It's a girl thing

We have all heard the opinions about nature vs. nurture when it comes to raising children, and at one point I felt like my life was a test case for gender stereotypes.  When Isabel was about 18 months old she tired of "mommying" the boys stuffed animals, she found the one doll in the house (one from my childhood) and began carrying it around.  I realized that even though she was surrounded by trains and trucks and balls, this little girl needed some different toys.  We didn't have "girl" toys, but once we got a few dolls, a stroller and a kitchen, she was ecstatic.
Now our lives are filled with princesses and pink.  Isabel refuses to wear pants and prefers to go out in either her pink rain boots or her red patent Mary Jane's (which she calls her "tapping shoes") at all times.  By nap time most days she changes into a leotard and tutu and she insists that she doesn't like any boys (which Andy is thrilled about!).  She will happily play by herself with her dollhouse, feeding and bathing her babies and doggies. 
I didn't realize how extreme her "girlie" persuasion was until our neighborhood Easter Egg hunt.  Here are the Easter eggs that Izzy collected:

The only eggs in the bunch that are not pink are the ones with Dora on them.  I can guarantee that I do encourage colors other than pink in her life, even though I am more than happy to dress her in skirts and dresses.  I can also guarantee that she probably knocked over a few other little girls going for the Dora eggs, after all she has two big brothers. 

When the Easter Bunny came, Izzy did it again.

This time I know that her brothers were leaving the pink eggs for her or even finding pink eggs and giving them to her.  I'm not sure how long the pink and girlie phase of her life will last.  I don't have answers on the nature versus nurture, but I do know that my little girl has some very specific preferences about her toys and her clothes and she is not following in her brother's footsteps at all.

Happy Birthday Alex!

Happy Birthday Alex!!  I cannot believe my little man is six.  Ever since he was a toddler, Alex's life was just one big party and that hasn't changed a bit.  Whether's he's rockin' out to Pearl Jam (or Kid Rock or Creed or his latest favorite "Second Chance" by Shinedown) or playing soccer or having a Nerf gun war in the back yard, Alex is all about having fun. 

Right of Passage

Devin took a spill while flying down a hill on his scooter.  I had my back to him when I heard the screaming and crying, and I expected blood; lots and lots of blood.  But alas, there was a little road rash on his leg, but otherwise no blood.  But there was lots of arm pain.  We put some ice on it and he certainly cried more than his usual injury, but it wasn't until his teeth started chattering that I decided an ER visit was in order.  At triage the doctor started talking about a broken wrist.  Then the x-ray, and you didn't need to be a radiologist to confirm it.  The verdict: hairline fracture of the ulna and fracture with angulation of the radius (think of when you try to break a stick and it half breaks and bends - that was his bone). Which meant that we needed to go to an orthopedic doctor to get the bone set (straightened) and casted. 

I think it's a right of passage for little boys to break a bone, especially little boys who love to play sports.  Now if I could keep him off the top of the monkey bars...

Cooper

Last weekend was the Cooper River Bridge Run in Charleston.  For those of you not in the know, Cooper is a very popular (40,000 people) 10k run over the very cool suspension bridge (the Ravenel Bridge) that links Mount Pleasant to Charleston .  For me, the Cooper weekend is a girls weekend away with my friends.  It is a time of bonding, drinking, shopping, oh and there is a race too. 
The Monday before Cooper I tweaked my back.  I'm not sure how this happened, but I think it had something to do with the double digit mile run I did on Sunday, plus my lack of stretching.  My body just doesn't bounce back like it used to (or I didn't challenge it as much when I was younger...).  So Monday afternoon I am walking like a geriatric person when I finally call a chiropractor.  I made three trips to the chiro and completely stopped working out, picking up Isabel, bending down for things (as much as I could) and iced my back three of four times per day, all in an effort to salvage my girls weekend. 
And it worked!  I ran the race without walking.  Granted, I ran it three and a half minutes slower than last year, but I ran it!  Plus I was able to fully partake in the other weekend activities and festivities... but we won't mention those here...

Boys will be Boys

The other night when I went in to kiss Alex goodnight he said to me, "I counted to 101 by skipping the fives."  I asked him how he did that and he said, "I went 1,2,3,4,6,7,8,9,11,12,13,14,16,17,18,19,21..." Pretty impressive for a Kindergartner, I thought.
Later as I was putting Devin to bed he told me he had a new trick, and said, "Mom, pull my finger."

Aaaw, my babies are growing up.

Suggestive

A note came home from school yesterday that Alex got in trouble at lunch time for getting out of his chair and dancing. I accept and understand that. You aren’t in the lunch room to dance, you are there to eat. But the note went on to say that his dancing was very “suggestive”. Really?!?! Suggestive of what? Suggestive of the fact that he could use a few dance lessons?

Alex is five years old. Clearly you don’t mean “suggestive” in a risqué, burlesque sort of way. After all, for a dance to be “suggestive”, doesn’t the dancer need to know something about what it is that they are in fact suggesting? I’m half tempted to go to school and ask the lunch monitor what she is suggesting about my five year old. I know that Alex is a ladies’ man and has been kissed by a few girls in kindergarten. Really, do we need to see everything that these kids do through our sanctimonious, politically correct lenses?

I know the dance that Alex did in the lunchroom. I have seen it. He holds his hands out a little bit to the sides and rocks his hips like he’s doing the hula hoop. Maybe it would be suggestive if he grabbed one of those little tarts who kissed him and pulled her in close while dancing, but he didn’t. Maybe he should save that for first grade. We don’t want them to grow up too fast.

I’m just glad he didn’t slap his ass while he was dancing so suggestively in the lunch room. See, he has also done the ass-slap at home and I told him to stop because it wasn’t nice. We have some standards, after all.

Happy Birthday Isabel!!

Happy third birthday to my sweet baby girl.  I love you!!

Someone loves the attention of her birthday!

Lost in thought

Paging Dr. Izzy

"Doctoring" her puppy

not enough

I have learned that there is not enough yoga in the world, not enough miles in the sneakers, not enough coffee in the day, not enough wine in the evenings, not enough (insert special "me time" activity or addiction here) to ever, ever replace the balance and pseudo-calm that exists when there are two parents present in my house. 

Nightmare

Izzy had her first real nightmare last night.  She has had "bad dreams" before, but usually she doesn't wake up and a little cuddling settles her right back down.  Her nightmare must have happened around six am, because I was in the bathroom getting dressed when she came in wild-eyed and speaking gibberish.  I don't know if it sounded like gibberish because I was barely functioning yet, or because she was truly speaking gibberish.  I  truly could not make out anything that she was saying; I only knew she was scared.  I cuddled her and settled her down and she started asking about the man with the black hat with pink string (on the hat) and the pink lips who was in her room. 
I told her Mommy wouldn't let anyone hurt her and it was just a yucky dream.  That led her to ask if the angels made the man come (at night I tell her to listen to the angels and that the angels protect her from yucky dreams).  I told her it was pretend, like when she pretends to be a dog, and she told me she wasn't being a dog.  I told her that the bad man wasn't in her room, and she asked me who made him leave.  Needless to say, explaining dreams to an almost three-year-old is a challenge. 
At breakfast she told the boys about the dream (with the bad man with the black hat with the pink string on it and the pink lips) and they gave her all the reassurances that I did, but she was still a little uncertain.  Then I told her that her brothers wouldn't let anything bad happen to her, and she said that Devie and Alex would stomp on the bad man (complete with a demonstration as she stomped her foot on the floor). 
At nap time she didn't want to go to sleep "until Devie and Alex get home" so the bad man wouldn't get her.  So she and I went around and locked all the doors to the house and checked all the bedrooms upstairs to make sure that she and I were the only ones here and no one could get it to get Izzy.  It worked (well that plus her exhaustion from her early morning), and I love the fact that she wanted her big brothers here to protect her.

Advice from the Mother of Boys

When you see the sales at Target for sweat pants, warm-ups and etc for $5.00, buy multiples in current and future sizes.  The rate in which your boys will destroy their pants, once they discover the joys of football, baseball, soccer, dodge ball, kickball, etc, is truly mind-blowing.  The same goes for gym shoes, although those are more difficult to purchase in advance.  Trust me, I've tried.

Yoga: it's not for the weak.

I have taken yoga on and off for fifteen years, but I was never very into it.  I was always pretty decent at doing poses because I am very flexible and reasonably strong, but I never left class feeling like I had a tough workout.  I wasn't consistent in practicing yoga until last fall.  Because of my hip issues and running, I decided to try a yoga class at the Y.  Lucky for me, there was a Monday morning power yoga class being offered, which was a perfect recovery from a long run over the weekend.  I started going a few times a month and found that this class made me work hard.  The teacher did a great job of demonstrating poses and giving lots of options to advance your poses.  Before long I was doing things like Bird of Paradise (although I am still working on raising my leg that high).  What this picture fails to show you is that her hands are clasped behind her hip.  Impressive.



Bird of Paradise Pose

 All the while, I felt like I was really loosening up my joints and getting great stretches after these long runs.  Next I mastered Scales pose (or Swing pose - although I have to do it on blocks because I don't quite have the ab strength of this fine young man. =) Give me time.).


Scales/Swing Pose



But today was something truly remarkable.  I have tried Crow pose for a months, but could never manage to balance.  A few weeks ago I did it for about three seconds.  Today I held Crow for more than twenty seconds three different times. 


Crow Pose


I cannot tell you how excited I am to see the progress that I am making in yoga.  Unlike my previous perception, now I can see how yoga really can be a tough workout. I leave the class sweaty and fatigued, and today, a little bit proud.

My amazing pizza

We all know that Andy is the chef in the family.  The fact that I am a decent cook pales in comparison to the culinary skills wielded by my other half.  However today I made the most amazing (and healthy) pizza for lunch.  At lunchtime I am usually one to heat up leftovers or a can of soup because I just want to eat quickly and go, but today I actually looked around a decided to be a bit creative.
I found a flat bread that we had not used for curry last night and topped that with some pesto (a new constant in our fridge).  Then I stole some cherry tomatoes from Isabel and cut them into small pieces.  I guess regular tomatoes could have worked, but the cherry ones are a little sweeter and I like them.  Next I found some fresh mozarella that we had and almost shaved it (as best you can with such a soft cheese) randomly on the flatbread.  I toasted the whole thing in our toaster oven and topped it all with a generous postion of arugula.  The sweet of the tomato and the basil/garlic of the pesto and the peppery arugula... it was heavenly.
I should have taken a picture to post..  It was that good!

One can dream...

We all have those moments that catch us off-guard; when we look in the mirror and don't quite grasp what we are seeing.  For some it's the grey hair, for others the bulges in places previously firm.  For me, it's the fine (and sometime more substantial) lines in my skin.  I understand it.  I spent years in the sun between swimming and life guarding and sunscreen was something we only used in the first month of summer.  I admit to being a sun worshipper, and even donned the baby oil to ensure that I browned up nicely on vacation and in the summertime.  I even worked at a tanning salon one winter, where the owners would actually advise me to use the tanning booths more, because I wasn't tan enough to be a good advertisement for them.  I have earned this skin, but it still surprises me. 
Then I remember, I am thirty-eight years old.  By my previous standards, I am pretty damn old.  I remember people older and wiser than I talking about this phenomenon; about not feeling as old as you are.  I think that the fact that I am in far better physical shape than I was in my younger years only enhances the deception for me.  In my twenties I was twenty or thirty pounds heavier than now.  I was athletic but I also ate and drank with abandon.  Now I pay closer attention to what I consume, and working out has become more than a passing hobby.  I have achieved athletic pursuits in my thirties that I never thought possible in my twenties, and I feel great.  I feel much younger than thirty-eight, but my skin does not lie.

I was putting make-up on in my bathroom one morning with Isabel by my side, and again I noticed her gorgeous skin.  Isabel's skin is smooth and olive toned and flawless.  The only thirty-eight year-olds that I know who have skin like that are on billboards or in magazines, where women's skin resembles that of someone half their age.  I don't think I ever had skin as pretty as these women, some of them much older than me.  Did they miss out on the sun worshipping that was en vogue in 1988?  Or have they had work done to turn back the hands of time? 

I know that we women tend to be our greatest critics, and when I reflect on the changes I have made to my health and my body in the last fifteen years I am proud.  But seriously.  I just want my skin to look like Isabel's.  Is that really too much to ask?

Mother of the Year

My friends and I joke about the different actions or occurrences that inevitably will take us out of the running for the elusive "Mother of the Year" award.  I had my first one last night, when I forgot to put Devin to bed.
In my defense, it was a really busy day where I was going non-stop from the moment I dropped the boys off at school in the morning.  I had a dentist appointment and two volunteer sessions at school, which were separated by a quick workout at the gym.  Then after errands and picking the boys up at school (Izzy chose to nap in the car), I brought Alex to the hospital to have dinner with his classmate who is recovering there.  We got home at 7:30 in time for bed.  I put Alex down but let Devin stay up to read for a few minutes, which is our normal routine.  I put Izzy to bed and went down to talk to Andy.  Then I hopped online for the first time that day to catch up on things.  Andy had a conference call at 9:00 and I went up shortly thereafter to get ready to bed.  I was cuddled up in my jammies and half way through an episode of "Desperate Housewives" when Devin came in.  At first I was really confused... he did not appear to have a bloody nose and he wasn't vomiting, so why wasn't he sleeping?  Then he said indignantly, "Mom, you forgot to put me to bed!". 
It was 9:45pm, and I put myself to bed before my seven-year-old.

efficient

My text to Andy at 11:54am:
"So far I have been to the gas station, library, gym to drop Izzy off, wax, coffee, three stores, post office, restaurant and now I'm back to the gym to work out before getting Izzy."

For the record, I left the house at 9:30am.

words of wisdom

As I was making breakfast this morning...

Isabel: "The boy next to me put raisins in his nose and I said, 'Silly Buddy, don't put raisins in your nose, put them in your mouth!'"
Me (laughing): "Where did that happen?"
Isabel: "At the kids (meaning the child care at the gym).  He didn't put any more in his nose."
Me: "Who was the boy?"
Isabel: "I don't know his name.  He's the boy with raisins in his nose."

Another mother's moment to be proud.

la bruja

Alex's classroom teacher told me that Alex saw the Spanish teacher in the hallway and called out "bruja" to her three times.  For those of you uneducated by Dora the Explorer, "bruja" means "witch". 
When I talked to Alex about this, I asked him if he knew what "bruja" meant and he hold me the correct answer.  Then I asked him if he thought Sra. Maestra was a witch.  He looked at me like I was crazy and said "no".  Then I asked him if he thought that Sra. Maestra liked being called a witch, and the lightbulb seemed to go on.  He said "no".  He likes Sra. Maestra and did not like the idea that he might have hurt her feelings or made her mad.  I don't know Sra. Maestra well, so I really have no gauge for her perspective.  I don't know if she thinks that my five year old was showing off his recently acquired Spanish vocabulary, or if she thinks that he was intentionally calling her a witch.
The newest Spanish that Alex has added to his growing vocabulary is "Lo siento".  I have a feeling that he will use that well throughout his life time. 
...er, at least as well as "bruja".

Uno

During our at-home New Years celebration, we introduced the kids to the card game Uno.  We wanted to do a family game night that did not include electronics, but was interesting, fun and simple enough for all to enjoy.  The game Uno fit the bill and we had a grand time.  The boys loved it.  Isabel humored us by playing with the cards and sitting in Andy's lap, but clearly she has some growing to do before this kind of game holds her interest.  Alex was a big winner that night, and Andy and I each managed to win a game, but Devin was not so lucky.  The next night the boys and I played again (at their request/insistence) and Alex was again a big winner.  I also managed to win a couple games, at which time Alex would whine or even cry, but Devin was again unlucky. 
But Devin didn't cry.  He didn't win, and he didn't cry or whine.  Devin was clearly unhappy, but for the first time that I can recall he lost well.  Devin is the most competitive child I know and he's a little quick to tears, so frequently any kind of loss for him is followed by crying.  But two nights in a row he lost game after game without tears.  This is huge for him.  I told Devin that I was proud of him for being a good sport and for handling his loss so well.  It's only a silly card game with his family, but I am seriously proud of him. 
This is just one example of many that demonstrates to me that my little Devin really is starting to become a big kid.

Happy Holidays

Our holidays included an early visit from Santa...



... and a trip to Chicago to celebrate Christmas with the family.

It truly was the most wonderful time of the year.



7:00am conversation

(...scene opens with Meaghan wiping a toddler's bum while Andy dresses near the sink...)

Andy: "Are you going to wash whites anytime soon?"
Me: "They are in the dryer, if you want to fold them."
Andy: "No thanks."

(...Andy exits...)

I guess sometimes my perfect husband who totally spoils me can be a "stereotypical guy" just like the rest of them...