Kate and Oliver’s Excellent Adventure: Part II (continued)

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9:30 a.m. at the Key West Butterfly & Nature Conservatory
Butterfly Sanctuary

With Mom coming home and the holiday weekend, I probably won’t have another post until Monday. But I did want to get a short one in today since we did something that we ALWAYS do in Key West. We went to the Key West Butterfly & Nature Conservatory. Oliver and I make a point of visiting the “butterfly museum” (that’s what I call it – Oliver just says “BUTTERFLY!”) whenever we come down to Key West. My brother and I first went several years ago before I had kids, and it was totally surreal. We walked in and immediately started laughing. It was like we had been transported to a scene in a Disney movie, with clouds of colorful butterflies flitting to and fro everywhere we looked. And Oliver has now been three times. Last year when he was two, he called them “bah-whys” and I have video of him storming around pointing and saying this over and over. Today was more of the same – but he can actually say “butterfly.”

The butterflies are hard to take pictures of when they are flying, but there were some opportunities for still shots. I probably shouldn’t have let Oliver roll around on the ground like that – but whatever. I’ve had to stop him from licking the floor before, so looking at a butterfly didn’t seem so bad. At one point a big blue one landed on his shoulder (no good pictures of this unfortunately), and he spent the rest of the time we were there trying to coax another one to do the same. He didn’t have that much success with his technique which mainly entailed lunging at them with his shoulder thrust forward and shouting, “BUTTERFLY!”

A couple of friendly butterflies followed us out. Just kidding – they make sure nothing like that happens, but they do give you little paper butterflies to stick to your shirt. I’m not sure that Oliver made the differentiation – he was so thrilled. But then again, I hope he eventually did since by the time we reached our next destination, his paper butterfly was ripped to shreds.

Incidentally, this is what I look like when I’m in Key West. No makeup, tee shirt and flip flops, hair either air dried or just frizzy in the humidity. Okay, so that’s generally what I look like every weekend in the summer heat – but I do put in a little more effort for the office!

Darth Vader Underwear for Five Year Olds

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Or at least that’s the size my giant three year old wears. Just a little something I’ve been meaning to post… Black background, light saber blazing, cape billowing in flames. Awesome. And totally age appropriate. I had to buy it (besides – it was the only underwear in his size at Target). And of course, I couldn’t resist the photo op. That’s right – I’m the best mom EVER.

Kate and Oliver’s Excellent Adventure: Part II

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3:00 p.m. at my parent’s house
Splash Down

Well the news wasn’t particularly good, but it could definitely be worse. As much as it’s not going to be pleasant (to say the least), we’re just grateful that there is a treatment plan. So continuing in the vein of taking one day at a time, we’re looking forward to getting Mom home on Thursday if all goes well.

In the meantime, Oliver and I have been hanging out with Dad, going to the shop and playing in the pool. We saw my brother Matt when he got back from work yesterday, and we’ll get to spend more time with him since he’s not working on Wednesday or Thursday. Oliver was fascinated with one of Matt’s bicycles and I think I’ve finally gotten him to realize that if we touch it and anything bad happens, Uncle Matt may put us on the next plane off the island. He builds bikes entirely out of parts that were purchased on ebay and through other resources he uses. It’s more than a hobby – to me it seems like borderline obsession, but a cool one at that. I tried to take a picture, but I’m not the best photographer (except for that picture of the twist tie on the hook – that was a masterpiece). So I asked him to e-mail me one:

We’ve spent most of our time in the pool with Oliver, and my father has come up with some great new games for them to play. There is the one where he swims the length of the pool and back underwater while Oliver watches (because Oliver is so good at following directions and staying “right there” until Dad resurfaces), the one where Oliver pushes him into the pool, and a variation on a game that Oliver calls “jump down” at home. In “jump down” he will pick the highest point he can find and then leap into your arms whether you are ready or not (although he does warn you with a hearty “JUMP DOWN!”). In the new game, “splash down,” the goal is less one of altitude and more one of force. The players try to make the biggest splash they can manage – preferably when someone fully clothed is nearby. I just can’t wait to try these out at the community pool…. Here is a picture of that fantastic “push Grandpa in the pool” game:

Now a responsible parent would have put an end to this immediately, explaining that it’s not safe and that we never push anyone in the pool. My reaction was to say, “hold that pose – let me get my camera!” Seriously – I think I have about 50 shots of this. Yes – that is the number of times that this trick was performed (at least). But I think that today when I was home alone with Oliver, playing in the pool (for TWO HOURS, god help me), I made it clear that it’s the push Grandpa in the pool game, not the push Mommy in the pool game. So hopefully, he’ll reserve that activity for Key West – you know, as a special thing between them.

10:30 p.m. at my parents’ house
A Useful Talent

I’m sitting next to my Dad while he watches (well, while we watch) America’s Got Talent. The only time that I ever watch reality programming is with my parents. Apparently, it’s the only TV genre that they can both agree on. They don’t watch the scary ones where people eat bugs – but they just love anything that involves dancing – Dancing with the Stars, So You Think You Can Dance – and singing – DUH, American Idol. And of course America’s Got Talent has lots of singing and dancing. Since this particular night is one of the early shows, it’s the first round of tryouts and the acts include a lot of bizarre novelty stuff. Right now a man is swallowing a sword. Earlier a 7’ tall man (named GEORGE – like my sweet baby boy at home) wrapped a long tube around a volunteer from the audience. Then he threaded one end through a nostril, pulled it out of his mouth and stuck it into a bottle of milk. THEN he took the other end put it in his mouth and started drinking. He’s going on to the next round. I was happy to hear that we’ll be watching So You Think You Can Dance tomorrow night.

Okay – I take it back. I just saw a tiny autistic nine year old who sang before he learned how to talk get voted up to the next level. The tears are flowing.

Many things today have made me feel a little misty. Seeing my mother’s strength and courage, as well as experiencing the support of their little community. Key West is much like a small town in that people who live here get to know each other in the shops, restaurants and daily comings and goings. A woman who has a baby gear rental company, Holiday Baby, found out while renting me a jog stroller that my mother was sick. She was dropping the stroller off at the shop and in addition to insisting that I keep it as long as I need it at no cost, she told my Dad that she would come sit in the shop for him whenever he needed some help. The wonderful young woman who works part time for my parents and a friend of hers that works at another home furnishings store are going to arrange their schedules to help my mother complete decorating jobs that she simply can’t physically do on her own now. A woman that my mother knows has offered to drive her to and from her treatments if my father can’t leave work. Every time we see someone that has found out about Mom (and news seems to travel fast here), whether they are a good friend or just an acquaintance, they all want to help. And it’s not just the, “anything I can do, anything at all,” kind of help – it’s tangible, practical suggestions for things they can do for us. It’s pretty inspirational, and it makes me feel good to know that when I leave at the end of the week, my family will have a whole community eager to support them.

At this point, we have a plan for treatment, an incredible amount of support from friends and family both near and far, and we have every reason to believe that we’ll get through this again. Mom made it clear that she wants nothing but “positive thinking” around her. And THAT I can do. Surprisingly, in spite of a somewhat unhealthy amount of insecurity, this is something that I’m really quite good at. I won’t be sad or upset one minute before I absolutely have to. You can call it dissociation, you can call it denial – I won’t dispute that, but I prefer to think of it as “positive thinking.” So with that attitude, we’re now moving on to the next round…

Kate and Oliver’s Excellent Adventure: Part I

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6:30 a.m. on the flight from DC to Miami
Bars Should Have Umbrella Strollers

I just walked into a parallel universe. Upon our 4:45 a.m. arrival at Dulles Airport, Oliver and I were both half asleep and more than a little anxious (as I’ve mentioned before, that’s just the way we are). All of the expected obstacles were there: the juggling act with bags and a stroller, the long lines, the tight time schedule, and of course the fact that even though we called yesterday to verify our seat assignments, my three year old and I were not seated together.

I kind of knew this would happen since we didn’t buy our tickets at the same time, and they were reserved on such short notice. But THAT IS WHY we (meaning Chris) called to actually talk to a person at American Airlines who could verify that we would be seated next to each other. Not across the aisle, not in adjoining rows, and not at opposite ends of the plane.

With a flight at 6:00 a.m. and check in lines wrapped several layers deep, I opted for self check in. So I was electronically informed of the problem. I was able to fix our seats for the connecting flight from Miami to Key West, but didn’t have any luck with the first flight. This is where I can’t get anyone’s attention for 20 minutes and then when I finally do get a frazzled ticket agent to look at me, I receive the kind of customer service that makes people pull out hunting rifles and start firing at will. Right? WRONG. The cheerful (at 4:45 a.m. no less!) and accommodating “Sharon G.” not only seemed interested in helping us, she didn’t say, “excuse me ma’am, please let me finish talking,” once. Alas, there was only so much she could do for us. Even Sharon G. could not find us seats together. The best she could do was to seat us across the aisle so that we could “ask another passenger to switch with one of us.” Oh Sharon G., you are so naïve… People traveling this early in the morning have their own agendas and priorities. And they’re cranky. I wasn’t willing to risk things not working out and have Oliver, who can change moods on a dime, have a grand mal seizure when he saw that I wasn’t sitting next to him. Besides, my neighbor had the same experience recently, and not ONE person on her full-size passenger plane would acknowledge her problem, let alone help.

So the one glitch in the process was that regardless of how much Sharon G. would have loved to charter a private jet for us, we had to pay to upgrade to first class. As you can imagine, I was devastated. Seriously though, I wouldn’t normally waste money on something like that – but I didn’t see any other option, and the upgrade charge was only $90 per ticket. I know, that’s not insignificant – but in light of the fact that we were willing to pay a lot more than we did for the reasonably priced tickets we bought, I considered it a wash. Since this upgrade fee would be higher if done by a ticket agent, it needed to be executed at a self check in station. And to put a cherry on top of what was already one of the best air travel check in experiences I’ve ever had, Sharon G. came around the counter and performed the seat reassignment for me. The world needs more people like Sharon G. I am going to write a letter to American Airlines. And I’m completely serious about that.

So far, Oliver has been an ideal companion. It’s kind of like traveling with a good natured drunk person. He’s a little out of it, but happy to follow wherever I lead. He can be a bit loud at times, but he’s also easily distracted by the action around him and utterly enchanted with any redirection I throw his way. He slumped in the umbrella stroller during the entire seat assignment process and I had to check him a couple of times to make sure he hadn’t passed out. There was a mild fracas when he had to relinquish his blankie at security (as in “give me my keys man – hey, I want my keys!”). But I was able to whisk him through quickly enough to avoid a full blown panic attack. He was generally happy enough to just sit in the umbrella stroller and go with the flow. With all of the check in hoopla, we boarded the plane minutes after arriving at the gate. And when we got to our seats, he flopped down and gave me a big goofy grin that basically said, “I love you man.” Yeah – aside from the initial confusion, it was pretty seamless. Makes me think that bars might want to invest in large umbrella strollers for their patrons who are saddled with dead weight drunk friends to carry home.

10:00 a.m. on the flight from Miami to Key West
Back Up In the Air, Please.

Okay – so it is actually closer to 11:30 a.m. now. But that flight was so short that by the time I thought I could take out my laptop, it was almost time to put it away. It has been a year since we last made this trip to see my parents. Oliver is currently splashing in the pool with my Dad. We’re going to the hospital at 1:00 p.m. to have lunch with Mom. She should have seen her cancer doctor by then – in fact he arrived on the same flight we did.

The first flight was absolute heaven until the moment we were told to turn off all authorized electronic equipment. I knew that when I informed Oliver that we would have to put the Wiggles away for a while, he would be most distressed. And if you’d call five minutes of hysterical screaming “distressed” then that pretty much covers it. He simply could not understand why I would pull the plug on Captain Feathersword like that. It was so uncool! In between exclamations of “Wiggles!”, “On please!”and “Boat!” – I decided it was time to be a responsible parent and end the madness. So I tried giving him candy. He must have been really upset, because he will usually come running if someone two floors away whispers the word candy. But he was so irate (that I thought I could BUY him like that!), he wanted nothing to do with the lollipop. Finally I managed to get him interested in the fact that we were landing, but that kind of backfired when he decided to associate landing with the end of his Wiggles viewing. So then he started pointing his finger in the air and yelling, “back up in the air! Please!” (though in between sobs it sounded more like, “back-gasp-up-gasp-air-gasp-please!”). Finally, the excitement of landing was just too much. All of those tiny houses and cars – how could he stay mad? He kept yelling, “uh oh – watch out!” to the innocent bystanders since it was quite obvious that we were bearing down on them. At this point, I offered him the candy again (why not? It was out.) and he said “Oh, a lollipop!” – like he hadn’t just thrown in my face minutes before.

Our next flight boarded fairly quickly after that, but I don’t even know if it would have mattered. Oliver was back to looking comatose in his stroller with his blanket wrapped around his head. Travel is exhausting. But he perked up when he realized that we were getting on another plane. That must herald the return of the Wiggles. Yeah planes!

Our connecting flight was on a prop plane – but NOT a puddle jumper. I will never fly on a cessna again – that was like being in Herbie the Love Bug. No, it was one of those little American Eagle planes. So this was also very exciting. We got to ride on a shuttle (look at ALL the planes!) and then walk up stairs (we LOVE stairs!) to get onto our little plane. As we all started boarding from the back of the plane, the pilot instructed us to sit in “the middle.” Since our seats were already in the middle, this worked for us. I guess they REALLY didn’t want anyone in the front of the plane because a formidable looking flight attendant was standing sentry at the threshold of what I assume must be “the front.” She very sweetly told everyone that they could really sit wherever they wanted since there were many empty seats (as long as we remained in the middle damn it).

Actually, our flight attendant was very nice and made a point of saying hello to Oliver before politely asking me to do a better job of tightening his seatbelt. But what was probably most interesting about our flight attendant is that she was (for lack of a better word), a tranny. That is to say that she was a man either going through transition or fully transitioned to becoming a woman (I’m not presuming that you don’t know what a transvestite is – I’m just trying to be specific about which direction the transition was taking). ANYWAY – I have to say, I just love Key West.

Oliver made a valiant effort to rally for round two of the Wiggles, but he started falling asleep as soon as we were in the air. I perused Us Weekly until I thought it looked like it was okay to use the computer (must have missed the announcement), and had just barely read through some things before it was time to shut down again. Poor Oliver, I had to shake him awake when we landed, and he was very anxious about where we were and what my Dad wanted with us (he’s still little – so when people are out of context, he doesn’t always recognize them right away). And he looked fairly stricken when we pulled into the driveway of my parents’ house (because you know – I might leave him there). But the minute he could see through the front door, he was home. And so am I. I don’t blame him for being apprehensive about landing in this initially unfamiliar place. He doesn’t know what to expect here. And neither do I. We don’t know what the doctor will say – but we know what we want him to say. We are past hoping for the best case scenario – but we’re now praying that it’s not the worst. But for the next hour or so, we’ll splash in the pool, enjoy the sun and rediscover all of the things we loved when we were here last year. For now, we’ll just live for now.

What Would We Do Baby, Without Us

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Ever get a song stuck in your head and you have no idea where it came from? For me it’s currently the theme song from Family Ties (remember that one – it ends “sha-la-la-la”). Well it’s sort of driving me nuts, but it’s definitely fitting for my thoughts today.

I have a wonderful husband named Chris. We have been married for close to eight years now. And while you might not guess it to look at him – he is a slob. And he’s not just an ordinary, run of the mill messy slob who doesn’t care about his messiness. He’s a creative slob.

He doesn’t just leave things where they fall, he creates odd piles and organizational systems. It isn’t possible for him to see a clean surface area and not immediately add clutter to it. And god forbid I move the items. Then it’s all, “where did you put my DMV renewal form? I know I was keeping it in the pile under the dining room table.”

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve seen him notice a balled up dirty sock on the floor and purposefully kick it into the corner NEXT TO THE HAMPER (“Back in the corner you go. There! Much better.“) Though I honestly think the clothes on the floor are invisible to him. He’ll walk around them for days until he sees something he wants. Then that item alone escapes the cloak of invisibility and magically appears out of nowhere! He gets very excited about this.

Unfortunately for me, the hamper is always invisible.

He also keeps things long past their expiration date. Like the pleated front pants that he never wears, or the shoes with holes so big, hobos would throw them out. One of my greatest moments of satisfaction was pointing out that there would never again be an appropriate time to wear his fraternity “a day without a buzz is a day that never wuzz” tee shirt with its visual of Calvin and Hobbes passed out around a keg.

But I think one of my favorite memories of the organized mess was one that happened shortly after we were first married. We lived in a one bedroom rented apartment with a large living room/dining room area. When you entered the apartment, the coat closet was to your right, the living room furniture was directly in front of you and the dining room table was on the far left end of the room. And our wedding was in the Fall, so within a month, it was time to pull out the coats and jackets.

Every day when he went out, Chris would take a coat out of the closet. And every day when he came back, he walked across the apartment and hung that coat on one of the six dining room chairs. I didn’t notice this immediately, but when I had the urge to start putting coats away, I recognized the pattern taking place and decided to see how it played out (I also marveled at how many coats he had).

Finally the seventh day came, and I stood expectantly, watching him walk in and take off his coat. Surely he would see that the chairs were all taken and realize what he was doing. I saw his look of surprise as the dilemma presented itself (“Huh. It seems that all of the chairs are already in use, there are none left.“) and then I saw him look around and consider his options (“Are there any other places I can put this coat?“). AND THEN I saw him carefully fold his coat in half and drape it across a clear area on THE FLOOR! That was when I had to scream, “stop the madness!” Apparently, the problem was that in the evening, our coat closet, much like our hamper, was invisible.

Don’t believe me? Here are a few pictures I took on Friday to document this:

Ever wonder what you should do with those twist ties that hold the dry cleaning hangers together?

Well if you are an ordinary slob, you will drop them on the floor – but if you are truly pathological, you will find a handy hook on the closet wall and wrap it around that. Sweet – and what do you know, it’s now invisible.

Since you ask – yes, that IS a hanging shoe organizer behind the hook. It must have confused you since it doesn’t actually hold shoes. And where do we keep those?

Here they are – in their proper jumble on the closet floor, along with a few random articles of clothing and the plastic dry cleaning bag that must have accompanied the now invisible twist tie.

Okay – here is one more bonus picture.

So where do you keep YOUR plastic bags after you unload the groceries?

Really? That makes sense, but I think our spot under a dining room chair is better.

Yes – Chris is a true original in his slob style. But he’s also unmatched in his ability to take care of his family. Shortly after I came up with some ideas for this post and took those pictures, we found out that my mother’s cancer has returned. This time, it is in her brain.

Chris found out on Saturday before I knew, and while I was sleeping that night, he booked my ticket to Key West for the following Monday. He stayed up all night worrying and talking to his family on the West Coast. And after very little sleep, he got up and spent the entire day doing everything he could to keep the kids busy while I ran errands and packed.

And when I felt like I might go out of my mind at the idea of being away from my children for a whole week, he booked a ticket for my three year old to come with me.

And when I felt like I was being weak, he pointed out that it would be a wonderful surprise for my father, to whom Oliver is very close (especially since it’s my Dad’s birthday). /

And I think he asked me if I was okay about a 100 times today.

And I’m really, really going to miss him this week.

I’ve never been one for public schmoopiness – but I really am lucky to have this man in my life. What would I do without him? Without us? Sha-la-la-la.

I Make the Best Cake Icing and You Can Too

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It’s been a really fun week starting this blog – but I have to tell you, I’m exhausted. It was my original intention to sit down every night and spend 20 minutes on a paragraph or two about thoughts I had that day. But due to some strong OCD tendencies, I find it very difficult to just whip something up. Do you know that the two longest posts I wrote were the ones that I expected to be quick, amusing anecdotes about my family? Either because they involved my children or because I automatically felt the need to over-explain my initially unimpressive parenting style, I just couldn’t keep it brief. And then I had to obsessively edit them – making changes even after I had posted them to my blog. I work full time, have three children AND just happen to have had a week on my own while my husband was traveling for business. Who do I think I am – a professional writer? I can’t stay up all night blogging! So future weeks will bring some attempts to simplify things a bit. I’ll restrict myself to just a few rambling stories and the other days will be devoted to something else. What that will be…I’m not really sure yet – but hopefully it won’t involve too much scrolling.

My brief thought for today is that while writing this week, I enjoyed reading other blogs even more than I did before. On my own blog, I have a short list of sites that I’ve stumbled across and I have an even longer list bookmarked in my favorites. And they are incredibly diverse. Of course I love the design blogs with their pretty pictures and products I might never have found on my own. But I’ve also discovered a number of personal blogs that I find inspiring. Some of them are fashion or art focused, some of them have a journal format, some are written by people much younger than me, and some are straight up humor. But they all create a feeling of community – one in which all are welcome to comment and keep coming back. People that might never give each other a second glance on the street have this whole world of ideas and pictures and laughter – and everyone is invited.

Before taking a break this weekend I really feel like I should include at least something about cake. Here it is. When I make my own cake, I refuse to use frosting from a can. I don’t care much for it, and I know a really easy recipe for something SO much better. Buy a box of Domino Confectioners’ Sugar. On the back or the side you will find the recipe, but if you use a different brand, these are the directions:

Ingredients
I lb. confectioners’ sugar (approximately 3 ¾ cups)
½ cup butter softened
3-4 tbs milk
1 tsp vanilla

Instructions
Combine in large bowl, with mixer at low speed, confectioners’ sugar, butter, milk and vanilla. Beat at medium speed 1-2 minutes until creamy. If desired, add more milk until frosting is spreading consistency. Makes enough to fill and frost 2-layer cake, 13x9x2-inch sheet cake, or 24 cupcakes.

You can add different flavorings in place of the vanilla and use food coloring as necessary. People tell me that they have never had a better cupcake when I make that icing. Try it and you too will become a true believer.

Have a great weekend!

Mini Me

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Now that my toddlers are becoming little people and aren’t little babies anymore, they’re really starting to pick up on our behaviors and mannerisms. Initially, they’ll have inherited traits that will provide the foundation for their personalities – like Oliver, my three year old’s tendency to fight change. But it’s the little day-to-day quirks that most surprise and amuse us.

Just the other day I caught Oliver doing something that I now realize I do all the time. He wanted something out of the refrigerator and when I said no, he pretended that he didn’t hear me and opened the door anyway. Then he very seriously put an index finger to his chin and said, “Hmm. Let’s see….” And then I couldn’t escape it – every time I opened a door or a drawer to select anything, I’d catch myself saying, “Hmm. Let’s see…” He definitely got that one from me. He’s also taken up a quirk of mine that goes back to my college days. In my junior year, I lived across the hall from a group of lacrosse players. They were pretty friendly even though I didn’t know them well. A few weeks after moving in, I noticed that whenever I would see one of them, they’d always say, “Oh, HI Kate.” I’d just return the pleasantry – but after a while, I realized that they were making fun of me. When I finally asked what this “oh hi” business was about, they explained that I never just said “hi” or “hey” – it was always, “Oh, HI.” Since I’ve never much enjoyed being the butt of a joke, I made a concerted effort to stop saying that. Apparently it didn’t work. Whenever someone of note enters a room, Oliver will look up and say, “Oh, HI!”

All of these connections that I find between Oliver and me have been a pleasant surprise since before the twins were born we all thought he was exactly like his father. But that just goes to show how young personalities develop and change over time. I’m sure that in a few years, when he’s more of a little boy playing on sports teams and doing guy stuff, we’ll think he’s more like Chris again. And that can continue to change – it’s impossible to get everything from one parent. This is the reason that it drives me absolutely crazy when people insist that one of my twins is more like me and the other is more like Chris. George and Eleanor are still three months away from their second birthday and they have already changed so many times. I just let people say whatever they want and agree with them. It’s not worth the effort to correct them, but whenever possible I say that my children are going to try out a lot of different roles as they grow up and I’m always going to support them in that. Especially if they resemble me.

And I love now seeing the circularity of this in how I resemble my own parents. I swear that when I hear my never ending voiceover in the hours of video footage we take of our children not doing the adorable thing they were doing five seconds ago, I sound EXACTLY like my mother. In fact, while growing up I always identified more with my mother. I was more artistic and less athletic, I was a little reserved, I tended to think a lot about what I was wearing and I was creative with my accessories (I’ll have to post some embarrassing photos of that sometime). But Dad had to get more than just his genes in there.

Now that I’m older I see SO many behaviors that make me Terry Coveny’s clone. Just like my Dad, I must provide a solution for any given problem I hear. If you told him that you felt like you may have missed out on some opportunities in life, Answers Man will ask you a few questions and then take you through a step-by-step plan for how to think positively, take some risks and get more out of your future than you did in your past. There’s no venting with us – we are a strictly problem-solving operation. I also make it my mission in life to carry every shopping bag into the house in one trip. If I have a pile of ten items to transport from one room to another, I will engineer a construction that I can carry all at one time. I may not be able to see where I’m going, but damn it, I won’t waste precious minutes running back and forth. I need that time to clean up the mess when I inevitably drop everything. And of course, as implied above, I take myself VERY seriously . I will not be mocked (I’m getting a little better about that one – it’s all about growth).


So it will be interesting to see which of my children comes down the stairs wearing a rhinestone pin on a vintage scarf (hopefully it won’t be George – but you know I’ll be supportive if it is) or crashes around a corner with something that resembles the leaning tower of Pizza. Even in their most infuriating teenager phase when Chris and I want to move away and not leave a forwarding address – We will never feel completely honest in any form of criticism. Secretly, we’ll always know that they got it from us.

Wine Makes People Interesting

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I’m feeling just a little embarrassed about last night’s post. Did I actually say “once you go black…?” I’m cringing. That is a bit out of character for me. But here is my great excuse: I was drunk. No, seriously – this is the result of being left to my own devices (Chris is out of town) and making dinner out of a bottle of wine and a handful of cashews. Apparently, it made me think I was Samantha from Sex & the City.

Not that I meant to drink too much. I drank the wine over the course of several hours. It’s not like I was using a funnel (here is where I picture myself as Frank the Tank from Old School saying, “it feels so good when it hits the lips.”). The truth is I’m not a big drinker. I didn’t drink at all in high school or for the first two years of college. I don’t care for beer and will only drink a cocktail occasionally. But I do really like wine… So this was more like picking at a chocolate cake that is sitting out on the counter all day. There was a point when I realized that I didn’t really want anymore, but I failed to follow up on that thought. So there I was after putting the kids to bed – ready to finish up the post I wrote during my lunch break – just a little too tipsy for my own good. I think I will call this BUI (blogging while under the influence).

I’m sure anyone who indulges in a drink once in a while will know what I’m talking about (and I know some who don’t and I hope that none of this offends them). When you’re standing around at a party and you realize that you’re bored by the people talking to you, you may finish that first drink rather quickly and start the second far earlier in the evening than you would under different circumstances. Then that guy droning on about the flagstone he’s putting in his backyard starts to seem kind of funny. Those anecdotes about the workers tracking mud all over the carpet are a hoot! What does he do anyway? It must be something fascinating…. Investment banking? Cool! See what I mean? For me, wine makes people more interesting. AND it makes me funny…and hot (but that’s only when I’ve have A LOT of drinks with interesting people who think I’m really funny).

One too many drinks can impair judgment on many levels. Like buying weird stuff. Once when I was working my old association’s annual conference, I bought a black cowboy hat. We were in Dallas and everyone was at the Monday Night Event. “Everyone,” being my co-workers, a group of overworked, exhausted people, a bit punchy from this rare moment of free time. And we didn’t match – most of us wouldn’t have socialized outside of work, and didn’t look to have that much in common. But after working long hours on little sleep, we resembled a high school class on an overnight field trip. It’s been a while, but I remember the venue that night was a kind of ranch with abundant stereotypical Texas amusements. A mechanical bull, a quick draw shooting game, wagon wheels and bales of hay – all of the makings for a damn good party. After a private Dwight Yoakam concert, some follow up dancing to Asleep at the Wheel, several mechanical bull rides and of course, a few too many drinks, it was time to hit the gift shop.

Here enters another thing that can impair good judgment: cute young guys. My first reaction to young guys is typically very maternal with a lot of head patting and cheek pinching behavior. But those drinks were making me far too attractive to play mommy. Don’t get me wrong – I’m no Mrs. Robinson, but when you are 30 years old and married, a 25 year old guy seems a lot younger than just five years. So wasn’t I just full of myself, flirting away. He and a few of his friends had joined our group and REALLY didn’t match – but who cared? Everyone was buying shirts, belt buckles and hats. I tried on the black hat and asked my new friend what he thought. He said, “it makes you look hot.” So of course it was a given that I had to buy it. Then one of my work friends bought a tight tee shirt that said “cowgirl” across the front in rhinestones. Because really, you could get much more use out of that than a cowboy hat. She’s so practical. Her purchase was not at all influenced by cute young guys.

My wine-induced lapses in judgment are more local these days. The other night I asked a neighbor if her husband was her manny. And I actually said “manny.” I know her, but had never met her husband before. Chris claimed that he had and that it wasn’t the man that we see going in and out of her house with her kids. You would think that I’d be skeptical – and I was – but Chris was so adamant that it was a different guy. So after my second drink when I was feeling extra chatty I said, “who is that man that’s always with your kids?” She was like, “you mean my husband?” And then there were a few more exchanges that concluded with me saying that I thought he was her manny. Luckily, she found this incredibly amusing and hasn’t held it against me. I of course was mortified – but you can’t say I wasn’t interesting.

Babies Are the New Black

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Lately, I feel like every time I turn around, I see another picture of a celebrity mom either bursting out of her designer maternity tube top or baring her third (or is it fourth?) baby bump for the cameras. (Is it me or is that “baby bump” thing getting kind of annoying? I can’t decide if I think it sounds more like a tumor or like something dirty.) So I have to wonder, is this a current trend or am I only just noticing it because I have now been pregnant and like to “tut tut” over how much weight the celebrity mom-to-be is gaining or speculate on how she’s letting her anorexia threaten the health of her fetus. That’s what suburban moms who read Us Weekly do. We judge. In our stained sweatpants.

So I decided to do a little research using the most prestigious resource available: People Magazine. In reviewing their archive of online covers, I have discovered that on the People Magazine barometer of “what’s hot,” pregnancy and babies are now the it girl of the tabloids. Of course celebrity weddings, affairs and divorces will never go out of style, but celebrity babies are the current up and comer.

Need stats? My calculations show that from 2005 to 2007, an average of eight People Magazine covers per year were devoted to celebrity pregnancy announcements and updates, birth announcements and of course, the multi-million dollar pictures of mom and baby. Examples are Halle’s big news in 2007, Angelina and Shiloh in 2006 and Julia with her twins in 2005. This increases from an average of four covers from 2003 to 2004. My personal favorites are Julia (again) and her “twins” announcement in 2004 and Brooke and her firstborn in 2003. Prior to that, only about one cover per year headlined a story related to celebrity pregnancy. And those that I saw – for example, Gina Davis in 2002, Melissa Gilbert in 1996 and Deirde Hall in 1992 (I’m embarrassed to say that I’m familiar with this last one since I once watched Never Say Never: The Deirdre Hall Story on Lifetime) – seem to report on miracle babies or pregnancy after 40. Those stories were strictly filler for a slow news week. Prior to 1982, the celebrity baby cover genre was non-existent.

And this trend is not limited to supermarket line reading. (That’s right – I’ve done MORE online research!) There are actual websites devoted to celebrity pregnancies. A single google search for “baby bump” resulted in the expected links to pictures and products; but one of the top links was for iVillage’s Celebrity Baby Tracker. My first thought was, “this is someone’s JOB? I wonder if they make more money than I do…” Then I started to consider how many other similar sites would result from “celebrity baby bump.” Let’s see… We get Celebrity Baby Blog (straight from the source: People Magazine), the iVillage Baby Tracker, Celebrity Baby Scoop, Fame Crawler Celebrity Fix (a daily feature on babble), The Latest on Baby Bumps (a feature on omg!), and – get this – The Baby Bump Project (an actual blog that seems to cover research on the subject). There’s more, but I for one think that is plenty, thank you very much. Goodness, I had no idea that this was such a global issue. I feel that I am now a better person for having spent time reading up on the topic. And I will be 100% more interesting at cocktail parties.

So does this mean that I’m now fashionable? I can head over to Bungalow 8 and chat with Gwyneth and Madonna about potty training and pre-school waiting lists? Good to know – I’ll inform the rest of my suburban mom neighbors. But is this a passing trend or proof of a new age in celebrity news? My guess is that we will definitely see a pregnancy cover shot of Hannah Montana (hopefully far in the future of course). I predict that celebrity baby news is here to stay. Babies are the new black. And you know what they say, “once you go black…”

I Love Things Just The Way they Are

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Billy Joel could have written his tribute to change avoidance with me and my boy Oliver in mind. At a little over three years old, Oliver has fully dedicated himself to rejecting change whenever it rears its ugly head. For example, he loves school and he loves us – but god forbid the stars become misaligned and we happen to be in the same place at the same time. Chris and I brought him to an end-of-the-year preschool picnic at a new playground last month and he astonished us by throwing an absolute fit when his teacher and the other kids in his class began to arrive. You would think that they were all brandishing rifles or flame throwers or even worse – vegetables. He wanted nothing to do with them and repeatedly asked to leave. We could not figure out what was wrong with this boy who had been happily playing with us just minutes before. The answer of course was simply that they were not expected.

Oliver has some speech delays and qualified for our county’s early intervention preschool program. He started last October with a teacher coming to see him at daycare one day a week. But he didn’t like the infrequent disruption of his day by this “stranger,” and we all agreed that he would do better with more consistency. This meant that he would go to a morning class five days a week at a nearby public school. And as we expected, the change in routine was a bit rocky at first. He needed a few days to assimilate to the new classroom and new friends, and a bit longer to feel comfortable with all of the transitions throughout the day. Wouldn’t a child so adverse to this new hell hole be happy to know that his torture was coming to an end? Apparently not. For several weeks he would spend the entire “goodbye song” quietly sniffling with fat tears sliding down his cheeks. Finally, once he became accustomed to the new routine, he not only accepted it, but embraced it with the enthusiasm that he brings to everything he loves: dogs, finger painting, spontaneously leaping off the stairs into my unsuspecting arms – did I mention that he weighs 43 pounds?

One perk of his daycare situation – which has also caused me just a small amount of guilt – is that I haven’t had to be there for the early days of this drama. I drop the kids off at daycare at 7:30 a.m. (I have to get Chris to the metro by 7:45 a.m. – yes we are a very green family that commutes together, and it has absolutely nothing to do with gas prices or HOV lanes on the Dulles Toll Road). So he is there for a full hour before the bus comes to pick him up. Now that he loves school, he races to the door shouting “My bus! My bus!” when it’s time to depart – but this was not always the case.

The third morning of Oliver’s new school schedule, I was working from home and got a call from Gordana, our beloved and we suspect magical daycare provider. She said (and you must imagine a thick Eastern European accent), “Hello Katie, this is Gordana. Oliver does not get on the bus today.” To paraphrase, she took him out to the bus, he threw himself in a puddle and refused to get up, and then the bus driver said that they wouldn’t be able to take him like that. This is where I started to feel pangs of remorse for putting my baby through something so traumatic. Then Gordana told me that, “it was so cute when we go back inside. He says, ‘Bye Bus,’ and starts back to playing.” So who exactly is running the show here…? After I made a call to his teacher, it was agreed that reinforcing the little dictator’s behavior was not a great plan, and that I should pick him up from daycare and bring him to school myself. I won’t get into the details on that – it’s not my favorite memory. But after a quick trip to Target to buy a second booster seat (Chris had the “car seat” car), I made sure that he went to school that day.

Now, I am a firm believer in taking responsibility for my own decisions (well, most of the time), so I told Gordana that I would come the next morning to make sure that Oliver got on that bus. It was to be a stake out of sorts. I sat in my car outside of daycare at the arrival time and saw the bus pull up. Then I saw Gordana and Oliver walk out the door. Then I saw Oliver start flailing and protesting as Gordana led him down the path. Then – as expected – I saw Oliver pull out his power move of firmly planting his bottom on the sidewalk (I did mention that he’s 43 pounds, right?). That is when I swooped in, lifted him up, dragged him onto the bus and belted him in. I left so quickly, I can only assume that he said, “who was that masked woman?” Anyway – that seems to have done the trick. There were a few more mornings with tears, but his stubborn little butt was on that bus every morning until the last day of school.

This really mirrors my own experience with change. Like Oliver, I don’t care for it. It frightens me, it confuses me, it makes me feel like there is a big crack opening in the ground under my feet. The difference is that as an adult, I have learned to deal with it and I don’t fight it anymore. I acknowledge my feelings but then power through. It doesn’t make the transition easier – but it does make it faster. And Oliver will learn to do the same. Instead of leaving that playground at the end-of-the-year picnic, I asked his teacher for her help. Then we each took one of his arms and physically propelled him up the ladder and down the slide, over and over until even he had to admit that he was having a good time. And then as with everything he finds fun, it was the best end-of-the-year picnic EVER. It took a while and I’m sure we’ll be enacting this method at many parks, pools, and birthday parties to come – but just like he learned to ride the bus without fear, he’ll learn to ride out the many new situations life throws him with the same reluctant acceptance that I do.