Moving

The chaos is coming. The move happens on Thursday. THURSDAY. Holy cow, I am not looking forward to it. Boxes. Packaging papers. Where is that can opener? Of course children add a whole new special element to moving. They must adjust. The new bedroom will frighten them and thus, we will all lose sleep. They have needs. "I'm hungry!" "I'm bored!" Can't you see that mommy is busy trying to figure out how to fit table service for 12 in one tiny cabinet?

I just have to get through it. Breath. Everything will be just fine. If only, if only I had my best friend wine to get me through it, but alas.

Needless to say, you may hear very little from me over the next week. Rather than spend my endless (har, har) free time pounding away at the keyboard I will be unpacking, arranging, organizing and pulling my hair out.

That's all I have to say tonight. Please wish me luck, send me good thoughts, and have a glass of wine for me.

I need you.

Hello my quiet readers. I need you. This is very important. Please take the time to comment and give me your sincere and honest opinion. About my hair.

I am guessing that many if not most of you (women) have never worn your hair as short as I do. I didn't always have short brown hair. Oh no. I used to have a shoulder length-flat-ironed-dyed-blond-do. But that was before munchkins. Shortly after Zachary's arrival I went to the short cut I am still sporting five years later. I even stopped coloring my hair and went with my natural brown, which seems to darken every year. I used to get tons of compliments on my haircut. People would marvel at me for having the courage to go so short. It felt good.

Recently however, inspired by my younger sister who finally grew out the hair style that I copied in the first place, I decided I needed a change. Only I don't seem to have the patience to actually grow out all of my hair. It is a pretty painful process, one that involves months and months of "awkward" stages. I simply could not manage it. So I decided to take what might appear to be a small step, and grow my bangs out. Even this has proved to be trying. In addition to growing my bangs I got some highlights to "brighten up" my look. I'm not quite there yet. I want to grow these pesky bangs a bit more, but I'm just not sure this is going anywhere. I am no longer receiving compliments on my hair. Tragedy, especially now that ain't nobody going to be complimenting me on my awesome figure!

This is where you come in, dear reader. I am counting on you to tell me what to do. Above is my how I look today. Below was earlier this fall. What look do you prefer? Be honest. This is critical. We are talking about my hair here, my look.

In other totally unrelated news, did you know that men actually go nude in the Castro neighborhood of San Francisco? I'm talking nothing but a pair of flip-flops and a smile naked. I kid you not. We made a stop in the area this afternoon after a visit to Golden Gate Park. We wanted to explore a new area and grab the kids some ice cream. Now don't get me wrong I am all for diversity. But public nudity? Is that even legal? I'm not sure I am ready to stand behind a naked man, no matter how buff, at Starbucks, and I really don't want to sit on the same public chair he was using five minutes ago. Small minded? Perhaps-but I'm okay with that.

Kick me one more time

Forgive me. This is going to be one of those touchy-feely mama posts. Skip it if that isn't your thing.

I have begun to feel the faint movements of my baby moving inside me. They are gentle flutters, and I can tell that I will be plagued by the same worry that I experienced during my first pregnancy with Zack. I'm not feeling enough. When I was pregnant with Zachary, his kicks were some how buffered or muted inside me. Other women would complain of the painful punches their babies bestowed upon them, while I would sit and stew. Why? Why didn't I feel the baby? Hours would pass. I would knead my stomach trying to get Zack in a position so that I could feel him move. Nothing. Eventually I would end up in my doctor's office, worried and defeated. They would hook me up to the monitor and look at me with wonder. Don't you feel that? He's practically doing an Irish jig in there! But I felt very little. Since than I have learned that some women feel less due to the baby's position, or how everything is situated inside. But it gives me little comfort, because I'm left with just not knowing.

Evan was different. I felt everything. He moved constantly and predictably. I was thankful for every kick, because it told me he is was thriving, alive, healthy.

So as I sit here near twenty weeks, feeling only tiny ripples from time to time, I remind myself that this is normal, and I try to be satisfied with faith. He is in there. He is moving, and it is magical.

This is the third time around for me and yet, it is still no less than miraculous. Feeling the independent movements of a human being inside of me, a baby that came from nothing but a few cells, it's mind blowing. I look at Evan and Zachary and see what they have become, children, little people, and I know that a whole new life is inside of me at this very moment. I am humbled. It doesn't seem possible that my body could do something so perfectly amazing, and yet it's happening. Right now.

Over the past several months I have wished away the pregnancy, wanting nothing more than to press the fast foward button and arrive at my son's birthday. This is the last time I will ever be pregnant. Years will pass by, and perhaps I'll take my pregnancies for granted. Maybe I will even forget how it all began, how my children were a physical part of me. Now that I am feeling better, I want to focus on the magic of what is happening. I want to take it all in, and hold it forever. I want to feel each kick and treasure the thump of a tiny foot inside.

Kick me baby! I want to feel you.

A Good Day.

Today was a good day. Not because anything amazing happened. In fact the events were very ordinary. The difference? I felt great! Sometimes it takes returning to normal to realize just how sick you were before. After months of morning sickness, and then a long holiday illness, I had forgotten how it felt to be healthy. Today I remembered, and it was glorious.

I went into the office today, and gladly. It was good to be out of the house. No, great. I didn't mind the walk down Battery Street, instead dare I say it, I had a spring in my step! In fact I stopped at the bagel shop, and I believe a male customer actually flirted with me. Hey I was wearing a big jacket, and I have the pregnancy glow after all. It's possible. Don't laugh.

I made small talk with strangers all day. I was efficient at work and I had energy to spare when I returned home. For the first time in months I felt like I was actually a good mom. I listened to my kids. I enjoyed them. I read them stories. I was patient. I remembered why I liked being a mom.

Life is good.

The big lie: preschool boy drama

I was lied to. Deceived. I was told that my no-pink consolation prize would be drama-free boys. Bologna. Whomever has been spreading those rumors should have been at the play date that I orchestrated this afternoon. Disaster. High drama that could compete with any Kelly-Brenda 90210 episode.

I'll set the scene. Three high energy boys from the JCC, gathered together at the Kargas family home for a late afternoon get together. There would be tacos, ice cream sandwiches and good times. Well there were tacos...

It turns out three really is a crowd. We had Zachary, "Miles" (a child whom we have had many play dates with, and who's mother I really like), and Jeff (a new friend from preschool). Oh, and Evan, poor little tag-along Evan. The boys greeted each other with unprecedented energy. Voices were raised, toys were thrown, children were running in all directions. But that was the least of it. There was fighting. Lots and lots of fighting. Power struggles. Taking sides. Threats made. "You're not my friend!" "You can't come to my house anymore!" It sucked. Play date disaster. Zachary was mean and it made me angry. His friends were mean to him. Miles made him cry. And it broke my heart.

To make things worse, I learned that another little boy at school "Leonard" has been threatening Miles. He told Miles that if he continues to be friends with Zack, he will not be invited to Leonard's birthday party. Miles is petrified of Zack play dates because he doesn't want to miss out on Leonard's party! Zack informed me that Leonard often says that he hates Zack. I just had a long phone conversation with Leonard's mom. She was so kind and understanding, and I felt like I was being one of those busy-body moms, sticking her nose where it doesn't belong. Making mountains out of mole hills.

The truth is that in my mind, I am pressing the fast-forward button on Zachary's life. I am seeing him in middle school, standing alone on the playground, sad and angry, the other kids snickering behind his back.

Okay, so I am being crazy. He is only five. They are still learning how to connect socially and establish friendships. They are going to make mistakes and hit bumps in the road, this must all be normal. Right?

I just wasn't expecting preschool boy drama. Has anyone else out there seen this?

The lost days of brunch

Do you remember going out to Sunday brunch? It meant a leisurely meal. A latte. A mimosa. Smoked salmon, mixed greens with candied walnuts and balsamic vinaigrette. Sitting on an outdoor patio, making sleepy conversation or reading the Sunday paper. Remember? I do, although it is all growing a little hazy.

Of course these days, the mere idea of brunch is somewhat preposterous. When your day starts at 7am, waiting until noon for a breakfast-lunch combo seems pretty insane. So we often go out for just plain lunch on the weekend. But the kids idea of good food, and my idea of a nice meal are a little different. Where as I like gourmet salads and nice coffee, the boys go for any place that serves chocolate milk in a cheap plastic cup with a lid and a straw. The kids usually win. Subway is popular with the family. Tasteless sandwich "meat" on soft bread, masked with a variety of high sodium condiments, and of course chocolate milk. Everyone is happy. Yay.

A new restaurant on the radar is Fuddruckers, or Funruckers as Evan calls it. We happened by one on a recent outing and the kids are hooked. What's not to like? Zack loves the fact that he can top is hamburger with as many pickles as he likes from the endless condiment bar. Evan enjoys the creamy Velveeta like mac & cheese, and Daddy likes that it's cheap. I of course find myself scanning the menu for something that would pass as healthy and find the whole thing a huge exercise in will power.

Yes, I usually try and pick the lightest items on the menu, and it drives my husband crazy. He insists that I always get the worst thing possible and end up unhappy. I try and remind him that I am not nearly as bad as I could be. We used to have a diet-conscious friend who claimed to like Mexican food, yet she would always order a cheese quesadilla with "very little cheese please." So what's left? A toasted tortilla? Yum. I'm not that bad.

So today I ordered the basic grilled chicken sandwich and side salad. I topped off the sandwich with about a million pickles, banana peppers, tomatoes and salsa so that it looked like this:

Not bad. No baguette with freshly made raspberry preserves... but those days are long gone.

Evan's Diva Contract

If you intend to work with me, there are some things that you need to know. In fact, I'll have my people draw up a contract, to be sure that my (very reasonable) requests are followed.

Wardrobe:

1. All clothing items, including socks and pull ups must be licenced Pixar apparel. Toy Story and Cars highly preferred, NO PRINCESSES.







2. 2. All tags or anything that may be construed as "itchy" must be removed before wear.







3. 3. Remember that stains add character and flare to my look and must not be removed without prior approval.

Meals:

1. 1. Breakfast must be served immediately when I awake. This meai is to start with cheerios and blueberries which I may or may not eat, followed by mini microwave pancakes. Please note that homemade or large sized pancakes are not an acceptable substitution in any situation. Syrup is mandatory.




2. All other meals must include a minimum of one serving of macaroni and cheese, from a box. Homemade macaroni and cheese is never appropriate.



3. Milk is to be served at each meal and snack, in whatever cup my brother has-no substitutions.



4. If any item on my plate (i.e. granola bar, cake, cracker, banana) breaks, it must be replaced promptly with a fresh whole piece. The broken food item must be discarded immediately, nobody else is to consume it.

Accommodations:

1. I am to be provided with a minimum of two toys in my crib each night, accompanied by Valentines Day Doggie, Bear, Other Bear and Da-Doh (my pillow, which is not filthy!)


2. Your lap is to be made available to me on demand.


3. My diaper is to be changed immediately upon being soiled. I don't care if you are in the shower with a head full of shampoo. I'm telling you, you will be sorry if you don't change it NOW!

*All of the above is subject to change at any time, without notice.