home again

The lavender of Provence.

I'm home. I didn't jump a plane to Africa or Asia, but headed back to NYC.

Last night I was trying to explain to the Big Boy that Paris is the capital of France, like NYC is the capital of.... guess what, it's not the capital of anything, when Big Boy suggested, "the capital of the world." Yes, it is. I'm home.

I had a fabulous trip. I missed the boys, and I didn't miss the boys. I didn't miss the chaos that I call starting a business, but it was on my mind the whole time. I improved my photography skills, and I lamented that I just don't spend enough time working the craft (photography that is) while I was still full time working the craft. Sounds schizophrenic as I write it and yes, that is the duplicity of my life at the moment. Really, it is all good, its just me trying to have it all which I know is crazy. I will find balance. I'll start posting a few photos.

I spent the weekend with the boys out in the park, riding bikes and just hanging. It was nice. But an amazing comment came our way, we were hanging with the 'doormans' hosing off the sidewalk, when our next door neighbor stopped to chat. We have four neighbors on our floor. One neighbor we are super friendly with and the boys run relatively freely between our house and his. One is a former Broadway singer, older, and we quite like her and chat regularly. One is a hermit and in eight years I've seen him once, actually last week and didn't realize who he was until he got off the elevator. The last is a single, widow, slightly older lady, whom I'll call Sarah, who is nice, but she puts a case of wine in the garbage once a week (I like a glass wine at the end of the day, but ouch). She usually rents to one person at a time, which the last couple years has been a really nice young gal somewhere around 30 years old. She is a former classical musician like my husband, with a couple harps in her house. She is nice, but we don't chat everyday. But totally friendly when we pass in the hallway. Beyond the people on our floor, we are very friendly with another six families, and friendly with another dozen or so.

Well, Sarah stopped to chat with me and said to my surprise, "I didn't realize until this week that the Little Man was yours. I just thought, 'wow those kids are good friends, he's over all the time.'" While this is hilarious, in two days the Little Man will have been part of our life for a year, it is also amazing that race does make a different. If he looked more like us, then maybe she would have thought she just missed the pregnancy. What also amazed me is that the comment comes at a time when I've started to forget to think of our family as multi-racial; we are just a family.

I laughed with her, smiled and said, "yep, he's part of our troupe now!" and the Big Boy proclaimed, "He's my brother." I guess the big struggles of integration are passed (keeping my fingers crossed): we are just family.

Wander Lust

There is a rhythm and flow to airports. My old job included significant travel. I’m generally in sync with airports and enjoy hanging out before a flight. On this trip, flying solo, I relish moving through the airports with no one to worry about but me. It’s been a while.

I like that I can sit and watch the world go by. Literally, the world, when sitting in the Amsterdam international airport. There are the classic tall blonds, as always in Amsterdam, a healthy presence of Muslims in colorful but hooded attire, and a wide variety of language as people continue with their connections around Europe. Oddly, a much lower Asian presence in Amsterdam than many other airports.

I like sitting and listening to the different boarding announcements. I think about, “would I like to go there? Have I ever been there? Where would that place rank on my list of next desired trips?” There is the romantic thought of just boarding a random plane; not the one I came for. But that is unrealistic in the post 9/11 world.

I did once start to board the wrong plane once. It was not romantic, just an error. There were two flights to Chicago at the same time, at neighboring gates. They announced, I went. I almost went to Mid-Way airport rather than O’Hare. Not that that diversion would have been exciting. But almost the wrong flight.

I wonder what international travel was like before world war 2. More trains, less flights, but no passports. At that time you really could go anywhere, anytime. Really could drop off the map and leave all known to you behind. Crazy to think about. This age of internet, almost anyone can be found, and travel between countries is limited and monitored.

For work, or my old work, I just to travel months out of the year. I remember once in our early days of our marriage, but after a couple years of working, my lovely groom and I were planning a get away. He asked if I thought I had enough miles stored up to get free tickets. I guessed, “yeah, I bet I have over 50,000 miles”. He called me later that day to confirm I had miles, >400,000 of them! Like I said I traveled months at a time.

Then there is third world and Carribeian travel. Not always equivalent, but I bundle them here due to the similarities in airport style. Often the airports are open air, but include indoor smoking, and a complete lack of signage. Those are airports you move about on instinct, never truely sure if you are in the right place. At the Amsterdam airport, like Heathrow in London, there are signs that actually tell you how far you are from your gate, “walking 11 minutes away”. I like to try and beat it by half, but Heathrow can be a work out.

This trip I’m traveling all carry-on. Which weighs a TON! Because I have all my camera gear, tripod, computer equipment, let alone a few socks and underwear. For photo journeys, only super casual wear. I know I’ll be in fields sweating and no one will care how much I stink. It is kind of liberating! I will brush my teeth daily, but as to whether I’ll wash my hair that remains to be seen. I brought the bottom of the underwear pile. It is time to find out why this underwear has made it to the bottom of the pile and if it is worthy of the flight home or should be sacrifed for some trinket found along the way.

I’m always surprised that the airlines do not weigh your carry-ons. I’m well over the limits, but as long as I don’t strain at the counters, offer big smiles, no one stops me. I love it when someone offers to get my bag down from overhead. I say, “no worries, I’ll get it, it is REALLY heavy.” To which they smile and nod at me like, ‘pathetic woman’, then grunt with their efforts. I say thanks and tottle on my way.

I love the personnel uniforms. From the airline attendants, which in Europe wear heels I wouldn’t even attempt on a date, to the badges and stripes of the pilots. But my favorite is the military personnel with machine guns. I love that. It is a serious presence, with combat boots incase the airport suddenly turns into a swamp environment. Hats as if the roof is about to rip off. But most importantly, machine guns, because they have not intent of chasing anyone, but shooting them down as they flee. Okay, maybe I shouldn’t find their presence reassuring.

So off on my adventure. Another cup of tea, another magazine, another takeoff and landing. I do like the flow of an airport.

Happy 4th of July

Happy 4th of July! We are off to celebrate with friends. The city is empty. And tomorrow I'm even leaving the country.

Most 4th of July's pass without me giving any thought to the country, or citizenship. The fourth also happens to be the anniversary of when my lovely groom and I met. For me it wasn't love at first sight, but he tells an amazing story of how it was love at first sight for him. For me, it took months of his calling to realize he just wasn't going to go away until I dated him. Then he won me over. So today is 14 years! Kudos to his tenacity.

But this year for the first time I'm thinking about citizenship. This year I created a citizen. He had no choice in the matter. He may have an opinion down the road, but it is too late, once you take away the Chinese passport, he is extremely unlikely to ever get another. Was this fair? Will he care? Will it matter in the long run?

I am a citizen by birth. After years of international travel, and much third world travel, I realize that being born in the US is a major lottery ticket win. I wasn't born to a family that couldn't afford to feed me. I wasn't born into a family that was horrified by my look. I wasn't born into a family that kept me and offered me nothing but poverty. I was born into a family that was out going and loving, well beyond the reach of our front door. It was not a household that faced no obstacles, it was not a silver spoon, but still, I won a major lottery ticket.

Now, I worry about the country; are we curbing liberties inappropriately? Are the hate mongers necessary? Does prejudice have a long term role in our society? I'm not a flag waving American. But hey, we are doing some things right, some glorious things, and we'd be stupid not to celebrate those today.

I hope I contribute, along with every parent out there, to creating a society where we would want ANY child to live, not just our own, but ANY child. This to me is the celebration of the American spirit. We Americans don't assume everything is set in stone. We Americans actually assume that rules are written so we can break them. This is what I hope to give to my newest citizen. I hope he forgives me for the cultural break, the heritage lost. I hope both boys find love, happiness, and a spirit that craves learning. I hope they learn to understand the rules and then break those rules that need to be broken.

So next week I'm off to the country side in France. Just me, not the boys, not the hubby. Every year I try to sneak away for a week by myself. I have a huge independence streak and this week to myself really grounds me. I don't know if I'll be able to blog or not. I will try, but I'm literally out in the country, sleeping at farm houses, shooting landscape photography. But this year I leave with a renewed spirit. I'm the mom of two, wife of one, starter of businesses, maker of laughs and a woman who can do anything she puts her mind to if I stick with it. Yeah, tell me that is not the American spirit.

May the fireworks sparkle for you all!

New Family Member

I like to think it is one bird we are feeding, but the reality is there are a ton of birds that all look alike and the way they are going through food without gaining notable size, we are feeding more than one bird.

I think of it as one bird, because it seems friendly, I like keeping it personal. For him its like sitting in the window of a fast food joint. You get the food but you also get the view. He is happy to eat and then checks out the craziness of our household. Recently, I've even noticed the bird popping over to the boys window and looking in, as it is the window next to the kitchen. But it didn't start this way.

I'm a firm believer that nature, even in the big bad city, can be loved and appreciated. Normally in the Spring the Big Boy and I force bulbs in our widows. But this year we didn't; (a) my favorite bulbs are pricey, (b) and most likely more (b) than (a), I wasn't confident that the Little Man would allow the bulbs to grow without trying to drink the water. So I got to thinking maybe we should have a bird feeder.

First, I started looking all over the city for something you can hang out an apartment window. This went no where. So then I went to our porter, or as the boys call the great group of young men that make a huge impact on my daily life, "the doormans". They didn't know of anything but said they would keep their eyes open. Then one day my mail arrived with a bird feeder catalog that was clearly meant for one of my neighbors, but the 'to' address had been blacked out by a marker.

This was a great catalyst. It was an amazing catalog, with more bird feeders than one could ever imagine, from hundreds of dollars to the little <$20 bird feeder with suction cups that was perfect for our situation. And I optimistically also ordered a 5 lb bag of bird food.

The first hanging attempt was fun, the suction cups didn't stick. So we all spend 30 minutes cleaning a window as it was a ceremony and no rush. Of course the second attempt didn't work and this time I dropped it and we all had to run outside to retrieve the feeder before it disappeared from the side walk; this is after all still NYC. Finally, I rigged a simple string to the window and it just hangs. If it is really windy I try to remember to bring it in, but its held its own really well so far.

We had it up for several days with no bird sightings. Well, how were they supposed to find it up a couple of stories on a huge building? I devised a plan. Every evening, around 6 pm, the boys and I started taking bird seed to the side walk just below our window. There also happens to be a bus stop there, so everyone was enjoying the routine (NYers are generally friendly). Pedestrians would avoid our piles as the Big Boy would work on number skills counting our "customers" and the Little Man would work on keeping a distance so the birds didn't go "Bye Bye".

Then about two weeks ago I went charging in the kitchen and scared a bird away on accident. My heart sung! We have been found! We stopped putting the food on the sidewalk and only on the window, and YES, the keep coming.

The birds have become accustomed to the ruckus that I call home. They now sit better and don't immediately leave when we walk in. Sometimes I'm cooking right there at the window and a bird will sit and watch. The boys are ecstatic to say the least. They are city kids, but they are understanding that we can still take care of nature and be given an amazing interaction in return. Of course, I'm waiting for the downstairs neighbor to start complaining about poop.

On the train, The Smile Train

I'm like Groucho Marx, I really am suspicious of any organization that wants me to join. This feeling of suspicion is further supported by the con artists pitching all sorts of "services" that I MUST have as a new business which I generally find unnecessary, expensive, and sometimes ridiculous. Now add on to this that I approached a few charities asking them if it was 'ok' that I tell the world that I'm going to give part of my toy company proceeds to them. You guessed it, even when I'm trying to give money away I received mixed reactions on being supported by a "farting elephant" let alone one called Norman PhartEphant.

Today, I went to visit the worldwide headquarters of The Smile Train in New York. They invited me. They gave me approval to use their name before I even launched, they heard I launched and actually wanted to hear about it. I got to tell you there is something great going on there.

They are a very small team (less than 50 total employees), run mostly on volunteer power and donations. The Smile Train not only provide surgeons to the world, they have those surgeons teach while they are on the road. Then The Smile Train provide the funding for the local clinic to continue the treatment and care of kids with cleft lip/palette.

Being in their offices was cool. They have amazing photographs of kids on the walls. The people are young and energetic. There really is nothing terribly elaborate about the place. I was there with Norman, Norman PhartEphant. They all wanted to squeeze his tail and share stories of what word they used for 'fart' when growing up; toot, puff, squiggles, barking spider, etc.

Interestingly, they do try to track kids that have gone through their system. Frankly, we are talking a lot of third world activity, many orphans, many assumed names. We searched for my Little Man but found nothing. It doesn't mean they didn't help him, just the information was not easy to find today. They do have a clinic in his home region.

After collecting a bit of literature on their operations I left. While eating a burger in mid-town, reading the literature, again I was struck by how tremendously crippling a cleft lip/palette is in many parts of the world. It is 'bad luck', it is 'ugly' and maybe worse of all, even for the families that love, care and keep their children, they may not have the skills to feed the baby or the money to ever correct the lip/palette surgically.

There are families around the globe that will walk for 3 weeks, sell all their possessions on the way to fund the trip and then beg for existence on arrive in hopes of finding a Smile Train sponsored clinic that will give their child a new life. Of course, there are those that choose to kill their child instead. One of the in between parental choices is abandonment; a message I interpret as "we love you too much to kill you, we hope someone helps you, but were going to leave it to the cosmos (or God, or karma) for the outcome". And considering the children that are killed, that are abandoned because the parents have no hope, is one of the many reasons why I want to support The Smile Train. The more kids they reach, the more the world understands that therapy is available, the fewer children marginalized. And that is a worthy effort, without even considering the lips, palette, children and lives in which they actually have the opportunity to help.

So, I am the kind of person that can sit in business attire in a mid-town burger joint and cry. Ok, sob. It is not bad tears, it is not good tears. It is tears of overwhelm; look what we can do if we try and overwhelm that too often we may be too busy to remember to try. So, I'm impassioned today! I will sell Normans for Smile Train! No organization is perfect, but I'm going to support their attempt.

Things we do for love.

Today, all day, was an act of love.

I don't admit this often, and frankly it has took me about ten months to understand, but we are a transracial family. Our Little Man is Chinese, and the rest of us are not. It is not that I thought all of us were Chinese, I just forget in our day-to-day of dealing with one another that he is Chinese. There are so many other things I would use to describe the Little Man before I would say, "Chinese". Yet, there is absolutely nothing wrong with being Chinese. I happen to be Puerto Rican and most people don't notice. My blond hair, blue eyed husband is not Chinese or Puerto Rican. Again, I seldom think to describe him as a "Gringo".

Anyway, by 9:15 this morning we were on the train down to Chinatown for a Family Day celebration at the new location of the Museum of Chinese Americans. The museum has been around for ages, its that they have just gained a second location. It is here, among the Little Man's peps that I start to realize he is Chinese. People look at us and him. They are direct and ask direct questions, "You Adopt?" they say to me. To the Big Boy they say, "That your sister? You go to China?" Which he typically ignores as he is so excited to see all the stuff in the shops that anyone speaking to him is the least of his interest, including me shouting to stop touching everything.

So I answer the questions, "Yes, he is adopted, the other is not, we all went to China.... No he is a boy." Generally people are nice, or I assume such as they say nothing mean and staring is accepted social phenomena in the Chinese culture. The Little Man doesn't seem to care at this point, he too is too excited by all the fun stuff to pay attention. It is here in this public interaction that a line is attempted to be drawn, the us vs. them. But in our household its just kids vs. one tired mommy and race doesn't give you any advantage.

One of the things I love about going to Chinatown, is the fruits and veggies! Strawberries for 20% the price of the Upper West side and totally ripe, ready to eat. They let you try them off the cart, and we do. Different veggies and it seems like okra in any season. I love okra. And fish, all sorts of fish. Big, small, stripped, polka dotted. And I always smile when I see the old ladies just buying the fish heads. Yeah, I too have made stock and soup without letting the family see what they are really getting!

Well right now is soft shell blue crab season. the crabs 'molt' losing their shell and don't harden for like a day, unless you grab them and take them out of water. Out of water they can live for up to four days. You want to buy them live. Crabs were 6 for $6. Amazing. My lovely groom loves soft shell crab. I've never cooked them but thought I would be up for the challenge. The boys were thrilled to see the squirming wiggling pinching things. I even heard my Big Boy shriek like a girl when one jumped from the tongues to the sidewalk and tried to make a get away. We took that one with us.

I said yes. Go ahead, buy some. I will look up how to cook them when we get home. A poor choice on my end.

The crabs were alive, all the recipes required that you, "flour the cleaned crabs". Further searching reveals, to clean the crabs, "with sharp kitchen scissors cut 1/2 inch slits behind each eye, then connect the slits to remove the 'face' of the crab". HOLY CRAP! I had to search further to find if you leave the crabs in the fridge for an hour they become sleepy and docile. I'm still willing to try, no longer as enthusiastic, but not willing to do this in front of the boys.

Hubby takes the boys outside, I move to the kitchen. I set up a couple bowls, get out the tongs, oven mitts and open the bag. True enough, the crabs are now 'sleepy'. When lifted they wave a pincher at me but really don't try hard. I clip behind the first eye. The shell is shockingly tough and the crab is shockingly awake. With a oven mitt covered hands I quickly clip behind the second eye, as I don't want it to suffer. This basically stops the fight, although there is residual movement.

I pull up the sides, clear the lungs, remove the tail flap. Then the shell breaks open to reveal green organs and orange stuff. I put the bag of five health sleepy crabs back in the fridge, open the freezer, pulled out a lasagna, called the hubby and told him (a) we will not be having crab for dinner, and (b) he's going to have to find a new home for five live crabs.

Beauty of Toddler Language

Language from a toddler is a beautiful thing. It means your child will be evolving beyond the level of being an ‘accessory’ or ‘pet’. Evolving into a relationship where your collective brains and souls can connect on thoughts. Connecting, discussing and disagreeing, really create the beginning of an evolution of growth toward independence. At least this is how it felt for me. Yeah, you guessed correctly, I’m not really into the “baby” stuff. And yes, I have two children, one that is amazingly verbal and one with a speech delay.

While embracing every utterance and sculpting it into words is exciting and necessary in our household. It is also tedious. And, there are certain words that just make me pause. Should a toddler have this vocabulary? And if not now, when?

For example, body parts start out pretty benign; eyes, nose, toes, knee, head, etc. But the difference between a baby and a toddler is that a toddler is curious how everything works, takes a closer look, and wants to know specifically what each part is called. Accordingly the anatomy lessons become increasing more specific. I always shied away from baby talk, or calling a ‘horse’ a ‘horsey’. However, it was tricky when it came to labeling “private parts”. I started off with the idea that we all have a ‘pee pee’, but I didn’t get to penis and vagina until my son turned four and was old enough to ask, “why do you sit and daddy stands to pee?”. While the teachers at preschool were cool about the new vocabulary, almost expecting it, the cashiers at the local grocery were surprised to learn “Mommy has a vagina and I have a penis,” from my son.

Beyond anatomy, there is a group of words that I have deemed ‘difficult’. These words are not vulgar words or even inappropriate words; just words that must be used appropriately to not be rude or offensive. This ‘difficult’ to use list of words includes ‘dumb’ and ‘ugly’, along with ‘stupid’. I found these words brought anxiety to me as they joined my toddlers’ arsenal. I tried to explain, “people do stupid (or dumb, or ugly) things, but people are not stupid (or dumb, or ugly)”. Which really didn’t sink in for sometime. But once the concept did catch, I’m not sure it was always presented in the best light. “Mommy, is that man stupid for crossing the street while the orange hand lit?” To which I would say, “Yes.” Even if others were looking at me waiting for the response.

But my personal favorite is “fart”. First off toddlers believe a fart is a gift from their body. They can’t create a gas release on command, nor do they control when it happens. They are excited by the fact that they farted, which in my boys is accompanied by proclamations of “I farted!” Second, gas is going to happen; everyone farts. Finally, ‘passing gas’ and ‘flatulence’ are difficult to explain to a toddler and ‘fart’ is a great short, fun, easy to say word. I’ve noticed some of my boys’ friends use different words at the beginning of the preschool year (i.e., “toot”). But by the end of the year, the whole class knew the beauty of the word “fart”.

Language, or the acquisition of language, is really a beautiful thing. I’m giving the boys all the words I have knowing they’ll surpass my own limited vocabulary at some point. Sometimes it means using words I haven’t said out loud in quite some time (i.e., vagina) or words that I seldom used (i.e., stupid), but I’m willing to contribute what I can to their vocabulary. But it really is the simplest of words that stump me. Tonight they asked, “Mommy what does ‘romantic’ mean?”

the influence

OK, TV is bad, violence is bad, rough language is bad, but we, as moms, as parents, are also have big influence on our children's lives.

Yeah, I'm an idiot. I forget from time to time how closely the boys are watching, learning, for everything they see.

I'm working tons lately. Really trying to get PhartEphant up and going. Guess what, so far so good. I've been a bit prepared, a bit lucky. But there is also just a mountain of work ahead of me!

Starting this company has been amazing, in that it taxes every part of my brain and due to the shoestring budget forces my creativity in amazing directions as well. The boys and I talk about 'who' would like Norman for marketing purposes. We discuss Norman's story and adventures in the building of his story book. They see me work hard. They ask about sales. They like preparing the shipments. They know I'm a bit too serious at times. They see me have a cocktail at the end of the day.

So yesterday with a slight break in rain, I said, lets hit the sidewalk and make a mural for Daddy outside the kitchen window. I asked, "What should we draw?" The answer came, "Cocktail and cheese". This would be the hubby and I's favorite snack while the boys have a bit of fruit or Pirate Booty before going to bed. The mice, yes that is a couple mice, were suggested due to the cheese. Technically I was supposed to make the mice "peeping out from the holes in the cheese" but that was well beyond my skills.

So my influence is that we can get anything done, creativity is an asset and a cocktail at the end of the day. Generally, I think it is an ok influence. Let's hope they keep it to one cocktail and therapy doesn't cost them too much when they are older.

In a nut shell

Been busy not posting as much as I would like. In a nut shell:

• Norman PhartEphant going well - starting to sign up for a few trade shows, which means more planning. Just hired an illustrator to start on the first book; which means I believe I can have a better business model by self-publishing, over all taking up a ton of time.
• Consulting - going well, first time in six month without a near term assignment. Just joined the board of a public company.
• Big Boy - finished first year of preschool. Pretty cool, but now what? Can I afford preschool next year? Will make it happen. Enjoying more time with him.
• Little Man - starting all evaluations to get speech after his 3rd birthday, bit of an uphill struggle on getting the evaluations done. He LOVES have the Big Boy home.
• Husband - good. he has the boys out at the moment. He is starting to understand the full dynamic of the world I'm trying to build for all of us by being a consultant and Norman PhartEphant rather than corporate. As he sees how all the pieces link together, rather than me just running around with my head on fire, he is supper supportive and understanding how big of task this is.

So, I haven't written about the last day of preschool, because I don't know what I thought about it. Give me more time on that.

I have been thinking tons that we are coming up to our one year anniversary of being a family of four. Not sure how I feel about that, the emotions are complex. But I'll figure it out eventually. What a better place we are in now!

Me. well, I'm me. It is six months on my new plan, and it is happening. I'm excited and scared daily. I oscillate between thinking I can do it all and being afraid to get out of bed. Never saw all this change coming, and wouldn't want to not go through it. yeah, more later when I figure out the thoughts.

Embodiment of Motherhood.

Monday is my gym day. I like to go a few times a week, but Monday is the one day of the week in which I actually make it there. Monday afternoon is my favorite class, called "Body Conditioning". When I first started going to the gym, over 20 years ago, this same class was called "Stretch & Tone". Now two points should be made clear, first, I have NOT been going to the gym consistently for over 20 years. Second, no matter what the class is called it involves weights, leg lifts and a great inadequacy on my part.

Yesterday, I needed the work out. A good workout clears my mind and keeps me from screaming at the kids. Once there, I set up my stuff. I looked around. I was surrounded by warning signs. Everyone else in the class was pulling out significantly heavier weights than I. Everyone else in the class look like they just walked out of the Title 9 catalogue. Then the flashing disaster ahead light started blinking; the instructor came in looking her usual determined self along (now siren blaring) with three other trainers from the gym. I may not be consistent in my gym participation, but there is one thing I know; instructors have egos along with great abs. The instructor is going to try and drive the participating trainers into the ground. And as a class participant, a weak one at that, there is little hope left.

The warm up was good, then the squats began. Suddenly lightening struck! There in front of me stood the embodiment of Motherhood; Glorious, Fabulous, Motherhood.

Motherhood is not low waist pants in the gym. It is not a perfectly placed pony tail. Motherhood is a well toned upper body with defined shoulders and biceps from many repetitions of picking up toddlers. Not three sets of twenty reps dumbbell lifts. But a torso that can handle daily non-stop lifting of squirming bodies which requires immense upper body strength, balance and nerves of steel. The strength of the shoulder line almost, but not quite, stops one from noticing the triceps that scream, "over 40 and heading south".

There before me we were thighs that bulge during a squat. Thighs that squat too many times a day for toys, for clothes, for the odd Cheerio. Thighs that can run after a loose toddler on a tricycle attempting an unaccompanied escape to the park. Knees that sing along with the music, literally, offering the sound effects of clicking and clacking like a horse on parade. Calves that know heels, flats and how to run through the sprinklers bare foot. Saddle bags that have moved so far south they look like balloons trying to lift the knees.

When we hit the mats, flat on our backs, with feet in the air, I pretend to touch my toes. I saw what had been. The sculpted legs. Legs that haven't seen a skirt since I realized that if I wore a skirt the boys used me as a mobile snot rag. On my back, I found a stomach that could lie flat. In the upright position this same stomach is a stretchable toy. But the glory of those legs and tummy were only a fleeting thoughts as there was also the realization that my breast were sliding into my arm pits. Upon sitting up I noticed the girls may be willing to come out of the armpits for flight, but they are staying at a lower altitude than I remember.

As class ended, I awoke from my own world of introspection to see I was covered in sweat. But I also I felt great. I know I can lift small bodies, climb trees and am the vision of female super hero worship in my household. Let's just say I leaped over the ravaged bodies of the visiting trainers on my exit. I felt empowered by the embodiment of Motherhood, that just isn't that bad!

Cartoons

So I'm pretty happy with the amount I've shielded the boys from TV and advertising. They do watch videos, cartoons for about 30 minutes each night after their baths, before the reading of books, then lights out. And the video/cartoons we watch are "on demand" either by ordering through the on-demand preschool channels, the cartoon channels, or videos we have. So the boys totally don't understand commercials.

I would be willing to go to 'no tv', but they do enjoy it, it does generate some new language, and some creative play, so I go with it; but limit it.

The argument is usually between my lovely groom and I as to what cartoons are appropriate. And yes, because I don't really enjoy watching the cartoons and leave to start our dinner or do work, the hubby has started exposing the boys to more and more shows. The bottom line is I will not tolerate violence, so no Super Hero stuff, no ninja things, and my honey really detests musicals so not many "singing" shows.

I like; Fireman Sam, Pingu, Kipper, Franklin, Angelina Ballerina (hubby likes this due to Judy Dench being one of the voices), Dragon Land, and maybe one or two more. I'm mixed on Flintstones, Scooby Do, and Sponge Bob. Flintstones is just silly, Scooby Do is the worst written show ever! With the bad guy always having a mask. And Sponge Bob just wore me out and won me over because the others are so not engaging. And all three of these have encourage language in the Little Man - yes I will accept ScooooobeeDoBeeDoo as a word!

Recently we just discovered a great classic; Sea Lab 2020. It is an Hanna Babera classic that is very ecologically sound, all about preservation and living in harmony with nature under the sea. The futuristic setting is 2020, which is so much closer than they ever intended. And when they wrote the show, the oceans were being considered for colonization! The stories are about whale migration, sharks, swimming safely, etc. I've been enjoying it. My hubby is totally into it. The boys love it and play Sea Lab in their room.

But yesterday, while in the tub, the Big Boy asked me, "Why are there no mommies on Sea Lab? Just lots of daddies?"

Bummer, I forget how much they pick up on. Yeah, in the 1950s when the show was written, women weren't portrayed as working (although there were actually a fair amount of women working). Yeah, the Big Boy thinks I can do anything and sees mommies/women all about in his life. I think it is going to be a different world when my boys grow up and think it is "weird" or "notable" to not have woman present (or even as peers). They won't have the same impression of the work world that I faced when I first joined Wall Street (i.e., all male). I can't wait to see this generation make its foot print!

I'm relieving myself of duty

I have struggled for months with the "Do I love him?" question. Yes, the adopted child, not the biological. Why? I don't know. Because it was arranged marriage? Because he liked to bite, pinch and kick me more than anyone else. Because he is the most stubborn person I've ever met aside from me? I want him to get his fair share of me, of life, of love. I have examined myself, my behavior first. And, I've decided its not productive.

I love both my boys, on days. On days, I may not love one of them, or both of them, or either either of them, or the husband (let's not forget that boy in my life!). Generally, I love them all. Not surprisingly I love them all when they are not present. But, I do love them a lot when they are present. The reality is I have two toddlers and the work load (feeding, wiping butts and noses, diapers, refereeing) is just heavy. My standards for myself are ridiculously high. I don't achieve.

When I started the adoption path, I was angry that the social worker asked me if I thought I could love an adopted child as much as my birth child. The answer was "yes" and I felt it shouldn't be questioned. I believed her status as childless and under 25, left unqualified to question my answer. But since then I've questioned it daily, do I love the Big Boy more than the Little Man. And do I "love" the Little Man?

Frankly, the questioning is not productive. I love him. I love the first child. I love the second child. I love the biological. I love the adopted. They are different. They require different activities, different guidance, different training, different treatment, and yes, it leads to different love. Not a lack of love, but something a little different.

Yesterday, I overheard a group of women telling one woman she was amazing for having adopted seven children out of the foster care system after having three biologically (is that a word?). I was part of the group, so it was slightly noticeable I did not chime in as others were commenting that "the kids were so lucky", "how this was such a noble thing to do". How do I contribute when I realize there was loss involved in finding new parents. When I realize 'new parents' will always leave a question in the child's mind about what happened to the original set? More importantly, I still realize that there is a constant level of care, of yes a "love", but also a variable level to "love".

The bottom line is, there is love. And there is no one I love daily, not even me, which is likely the source of the problem. But there is clearly no upside in pitting the love of one child against another for measurement. There is no way to measure a love for a child when the pressures of life are squeezing and circumstances are strained. I could love a child enough to give it a better opportunity than me. I could love the "idea" of a child enough to bring it into my life. I can love the child once it is in my life.

I am putting on the blinders to life, blinders to love, I am calling it love and I am no longer willing to examine this question.

The examination makes me feel bad when I'm not 'in love' with being a parent. It makes me feel bad when I can't do everything I "think" I should. It makes me feel bad that I am not meeting non-parent, non-adoptive parent "ideals". It sucks that I don't live up to my own expectations, let alone the great big bag of bullshit that we all bought about the act of parenting being honorable and rewarding, all the time.

Guess what, parenting is hard. I love my boys. Both of them and the hubby. And I declare myself relieve of the duty of continuing to monitor the "love".

Language - part 2

So last post, I meant to tell a few funny stories and just didn't end up there. So this time I'll start with the stories.

It's "boy" language and "urban" language stuff, which I'm always amazed when it shows up. But then I wonder, did they pick up these words from me?

I was in the park with the boys and Big Boy was trying to weasel his way into a shooting game with a bunch of older boys. None of them had guns, which we do not have and I despise. But they all had sticks and such that they were using as guns. Big Boy was having no success getting into the game, as the boys ignored him. So he came back to the sandbox to hang with the Little Man and I. One of the kids ran through and dropped his soda top with straw in the middle of it "gun" in the sand box and Big Boy picked it up. I told him to put it back as I thought the big boys would be back for it (which of course did happen a few minutes later). But when I told him to put the straw ensemble down, he rounded on me, narrowed his eyebrows and said, "You never let me have weapons. Everyone else has weapons!"

This last week I had a quick overnight trip for my consulting work. When I was telling the boys, Big Boy got upset and asked, "who will take care of me?" I reminded him that Daddy is totally capable of taking care of them alone for one night, to which he responded, "Then we will rough house and not take baths!"

For this same trip, I had written a message to my hubby on the bathroom mirror, in soap, just before I left (for inquiry minds, it was a nice message, not a reminder on anything). The evening I came back, I was going pee when Big Boy walked in, he noticed the message and asked accusingly, "Who wrote graffiti in your bathroom?"

Language

Language is on my mind again. The Little Man is doing well and trying to talk up a storm. But I was filling out the preschool medical forms today. I know, I'm a bit early, the forms are not due til September, but I thought I would fill out what I could before I put it in the "to do" pile, as I'll have to make the doctor appointment soon to get a "well kid" visit before September!

It was interesting;
State of Birth: China, its really a country not a state. Unless you mean parental state which was likely 'surprised and confused'.
Significant Family History: Unknown, maybe, we just don't have access. But will family history be significant going forward, you bet, just like it was in the past, but this time we will know about it.
Birth Weight: Unknown, frankly he was a little guy and he's bigger now. He's likely a little guy by genetics.
Birth History, choose one; Normal, High Risk or Problems: This question just pissed me off. I think it was Normal, by the information we have of him on finding. But it was a surprise that he had cleft lip/palette. A surprise that created a problem which his birth parents couldn't address. That exact problem, I don't know. But it was big enough they couldn't address it. But it wasn't a problem for the orphanage, foster parents, or me. So 'surprise' is the best word to fit our scenario if I'm forced to pick one word.
Developmental Observations: first off I just crossed out the 'by 6, 12 and 18 months' and wrote unknown. But the 'by 2 years', which is just when we came together is a downer.

• Kicks ball forward - Nope, could barely walk
• Combines 2 words - No, but wasn't really given a lot of opportunity
• Strangers understand half child's speech - Not even in China
• Points to 6 named body parts (nose, eyes, etc) - Nope
• Takes off clothing (other than hat) - Nope
• Persistent rocking - yeah, no
• Headbanging - No
• Hand flapping - No

The things not on the list that I didn't volunteer:

• Biting, pinching, kicking, blowing snot when mad, tantrums beyond belief, and grieving of family loss.

Then there is the 'by 3 Year old' column, and the jury is still out:

• Can hold a 2-3 sentence conversation - No, but I'm thrilled we are moving into 2-3 word sentences
• Names 4 animal pictures - YES!
• Knows 2 animal actions; what flies, etc - kind of, he growls for lions/bears, meows for cat, but not actions, I think we can master this one before the form goes in
• Understands what to do when tired, cold or hungry - Yes, scream until someone takes care of him!
• Imitates a vertical line - yes, he stands up?!
• Washes and dries hands - YES! always happy to play in the water!

And; no longer biting, pinching, kicking, blowing snot when mad, no tantrums beyond belief, and loves his new family.

So, is he ready? I don't know, but I know he wants to go! He is actually excited when I tell him next year he goes to the Big Boy's school. He wants to try everything! I know the growing pains of getting to this point. I hope the teachers can handle the growing pains of getting to the routine, but the therapist have done wonders in those regards. We still have the summer to teach him a few more things to check off those boxes!

Fun in LA

I'm happy to report another amazingly fun weekend, although sans children, or maybe partially because we were sans children (hate to admit it but true!!)!!

We were in LA as my toy company, my particular toy, Norman PhartEphant, was invited to a celebrity gift suite for the MTV Film awards. It was fun, and may spark more than one post trying to tell about it; the journey of a consumer product, "fart" as offensive, cool and amazing business interactions, great time with the husband, starting to feel the reality of moving the company forward, etc.

But in a nut shell we met lots of Disney kid celebrities, the crew from Days of Lives, amazing/beautiful/tall WWE talent (male and female; and I'm not sure who was more impressive), a couple comedians, a rock start (Yes, even Slash smiled when he squeezed Norman's tail!!), a few singers/rappers, aging icons, a few "i didn't know he was still alive" icons and a few really cool athletes!

And I didn't recognize a single one of the celebrities. And only one celebrity seemed slightly surprised; ok, it was Tish Cyrus, aka the mom of Miley Cyrus (aka Hannah Montana), so when she said, "my kids will love this", I said, "How old are you kids?" Yeah, she looked at me like I was from another planet. Instead of wearing a shirt that advertised my business saying, "I Phart. I Phart a lot." I probably should have had one saying, "I don't watch TV, especially the Disney channel." Then they would have understood what they were dealing with, with me.

Overall, the celebrities that attended were LOVELY, both in the photographic sense and in the great little conversations we had concerning Norman PhartEphant. While the other vendors talked to the celebrities about their "next project", at my station, folks immediately went to conversations about their kids, and how they couldn't wait to show their kids Norman. So my standard question was, "how old are your kids?" To which the answers really ranged! From over 40 years old to little guys of two and three years old. One former football star, who had arms as big as my thighs, completely melted with Norman and then said, "My son is going to love this!" I smiled, "how old is your son?" to my surprise "18!" I know this sounds weird, but here is this totally impressive piece of manliness, melting over a toy and excited to show his already adult son, that makes me MELT!

So these are the other things I learned in LA:

• I don’t own anything that would qualify as “cool” or "hip" in shoes.
• Not everyone is comfortable saying “fart” out loud.
• I can, and am, willing to talk to anyone.
• Even when you are famous, if you are the man in the relationship, you still get stuck carrying the bag.
• Not all former athletes get fat. Some become very cool.
• Almost everyone giggles at a fart joke.
• I’m not hip, but I’m friendly.
• Smiles are really non-threatening.
• There are many highly photographic people in the world, even when not "dressed up"!
• There are painless business transactions.
• Some people will actually ask if they can have a shirt that says, "I Phart. I Phart a lot".