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".
  

Great Weekend.

In the wagon asleep; I love how they just crash on each other.

Little Man at wheel of pirate ship, Brooklyn Bridge in background.

Big Boy Pirate leader.

Ready to jump on in and fly! (the men in my life)

Touring from the top of the Taxi Boat.
(we look so more relaxed than those family
photos of us in China about a year ago!)

It was a great holiday weekend with the boys. I'm in the middle of a cyclone (i.e., work/life), but decided to unplug and just hang this weekend. Of course I over did it and have a cold today, which is great, because tomorrow morning I'm on a plane to LA and with the swine flu scare out there everyone will likely treat me like I have the plague, but oh well, back to the weekend.

We, the whole family, were supposed to head down to my parents house, but I'm just too crazed at the minute, so I cancelled, and my parents are coming up here to take care of the boys for a few days while my lovely groom and I head to LA. That's another post, about trepidation.

But the weekend was lovely. We loaded up the bikes and headed out on the town! The ships were in for Fleet Week, and we went down Saturday morning around 10 am, and there were no lines what so ever! Better yet, the sailors where in excellent cheer, not yet wore out by the crowds of military wann-a-bes, or snotty kids asking crazy questions. The boys got on the ships, sat in tanks, helicopters, tried on fire equipment and flight gear and were overwhelmed!

But visiting the ships did require some political sensitivities. I'm very anti-war, but I understand that the volunteers/enlisted personnel are serving a noble purpose. But I detest the language of war/violence. So given this information, try explaining to a curious four year old why planes are on a ship, why tanks are on a ship, why the sailors salute as they leave their ship, or my favorite, when I explained that rockets are bullets that go really far.

Then on Sunday we headed down to the South Street Seaport. They have a big pirate ship docked that you can visit - obviously a big hit! And to top it off, a friend of ours was running the booth for water taxi tours, so we went on a free tour. The Big Boy was even given a chance to drive the boat!

Lastly, we spent a lot of time at the water parks, were the boys could run. We could cool off, and then have burgers/chicken fingers at the little restaurants on the piers on the west side. With the bike ride home, the boys would fall asleep in the wagon. We'd sit outside until they would wake up.

So, this weekend was great. I didn't worry about being a stimulating mom, I let the world take care of that. I didn't worry about cooking, they had chicken fingers for just about every meal. I had time to sit at the playground and enjoy the cold water on my feet. I had time to sit on the stoop at home and chat with my hubby. I let hte boys stay up later, but also have longer naps. I had fun riding the bikes with the boys and seeing the city, which I love. I forget, sometimes it is nice to take a vacation, even if it is at home. I need this weekend.

To do well, but then no, not.

Last night I went out for dinner with a girl friend whom I adore. She is smart, she is pretty, she is a mom, she's over 40, she's making a living, she is real! It was a fabulously warm evening in the city. We met in midtown, and I forgot it was Fleet Week and there were sailors everywhere! Crisp starchy white uniforms. Wide pant lags. And party girls in party attire out everywhere. I loved the carnival atmosphere in the air. But, then I realized the sailors looked like 12 year olds instead of "hotties" (not sure people even say that any more). And one of the first thoughts in my mind was not "which club will be happening tonight?" but, "I should take the boys down to the pier tomorrow as I'm seeing at least six different uniforms around which means at least six cool ships to tour. The boys would LOVE that." Yeah, overall an "ouch, I'm getting old and I'm such a mommy" moment.

At the beginning of dinner I confessed to her, "I've been depressed. I'm angry too much. I even have been avoiding writing the truth on my blog." She said tell me what is going on, and I did, and her response, "everything sounds good so why are you depressed?"

So yes, it is time for out with the ugly. And frankly, I've confessed it to about half a dozen people in the last 24 hours and all have agreed with the sentiment. None have ran for the hills. And unlike my husbands concern about whether the boys are wearing underwear or not, no one has given me the "she's crazy" or "those poor kids" looks.

I'm not sure I was ever meant to be a Mom.

There. That's it. It's not like I'm going to run off to a Greek island and change my name and hide from the family; fantasize about it yes, do it no. It's not like there is any major change to make in my life; I've already made tons by my own choice and I'm owning them. It's just I still think about the obligation and am not always happy to have it. I would never change my current situation, I just wonder a bit how I got here. I wonder why did I think this was a good idea. I think there are other people who love their kids more than I love mine. There are other people who are better parents than me.

I think the work on the toy partially brought this on. The world of advertising is in the "Mommy Blog" industry. Ironic right; I'm writing a mommy blog to keep my sanity and others write to make a living. Trying to find the right blogs which accept advertising to serve as a conduit to the buying public has lead me to look at hundreds of mommy blogs (there are thousands of them). It shows in that occasionally I add a new blog to my reading list here on my blog. But there are thousands of bloggers out there that are so more into being a mom then me. Hundreds of stay-at-home moms that write about the JOYS of parenting. I've decided either they are lying, or maybe, and most likely, I'm just wired like them, I was incorrectly programmed.

Furthermore, there are some excellent writers out there. Not the wandering thoughts of my tired-end-0f-the-day-thought-that-if-I-don't-get-this-out-and-on-paper-it-will-haunt-me-all-night-if-not-for-days. Many of my post are written after a glass, or more, of wine.

The good news, I'm thankful that anyone reads. And thankful that I have this outlet to calm my demons. I'm into my boys, committed as a mom, and will do the best I can, although I know there may be more romantic mommies out there. And I'm glad the toddler years lead to adolescence. Glad that adolescence leads to adulthood. Because I need to know the work, the grind, the just getting it done of basic baby/child care is temporary. I'm the kind of mom that needs to know that one day my day will be mine and the boys will manage themselves. I'm the kind of mom that doesn't worry about the "empty nest syndrome".

And tonight, a boulder is off my shoulders for admitting all of this.

Why not wear goggles in the tub, and other practicalities.

For those of you that wondered, this is what goggles look like in the tub.

So today I'm wondering, "when did becoming practical qualify me as crazy?"

Today was "pajama" day at school. I like the idea, it wasn't mine. The whole class wore their pajamas to school and had a little parade were they "slept walk" through next year's class room. I like the idea of wearing the pajamas. I like the idea of them checking out next year's classroom. Totally cool right. So Big Boy typically sleeps in pajamas, but without underwear. Better then Daddy who chooses no pajamas and no underwear! When it was time to go to school, my lovely groom and the sitter start trying to convinced the Big Boy that he needs underwear. WHY? It's not like he's going to run around flashing anyone, there is elastic around the ankles. WHY? It's going to be 90 degrees today. WHY? He doesn't want to wear them. "Teacher said to just come in our pajamas," he cries. I send him to school with no underwear to the disgrace and disgust of the other adults in my household. But this follows an incidence.

The other night my lovely groom questioned, "why are the goggles in the bathroom?" Thinking to myself the answer is obvious, I was ready to respond saying "I use them to protect myself from all the mis-guided boy pee around the toilet." However I caught myself and told the truth, "the boys have been doing scuba in the tub." While no words left his mouth, the wheels were turning and yes, I'm sure he thinks I'm crazy. But if this gets them happy with having their hair washed, why should I complain.

We were in the grocery store and the Big Boy just could not keep his hand to himself. Touching everything! I asked him to put is hands in his pockets and then I caught him licking, yes licking, a package. He claimed to be scratching his nose, but I'm sure I saw his tongue sticking out! So I told him to sit on the floor until I was done at the deli. See we were going on a picnic and I really needed to get things and just couldn't walk out, which would have been my preferred form of discipline. A "lady" muttered "the floor is dirty" then left. I wasn't sure if she was offended that (a) I asked him to sit on the floor, (b) told her that it was cleaner than him at that point in the afternoon, or (c) told her I thought it was cleaner than sitting on the floor behind the deli counter, that really got her moving.

I love my boys. Practicality rules. I hate being the parent.

The comfort of other Moms

Tonight I had the awesome opportunity to get out with a group of mom's from the Big Boy's preschool. It was great.

Here is what I learned;

• mine is not the only boy consumed with Super Heros
• mine is not the only boy consumed with "boy" language, of "killing the bad guys" and "bleeding on the sidewalk"
• mine is not the only child that insist on taking an item to school EVERYDAY for show and tell; note we did just get a memo that show & tell is moving to Fridays only
• mine is not the only child becoming adjusted to a new sibling
• I am not the only mother questioning why I thought 2 children was a good idea
• I am not the only mother questioning whether 2 children is enough
• I am not the only mother missing those wild, crazy times when we partied til the morning light
• I am not the only mother too tired for sex (at least on a weeknight)
  

I had more than one glass of wine, I had great company, and I can't believe it took us this late in the year to get organized.

There were hints of "old times", for example I did step over a condom on the side walk on my way home (this might just be a NYC thing? I don't know?). But there was a very large sign of the day we are in, the party broke up at 10 pm! Moms of the world, thank you for being there. Together we remind one another that while we fight forward, we fight forward together!