Taking it right to the top

Today being Easter, the kids had no Sunday School class. Don't ask me the logic on this one - send a bunch of young children that can't sit still for the duration of a service that will creep beyond its normal hour when we know the place will be jam packed with the visitors that appear in their finest attire twice a year.

Knowing the challenge sitting in an actual service would be to a two and half year old, we gave Logan a choice. He could either go into the nursery (aka the baby class) with Megan or he could come sit with us ONLY if he promised to be as quiet and good as he could possibly be. He opted to for the "big people church."

The boy was a gem thanks in part to his total obsession with learning to read. He sat on my lap talking happily before things got underway. Once the service started however, he was transfixed by both bulletin and hymnal as long as I kept my finger moving along whatever words the congregation was to say. He'd join in as soon as he saw a word he recognized - something that caused the older members around us to smile

Then it came time for some silent prayer. The moment the Pastor stopped speaking, Logan started in. I leaned into his soft, for once not messy hair, and whispered into his ear "Honey, this is when we need to pray quietly ok. Shhh."

And he did. He folded his hands neatly on his lap and bowed his head. Then he whispered his "default" prayer - the one he says whenever he doesn't know what else to say at bedtime or if he's saying grace over dinner - "God, thank you. Amen."

The service moved forward and Logan still sat perched on my lap with his folded hands. He looked up at the vaulted ceiling, finding the support beam that runs between the chapel section we sat in and the chancel. "Those lights are out! Look Grandma! They're broke!" he said in his not so quiet toddler voice. He pointed his little hand up at the lights in question. Two of the ones along the support beam were indeed burnt out. I leaned into his ear again and whispered "Oh, you're right Logan. Ok, but remember, its quiet time right now. Ok?"

He nodded and then put his head back down to look at his folded hands. He started to whisper again. Quietly. Very quietly in fact. He was so low I couldn't make out what he said. When I asked him later what he had been doing he told me honestly:

"I was prayin'. I said 'God, you made the light. Those ones aren't working. They are broke. Amen.'"

Siblings will be siblings

It starts young doesn't it. The whole face making, she's looking at me funny, stop touching me, style of sibling rivlary. My two are practicing for the real thing, although at times the big one has been known to shout "She's touching me! I don't want her to touch me!" Ah, but that's a post for another time. . .

Moments before I took this photo they had been looking at each other making these faces. Now granted the whole tongue sticking out thing is a marvelous trick Grandma taught Megan. The baby will now do it as soon as she sees my mother and then she'll laugh hysterically at her own little joke. Logan likes to get in her face and stick his tongue out trying to get her to mimic him. This morning she did.

And yes, my daughter is wearing a hand-me-down sleeper care of her big brother. See my earlier series of "confessions" in which I already mentioned my tendancy to do this despite the old people in town that would have me strung up from a tree for putting her in something that wasn't pink or drenched in flowers.

If its in there, its down here

There are simply too many miscellaneous thoughts floating in my brain tonight. Sure, its going to be a rather ad hoc posting, but sometimes a weary body just needs a senseless brain dumb.

Daddy's red face
Yesterday instead of going to art class, Logan and I spent our quality time at the doctor's and running errands. One of our tasks included purchasing new underwear for Daddy. Upon leaving the catalog counter of the department store (which is another story in and of itself) I explained to Logan what was next on our task list.

Logan, forever looking for a reason to ask me "why", inquired as to why his father needed new garments. And I did my best to give him a good response in the vein of "because he does."

"He doesn't have any underwear?" Logan asked incredulously. I assured him that Daddy did indeed have underwear already.

Then my dear, sweet boy asked in his loudest, most attention grabbing voice, "What underwear is Daddy wearing now? He wearing your underwears Mommy?"

Poor Daddy.

Speaking of returns
For Christmas my parents gave me a gift certificate for clothes at Talbots. I decided to use it to buy something nice to wear for Easter. After many an outfit tried and discarded I ended up a floral print skirt in soft greens and blues, paired with a pale spring green top.

Last weekend I decided that if I was to make Logan wear a tie to church on Sunday, Daddy must wear a tie on church on Sunday. But Daddy doesn't have a need for clothing that goes well with ties since he works in a corporate casual environment. No fear. I have a knack for ordering bundles of things online. And so I did.

While I was at it I picked out a pair of heeled slingbacks in pale spring green. Now never in my life have I ever owned a pair of shoes that weren't "practical" in color. I've had brown, navy blue, white, cream and taupe. Never anything that I couldn't wear more than once. . .well except for that one time I got a pair of teal-ish green suede boots from my manager at the shoe store for Christmas.

I was so excited about these shoes. It was a chance to be fun. To have something completely non-sensible in my wardrobe. Really a pair of shoes I could wear with one outfit. How often were they emerging from the box?

The big box arrived on Wednesday with Bruce's outfit and my shoes. I couldn't wait to see them. I popped open the box, pushed aside a hopefully truly wrinkle-free shirt, dug beneath navy blue slacks and found my box. Wiggled out of my thick sock so I could slip my foot into this find and then with a deflated humpf of my foot, wiggled my toes back down into the sock again.

They sent black.

So on Thursday we returned them to the store. The gal offered to reorder them for me but I was declined. I wanted them for the weekend and wouldn't get them in time. Instead we made our way to my least favorite shoe store - the discount chain. Logan asked me what I was looking for and I told him as we moved into the section with my size: green shoes.

"These are pretty! You get these?" he said.

And they were. Not only were they cute, they were the perfect color - the exact shade of my shirt. So we did get them.

That warm weather is coming!
Its official the warmth of spring and summer is around the bend. Today Logan and I set-up our Burpee "ultimate growing sytem." It sits here next to my computer on the table-turned-desk that typically exists under clutter. This room is perfect - the temperature in here is set independent of the rest of the house so I can keep it warmer than we like to sleep in normally. The room has three walls of large windows letting in oodles of light. And its easy for Logan and I to monitor the progress of our two varieties of tomatoes and some sort of flower I get inspired to buy at the time but can't recall for the life of me now.

Its coming - my garden is coming. I can't wait. I'm also going to give Watermelon a go this year, plus another go at pumpkins. I may regret it when there's an big orange ball sitting amongst my cucumbers or carrots.

Tired
I'm freakin' tired and yet because I felt unable to get 5 minutes to myself all day, I sit here at the computer letting nonsensical babble pour from my fingers. Well that and Megan woke up yelling moments ago and so I also sit with her asleep on my shoulder.

good night!

Where does it come from?

So my kid is a smart ass. Wonder where that trait came from?

As I was attempting to scan email to see if a work project had come through for tonight the little imp stood in the doorway to our multi-purpose room demanding I come play with him in his most whiney of voices.

"I can't play right this second," I said after my third or fourth attempt at "In a minute." And then I told him why.

"But I want to play wif you now!" he said, stomping his foot.

"Logan, sometimes I have to do things that aren't about you or with you or for you. Sometimes I have to do things for me!" I snapped at him a bit annoyed at this point.

He huffed. He snickered. Then he said "But it *is* all about me!"

God love him. This boy will some day drive his wife insane.

--
Another example of this trait he's portraying in earnest lately -- I took him to the Ped today to have his ear checked. The doctor gave the run down of typical questions:

- Had he had a fever?...No
- Is he vomiting?...No
- Runny nose, wheezey, hoarse?....No, no and ah, no.
- Did he have a cold recently?...Nope.
- Why do you think he has an ear infection?
Well because he's more high maintenance than usual and, well, he told me so.

Doctor said "He told you what?"
I said "He told me his right ear hurt."

The doctor put Logan up on the table and peeked in his right ear. "Hmupf" he said. He told L to turn his head so he could look in the left ear.

And Logan said "But you don't have to look in my left ear. Its just my right ear that hurts."

Doctor looked anyway and he looked down L's throat, up his nose. And he listened to his chest for good measure.

"Well, lungs are clear. Left ear is clear. His right ear is inflamed and a bit red. He's starting to develop an infection in that ear." said the doctor.

And Logan said to Dr. D, "See, I told you!"

Black Cloud

Did you ever have one of those days where it just seems nothing can make you happy - where everything that comes across your path is just put there to piss you off? I had one of those days yesterday.

Perhaps it was not sleeping the night before.

Maybe it was a 2 1/2 year old that was beyond cranky and demanding, who later announced that his right ear hurt and he needed to go see his doctor to get special medicine.

Maybe it was just the pressure of completing work projects for the "teacher's pet" despite the fact that the pet can't seem to provide the information needed to complete the task.

Maybe it was helping my mother cope with her difficult brother and the necessary clean-up/organization required to move him out of his current house and into the apartment in the assisted living place - DESPITE his extreme snotty ungratefulness.

Maybe it was the continued need to plan how to explain death to a, hopefully by then, at least three year old.

Maybe it was the incredibly ill dog of mine and her mountain of pills and medical bills.

Maybe it was the weather.

Maybe it was other garbage from the work front.

Maybe it was knowing that despite this black cloud mood, B's job is demanding more hours and so it was likely to be another late night leaving me to deal with the crankiness of myself and two children.

Maybe it was a teething baby. (And if this tooth doesn't break soon I think I may scream with Meg.)

Maybe it was all the other crap.

Whatever it was, yesterday sucked.

Today better be better.

Wise Guy

My neice is working on a Masters in Speech Therapy - at least I think that's what the degree would be in. She's currently working on a project that requires her to listen to young children speak specific sounds. She and her professor/advisor will study tapes of these children and then document an assessment which leads to a written study. She's asked us if Logan can be one of her subjects and as such, he very happily is.

Cousin sent over cards that contain sounds typically acquired in the 5-7 year old age range. We tape Logan saying these words. If he can't enunciate them properly that's fine because at this age he isn't expected to. If he can well that's fine too; Cousin just works that into her paper. Logan did say most of them fairly clearly. In part this is borne out of familiarity -- one card bears his most favorite food in the entire world, Cheese -- and the others fairly common in the course of our week.

Some of the images gave him trouble though because it bore a word he wasn't quite familiar with. For example, the word crutches just wouldn't stick in his head. We even played our own little "$10,000 Pyramid" game trying to get him to say it. "What do you use when you hurt your leg and can't walk?"

And he'd say as he pointed to the card, "Those things."

Then there was this one - the one that brought out Logna's inner wise ass:

"Logan what's this?" as I hold up a picture of a witch that bore the word "witches." (Yes, one witch in the image for multiple witches)

Logan would say "Witch."

"Right ok, but what do we say if there are more than one witch?" I'd urge him on, willing him to say the word printed on the card so we could move on to the next.

"We say there are two of them!" He answered happily. And who can argue that?

And for what its worth, according to the boy that hasn't met a beef patty he didn't hate, the term is now "Cheese-hamburger."

Mom's Ears Know

This morning, tucked away in a pew about midway up the aisle, I sat in church trying to see my imp masqurading as a 2-and-half-year old. I couldn't see him after he had walked past our seats - clutching his teenaged teacher's hand tightly as she tugged him forward. He was too busy checking everyone else out as he waved his long palm branch fervently to walk with the extra encouragement.

We knew the kids were coming in today. Heck, we even made sure every trace of breakfast was washed for Logan's face and each stray cowlick was lying flat. We knew they were coming in to dedicate their little fish banks - the ones they had been slunking coins in for One Great Hour of Sharing. They were to walk in waving palm branches and sing a little song they'd all studied hard. But we figured they'd walk in, dedicate their banks and walk out. Wrong.

Someone decided it was a great idea to have every child in the Sunday School, ages 2 to 11, walk in at the start of service and stay until they did their little thing just before the sermon was to start. Someone didn't know 2 year olds very well - at least not mine. That 20-minutes was a long time for my kid to sit quietly.

Logan is very comfortable in the church sanctuary. Each Sunday after service/class he goes into for his regular tour of the stained glass windows. He sits in different rows to check out the view from new spots. He climbs up in the pulpit. He's even tried to sit in the Pastor's chair - must to the amusement of the Pastor. So having 20 minutes in this grand place did little more than set Logan's inner-explorer into overdrive.

As the children began to take their seats upon the steps of the chancel I heard a voice. I couldn't make out what it said, but something in the pit of my stomach told me that it was my child. Bruce, who didn't have the giant head of some old guy blocking his line of sight, leaned over and whispered "Its him. Wait, the church school director is shushing him."

And then I heard the most familiar sound I could have at that moment. My son saying "Why?"

Next came "But I don't want this big leaf. I want my little leaf." He was referring to the small palms they made last week out of construction paper - the ones they practiced with last week.

And then, as he rose from his seat and attempted to roam came, "I want to go see my Mommy and Daddy please. I come back later."

And as the choir finished singing their anthem - yes just as the reader was to start the Old Testament piece came the voice again "What are they doing? Why did they sing that?"

Finally it was coming to an end. The kids were to sing their song. I chuckled when they started it - the first word was Hosanna. Just the week prior I had asked Logan if he was going to sing. He didn't respond so I went on without his confirmation. "I bet you'll sing a song that says Hosanna!" And then he spoke. "I can't say Hosanna. I can't say that word." Ahh, yeah right. You just did!

They finished and I heard his little voice again "I want to go see Mommy and Daddy." But he didn't. His teacher whispered in his ear and he dutifully followed her.

When we drove home this morning he went on and on about how he had wanted that small paper palm from last week but they made him take the big palm and they wouldn't let him go see the windows.

I smiled to myself and then broached the subject. "Logan, you know its great to look at the windows and all that stuff once we're done with Sunday School and no one is in the big people church. However, when you come in and you see all the big people sitting in all those seats and you see Pastor David sitting up front in his robe with Pastor Tory and Pastor Wayne, well then we have to be quiet ok."

And it came...."Why?"

Terror Twice

The Twin Towers fell before I was pregnant that first time. I had no idea at that moment that we'd ever have children and so it never occured to me that some day I might have to explain to a child exactly how real evil could be.

When I was mid-way through my pregnancy someone decided enough time had past to release a documentary on September 11th. The film crew had been there - at ground zero - witnessing the horror and devestation. We never watched it but we did tape it. To this day I've never seen it. I still have the tape though. I wanted it so that one day, when my child was old enough and he was studying September 11, 2002 in history class he could have access to something created when the terror was still fresh in all our minds. But I figured that moment of brutal honesty wasn't coming for a good many years.

Lately Logan is fascinated by the Statue of Liberty. A small tax preparer with an office on a major highway in town has a replica of Lady Liberty out near the road. Everytime we see it Logan says, "Maybe someday I can go see the REAL Statue Liberty and we can walk alllllll the way to the top."

I decided to humor this latest craze by finding him photos of the Statue herself online. Our search was successful and Logan was duly facsinated. We saw close-ups. We saw photos taken from Jersey. We saw pictures taken just below the statue showing off exactly how big she really is. And we saw them - the Towers the way they used to stand in the skyline view you'd take in when you stood peering out the crown windows of the great green Lady.

Logan has heard a lot lately about New York City because Dad has had a lot of trips into the city for work. The two guys took a very short train ride last weekend on NJ Transit to feed Logan's train obession. "This train," Daddy said, "is like the one I take all the way from here to New York City when I go." And so Logan is very much all about NYC of late.

He pointed to the photos of the skyline yesterday and he asked, as I had expected, "What's that?" SO I told him - "That is New York City."

"I want to go see it!" he said. "I want to see the big buildings."

And in that moment I couldn't lie. I couldn't say that this is what he'd see even though it'd be easy. Even though its what I had always seen until one fear-filled late Summer day.

"Well, it won't look exactly like this," I said already thinking I'd have been better off to just not say a thing and knowing what would come next because it always does - Why?

I pointed to the Towers. "Those buildings aren't there any more," I said simply. And he said "Why?"

"Hmm, well they fell down one day and now something new will be built there." I told him.

"A wrecking ball knocked them down?" he said almost as exicted at the prospect that a real wrecking ball had been invovled yet disappointed that he hadn't seen it happen.

"Not exactly Logan," I said and then I pushed through even though I wondered if I should - knowing I wanted to be honest yet protective. "One day some men crashed a plane into the buildings and the buildings fell. They were very bad men." I told him.

"Why did they do that?" he asked.

And I answered him honestly, "I have no idea, honey. I just don't know."

Well at least we know he listens. . .sometimes

Every time we get near a street or parking lot with Logan we issue the same warning -Hold hands. Look both ways. We don't play in the street because its dangerous. You have to watch for cars.

Today we ran over to Grandma's house to let out the dog and feed her dinner. Gram and Papa are away for a birthday trip and my brother is working late late late tonight catering an office dinner party. That left the three of us on dog duty.

As we walked back down the driveway to our van, Gram and Papa's neighbor G ran over to say hi to Logan. G is about 12 years old and he loves showing off in front of the little ones. He was out playing basketball at the net cemented in the ground in front of his house.

Logan stared at G intently. He watched the ball bounce up and down as G played at pushing the ball to the ground between his legs, behind him and so on. Satisfied he had fully impressed a 2 year old, G ran back to his net.

"Stop! No! Don't do that!" yelled Logan. "Its dangerous!"

G did stop. He turned in the middle of the road and looked at Logan. "Don't do what little man?" he said, amused that this little kid was scolding him.

"Don't play in the street G!" warned Logan. "Its dangerous. A car can come through here and you'll get squished!"

Guess it only seems like we're talking to ourselves.

Discipline with a Smile

I think the hardest thing to do as a parent, hands down, is discipline. At least for me thus far it has been. Its really a multi-faceted challenge.

First, you need to learn to check your own temper at the door so you respond not react. This is my weakest skill as a parent. Children have a knack for finding your buttons early and pushing them often. There are too many instances where I've looked back and wanted to kick myself for getting louder than I'd like or closing a door a wee bit harder than I had meant to as I let the dog out -- she seems to run and hide outside the moment the boy starts a hissy fit. Her impeccable timing is often the last straw for me. "DOES ANYONE CARE WHAT MOMMY WANTS?!" I want to yell as I let her out, only maybe with a few more words of questionable nature tossed in.

Second, you need to ignore your inner mush-hearted weakling. The one that really does want to give in and give back the trains you just took away for the afternoon because hey, the kid said he was sorry and he seems sincere....just like he did last time he said he was never going to pull his sister's fuzzy hair.

Third, you need to squish down your giggles or at least muffle them enough that the child does not hear them as you try your hardest to be stern and serious. As we drove home last night Logan asked me to take him back up near my office so he could see the backhoe I had told him about. My office is a good 35-40 minute ride one way. I'm not taking two children there at 6:30pm just to see a dormant backhoe.

We went around a bit about this. The infamous "why" rearing its ugly head fast and furiously. Then it happened. Logan, totally unsatisfied with my verdict, said "Mommy, be quiet."

Mommy said "Excuse me?" Bad, bad response because it caused him to repeat himself. And so I issued my warning "That's enough young man. If you continue to be fresh you can go to your room the moment we get home."

"Why?"

SHOOT ME NOW!

"Because its rude" I tell him. And he says "What's rude?" which is almost a welcome change from what I had expected...the dreaded "Why?" We have a short chat about what it means to be rude and how important it is that he respect other people.

Didn't sink in quite as well as I'd hoped. He proceeded to then waffle between saying "Be quiet" and "Be LOUD!" He found it hilarious, laughing between each phrase. And so I told him I'd had enough and he was going to his room the moment he stepped in the house.

And then he told me what he thought of that idea, "Mommy! Now YOU are being rude!"

Holy crap! How does one NOT laugh at that indignant response?

I stifled my chuckle. I bit my tongue to keep my mouth firmly straight and I asked if I needed to give his beloved trains a time-out as well. Apparently I did not because he stopped talking.

Oh the men in my world. . .

A week ago I sent an email to my brother and copied my father on it. It read simply "If you haven't gotten Mom's birthday gift yet, don't get these two things. I just ordered them for her today." And then I dropped in links to what I had bought. I did this because ages ago I had suggested my dear brother buy one of the two items I had purchased and he thought it a dumb idea. However, when pressed up against a looming birthday with no gift I knew he'd break down and get it if it still lingered in the vast recesses of his memory. I sent it off and then I didn't think of it again.

Mom's birthday isn't until Thursday, but since she'll be away then we celebrated over dinner tonight. Logan and I made the cake. They picked my uncle up from the sub-acute care facility he moved into this week. My clan gave Mom her gifts. The majority of our visit my brother did what he does best - hid out in his room ignoring us all. As Bruce and the kids were leaving (I was staying behind to help Mom get my Uncle back to his place) my brother emerged from his room and plopped himself on a chair.

"Did you see what we got Mom?" I asked him and pointed to the shelf above his head.

He glanced up at the little figurine of a woman hugging both a toddler sized and infant sized child. "Oh no!" he said. "I just ordered that!"

"What? Why? Didn't you read my email?" I asked him.

"Sure I did. I ordered the church you told me to get too." he said.

Nice, eh? "Umm, I didn't send you an email telling you to buy those. I sent you an email telling you NOT to buy those." I clarified

To make it even more humorous my father speaks up and adds "Oh, I only saw the email where you suggested it as an idea. I forwarded it on to your brother. I never saw the one where you said you bought them. Maybe you just sent it to him."

WHAT?!

"Umm, guys. Not to make a big thing of this. . .but I only sent ONE email and it said DON'T buy it. Where did you buy it from?"

"The place you sent me the links too in your first email," said my brother.

Just freakin' shoot me.

As we're walking out the door my mother thanks me again for the gifts and says that she had really wanted the Heartwood Creek church we got her. "I was starting to think no one would ever get it for me!" she said. And I nearly doubled over in laughter.

When we were safe away from the ears of those two dear men I told my mom that if we were all nice and quite she could have two of each. We had a nice laugh at their expense.

Give the kid some credit. . .

Yesterday we went to my Women's Group at the church. We stop first in the room the women meet in to drop off my books and our coats. Then we march down the hall to bring the kids to the nursery where they'll play with the other kids and three lucky babysitters. We do this once a month, just as we have for the last two years with the same set of women and their kids.

Logan went right over to the first boy roughly his age and started up a dialogue about Thomas underwear and using the potty. I whispered in his ear "Now remember, if you have to use the potty tell the ladies before its emergency time so they can come get me to help you. Ok?" And he said happily enough "Ok Mommy, I won't have an accident. Don't worry. I'll be ok."

The other mother smiled knowingly and said "Wow, Logan, the potty! That's great!" Then she looked at me and said "He's three now right."

"Oh, not quite yet," I said. Logan piped up "No. I'm only two now. I'll be three on my birthday on June Fir-tee-if" (also known as June thirtieth.)

She blinked, this other mother literally noticeably blinked. Looked at my pipsqueak again and then said "Oh, well he talks like he's already three." Then she patted her 40-month old on the head and said "That's just because he's the firstborn. My first born spoke fairly well but by the time we got to this one, well I'm not sure he's using complete sentences consistently to this day."

This isn't a new critique for us. Its what we often hear when it comes to Logan and it has replaced the old standby "Well he's an only child, so that explains it." But it doesn't.

Logan doesn't speak well because he's the oldest (or back when because he was an only). Logan is just Logan. I'm sure that his abilities got some extra benefit from being on his own for two years, but its not the only factor. The bonus of birth order was merely having a little extra time in our day to help nurture his potential - it didn't create said potential. And so when folks flippantly dismiss his abilities with a tip of the head and quick explanation as my friend did yesterday, it annoys me because in a way it devalues his accomplishments.

Will his sister follow in his footsteps? Who knows. She is clearly much more physical as a baby. She's been hitting her milestones several weeks younger than her big brother had when he was her age. Will she simply just be more phyiscal and not as verbal? Possibly but that will just be her uniqueness, not her birth order. Then again, if her current delight in hearing her own voice is any indication, Miss Thing will be a talker. Maybe not as young as her brother, but eventually she will posses the ability to talk ones ear off just as he does today.

When you have children you get a lot of advice from everyone in your path - from the mail carrier to the person on line behind you in the supermarket. I think everyone that saw me walking with Logan while I was pregnant had input on how my 2nd would never have the same exposure to sorts of things Logan did because it was simply impossible and therefore she'd not do the things he was capable of doing when he did them.

But I disagree. Megan will not have the same exposure to the same things in a solo fashion, but she will have the same exposure to the things her brother did as an infant - and then some. When Logan was 6 months old we'd sit on the floor and play together. We'd read together. We'd snuggle. We'd sing and dance. Megan does all that its just that sometimes the books we read are the ones her big brother selects instead of the baby board books he'd have read at her age. She doesn't get to slow dance on her own all the time because sometimes its three of us doing the hokey pokey. She doesn't always get to sit and play with her stuffed beasts because sometimes she's too busy on my lap attempting to fling a small toy crane from one side of the room to other as we play trucks with the big brother. Instead of having just adults talk to her and play with her day in and day out, she has the two-and-half-year old she worships dote on her as well. You can see it in her eyes, she watches everything he does and she tries to emulate it.

This morning she was lying on her stomach doing that fish-out-of-water thing 6 month-olds do. For yucks I told him to show her how to crawl. So Logan crawled. And Megan watched. Then she did her very best to pull her one knee up underneath her. She didn't do it, but she did struggle hard enough at it that she managed to inch worm herself forward and for now that pacified her.

When he sneezes, she laughs. Then she scrunches up her face and squeaks out "Ewww!" before giggling her ever fuzzier head off. When he's upset and wants some good old fashioned cuddling, he whines "Mommy! I need you!" and he reaches out to me. When Megan has had enough of being somewhere other than a set of arms she reaches out her arms and she hums "Mmmmmmmma!" I'm not about to write down somewhere that her first word came at 5 1/2 months and it was "Mom", but I will say that this is a sound she makes ONLY when she wants me to pick her up.

We have no idea what Megan will do as she grows. No idea where her talents will lie. She may develop her verbal abilities on track with what the books say to expect. She may take her time and be a late bloomer because it won't be surprising to find that she can't get a word in edgewise. OR, she may talk early and often as her brother did. All of that is fully dependent on her own unique developmental path. Just as Logan's has been/will continue to be. Its got nothing to do with when he arrived in our lives, just with the person that he is. I just wish folks would give him the credit for it.

Dear Sales Gal

Ok, little Miss Stride-Rite Sales girl, let me explain something to you. Buy one, get one half off is not a good sale if I don't need one, let alone two, pairs of children's shoes. The boy's foot is size 7.5. Its been sized 7.5 for months now. His current pairs of shoes are sized 7.5. I do not need to buy a new pair of shoes in said size NOR do I need to stock up on the next size since by the time we need a size 8 the styles will have rolled over again and we can get even niftier 'flashy' feet (also known as, sneakers with lights that blink on and off with every step the boy takes.)

So, High-school-aged-girl-with-no-child, let me explain something. I came in to have you measure the boy's foot to see if he was just being a pain in my butt this morning or where his shoes really getting small. The butt won. Your commission didn't.

Because I'm evil

We all have "those" friends in our lives. The ones that we'd not normally associate with if it weren't for the specific circumstances through which we've met. Maybe its a "work" friend. Someone you exchange gossip with over the coffee maker and with whom you share way to many rotten lunches. One of you leaves that company, however, and your friendship dissipates. Or, perhaps its a "mommy" friend. Someone you meet through your child and see only when there are children around to distract you from actual conversation. I've got one of those. We'll call her Ann only because that's not her real name.

Ann gave birth to perfection roughly two-and-half years ago, only not really. Junior is a normal 30-month old. He does things all two-year olds do. He's built like a two-year old. He talks like a two-year old. He talks back like a two-year old. He's just perfectly two and that is, well, perfect. Its all any child that age needs to be.

But Ann likes to think she, and therefore her child, is better than the rest of us. Its rare a conversation transpires between us that she doesn't give me one of these "So what is Logan up to? Oh, that's nice, well Junior can do this. . ." Its a competitive statement. Its a "yeah well, you think that's great, look what mine can do." Its sad.

I am proud of the things my son can do and I'll happily blog them or share them with people close to us. But I don't go out of my way to alert everyone in our address book the moment he does something for the first time. I'm careful when I speak to people like Ann, not to talk about the things Logan does because it never leads down a good road. We just let it go and, for example, Logan's verbality will sooner or later display itself without me saying a thing.

So the other day we're talking. And of course most of what we ever talk about is child related. She's now expecting her second and so the call she placed to me was to pick my brain on how to prepare Junior. Slowly a talk moved from siblings to preschools.

"Oh, Logan has always been very chatty," she says in regards to some topic related to schooling. Then she paused and added with great flair "Junior is catching up to him, you know. He knows his letters now."

Now normally I'd say with all sincerity "Yay Junior! That's great!" and leave it at that. Not with Ann though, because with Ann this declaration wasn't about your normal Mommy-chat of "My child did something neat and I want to share it with someone that might understand why a simple series of letters is beyond wonderful!" No, with Ann this sort of comment is "My child is better than yours and every where he wasn't better before he's now leveling the playing field leaving your child no place to be special, so there." You think I make this stuff up, but I don't.

So to Ann I said very matter of factly, "Oh, that's terrific! Good job Junior." (insert dramatic pause here.) "Logan is starting to read now."

Silence on the other end.

"Yeah, he's not reading a full book on his own, certainly, but he has several dozen words he can read without our help. It won't be long before he's doing complete sentences and reading simple stories."

"Oh." she says then more silence. "Well Junior is just very into his muscles and being physical. He'd rather ride his bike."

And so I invited her over one day so the boys could ride their bikes together. Yes, I am evil. The thing is if she wasn't always trying to do a "my kid is better than your kid," I wouldn't be so bitchy. But she does, so I am.

In fact, I nearly called her yesterday to tell her that Logan did indeed read a complete sentence all on his own in a book he'd never seen before - "The pig is in the mud."

But I opted out of evil yesterday - yes I know my "pseudo-twin" reading this right now in disbelief that I could opt out of evil. But I did Col. I really did.

Jinx myself

Apparently I am still fully capable of jinxing myself. After smacking my forehead about the pitch I sent in, I got my reply. Can't use it at this time because something similar is running in May. And so now I won't wait so long to pitch.

Smack forehead now

I finally got off my tukus and pitched another story idea. It's not the one that I've been pondering longest because frankly that one takes more effort. I'd have to print that one out and mail it in. No, this was something different because I knew I could just email it. I could write it and hit send BEFORE I chickened out. Something to get over this initial threshold of whatever it is that has been holding me back - laziness? Esteem? Overwhelming desire to just not work for a moment?

I sit now, though, with two separate thoughts bouncing through my head:

a) She'll never accept this idiotic idea because it sucks and its likely been beaten to death.

b) She will accept this idea and I'm just screwed because I can't even begin to think of where to start finding experts to interview.

Someone just smack me in the forehead now.

Because sometimes a mommy blog is for showing off the kid(s)

At five and half months old, Miss Megan has hit a milestone - she can sit...unassisted...sans tripod. She first demonstrated this nifty new feat while playing with her brother in his room. She found his "big boy bed" the perfect "safely padded" place to test out her skills. 

And sometimes she has to catch her balance. . . 

Here she is sitting but going nearly cross-eyed at the pattern of the fabric on her brother's quilt. 

Because I can't send a photo of one without the other. . . 

Almost missing diapers

There is a downside to a potty-trained child. Let me paint you the picture:

Its 2am. You're shaken from a dream by the sound of someone calling you. You rattle the sleep from your head. You rub your eyes with the back of your hand the way your infant does. You listen and hear it again.

"MOMMY! I got to go potty! Emergency! Come help me!"

Confessions

- I watch America Idol and actually find myself cheering for contestants. I'm embarrased to admit I even voted once (not this season, at least yet.) However, I've yet to stoop low enough to go out and buy the winners' CDs.

- Tonight my daughter is in bed sleeping in a baby-blue "boys'" sleeper that was once her brother's. Somewhere in town there is that little old man from the mall thinking nasty thoughts about me for this fashion faux pas.

- I bought an extra bag of jelly beans for the "Bunny house" Logan and I decorated today just so I could have the leftovers. (Bunny house being akin to Gingerbread House.)

- I once drove all the way home from work listening to the Wiggles -- without a child present. Then again, I was on the cell phone and not really paying attention to what was on, which brings me to the next confession:

- Sometimes I talk on my cell while driving without my hands-free contraption connected. Shh, its a law that I'm breaking now. Dang it!

- Once when I was about 8, I found a pack of gum and kept it even though the real owner was walking around asking if anyone had found it.

- I recently sat through an entire rerun of Melrose Place. To be fair, I spent the vast majority of it asking myself what the heck I had been thinking when I watched it faithfully the first time around.

- I sometimes think about setting myself up for ambush on "What Not to Wear" just to get $5000 worth of new clothes that are actually going to look good on me.

Buck Shot

Thoughout various stages of development hearing my child utter variations of one simple word can thrill me like nothing else. The first time Logan said "Mama" as he looked at me and smiled, I melted. The day he said "Mommy, I love you," I nearly cried. I felt like the most special gal on the planet the day he stopped me as we walked together and said "Mommy, you're my best friend."

Then yesterday he added another to the list. I stopped in midst of making dinner to attend to the baby. I left Logan in the kitchen doing what he often does there - arranging his letter magnets in various combinations trying to spell words. There are a few he can do and the rest end up being some mismatched jumble that we try to sound out for him just the same so he learns how to sound out words. He called out to me first "Mommy! Come here!" Then he ran to find me, grabbing my hand as he said "Please come quick! I made something for you. See what I did!"

We followed, Meg, Dad and I. And there it was. In big, bold colored letter magents "MOM."

"See!" my sweet little 32-month old said proudly, "See, I spelled your name!"

And I swelled with pride.
-----

She's been trying to do it almost since the day we brought her home and today Megan finally succeeded. At five and half months old, Megan is sitting on her own. Not for long stretches, mind you, but still its exciting to see her do it. She'll sit with that perfect baby posture - spine straight and proud - until she sees something she wants and the act of lunging for it throws off her balance. The first time she did it today she sat on Logan's bed. She sat long enough for me to grab my camera and take more than enough photos of this simple, yet thrilling feat. After about two minutes she slumped to a tripod pose and then popped herself upright again before leaning on her right hand a bit longer. She did it again throughout the afternoon and evening. Looking up above her is enough to tip her over, as is reaching for something just beyond her grasp. . .but she can sit long enough for me to document it as a major acomplishment. ;)
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I'm sick of snow. I'm sick of being sick. I'm sick of cold weather. There, I whined and now I feel better.

Hit and run

There's a lot of talk about the "Mommy-drive-by" in the world of blogs lately. Getupgrrl got people talking about it. Moxie got people sharing their worst moments (perhaps drive-by invoking). Julie even got accused of it. And this recurring theme crossed my mind this morning as a well-bundled woman rushed her equally well-bundled daughter into the pediatrician's office this morning. Now frankly, its cold here. Temperatures are hovering just above freezing. Being all bundled up is not a bad thing. But nonetheless, I got myself a stare for not being properly attired myself and for carrying an infant from the building sans coat and hat.

My little gal has herself an ear infection, apparently, and so rightfully so we went into the doctor to have her checked out (although I *thought* we were going because of her nasty habit of puking her guts out this morning.) By the time we were called into the exam room, Meg was over-tired, mildly hungry and feeling generally crappy I'd assume. She ate a bit as a waited and managed to keep every single bit of it down. She started to drift to sleep JUST as the doctor came in and started poking at her. Not a happy gal. Not. At. All.

Now, add to that the simple fact that Miss Thing HATES being in that darn infant carrier when she's a) awake and/or b) not moving. She had already entertained the waiting room with her rendition of "child screaming loud enough to pop eardrums." I wasn't willing to allow her an encore by getting her back into the car-seat/carrier in the office when I could just keep the joy of the sound to myself in the car.

I also didn't get her in her coat since her coat was still at home hanging on her wall. Megan had fallen asleep just as we were about to leave the house and I had sort of hoped if I didn't jostle her too much she'd remain asleep. I got her buckled in and then piled on the blankets. She was toasty and cozy. Woke briefly to protest her captivity in that darn carrier and then drifted back to sleep.

Granted I could have wrapped her in her quilt before walking outside but I didn't feel coordinated enough to do so without launching an onslaught of baby screeches. I had 16+ pounds of cranky infant in one arm, a diaper bag loaded with goodies over the shoulder and a car seat with a hefty quilt and a wool baby blanket. The van was parked literally *just* outside the door. So I walked fast, but not fast enough. The well-bundled mother caught me and glared. I'm sure had I not been moving at the speed of light she may have had taken a moment to mutter loudly something to the effect of "Poor baby out without a coat or hat in this weather - no wonder why she's ill." To which I'd have to mouth off "Oh, please. You and your old wives tale. Germs make you sick not cold air. Apparently the coat and hat did nothing for your kid since you're here at the doctor's office too at a time when they aren't taking well-visits."

If we're being honest, however, I'm not sure what is bothering me more - the look that mommy-drive-by-wanna-be shot me, or the fact that I feel compelled to explain myself on my blog.

Shopping update. . .

Remember that shopping trip Megan took? The one where we went into Children's Place and she grabbed my face to plant a big wet sloppy kiss on my cheek at the mere suggestion that we'd buy a particular hat. The same trip where she pulled a skirt off the rack and refused to let it go. Well here's Megan modeling her purchases. . . 

random thoughts

The joy of potty training a wiseass is that he likes to follow you in the bathroom each time you go and give a running commentary. Its not so bad at home, but can be mighty embarassing in public restrooms.

"Oh Mommy! You're peeing! I'm so proud of you! YAY! Let's go get you a Hot Wheels!"

Accomplished

1. I never thought a toilet could make me so happy, but frankly, when its being used by a two and half year old meaning less diapers for me to change - the toilet makes me estatic. Although we still have the occasional accident, my little man (who bristles at hearing the world "little" in relation to himself. "I am a BIG boy!" he'll yell at me.) is a potty using champ.

2. To coincide with this 'big' kid status, he's also beginning to read. Its something he asked me to help him learn to do a few months ago and so we've been doing just that. He has just over a dozen words he can read regardless of where he sees them and then a few others that he can pick out throughout a few different books (or packages) that he sees often. Those words are on the brink of becoming ones he can read anytime, anywhere. He's so proud of himself each time he sees a letter combo and can tell us what it says. He announces what he's reading with a giant smile on his face. His eyes just glow with pride - and I'm sure mine do too.

3. Not nearly as impressive but I actually did finish reading my very own book. Now to just get myself in line to pick up another.

4. The baby has this funny trick she does. She plays on her side, rolls herself over onto her belly, acts all proud and content for a moment - and then she screams. What is remarkable about this trick is that she is fully and totally capable of getting from her stomach to her back because she has done it several times in the past. She *can* do it, she just would rather us do it for her.

World of Chaos

There's an entire world of chaos out there and some of it has felt the need to impinge upon my personal space. It's not my chaos - not directly - but it does belong to people I love and so therefore it pinches at my nerves and tweaks my heart.

There is my uncle enveloped in the return of a health crisis. Its not my story to tell and so I won't, at least not here. He faces a decision that will impact the independence he's valued and clung too perhaps longer than he should have. Those around him helping him make this choice of direction are met with anger and misplaced blame. I find myself praying for patience in dealing with him just as much as I pray for him.

My brother-in-law, well, I'm not even sure how you classify his crisis. To call it a relationship in crisis just down plays what he's coping with so much it'd be an insult to use the term. He's staring at the gates of his own personal hell and he's struggling with the view. Again, not my story to tell and while I've shared it with many of my friends that are reading now, its not a story to just plop out there on a public website like this. . .so I won't. I pray for his ability to get through today into tomorrow and then through tomorrow into the next day.

Its difficult to be on the fringes of their lives like this - to see them tormented without being able to do much to soothe the soul. If you're the praying sort just take what you can from the cryptic stories above and pray for peace to come to these men. Thanks.

Baby book review

This is Megan's current favorite book.  
It just arrived in the mail yesterday and she's already run her fingers across the various textures on each page. The battle in our house is over which child of mine gets to touch which tail first. This despite the fact Logan refers to it as a "baby book."

I wondered if she'd take to books the way her brother had. Logan's always had a book fetish. We began reading together his first day in the hospital and never looked back. We read stories daily and now, at 31 months old, he's beginning to read himself. His favorite book, for this reason, is David Get's in Trouble by David Shannon. He's able to read most of the story to himself now - and that's before he had the tale memorized. There is a single sentence on each page. Simple sentences with the words Logan does recognize "No", "It", "My", "Not", and so on. He pulls it from his shelf, asks me to read with him...and then he reads me the story. Its an event I adore.

But part of that is just Logan being Logan. While our consistent story time certainly gave opportunity to nurture his passion it didn't create it. He just has it. There are plenty of children that are read to on a regular basis that enjoy books but don't live books. So we wondered...would Meg, given the same exposure, become a book lover.

Its early. She's only 5 months old. Its early but it seems the answer is hinting to yes. She was hours old in the hospital when we read "My Big Brother" together. Since then we read at least something each day - sometimes its a book her brother wants to read as we sit together. Other times its another of her seemingly favorite books - one of the Miss Spider genre. It seems the artwork appeals to her in those books, which is good since she now has four of them.

Reading calms Megan. A fussy girl will usually settle down and stare at the pages once you open a book before her. She likes to grab at the images. She likes to talk to the characters. Sometimes she does like to try to eat them too - and that's when we switch from standard picture book to board book or cloth book. The Tails book has really appealed to her though because its interactive. She can hear the words we read her as she runs her baby fingers across fluff and bumps. She can touch and stare at the shining foil inlay of a peacock tail or watch the wagging tales of the foxes. After just a day of owning it, Meg sees the cover come towards her and she kicks with glee.

SO its early. We have no idea what she'll think of her stories in a month from now let another a year, but so far, it seems she shares a passion with the rest of the family - and for that we're glad.

Welcome words

I think Mike Celizic said it best in his MSNBC column published on Tuesday:

Forget Groundhog's Day. Forget robins. Nothing heralds spring like "pitchers and catchers."

And so they do herald. Yesterday pitchers and catchers reported to the Yankee spring training complex in Tampa, Florida and yesterday we hit 60 degrees in my corner of the world. Today's afternoon rain drove away the remaining vestiges of snow. Sure, it's supposed to drop to freezing temps again this weekend and perhaps even dump more snow on our heads here. . . but that's ok now. Its ok because they've come to Tampa and the journey has started. Slowly but surely they're pulling on those pinstriped tight pants and slowly but surely the grey days of winter are being pushed aside for Spring.

In honor of the official pre-start to the 2005 baseball season, Logan got all decked out on his newest NY emblazon attire: 

Obligatory Child update. . .

Today Megan is five months old. Don't tell her that though because she tries so hard to be much older. ;) Megan's latest pleasure is standing. Yes, standing. Typically she does it holding on to our hands, but she's been known to cling to the edge of a table without as much fingertip supporting her. Yes, there are hands behind her waiting to catch her - but still, she beams with pride as she props herself against the plastic Little Tykes picnic table all on her own. She's also been caught trying to take steps as we hold her hands high above her head. Her little legs set apart wide as she shuffles and she doesn't get more than an inch or two, but try she does. Obviously she's much to young to be pulling up on various objects on her own, but she will do her darndest to pull herself up when you offer her your hands.

Of course, even without her feet, Megan is mobile. No, not crawling yet as that would mean she'd have to remain on her belly without screaming bloody murder for more than a moment or two. Megan is a roller and a wiggler. She can roll both belly to back and back to belly - she just doesn't do it often. Instead she does her favorite thing - rolls onto her side. She loves laying on her side so she can better play with a toy. She'll scrunch herself all up in a little fetal ball and attack whatever toy is nearest her. Sometimes that toy gets away, and when it does Megan will use a series of back to side rocks and lurches to move her baby body to a spot near the offending toy. I've placed her on her activity quilt before dashing off to help big bro with the potty only to come back and find her on the opposite side of her quilt facing a brand new direction - and laughing at me for it.

Megan very clearly has the ability to anticipate recurring events. For example, my little dare devil loves it when we drop quickly to a squat as we hold her and sing Rock-a-Bye-Baby. She giggles her fully body laugh every time we do it, and that laugh starts in early. The moment you cradle her in your arms and sing the first note she starts to smile. 2nd note and she giggles as she stares at you in a way that just says "Yup, I like this song! I know what's coming!"

She also LOVES play Peek-a-boo. She starts to smile and laugh as soon as you begin to pull something over her eyes. We tend to play this game at night after her bath and so her hiding place is behind a towel. If I let go of the towel - letting it drape loosely over her face - she'll pull it off herself and burst into a fit of laughter. And then, if you're not fast enough, she'll pull the towel back up over her head. Granted she isn't very good about getting both eyes covered at once, but cut the kid a break, she is, after all, only five months old.

She's also working on sitting for real. She can't be up on her own for long, but the second counts are indeed getting longer and longer. She is also become fairly competent at the tripod sit (hands in front for support.) She'll hang out like that for a pretty decent amount of time before tipping over to a side.

Megan is a very sociable baby. She loves talking to people. She loves when people talk to her. Yesterday we hosted a Valentine's Party for our playgroup. Megan made friends with a little girl just a few months older than herself. Meg stood in her excersaucer as her friend stood holding on to the outside of the tray. They babbled at each other and exchanged giggly smiles for a fairly decent amount of time. I've no idea what they conversed about but they both seemed to enjoy it.

However, her most favorite baby friend is the one she sees in the mirror. Megan loves to play with the baby in the mirror. She coos at her. She smiles for her, laughs at her and leans in as close as she can get without smacking their foreheads together. She pulls and reaches for the mirror until you position her close enough to touch. She reaches out her not-quite-as-balled-up-all-time-time fists towards the other babies. She opens her hand up wide and attempts to grasp that other kid's fingers. She never seems bothered by the fact that the other baby has weird hands you can't quite hold onto.

That said, we think her favorite toy is her brother. In fact, we're convinced some mangled attempt at his name will be her first word. She worships Logan. When she hears his voice she turns her head in the direction until she locates him. . . then she smiles wide. When she's crying he can often make her stop. Its amazing how fast those tears go off and the giggles come on. When he gets close enough to her she'll throw her arms around his head in a little baby bear hug and plant a big, wet, drooly, open mouth on his head in an attempt to kiss him. She clearly adores him and the feeling is mutual. He's already standing up for her, by the way. At the aforementioned playgroup some little kid started pulling out toys from Megan's basket of goodies. Logan, who was actually happily sharing all his stuff, ran over and attempted to yank the item from the 17 month-old's hand yelling "No! That's my baby sister's toy. You can't have Megan's toys. Give that back."

By the way, lest I forget the actual important stuff. (ha!) Meg saw her OT for her follow-up appointment this week. He was very pleased with the progress she made from just the various minor changes to her daily habits. In fact he was so pleased that we were told to just continue encouraging her to turn that head to the upper left as a means to stretch the neck muscles and then see him in three months. No PT. No tests to rule out bigger issues. No threat of harness or surgery. Just minor stuff. It really didn't surprise me. She's been fairly non-tippy for the last few weeks, leaning just a smidgen to the left only after a long day with little rest. So, I was not surprised, but very relieved.

That's my girl!

Megan is offically 5 months old today; and today we learned that she's Momma's girl through and through. Sure, there have been clues. We (as well as her brother) have the same exact color hair. We have features so similar most folks look at her and says "She's the spitting image of you!" She smiles when I enter a room and she'll lunge to my arms if she's not in them. And today we learned that she's a shopper.

Yes, at only 5 months old, Miss Megan Rose has made it abundantly clear that she's going to turn every hair on Daddy's head gray by sharing her mother's enjoyment for a good shopping spree. (A hobby, by the way, I happened to get turned on to from *my* mother.)

The boys headed south for another trip to the lighthouse, so Meg and I headed to the Mall to pick up my ring. While we were there I headed over to The Children's Place. Its absolutely insane the way these stores introduce clothes. So many cute Spring outfts are already sold out in the various sizes I need because I waited to - ack! - February to consider buying them. Knowing this I decided to make Logan's Easter outfit a priority, a lucky thing considering I managed to buy the last pair of navy linen pants and the last cute little tie in his size!

While we were there I decided to peek at the little girl clothes. I mean really, its impossible NOT to look. And that's when Megan releaved her budding skills. I plopped a hat on her head and she laughed at me. She lurched forward and grabbed my face with both her hands as she squealed with glee. Then she leaned in with her mouth wide open so she could deposit one of her sloppy wet excuses for a baby's kiss on my face. I assumed that meant "Mommy, I love this hat!" and seeing how much she loved it, well what choice did I have. It got added to my pile. Then she saw the matching skirt and she lunched again. I swear to you - I do NOT make this up. She grabbed at the skirt. She pawed it. She refused to let it go. I pulled her size off the rack and she held it tight in both fists smiling her little great big happy smile. We bought the skirt too and a little lime green t-shirt and a cute little yellow zip up sweatshirt so she can wear the ensemble even now.

Granted I'm sure her adoration of her brand new cute skirt had more to do with the busy pattern of colors and flowers than anything else, but that's ok. Its a cute skirt for a little girl and so now its hers. Daddy should be glad I didn't get her all the other stuff she wanted: like this dress (that I almost did buy in the next size -- if only I knew what size she would need by summer!), and this dress (same size issue as the previous) and an array of PJs.

A girl after my own heart. Ahhh....

aching

I have two kids. Two children that arrived the good old fashioned way despite the fact we spent four years aching with the pain of fertility struggles. Two children that did not result from injectible drugs, swollen over-stuffed ovaries and many appointments with a doctor despite the fact that I do wear the badge of "in vitro" pincushion. In the end none of that mattered because both just happened to us.

You'd think it'd help remove the memories. You would think it would make all that old ache melt away. You would think that news of someone else's ease wouldn't pick at the scabs because in the end, we had our own ease. But it doens't.

There are two moms in my local Mom's group that strike deep chords in the wounded infertile that still hides in the crevices of my reproductive tract. The first will go in for her first IUI tomorrow. Her first child was an "oops" baby - adored and wanted the moment they knew of her conception but not at all planned. Her second has been alluding them for years now. We chat a lot. We talk about her RE - my former doctor. We talk about the tests. We talk about the things people say when they mean well but really they just make you want to scream and spit. We talk about how she couldn't bring herself to attend last night's group baby shower for the five current pregnant moms. We talk about how I understand and yet how I still feel so guilty that our talks of her struggles are peppered with talk of my almost 5-month old.

The second mom just announced that she's 5 weeks pregnant with her fourth child. A child she and her husband had planned to have - only a good year or two in the future. All four of her children were unplanned. All four are adored and happily recieved - but all four came not only without a few months of trying, but without a few months of planning. There was no wistful talk of "When we start trying next month...", it just came. Her news popped up in my inbox before she even told her own spouse. It sat that on my screen in the office and it poked at what remains of the scared emotions our long-past troubles left in their wake.

I'd like to say that the first thought I had was of my friend. That I inhaled sharply and worried how the news of this other woman was going to stab her in the heart the day before she went in with hopes that a doctor and a catheter could do what nature hadn't. Those thoughts did cross my mind but not before flashes of my history flew by. Memories of syringes. Memories of ultrasounds. Memories of drug induced hot flashes and mirgranes.

Perhaps all those things feel so fresh to me now because I've been reliving it as I hold the hand of this friend. Or maybe its just what it is. Maybe that very real, very difficult time of our lives is just so tightly woven into my fabric that its never going to go completely away no matter how things turned out. The truth is when my friend said to me yesterday - "Do you mind if I ask if your two came from the IVF?" - I felt guilty. I felt like a fraud.

"No. I mean we did all that. We went through all the tests and the ache and the treatment...but it failed miserably and we moved on. They just came along on their own accord - one a surprise and the other a surprise in that she came along so easily and quickly in our attempts." And then I mumble something about how weird it felt to have worn the label of infertile and never having a kid to being pregnant. . .and mumbled some more. . .and I felt the guilt of it. She understood though, and perhaps its because she's a mother already dealing with her own guilt. The flavor secondary infertility can awaken - the whole "shouldn't I be happy with just one?" and the "why is this so hard when I've done it before?!" She aches and guilts too. Perhaps that's why we're friends.

Messing with Daddy

There are an array of predictible baby sounds one can expect to hear in the first 12-months. Among the early ones is usually "DaDa" and may people take it for a real word even before it is. When Logan was 6-months old he said "Uck!" as he pointed to the rubber duck he wanted in the bathtub. He only said the 'uck' sound when he wanted that thing and so we dutifully recordered it as his first word. Around the same time he started making the sound "Dada." Daddy, happily declared this his second word. This despite the fact that little 6-month old Logan called everything from his father to the dog Dada. EVERYTHING. In short order, he got things sorted out and Dada was indeed Daddy. And at that time, I made note of it somewhere or other - ignoring Dad's instance that this momenumental moment of his own life took place a month earlier.

Little 4 month old Megan makes a lot of sounds. She loves making sounds. I think her first real hobby is babbling. I can see the future of my phonebill and its not pretty folks. This girl is a talker. Among her many sounds is the repeated humming of the letter "M". That's it. No vowels attached to it. Nothing but "Mmmmmmmm!" Its not one she uses often either. She tends only to start humming the letter "M" when she's put down somewhere she doesn't want to be but she's not quite sure its worth throwing an all out baby tantrum over it. She'll also use it when I hand her over to Dad for some reason or another and walk way from her. She'll stare at me, those eyes of her getting as big and round as she make them and she cries out "MMMMMMMMM!!!!!" Its her little way of peaceful protesting - no crocodile tears and screaming wails like she is capable of producing, just a sound that lets you know she's not happy.

But hey, its fun to toy with Dads sometimes, so I've pointed out to him that she only makes this noise those specific times as if she's trying to say "Mommy." Yup, I know, I'm fully capable of being a funny gal toying with his head.

"See!" I say, "Her first word is not going to be Dada! It's going to be Mama. She's already working on it. She's calling me Mmmmmm."

"That's not a word," he'll say.

"Neither was Dada when Logan used it to call the dog." I say with a sly smile.

"He said it when he looked at me." he sniffs back.

"Yes he did. And when he looked at his spoon."

"Funny."

"And his diapers."

"Uh huh."

"And his toys."

"I get it."

Is it spring yet?

I should have made myself a ticker to count down days to spring training so I could have some hope that Winter will one day actually take a freakin' hike. Don't get me wrong, I don't really want to live in a place that lacks four real seasons. . .I just want the winter one to be short and sweet.

What I dislike more than the cold, more than hefty amounts of snow that lingers and looks dingy in those places dogs abuse it and cars turn it black with all sorts of stuff, is re-frozen melted stuff. I know, you got lost somewhere in that giant sentence so let me rephrase. I hate when snow and/or ice melts on a day that is only seems practically balmy after such biter cold refreezes at night. There is nothing you can do to prevent it. You shovel away snow, you put de-icer crud down, you get your driveway perfect. Then it all starts to melt - the snow on the edges dripping into little riverlets making its escape to the street. The sun sets and then rises. You walk out attempting to make it to your mailbox and you nearly fall on your butt a few dozen times as you hit patches of ice here and there and everywhere.

Please, shove that ground hog back in his hole and ask him to pop up again in a way that predicts warm weather in short order.

10 Facts of my world

Fact #1
Somewhere along the way the notion of having to kiss diapers good-bye to be "big" got wedged into the boy's head. In the last several days he's gone from "I'm not using the potty until I'm 5" to "Give my old diapers to Megan because I'm a big boy now and I wear underwear." He's been mostly diaper free since Wednesday. He does wear a pull-up if we're out of the house for a while and over night. Although his 'performance' says he might even be ok without one as long as we're some public place with a bathroom. He's been in roughly six different places during that time span and he's taking a pit stop at each.

Fact #2
Growing up and moving to the great underwear phase of life apparently means ditching all that resembles 'babyhood.' Logan had fallen into the habit of taking the baby quilt his grandmother made him in the car. On Thursday when we headed out for his art class he handed (more like threw) his quilt over Megan (ignoring the fact she was already covered up by her own Grandma made quilt) and announced that he was giving her his quilt because its a baby quilt and he's no longer a baby because he uses the potty now.

Fact #3
Megan does indeed love ice pops. Logan had another after dinner tonight and the poor girl just spent her time staring at him and smacking her lips. We debated the merits of letting her have some...let's just say, she's a fan of orange. We'll be getting a pack of Pedialyte pops to keep in the house for the next "moster stuffy head" battle these two do. At least sucking down those pops will keep them both hydrated.

Fact #4
Not only does Megan like to ChaCha, she also likes to slow dance to Sam Cooke songs.

Fact #5
There's something strangely invigorating about buying a larger than you'd normally carry for just you purse with the plan of using it as part-diaper bag.

Fact #6
One shouldn't impulse buy aforementioned purse before triple checking whether or not the newly potty-fascinated boy is going to want to use a portable potty seat. Drat! Turns out he's ok on some...and turned off by others that are too 'big' for him. Stupid seat won't fit in my new fancy-pants bag.

Fact #7
IF you can't figure out where your child has picked up a word you'd wish he'd stop using so often - review your own vocabulary. Logan's newest joy in life is to call everything "stupid" just to push our buttons. Gee, wonder where he got that from?

Fact #8
Hearing Bear in the Big Blue House say the word "Potty" repeatedly is enough to make me giggle.

Fact #9
The Children's Book of the Month Club is dangerous because I buy to many damn books. I love books. I love Children's books. Luckily my children love them too. Both of them. Meg seems to be smitten by Miss Spider. She'll stare at those pictures for ages. And Logan, well he loves nearly anything.

Fact #10
As previously noted in a long ago entry - if you're seen in public with only one child, people will assume you only have one child. We stopped by the display Logan's future preschool had up at the Mall's something or other fair. They were at first quick to inform us that they didn't accept tot's Meg's age. Yes, we know.

Oh, where was Logan? He was off for his monthly sleepover with the Grands.

Only Mom. . .

Once again its become obvious to me how badly motherhood can warp your sense of humor and sanity. It takes what you once deemed totally unacceptable and just too gross to handle and turned you into an oblivious steel goddess - or at least someone so crazed that you're clueless.

Who else but a Mom (and ok maybe Dad) would find herself (and himself) all giggly and humored by a toddler reaching his hand between his legs while sitting on a potty as he says "I'm trying to pull my poop out." (He didn't use his hands for what its worth, but he did hold true to his promise and go another full-day in underwear using the toilet at each turn INCLUDING lunch out with Mom. By the way, only a Mom would want to repeat the story of her son yelling "Bye PeePee! I'm leaving you here!" as he walks out of public restroom.)

Who else but a mom wouldn't flinch as her infant rubs a runny nose on her shoulder (cold care of big brother's recent bout with germs) and flows up that snotty goo with a nice big spit-up. I'm a walking laundry pile and I honestly don't really care.

By the way, back to the potty, now that we seem to be at least at a starting point for this potty thing - how does one go about teaching a toddler to, ahh, wipe himself. ;) Our attempt tonight just put me in more giggles. I told him he had to sort of maneuver to lift up a buttock so he could reach -- and instead he gave me a nice high karate-chop style kick of his leg. Nice.

Only a Mom would want to take a pile of shredded paper glued with half-a-bottle of Elmers to blue paper on her wall and declare it the artistic zeith of interpreative snowmen.

Only a Mom would reach a hand into her back pockets to find a pile of compressed, used tissues (not her own) and casually toss them in the trash can, wash her hands, and then go about her day like she never touched something that icky.

Yup, only a mom...and maybe grandma

POTTY!!!!!!!

That's what it says on Logan's calendar - Potty and a whole lot of exclaimation points.

He got a calendar for Christmas as a means to teach him the concept of days of the week, months, etc. We write his entire social schedule on it - days with Grandma, art class, playgroups, doctor appointments and Sunday School. This afternoon we used a bright green marker to write the word "POTTY" across the February 2nd box and then a Crayola marker/stamper that places a green exclamation point wherever you stamp it. Its a celebration of what we hope is our big turning point in potty training.

Logan spent all but one hour of errand-running time diaper free today. Instead he was clad in his fun underwear (Matchbox cars before the only accident of the day and Thomas after it.) There were times he'd ask to use the potty and times I would invite him to use it. He'd go happily with any invite that came near a time he had to go.

He's so incredibly proud of himself for this and he should be. Its such a huge step. When he had emerged from the newly done bathroom one time, still shaking bits of water from his freshly washed fingers, he smiled proudly at my praise then said "I'm a big boy now, Mommy. I'm going to go to preschool. No more diapers for me."

And a full day into his pledge, I do believe he means it.

Three Cheers for Cheerios

Still not convinced this is *it*, but a few handfuls of Cheerios seems to have sparked a renewed interest in the potty for the Little Dude. He's happily drenched them six times over the last four days -- including two consecutive times today (well 3:30am and then 6:30am). This Mommy is hopeful.

Great things about being second

by guest writer Baby Sister Megan

When you're the first baby in a family people watch very carefully what you're doing at all times because:

1) you're new territory for them
2) they can.

When you're second in the family you get away with a little more because:

1) although you are uniquely you, you're a bit of old hat too. Its great when you roll-over but if you don't do it the day you hit 4-months a relative isn't about to call the ER.
2) they can't keep an eyeball on you 24/7 when your big brother is attempting to find out exactly how much water he can displace from the dog's water bowl with an array of balls and previously abandoned Little People.

For me this means that today, just a mere four and a half months old, I got to taste my very first "America Pop"! At least that's what Logan calls it. Mommy said it was an ice pop that happened to be colored red, white and blue. I just call it yum, yum, good.

My brother says his throat hurts so Mommy brought us to Grandma's house and then, before she ran off to some place she calls work, she went to the big Supermarket with the trains Logan loves so much. She got him lots of neat stuff like the America Pops and lollipops and medicine. Well Mommy left and it was just me, Logan and Grandma. Logan never finishes his pops and this time was no different. He said he was done and he handed Grandma what was left (which was most of it I think.)

Well my silly Grandma had me in her left arm. I was looking at the world - my head helded high and my feet pointing down to the floor I like to pretend I can stand on. I was wedged in nicely at the elbow, so Grandma put the America Pop in her left hand and used her right hand to help my normally half-monkey brother out the chair he was in.

Logan caught me before Grandma did. He was laughing so hard though I got a few extra licks in before Gram realized what was happening. That mean brother squealed on me once he could get the words out. "I think she likes it!" he said as he gasped for air. That's when I got caught. Grandma found me - a hand on the pop pulling it closer to my mouth which happened to be enjoying the cool icy yumminess on my gums. Grandma didn't think I should be having this heavenly treat so she took it away. For a lady that kisses a lot and loves us so much she can really be a party-pooper. I tried to tell her that I really wanted the America Pop, I mean after all Logan didn't want it and it was already open! I tried to say the words but all that came out was a very loud, very ear-piercing scream. I think she got the message though.

So it begins. . .

On February 9th the little man and I (with sister and Grandma in tow) will head over to preschool for a tour. Of course, he knows the facility. He knows the classrooms intimately, actually. The preschool he'll attend in roughly 7 months is run through our church. Logan has class in one of their rooms every Sunday morning.

Its not a "church" program, although our church runs it. They are certified by the State and often maintain a waiting list of non-members vying for a spot. You tell someone where he's going to go and they say to you "Oh, very nice!"

But to Logan, preschool is a forgeign concept. We tell him he'll get to go and play with the blocks, the sandbox, the paints. We talk about story time and art time. We talk about making friends and learning all sorts of neat things. He likes the theory of it. . . just not enough to push through to complete potty training.

As a church member we can sign up for the '05-'06 year beginning February 27th. We've been talking about sending him to school there for two years and now the time has finally come to sign the papers and hand over a check. It seems almost surreal. My little boy is going to go to school. I'm going to have parent/teacher nights to go to. We're going to get progress reports. He's going to make friends I've not hand-picked for him. (Ok, that one is scary!)

This tour next week is during school hours. They'll bring him into a classroom and let him see what the 'big' kids do. He'll get to witness real school. Not playtime in the church nursery during the week...not his Sunday School class where his teenaged teacher typically just lets them have at the blocks and art supplies without much in the way of "class" focus.

He loves learning and we've done quite a bit of it on our own - I mean outside of your typical growing up stuff. He's learned his colors, his numbers, his letters, some basic history and geography. He knows to write his name. He knows to spell and read a few words. He knows a lot of stuff, but he wants to be in a classroom with other kids and I want him to be there too. He'll go two days a week for just 2.5 hours at a time. I'm so excited for him!

Want some whine with that?

I had this nice whiney post all written up and then I tried to publish it. Blogger ate my homework. Talk about making me cranky. Here are some other things:

1. I'm tired yet I keep doing the same stupid thing - I stay up late and do dumb stuff like re-compose blog posts that the World Wide Web will likely just ingest again.

2. This chick from a Mom's Group I'm part of starting using our group as her own personal mailing list for her large list of various "buy this crap at a home party" businesses. She got warned once. We made a nice rule about not spamming the group. She got warned for doing it again. She got huffy and left. Or at least we can assume that's what it was about. Anyway, she's gone, sort of. Now she just sends us all her mail to our own personal emails and not the YahooGroup we usually communicate to the group through. Nice, eh? There's a reason I like the "SPAM" button.

3. The Male Selective Hearing disease sets-in early. My two year old is now battling it. It is totally not their fault. See I think the testosterone settles into their ear drums when its not off doing other manly things.

4. Why do grown adults in their 30s, 40s, and so on, think its great fun to drink so much on a corporate bar tab that they show up to work drunk the next day?

5. I am so darn sick of everything in my great outdoors being white, dirty white, or just plain old grey. I want Spring. I want it now.

My only solace is that Spring Training starts in just 14 days. I am giddy over this. GIDDY! Yeah, tulips and daffodils are wonderful. Red-breasted robins are just grand. But I live for those pinstripes warming up in Tampa. I can't wait to see Randy Johnson take the mound. I'm besides myself really!

That said, as painful as this is for me to say being a Giants fan and all, I really hope the Eagles win the SuperBowl because I'm not sure I can handle back-to-back New England wins with a historic Red Sox title squished between. Its just not right. Chaos will break out. People will go insane. I'm telling you - its not natural. Bad bad things will happen.

Its coming!

I don't know exactly when, but I do know that at some point between now and the end of May this ring will be on my right hand's ring finger. We bought it today from Zales (must give them credit for the photo!) and its now out to be sized.  


I told Bruce I wanted a piece of jewlery that contained both a pearl (or pearls) and sapphire(s). Why you ask? Logan is a June-bug with a pearl birthstone. Megan's stone is sapphire. When we were expecting L, Bruce did a terribly romantic thing. He bought me a ruby and diamond heart-shaped pendant for my birthday (which is in late May.) Logan, you see, was due in July and therefore, the appropriate stone was ruby. I LOVE that pendant not just because I adore rubies, but because I love the meaning it holds. I love the sentiment. However, when Logan arrived a bit early, I started to tease Bruce that he owed me a pearl. When Meg arrived I also developed a lust for sapphire.

This combination isn't an easy thing to find unless you're looking to buy antique jewlery from the Victorian era. You can have pieces custom made for a nice price, sure. You can even get one of those Mother's rings. But I must be honest, I'm not a big fan of those. I thought I could forece myself to be - but no. The worst part, aside from the fact they look like class rings, is that the stone they use for June is some ugly dark yellow pee color. I want a June pearl.

I looked hard a few weeks ago - figuring if it was to be custom made we needed time. I had told B it'd make a nice Mother's Day and/or birthday gift. I hunted on my own knowing how much Bruce hates the insecurity jewlery shopping breeds in him. Besides, I had a picture in my head and I was determined to find "JUST" the right thing. And I did. First I found the necklace I had dreamed up - a pearl surrounded by sapphires in such a way it looked like a pretty blue daisy.

But necklaces and young children are tough. Necklaces get yanked. Chains break. Necklaces end up decorating jewlery boxes in the hopes that some day its safe to take them out again. Rings, though, rings can get worn. So I kept hunting. And I found it. I found this. This ring shown above. I found it on my lunch hour one day on a whim. I stopped in Zales and just asked - "Do you have ANYTHING with Pearls and Sapphires?"

"Why yes, in fact, we do!" the lady said as she pulled this ring from the case. I fell in love.

Then I slipped to nervous fear - fear they'd sell it before he bought it. I showed him picture on the web site. I pulled him into another Zales when we were out at the Mall. And then he said "Go ahead and buy it now." So we did.

When it comes home to live it'll go into hiding until its time to show up as a gift. I told him this year it'd be ok to give me a Valentine's present - something we don't normally do. It may wait and hide though until May, and that's ok. I know its there. I know we have it. I know I can't miss out on it. Its mine. I love it because it represents them.

an irritation

I won't delve into the details. I actually hesitate to write even this. But I will. There are things that happen in this world that are of utter, horrid, huge proportions of devestation. We all leap to our feet, open our wallets and do our monetary best to help.

In the interim there are daily struggles that we ignore.

Yesterday at a company event two seperate small groups either donated excess 'funds' from a planning budget or a proposed event plan (that would, if it evolved into something real, take place in May) that would also act as fundraiser. Each of these revolved around tsunami help.

That's great. Yes it is. Its wonderful. Tsunami victims face a very long road up the hill to recovery. Let's not forget them after the initial set of pictures and video cross our line of site. . .

Yet what about everything else? We're a tech company - What about donating something to a school system in a disadvantaged area? What about devoting our efforts to train welfare recipents in various technologies to help them develop new skills? What about so many great causes? Why is it only the truly awful, broadcasted stuff gets our focus?

It'll be a heatwave!

They say it should hit 36 degrees on Sunday - a veritable heatwave! Whoever thought it'd be neat to see the weather station display "Wind Chill -10" needs to stop having fun at my expense.

Snow days!

I don't know why this photo makes me giggle, but it does. I'm so cruel - the baby is balling and I'm laughing about it. Anyway, here's the look of two different faces in the big weekend snow storm. The big one had just completed the sentence "But I don't want to say cheese, I want to sled!" The little one is screaming what can only be interpreted as "Get me the hell out of this cold white crap!" 

Baby loves to ChaCha

I believe Megan has hit that age where separation anxiety begins to set in. Logan went through some form of it himself - heck, it was nearly 2 years before he'd stay anywhere on his own without either parent or grandparent with him! This is different though. I don't remember this. I can't put her down. If I do manage to convince her its worth spending some time with some toy or other on the floor or the Pack-n-Play, I have to remain in her line of sight. The moment I move away she starts to cry. And then, if I leave the room! Well forget it. Hysterics.

Sometimes she cries a bit - like when I need to attend to the big brother or I need a bathroom break. Other times we find ways of dealing with this need of hers. The three of us play Candyland, for example. I just get to take two turns.

In the past, baby girl hasn't been a big fan of the front carrier. Today, out of desperation, I decided to try it again. Well the thing is aptly named "Kangaroo" and that's just grand since I feel like one every time I strap it on. I tangled myself in the straps, plopped Meg in, snapped all the buckles shut and crossed my fingers.

She was content.

We made bread, the three of us. Let me be the first to tell you that kneading two loaves with of sourdough bread an infant strapped to the front of you isn't nearly as hard as you may think! We put away laundry. We vacuumed. And somewhere along the way, one of us fell asleep. Sadly it wasn't me. Happily I was able to extricate Megan from the Kangaroo contraption and put her down somewhere not on me for about an hour's worth of napping.

The thing worked so well that I hooked her up again in the evening. Logan loved it. Luckily so did Megan. My shoulders? Not so much.

We played hide and seek. We played tag. We turned up the volume on the CD player and danced like fools to JoJo's Circus and Sam Cooke. We learned that the little girl LOVES to Cha Cha - or at least she loves when I Cha Cha and she goes along for the ride. She also loves when I dip forward, leaving her perpendicular to the floor. She gets her face close to her brother's that way and she laughs a big hearty baby laugh.

When the carrier is on, Logan refers to the two of us as Kanga and Roo. He's since decided that this makes him Piglet. And as much as it wears me down and puts aches where my shoulders used to be, I actually like it. I like that I can run and play again with my boy without waiting for naptime or a second pair of hands to come home. I like that I can dance in the living room. Pump up the sound system, strap the kid on, and get a work-out like no other. Baby LOVES to Cha Cha...and so do I.

My neighbor must read my blog

Yesterday when B was out front shoveling yet again the neighbor to our left came over and used his 12 horsepower snowblower to clear our sidewalk from his property line to our driveway.

Apparently the toy is brand new and he has some trouble controlling it. This I can personally attest to because I stood in my bay window bouncing Megs and watching machine nearly take man for a ride.

Gee, aren't you a nice neighbor

Well it snowed here. And then it rained. Roughly six inches of snow under rain to be exact. That equates to "damn heavy snow to have to shovel." Not only that, but folks, my driveway - ugh! It fits two cars across and roughly two and half down its length per side...meaning a total of five cars worth of driveway to shovel. Not little itty-bitty cars either, we're talking my van, a mid-sized sedan and then a 2nd sedan hanging off over the sidewalk into the apron a wee bit but not falling off into the street. BIG ole driveway.

Add to that the fact that we live in a raised ranch which means retaining walls down half the driveway length - this means when you want to remove snow from your driveway you must hoist heavy shovelfuls over the retaining wall - which may be over your head. Nice, eh? And then there's the front steps...and then the sidewalk...and if you're feeling like getting mail at all before the snow melts, there's a space in front of your mailbox to do.

AND, today is just the beginning. Its now turning back to snow from the brief interval of rain and its supposed to snow deep into tomorrow. Yet we all went out tonight and we shoveled - "we all" being every grown adult with home ownership. We went because shoveling heavy wet rained on snow is better than shoveling snow with a layer of ice from where the rain froze.

Well yes, thank you for asking, it would be wise of us to buy a snow blower. Its something we toss around from time to time and then we spend our money on something else. In the interim we have two adults with very sore shoulders, backs and upper arms tonight. Two cold adults.

But about my neighbor since that's what this installment is titled. Well my neighbor has a snow blower - or at least he's using one, it may be one he borrowed from yet another neighbor. The fool is aware that we have three shovels and two adults (don't ask about that ratio. I'm still trying to figure it out myself.) He is also aware that we have two young children and so clearing snow means either one of us works at a time OR we work at night when both kids are in bed because the little one likely won't nap off a body long enough for three of us to get front and work. Oh, and with "three" of us working, its likely the boy would just create more work for the other two of us. ;)

But whatever, he went out with this snowblower and he did his driveway. He did his sidewalk. . . and he stopped at the exact spot his property ends. EXACT! Do you think it'd have killed him to the extra few dozen feet between that property line and my driveway? Wouldn't it have been a nice thing to do. I mean really, its not like he was breaking his back shoveling or anything. He was pushing a freakin' machine. A machine that did his sidewalk down to concrete in minutes as it shot streams of heavy wet snow up on his yard like it was a pile of goose feathers.

I'm cranky. I know. My upper body is screaming in pain from the experience of shoveling. Yes, I am that out of shape and yes the driveway is that big and yes the snow was that heavy.