thus far our goldfish hasn't been turned into a white owl or anything and nothing freaky is happening, but W has performed some sort of seance with my grandmother, channeled through my mother (whom he calls Gran'mama).

When instructed to close his eyes and concentrate on seeing what was inside his head he leaned back on the couch and smiled slightly.

"What did you see?" I asked him.
"The waves at Hilton Head," he said, with his smile that shows he knows he is saying something dear. "Gran'mama showed me how relaxing that is."

Ah. My grandmother, Gran'mama's mother, now passed, always wished for her home in South Carolina to remain a precious place for her grandchildren and great grandchildren. It's times like sitting with W on the couch discussing Wizardry and waves at Hilton Head that I believe there is a Heaven and my Grandma is hovering right above me watching.

How could she not have been a part of that moment?

I told Gran'mama about this moment. After wiping her eye and emoting on his exceptional qualities as a person she muttered, "but are you sure it's safe to let that child loose with Wizardry?"

No. I am not.

Thumbs Down

2009-03-31T09:43:00.000-07:00

So at the dinner table we like to play a thumbs up, thumbs down, and thumbs horizontal (to signify "eh - I sorta like it") game. My kids and I come up with items at random and we give a yay, nay or eh on each. Last night W decided to add sound effects to the game. I'm not sure if this will come off "on screen" the way it did in person, but either way, I think the hilarity of it (and degree to which it made me inordinately proud of the values I'm teaching) should be obvious and need no post-explanation.

The game last night transpired like this:

Me: "Milk"
Boys: Thumbs raised plus sound effect: "Ding ding!"

Me: "Soccer"
Boys: Thumbs raised. "Ding ding!"

B: "Eyeballs"
Me and W: Thumbs raised. "Yah, we' like those...ding ding!"

Me: "Apple Fritters!"
Boys: Thumbs popping. "Ding a lingalingaling!"

W: "Slavery"
Me and Ben: stunned stares while getting our thumbs in down position.
W: Thumbs down plus sound effect: "Noooooooooooooooooo."

Boiled Peanuts

2009-03-25T19:53:00.000-07:00

I asked my Southern mom a simple question today: "Where can I buy green peanuts for boiling?" I've got some Southern cooking coming up, and I *HEART* boiled peanuts. My question kicked off a frenzy of emailing between my mom and my Georgia farm-raised distant cousins. Within an hour I had an in-depth explaination for boiled peanuts from across the country, from IN the country. I feel compelled to share the information here in case a large percentage of you are also going through boiled peanut withdrawals (don't knock it till you try it).

Usually peanuts are harvested when they reach maximum
weight, then they are dried, because the dried peanuts can
be stored for about a year without refrigeration. The
peanuts for boiling are harvested a few weeks before
maximum maturity, when they are softer and more flavorful
and they are not dried. They must be kept cool or
refrigerated, and only last a few days.

I get mine at a local farmers market in August/September.
The grocery chains also carry them, and over the years they
have expanded the months that they are available. The
stores like to stock them when they can be moved quickly, a
safe bet during the summer, when there are a lot of
cookouts. I don't know if they have them this early in the
year -- I'll take a look when I go to town.

You can freeze boiled peanuts and then thaw them out by
soaking them in bot water a few minutes. They are good
served chilled or warm. They are just as good from frozen
as fresh boiled. After they have been frozen, they will
taste a little saltier, not a lot, but just enough to
notice.

For a five gallon pot full (almost to the rim) of peanuts, I
use 18 ounces of salt. Just prorate the salt for
larger/smaller quantities. It takes about 3 to 4 hours of
boiling. About an hour before they are done, you will
notice a certain good smell. This is when the taste-testing
begins, too early, along with the drama about "oh they need
more salt". If they are almost done, expect them to
taste way short on salt. The peanuts uptake the salt in the
final minutes before they get done.

Y'all come back now, y'hear?

The Case for and against TV

2009-03-24T21:23:00.000-07:00

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I am not a fan of TV. I don’t watch it, and I don’t like my kids watching it much (especially not at another kid’s house, but more on that some other time). But despite my disdain for TV, I’m certainly of the opinion that it isn’t evil. To me, it’s just plain common sense that it’s an undeniable waste of time for any human being to sit in front of a screen and watch someone else living their life (with a few exceptions, one of which is NOT Spongebob). Duh.

But on the other hand, what’s childhood without a little wasted time? I don’t feel I want to waste my own time, but the kids can sure afford - hell, they're entitled - to. Plus, their wasted time watching TV is my productive time to work. Sometimes, all I can manage as a busy mom is getting them 30 minutes of dumbed-down entertainment and getting myself 30 minutes of productivity. For me, TV is purely a tool. I like watching it about as much as I liked changing diapers, but both TV and diapers sure as heck have gotten me through a bunch of otherwise stinky situations. (And ain’t NO study – no matter what the educational or environmental rewards, is going to convince me I should have used cloth diapers or not ordered cable).

So there.

Darn cute kid

2009-03-23T08:01:00.001-07:00

Nuff said.

Green stuff

2009-03-17T12:58:00.000-07:00

First up, green milk. Now off to turn the toilet water green.

Is blue still your favorite color?

2009-03-16T07:31:00.000-07:00

I love a website that remembers my favorite color, and asks me if my last answer is still true. I love it because it's fun and makes me feel like I'm in first grade every time I visit, and I love it because my favorite color does in fact, change daily. Every time I visit this site and look at the gorgeous works of art my fav hue morphs a bit. The Red Dress painting changes my pick from blue to red every time. And that homepage palette painting: I want it. The placement of the navigation buttons is genius. I don't even care if they go anywhere...but they do and I would suggest clicking on every last one.

It doesn't hurt that I've been watching this amazing artist paint since she was 15 years old, but I'm astounded at what she's become. And just in time for all the mommies out there...she's now got children's portraits that are better than any of the unrealistic, stodgy portraits I've seen hanging around. Imagine one of these in a fun modern gold gilded frame. How can you not smile at it?

I don't usually "review" websites or products but I just had to throw Shana up on here. I'm overwhelmed by her her talent!

Kill the Dust Mites NOW

2009-03-12T13:45:00.000-07:00

Yesterday the allergist told us that W is allergic to dust mites. Well - she said - not the mites, but their poop. And they poop 20 times a day. And there are something like a trillion of them in one square foot of carpet. We have carpet. So that's like 20 trillion pieces of shit per square foot of carpet in my son's room, that he is allergic to. Oh and you can inhale the stuff too, from your mattress, pillow or comforter. OH, and also, I HATE TO CLEAN.

"You have to go home and do dust mite education," the allergist told me, "because your son is not able to breathe through his nose and mouth breathers have underdeveloped jaws and you will spend thousands and thousands of dollars on jaw reconstruction and your son will look like a big-headed small-jawed freak unless you kill all the dust mites NOW."

My poor kid was in the room. "Is that bad?" he squeaked.

"No no honey," I whispered, "the doctor is just trying to scare Mommy into cleaning. It's a tough love technique Daddy suggested to her."

"Huh?"

"Nothing. Shhhh."

Okay, so now I've got to spend approximately all Spring obsessing and cleaning and spending my grocery money on $350 of dust mite avoidance encasings. (And if you ask me, his ballooned-up red skinned reaction to the test wasn't even that bad). Things could be a whole hell of a lot worse. But they could also be better. As I mentioned, I HATE to clean.

Shooting ourselves in the foot with fun

2009-03-10T19:51:00.000-07:00

I am tough, dammit. I am not afraid to yell at my kids. I do not shy away from time outs or even, during the twos years, physical restraint when my spirited guy tried to kick his way out of time outs. I don't put up with put downs or back talk and I *hate* video games. I eat dinner with my kids every night even though that means I eat at 5PM (secretly you all know I love that). I talk to them. I play with them heartily. And I am also hanging on desperately to the fact that I am still the apple of their eyes. I admit it, I want to be their Best Friend.

Along comes this story, (MUST READ) which pretty much tells us what we already know: We are raising a bunch of spoiled fracking babies that do not respect us. We are being pussies.

The author says, "The biggest mistake we can make as parents is to want to be our children’s friends. Yes, they may like us more, their classmates may think we’re cool, (Really? Gosh, isn’t that lovely!) but the truth is that they also see us as weak. And weakness in those who ought to be powerful will always invite contempt."

Unfortunately, I agree with this statement 100%. I remember the very parents that, even as a kid, I had only contempt for because of what they inappropriately allowed their children to do. I was pissed off at my own parents, and I thought I even hated them, but there was never a minute of any day that I did not respect (and actually love) them. Fun certainly does not equal love or happiness, but we forget that, or we can't see it as well anymore. If I could have any wish at all in this world it would be that I act as a parent with equal talent as my parents did with me. And yet, parenting has changed so very much, and I am a different person than my mother.

I can only hope that my level of "friendship" is an appropriate one; that although I judge slam dunk contests instead of cleaning house (or making them help clean the house), the fact that I do not allow mean-spirited talk or behavior will save me from raising monsters. My kids are only 4 and 6, but it is probably never too early to teach a healthy fear. I cringe when I see friends let their 3 year olds backtalk them. Ooooh, the sass I have seen!

But I am so, so guilty of not instilling a healthy fear. My son is a master debater and I will literally eat my shorts if he does not end up as a litigator someday. The dude can weasel another five minutes before bedtime before I even realize what he's doing, and he can play me like a harp to get extra snuggle time even when I desperately need to get downstairs to get some work done. I know it's sweet that I love to hang with my boys, and really I do think they are turning out okay. But even I can palpably feel the difference between the way I grew up (healthy fear, huge respect, no space for argument) and the way I'm raising my kids (best friendship, lots of fun, lots of room for negotiation and self-expression). We like to see these as positive attributes, but really, are they?

It's a question I ask myself every day. I'm tough enough, in my humble opinion, that I've begun to raise some nice boys. But, am I doing my kids a disservice by not being more of a hard ass? I'm deathly afraid I won't have the courage to say NO to all the things my parents did: hanging out at the pizza parlor in Jr. High; sleepovers without calling to make sure a parent was home; drinking (I laughed at those joker parents that allowed drinking in their homes even as I was taking advantage of them - WTF?); staying out late when "everyone else" was doing it; and on and on. And those are the easier topics. How, I wonder, will I prepare my children for things I do not condone but know they will try (sex, drugs)? My answer has always been that I will denounce them and make them understand that and to scare and shame them into being so careful when they do finally try these things, that they will not injure themselves or anyone else.

Will that be enough? Do I need to start now or wait until they're seven to scare the living daylights out of them? It haunts me. But I gotta go cuddle.

Birthday Party Season

2009-03-10T07:18:00.000-07:00

It's birthday party season. Four a weekend. No joke. It's insane and yet fun and also confusing. I'm not sure who would rather we say no and who is offended that we say no (because we do need to say no to at least 50% of them to remain physically in tact and still be able to squeeze in a few hours of sleep per night). My kid is already asking about his party in May - a party I hope never happens. Oh, sure we'll have a few kids over but I'm really hoping to escape the chaos of a whole class invited to my house or a nearby funporium such as Pump It Up or Chuck E. Cheese. I'm really hoping to avoid the 40 gifts of plastic, hours of dumping wrapping paper and paper plates, and multiple small bags of shit I hand out as "favors" to the departing smallfolk.

Right on time, I found this awesome website, ECHOage. What a lovely, clean idea. I think I will steal it, come May. I'm also thinking about starting a Facebook Fan Page titled: "I hate favor bags".

Grandma Can TALK

2009-03-03T21:01:00.000-08:00

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By far the best part about the level (super high) of my mom's involvement with my kids, is that I no longer have to listen to the stories of her childhood. They do.

I mean that in the nicest way.

It's not that I don't love the stories - she grew up in Savannah Georgia and tales of sticky sweet islands mixed with rural hog farming and the zany city life in Savannah, all wrapped in the reality of an only girlchild born to Southern Baptists is not uninteresting. In fact, I wrote a whole book about it. But seriously. It's someone else's turn to listen. Like all good southerners, my Mama can talk...and she wants listeners! And lo and behold, my kids love to oblige.

It helps that we go to the Deep South every summer and experience most of the things she tells us about. The kids can't get enough of the oppressive heat, salty warm ocean and barbeque (and frankly, neither can I). Like a few people in the show say, there is nothing that can replace the direct telling of her experiences to my children, no matter how much sugar she gives them during visits.

I am grateful for her stories, for the history and knowledge of a whole other world I would never otherwise know, and I am grateful that passing it along to my kids is a duty I can delegate joyfully to her.

EmptyHeads

2009-03-02T19:25:00.000-08:00

I have an incurable desire to call these dingalings "bobbleheads" as my son and I are staging them for offense and defense atop our fuzzballing Ikea rug, but I know that is the incorrect term. Not sure what the correct term for 50cent mini plastic football helmets from a vending machine is so I'm going with "emptyheads". We've been picking teams and facing off quite a lot in the last few days here at the home front (rain, yes), and I have to say that while there are no heads in the emptyheads (which is why I am able to pick T.O. as my representative from the Cowboys - he's without a mouth here you see)...

...oddly, I'm finding that they inspire a downright quaint explosion of brainwave activity in my son. He's charting the teams, planning out the formations, announcing the players, whispering to them in the huddle, and manually playing out what he's staged. So far he's logged two video booth reviews of my touchdowns (using boardgame box as video review terminal), called off sides on my immobile helmet heads, and determined the best way to kick off with a small orange eraser football which I am constantly tricked into thinking is an old baby carrot left on the floor.

Ask me? MUCH better than video games. My son and I are getting super into it. I do admit to loosing a bit of control for a moment when I blurted out "Get your ass in gear Romo!" There are downsides.

Preparing for adolescence

2009-02-28T18:59:00.001-08:00

My 6YO son is prepubescent, er something. No really. He's argumentative, obsessed with debating whether he should be able to eat one more snack or watch one more minute of TV, and determined to drive me fucking mad.

Thank G-d for basketball and bedtime, and thank G-d I play sports. The only times we are not arguing like junior high school bitches is when we're playing basketball in the garage, or, more age-appropriately, snuggling at bedtime. During our daily basketball playoffs we don't talk except to yelp "Hooooyah!" or "Get outta my house!" over the hip hop music we play on the boom box (clean versions). We don't hug or kiss - we chest bump and give each other high fives.

During tuck-in time we do hug (still no kissing, dammit, that's long gone) and talk: about how we hope to stop arguing the next day; about how frightened he is that he'll be kidnapped or die in his sleep; and about how much we love each other.

I will be devastated when he no longer wants to cuddle at bedtime. But at least I know I will always be able to connect with him on the court.

My Husband's Goals for the Week

2009-02-25T13:17:00.000-08:00

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I've said it before and I'll say it again: the Daddy in our family does it right. In fact, I'm quite positive he needs to "hold his tongue" with me much more often than I do with him. On that note, I have been reading this blog, Goals for the Week, and loving it. Okay so my best friend writes it, but I'm not biased. It's totally unpretentious (hard to find in a blog, let's be honest) and sweet, and I take pleasure in comparing my best friend's goals for the week for herself with what I think must be my husband's goals for the week for me. Here goes:

Athlete: Skip one or more early morning swims this week so your husband can sleep the F in for once.

Personal Growth: Just consider the fact that doing errands are not a form of torture, and run some.

Friend: Offer sex to husband more often.
Health: Try not to take the kids to Starbucks for coffee cake because you can't live without caffeine.

Home: Move pile of clothes on floor to one side or the other of the room (he knows it's unrealistic to ask me to actually put them away, but he should - I'll admit - be able to walk to the bathroom).

Hmph.

Oscar Party

2009-02-23T12:25:00.000-08:00

As always, a great time with the gals.

Dad? Check out my penis.

2009-02-18T08:31:00.000-08:00

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Okay, here we go. We are now officially into the age range where our boys are extremely curious about body parts. And not just our boys, but all of our friends' boys. When all said boys get together, sometimes it becomes a penis party. What in the potty-talk Hell does this have to do with "Daddy not doing it right"? Well. This just happens to be the topic I see many of my friends dealing with right now, and it's a charged one. Sexual curiosity is of course, 100% normal and natural, but discussing anything related to children and sex makes all of us parents cringe and want to kick the cat across the room. The issue comes up and suddenly we all want to throw up. All I'm saying is, if you've got a partner that doesn't agree with you about how to handle sexual curiosity, you're gonna have issues (mostly because, on top of talking to your kid about it, you'll have to argue with your spouse about it, which only makes you have to rub your face in a topic you despise for a more extended period of time). As if you didn't already have enough as a parent and spouse, right?

There's a mine field to be navigated with relation to this topic, and I'm not sure I know how to do it. I do know that if both parents aren't on the same page regarding how to talk with a kid about what's appropriate and what isn't, and regarding what to do (punishment? redirection? simple stating of the obvious? heavy heart-to-heart talks? laughter?) when socially inappropriate behavior occurs, then there can be some serious mixed messages delivered to a kid about sexuality and guilt and shame. Which would be a shame.

I don't have the answers. But I found some good posts on the subject. I think people with testosterone-laden 6 yr old boys should read these together and laugh and vent and discuss to pre-empt overreaction to some inevitable flashing or "playing doctor" incident with the neighborhood girl.

Maybe, with this topic, as with many, prevention is the best medicine against disagreeing, as parents, over an emotionally charged topic, exactly when your child needs you to be most cohesive.

New York Times

2007-11-14T10:09:00.000-08:00

:) Here we are!

USA TODAY

2007-10-31T11:50:00.000-07:00

Well, my dear friend Bella is on the cover of the USA TODAY, Adiri got some good play, and I'm quoted in the story.

Adiri can "barely keep up with demand" and ran out of its smallest bottles just after their launch in August, says Sarah Eisner, vice president of sales and marketing. "We don't want to say all other bottles are evil. You have this brand-new life, so why not start out with materials you know aren't harmful?"

The only thing scary about this Halloween story are the chemicals we're discussing. It's good to be on the "right" side of this expose!

The Best Halloween Costume

2007-10-30T20:08:00.001-07:00

How can it get better, as a mommy, than your son wanting to be you for Halloween?

Yesterday we found my old soccer jersey, with my first initial and maiden name (also B's middle name) on it, from when I was a kid. B was all set to be a 49er for his Halloween parade this morning, but when we found it he insisted he no longer wanted to be a 49er. He wanted to be "Soccer player Mommy". And I wanted to freeze time. Right here.

You GO, John

2007-10-29T16:39:00.000-07:00

Remarks by Senator John Edwards
St. Anselm's College, Manchester, New Hamphshire
October 29, 2007

Many of you know that I am the son of a mill worker -- that I rose from modest means and have been blessed in so many ways in life. Elizabeth and I have so much to be grateful for.

And all of you know about some of the challenges we have faced in my family. But there came a time, a few months ago, when Elizabeth and I had to decide, in the quiet of a hospital room, after many hours of tests and getting pretty bad news -- what we were going to do with our lives.

And we made our decision. That we were not going to go quietly into the night -- that we were going to stand and fight for what we believe in.

As Elizabeth and I have campaigned across America, I've come to a better understanding of what that decision really meant -- and why we made it.

Earlier this year, I spoke at Riverside Church in New York, where, forty years ago, Martin Luther King gave a historic speech. I talked about that speech then, and I want to talk about it today. Dr. King was tormented by the way he had kept silent for two years about the Vietnam War.

He was told that if he spoke out he would hurt the civil rights movement and all that he had worked for -- but he could not take it any more -- instead of decrying the silence of others -- he spoke the truth about himself.

"Over the past two years" he said, "I have moved to break the betrayal of my own silence and speak from the burning of my own heart."

I am not holier than thou. I am not perfect by any means. But there are events in life that you learn from, and which remind you what this is really all about. Maybe I have been freed from the system and the fear that holds back politicians because I have learned there are much more important things in life than winning elections at the cost of selling your soul.

Especially right now, when our country requires so much more of us, and needs to hear the truth from its leaders.

And, although I have spent my entire life taking on the big powerful interests and winning -- which is why I have never taken a dime from Washington lobbyists or political action committees -- I too have been guilty of my own silence -- but no more.

It's time to tell the truth. And the truth is the system in Washington is corrupt. It is rigged by the powerful special interests to benefit they very few at the expense of the many. And as a result, the American people have lost faith in our broken system in Washington, and believe it no longer works for ordinary Americans. They're right.

As I look across the political landscape of both parties today -- what I see are politicians too afraid to tell the truth -- good people caught in a bad system that overwhelms their good intentions and requires them to chase millions of dollars in campaign contributions in order to perpetuate their careers and continue their climb to higher office.

This presidential campaign is a perfect example of how our politics is awash with money. I have raised more money up to this point than any Democratic candidate raised last time in the presidential campaign -- $30 million. And, I did it without taking a dime from any Washington lobbyist or any special interest PAC.

I saw the chase for campaign money at any cost by the frontrunner in this race -- and I did not join it -- because the cost to our nation and our children is not worth the hollow victory of any candidate. Being called president while powerful interests really run things is not the same as being free to lead this nation as president of a government of the people, by the people, and for the people. If protecting the current established structure in Washington is in your interest, then I am not your candidate. I ran for president four years ago -- yes, in part out of personal ambition -- but also with a deep desire to stand for working people like my father and mother -- who no matter how hard things were for our family, always worked even harder to make things better for us.

But the more Elizabeth and I campaigned this year, the more we talked to the American people, the more we met people just like my father, and hard working people like James Lowe. James is a decent and honest man who had to live for 50 years with no voice in the richest country in the world because he didn't have health care. The more people like him that I met, the more I realized something much bigger was stirring in the American people. And it has stirred in each of us for far too long.

Last month Ken Burns -- who made the great Civil War documentary -- launched his newest epic on World War II on PBS -- and what a story it tells.

At the cost of great suffering, blood and enormous sacrifice, within four years after Pearl Harbor it is incredible what this nation achieved. America built the arsenal of democracy worthy of our great history. We launched the greatest invasion armada in the history of warfare against Hitler's fortress Europe, and, with our allies, we freed a continent of suffering humanity.

At the same time on the other side of the globe we crossed 10,000 miles of ocean and liberated another hemisphere of humanity -- islands and nations freed from the grip of Japanese militarists. While at the same time succeeding in the greatest scientific endeavor ever undertaken -- the Manhattan project -- and topped it off with building the Pentagon, one of the largest buildings in the world in a little over a year.

It is incredible what America has accomplished. Because no matter what extraordinary challenges we have been faced with, we did exactly what America has always done in our history -- we rose to the challenge.

And, now, as I travel across America and listen to people, I hear real concern about what's going on. For the first time in our nation's history, people are worried that we're going to be the first generation of Americans not to pass on a better life to our children.

And it's not the fault of the American people. The American people have not changed. The American people are still the strong, courageous people they have always been. The problem is what our government has become. And, it is up to us to do something about it.

Because Washington may not see it, but we are facing a moral crisis as great as any that has ever challenged us. And, it is this test -- this moral test -- that I have come to understand is at the heart of this campaign.

Just look at what has happened in Iraq. What was the response of the American people to the challenge at hand? Our men and women in uniform have been heroes. They've done everything that's been asked of them and more. But what about our government? Four years after invading Iraq, we cannot even keep the lights on in Baghdad.

When Hurricane Katrina hit New Orleans, the American people were at their best. They donated their time and their money in record numbers. There was an outpouring of support. I took 700 college kids down to help -- young people who gave up their spring break. But what about our government? Three years after hurricane Katrina thousands of our fellow Americans, our brothers and sisters, are still housed in trailers waiting to go home.

There's no better example of the bravery and goodness of the American people than the response to the attacks of 9/11: firefighters and first responders risking and too often giving their lives to save others, charging up the stairs while everyone else was coming down; record bloodbank donations; and the list goes on. But what about our government? Six years after 9/11, at Ground Zero there sits only a black hole that tortures our conscience and scars our hearts.

In every instance we see an American people who are good, decent, compassionate and undeterred. And, American people who are better than the government that is supposed to serve and represent them.

And what has happened to the American "can do" spirit? I will tell you what has happened: all of this is the result of the bitter poisoned fruit of corruption and the bankruptcy of our political leadership.

It is not an accident that the government of the United States cannot function on behalf of its people, because it is no longer our people's government -- and we the people know it.

This corruption did not begin yesterday -- and it did not even begin with George Bush -- it has been building for decades -- until it now threatens literally the life of our democracy.

While the American people personally rose to the occasion with an enormous outpouring of support and donations to both the victims of Katrina and 9/11 -- we all saw our government's neglect. And we saw greed and incompetence at work. Out of more than 700 contracts valued at $500,000 or greater, at least half were given without full competition or, according to news sources, with vague or open ended terms, and many of these contracts went to companies with deep political connections such as a subsidiary of Haliburton, Bechtel Corp., and AshBritt Inc.

And in Iraq -- while our nation's brave sons and daughters put their lives on the line for our country -- we now have mercenaries under their own law while their bosses sit at home raking in millions.

We have squandered millions on building Olympic size swimming pools and buildings that have never been used. We have weapons and ammunition unaccounted for that may now be being used against our own soldiers. We literally have billions wasted or misspent -- while our troops and their families continue to sacrifice. And the politically connected lobby for more. What's their great sacrifice -- higher profits.

It goes on every minute of every day.

Corporate executives at United Airlines and US Airways receive millions in compensation for taking their companies into bankruptcy, while their employees are forced to take cuts in pay.

Companies like Wal-Mart lobby against inspecting containers entering our nation's ports, even though expert after expert agrees that the likeliest way for a dirty bomb to enter the United States is through a container, because they believe their profits are more important than our safety. What has become of America when America's largest company lobbies against protecting America?

Trade deals cost of millions of jobs. What do we get in return? Millions of dangerous Chinese toys in our children's cribs laden with lead. This is the price we are made to pay when trade agreements are decided based on how much they pad the profits for multinational corporations instead of what is best for America's workers or the safety of America's consumers.

We have even gotten to the point where our children's safety is potentially at risk because nearly half of the apple juice consumed by our children comes from apples grown in China. And Americans are kept in the dark because the corporate lobbyists have pushed back country of origin labeling laws again and again.

This is not the America I believe in.

The hubris of greed knows no bounds. Days after the homeland security bill passed, staffers from the homeland security department resigned and became homeland security consultants trying to cash in. And, where was the outrage? There was none, because that's how it works in Washington now. It is not a Republican revolving door or a Democratic revolving door -- it is just the way it's done.

Someone called it a government reconnaissance mission to figure out how to get rich when you leave the government.

Recently, I was dismayed to see headlines in the Wall Street Journal stating that Senate Democrats were backing down to lobbyists for hedge funds who have opposed efforts to make millionaire and billionaire hedge fund managers pay the same tax rate as every hard-working American. Now, tax loopholes the wealthy hedge fund managers do not need or deserve are not going to be closed, all because Democrats -- our party -- wanted their campaign money.

And a few weeks ago, around the sixth anniversary of 9/11, a leading presidential candidate held a fundraiser that was billed as a Homeland Security themed event in Washington, D.C. targeted to homeland security lobbyists and contractors for $1,000 a plate. These lobbyists, for the price of a ticket, would get a special "treat" -- the opportunity to participate in small, hour long breakout sessions with key Democratic lawmakers, many of whom chair important sub committees of the homeland security committee. That presidential candidate was Senator Clinton.

Senator Clinton's road to the middle class takes a major detour right through the deep canyon of corporate lobbyists and the hidden bidding of K Street in Washington -- and history tells us that when that bus stops there it is the middle class that loses.

When I asked Hillary Clinton to join me in not taking money from Washington lobbyists -- she refused. Not only did she say that she would continue to take their money, she defended them.

Today Hillary Clinton has taken more money from Washington lobbyists than any candidate from either party -- more money than any Republican candidate.

She has taken more money from the defense industry than any other candidate from either party as well.

She took more money from Wall Street last quarter than Rudy Giuliani, Mitt Romney, and Barack Obama combined.

The long slow slide of our democracy into the corporate abyss continues unabated regardless of party, regardless of the best interests of America.

We have a duty -- a duty to end this.

I believe you cannot be for change and take money from the lobbyists who prevent change. You cannot take on the entrenched interests in Washington if you choose to defend the broken system. It will not work. And I believe that, if Americans have a choice, and candidate who takes their money -- Democrat or Republican -- will lose this election.

For us to continue down this path all we have to do is suspend all that we believe in. As Democrats, we continue down this path only if we believe the party of the people is no more.

As Americans, we continue down this path only if we fail to heed Lincoln's warning to us all.

"At what point then is the approach of danger to be expected," he asked, "if it ever reaches us it must spring up amongst us. It can not come from abroad. If destruction be our lot -- we must ourselves be its author and finisher. As a nation of free men we must live through all time or die by suicide."

America lives because 20 generations have honored the one moral commandment that makes us Americans.

To give our children a better future than we received.

I stand here today the son of Wallace and Bobbie Edwards. The father of Wade, Cate, Emma Claire and Jack -- and I know, as well as you, that we must not be the first generation that fails to live up to our moral challenge and keep the promise of America.

That would be an abomination.

There is a dream that is America. It is what makes us American. And I will not stand by while that dream is at risk.

I am not perfect -- far from it -- but I do understand that this is not a political issue -- it is the moral test of our generation.

Our nation's founders knew that this moment would come -- that at some point the power of greed and its influence over officials in our government might strain and threaten the very America they hoped would last as an ideal in the minds of all people, and as a beacon of hope for all time.

That is why they made the people sovereign. And this is why it is your responsibility to redeem the promise of America for our children and their future.

It will not be easy -- sacrifice will be required of us -- but it was never easy for our ancestors, and their sacrifices were far greater than any that will fall on our shoulders.

Yet, the responsibility is ours.

We, you and I, are the guardians of what America is and what it will be.

The choice is ours.

Down one path, we trade corporate Democrats for corporate Republicans; our cronies for their cronies; one political dynasty for another dynasty; and all we are left with is a Democratic version of the Republican corruption machine.

It is the easier path. It is the path of the status quo. But, it is a path that perpetuates a corrupt system that has not only failed to deliver the change the American people demand, but has divided America into two -- one America for the very greedy, and one America for everybody else.

And it is that divided America -- the direct result of this corrupt system -- which may very well lead to the suicide Lincoln warned us of -- the poison that continues to seep into our system while none notice.

Or we can choose a different path. The path that generations of Americans command us to take. And be the guardians that kept the faith.

I run for president for my father who worked in a mill his entire life and never got to go to college the way I did.

I run for president for all those who worked in that mill with my father.

I run for president for all those who lost their jobs when that mil was shut down.

I run for president for all the women who have come up to Elizabeth and me and told us the like Elizabeth they had breast cancer -- but unlike Elizabeth they did not have health care.

I run for president for twenty generations of Americans who made sure that their children had a better life than they did.

As Americans we are blessed -- for our ancestors are not dead, they occupy the corridors of our conscience. And, as long we keep the faith -- they live. And so too the America of idealism and hope that was their gift to us.

I carry the promise of America in my heart, where my parents placed it. Like them, like you, I believe in people, hard work, and the sacred obligation of each generation to the next.

This is our time now. It falls to us to redeem our democracy, reclaim our government and relight the promise of America for our children.

Let us blaze a new path together, grounded in the values from which America was forged, still reaching toward the greatness of our ideals. We can do it. We can cast aside the bankrupt ways of Washington and replace them with the timeless values of the American people. We can liberate our government from the shackles of corporate money that bind it to corporate will, and restore the voices of our people to its halls.

This is the cause of my life. This is the cause of our time. Join me. Together, we cannot fail.

We will keep faith with those who have gone before us, strong and proud in the knowledge that we too rose up to guard the promise of America in our day, and that, because we did, America's best days still lie ahead.

Surprise Minivan as evidence of a great love story

2007-10-29T07:13:00.000-07:00

Let's start with this: last night I returned home tired at 8:30 PM with kids in the car and walked in to our playroom to find a big shiny new car (complete with ribbon and loving "Happy Birthday" sign on the window) stuffed in the room waiting for me from my husband. A NEW MINIVAN! I know this may not seem like a hot and steamy gift to many of you, but for me, this was a major life event and also evidence of how sweet my life with my boys really is.

There are a few things one always hopes will happen to one during one's lifetime. One of mine, ever since I was sixteen and could drive, was to be given, as a complete surprise, a brand new car with a big bow on it, for my birthday. There is just something about all those car commercials where the wife or daughter wakes up on Christmas morning to look out the window and find a new vehicle in the driveway that made me want one. Also, I've never really had a brand new nice car. And certainly, I've never had leather seats (now I do!). For me, a car has always felt like the ultimate surprise gift. And yes, I realize most folks would want that one lifetime surprise vehicle gift to be a bright red Porche, or at least a trendy SUV. But for me - as all my friends know - the auto-open side doors and extra space for friends is what I've coveted ever since we had kids. And the desire to please me so deeply with such a grand surprise is what I've always most loved seeing evidence of, from my husband. Make no mistake, he pleases me daily (get your mind out of the gutter - seriously - I'm talking about kindness and helpfulness), but he does not, shall we say, lean toward grand surprises. I'm still shocked he went out and spent money on a car for me when my old car has not yet died a slow and painful death. But he did. He spent a lot of money when it didn't need to be spent. He spent it just to please me in a big and boundless way, and I know that hurt him a little bit (signing those papers had to be painful).

But the joy on his face, which spread across my two sons' faces as they saw how thoroughly their daddy had pleased their mommy (B ran off to get something - a New Yorker from the counter - he could "surprise" me with too and handed it to me with a great gifting flourish, and W couldn't stop hugging me and saying "Happy Birthday Mommy" as if the car was his doing even though he'd had no idea of the surprise before he saw it last night), was just something...I never want to let go of. Not only does my husband love me--he still wants to thrill me and cares how much I appreciate the gifts of his time and effort. There is no gift (aside from maybe some pink fuzzy dice to hang from my new rear view mirror), that I can imagine wanting or appreciating more than this evidence that my family truly finds pleasure in seeing me happy.

I'm off to drive the kids to school!

Born to Perform

2007-10-26T08:10:00.000-07:00

B, who's three, has come up with quite an imagination and a desire to perform. One week he went from complete meat head - playing nothing but tackle football and "jump on the nearest prone human being" - to Drama King. He likes to twirl in the hallway, sing "AAAAAmerica!" with a flourish, and call it ballet. He has requested ballet instruction, and tights in orange, blue, black and pink. (I'm all for this feminine side so I looked around for a class. They're all full now. Honest. But I was able to get him into gymnastics.) He has announced that he has four sisters who live in Hawaii in a house with him by the ocean. Their names are Butter, Toast, Tree and Jam. (Yes he likes to eat.) Apparently he also owns a shiny red car in Hawaii. Someday I'd like to visit him there.

Rest assured (or ho hum), the kid is still a meat head. He is prepped to be a "Super 9er" for Halloween next week. This is a costume consisting of his 49ers jersey, pants and helmet, with a special accoutrement which is his Batman cape. The outfit is finished off by his sprint through the room yelling "I am BB, SUPER NINERRRRR!" If he grows tired of this costume after the parade and party that will happen before the 31st ever arrives, perhaps he'll Trick or Treat in a tutu. Personally, I'd like that.

Hair

2007-10-25T10:44:00.000-07:00

It's a little sick, how much I'm looking forward to the next few days, and for what reasons.

Today I get to have my hair highlighted (which always makes my head feel like a big ball of sunshine), and Saturday I get to have it cut in the city at Vidal Sassoon (which I haven't been back to since just before I struggled through labor the first time).

I'm elated and I can't help it, and this partly makes me want to puke. Why, why, why do women spend nearly the equivalent of a months' salary (or approximately 3,000 times a months' salary in my case since I don't have one) on their hair, every two or three months? It's stupid. It's insane. I usually go to Great Clips and pay $12 for a cut that is just fine. And yet, I'm gloriously excited to fork out this cash in the next few days for a little slice of glamor. I have a lot of good reasons to throw at my husband, should he ask, for this straying from my normal budget. Here they are:

1. Holiday season is coming (parties, etc.)
2. My birthday is coming (I deserve a treat, etc.)
3. We have a large wedding-like event to attend in a few weeks (single significant event, etc.)
4. We are going to Sundance Film Festival in January and I want some style and why not start now to utilize the cut for reasons 1, 2, and 3?

After I get the cut done once by Vidal's proteges and I make it through the film festival, I figure Great Clips can give it their best shot at reproduction. Typical female spending justification.

Refreshing Scene

2007-10-24T08:26:00.000-07:00

So this morning at 7AM, as I sat wolfing down my eggs and bagel and cream cheese at Borrone, two very pretty high school girls sat down next to me. Prepared to be bored to death by talk of who did what and who is an asshole and which boy is cutest, and prepared to be annoyed by hearing them discuss how fattening their muffins must be and how they just have to have the new Marc Jacobs bag by the holidays, I was pleasantly surprised by their grace.

One was having a birthday today. She told her friend, sitting across from her, how happy she'd been by a joint gift from her mom, dad and brother (a necklace: they told her the chain was from Dad, one charm was from Mom, and the other from her brother, which I thought was very sweet, especially since I grew up with a mom, dad and brother, and I like necklaces). Then she dug into her birthday blueberry scone (my favorite selection at Borrone) and asked the other girl what her favorite gift ever had been (a question I love to ask). I didn't hear that response (I was, after all, trying not to look like the lame older mom at the table nearby who can't help eavesdropping), but soon a third friend rushed in and presented the birthday girl with a gift. Far from the nail polish or cute as a button scarf or tee I probably used to buy my girlfriends in high school, this gift was actually thoughtful.

"I packed your lunch for today!" the friend said. "And I put your favorite fruit snacks in it."

"You are SO nice!" the birthday girl said with sincerity. "That is so thoughtful."

And just from that gesture and response - that one little exchange - my faith in high school girls has been restored. I'm putting out a wish to the universe that these three stay friends for a very long time.

I apologize to my audience of two

2007-10-23T11:33:00.001-07:00

I know, I know, I've been away. The two people who read this blog have asked that I write again because they used to read this. I know this entry will be cheating, too, because I'm going to link you back to the swim blog to find an entry for today. But still, it's something.

I've got to be better, but I'm horribly busy in an away-from-blogging way. I can't wrap my day around swimming, working, taking care of the kids, writing the swim blog, cleaning the house (that I just don't do actually), drinking my glass of wine at 5PM, going to bed by 8PM, reading for a bit, AND bloggy noodling. I just haven't been able to. But I'll try. I'll try for you L and Bella, to put something fun I've found up here more often. I promise.

Now, my thoughts on prayer.

Healthcare for all kids

2007-10-04T12:13:00.000-07:00

...from SV Moms Blog

Bull Riding for Rosh Hashana

2007-09-15T13:00:00.000-07:00

Last night I put on a little black dress, headed out to my dear friend's sophisticated birthday dinner at Evvia, and ended up splayed on some big puffy mats with my skirt over my head after being thrown from the mechanical bull at the Old Pro in Palo Alto. I sure hope someone got that on video and puts it on YouTube, because I really want my sons to be able to Google this act someday.

Ah, but if that happens, so be it. My ride last night was not simply a casual romp on the most visible place to make a fool of oneself in town. No. You see, I rode that bull in the name of religion and I gyrated around on it's back for all Jews everywhere. Yes, I went to services on Rosh Hashana (for ten minutes), and I prayed for a sweet new year. Sure, sweetness has to do with health of my family, joyous times with my children, and all those other typical things a mom of young kids would hope for. But let me be honest. For me, it also apparently has to do with mechanical bull riding and the religious-like high of a good girls night out. If I can't have this kind of fun every once in a while with my girls, well, I'm dead. Mazel Tov to me for starting the new year out right. Right?

The bull ride (and the fact that I can't turn my head to the right this morning, and have a "landing pad" burn on my hip (just above my tattoo)) was worth both the religious satisfaction (ahem) and the male attention I got. The cowboy hat the bull operator gave me to wear plus my decision to turn the ride into my own personal "I may be a mommy but I can still rock this town" performance got me some loud cheers from the packed bar and also an "I LOVE YOU!" from a (presumably) college kid at a nearby table after the skirt-over-my-head ending. This has got to beat a kiss blown to me in my Prius (which I do own and have never had happen. I think Jill is just hot hot hot. I have to do something more risque to get those blown kisses). I'm all about the minivan and can't wait to own one as soon as Toyota turns the Sienna into a hybrid (2009 I believe). Someday, I'm planning on bringing sexy back to the minivan. For now, I'll have to settle for religious celebrations at sports bars.

On to Yom Kippur.

Dabbling in Web Design

2007-09-12T08:35:00.001-07:00

My first web design went live today. Fun to have done one for my FAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAVORITE place to go (every single gosh darned morning).

VMA Awards in Vegas

2007-09-10T15:42:00.000-07:00

So I went to Vegas for a baby products trade show. All the stars were there for the Video Music Video Awards and who did I see but Perez Hilton. I was hoping for Justin or Brittany (who, I read, was hanging with Puffy at Tao where I nearly sat and ate on Saturday night (but decided last minute it was "too loud" (I'm officially old and crotchedy)). In my past life I ate there before whoring it up in a leather halter at a Madonna concert. In this life I opted for a nice table in the outdoor "palazzo" of Postrio in the heart of the Venetian mall.

Still, I've perused www.perezhilton.com so many times to see these stars pinned up on his site...it's fun to have him up on mine :).

Oh, and if you didn't catch the VMA's, wow. I always said Sarah Silverman was funny.

My son bought me flowers

2007-09-03T07:38:00.000-07:00

And what, really, could be better than that? I was busy yesterday morning when N, W and B went to the farmer's market. When I walked in the door later that day W exclaimed "I got you a surprise! I picked them out and everything!"

My heart rose about five feet above me and bounced off the ceiling. My first bouquet from my child. I can only hope there will be many more.

Darn good stuff

2007-08-30T10:58:00.001-07:00

I discovered some yummy body oil, butter and lip balm. Organic and shit, too.

The horror of suburban pools

2007-08-29T10:50:00.000-07:00

My post from today on SV Moms Blog

First Day of Kindergarten

2007-08-27T09:59:00.001-07:00

It's not over, or even half over yet, but the first day of Kindergarten for W is today. The bus send off went well, and no calls from the school yet. Too bad I didn't realize I was "supposed" to follow the bus to school and wait with a sign and camera for my child to get off the bus like all the rest of the parents. I got him on the bus and went home to celebrate the drop off done well. Hopefully no one was taking parent attendance.

Botched Train Ride (with a happy donut ending)

2007-08-25T07:26:00.001-07:00

Yesterday at 4:45 PM my beautiful Bella friend and I decided to take our four boys on a train ride to San Mateo for pizza. Train ride are always a hit, and the two little ones hadn't napped and were not doing well just "playing nicely" in the home. Also, I love those rare chances we get to be spontaneous with our adventuring kids. So off we went to the train station.

We got on the wrong train. The express train does not stop in San Mateo. It goes nearly directly to San Francisco. Oddly, this ride was the time all four kids decided to be self-sufficiently interested in what they were doing, leaving Bella and I alone to discuss all the recent bottle excitement. She got carried away asking me about design, manufacturing, fulfillment and sales and I got full of the pleasure of talking about myself and what I was excited about with no interruption. Thus, when the conductor asked us where we were going and we said "San Mateo" and he said "you're going the wrong way" we shrugged him off. Not until a hip twenty something woman nearby said "seriously, you're in San Francisco" (which still prompted a defensive response from me ("Yah, um, we got it thanks") because I never think I'm wrong), did we look outside and see The Ballpark.

We jumped off the train at 22nd street (which requires more walking and climbing and overpasses to get back to the other direction tracks than any other station) and were lucky enough to catch a train headed back home five minutes later.

This time, now that the kids were thoroughly starving, we jumped on a train that was definitely not express. It stopped at Bayshore for ten minutes, and then at every other stop along the way. We calculated it would be 6:30 before we hit Menlo Park, and the littlest of the boys was screaming "food! food!" so we made a last minute decision and jumped off in Burlingame. Once off, we didn't think to check the train schedule so we'd know when to get back on. Or rather, we thought to but didn't. The boys were rather amenable to being dragged around town to look for a dinner spot and finally we settled on Il Fornaio for pizza plus WINE. Long story short we enjoyed our meal then missed the train after that meal, necessitating another hour long wait, which we spent in the Donut shop at the train station.

I got an apple fritter, quite possibly my favorite food in the world, and the kids got high on sugar, chocolate, and an old pinball machine in the corner. We arrived back home four hours after we started out on this little jaunt. Life with boys and trains and donuts is certainly a great adventure I wouldn't trade for anything (except maybe a nap once in a while).

Daily Candy

2007-08-23T09:09:00.001-07:00

The Breast is yet to come? Oh well, we're in there. So exciting!

CA Healthcare - Cover all kids NOW!

2007-08-15T18:44:00.000-07:00

(From MomsRising.org)
I just signed a petition to support bringing health care to all California children, and I hope you will too. Next week, your petitions will be presented together directly to the Governor and Legislature when they return from their summer recess and begin considering health care reform. Let's send a strong visual message - stacks and stacks of thousands of petitions calling for our leaders to cover all kids. We can do it! Please ask your friends and family to sign on too by forwarding this email their way.

SIGN THE PETITION TO COVER ALL KIDS - Tell the Governor & California State Legislature, "Cover all kids! Act now to ensure that all children in California have health care coverage and fully fund the programs to support full coverage":
**Click here to sign:
The goal of providing health insurance for all children in our state is not a pipe dream. Over the past few years, California has made great progress in ensuring more children have insurance; now we can finish the job. In the coming weeks, the California legislature is considering health care reform legislation that could provide health care coverage for all children in California. Yes, that's right, 100% of children in California.

HEALTH CARE FOR KIDS 101 - Providing health care coverage for children in California is needed AND good for all of us. Here are some facts that demonstrate this!

* Nearly 9 million children in the U.S. (that's 12% of all children) do not have healthcare insurance. And in California, about 763,000 children in California are uninsured.

* While there are current state programs to provide health care coverage for some low-income children, these programs are not available for all kids, and employers are dropping coverage at an alarming rate. And as we all know, dollars just don't stretch as far in California as they do elsewhere, so our definition of "low-income" might be different than in some other states.

* Health insurance improves children's well-being and helps them reach their potential in school. Research shows that formerly uninsured children who were covered under public programs had a 63% improvement in paying attention and keeping up with school activities compared to their previous performance when they were uninsured.

* Children with health insurance are healthier, at less risk of suffering from preventable illnesses and have better access to needed health care services. When children have to wait until common, preventable health problems become emergencies to seek treatment, the result is high-cost emergency care - costs that are passed on to the state, communities and individuals.

SIGN THE PETITION NOW - Don't forget to sign the petition to the Governor and California Legislature now:

Duh. Too many Baby Einstein videos make kids dumb.

2007-08-08T07:40:00.000-07:00

Time Magazine reports that with every hour per day spent watching baby DVDs and videos (Baby Einstein type videos), infants learned six to eight fewer new vocabulary words than babies who never watched the videos.

Two things to say here:
1. If you thought that putting your kid in front of any kind of television would actually make them smarter than interacting with them in person during those 30 minutes...all I can say is "Duh."
2. If you think that babies who watch these videos now and then (and my kids did) are actually going to be dumber than babies who don't...all I can say is "pah-leeeeeease." 30 minutes a day of calming, non-educational stimulation isn't going to dumb down anyone.

I just don't buy that this study really measured the effect of these videos on normal kids who watched these in moderation. I mean, there ain't much talking going on in the videos, so I buy that they aren't learning anything speech related from them. Duh, again. These videos are just "breaks" for moms and dads to plop their kids in front of so they can hit the toilet on their own or get a bit of work done or just freaking eat dinner. They are calming and non-violent and 30 minutes long. There ain't nothing wrong with watching some of them and no one is going to tell me otherwise. But if you are actually using these as some kind of educational aid? Well, reality check: just play and talk to your kid for that kind of thing.

Happy Birthday Honey. Now go in the garage while Mommy has a party.

2007-08-07T07:22:00.001-07:00

From Silicon Valley Moms Blog.

My Neighbor's Private Jet

2007-08-05T22:05:00.001-07:00

No, I don't know which of my neighbors owns a Cessna, but this article was entertaining and definitely home-hitting to read. While I have never felt compelled to keep up with the Joneses (I credit my mom and dad for never applauding money or things it could buy over real honest-to-goodness happiness), it can definitely hit me like a solid wooden bat once in a while that I really, honestly don't have enough cash to survive here much longer.

In addition, it often hits me how much pity I feel for those around me that do spin their wheels competing with their peers for the best country club, car, street to live on, square footage and bling. Just let me live here, near the family I have always lived near. Let my kids have a backyard, however small. Let me not go bankrupt or loose my house. Let me and mine stay HEALTHY and let me always have my sense of humor and wonderful friends. I don't give a rats ass if I never move up to a "bigger and better" house or remodel the one I do have. So what if I haven't furnished our "living room" after five years in the house? I'm happy (and I don't even have a gardener). Ah the front (and back) yard could use some work and sure a sectional leather couch would be nice. But you know what? I'd rather spend that money on fun. Take that, Joneses!

Ella's Famous!

2007-07-30T11:39:00.000-07:00

Right up there with Jennifer Garner's Violet and all those fun punky famous folk.
It's ELLA! And, of course, THE bottle :).

Tahoe and PCP

2007-07-30T06:05:00.000-07:00

So, last week my Flower Mama friend, her kids, my kids (no hubbies) and I headed up to Tahoe for a couple of days of frantic fun and away-from-home discipline. I mean honestly? What are kid-heavy vacations (where the children outnumber the parents and no husbands are around) but jaunts to new surroundings where we mommies are forced to come up with more creative forms of punishment than "you will be getting a time out in your room if you continue this behavior"?

Okay, that may sound a bit harsh (and really it is - I had a great fantabulous time overall), but you weren't there. You didn't witness Flower Mama and I giving our brood a *perfect* day on Friday, only to be bitched at about how much PCP - er, PSP - (an incredibly lifelike handheld basketball video game) they could play once we returned to the cabin. Video games are a freaking drug and should be as illegal as alcohol for humans under 21 years of age. My child is not allowed to play them in our home or own them (ever) but it's easy to score some action when they are in every pizza parlor and in nearly every kid's hands. One whiff of the stuff and he turns into a scheming, screaming junkie ("I WANT ONE I WANT ONE I WILL SAVE ALL MY MONEY AND BUY ONE IF YOU WON'T GET IT FOR ME AHHHHHHHHHH! It's not fair! I can't take it! My life is worthless if I can't play these games!" etc. And yes, I exaggerate, but not much). Thank G-d there is no way my five year old is going to save up the $300 it costs to buy this thing before he's well into High School.

Case in point against video games. This was our glorious day last Friday:

1. Wake up to waffles for the kids
2. Go to bike rental place to find it not yet open, so kill time at Albertson's in Tahoe City eating chocolate donuts (which we never, ever eat for breakfast at home)
3. Rent bikes with trailers and ride 12 miles along the Truckee River (kids in trailers behind bikes). Stop along the way for a beautiful rock skipping and river dipping break. (Let the kids get naked and throw rocks and piss in the dirt. Not an everyday experience.)
4. Get ice cream in the middle of the day (another rare treat)
5. Play in the lake in the most gorgeous weather and water temp the lake has ever seen. Dig for dinosaur bones, play soccer in the water, be kids like kids are supposed to BE. (This was W and B's first time (that they can remember) to play in Lake Tahoe.)
6. Go home and allow downtime playing with illegal drug - I mean portable SONY Playstation
7. Get gang back out the door for pool fun, dinner and watching roller skaters at the new $30 M renovated Northstar Village. (We don't have a pool or belong to a pool club. The boys love to swim but don't get to very often.)
8. Go home and force exhausted bodies into bed

Lots of first time or rare treats were had on Friday. This was what I remember about Saturday:

Me: "We did SO much yesterday and had so much fun. W, what was the best thing we did yesterday?"
W: "Video games."

Enough said. Okay, not enough. I know there are other factors here, like the forbidden fruit argument. Sure, if I let W play video games whenever he wanted, the experience wouldn't be so special and he wouldn't covet it. However, then he'd be a junkie. We've tried giving some time to play. The result is the rest of the day spent asking why we had to stop. And this from a boy who is obsessed with playing sports and being outside. So, I know that some folks play video games and it's not horrible. I'm sure some kids could drink an afternoon beer each day and not become alcoholics too. But for us, well, I'm convinced that giving my sons video games is bad bad bad. I might as well be giving him a highball. So, note to all relatives: no video game gifts for us. Ever.

Threesome revisited

2007-07-26T08:19:00.000-07:00

...from SV Moms Blog.

The iBreast Outburst

2007-07-24T13:24:00.000-07:00

My two co-mommies and I are debuting a new, polycarbonate-free bottle to the world any day now. Any day. The breast shaped bottle that doesn't leach Bisphenol-A into infants' mouths is (pre)selling well. It's just not shipping. But word from Taiwan is it will be, next week. This is good, since Fit Pregnancy magazine is editorializing about it and droves of celebrities are lining up outside our headquarters in Palo Alto to get their hands on it. Okay no one is lining up. Yet.

But our own shareholders are pretty darn pumped, which feels good. We had our annual shareholders meeting, which included the head of our award-winning design firm, the other day. And according to Design Guy, people will be lining up for this bottle soon. He is so sure of the bottle's greatness and unquestionable market acceptance that he's encouraged us to start brainstorming about other products and product lines ASAP. There we sat, in a serious shareholders meeting listening to him suggest that we should "think big" when I couldn't help but blurt out "Yah, how 'bout an iBreast! You can feed your baby with it, use it as a phone and also watch DVDs down the barrel of the nipple."

This was one of my frequent inappropriate outbursts--a result of my life view that everything is pretty much a big joke. I think he had his mind on something more like a pacifier, but let's face it the world is currently obsessed with the iPhone. And it's not even shaped like a boobie or capable of holding beer. Maybe Design Guy is right: the lines will start forming soon.

Anniversary Run/Hike

2007-07-22T19:37:00.001-07:00

This morning N and I woke up on our own in Stinson beach and went off to do a trail run (that was at least partly a hike because neither of us can be called "trail run ready" right now) on the Dipsea trail. We started doing "anniversary run/hikes" on our first anniversary in Telluride, Colorado. That was quite a hike. Thirteen miles and a crapload of altitude and I was zonked for the entire second half of the day. This time we kept it to just about 4 miles, and were able to enjoy the rest of the day, which was necessary because unlike six years ago on our first anniversary, this time we had two rambunctious boys to get back to by noon.

But if there was even a small regret in our hearts about having to return to the reality of parenting two young kids who demand constant attention and do not allow for naps and spontaneous couples runs, W put that to rest. As we drove back from N's soccer game at around 3PM (yes he's a frequent double day workout freak) and we discussed the fact that we all needed haircuts, W said "I really need a haircut."
"How do you want it cut?" I asked.
"Just like Daddy," he said. Earlier this week he had explained he wanted Daddy-hair because he wanted to be just like Daddy.
"Short?" N said.
"Short around the sides," W said thoughtfully, "with a...a big spot on top that has no hair. I want the short hair to make a, like a circle around the empty spot."

Is there anything sweeter than a boy who loves his daddy so much he yearns to bald prematurely and sport a semi-circle of thinning hair around his scalp to Kindergarten? I think not.

Happy anniversary, N. You may have less hair than you did seven years ago, but you definitely have more love.

Refreshingly Secular Rain Forest

2007-07-20T06:42:00.000-07:00

Yesterday W had his first non-Jesus praising performance. After the religious preschool (sidenote: great school, bad song list, perhaps a bad choice for a little Jewish kid), he is awash with relief at his secular Kindergarten camp. The performance was impressive: dances from China, Africa, Mexico and even the Republic of Georgia, complete with crepe paper costumes and crowns, kids singing about animals and fauna, and a real oboe as accompaniment. This is my comfort zone: what I grew up doing at school.

"What did you like best about your performance?" I asked W afterwards.
"No more Jesus songs," he said. "These were about the rain forest." Big smile.

Hallelujah.

Three for three

2007-07-16T13:55:00.000-07:00

It's clear to me, from the way my kids dote on younger kids (their neighbors, their cousins, any old toddler stumbling down the street), that they would both like to be big brothers to a new baby. (Yes, I realize B looks totally uninterested in this photo but honestly he was trying to entertain the little guy). I was also clued in to this desire by W's recent comment: "Let's have another baby."

This is the exact opposite type of comment W's dad has made to me over and over. It sounds something like this: "If you get pregnant again, I'm leaving." He jests.

I thought I wanted three kids. I still think maybe I do. But it's a moot discussion to have with myself. N just isn't into it, and now I'm unsure what I'd actually do if he perked up and championed the idea. Recently I tried to pin him down on whether it would really be so difficult if we had a third child.

"We could do three," I said. "Bigger family, more fun!"
"We could do three," he said. Pause. "In fact how about this deal? You have a third baby, and I get to have a threesome. Three for three."

No deal. We bought a fish.

Family Soccer Fest

2007-07-15T20:48:00.000-07:00

Last night we headed to Stanford stadium to see Chelsea play Club America in soccer. The tickets were a Father's Day gift from me to N, which I have to admit were as much a gift for myself as anything.

We were on the sunny side of the stadium and WHEW was it sunny and BOY did we get there early to "enjoy the atmosphere". B was a little red ball of sweat by the time the players took the field, and he most thoroughly enjoyed rolling down the grass siding of the stadium (which I supervised for 3/4 of the game) and the play was predominantly uninspiring, but the whole thing was cool to do as a family. All the boys were clad in jerseys and I was in my soccer ball print halter (seriously). We kicked the ball around in the dirt parking lot before making our way over to the gate, and we saw some real people who were actually smoking cigarettes. Ah, Russian soccer fans.

"Where'd you get that fish?"

2007-07-13T08:20:00.000-07:00

Overheard conversation during an after-camp play date at my house yesterday afternoon:

friend: "Oooo. You have a fish."
W: "Yup."
friend: "Where's his mommy?"
W: "Don't know."
friend: "Where'd you get him?"
W: "At PetCock."
friend: "Um."
W: "Wait. I think it's Petco. Yes, yes. Petco."

Yes. Petco.

Mulling it over

2007-07-11T05:20:00.001-07:00

N and I saw Blues Traveler last night at a little mountain winery amphitheater. John Popper is one third the size he used to be and I'm one third as hip and young as I was the last time I saw him perform. This was approximately the seventh time I've seen him in concert, and the sixth time must have been back in college. This time I needed my glasses to see the stage (even though we weren't more than 75 yards from it), and I wasn't drinking heavily (instead I was checking my phone frequently to see if the sitter had called).

Just the same, when Popper got up and started wailing on his harmonica, the lights went up and the warm summer rain (rain!) began to come down, I remembered why he used to make my hiney tingle, and found that he still does. Goosebumps and the irresistible desire to sway and move to the music; the return of the concert top-of-the-world energy rush. And then back to the kids before the gig was over (it went past ten, for goodness sake)!

Best Buddy Fest

2007-07-10T09:47:00.000-07:00

Last week I won some tickets, thanks to Maya's Mom, to the MLB Fan Fest. Just so happened that my best friend, whose son - born two days before W - is also W's best buddy, was visiting this past weekend. N and I decided to play out our (okay MY) three kid fantasy and take our two boys plus best buddy to Moscone Center on Saturday for some serious baseball fun.

Fun, it was. We knew we were in for a treat when we were handed a swag bag immediately upon entering. "What's this for?" W asked. "Free stuff!" I said, skipping right up to the first handout and shoving one into each of the three kids' bags. We got soft SF Giants baseballs, sweet wristbands with big W's on them (which was very appropriate for our big guy), licence plate frames, and PENNANTS which have turned my little boy's bedroom wall into a big boy's bedroom wall overnight. Where there once was a big poster of cartoonish airplanes there now hang oblong triangles full of manly batting and fielding power images. (W has also been experiencing his first girl-crush this week. My baby boy world is quickly going to shit).

Back to fan fest, free stuff wasn't the only allure. Allyssa Milano was set to appear to unveil her MLB jewelry line (WTF?) but, as N was disappointed to find, she wasn't there the day we attended.

We settled on fielding (as you can see they had a sweet fielding range set up here), swinging at both video and non-video batting cages, and begging the Emcee to squeeze our kids into the already full Cal Ripkin Quickball clinic on the indoor baseball diamond. We also took some silly photos.

And the best part? The day cost me a total of $16 (for THREE $4 pretzels and ONE $4 Gatorade...guess they have to get your money somewhere).

Thanks Maya's Mom!

Swimming is Sexy

2007-07-09T12:31:00.000-07:00

I knew there was something I wasn't quite putting my pen on when it came to the reason I am obsessed with swimming. I've said that it is beautifully solitary and silent: a thrumming sort of hypnosis or meditation. I've said that it reminds the body how golden weightlessness can be, even amid the gut wrenching push to get through a set of threshold paced 500's where you gulp in water like a six-year-old in the community pool at the height of an August heatwave. Whatever the athletic cost, the buoyancy and submersion and utter aquatic oneness I feel during the time I am swimming is a worthwhile prize.

What I have failed to describe before, is how sexual swimming can be (apparently). In a recent (wonderful) article in the New York Times, Akiko Busch says "Certainly swimming and eroticism are natural colleagues. I can think of no other sport that is so innately sensual. It is not only in the way the water caresses your skin but also in the way it is all about reaching as far as you can. Swimming is about touching the surface of the water and drawing yourself across it, it is about remove and submersion and sometimes it is also about submitting to the strength and current and direction of the water."

Whew. I'm nearly ready for a shower just reading that description. N, I'm sorry, it seems I've been cheating on you with Burgess Pool. Perhaps I should drop a few swims per week and pick up a few, er, other activities. (Yah right).

Wanderlust

2007-07-08T09:36:00.000-07:00

My sadistic mom just called from Paris to say she and my step-dad had arrived safely after a flight spent fully reclined in first class seats sipping champagne and watching individual movie screens. Phew, I don't know how they survived. I should be--AM--so happy for them. They were supposed to take this Paris-Florence-Venice trip last year before the cancer hit. This year they are abroad and cancer-free. My mom hasn't been to Paris since before I was born, and my step-dad had never been outside the USA before yesterday. Accumulating miles to take a first class trip to Europe couldn't happen to two more deserving folk, and yet I still want to stick my head in the oven with jealousy. I know that right now they are hearing the busy on/off wailing of Parisian ambulances and sipping coffee that is stronger and more beautiful than anything I could imagine here. I, on the other hand, am dealing with a chest cold and the sounds of a Tigger and Pooh show this Sunday morning.

I do happen to know it's raining in Paris today. Ha! Take that you French punks! Here it's supposed to be 80 and sunny (yes I realize I'm kidding myself and that actually Paris is splendid in the rain. I need something).

Have fun you two! (Really!)

They Say We Forget the Pain of Labor...

2007-07-06T08:22:00.000-07:00

And that's true, of course, or else no woman would ever have a second child. Another less discussed but very real area where women forget the past is when they take up grandmothering (and forget how they mothered). Look at that sneaky smile she has in this photo. Those aren't even my kids and you can see right away from the desperate look of the little guy that she's been plying them with something they don't get from Mommy. I'm wracking my brain: was there high fructose juice around that day? Could she have slipped my friend's child some sort of chocolate, or mentioned the possibility of a Power Ranger show later in the day? Here's a recent conversation between my mom and myself:

Me (on a random Tuesday): "I'm tired but--"
Mom (emphatically): "Oh honey put the boys in front of a movie! Take a break! You deserve it!"
Me: "You let us watch one hour of television a week. Had to be educational. I know all the episodes of 3-2-1 Contact, remember?"
Mom: "Oh come on. You saw Diff'rent Strokes and the Donnie and Marie Show."
Me: "Once or twice."
Mom: "Little House on the Prairie?"
Me: "Yes once in a while. But the point is, you never let us watch T.V. and now I'm ruined. I feel like I'm giving the kids crack cocaine when I turn it on."
Mom: "Malarkey!"

Here's another one:

Me (on any given occasion we eat with my parents): "W, eat your dinner or no dessert."
Mom: "Yes and please do eat it because we've got Dibbs and gummy bears and BIIIIIIIG chocolate chip cookies and a PIE! Sarah, can W have some Sprite with dinner?"
Me: "Are you aware that I didn't sip a soda until I was SEVEN, and I had to join a soccer league and play 45 minutes of hard core contact sports before you would allow me to enjoy the refreshing post-game sodas? Do you remember that even in High School you would buy about one six pack of Hansen's natural soda per year?"
Mom: "Really?"
Me: "Really."
Mom: "W, how about just a sip of Grandpa's Sprite for now?"
Me: "Gee, that's better."

It's beautiful, the way they forget.

Happy? 4th of July

2007-07-05T09:57:00.000-07:00

My July 4th week started out fantastically, with my mom and step-dad helping N and I see a DOUBLE FEATURE (that's right TWO non-kid movies), and then helping me put on a little day camp for B and his other 2-3 yr old friends. For me, having an event like that is what life is all about. It cost me a bit to put on (less than $100 though), but it was one of those rare times when I got to do something specifically for one of my two kids and his friends. I also got to share the experience with my own mom, wonderful step-dad, and sister-in-law and niece. It was probably the best thing I've done all year.

Just after the camp, B, W and I took off for another overnight quickie at Stinson. This time the weather was absolutely phenomenal and the four kids played naked golf (and delighted in "marking their territory" on the driftwood bench just below the house) on the beach until 6PM. I am still on the verge of tears over having not brought my camera. Seriously, the normally gray Pacific ocean was nearly azure in the setting sun and my boys'creamy white butts were pressed into the tan sand nearby. Not having the camera was disturbing, but also a nice respite: I actually got to look at what was around me first hand without relying on the lens to see it for me.

July 4th itself? Well, let's just say that having a conversation with my husband about how I have failed to prevent over drafting my meager checking account again this month is not really the way I planned to begin Independence Day. My bad, of course. But, "Why Daddy mad at Mommy?" is not a pleasant question to hear from your three-year-old, especially when you don't know how to answer the question. "Because Mommy didn't track her spending accurately?" "Because Daddy is frustrated?" "Because you and your brother are too expensive to keep any longer and will have to be returned?" The possibilities are endless. The truth is that living life with two young kids costs a lot wherever you are, and it costs even more here in Silicon Valley. When both parents are running start-ups (and one of those two sucks ass at balancing her checkbook), well, you're just screwed. We'll make it through, of course. But if worst comes to worst I can always open up my own day camp, right?

The Ultimate SV Dinner Date

2007-06-28T10:38:00.000-07:00

Last night I escaped the home front and hiked up Windy Hill with four of my coolio Mama friends. It was a gorgeous night, albeit windy *duh* and as you can see, we brought things to toast with at the top (ever had alcohol out of a Winnie the Pooh Dixie cup? Very appropriate, but not so satisfying). Usually when we get together, which is only about once every two months, we do the basic go-out-to-local-sushi-restaurant or maybe to Oak City Grill routine (costing at least $40 per person with no view of anything but each other's grown up and go out clothes - which, of course, are fun to wear). Nothing wrong with good sushi or sea-level girl talk, of course. But it stunned me to realize we'd never thought to do what we did last night, before last night. Hike + sunset wine toast + Taqueria in Portola Valley afterwards. Total: $10 each, including a work out, meal and cocktails.

As great as it sounds to me, this date wouldn't work with just any group. I would hasten to bring the lady who is always asking me about the minutiae of potty training along on a 2 hour jaunt (I don't believe in any potty training. Ever seen a High Schooler in diapers?) But these girls...I don't know, I'm just never bored with them. Not only are they fun to talk to about our kids (our sons all met in preschool, and somehow we always end up telling embarrassing stories that involve penises), but we also cover real topics that do not involve children. I treasure these women (and the fifth of our group who met us at the Taqueria afterwards) and am grateful to the preschool we attended for bringing us together. We certainly wouldn't have met at work. Three of us run our own businesses that have NOTHING to do with technology, one is a cracker jack accountant, one a school psychologist, and the other seems to do just about everything from wine making to design to succeeding in looking at least ten years younger than she actually is. Bitch.

We aren't all best friends. But we are very special friends. Together we have begun to raise our kids (twelve kids 5 and under), seen the oldest through preschool and soon *sigh* off to Kindergarten. We have worked hard outside the home and in it, shared those experiences, and bemoaned the fact that we have hardly ever gotten out as a group. As mommies of young kids, it doesn't happen often. Usually we are disciplining a group of wrestling balls of testosterone between partial sentences spoken to one another. But when we do get out on our own, I know I can always count on good old fashioned belly laughing that takes me back to elementary school innocence. You know these kinds of friends. They are never taxing to be with. When I'm with them I don't give a shit about, well, anything but laughing and talking. It's pure. And for the most part, there's no gossip. We have enough to discuss with our own trials and tribulations and events that we don't need to run others through the dirt, and that, in addition to the laughter, makes me feel good and refreshed.

Thanks ladies. Last night was just a little reminder to myself that I love where I live, and who I live near. What else is there (besides family, money, great vacations, work and fame), to life?

Working Out to Work Out

2007-06-27T21:44:00.001-07:00

From SV Moms Blog...

Friends and Money

2007-06-26T05:24:00.000-07:00

Yesterday the boys and I were leaving Ikea afer unsuccessfully looking for a big boy bed for B, when we passed through an East Palo Alto intersection. An elderly man sat on the cement piling in the middle of the street, just beneath the "No U Turn" sign. At a red light we stopped briefly a few cars back from the man, who was begging for money, or so it seemed from the can of money in his hands and his disheveled but hopeful appearance.

"What is that man doing?" W asked.
"Well," I said, "he's asking for people to give him money."
"Why?"
"He must not have enough for some reason. Maybe he can't work or has spent all his money."
"Why didn't you give him any then?" W asked.
"Good question," I said (since I'm always telling HIM to give toys to kids who don't have enough...wouldn't it make sense that Mommy gives grown ups a little help too?). "I guess I don't know. Maybe I should have. Next time we'll give him a dollar, okay?"

For those of you who know W, you know the questions would never end there.

"But," W said, "what if he isn't looking for money. What if he's just looking for a friend?"

Home Camping

2007-06-22T14:52:00.000-07:00

I'm not a fan of home schooling, at least not for my kids (unless I'm missing something major that's a lot more work for the parent, for like, all year round, no?). But this summer I'm becoming an avid fan of home-run summer camps. My super fun friend Bella put up some serious Aloha yesterday in her back yard, running a FREE (yup, I said it) drop-off-your-kids camp from 9-1 for a few families...from SV Moms Blog

10 Things

2007-06-21T08:25:00.000-07:00

For some reason I've been thinking about lists of things I want to do someday. I decided to put them down for the world to see (yes I know, you've been on the edge of your seats). It's a fun thing to think about, and sometimes during the second hour of watching the kids run across the park I need things to think about. This is the fairly reasonable list of things I want to do, meaning I think they might be possible with luck and persistence. I guess these are the things I most look forward to the possibility of in the future. There's a whole other list of things such as "Be the most famous person in the world" which will not happen, so I'm leaving those off.

1. Become a proud, heavily involved grandma someday (I can't think of anything I'd rather live for or be, other than a mom. Since that's already checked...)
2. Publish a novel (I can always self publish, right?)
3. Write a book about my step-dad's life or at least get it all down on paper. It's just too good to lose.
4. Take a family vacation out of the country
5. Take vacations somewhere new with each of my boys alone (just me with one of them at a time) before they graduate (G-d willing) from High School
6. Retire with enough money to travel and do fun things with my husband and family for as long as I live (I'm okay with living in a condo in exchange for fun money)
7. Many open water swims, espcially swimming in a relay race with my sons (or participate in any kind of athletic race/event with them)
8. Affect positive social change in some quantifiable way
9. Be interviewed (sit down interview) on television (okay this is quite a stretch)
10. Take my grandchildren on many annual "grandma and me" trips

Your turn. What's important to you?

Driving to Fremont with Edith (I love my job)

2007-06-20T20:46:00.000-07:00

I have a fairly new friend (new enough that we are still telling our personal histories to one another whenever we get the chance). Her name is Edith. No, of course that isn't really her name. But the name Edith is grossly underused these days, and her real name is so common...why the Hell not? Edith-not-really-Edith is also one of my business partners. This morning we took a drive over to Fremont (where I once lived in a shared condo with a divorced real estate sleazeball and which I always want to pronounce as FreeMONT! while giving some sort of hip hop gangsta sign for some reason) to visit our fulfillment and distribution center. Sounds boring, yes?

No. Not when you only get out from under the kids for 9 out of 168 hours per week. And not when you're with Edith.

This morning, when I entered her crumb-encrusted station wagon (ahhh, just like home) and was whisked away from my two boys, we were both low from weeks of disappointment over product delays. The delay situation, added to the normal mommy disappointments that sound something like: "Shit, the kids are sick again. And what's that flaming rash near W's mouth? Smells like another week of play date quarantine", is frustrating. Hearing that every big name retailer wants your product but having to continually say "Uh. We need another week to get those samples to you," gets old especially when your bank account is hemorrhaging.

Still, we admitted our business optimism erosion and then moved past it to sip our Starbucks (kidless coffee sipping = instant mini-vacation) and fit the following topics into two twenty minute drives:

*Leprosy colonies
*Dating suicidal heroin addicts
*Completing the set-up of our company's shopping cart
*Pissing blood
*A nasty case of Shingles
*The insane cost of real estate in our area (this is a requisite topic for any discussion that lasts more than 10 minutes between any thirty somethings in the Bay Area)
*Orphanages and the shameful state of methadone addiction in Hawaii
*How to shirk duties at your local preschool
*Past boyfriends and odd diseases they may have had
*Postpartum depression and how it can lead to being 95% sure your husband is sleeping with someone, maybe even his sister
*How our resellers should be asked to login to our site
*Losing a bed off the back of your car on Highway 101 and how to haggle over the price of a new bed
*Eczema

I love my job. What could be more refreshing that a full week's work and conversation topics crammed into a two hour meeting and 40 minutes of driving over the Dumbarton Bridge followed by a warm welcome home by my two cuddle-studs and a subsequent six hours of indoor basketball? Okay, while rewarding and heartwarming to some degree, the six hours of basketball is not refreshing. Which is exactly why I need Edith, and my job. Thanks Edith.

Summer at Stinson

2007-06-19T10:36:00.000-07:00

The boys and I made a quick overnight trip out to Stinson beach to see my bestest buddy AM and her twin 1.5 year olds yesterday/this morning. We left after I worked until 1 PM yesterday, got there around 3, played on the foggy beach (where we found a deeply dug hole for face-planting into) for a couple of hours, retired to our oceanfront retreat and made dinner (whatever was in the freezer) and drank scrumptious wine (made by said best friend's husband) while being spritzed by summer mist through the screen door. After the twins were in bed, AM and I talked loosely (knowing we didn't have as much time as we'd need to go through everything we wanted to discuss) about work, upcoming vacations and kid milestones while the older kids (mine) watched a movie. Then we went to bed.

I slept in-between my two boys on two twin beds pushed together. Of course they each wanted to flank me so I got to sleep in the crack. W wet his pants but was too tired to be roused by wetness so I slept half the night in a damp circle of his urine. B wanted to sleep cheek to cheek with me so I found myself forced to breath out of only one side of my mouth. I was pretty much as uncomfortable as possible, but so wrapped in love and warmth that I didn't mind. Every time this happens I face a choice between annoyance and remembering how urgently I'll crave it when the boys are too old to beg to be pressed to me all night long (or at least one hopes they'll grow out of that). For now, it's a heart warming thing.

We got up at 6:30 this morning, ate some frozen blueberry waffles and downed a cup of coffee and we were off by 7:30 and home by 9 AM, just in time to get the kids to the next day of "summer camp". I realize that to some mommies this might sound like a hellish trip of rushed travel and cramped (and wet) sleeping conditions. But I thought it was perfect. Nothing fills my soul like a visit with AM and her kiddos, and when you combine that with the ocean air, all night snuggles from my boys, and a good glass of wine you've got a mini vacation that's nearly as good as for me as a trip to Hawaii. Thank goodness for quick beach getaways!

Father's Day Makes up for Mother's Day

2007-06-18T12:14:00.000-07:00

On Mother's Day I had strep throat, didn't get to swim, and when N asked the boys to quickly sign a card for me I heard "It's not her birthday, I'm not signing that!" This outburst was uncharacteristic of my boys as they are usually the sweetest cuddlers ever but let's just say that Mother's Day didn't quite...do it for me this year.

But yesterday, on Father's Day, I had a great day. They boys woke up incredibly excited to give their daddy some cards and a gift (which included tickets to a professional soccer game for all four of us). They couldn't get enough of telling N that they love him and that this was his day, and soon we headed off to Windy Hill for a family hike.

On our hike the boys couldn't have been more precious. We began at the trail head by looking at the map (at W's insistence) to see where we were going. Our first "natural" discovery was a pile of horse poop, which was very exciting to the boys. This was followed up by a sighting of a mommy and two baby deer casually grazing not 20 feet from us. They were so comfy with humans that we actually got bored of watching them before they ran away. "They're so beautiful," my five-year-old said, "and look at this view!" We had not yet ascended the hill at all and he was referring to the valley below filled with water. "These trees are pretty" he continued, "oak trees." There's really nothing I wouldn't give - or wouldn't have given if I hadn't gotten it for free - to hear my child so enraptured by nature in this computerized day and age. He was so...happy and satisfied just to see pretty things.

The boys made it incredibly far up the trail--much farther than we would have imagined. Our round trip took more than an hour and we only needed to carry them for about two five minute periods at the end. They were clearly proud of themselves as well, and that was just as nice to see. The rest of the day included hitting golf balls at the nearby deserted school, watching the US Open, and making a frozen yogurt run after dinner. The four of us didn't see anyone else we knew the whole day. A total family day. It was perfect.

Get Dad Fired Up for Families, on Father's Day

2007-06-17T07:09:00.000-07:00

Some folks I love have launched a new site in time for Father's Day, for dads who are into fighting the good fight for a more Family Friendly America. It's called FamiliesRising.org and I'm pleased to alert all the male folk who have been telling me, "That MomsRising organization is great but I wish they'd be more inclusive of dads", know that their wish has been granted.

They've got a great group of dad writers on the FamiliesRising blog and I think you'll find it fascinating to hear from the "other half" about how they view America's investment in our children and what can be done to improve it. I also think dads like to be part of groups just as much as we mommies do. So Happy Father's Day, daddies. Here's a group for you!

This is FUN

2007-06-14T08:22:00.000-07:00

Thanks to crazedparent for the idea. You gotta go try this. It will boost your self-image at least for a minute.

Summer '07 Whoohooo!

2007-06-13T11:18:00.000-07:00

It's the first week of summer and boy are we partying over here! It's 85 degrees (finally) and we should be at the pool, or at least I should be at work, but NO.

First my normally healthy as a horse husband threw up for 24 hours (beginning Sunday just after the finale of the Sopranos but most likely unrelated to his grief over the ending of the show).

Then on Monday W threw a temper tantrum like I haven't seen since he was 3 in the middle of his much anticipated basketball playoff game (because he fell asleep in the car on the way there and we were late and he awoke to having missed the first half due to traffic and a small mistake over car seats on my and his grandpa's part. He was not pleased. Calming down took 30 minutes of kicking and screaming and demanding that "someone start the whole game OVER AGAIN!" I think he only fully woke up after about an hour). Luckily the championship game is this Saturday. I plan to be there two hours early.

Then the next morning he refused to see his best buddy (which put a wrench in my work plans since that's tied to our childcare situation) because the two have been fighting. It seemed inappropriate to suggest a cock fight to settle the thing once and for all so the buddy's mom and I spent an emotional morning trying to smooth things out and look inward to see why this may be happening. WTF? I thought I was mommy to a 5 year old boy, not a 16 year old girl. G-d help you mothers of girls when hormones kick in. I really shouldn't be making light of the situation--it was truly heartbreaking to see the fighting, but I'm positive about the way we're going forward. I'm proud of me and the other mommy for how we handled it. That always feels good.

As we were settling some of the bad feelings between the boys my youngest decided to present me with an opportunity to show him the very type of "one strike and you're out" plan we've been discussing for the older boys. B kicked at someone in play and I got to scoop him off his feet and leave the scnene plus remove his beloved milk sippy cup from his hands. Later that day he hit his big brother again and I was forced to take away his nighttime show. More work, once again, for me, but I think he got the picture (or at least the hour of crying seemed convincing).

Today I was set to go off to work (maybe even sneak in a swim) and W woke up with an infection around his mouth (back from it's death after last week's appearance) that looks like leprosy. B woke up coughing and sneezing as well, so that was the end of the work plan. Should be 90 degrees today, but I doubt the pool folk will be seeing any of the three of us. We're off to the doctor's office after lunch. I'm planning to ask for some sort of Frequent Illness point card. Maybe I can get a free antibiotic after ten or twenty more visits.

Summmer '07 Whooohooo!

The Carnies Win Again

2007-06-10T06:13:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I took my son to the local carnival and he won a goldfish. Our first pet. To say he was "excited" would be as understated as saying he "likes" candy. He named it immediately (Ollie) and began speaking about it lovingly. All I could think about was the time and money this fish could cost me.

Winning the fish cost me only $2 (thanks to luck and W's ping pong ball throwing accuracy), but on the ride home I was forced to stop and buy fish food. And shop for a fish bowl (which we couldn't find). And then my son said "Mommy! What about toys for my fish?" That's where I drew the line. No toys for the goldfish, at least right now.

We went home and put Ollie in a large water pitcher with some food and went off to our family BBQ where W proudly told everyone about his new pet and offered his condolences that introductions couldn't be done immediately ("...because Ollie can't travel on vacations like dogs"). At the end of the BBQ W went off to his Gran'mama's house for a special weekend with her. The rest of us came back home and prepared to watch Ollie swim around before bedtime. However...

B ran in the house and yelled "WHY is Ollie just lying there?!" as N and I made our way through the front door. I don't have to tell you what this meant. That's right, immediate repacking into the car to travel to Petco where we picked up a new Ollie, a brother for Ollie (dubbed Strawberry), a 2 gallon fish bowl, and the key ingredient whose absence had been the cause of Ollie the I's demise: Aquasafe water conditioner. It's a good thing B is too young to understand that Ollie was dead (because we don't want him telling his brother). We "woke" Ollie up and put him in the new bowl with Strawberry and $30 and a few hours of scrambling later, all was well. Great carnival. Yay, we now have pets to care for. Yay.

We took a photo of Ollie the Second's new brother and home and sent it to W at his gran'mama's house. It seems to have fooled W into believing that Ollie the Second is Ollie the First, although W did say to Gran'mama, "In person, Ollie has a little more yellow to him." Damn. He's right of course. Ollie the original was more yellowish. I guess this is one of those parenting instances where W's attention to detail and sharp memory may not serve us well.

Save Low-Income Family Child Care

2007-06-09T05:44:00.000-07:00

...from SV Moms Blog

Graduation Party

2007-06-08T07:03:00.000-07:00

It's all about eating a cake with your buddies at the end of a school year. And a cake with all of your buddies' faces on it is even better. Each boy wanted to eat his own face, so I did some creative carving and told them to suck it down before the ice cream images melted. Ah, celebrations.

Missing the last day of school

2007-06-07T10:05:00.000-07:00

The BEST day of school, by far, is always the LAST day of school. Unfortunately, you don't get to attend the last day of school if, like W, you wake up with oozing eczema around your mouth which looks suspiciously enough like impetigo for your mom to keep you out of reach of other kids while she's not there to make sure your "infection" is covered.

Poor guy. He got out of bed with swollen lips and a red mouth and nothing else wrong, so he feels fine but has to sit at home with me while his best buddies run around and likely enjoy last day of school treats. Hmph. I'm just praying that when we go to the doctor at noon she'll say he is NOT contagious, and we can make it to the big baseball end of the year extravaganza his buddy is throwing.

Fingers crossed.

Sheep Update

2007-06-04T21:29:00.000-07:00

Today I picked W up from his friend's house. The friend's mom, also my dear friend, whom I'll call Bella since she is Italian and beautiful (but too modest for her own good), said she had been talking with the two boys about their (Christian) preschool graduation celebration later this week.

"My guy likes to sing the sheep song while doing air guitar," she said. "W just watched him rock out. I asked him about not liking the sheep song. W said,'Well, my mom doesn't like it. She wants me to be me.'"

That pretty much makes all the fuss worth it, right? My son may be confused about believing everything he's told at school, and in fact he may not have minded the sheep song at all until I rushed to optimistically interpret his reluctance to sing it (probably mostly due to boredom) as a desperate fight for his own individuality. But, he certainly knows his mommy isn't afraid to (respectfully) "question the program" when it doesn't feel quite right. And I think he knows I would never support anyone telling him do do otherwise.

Be yourself. Be curious. Be strong. What other directives could we possibly want a preschooler to go into the world with?

Don't ask, don't tell, don't know until it's way too late

2007-05-31T19:11:00.000-07:00

Yesterday the Supreme Court ruled that Lily Ledbetter, a 60-year old "fiery mother of two," could not make a claim of workplace discrimination (the claim is that for years she was paid between 15% and 40% less than her male counterparts on the management team--a team that included members who were far less qualified than she was) because she attempted to make this claim more than 180 days after the pay was set.

Um. What the HELL does 180 days have to do with this? First of all, very few people would ever, much less within 180 days, know how much their counterparts are making. I know when I was in the corporate world it was INCREDIBLY taboo, if not illegal, to inquire about my colleagues' salaries. How many of you know exactly what your co-workers make? And how many of you keep constant tabs on amounts those folks make as pay periods pass?

The long and the short of this situation is that Ms. Ledbetter got financially screwed because she was a woman, for years. And, because employees don't freely share information about their exact salary packages, it took a while for her to realize how poorly treated she was in comparison to the less qualified males on her team--how much less she was saving for retirement and how many less options she was given in terms of health care.

But hey, it's been more than 180 days since that first or last inequity was instituted. So who cares, right?

A lot of people care, and so should you. Justice Ruth Ginsburg wrote the dissenting opinion for the 5-to-4 decision, and in it she asked Congress to overturn the ruling and clarify the intent of the law. Several Congressional leaders are already stepping forward to counter this outrage by drafting new fair-minded legislation. Let's get behind them so they can pass this legislation immediately.

SIGN THE PETITION & PASS IT ON: Tell Congress, "We Need Equal Pay for Equal Work--it is good law, make it enforceable!"

Read more

Sheep

2007-05-31T11:22:00.000-07:00

My five-year-old is refusing to go to school because he feels "uncomfortable" with the preschool graduation celebration he is being forced to practice every single day (for the event next week). I've written about the religious nature of the preschool before, and how I'm a totally hypocritical Jew for sending him there but am generally okay with the G-d messages they are passing along there (with some exceptions). But when I got the program for the preschool graduation (funny enough that there is a ceremony at all) this week and saw that they would be walking in a processional to receive their diplomas to the tune of (and sung by each child) "I just want to be a sheep, baa baa baa, I just want to be a sheep baa baa baa, I just want to follow Jesus, ", I felt kind of sick to my stomach. It's not the Jesus part. Honest. It's the sheep part. What the ? Aren't we supposed to teach kids they just want to BE THEMSELVES, not that they just want to follow blindly along? I just have a problem with his having to repeat this as he goes up to receive his ticket on to the rest of his schooling career. A sheep is NOT what I want my son to be.

I was prepared to let this slide and just get through the next week (we have such dear friends there and it would be nice to have a closing ceremony and really I like letting things slide), until my kid started crying and saying he didn't want to go to school anymore because they've been practicing this processional along with numerous other "Jesus songs" every single day in the chapel and he was "tired" of baa'ing like a sheep. "I want to be myself," he said to me today. That was enough to get him a pass out of the graduation ceremony, and in fact, out of the next week of school. I'm not offering him up to rehearse or participate in this thing if he doesn't want to. Thus, it has become "Take My Kid to Work Week."

I did speak with the staff this morning. They respectfully heard my concerns and said they may make some changes. I appreciate that, but am also happy to obstain (it is absolutely their perogative as a christian preschool to do what they will on this issue but...), and my son and I very well may reassess our boycott of the proceedings if things turn around.

Baa.

You know you're in the Deep South when...

2007-05-28T20:41:00.001-07:00

...the miniature golf course has a plastic bright yellow plaque at every hole with a Bible verse printed on it.

Don't get me wrong. I LOVE the Deep South. My mom is from Savannah and I have yet to see a prettier city with friendlier, more interesting people. The summer humidity there immediately makes me feel at home (even through the profuse perspiration) because I've visited there ever summer of my life. GA and SC are vacation to me. Homes away from home in which I always feel I'm luxuriating: hitting the beach multiple times a day and eating shrimp and grits and Krispy Kremes. I'm used to the heaviness of the air on my skin and butter-filled food in my belly, as well as to the suffocating omnipresence of religion in the area. Sunday mornings before church lets out (and all brunch locations are bombarded) you can nary find a non-vacationing soul outdoors, and you won't go far without running up against a "God bless you" from a stranger or, well, a miniature golf course with Bible verses at each hole.

I'm not very religious, and I'm certainly not of the majority religion in the Deep South, but again, I'm immune to the threat I might feel if I hadn't grown up with Southern Baptist grandparents who taught me that real Christians never begrudge anyone their choices. Love others. Help people. That's all that matters to my religiously mellow converted Jewish CA self. So, while I was faced with the fact, on hole one of the Legendary miniature golf course, that according to this verse I was certainly going to Hell, I persevered and completed the course not one but two times (that's a total of 36 holes of God-fearing golf, FYI). And I gotta say, those plaques grew on me. To be honest, they weren't all bible verses, and some of those that weren't - as well as some that were - really did speak the truth.

After passing by the "accept Jesus or you are destined to burn in hell for eternity" type proclamations I happened on a few that really made me pause (when I got a few extra seconds after the boys had found the water on any number of holes) and reflect, which I suspect is what was intended after all.

I was surprised to find this verse, (on hole fourteen no less-just when I was beginning to tire of the fire and brimstone) which sums up exactly what I feel about G-d (that the notion of G-d is love and respect for others). Who would have thunk?

That day I had reluctantly took my boys miniature golfing (I hate it) after promising the water slides on the last day of vacation and finding that they were closed for rebuilding. They got me there kicking and screaming. I left uplifted, reminded by a bunch of cheesy religious plaques that Love is all that really matters. To anyone. Simple as that. As a bonus, both my boys got holes in one that day.

No Potty Talk!

2007-05-27T20:28:00.000-07:00

While on vacation these past couple of weeks, B ramped up his use of potty talk (somewhat cheered on by certain aunts and uncles who found his "poopie in my tushie" song quite catchy). I understand their enthusiasm. No matter how many times I hear it, the first time (per day) that B breaks out the "In my tushie, In my penis" song, it's really funny. I laugh. I try not to, but I just can't help it. By the tenth time he sings it, it is, admittedly, not funny at all (especially when done at top volume in a crowded restaurant) and by then it is too late to convincingly tell him "NO potty talk" like we mean it. Luckily he really only does it to make us laugh and he quits once we look like we are going to pull our hair out.

He's not gone off the potty mouth charts though, yet. Sometimes he even self disciplines before he really gets started. "In my-" he'll start, then stop abruptly and shout "No potty talk!" at the folks around him.

Is it sad that I feel a pride akin to his graduating from a major university when he successfully severs a stream of potty talk? Sad or no, I'm holding on to my pride. There are so many analogous times that he lets himself go and tells a room full of shoppers or diners that his "tushie makes lots of stinky poopy!" before lifting a leg and tooting on cue, that I've got to take pleasure in his "manners" where I can.

MomsRising and Me in the SF Chronicle Today

2007-05-20T06:17:00.000-07:00

Well, I've never made the cover of the Chronicle before, so I have to post this. Goooo MomsRising!

http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2007/05/20/CMGCEPG9UE1.DTL

San Francisco Chronicle
The Motherhood Movement
Can a group like MomsRising finally foment policy change in America by harnessing a citizen army of mothers?

Katherine Seligman

Sunday, May 20, 2007

There is a certain irony in a roomful of women who all had to find child care so they could come to a meeting to watch a film about, among other things, the dearth of quality child care in this county. But, having done that, the women filed into Cubberley Community Center in Palo Alto early one evening, stopping at a snack table to grab an M&M covered cupcake or slice of strawberry meringue cake. They were teachers, entrepreneurs, software geeks, bloggers, single, married, working and stay-at-home moms in a mix of business wear and jeans.

They'd come because of MomsRising, a political action group that reaches members through cyberspace, where they can join in on their own time, when they have any. Just click and enlist. If that sounds familiar, it should. MomsRising was co-founded by Joan Blades, who created the now-famous MoveOn.org with her husband, Wes Boyd. What began in 1998 as a casual petition to fewer than 100 friends urging Congress to censure President Bill Clinton and move on to more pressing business eventually ricocheted around the Internet, gathering 500,000 signatures. The couple had stumbled onto, it turned out, an ingeniously simple but potent political tool.

Blades, called by Ms. Magazine the "mother of cyberspace mobilization," has now set her sights on a huge, diverse, some would say unwieldy group -- mothers. It's a group that has traditionally been hard to harness. But it's also a group whose members increasingly say in books, blogs and polls, whether they work or stay at home, that they are overwhelmed and, in many cases, fed up. They are working longer hours and also spending more hours with their children, research shows. Health care costs are rising and quality child care is scarce, despite talk from politicians about "family values" or "family balance." MomsRising, which is trying to build an army of citizen activists to push for paid family leave, flexible work and better access to quality child and health care, is not the first to point this out. The question is whether it can bring the disparate voices together.

"It's past due," Blades said. To her, the timing is right for a renewed motherhood movement that will appeal to mothers or, for that matter, "anyone with a mother." The Democrats control Congress, and the speaker of the House is a woman who declares herself a mother and grandmother first, and brought her children and grandchildren to the inauguration to prove it. "We loved it," Blades said. "We have a big-time mother in leadership, and we are proud of it."

Still, Blades acknowledges that the battle is a tough one. It's loaded terrain, laced with terms like finding "off-ramps" and "on-ramps" to work after having kids or "opting out," a notion that fueled an accusation that the media was depicting so-called "mommy wars" instead of the lack of work flexibility. Issues related to motherhood and feminism -- MomsRising avoids the term because "it means different things to different people," says Blades -- are guaranteed to be hot button. Recent books have talked about the financial penalties women face when they leave the workforce and of the strain they face when they remain. One, Leslie Bennetts' "The Feminine Mistake," which talks about the risk of economic dependency women face if they leave work, received some critical praise but also sparked a backlash.

Then there is the problem that "family friendly" policies in MomsRising's call to action are not usually front-page fodder. And when they are, there is sometimes criticism, says Blades, who admits that she was surprised at some of the reaction to one newspaper story about a MomsRising event that prompted a reader to comment, "Can't feed 'em, don't breed 'em." She responded in a blog with all the reasons that taking care of children makes good economic sense for everyone, including that quality child and health care mean fewer troubled kids and a generation that can pay for civic and social services in the future.

"It's a pocketbook issue," said Democratic Rep. Lynn Woolsey of Petaluma, who is preparing a legislative package that would make it possible for states to set up paid family leave laws, a key issue for MomsRising. "A great number of people, particularly women, understand we have to bridge work and family. Will that awareness reach to using taxpayer dollars?'' Will companies agree to cut into short-term profits even if it means long-term gains?

"This is a culture with a death wish if it doesn't invest in kids," Blades said one day during a hike near her Berkeley home. "I don't want to live in a place where only the upper middle class and middle class can afford children. This is, to some extent, fighting for our soul."

MomsRising is one of a number of groups reaching out to mothers, but, with more than 85,000 members joining in just less than a year, it's the fastest-growing virtual grassroots effort of its kind. Other forums also have sprung up -- or just recently achieved a place -- on the Internet. Mothers Movement Online, Mainstreet Moms, Mothers Acting Up, Mothers & More (which has been around for two decades), to name a few, offer everything from parenting advice and social networks to information about political issues and opportunities for activism.

"Most of the country is struggling," said Sarah Eisner, an organizer of the Cubberley gathering, as she welcomed the women. She joined MomsRising shortly after it kicked off last Mother's Day, drawn both by the cause and by the ease of participating. Her friends all received Christmas gifts of MomsRising T-shirts and copies of the group's education centerpiece, a book and documentary called "The Motherhood Manifesto." Then she organized this house party. By her own admission, she's lucky. She quit her high-tech job after having a second child because she couldn't work flexible hours, and joined a company that's producing polycarbonate-free baby bottles. Her work hours now suit her, even if she still feels a nagging guilt that she should be either at home more or at work more. Her schedule allows her to be part of what one blogger calls a new breed of "naptime activists" -- women with a desire to be politically active, but scant time except when the kids are napping.

"It's the old fix," said sociologist and writer Arlie Hochschild, who has written about "the stalled gender revolution." "When you're at a stage to bring about revolution, you're too young to know there is a problem. When you're old enough to know there is a problem, no one is helping you and you are too stuck to be a political activist. What's admirable here is a lot of members of MomsRising are speaking out from the fix. They are doing it anyway. There is a kind of real heroism here."

Woolsey, who is quoted in the documentary talking about her legislation called the Balancing Act, uses some of the same language. She told me she considers MomsRising "my heroes. "They are doing exactly the right thing," she said.

MomsRising mixes a can-do vibe -- its trademark image is an iconic Rosie the Riveter picture with a twist, a smiling baby in the crook of her arm -- with a practical approach. Its six-point education and action campaign corresponds to the letters in "mother" -- maternity and paternity leave; open, flexible work; TV, media and other after-school programs; health care; excellent child care; and realistic and fair wages.

Cyber visitors can sign petitions, post or read personal stories and legislative news updates or find out about giving or attending house parties like the one at Cubberley to see the documentary "The Motherhood Manifesto." It tells the stories of stressed families, like the one headed by a single mom who was asked on a job interview if she was married (no) and had kids (yes). The interviewer told her the company didn't hire women with kids because "they take too much time off work.'' She complained to the state Human Rights Commission and was told that this was perfectly legal. An activist was born. The woman is leading a fight to change the law in Pennsylvania.

Then there is the story of a woman who had to return to work a few days after giving birth prematurely. She only had a month leave and wanted to use it when her baby got out of the hospital. Other tales in the documentary are peppered with troubling statistics -- college-educated women can expect to forfeit about a million dollars over their working life after having children. The United States is the only industrialized country that doesn't offer paid family leave, putting it right up there with Lesotho, Swaziland and Papua New Guinea (a fact that brought a collective gasp from the audience), and it ranks 37th in mortality rate of children younger than 5. And it talks about the possible solutions, legislation that would, the film argues, end up saving more money than it would cost.

MomsRising, which Blades founded with Kristin Rowe-Finkbeiner, a Seattle political strategist and writer, hasn't yet met with MoveOn's wildfire response, but it is gradually building its presence. The two bring their experience and combined virtual Rolodexes. At least 50 groups have "aligned" with MomsRising. National Organization for Women president Kim Gandy and Blades' friend Arianna Huffington supplied blurbs for "The Motherhood Manifesto" book. This past fall, Democratic Sens. Barack Obama, Hillary Clinton, Christopher Dodd and Edward M. Kennedy attended a showing of the documentary, which played to a packed room in the U.S. Capitol, no small feat on a weekday evening when Congress is in session. Blades says she was thrilled to have the senators' support but was equally pleased when someone who'd been serving food turned to her and said, "I've been to a lot of events here, but this one really speaks to me."

The Internet has opened up new ways for mothers to get involved in politics, says Megan Matson, who hatched Mainstreet Moms with friends around her kitchen table in Point Reyes, a group that has spawned local "mmoblets." "I had so many friends with so many skills and backgrounds," she said. "I noticed it at preschool fundraisers. You see these high-price talents unloading into these small events and think wow, you could turn this talent and drive loose and expand the civic arena. And that is turning out to be true." The group worked in 2004 to sign up unregistered single mothers to vote, a year later concentrated on informing parents that they could opt out of military recruitment lists for their children and now is holding "soup and solution" evenings where they screen a movie on the forced demise of the electric car.

Debra Levy, senior manager of the newly formed "power department" of Mothers & More, says she's hoping MomsRising will gain political clout, but is in a "wait and see" mode. Everyone needs an "aha moment" in order to get involved, she said, and she doesn't think most people have had theirs. She had hers, she said, when she left her job as a legal assistant because she couldn't juggle it and her two kids, then found a sense of "tremendous loss." Soon after, she started a Dallas chapter of Mothers & More, a group founded by a postal worker in Elmhurst, Ill., in 1987. The group has 6,000 members, with a growing advocacy, or power, department.

"On the one hand, I'm optimistic," she said. "MomsRising was started by someone with the experience of MoveOn. There is a potential to reach out to a great number of people. But is it the be-all and end-all? I don't know. All the organizations that have existed for longer than we have probably have to come together to make a difference."

Judith Stadtman Tucker, who launched Mothers Movement Online in 2003, said MomsRising is "promising," but any national effort will have to include women from all backgrounds. The problem, she said, is that poorer working women may be too busy to get involved.

"Mothers don't self-organize," she said. "We really have to grab them by the lapels."

Later, when asked how MomsRising will include mothers who are struggling the most, who might not have the time or resources to go on a computer at night, Blades said, "We need more funding. How can we be economically diverse (by relying) on volunteers?" But then with characteristic optimism, she added that the group is still young and members have hosted more than 100 house parties. "We thought MoveOn was just a flash campaign," she said. Though the group has its detractors -- including those who say it delivers more group therapy than political results -- 3.3 million people joined MoveOn by 2005 and the organization raised $9 million for candidates and campaigns. More recently, among other actions, it organized a petition drive and "virtual march" against the Iraq escalation and a move to raise funds for an anti-McCain commercial -- one showing the notorious clip of the senator singing "bomb bomb bomb bomb Iran" to the tune of the Beach Boys classic "Barbara Ann."

"We were naive," said Blades about the start of MoveOn. " Nine years later she is no longer so naive.

"Shall we take a walk?" Blades said, shortly after opening the door of her North Berkeley home. Her communications person had warned that she liked to "talk and walk." It's the multitasking that mothers learn, or are perhaps hard-wired to do, in this case getting some exercise while talking about MomsRising and walking the dog before the kids got home from school.

But first, Blades handed me her laptop to show MomsRising's latest outreach project -- a call for decorated onesies (one-piece baby outfits) that could be either bought or made and would then be strung together in public to make a point to the Washington state Legislature, where a family-leave act was pending. "Here, what do you think?" she asked. Then, with a click, she sent the page off to her partner, Rowe-Finkbeiner, who would post it on the MomsRising site.

During the next month, MomsRising members in Washington would send in hundreds of tiny garments for the Power of ONEsie display. By that time they had e-mailed 14,000 letters, made hundreds of phone calls and baked and sent 600 thank-you cookies to elected officials. At the end of April, the Washington Legislature passed and sent to the governor's desk a paid family leave bill giving workers $250 a week for as long as five weeks to care for a newborn or a newly adopted child. "The family leave bill would not have passed without the great work of MomsRising," state Sen. Karen Keiser, a prime sponsor, told the group afterward. If signed, it would be the nation's second, after California's pioneering measure that allows as long as six weeks paid leave.

But on that day when she looked over the project, Blades said it was an example of the kind of small, tangible action that can snowball. Then, because the dog was barking, Blades, dressed in jeans, a long T-shirt and walking shoes, strapped on a floppy sunhat and headed for the door. A slender woman with wispy hair past her shoulders, she set off briskly. She was born and raised in Berkeley and knows the terrain here.

After graduating from Berkeley High School -- a year early because she was ready to get out -- she went on to community college and UC Berkeley, then Golden Gate University Law School. She moved to Alaska, where she clerked for the state Supreme Court, then worked as a family law attorney. It was where she became interested in family mediation, a pursuit that took her to Washington, D.C. She returned to Berkeley to write what became a landmark book on divorce mediation, "Mediate Your Divorce." She also took up collage, and soccer, which is where she met her husband.

The two were frantically working on their software business, Berkeley Systems, when they had their first child. "It was a fragile time for the business," Blades said. "I remember making calls right after he was born." The company eventually hit it big with its flying-toaster screen-saver design. Blades and Boyd sold it in 1997, enabling her to work fewer hours. By the time their second child came along, they were comfortably working on educational software, no longer financially pressed. "I took more time off and I recognized that as a huge blessing," said Blades, now a full-time volunteer whose children are 10 and 17.

In 2004, six years after the creation of MoveOn, Rowe-Finkbeiner sent Blades a manuscript of her book "The F Word: Feminism in Jeopardy." Blades, who'd recently been named a Ms. magazine woman of the year, was intrigued by the book, an exploration of why so many young women don't vote or use the term feminism, despite struggling to find balance in their lives. "I was thinking how feminism, for me, had been a huge advancement," Blades said. "What would cause it to be so unpopular?" As a political organizer, she said, it was the book's data that struck her. More than 80 percent of women had kids, but they made less money than men or women without kids. "Most people would be shocked if they knew about this huge wage gap," she remembers thinking. "There is outright discrimination against mothers. They need a voice." The inequities made it harder for women to be in leadership roles, and the lack of flexibility left few options for women with kids.

"We've been told it's our choice," Blades said, walking up a flight of stairs, "but we don't have the choices we want." She paused briefly and even the dog trailed behind. "This part gets kind of aerobic," she warned.

She decided to write a brief position paper which she called "The Motherhood Manifesto" and sent it to two friends. One was Huffington. Soon after, at a gathering of "high powered progressives" at her house, Huffington talked Blades into discussing the paper. Then she turned to her, Blades recalled, and asked, "What are you going to do about it?"

Blades in 2005 asked Rowe-Finkbeiner to help write a book that would lay out the problems faced by parents, as well as possible solutions. Rowe-Finkbeiner didn't need much convincing. She was the director of an environmental political action committee until her son was born 10 years ago with primary immune deficiency. She left her job because she couldn't find adequate care for him. Once home with him, she started looking for some kind of network, but couldn't find anything. There must be other women in the same situation, she figured. So she fell back on the familiar -- doing research. "I'm a geek, a numbers person," she said. "And I had to know how many mothers there were at home. I called the U.S. Census (Bureau) and they didn't know. I said, 'How can you not know?' They said it was unpaid labor and it's uncounted."

But Rowe-Finkbeiner's research led her to other figures. She found that while women without children make 10 percent less than men, women with kids make 27 percent less and single mothers make as much as 44 percent less. "It made me think about balance," she said. "We are so far behind other industrialized countries."

Her work with MomsRising allows her flexible -- if long -- work hours, and time to be with her son, who is now healthy, and her daughter, who is 8. She and Blades usually communicate via e-mail, grabbing phone conversations when they can. As with many of the mothers I interviewed for this story, there were intermittent interruptions by kids and dogs. ("No, you can't bring the dog inside," she told her son a few times. "Yes, you can go hug him outside.")

It's the multitasking that Blades was talking about. When we got back from the walk, she went to the kitchen to turn off a pot of artichokes she'd set to boil before we'd left. She had just enough time to down one before heading off to an appointment, then spending an afternoon with her children.

When the movie ended, some of the women in the Palo Alto audience said they were struck by how many families were struggling with health care and feeling torn, as they did, between the demands of work and home. They'd grown used to juggling too many things, and were afraid to ask for help. And they were surprised at how many other countries offered benefits out of reach to them in the United States.

"This has been an unspoken issue for so long," said Jennifer Antonow, who stays at home with her two small children after leaving the software firm where she was vice president of marketing, but didn't have the flexibility she needed. "This might be the first opportunity to make a difference and get our voices heard."

There is a "certain amount of meanness in America," said another woman. "We value people who can take care of themselves."

"I've never been an activist or considered myself a feminist, but this is different," said Ann Crady, a mother of two and the founder and Chief Executive Officer of Mayasmom.com, a networking site where Eisner posted the Cubberley gathering.

The two share office space with a handful of other startup companies in a renovated garage in Palo Alto. A week after the MomsRising event, Eisner and Crady were still energized.

Eisner had made plans for another showing of "The Motherhood Manifesto" and was thinking about a local onesie campaign. There was a potential for contacting people at Stanford University, she said, and at the Palo Alto school district. The work of MomsRising had reignited her interest in political action.

Unlike Crady, Eisner was an activist in her college days, even getting herself arrested at a protest against the first Gulf War. "Finally I got sick of myself," she said. "I graduated and said, 'I'm not going to whine anymore.' "

But after earning a master's degree in engineering at Stanford and entering the business world, she started noticing that women were having kids and having trouble coming back to work. She left her own job, then while working next to Crady, discovered MayasMom and became "an addict." It seemed a perfect home for MomsRising because of the potential to reach women across political lines.

Crady left her job at Yahoo, where she ran the business department for one of the search and market groups, even though the company offered her a part-time schedule. She felt, she said, that starting her own company was "in my blood." She probably spends more time away from her kids and works longer hours than she did before, but her kids, including daughter Maya, whose artwork adorns a wall, visit often. After they go to bed, Crady said, she frequently finds herself working again.

Now that she is a Chief Executive Officer and a mother, she said, she can see both sides, how it's hard to have some people working crazy hours and others who can't put in the time. She has several full-time workers and a few who work parttime or at home. She sees the need for reasonable child care and schedules that let employees have time for their kids. And she understands the push and pull between work and home, the "mommy guilt" that still dogs her.

"The issues really resonate for me," she said. "We need to change. I almost felt like I had to apologize for having kids. The internal conflict caused me not to be the most dedicated worker. I should have been better to myself. But that's the life of a mom. You are always in conflict."

E-mail Katherine Seligman at kseligman@sfchronicle.com.

This article appeared on page CM - 10 of the San Francisco Chronicle

Some Good Mother's Day Reading

2007-05-13T12:44:00.000-07:00

This is a great article by a local MomsRising member. Today is a good day to read it.

Happy Mother's Day!

What makes me a Happy Mommy

2007-05-11T08:17:00.000-07:00

Parent Bloggers Network's latest ”Blog Blast” campaign is in honor of Mother’s Day and inspired by Light Iris founder and dad Kevin who has been wearing a Preggo Suit all month long. Can he really actually be empathetic to what moms go through? I doubt it, but it's a sweet gesture. And is being a mom just about the actual having of the kids? Or the raising of the kids?

They ask: What is it that makes YOU a mom?

I know it's Mother's Day and all so you'll have to forgive me for my daddy centric answer. My husband, quite literally of course, enabled me to be a mom. But, obviously I could have been a mom using any old sperm donor. The thing is, I'm not just a "mom". I'm very much a Happy Mommy. I don't trudge through my days wondering when I'll get a break (usually). I don't wish my life were any different (again, I'm human and there are exceptions but you get the idea). I can not imagine anything more wonderful than the life I currently live. How did I get myself in this Happy Mommy situation? Quite simply, I picked the right guy.

What uniquely makes me the mommy that I am is the support I have from my main man (with my two little men). I've watched moms around me that do not have the same kind of double-team situation with their husband--who are nearly solely responsible for raising their kids--and I don't know how they do it.

The energy I have for being a mommy (getting up in the night, mopping vomit and feces off Target carts mid-shopping spree, playing 5 hours of one-on-one basketball a day, fitting work into the 3 free hours/day 3 times a week that I get, loving boys through potty talk expletives in public, being firm through big crocodile tears and high fevers, and diving head first into any kind of holiday or party theme for the fun I know the kids will have) comes directly from the emotional and physical space my husband provides by co-parenting with me (vs. watching from the sidelines).

Yes, he has a career outside the home. He's currently launching his own company and that means long hours (especially this past month) at work. But that's unusual for him. He's usually home for dinner and to play for hours before getting back on the computer after the boys are asleep to work into the night, something I do not know how he does. (And by the way, he has always split the nighttime wakings duty with me, from day one of both boys' lives). And lately, even through his midnight-at-the-office month he has managed to let me swim more mornings than usual (I gain incredible energy and mojo for the long day ahead from my pool visits), apologize profusely for not being home more (though no apology is needed), and stop in for quick scrimmages with the boys mid-afternoon when they least expect it. Sometimes a surprise twenty minute game with Daddy in the middle of the day is more valuable than an evening spent at home checking email as the kids run circles around him. I love him for understanding that and for making any time he has with the boys worthwhile.

I love my three boys so very, very much. But it's my Big Guy that truly allows me to be a Happy Mommy. So here's to him, as well as me (shameless self-congratulation) this Mother's Day.

Tea for Two, Twice

2007-05-10T15:21:00.000-07:00

Today I had the pleasure of attending not one but two Mother's Day teas at my boys' school. I hit B's two-year-old classroom first, where the kids sang "Love you in the morning, love you in the noontime..." in a circle and passed out homemade mini pots full of chocolate to mommies wearing tie-dyed hats (I wore mine for a minute, but it was hard to see. Honest). Little B has been sick all week and I couldn't be happier that health descended on us just in time for me to attend his tea. I freaking love Mother's Day and even though this preschool is too heavy on the religion for me I think it was worth sending my boys here if only for the Mother's Day extravaganza they orchestrate each year. I just can't get enough of that excited "I did something for you today" glee that spills out of my boys at these events. Anyway, B's tea ran a bit long and luckily I had arranged for his daddy to show up near the end to cover for me (and to hold court as the only daddy in a room full of hot moms) as I raced upstairs to W's tea.

The four and five-year-old class had a more elaborate program for us, including various musical numbers and a reading (by the teacher) of the book Love You Forever.
Apparently everyone but me owns this book, but I had never heard it. Frankly, I found it depressing. It starts with a mom rocking her baby and singing a song to him. It ends, after detailing how the mommy will get older and older until finally she is so decrepit she can't even finish the song anymore, with the baby grown and singing to his own young child. I get it. It's nice and wonderful and about the circle of life and love and parenting but damn if I didn't see the end of my sweet boy's childhood as well as my entire life whiz by as the story went on. That was not the kind of unfolding of love and life I was looking forward to today. Still, the whole experience was wonderful and I actually felt sad for the first time that W would be going off to Kindergarten next year. I usually am equally excited for the next phase of his and B's lives as I am enjoying the current phase, but I gotta admit to a few sniffles as I heard the description of the growing boy in the story as someone who no longer wanted to be hugged or rocked by his mommy. Of course, that won't happen with my boys. But still.

Anyhoo, we went back to some musical numbers after the story and hope was restored. There's nothing like seeing your child smile unselfconsciously while singing aloud that he loves you more than anything in the world. I know Mother's Day isn't until Sunday, but I'm already feeling very gifted indeed.

What I'll do to impress my http://www.blogger.com/img/gl.link.gifkids

2007-05-10T08:38:00.000-07:00

...from Silicon Valley Moms Blog

Weekend Getaway Gets Feverish

2007-05-08T13:49:00.000-07:00

The idea was a good one, and it worked out alright for the most part. I went over to the East Bay and stayed in a hotel by myself one night while my mom and step-dad watched the kids. For 24 hours I enjoyed a sweet hotel/fitness spa by myself in Walnut Creek. Why by myself? Because my hubby is in Vegas launching his company. Was it bliss to be sleeping in, swimming, eating sushi and shopping by myself? Yes.

But on Sunday, just before the kids were to join me and spend the second night at the hotel enjoying the pools (forecast: 90 degrees) and movies and room service in bed, I got a call from my mom. "B has a fever," she said. "What should we do?"

Well, luckily I was down the street so I went over, gave him Ibuprofen and Tylenol (turned out to be a 104 degree fever), and waited for it to kick in and B to act like normal. Once he did I was able to run W over to the resort and spend a few hours with him in the pools. I'd have liked to take them both home right then (we all know what a feverish night is like with a two-year-old), but the room was already paid for and I couldn't get my money back. So, the three of us stayed in that paid-for room, huddled together nursing B's fever. It wasn't a great night but it wasn't terrible, and W still got to have his movie in bed at night, and pancakes in bed in the morning (this hotel stay was a birthday gift from Gran'mama).

We got on the road at 8AM and drove the hour straight to the doctor's office, where we were given antibiotics and some major fever reducing meds (104 again). Last night was more like a nightmare with both kids waking for hours during the night, and this morning was a fun trip to Target. I took B after dropping W at school, to Target to get diapers and milk. Thus far in the morning he had been fever-free but in the diaper aisle his fever went back up to 103 (or higher - I took it 30 minutes later) and he pissed all over the cart (the Little Swimmer diaper I had him in because we were out of regular diapers didn't hold much). I trashed his shorts in the bathroom and ripped open the new diaper pack immediately, as well as administered an anal fever reducer suppository (at least I thought to bring one in case his fever spiked), all on that disgusting Target changing table. I then hurried home to take a shower in hand sanitizer.

He's sleeping now. Happy Tuesday to me!

Simple Party, Simple Fun

2007-05-04T09:47:00.000-07:00

I think these photos pretty much sum up W's birtday party yesterday. Park, lots of kids, and a scheduled, hosted visit by the ice cream man. Fun. And eeeeeasy for Mama. Hoo-ray.

Happy 5th Birthday W!

2007-05-03T08:13:00.000-07:00

Five years ago today I was getting ready to head into the city to lunch at Asia de Cuba with my BF AM. Something didn't feel quite "right" in my tummy so I skipped my morning swim. After I finished a rousing meal of fried calamari and banana salad I stood up in the swanky restaurant, felt a "pop" down below, and bled water all over the floor.

"I'm having a baby," I said. "Yay!" I visited the Asia de Cuba restroom briefly before I convinced AM that she didn't need to accompany me in my car back to Stanford Hospital. I figured contractions would be hours away. Wrong. Right around Burlingame on Hwy 280 I began to feel cramps like I'd never felt before. But, I made it. I got out of the car at Stanford to another warm rush of liquid down the legs of my jeans and by the time N helped me into Labor and Delivery it was clear that W was an impatient little boy.

I'm happy to say that today will be a different kind of day. I've already taken W to Starbucks for a leisurely eating of an apple fritter and let him open a gift (soccer game in photo) from his dear friend K.Rev, and right now I'm making pups in blankets to take to school (I'm so sick of all the cupcakes at 10AM) for a birthday snack. This afternoon we'll be partying at a park with a visit from the ice cream truck. And best of all, tonight I'll sleep through the night without waking every 30 minutes to breastfeed. Ah, the joys of having a five-year-old.

Getting High and Rising Up on Mother's Day

2007-05-02T14:28:00.000-07:00

I wouldn't mind a sparkly diamond and a trip to Hawaii for Mother's Day, but a big cup of coffee made with beans sold to raise up the lot of American families would make me feel pretty good too (and at a much lower price).

My favorite political organization, MomsRising, has come up with a kick ass gift idea: caffeine for a cause. I'll buy coffee for no cause at all except my own strong addiction, so buying it to help further an agenda I care deeply about is a no-brainer. MomsRising has enlisted Farley's Coffee to make a special MomsRising blend for Mother's Day. They'll use the profits for projects (including a free Mother's Day ecard) to help further the goal of bringing millions of people, who all share a common concern about the need to build a more family-friendly America, together as a non-partisan force for 2008 and beyond. This grassroots, online effort is mobilizing mothers, and all who have mothers, across America as a cohesive force for change on issues such as healthcare for all kids, high quality childcare, and realistic and fair wages for mothers. Started in May 2006, MomsRising already has over 50,000 citizen members, as well as more than fifty (and growing) aligned national organizations, working together to create positive solutions for the future.

You can order coffee alone, with a Motherhood Manifesto book (which is a great read, especially on Mom's Day). Get yer coffee now and get high off helping make positive change. What better time to start than on Mother's Day?

My First SV Mom Post

2007-04-30T07:43:00.000-07:00

"Mommy, why did Jesus die nailed to the cross?"

Birthday Beach Weekend

2007-04-29T20:27:00.000-07:00

We went south this weekend to visit W's best buddy for his 5th birthday party.

Here are the fun things we did:

competed in whipped cream contest
played musical chairs
participated in pinata beating and candy eating
pinch hit and fielded in tee ball game
swung on the beach
ran in the surf
ate shave ice cones
watched a movie in bed with popcorn
painted our nails (the boys picked shiny blue)
went to get hot chocolate and cinnamon roll breakfast in our jammies

and last but not least...

fell in love (all of us, in familial platonic way of course) with BFriend Mommy's new boyfriend (now moved in) and his daughter when we thought we would never ever get over the break-up of BFriend Mommy and her ex-husband, also our dear friend for the past fifteen years. More on that another time. Let's just say I'm still speechless and in awe of the maturity and caring that my BFriend Mommy and everyone in her life are displaying right now.

Bringing Sexy Back (to the baby bottle industry?)

2007-04-25T13:59:00.000-07:00

As a Silicon Valley engineering/marketing geek I attended numerous high tech, male dominated trade shows in the 1990’s; male dominated, that is, but for a few of us female product managers and the scores of hired “booth babes” spilling out of cheerleading outfits who hovered between products, drawing in men who were typically more intimately familiar with their keyboards than they were with women. Ah, Vegas. Put a bunch of tech geeks, scantily clad women and the ever present access to alcohol and gambling all in one large complex and you’ve got potential trouble. However, the most forward thing any attendee ever did to me while I was working one of these things was ask me out for a drink.

So, imagine my surprise when just yesterday, at a baby products show in Disney’s sunshiny world of Orlando, Florida, a (hot and French) booth boy leaned over into my company’s booth and felt my breast.

Okay, he felt my breast-shaped bottle, and I blatantly invited him to (and of course got permission to use his photo). Still, here he is, touching the soft breast-like material on our new Natural Nurser™ (the product all three of us SV moms who run the company are depending on to succeed to keep us out of the corporate tech world forever). As you can see, he is fondling the bottle whilst on a cell phone. This is not an insignificant detail. He is listening to the message one gets when calling the phone number we handed out to countless potential customers and partners; a message that turns out to be (due to a very unfortunate typo on the letterhead we’ve been using for nearly a year but only discovered yesterday, mid-show) an invitation to join a sex chat line.

That’s right. It appears that folks who would otherwise have been placing an order for our baby bottle after hearing “Welcome. If you are a retailer, press one,” have been met with the unfortunate greeting: “Hey sexy guy. Ready for some excitement?”

Classy, no?

The error was small, which as all moms know, does not mean the potential repercussions weren’t huge. (I don’t know about you but all I need to do is simply forget to bring a tiny piece of plastic known as a pacifier on a trip and all hell breaks loose in my world). Our company’s Toll Free line is a 1-888 number. Our letterhead has been promoting a 1-800 number. Thus, the resulting sex chat experience.

But, as we geeks have always known, it seems that even here in the baby products world, sex sells—or at least doesn’t deter. The very same two southern, cute-as-a-button baby boutique owners from Georgia who informed us of the typo’s existence placed our first order for the bottle yesterday at the show. Polite as could be, they didn’t even mention the sex line fiasco until after we’d written up their order. As we stared at them with absolute horror (and frankly, an oncoming case of the giggles), they simply took their receipt, waved, and walked away with a smile.

After recovering from the shock, my partners and I are smiling too. We seem to have skated through without any or many others (at least that we know about) making a foray into phone porn by our unfortunate invitation. Instead of the somewhat expected attack from show officiates claiming we had somehow purposefully turned a wholesome exhibition into a Smut Fest, we had a fantastic show. (Thank G-d our business cards had the correct number, and that most of these folks are huge distributors who will work personally through us to craft a bigger deal. No need for a Toll Free number).

As a new kid on the block with a product no one had ever seen before, we got an exceptionally positive reaction. We’re happy to say that our hip new design was wowing babyworld celebrities left and right. It seems that the baby industry was looking for someone to bring sexy back in the bottle world. We’re up to the challenge, but we hope to stick to more conservative ordering processes in the future.

Full Circle

2007-04-23T19:19:00.000-07:00

My kids are way past the infant stage of waking in the night to wail for milk, and yet I'm still up too late and too early, losing sleep with a baby bottle in my hands. Only this time, I'm not using the baby bottle to care for a screaming infant.

This time I'm across the country without my kids, busy caring for a baby bottle itself-a brand spanking newborn baby bottle that demands a lot of love and attention. A baby bottle that my business partners and I unveiled to the juvenile products industry today. (Shameless self promotion: check it out. It's uber hip and it works darn good too).

This is only my second business trip since I've been a mom. In five years I have flown away from my kids exactly four times total: two for pleasure, two for business, and if I told you it didn't get any easier, I'd be lying. The first time I got on a plane after I had W I practically had to straight jacket myself into the window seat to keep from sprinting back home to see if his little nose needed wiping. This time, I barely thought about the consequences of my potential fiery sky-crash death to the children's psyches as the plane peeled off the SFO runway and delivered me into the sweet sky of childless airline travel. I read a whole book during the journey to Orlando. A whole one. I read through other children crying, through turbulence, and through an intense desire to urinate. Nothing could deter me because I didn't have to answer to anyone or anything. I sat in the inner silence of the knowledge that no matter who or what made noise around me, there would be no discipline or soothing demands made of me.

Once on the ground, I relished in an unencumbered trip to the restroom during which I did not need to hold the stall door partially open so I could trap my two boys within my sight while doing my best to hover over the bowl and preclude the need for a seat cover. That's right, I actually pulled a seat cover out and used it at a leisurely pace and with full back of the leg contact. It's the little things.

Then, I called home. My husband and littlest guy gave me goos and loveyou's. Nearly five-year-old W screamed his ass off at me.

"Hi!" I exclaimed when he picked up the phone.

"Mommy?" he said, "MOMMYYYYYYYYYYYYYY! COME HOME! NOW! Come HOME!" I could feel the heat in his face, his chunky diced-onion tears stinging his cheeks. I felt like I was caught in a dream where I'd just committed murder. You know those dreams. The ones where you know you've done the unimaginable and you know your life is over and you just wish so hard, so hard, that it was a dream? That feeling.

"Honey," I crumbled, "I'll be home soon."

"NOW!" he screamed. "I want you home NOW!"

"Me too," I said. And that quickly I wished I really was home.

"Well." I turned to CEOMom, my business partner, after I hung up. "That sucked."

"I'm sorry," she said. And I knew she really was. That's one of the beautiful things about doing business with other moms in an industry that is targeted at moms and makes products for babies. Ain't no shame in missing your kids. It still hurts, but at least there's no fear of being slighted because you're a parent. In fact, we moms that fight to be and work at home most of the time are celebrated as "experts" because we are regarded as part of the target audience for our products. How nice is that? So, heartstrings pulled and bad dream feeling and all, I reminded myself I was lucky. I reminded myself that I had needed a little break from home. Plus, I reasoned and hoped, the next morning maybe the boys would feel just fine.

What I didn't hope was that they would feel quite as fine as they did.

"Hi Mommy!" W said when, the next afternoon, with extreme trepidation I lay down (by the glistening hotel pool reflecting 80 degree Florida sunshine) and called home.

"Phew," I said. "I miss you buddy. How are you?"

"Fine," he said. "Um, did you get my Gators jersey yet?"

"Uh."

"Love you!" he said, "But did you get the jersey yet?"

"Looking for it," I said, unsure whether I was pleased with his non-chalance or crushed at the abatement of his Mommy-on-a-trip mourning period.

"Mommy?" B got on the phone.

"Hi B!" I said. "I love you."

"Mommy?" he said. "Get my Gators jersey yet?"

It's now the third day of my trip and I'm still trying to hold them off with "I'm looking for it." I'm just praying that tomorrow when I get to the airport there will be a gift shop with Florida Gator basketball jerseys for sale because if not, I don't think they'll even let me back in through the front door. At least that bad dream feeling has been washed away. I know I haven't done the unimaginable by leaving my boys in their very capable daddy's hands for a few days. I know the brief pain they felt at missing me can be erased or at least forgotten with a simple orange tank topped offering. It is indeed the little things.

I Can't Hear My Brain

2007-04-19T15:17:00.000-07:00

W and I were cuddled up on this cold afternoon reading through the Why Why Why Does My Heart Begin to Race? book. We read that your nose has special sticky smell sensors in it that collect smell particles and then send messages to your brain, which tells you what you can smell.

W sniffed, looked around and said in a disappointed tone, "Mom, I can't hear my brain saying anything."

I love love love his silly four-year-old brain. Eeek. I just realized he'll only be four for fourteen more days. I'd better hold it tight while I've got it.

A Mother's Worst Nightmare

2007-04-18T08:23:00.000-07:00

You come to this country for "a better life" for yourself and your children. You work yourself to the bone at a dry cleaning facility so that you can send your son to college. Before he graduates from that college, he is dead and gone and responsible for 32 other deaths (and the deadliest shooting in modern U.S. history). I cannot imagine a more crisp and fiery hell than this for myself, as a mother. My heart goes out, as many of ours do I am sure, not only to the mothers of the victims, but to the mother of the shooter. Read this great post titled "A Letter to Mrs. Cho" at Silicon Valley Moms Blog.