Changing diapers in this household has turned into a full-on contact sport. I'd like to say that I'm getting better at it too, but seriously, changing Zachary's diaper has got to be like roping steer (which I've never done but have witnessed during childhood trips to the Ellensburg Rodeo -- an attempt, I believe, to help City Girl Jenny, see life outside the suburbs and the Starbucks). He's only 9 months old, and I think I'm going to have to give up on the changing table concept. I changed Matthew on the changing table without problems for 2 1/2 years! Now, the moment we put Zach down to change him, he immediately rolls over, gets up on all fours, then stands up in order to play with the beautiful quilt my Aunt Jackie made for him that's hanging on the wall. So, I have the pleasure of trying to clean baby buns that are in constant vertical motion -- not an easy task, I assure you. If I change him down on the floor, I usually end up crawling around after him trying to secure a clean diaper on the bum! I finish every diaper changing session exhausted and totally spent. I think I'll start wearing a tool belt with all of the diaper-changing accoutrements handy, so that it'll be easier to change Zach mid-movement.

It happened. They said it would happen, I doubted it, and yet it happened. I had a moment -- truly only a brief, fleeting time -- where I actually missed bed rest. Certainly not the WHOLE bed rest experience, but the beauty of lying in a bed (and getting to stay in it) when you're really tired. Zachary, the angel baby, really is a pretty good sleeper. He's finally settling into a bit of a nap routine, and as of the last few nights, he heads to bed around 8, has a snack at 11ish (before I go to bed), we're up around 4, and then he decides he's ready for the day around 7. I know it's not that bad (and I apologize to anyone who has had a SERIOUS anti-sleep baby reading this right now. I know that you hate me. Sorry). It could be WAY worse (and when we do have one of those way worse nights, I'm reminded of how good we have it). But I'm tired. I'm just always deeply fatigued. I don't remember the last morning that I woke up and my first thought wasn't, "When do I get to get back in bed?" Or "Is today the day that I'll get to take a na?." Matthew knows now how I cope with the whole tired-thing. One morning when driving to preschool, I was drinking coffee (as I frequently do), and he said, "Ahh, Mommy. Are you tired?" The kid knows. And on the topic of coffee, I would like to confess a new addiciton: the Sugar-Free Cinnamon Dolce Latte at Starbucks. LOVE them. When I'm not drinking one, I'm thinking about when next I can. Of course these cost money and calories, so I do limit my intake...but distance only makes the heart grow stronger. Or in this case, lack of lattes only makes my longing lengthen. Mike knows that he need not ever worry about what to get me for Valentine's Day: a Starbucks giftcard, and I'm good to go.

The time has come -- for professional therapy. And no, for once I'm neither kidding nor exaggerating. After months of debating and struggling, I have finally decided to start therapy. Everywhere that I've read about postpartum depression has strongly recommended that treatment really should be two parts: Anti-depressant drugs AND therapy. I don't have a real good reason that it's taken me so long to give in to the therapy side of things, but what's important is that I finally have made up my mind, and I'm THRILLED about it. I had a woman recently tell me (when explaining why therapy really is important) that OB's hand out anti-depressants like candy because depression obviously isn't their specialty. But once you're on the drugs and can at least think straight (better anyway), then you really need the therapy to work through all of the issues and emotions that you're still dealing with. And I'm definitely still dealing.

So, I finally came around and made the call. I found a therapist who specializes in pregnancy-related issues, postpartum depression, parenting and family life. I met Louise yesterday for my first-ever therapy session, and I was ridiculously excited! Let the healing begin. I realized, hello! Who wouldn't want to sit for an hour and talk about themselves?!! And FINALLY -- someone who takes notes when I'm talking!! I've been waiting for that for ages. Don't people realize that everything I say is worth writing down?! Well, thankfully, Louise gets it. And it's official now, I have a diagnosis and a treatment plan. Unfortunately the treatment plan doesn't involve a vacation to Hawaii and lots of dark chocolate, but it does involve a weekly trip to Louise (for a few months) and getting to talk about myself. I'll bring my own dark chocolate, but she at least provides the Kleenex.

Yesterday was a big day all around. I had my first therapy appointment and Matthew had his first ever trip to the dentist. The good news is that they had lots of toys and he got to watch some of CARS while they cleaned his teeth. The bad news is that the dental hygienist took one look at his mouth and said, "So, what' s his habit? Thumb sucker? Pacifier?" I responded, "Uh. No. It's a little bit weirder than that...See, Matthew has a special teddy bear 'Green Bear'. Matthew turns Green Bear over, smells the tag on the bear's butt (yes, it looks like he's smelling the bear's rear) while sucking his bottom lip -- his own that is, not Green Bear's bottom lip 'cuz, well, that'd be hard since Matthew's already smelling the bear's bum...uh...yeah." So, yes, the bottom lip part, that's where the dental issues come in to play. And here's what's worse, while he automatically does the bottom lip suckage the moment he has Green Bear (at nap time and bed time), he also does the infamous habit subconsciously -- while watching tv, playing, riding in the car, etc. The dentist took one look at him and said, "Yeah. That's a new one. Well, he's too young for orthodontia, but I imagine that as soon as he's old enough -- five or six -- they'll want to get an appliance in there to push out his bottom teeth so that they don't permanently affect the shape of his mouth, his adult teeth, etc. In the meantime, I'd try to get him to break the habit in the next six months." So, we some how get to break a habit that Matthew has literally been doing since day one. (We have a picture of him in the NICU on the 'tanning bed' -- jaundice therapy light bed -- wearing shades and sucking that bottom lip). AND we have a 3-D ultrasound picture of Zachary also sucking his bottom lip (although he has since developed an appetite for the flavor of thumb instead). Alas, forget about saving for college, we better just start saving for anti-bottom-lip-sucking-dental apparatuses or apparati, if you will. And while I'm in therapy, Matthew will start a teddy bear-butt-smelling-bottom-lip-sucking support group. Also known as Lip Suckers Anonymous.

For the love of Pete!!! (I don't know who Pete is or why the love is for him, but regardless...) Who told Zachary that sleeping was an optional occupation?! Whoever it was, boy, do I have words for you. He has also decided recently that in addition to being an avid left-thumb-sucker, he also wants his comfort object to be gripping a wad of my hair (in his right hand, of course since his left is occupied. In fact, he's such a thumb-sucker, that since the development of teeth, he has a permanent teeth indent/open wound on his thumb). So, if he's pulling my hair and sucking his thumb, he falls asleep like a champ. However, once in the crib (known to many as "baby jail"), he realizes what's really going on. (Wait a second! She's actually thinking of leaving me in here by myself?! And taking her hair with her?! What is the meaning of this nonsense?! Isn't this child abuse or something? I've got to call CPS...oh, and learn how to use the phone and knowing how to talk would help too...)

Now, there's this whole philosophy of letting the baby 'cry it out' -- essentially you occasionally soothe them, but they learn to put themselves to sleep. Crying it out, though hard to listen to, works like a champ (Matthew is living proof). Zachary, however, is not a candidate for the 'crying out' technique as he doesn't cry it out, he screams it out. Zachary throws a complete crib-bound, crazy coup d'etat. He wails and screams, cursing in Baby Tongue, gets up on all fours, bumps his head against the crib slats (just to add any parental guilt that might have already been lacking), and tries to then sucker you in with a squeal of glee and mischievous smirk, once he sees you approaching the crib. You can read his thoughts at this point: Ahh, the jig is up! You have finally been suckered into my plan. Muuuw-ah-ah-ahhhh! (evil baby laugh). If I maintain strength and don't immediately fall victim to his evil baby scheme, then occasionally I get to hear it in stereo (lucky me!): Zach screaming from his room and Matthew yelling, "STOP CRYING! NO CRYING, ZACHY!!" from his room. If there was a soundtrack for my life right now, that would definitely be a cut on the CD. Thankfully, the next one would be the music of Matthew and Zachary giggling together while playing on the floor. That one's my personal favorite.

I had a blind-date today. It went fantastically well! We were set-up through a mutual friend and have been emailing and talking on the phone for almost two months now. We have an amazing connection and a lot in common!...Her name is Patricia and she has a three-year-old boy and a ten-month-old girl. Our friend Cathi thought it would be helpful to get us together since we've both been going through postpartum depression. It's been so great to have the support -- the true empathy -- from someone who really understands. And it was such a fun play-date for all of us. Patricia and I talked while the boys played, and Zach and Olivia crawled around on the floor, occasionally stopping to poke at the other ('Wait a minute! You're my size!'). They were so cute, and I realized that it's the first time that Zachary has ever played with another baby -- and he was surprisingly gentle with the little lady. What a difference from Matthew's baby days when we spent one morning a week playing with our baby friends from childbirth class. Another exciting thing about these new friends is that they speak French! Patricia's husband is from Marseille, and Maxime goes to a French immersion school. So, I got to practice a little of my rusty French -- though it was really more Franglais today. All in all, our first rendez-vous was tres bien!

Does anyone know the cost of a welder's mask? We need to invest in one for feeding Zachary. That, and I think an entire tarp-themed outfit would be good. I've recently introduced prunes to an already creative-and-hands-on eater, Zach. The prunes, of course, are the baby food, smooshy version. I can report that they are messy going in and as you can imagine (though I don't blame you for not wanting to) equally messy going out.

On to another messy topic -- snot. Truly a subject that only a mom could dedicate an entire paragraph to. Zach's got it. Lots of it. And he's seriously upset about it, or at least the cleaning up process. If I even walk towards him with a Kleenex he starts to howl. And Matthew, watching me approach Zach with the tissue, immediately covers his ears. At one point today, Zachary was wailing so much while I attempted to clean up the nostril situation, that Matthew got pretty upset about it. He stormed over to me, ripped the Kleenex from my hand, and said, "Mommy! That's enough!" It was very sweet how he wanted to protect his baby brother from the torture of the tissue. Although he and Zach proceeded to spend much of the afternoon wrestling -- it's TBWW...Toddler-Baby World Wrestling, and Matthew wasn't so concerned with protecting Zach at that point. But, in all honesty, I'm not too concerned about the littlest Martin man. He can hold his own -- literally. He's a hair and face-puller, so Matthew is usually the first to want out of a brotherly wrestling match. Zachary is also quite the little gymnast and was absolutely cracking himself up, doing headstands (with my spotting) over Matthew's small Elmo sofa. Too bad the minimum age at the gym is 12 -- I have a feeling that getting him to burn off all that energy might be a bit tough.

My being a gym-junkie has paid off, in a very funny way. Two nights ago, Mike and I met up at the gym. After picking the boys up from the Kids' Club we all went next door to the grocery store. A normal event. The problem? I'd forgotten to pack my belt with my after-workout clean clothes. So, I walked around the store, pulling up my pants every chance I had. Thankfully, we made it home without incident. Mike was getting Zach changed and Matthew ready for bed while I carried groceries up the stairs. I like to load myself up like a pack-horse in order to make as few trips as possible. So, laden with multiple plastic bags on each arm, I commenced my summit up the stairs. Unfortunately, there was no free hand for holding up my jeans, so with each step I took, my pants slipped lower and lower. By the time, I got to the top of the stairs, my jeans were completely around my ankles, and I was laughing hysterically. I shuffled to the kitchen to put down the groceries, and then I shuffled down the hall. Matthew took one look at me and said, "Mommy, you look funny. Better come see in the mirror." I assured him that I knew how funny I looked and didn't need to see the proof.

Perhaps it's because we are now a pet-free home or maybe due to the fact that Zachary crawls around like an animal, but apparently Matthew now thinks of his baby brother as some sort of mammal other than human. He has taken to patting Zachary on the head (I'm surprised it's not accompanied with "good doggy"), occasionally tries to ride Zach like a horse (thankfully baby ZJ is one tough little tyke), and most recently has begun setting up obstacle courses for Zach to clamber over and through. Zach definitely would win 'Best in Show', as he crawls over packages of diapers, successfully plows over Kleenex boxes, and climbs into laundry baskets with the agility of a miniature poodle, yet leaving a wake of destruction comparable only to that of a robust Rottweiler.
Oh, and he drools too. Maybe that's where Matthew gets the connection.

Confession: I have become a Gym Junkie. I love it. Absolutely, love it. I try to go a few times a week and at least once, I bring the boys with me to play in the Kids' Club. They have a policy there, that any child under 18 months counts as three kids (as they're more demanding for hands-on attention), and only 10 kids are allowed in the Club at a time. I have, on occasion, had to wait a few minutes for some children to get picked up before I could leave Matthew and Zachary since combined, my two children are the equivalent of four. Needless-to-say, three-kids-worth-Zach rules the joint. Now, that he's thoroughly mobile (AND at eight months old, climbing already), he really does count as three children. What I don't understand is why the childcare attendants at the Kids' Club don't understand that and come home with me to help out. How can they just send release those 2 (but really 4) children into the world with ME everyday and assume that I've got what it takes to keep Zachary from: climbing into a laundry hamper basket (it's happened already), nearly doing a complete headstand on to Matthew's Elmo sofa (been there, done that), getting stuck under the over-turned bouncy seat (totally his own fault), playing with lamp cords (almost a daily habit -- the kid is FAST. Turn your back for a second and he's exactly where you don't want him to be!), sucking on the bathroom rug (grosses me out more than I can even begin to explain), attempting (and thankfully getting too frustrated to venture on) to climb the stairs, partially eating a WRAPPED chocolate that Matthew gave him (both boys take after Mommy in the chocolaholic category...an intervention is in order), and whacking his noggin' numerous times a day on any possible hard, bluntish object (be it toy, furniture, wall, etc.). Yes, apparently I don't have what it takes to keep our busy Zachary safe, so I'm praying that he's got a guardian angel with as much energy as he does, and I'm thinking it's time to invest in a helmet and full-body padded suit....for me.

I have yet to address a topic that is WAY overdo, but I constantly lack the time and the sufficient creative juices to properly paint the picture that I want you to see. Alas, I have no choice, but to suck it up and do my best attempt (although not nearly adequate) at the depiction of Matthew, the Little Drummer Boy.

At Bellevue Square (a huge shopping mall near us), starting last Christmas, every night from the day after Thanksgiving through New Year's Eve 60, yes, 6-0 drummers dressed as toy soldiers march out along the streets and play a 15 minute show with laser snowflake lights on the sides of the building, loud holiday music and complete with fake snow. It's like stinkin' Disneyland in Bellevue! It's amazing! We went to it a couple of times last year, and Matthew was so into it (maybe even more than me!) that with the help of a bucket on his head (the strap strategically placed below his nose forcing it up like a piggy...VERY funny), he transformed himself into a little drummer soldier boy.

This year, he has taken the drumming to a whole new level. Every day for the last, oh, month or so, (often multiple times every day) he'll request that we put the Little Drummer Boy song on (the Harry Connick Jr. version is his personal favorite). He will then put on a show for us (and anyone present willing to watch). He wears his drum, marches out from his bedroom, and stands on a stool (that he has strategically placed -- and it has to be JUST SO -- in the living room) and proceeds to drum along (in perfect rhythm, none-the-less) to the entire three minute song. He is absolutely serious and focused throughout his entire presentation. Drummer Matthew also includes a brief interlude of stick tapping in the air (just like the performing drummers do) as well as the occasional hip or booty shake (a bit of his own flair to personalize the number) and then concludes with the grand finale of a high-stepping, drumming march back down the hall. The piece de resistance this Christmas, was Grandma Therese surprising us all with a mini-soldier Drummer Boy costume for Matthew to wear whilst performing his routine. Contrary to popular belief, I have NOT coached the child at all and did not intend to be a Stage Mom. (Though I can tell you that the soldier drummer boys get paid $30 a night for the 15 minute show, auditions are held at the end of September -- requiring a short sight-reading of the show music and a brief piece to demonstrate skill, and the minimum age of the drummers is 13 though I have no doubt that will change once they see the cutest, littlest soldier drummer boy of them all). Drummer Boy Matthew can be viewed (along with other holiday photos) at http://mikenjennymartin.home.comcast.net

I never thought I'd see the day: our sweet, little Matthew's got a very devious streak! I watched in horror (OK, total amusement) as Matthew set our laundry basket hamper on its side and said, as if calling a dog, "Here, Zachy. Crawl into here. It'll be fun." Then, to really bribe his brother, Matthew had the adeptness to chuck ALL of Zachary's baby toys that were out on the floor INTO the hamper basket to truly entice him. I put an end to the charade at that point.

Christmas has come and gone. We had a great day, though as always I greet the post-Holiday season with a mixture of relief and sadness. I'll be glad to have life settle down a bit and get back into a routine (and on top of the laundry situation-- how dare I take a vacation from clothes-washing!), although I'm always bummed when Christmas is over. I HATE the taking-down of Christmas decorations; the house looks so naked (and yet uncluttered and cleaner) once everything is back to normal. They say that the holidays is the number one time of year for people to be depressed, but for me, it's the post-holidays that get me down. And very sadly, we have another reason to feel a little bit down this year. Yesterday, December 26th, we had to put our beloved Christmas kitty, Mistletoe to sleep. I can't get over the irony that our last day with her was Christmas Day (our 7th with her). Neither Mike nor I have ever had to put an animal down -- it's obviously a hard decision to make and an unbelievably sad thing to experience. But it was very evident that she was ailing quickly. She stopped eating, could hardly walk, couldn't jump up on the bed and she didn't purr anymore. It was time to put her out of her misery. We both felt guilty for not being able to give her more attention the last couple of years, and sadly, some of the attention that she did get was toddler attention -- not always the most feline-friendly, gentle lovin'. But alas, we all loved her and will miss her. We know that she's in a much better place -- Matthew thinks that she'll be very happy in Kitty Heaven, and we quite agree.

Well, there go my potty breaks as my only quality alone time of the day. Now I don't even get those! Zach is a mobile baby unit. He decided after days of frustration trying to do the 'traditional' crawl (i.e. on knees), that he'd fore-go it and stick with his more successful -- and very speedy -- army-boot-camp-commando-scoot-on-the-tummy method. And man! is the kid ever quick! I turned my back for a few seconds, and next time I looked at him, Zachary was playing with the outlet and plug for the lamp. Oye. He also knows what he wants and is no sucker for the tom-foolery of distraction. He'd much rather have one of Matthew's big boy toys than an old baby toy. So much for potty breaks. So much for a little peace of mind.

And of course, no surprise here, it's two days until Christmas and we have colds. 'Cuz, you know, Thanksgiving wasn't even a month ago yet and we were sick for that holiday, so why not do it again?! Grrr.

It's sad, really. I just feel a little bit disconnected from the world when our internet is down. What, pray tell, did stay-at-home Moms do PRE-world of wide web?! Our cable (as well as our power) has continued to be a bit spotty since [TO BE READ IN THE MOVIE TRAILER DEEP MAN'S VOICE] WIND STORM 2006. Thankfully, despite freaking us out a bit every time the light's flicker, the power's not gone back off for good.

And another sad confession: it is 5 o'clock in the morning here, and while I was just up changing Zach's diaper and feeding him I couldn't stop composing blogs in my head. So, I thought I better come see if we were back on-line so I could type this up, get it out of my system and head back to bed for hopefully a couple more hours of sleep! That, and I'm still on such a high from the soon-t0-be-told experience, that I just couldn't wait to write about it.

On, Sunday afternoon we all went Christmas caroling at a nursing home in Seattle with several other of our friends from Engaged Encounter. It was amazing. I wore Zach in the front-pack while Matthew walked up and down the halls with our group for nearly two hours. Not only did the boys tag along but, of course, they totally stole the show. Matthew carried a shaker in one hand and one of my jingle bell bracelets from music class in the other and kept a steady beat the WHOLE time. At one point, Sister Beatrice (of our group) had given a resident (a dapper, older -- well, OK, they're all older -- fellow) a maraca to shake along with us. He came up with a fancier rhythm (not too crazy -- but something like: shake, shake, rest, rest...shake, shake, rest, rest). Matthew immediately picked up on it, and the two continued that way for the whole song. So, while Matthew was focused on being the heartbeat of our group (he really was very focused -- didn't smile much but delighted the residents with his percussion-skills none-the-less), Zachary was focused on being the heart-melter of the group. I finally had to take him out of the front-pack and let some others in our group carry him because I couldn't sing whilst wearing him for two reasons. One: Any time we'd stop to let a resident see him up close (and they'd tickle his feet and chat to him or whatever), he'd be kicking and leaping so much it was hard for me to sing. And Two: Any time we'd stop to let a resident see him up close I'd get so choked up with how happy he was making them that I couldn't sing!
It was an amazing experience and definitely made us full of Holiday cheer!

We have not blown away -- though it sure did seem like a possibility. The winds whipped up to about 60 miles an hour in our area on Thursday night (so reported the news). Our electricity flickered on and off all evening but was still on when we went to bed. The wind was howling, shaking the house and rattling the windows. I had just said to Mike, "I'm a little nervous...about the trees in back," when THUMP! (and I JUMPED about a foot) -- a tree grazed the house on its way down. We immediately got out of bed and moved the boys into the family room downstairs. Looking out our upstairs window we watched nervously as a tree behind the neighbor's house across the street kept lighting up as it blew into power lines. (We called the fire department though we never saw them show up, and thankfully, we lost power before the tree really caught on fire). A HUGE tree fell across the road two houses down from us, so that part of the street was blocked for several hours (though the neighbors got out there pretty fast to take care of things). First thing in the morning I went out to make sure that my brother Chris was alright (he was home alone since my parents were staying at a B & B in snowy Leavenworth -- they got a foot of snow dumped on them while they were there). I found myself trying to get dressed in the dark and thinking, "hmmm, what does one where on a rescue mission?" We were all worried about Chris since he REALLY gets nervous during storms especially when the power goes out. After trekking up to Bellevue (which was treacherous as there were downed trees and power lines -- and therefore roads closed -- everywhere), I walked into my parents' condo only to discover that Chris wasn't there. I had a moment of serious panic until I got a hold of someone at the grocery store and they said, "oh yeah, he called in and said he'd be a little late, but he's on his way to work." So here we'd all been worried for nothing. Chris had just gone to bed (and he's the heaviest sleeper I know though Matthew might give him some competition), slept a little late since his alarm didn't go off, and got himself out the door as always. What a guy!

Anyway, in the end we were without power for less than 24 hours (after hearing to expect up to 8 days of darkness!). We're SO thankful to have power and to have the reminder to stock up on supplies in case of longer, more serious natural disasters. The blackout also provided a good excuse to eat a fair amount of ice cream.

So, the Mistletoe, our cat, does not have an STD -- which is sure is a good thing 'cuz if she did, Mistletoe the Catholic Christmas Kitty would have a heck of a lot of explaining to do -- especially since she hasn't been outside...ever. At the vet today we were informed that she doesn't have AIDS, but it is very likely that she has Cancer. We're back on the force-feeding regiment for a while, but if she doesn't get better and stay better than in all likelihood this will be our last Christmas with Mistletoe. She's not old (only 6), but she is a Martin, so I guess there's no surprise that she has to have some unique medical issues. She's been such a good kitty (despite peeing on my wedding dress and my being allergic to her which isn't her fault), and it'll be hard when we do have to say goodbye.

Matthew's dictated letter to Santa (and I quote):

"Dear Santa,

Can I please have a crane for Christmas? A crane for worker men. I don't want a crane, I want a fire truck.

Can Zachary please have a baby ducky toy?

Daddy wants a sled.

Mommy -- she wants a green farmer hat.

Santa wanted a sled.

Daddy wants a digger for digging in the snow. I want a digger too. I want a crane too. I want a roller truck from Santa. I want a boat from Santa -- in my tub for playing.

A good Santa. Thank you, Santa."

~ Matthew, 3 years old
Nov. 27, 2006

After nursing ZJ this morning, Matthew approached and demanded that I feed his special teddy bear, Green Bear as well. I declined this request, so Matthew proceeded to nurse Green Bear, himself. What a special little boy!

IT'S SNOWING!!! Which means I'm like a cow to a salt-lick...just can't get enough of it! And boy does this just fuel the fire that is Jenny and the Holiday Season!! Mike said yesterday that he actually feels 'sorry' for Thanksgiving -- no carols, not too many decorations, sandwiched between Halloween and Christmas, it totally gets the shaft. I feel on the other hand, that Thanksgiving is wonderful because it's the kick-off for the holidays! In case you were unaware, I'm just a wee bit of a Christmas nut. It is a part of myself that just cannot be denied; my Christmas-obsession plays a vital role in making up the essence of Jenny, the Jenessence. And Matthew, I am happy to share, is beginning to experience this excitement for himself. Yesterday, Matthew practically drooled with anticipation standing at the gate in his room during 'quiet time' while Mike and I were out in the living room putting out decorations. Matthew kept calling to me, "How 'bout I get on my apron [that he wears when helping in the kitchen, you see] and come and help? It's OK with me. I'll be all done with quiet time now and help? It's a good idea? It's OK with me!" He is my kid, after all.

Zachary expresses his excitement in a different way -- howling like a howler monkey. Now, I've never actually heard a howler monkey, but I imagine it would sound something like our excited (rather vocal and teething) nearly seven month-old. It is not uncommon for Mike or myself to break out into applause in the middle of a meal -- Zachary will stop screaming mid-howl if someone starts to clap; it's the funniest thing. We had some friends over for dinner the other night, and apparently Zach was not receiving enough attention [the kid LOVES a crowd...focused on him, and him alone. He is my kid, after all.], so conversation was sporadically interrupted by a cacophony of spontaneous clapped cadences. Never a dull (or quiet) moment in the Martin household.

We've joined a gym, and I'm FREAKISHLY excited about it! In case you aren't quite in-the-know (or live in a cave sans la television) it's been a bit rainy in Seattle lately, and therefore I haven't been able to run outside for quite a while. Now, don't think that joining a gym was just an impulsive commitment, we've been planning on it for some time -- that it would actually be my Christmas present. But we realized that to really make it worth it (and to help my mental stability), we'd join sooner rather than later. Thankfully, we got a great deal and I couldn't be happier about it. They have a phenomenal Kid's Club too (definitely a selling point) -- complete with a separate baby area, a huge padded play structure, pretend play kitchen, etc., and of course lots of great trucks (a requirement). And this is how impressive the childcare people are: I set Zachary down in his car seat and put the diaper bag on the floor next to him while I got Matthew all settled in with the trucks; upon returning to Zach, the diaper bag was gone. I asked Lisa, one of the child care peoples, where my bag was, and she said, "Oh, we moved it up on to the shelf since the shoulder straps are a strangulation hazard." Yeah! That's what I say -- you TELL me I'm being unsafe! Anyway, I'm (obviously) just a tad excited about the whole scenario. Perhaps, the most exciting aspect of this whole situation is that our memberships come with five sessions with a personal trainer for each of us. Mike mentioned that he'd be prefer if I had a female trainer if possible (while I really don't care either way just want someone who will be good for me). Anyway, when I sat down with the manager to schedule our first training sessions, he recommended that we get matched up with a trainer based on personality and time availability. So, here's the irony: I've been paired up with a large dude DeShaun and Mike was paired up with a petite little gal Rachelle! Now, apparently because Mike played varsity football he knows everything there is to know about fitness and weight-lifting and (I roughly quote), he 'doesn't think a personal trainer could push him any harder than he pushes himself.' I've been assured that Ms. Rachelle will kick his butt, and I can't wait to hear about it! :) I met DeShaun and he's AWESOME! -- super nice and funny. I have my first session with him on Monday, so we'll see how it goes. This past Monday, I got up at 4:50am (what was I thinking?!) and attended my first ever hour-long spin class (again, what was I thinking?!). About 20 minutes into this intense stationary-cycling class I thought I was either going to hurl or pass-out and tried to determine which would be less embarrassing. At any rate, I survived and somehow was, thankfully, still able to walk afterwards.