Headed Home...

We're on the way home from a week at the beach. We are in Beaver UT for the night, and then tomorrow we'll do the home stretch into the 'Yenne. Beaver has nothing on Oceanside. Even though the beach was really rocky all week, and I bit it on the ocean floor while boogie boarding, and our feet were endlessly sandy despite continually sweeping the floor in our "number one home" (His Highness's term). Our hotel room here in Beaver is bigger than the teeny cottage we lived in for the week, but it doesn't matter: Oceanside is still better.

I have not done a whole lot of studying on the theology of the afterlife, but I'm pretty sure that I will live on the beach in heaven. My "mansion" will be a sandy little cottage, perhaps a little bigger than the one we were in this week (which was awesomely awesome in its tiny efficiency), but not by much. I'm almost certain that Jesus himself is the kind of guy where you can't quite tell if he's homeless or a beach bum--the scruffy, long-haired, windblown, sun-drenched guy sitting on a city bench, wearing a pullover windbreaker and drinking an energy drink as I jog by at 7:30 in the morning. Except he won't even need a board to surf. And he will teach me how to catch waves like no other.

I hope to post more on my musings from this week. But for now, it's to bed because we are up early to hit the road...

Real-Life Toys...

I could get rid of all the toys. People would think I was hopelessly depriving my children of life's most basic joys. My own mom would tell me what a mean mommy I am, and would probably send boxes of toys to try to cheer up the boys, since their mom had obviously gone off the deep end.

The thing is, except for a couple of favorites, I don't know that His Highness and the Littler One would even notice the missing toys. They'd be all, "Hey Mommy, where'd the trains go?" and I'd be like, "Ummm, they're being repaired, here's a bucket!" and they'd grab the bucket and start putting things in it, and His Highness would probably ask for some string to tie to the handle, and then I'd find them digging through the kitchen drawers, stealing my stuff and inventing strange new functions for the rolling pin, and having a glorious time all around.

Then later they'd go, "Mom, where are the blocks?" and I'd say "They're taking a nap; here's a paper towel roll and an empty water bottle!" and they'd occupy themselves for an hour. But not before going back into the kitchen and swiping more stuff out of the drawers.

We could get them an awesomely awesome play kitchen, complete with food, utensils, and even friggin' appliances, and they wouldn't like it as well as going through the drawers in the real kitchen, playing with whatever random stuff they find. The Littler One is a big fan of the red plastic chip & dip tray. He hits it with stuff, uses it to hit other stuff, and holds it up to his face to see the world with a red tint. His Highness's current favorite is the rolling pin. You can find a lot of variations on hitting with a rolling pin.

Before you panic and start imploring me to keep the toys for the sake of the children, fear not. We won't be getting rid of the toys anytime soon.

The Cat Daddy and I need something to play with, after all...

The Better Over the Good...

I should be out jogging, but instead I'm sitting on the 'puter while the Littler One naps and His Highness ostensibly watches Sprout (but really he is looking around and plotting ways to destroy coffee table drawers and such). I took some time to catch up with a few of my regular bloggy-peeps. I miss reading blogs.

This summer, in addition to my regular nannying gig (ie rearing my kiddos) and managing my moms' group (more or less), I am work-working 10 hrs per week from home. I've probably said it before, but it is surprisingly difficult to get this time in during the week. Which is a bummer...I really enjoy my engineering work, and I wonder if being home with the kids makes me appreciate it more just because it's something different and apart from all the diapers and potty-training and sandwich making.

Usually I try to work during the time formerly known as "nap time," but is now "quiet time" because His Highness is napping less & less. In theory it is still nap time for the Littler One, but as he is a wild card, sometimes it is and sometimes it isn't.

I heard someone talk once about giving up the good in favor of the better. I think you can take it to the extreme and guilt people by beating them over the head for having hobbies & liking to do stuff that isn't necessarily "useful." On the other hand, I think there's something to it. With my working gig this summer I was talking to myself ('cuz I do that a lot) and saying "Man, Skerrib, how are you going to fit it all in," to which I replied, "I think I'm just going to have to pick & choose, and let some things slip for the time being." I was pretty sure this included bloggy-blogging, because of the simple fact that it's time on the computer that I need to be using for drilling pretend holes in pretend hunks of material, and also because I am particularly slow when it comes to writing. And I need to sleep sometimes.

But then I was like, "NO! I like it, I don't want to give it up." So my compromise as been the quick, off the cuff, stream of consciousness sort of posts I've been doing lately. And very little time for keeping up with others' blogs. It's a bummer but, at least for now, it's a good thing that I've had to set aside in favor of other stuff.

I'm not leaving or anything, BTW. Just thinking out loud. Or something.

**Random subject change**

Why, oh WHY does His Highness seem to deliberately want to wake up his brother? I know why. He wants attention. He wants me to get off the computer and play with him. Ah, well. It's time I close this and go play with my kid for a while before lunch. And maybe a jog...

Housebroken...

His Highness may hate me when he's older and finds the most embarrassing moments of his childhood posted for all the innernets to see, but some things just can't be kept quiet.

So we've been potty-training. It's a long and arduous story, with much weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth on the part of everyone involved. We're nearly there, though. In fact, His Highness has a pretty much perfect record when allowed to do two things: cavort about naked as a jaybird (or at least bottomless) and do his business in the backyard. So I guess you could say he's housebroken., much like a beloved pet. Which, come to think of it, he kind of resembles sometimes, so there you have it.

The backyard thing is mildly controversial in our house. The Cat Daddy doesn't like it because he doesn't want His Highness think that it's a normal and socially acceptable way of doing things. I think it's fine as a stepping stone on the potty-training journey, and I know for a fact that it's better than his pooping in his unders or on the floor indoors.

A week or so ago, however, he crossed a line. First, he ran out the front door without permission. This is a big no-no, and it's something we've been working on, but as with so many things in life it's a process. I heard the screen door shut and went over to the door to storm outside angrily and give him a severe lecture while pulling him back inside, but as I put my hand up to open the door I saw that he had The Stance. The peeing one, that is. I need to clarify, as well, that he wasn't merely standing "in the front yard." He was in the front corner of the front yard, about as close to the sidewalk as one can get, so that anyone walking by would have to dodge his derriere.

It gets better. Across the street from our house are several back yards. So we look out the window to fences every morning. Awesome for privacy, especially when one's son is nekkid from the belly down, peeing in one's front yard. Not so awesome when, for the first time in two friggin' years, and at the precise moment one's son is peeing on the front lawn, the neighbors across the street open their back gates to let guests out of a child's birthday party.

It was at this moment I decided that I should probably go outside and at least provide a presence. I bought myself a little time by asking "What on earth are you doing??", but I was under no illusion or expectation of accomplishing anything of substance with that line of questioning. Not that I expected to accomplish anything more by going outside, but I figured it would prevent a well-meaning parent from walking him back up to the house, only to find me standing there watching. It would just be tough to explain, that's all. "I guess he misunderstood what I meant by 'Yes, you can pee in the yard,'" and so on.

But it gets better.

As I exited the house I thought, "Well, looks like he's done. I'd better get him inside and have another talk about wearing underwear and stuff when out in public." And then I saw him take 2 steps forward, squat down, and put his head down so as to look behind him. Can you guess what that meant??

Yes. The Pooping Stance. In the front yard. Down by the driveway. In plain sight. While the children were coming out of the gate across the street.

Mercifully, in no time at all he was standing again, saying, "Mom, I pooped! Mom, come look at my poop!!"

So I did. Then I ushered him inside for the wiping of the bottom, and grabbed some wipes and stuff so I could go back out to collect the poop for flushing. I figured as much as the Cat Daddy dislikes encountering dog poop when he's mowing the lawn, human poop might just send him over the edge. Or maybe that's just me; I dunno. Either way, the poop got flushed.

Then we finished off with a bit of a talk on the finer points of front yard vs. back yard, and clothing oneself when one is in mixed company (intermingled with praise for having pooped not-in-the-house, and all that).

And of course, not going out the front door without permission...

The Pains of Routine...

I decided recently that it was time to punch up the routine a bit. I've deliberately been very lax about routine since His Highness was born; or maybe it's more accurate to say since I stopped working outside the home when His Highness was just over a year.

Regardless, I now get up at 7 pretty much every day, and I write out a daily schedule for myself the night before so I can remember the things I want to get done that day. I rarely get everything done that I want to, but the majors are usually accomplished and that feels pretty good.

The kids remain a wild card. Ideally they sleep until 7:30 or 8, which is great because it gives me time to groom in peace. And even 20 minutes of grooming in peace does a suprising amount of good for one's sense of calmness throughout the rest of the day. This is especially evident on the days I groom in semi- or no peace, such as when certain 3-year-olds are up by 6:30 and eat breakfast and watch TV for a while, which still lets me groom, but not as peacefully as if they had slept an extra hour. Just saying.

Routine is good for me; I thrive on it. Still, I don't think there's any way to completely control the day to accomplish everything I want exactly how I want to do it. I think it would be dangerous to think otherwise. A day can go like clockwork, but eventually wrenches get thrown in, and one just has to be ready for things to fall apart in any given week. Like when children are especially grumpy from waking up early, and they are yelling at each other and you no matter what you do to try to distract or help or cheer them up.

My kids woke up early today, by the way.

I think one of the constant pulls of parenthood is that balance of letting things revolve around my kids and teaching them that things can't always revolve around them. We do errands, and cleaning, and regular old life, but I don't want it to be at their expense, you know? Within that they need to know their value and their priority and importance over the stuff.

I think we're on our way to a decent equilibrium. Today is full of blips and burps along the way, but I think it's all part of finding our way, and I think we're doing a good job.

Off to Sam's. We have to buy food for the 80 people attending my moms' group BBQ tonite!

10 Awesomely Awesome Things About the BolderBoulder...

1. Timing tags--You tie this little plastic thingy to your shoe, and it records your start time, end time, and mile split times. That way if you're running a little late--due to crazy porta potty lines, say--it's still just fine; you can start with whatever "wave" you are able to mingle with when you get to the starting line.

2. Mobile lockers--A shipping company--FedEx, for example--parks a buncha trucks near the start and hands out trash bags. You put your stuff in a bag, they give you a number, and your stuff is driven to the finish where you can claim it after you're done. Well worth the $2 cost, in my opinion, especially if you don't have the fortune (as I did this year) of having personal assistants to drop you off and pick you up and look after your gear. Or even if you do have assistants, and still decide to send some stuff via mobile locker. It's that cool.

3. Live music--Various bands set up along the race route. Rock & roll, etc. The 80's cover band was great. The belly-dancers were undulatory and bare midriffed. The djembes were, of course, awesome (but I'm a little biased there). A young teenager sounded strikingly like Bono to me--that kid had pipes. Speaking of which, the bagpipes were Scot-a-rific. And Elvis was...well, Elvis. He high-fived me, which I thought was cool.

4. Costumes--Folks dressed up as any-and everything. Faeries. Ballerinas; or at least tutu-ed runners. Captain Hook...or Captain Morgan; I couldn't tell which. Pinocchio, complete with strings. Sadly, caterpillars were against the rules.

5. Drink stations, official--According to legend there are margaritas at the drink stations, but dang it if they didn't turn out to be Gatorade instead. I was a little sad about that. Not a lot sad, but a little.

6. Drink stations, unofficial--Much of the route wound through the local neighborhoods, where residents were kind enough to cheer on the runners and offer refreshment. Here the term "drink" should be applied loosely. There were marshmallows via slingshot. Shots of red something or other. I felt it necessary to partake of as much as possible, in order to make the most of the experience. In the approximate order of consumption I had Doritos, bacon (though I declined the Krispy Kremes), and beer (I opted for the Dixie cup rather than the pint-can--I'd have felt bad wasting 15 oz of beer that someone else would've appreciated more). "I thought you didn't drink beer, Skerrib," you are saying. Well, in this case I made a special exception, although I must say it wasn't a very impressive effort. After a promising first swig, I sort of hack-gagged down the second bit. It's probably not a very good idea to drink beer while attempting a 6-mile run.

7. Thousands of running partners--my final, official finish time was 58:11. I was shooting for under an hour, so while I didn't smash my goal, I did meet it. My pace varied greatly, but was always in the 9's as far as mile times, and I felt pretty comfortable (relatively-speaking) the whole race, which is not normal for a 6-miler. I attribute this comfort to all the people and sights along the way. Distraction can be a powerful ally in the world of running. Maybe drinking beer while attempting a 6-mile run is not such a bad idea after all.

8. Athletic supporters galore--the human kind, that is. I got a bazillion cheers and high-fives, and pretty much felt like an anonymous, unknown superstar. The kids, of course, gave the best high-fives. They should just hire children to line race routes all the time. Heck, I should just hire children to line my running routes all the time.

9. Swag bags--I got a reusable lunch bag full of snackies at the finish. I'd have gotten an entire can of beer had I had my ID with me (a hex on the Cat Daddy for discouraging me from bringing it!). Would I have drunk it? Probably not. But I'd have sipped it, for sure. "What's with your obsession with alcohol at a race, Skerrib? This is so not like you." Sorry, it can't be explained.

10. Sponsor booths--Free food. Enough said.

If you are ever remotely in the vicinity of Boulder, CO during Memorial Day I highly recommend this experience. You can run, walk, or any combination thereof--it's much more about the experience than about the race itself. You can even ride in a wheelchair, as long as you provide your own arm-power for said chair. But you get (usually) gorgeous weather, lots of things to see and do, and a little exercise to boot. You can't beat it.

But I'm still pushing for margaritas next year...

Head-Butting...

His Highness and I have been duking it out lately. Not physically (for the most part), but definitely a battle of wills. He is so very three-and-a-half. I have decided that three-and-a-half-year-old-boy is analogous to teenage-girl. Not exactly the same, mind you, but with several similarities...

--Extreme emotions: This is the one where he is seemingly content one moment, but erupts into screams when I cut his sandwich wrong, or ask if he'd like to wear a shirt with his jammies, or give him a vitamin when he wants to pick it out, or ask him to pick out a vitamin when he wants me to choose one for him. It's not cyclical or all that predictable, except in retrospect when I am wondering why my funny, cool, impish kiddo is suddenly in need of a drink to calm him down--Like beer. Or lithium--and I realize that he stayed up watching TV with the Cat Daddy and then woke up at 6. Then I go "Ah, no wonder. He needs a nap." Which, upon suggesting a rest, triggers more screaming and/or crying, which triggers my response of "Do NOT make yourself vomit!" Which is always a fun phrase to utter in public.

--Eclectic fashion choices: Starry PJ shorts with reindeer slippers. A polo, underpants, and doggie ears. Or just a polo. Or nothing whatsoever. Apparently I am the mother of cousin Eddie.

--Squealing and screaming and giggling, intermingled with periods of angst and drama.

--Chauffering him everywhere: Unfortunately he doesn't even have his driver's permit yet.

--Selective obedience: Awesomely-behaved for everyone. Except Mom.

This was us today: a friend took us to pick up my car from its scheduled maintenance. While I was getting carseats situated and such, His Highness ran inside the dealership. Friend went in after him and walked him out, which he did very calmly until he saw me, when he dumped his cup of water and ran the other way.

Which is all to say that, even though he won't start preschool until the fall, we will be taking advantage of his school's drop-in summer program a couple days per week. I think the time apart will be good for him & me, and I know that Ms. B. won't take any guff. So that's good.

And now I am nodding off in front of the 'puter, so I shall end with my standard ellipses...

Angry Tree Huggers They Are Not...

I know I'm not the only person who doesn't like talking on the phone, but does anyone else out there have anxiety about it? Seriously, I've got issues.

I just made 2 calls. One was a bit of a tough call--I had to talk with a member of my moms' group whose dues were, well, overdue. It took me a week to work up the courage to make the call. I got worried about if she might be having trouble affording them, or was mad at the club, or something like that. I stumbled through the call, and I thought of more questions to ask her after I hung up, but overall it went well. Turns out she's planning to pay them in the next couple weeks, so no biggie. I felt dumb for feeling so nervous...but I was still nervous, and I was still SO relieved after it was over.

The other one was to our local botanic gardens to sign up for a fantastic family gardening class. It's a series they've been offering this spring. I'm really good at killing plants, so I thought this would be a good opportunity to learn how to keep them alive, and a fun thing to do with His Highness. We took the first class on how to plant seeds a month or so ago, and we now have a tray of tomatoes & cucumbers in the living room, waiting to be transplanted to the back yard if we ever get a reliable warm season (June 1st, I'm told). The cucumbers might've died while I was away last weekend, but I prefer tomatoes anyway.

The point is this--I was calling about taking a class, one of which I'd taken before. So I was familiar with the process, AND I was familiar enough with the folks at the botanic garden to know how kind and not-hostile they are. They're kind of on the tree-hugger end of the spectrum, and tree-huggers, in general, rarely yell at people who are calling to sign up for a gardening class. And still, after I had a lovely chat with the local tree-hugger and signed up and everything, I realized how nervous I was.

What's the deal with that? I have no idea. I know that I'm a nervous-type, and therefore it seems that I simply get nervous more often (even though I can hide it well). I have to give myself pep-talks for really ordinary things, and sometimes I have to settle for the fact of doing something even though I'm nervous. Because sometimes that's what has to be done.

Anyone else have quirks like this??

PS--I went to the dentist today. No cavities!! Yay me.

The One Where It All Got Away from Me...

I was totally gonna write a fantastic post during naptime today. As usual, however, my family picked up on my me-time vibes, and everyone knows that when dogs and small children pick up on me-time vibes they feel compelled to squish the living daylights out of any and all opportunity for said me-time.

As with most everything in my life, I have mixed feelings about me-time. I really, really want to be fully engaged with my kids and to make the most of their small years. Partly because they go so fast and I don't want to miss it. Also because it gives them way fewer opportunities to burn the house down.

And yet...one can only do so many eat-clean-diaper-play-nurse-nap-tidy-diaper-eat cycles before one wants to poke one's eyeballs out. And I enjoy Target as much as most anyone, but when errands are the height of excitement in one's week, one begins to lose perspective on the world and starts melting down over things like losing receipts, dogs bolting out the door on a merry chase, and so on. And then one ends up giving the Cat Daddy a 15 minute play-by-play on a 10 minute breakfast, and how exciting are repeated spoonfuls of Cheerios, really??

Part of the trick for me is discerning what qualifies as me-time. I usually get to shower by myself, but about 61% of the time the kids are going through the bathroom drawers and trying to run the hair dryer while I do this. Does that count? I jog 3 times per week, which helps keep my spirits up a whole lot, and I often get some time to think or pray or whatever. But about 90% of the time I'm either pushing a kid or two in the jogging stroller or watching them from the treadmill in the (fabulous) parent-kid room at the base gym. Does that count?

I think the determining factor is actually pretty subjective. If I feel refreshed, then I tend to think that me-time has been accomplished. Otherwise, no dice.

Take today, for example. The plan was to put the kids down for naptime and have some peace & quiet to look up how to do a crescent-chicken-thing on the pizza stone, and blog about how many nice people I've been getting to hang out with lately. Doesn't that sound nice?

The reality of life intervened, however. In the course of connecting with one friend, another friend dropped by with some books I had ordered. Normally pleasant and easily manageable happenings.

But not today.

In a rapid course of events, the doorbell rang, the dogs barked, and His Highness came barrelling out of his room where he should've been well on his way to dreamland. I opened the door to find my friend, and the dogs AND His Highness all pushed their way out and down the street faster than a speeding bullet. And then the Littler One started crying. So I had to hang up the phone.

Then I grabbed the Littler One and surveyed the situation where half my family was gallivanting along my street. I called for His Highness and had only slightly more success than when I called for Max & Zoe. Finally the neighbor-friend convinced His Highness that the dogs would follow him inside. Eventually. The dogs are so squirrelly that I usually just wait until they run off some energy and come home again.

So we chatted for a while until Zoe came running up. Then Zoe ran back out again. Then we saw Random Neighbor driving around and trying to capture the dogs (in a good way), so we thought maybe we should go outside and encourage them to come in. So finally the dogs were in. Then His Highness went a little nuts. I surmise that this is because he knew he was supposed to be napping, and wasn't, so why not run around like a crazy person and yell and scream and hit?

Now, amid this, there was much rejoicing around the peeing aspect of the potty-training, because His Highness is a certified Master Pee-er, which he ably demonstrated by peeing in the potty and then deciding to run around in nothing but his shirt. Which seems a little odd perhaps, but at this stage of the game, I'm perfectly fine with it.

He is not yet a Master Pooper, however. This, too, he demonstrated by pooping on the floor. You might think, "Um, maybe if you put some underwear on the kid he wouldn't poop on the floor." To which I would answer that, while disgusting, pooping on the floor is less gross than pooping in underwear. Trust me on this.

Unfortunately for His Highness, he just kept unraveling from there. He is currently sequestered to his room until 2012, with a slight chance of early release for dinner, but an almost certain ticket directly to bath & bed after that.

The Littler One really wants me to engage with him, and the Cat Daddy really wanted to borrow my lappy to check his stuff, but I kind of went over my limit for exasperation and tomfoolery, so I sit here stubbornly, nursing the Littler One (which is really what he wanted anyway) and typing one-handed in between steps of making the chicken-ring-thing, of which I finally found an illustration so I'm fairly confident the filling will remain contained.

Did I get any me-time? Well, I don't feel so much refreshed, so I'm leaning toward no. But I got a lot done today. I gave a quick little briefing for my moms' group, worked out at the gym, shopped for groceries, and made lunch before commencing with the afternoon's festivities. And I'm dangerously close to finishing this post. For that I feel glad and relieved.

And I did put the kibosh on the Littler One hanging out in the big oven. Even though it wasn't hot, it just didn't seem like a good idea...

Along Country Roads...

I haven't read any Donald Miller stuff in a while, but I'm reading Through Painted Deserts. It's a journal of his leaving home via a road trip with a friend some years back. They took several weeks to drive from Texas to Oregon, where he lives to this day.

I've only read two of his other books--Searching for God Knows What and the ever-popular Blue Like Jazz. I like his style of writing. It's very conversational, almost stream-of-consciousness, and quite poetic at times (The first two make me feel like I could be a real writer. The last one not so much, 'cuz I'm not all that poetic). His words just sort of seem to wander out onto the page. It's deceptive, though, because I think it takes a whole lot of skill to sound so casual while conveying ideas so nicely.

Anyway, he's becoming so popular that I shy away from his stuff a little bit...but I really do like everything of his that I've read. I don't agree with everything he says but, you know, whatever.

The biggest idea I've gathered from Through Painted Deserts is how separating from the fast paced everyday life changed his perspective. It's in the same vein as the standard needs-vs.-wants discussion. He describes it as getting away from the lies that we start to believe when we are watching ads and living among people, such as those that tell us that eating certain foods or wearing certain clothes and so on will somehow fulfill us. Meanwhile, when we get out of the marketing bombardment we find so much to enjoy in the things God has put right in front of us. Like nature, sunrises, and such.

It's good timing because I've been thinking along those lines lately. The other night I took out the trash and it was the perfect kind of night for doing such a thing: chilly but not frigid and dark enough to see a few stars, but sort of bright as far as nighttime skies go. I was outside maybe 30 seconds but I slowed enough to take it in and be aware of the quiet and the beauty.

A week or so ago I ran with a friend. She did 10 miles because she's training for a marathon in the fall. I am not training for a marathon in the fall but I am training for a 10K in a month, so the Cat Daddy dropped me (and the Littler One, safely strapped into the single jogger) off at her halfway point, and we did the second 5 miles together. Nearly half the run was along a quiet stretch of road looking down upon the whole city, so while it wasn't all that early it was still calm and lovely, and reminiscent of the sunrise runs I used to take back in the day (and plan to take again eventually). We were talking about the simplicity of running. That's one of the things I love about it--grab a pair of running shoes and you're good to go. No extra equipment or gear to lug around. At least, none that's required. You can get into headphones and heart rate monitors and all sorts of fun stuff, but you don't need those things to go for a run.

When we reached her house, we high fived as her husband brought out tall glasses of water for us, and then we basked in the endorphins a bit before stretching out and getting back to the grind of chores and screaming kiddos.

The thing I love about morning runs is doing something that is just for me as the first task of the day. After I finish my run I'm more ready to take on the regular grind (other than wanting to take a nap, that is). It's another little way of sticking it to the man a little bit...