Holy Moly! My blog is exactly 150 pages long!!! That’s 150 pages of nonsense and non-importance written by yours truly since…let’s see…the first entry was made on March 15th, 2006 at 9:22am it says: “Testing...testing with this ridiculously slow hospital internet connection. Can I be a bed rest blogger?!” Wow. History in the making. Famous first words. And those first words set the tone. Some of the words that jump out there are on themes of the ridiculous, the slow, the self-doubting. Fascinating, indeed. Foreshadowing, perhaps? I’ll let my readers be the judge.

Well, I can report that I would’ve enjoyed more time spent in bed this last week. I had a wonderful week despite having a cold. Somehow, my social calendar exploded and I did more in the last seven days than I’ve done in—maybe the last seven months! On Friday night, my dear friend Larissa (she’s my designated Mormon friend – everyone should have one – they’re grrrreat!) picked me up for Karaoke to celebrate her birthday. She arrived at 8:15 – at 8:07, I was upstairs holding the puke bucket for Matthew while he filled it, meanwhile Mike was downstairs with our visiting little pal Joshua (2 ½ yrs. old) who was sobbing for his parents and wondering why his parents would abandon him in such a crazy place. By 8:12, I was looking like total Hotness and was ready to roll. Mike shooed me out the door with reassurances that he’d be fine holding down the pukey, sobby fort and I should go out and have fun. I did. I TOTALLY did.

I was a little concerned with how my cold-inflicted hoarse voice would hold up in Karaoke. I need not have worried: a.) I’m a Karaoke Queen regardless of any temporary vocal handicap and b.) I could have been completely hoarse and tone deaf and still would’ve sounded better than the drunken peoples who always seem to find themselves singing solo after solo at Karaoke bars. And why do they think they sound amazing? And then the more they drink the worse it gets because at least before they could read the words, now they’re just slurring nonsense in a cat-yowly way. It’s sad. But definitely an ego-booster. Hey! I didn’t even mind the sleazy middle-aged men hitting on us and asking our table to sing back-up for them on their next solo. And come on! Who wouldn’t want four mom/housewives: three Mormons and a Catholic, all choir girls standing up there with them?! We were so ready for a good time, we may have done just about anything (well, anything that three married Mormon women and a Catholic would do, and quite frankly, that’s a limited list).

The next fun evening was seeing a show in Seattle with Rachel – Rachel my friend from childhood who has been a part of my life since first grade; Rachel who still loves me despite knowing me in fifth grade when I had a mullet and serious chub-issues; Rachel who forgives me for all the times that I repeatedly chose Jenna Petrie over her; Rachel who introduced me to the Beatles, Dean Cain (of “Lois and Clark: the New Adventures of Superman”), and now…Josh Ritter. According to the Amazon.com reviewest (reviewee, hmm, I think it’s actually reviewer) Andrew Bartlett, “You're presently reading about what may be the best album of 2007 [The Historical Conquests of Josh Ritter], hands down, by the most under-accorded American musical genius. Real murmurs, believable ones, came with Josh Ritter's 2006 album, Animal Year, suggesting that the Idahoan is today's Bruce Springsteen, today's Bob Dylan.” That’s exactly how I’d describe him: Bob Dylan meets Jon Mayer. (But way cuter). Josh’s voice (yes, Josh – yes, I do feel as though we’re on a first name basis) is ridiculously versatile and I feel like when I’m listening to his albums there are several different singers – but no, it’s just him; it’s Josh (with some back-up harmonies to boot).

The concert was SO fun. Rachel –has been a Josh fan for a while and was ECSTATIC to see him and was intrigued to see what his concert-attending crowd would be like. After some study, we determined that most Josh Ritter fans are Gruppies – Granola Yuppies. (For education purposes, I found this definition of Granola in the Urban Dictionary: A person who dresses like a hippy, eats natural foods (granola), and is usually a Liberal, but in all other ways is a typical middle class white person, and is likely to revert back to being straight when they finish college. And Yuppie is: Informal for (y)oung (U)rban (P)rofessional, or Yup. turned into yuppie in the 1980's. A term used to describe someone who is young, possibly just out of college, and who has a high-paying job and an affluent lifestyle. Can now be used to describe any rich person who is not modest about their financial status.) So, essentially we were surrounded by natural food eating, well-dressed Liberal folks. It was actually a really fun crowd – ranging from young single people to married couples (sometimes referred to ala Bridget Jones’ as the Smug Marrieds – I am not one of those. Or at least HOPE that I’m not)! Smug Marrieds get married and then they’re all bijiggity with their single friends who have yet to be wed. Anyway, back to the show – it was fantastic and so much fun. It was also Josh’s birthday and his mom surprised him on stage with a cupcake (that he proceeded to eat candle and all. Hmm….) and then cupcakes were passed through the crowd. I don’t think that I elbowed too many people to snag a chocolate one. It was, as Matthew would say, mighty perfection.

Tuesday night was book club night. We had fun – as always. I left hoarse – as always (no, more from my cold then from overextending my vocal chords. My vocal chords are, in gym muscle-meat-head terms, ripped and tight. My vocal chords get worked out so much they could bench press 250). The sad, tale of woe of our book club is that one of our girls, Kelly, is moving to New York for at least a year. Kelly and her husband Tim are major world travelers and have been all over the stinkin’ globe, so we weren’t too surprised with the news that they’d be abandoning us. I am surprised they’re going somewhere as tame and civilized as New York though. They have such an adventuring spirit; I thought they would’ve moved to somewhere like Zimbabwe. New York is a little closer, and we all like toying with the idea of Kelly’s turn to host book club. Girls weekend in NY, anyone?! We’ll miss her and we promised – at her request – not to replace her with an imitation Kelly – maybe another Asian girl named Kelsey or something. There is only one Kelly Chow-Sale after all and she is irreplaceable!

Thursday night was the night that all the other nights were in training for. Thursday was Celebrate My Gay Ex-Boyfriend’s 30th Birthday Night! Yes, Brian from high school – my good pal Brian – who is now also married to a man named Michael (didn’t see that one coming…) was having a big ‘ol shindig for his big 3-0 and I was going to go! I invited Rebecca to come with me to do a combo celebration and girls’ night out kind-of deal. When I forwarded the invite on to Rebecca, she left me the funniest voice message: “Oh my gosh, Jenny!! My gay ex-boyfriend is also invited to this party!” Turns out her gay ex-boyfriend (apparently a lot of us have them) just so happens to be Joe – the best friend of Brian and with whom I was quite good friends in high school! Crazy. So, squeezing into the jeans that are a little too tight (but are cute) and the shoes that hurt a little too bad (but are cute), we – two stay-at-home-hot-mamas – ventured out to a brewery on Capital Hill to party with our gay ex-boyfriends. It was a most entertaining evening indeed….to be continued. (Ha! What a tease)!

There is something new and magical in my life that I have not even discussed yet. Wine. It’s wine. While I’m not new to drinking wine or even enjoying it, what’s new and magical in my life, is that I’ve decided that I deserve wine. And not just when we have friends over for dinner. I’ve decided that I deserve a glass of wine on weeknights. On say, a Wednesday night, when we’re having leftovers for dinner; I deserve a glass of wine. On Mondays, when Mike comes home late after his class and I’ve been on my own with the boys; I deserve a glass of wine. On Fridays after a teaching music classes in the morning and having a busy afternoon; I deserve a glass of wine. Maybe even on a Tuesday or Thursday, I…well, you get the point. No worries, I’m not turning into a complete wine-o; I’m just following Oprah’s rules and helping myself to extra antioxidants every now and then. (Extra – because I do receive antioxidants every morning in my dark chocolate dose with my cuppa coffee).
My dear friend from book club was the first one to introduce this idea and inspire me to aspire to more wine-drinking. I’m just trying to do her proud. Molly enjoys a glass nearly every night at 5pm. She’s told the humorous tale of, after a rough day with the kidlets, standing in the kitchen, drumming her fingers on the counter as the clock slowly inched on: 4:56…4:57…4:58…She had a conversation with her sister about this habit, admitting that she has a glass of wine at 5pm, every night. Molly’s sister responded with, “Oh! Just one? I have one while I’m making dinner and then one with dinner!” The sisters realize that they’re both doing exactly what their mom always does, and what Oprah recommends – can it really be that bad?!
So, as you can see, I’m already faced with the guilt. Can I really do that?! Can I really open a bottle of wine when we don’t have company over, and it’s not even the weekend?! And my main fear of all: if I plan on making this a nightly – well, a couple times a week, anyway – habit, does that mean that, in order to be semi-frugal about this, I need to start buying the box ‘o wine complete with spigot?
No, says Molly. Not at all. See, Molly – I love as a friend because (and not only because of this), before being a stay-at-home Mom, was a middle school math teacher! I never thought that I’d be friends with someone who chose to do Math for a living. (Then, again, I’m married to a double major in Computer Science and Applied Computational Mathematical Sciences – math for computer nerds, as I call it). So, when I raised the boxed wine question with Molly, she immediately came back with calculations in defense. (Man, I love it, when someone else does the math)! It was something to the effect of: OK, let’s say you buy six bottles at a time, so you get 10% off, and the bottles we’re buying aren’t the BEST there is out there, but still very drinkable, good wine, they’re about $5.99-$9/bottle. That works out to be about $1.40-$2.80 a glass. We are SO worth $1.40-$2.80 a night! That’s not even as much as many moms spend at Starbucks every day! Now that is my kind of math problem, and more importantly, math solution!
The epitome of this new wine habit occurred a couple of weeks ago when my good friend Rebecca came over for long play date. We’ll be watching their son, Joshua, for the weekend, while Jason and Rebecca present on an Engaged Encounter retreat. For that reason, Rebecca and I thought that we should do an afternoon play date, so Joshua could nap here and get a bit more comfortable. I had made a big pot of chili the night before they came over. So, for lunch, Rebecca and I enjoyed the leftovers and we thought – what the heck! Let’s have a glass of red on this cold, cozy afternoon. By 2pm, we decided that they should just stay for dinner since Jason was out of town on business and then Joshua could even have more time feeling at home, AND that way, we could just finish off the bottle. So, by 2pm on a cold and rainy Thursday afternoon, we’d had a couple of glasses of wine. It was the best play date ever!!!
And here’s a great example of while I WILL have a glass of wine tonight with our pizza dinner: within 45 minutes of Rebecca arriving (to bring Joshua for his weekend with us) Matthew had to poo, Zach jumped in the bath tub fully clothed, Zach slipped and fell on the bathroom floor, and Matthew threw up. The boys and I all woke up with colds today and now Zach is refusing to take a nap – he’s standing in his crib yelling, “Mamaaaaaaaaaaa, MAAAmAAA!”

At preschool, I feel a bit like a voyeur, an observer, a fly on the wall. This may be the first situation that I’ve been in where, well, not many people know me. That’s right – I’m admitting that I’m not the center of attention, AND that I’m FINE with that. (Mom, Dad – are you OK? Are you sitting down?).
The format of preschool is you arrive a couple minutes before class starts, drop your kid and go. Then at the end of the school day, they’ve requested that you not return until five minutes before they’re done (there isn’t that much room in the hall for parents to wait, and it would be too much of a distraction for the kids if we were all loitering around. This is very different from the format of Matthew’s Almost Three’s class, last year, at the community center. There was not only room to sit and loiter and socialize, but the entire classroom had windows and it was no rare sight to see parents, faces pressed to the glass, watching their little kiddo, the apple of their eye.
So, as I said, for numerous reasons of the parents at preschool right now, only a handful knows me, and I – them. I’m actually really enjoying this new sensation of anonymity. Now, don’t get me wrong, I do have friends – two, actually. Two dads – they’re my homeboys. I LOVE dads; because with dads there is NO drama. Every day it’s just, “hey, how are you? I heard Conner was home sick yesterday…” You NEVER have to have all the mandatory mommy-talk: “So, where will you be having Joey’s birthday party? Oh, there?! Well, we looked into it but it was just way too small for our plans, that and our caterer doesn’t like to serve there….Where did you buy that outfit? TOO cute!” Oh, and don’t forget the are-you-a-good-enough-stay-at-home-Mom stuff, “No, sorry. We can’t do a play date on Thursday; Joey has a private piano lesson, followed by soccer practice. Oh, and Thursdays are when we always spend an hour drilling with flashcards. He’s only four, but the SAT’s are right around the corner. If he wants to go to YALE, like daddy, we better get studying!” Heaven forbid id your child is at a “normal” level upon entering kindergarden – or even Pre-K 2.
No, with the dads there’s no drama, no pretending that you’re super mom, no talking recipes or where to shop and there are no cliques. The dads are just happy that someone is talking to them. They stay at home all day with their children, doing the things that the stay-at-home moms do but without the (necessary) benefit of daytime empathy and companionship. I don’t imagine that the dads get invited to many play dates or lunches with other moms to vent about the frustrations of childrearing. It’d just be a little awkward. So, these poor guys are just home – all day, every day with their kids.
I’ve befriended these two dads for two reasons: 1.) they’re very nice and based on the attention-starved looks in their eyes they could use a friend – or at least another parent who will talk to them. 2.) There is NO drama! (LOVE this). What you get is what you get; no strings attached. No tricky social ladder to climb. The dads and I just hang comfortably on our bottom rung.
As I said, because of these reasons, I haven’t met that many other moms and I don’t plan on exhausting myself trying to break into the preschool mommy cliques. I had a moment at the field trip that completely reassured me that I shouldn’t bother wasting my time. On our John Deere-pulled tram, we ended up sitting between two moms who have kids in the 4/5yr. old class. Most likely, this is the second year; these women have had kids in the same class, so it’s normal that they’d be friendly with one another. Since I was sitting between them, I initiated conversation – first with one (and that failed), so then with the other (mmm, strike two). After a few moments, we all gave up, so they proceeded to talk over me and around me – literally over my head or leaning forward practically across my lap to discuss, “did you hear what so and so did?” and “can you believe she dressed her daughter in THAT today?!” etc. After the tram, we went through the hay maze with Conner and Lydia’s dad and ate snack with Mason’s dad (and mom – who took the day off for the field trip). No who-wore-what or can-you-believe-its. Just chillin’.
I’m probably not helping my preschool social life by making enemies, but I can’t help it. There’s a mom from upstairs (the older kids’ class) who I totally and thoroughly judge. She shows up every morning in skimpy tank tops with bright colored bras sticking out, low slung jeans so that the big tattoo on her lower back is prominently displayed, and it’s not her clothes that I have a problem with. She parks – EVERY DAY – in the spot closest to the door which, yes, is a handicap parking spot! If that closest spot is taken, then she just places her white minivan in the other one. I understand that she has at least two kids to shuttle around – one in an infant car seat – but we’re all lugging little people around, so let’s just be fair about this. Equal luggage, I say!!
I’ll admit that there was a time – pre-kids – when I would go out of my way to use the handicap stall in the restroom. They’re nice and roomy, often cleaner as they’re at the end of the row. I learned my lesson when, one time after taking my sweet time, I exited the handicap stall to see a woman in a wheelchair waiting patiently for her turn. ALL OF THE OTHER STALLS WERE EMPTY and yet I HAD to be in the roomy, handicap stall. Never again – if I can help it – do I take advantage of handicap-provided spaces, services, etc. I have since become a bit of a self-proclaimed advocate for the handicapped. I tell them at Blockbuster, look guys, if my double-jogger can’t get through the aisles – while I realize it’s a monstrosity and huge – it’d be hard for a wheelchair to fit through. And until you have kids in strollers, I don’t think you really realize just how not-handicapped-friendly our streets, sidewalks, restrooms and stores are.
So, back to tank top lady. I’ve given her the benefit of the doubt. Maybe she circles the parking lot and makes sure there are NO other spots available, so she just grabs it, runs in, drops her kids and go. No. Of course not. No. Her white van is, without fail, in that handicapped spot – even if the rest of the parking lot is still fairly vacant. When I get into the school, there she is – tank top, bright bra, baby carrier on the hip – chatting it up and taking her time visiting with the other members of Mom Mafia. I’d had enough when I saw at least two cars in the lot with handicapped stickers that weren’t able to park in the handicap spots, and I know that there are at least three grandparents that bring their grandkids to school and, I’m sure, would appreciate a closer spot.
Being in the not-really-caring-about-making-mommy-friends mood that I’m in, I approached one of the moms who I know is queen bee of the preschool board. (She also, happened to be, one of the moms talking over me on the pumpkin patch tram). The best part is that I got to be the tattle-tale but wouldn’t have to be the one to scold Tank Top Mom. For once, I don’t have to be the bad guy (well, not really). So, I explained to Preschool Board Mom in general terms that there was a parent parking in the handicap spot every day. I said – it’s a white minivan. Her eyes got big like, Oh my gosh, SHE’S the one I have to talk to?! She nodded slowly, admitting defeat, “Yeah, I know who that is. OK, thanks for telling me.” I smiled, “No problem. Good luck with that.” Better her than me. Her social life isn’t suffering any.
I don’t care that much that the moms don’t know me (or adore me – which, let’s admit, is what I’m used to), but I wouldn’t want Matthew’s social life to suffer because of my behavior, “Oh. It’s you. YOU’RE the kid with the tattle-tale mommy. My legs are sore now, thanks to her. We have to walk fifteen extra feet through the parking lot to get to school. Sorry, you can’t play with us and the worker trucks at recess today.” It’s all fine until sharing of the working trucks is affected. We just can’t have that.

You can judge what kind of a week I’ve had based on my blogging habits – or lack thereof. BUSY (I’m working on the house painting project again – doors, trim, hallway)…and CRAZY. So, let me summarize. (Granted a Jenny Summary is never a super brief thing).

Home Sweet Home
The boys were still up when we got home from the airport a week ago. They were, as should be expected, very happy to see us (thankfully, they still remembered who we were and didn’t seem to hold our parent negligence against us too much…initially) and we were, them. Within less than 24 hours though, I was wishing I could get back on a plane. Again, please feel free to judge me, because I thoroughly do.

Matthew decided to deal with his abandonment issues as most any normal four year-old child would – he got even with his behavior. (That’s right. I’m going to make you suffer by being SO bad and crazy that you’ll WISH you could go back to Dallas and therefore you’ll have so much guilt for thinking that, that you’ll….suffer…from the guilt…of thinking that..). Yeah, behavior has been pretty crazy this week. And I’m not talking just about Matthew’s

Zoloft Sweet Zoloft
Several weeks ago now I took my last Zoloft (that I’d been on for a little over a year to ward off the Post Partum Depression Demons that had inhabited my body since shortly after the birth of Zachary). I tapered off the drug VERY slowly and gradually because I was afraid of what the weaning/withdrawal would be like. I had every reason to be afraid – very afraid. I’ve been SCARY and SPOOKY….how fitting for this Halloween season. (“What are you going to be for Halloween this year?” “Oh, thanks so much for asking. I’m going to be a Psycho-Zoloft-Withdrawals-Crazy-Mama. Grim Reaper, Hockey Mask Chainsaw-Murderer, Gory and Blood-Oozing Serial Killer? They ain’t got nothin’ on me. Look out. Stay away. Stay far, far away.

I’m dizzy, I’m light-headed, I’m spacey (at least I have an excuse now), I’m nauseous, and worst of all I’m EVIL. It’s pretty much like PPD all over again. Why, WHY would they make a drug that you take to fix a problem and yet only CAUSES the problem when you finish it? It makes you want to go right back on the juice. I’ve been reassured that this is a temporary situation that usually lasts between one and two weeks. When I called the doctor to see what, if anything, could be done and how long we would all need to suffer and could I maybe be locked away during this process, I was told, “well, if it gets really bad, we can always just put you back on Zoloft.” Yes, so keep me on the happy pill FOREVER ‘cuz I’ll be way too frightened to ever come off again because I’d just have to go through this again. No thank you, I’ll just suffer through now and get this over with (as will the entire Martin clan).

I’m all jokey-jokey about it here and now, but calling this incredibly difficult and frustrating, is a huge understatement. It’s heart-breaking when your sweet four year-old is pleading with you, “Mommy, please don’t be sad. Mommy it makes me sad when you’re sad. May you please not be sad?” He’s even polite about it! “I know; we’ll go play Legos and then you don’t have to be sad anymore, K? Right? Then you won’t be sad? Please may you not cry anymore?” And unfortunately, there’s nothing – nothing – that I can do to ‘snap out of it’. It’s completely out of my control; I can’t just NOT be sad. I have no real reason to be sad, and yet my brain tells me otherwise. It says, “Be sad, be totally and completely without hope (kind of like how the Dementors in Harry Potter make their victims feel)…oh, and while you’re at it, be completely irrational and moody and have a temper that can snap like nobody’s business, for no reason.” So, without meaning to, I’m sad, I’m irrational, I feel lost. I don’t feel like me. I feel like I’m back in that deep, dark depression place that I never wanted to be in ever again; and there’s nothing I can do about it. But wait. Wait. They say it’ll get better. So we wait.

Big sigh. Moving on to some of the other things that popped up in the midst of the crappy of this week.

Yes, I’m one of those
Turns out that I’m one of those obnoxious Moms. Following my orders (from PPD Pal, Patricia), I had to get out of the house with the boys as much as possible – she said that was the only thing that helped her get through the post-Zoloft adjustment phase. So, on Friday after my music classes, we went to McDonald’s for lunch. We had just sat down with our food when a McDonald’s employee approached and inquired as to whether or not I drove a red Honda CRV. “Why, yes I do. Thank you for asking.” Right. They needed me to move my car as the big McD’s delivery truck had arrived and needed to unload tons of fat and oily and greasy food products. “Hmm, no, sorry,” was what I pretty much said. I explained that we had JUST sat down and that I’d have to put my boys into their car seats to move the car or I’d have to leave them in the McD’s unattended to go move my car. I put my foot down. Neither of those things would happen. “Was there a No Parking sign where I parked? Or a truck unloading sign? Because I took the one open spot in the middle of a fully packed row of parked cars….so I certainly wouldn’t have parked there had I known…” Yeah, I wasn’t going to budge. You don’t mess with me on my ppd, non-Zoloft weeks.

In the end, I did have to run out and move the car. I asked an employee if he wanted a stint as a Valet driver and did he want to move my car ‘cuz well, as it turns out, I do care about my children more than the car (besides I figured he wouldn’t take off with my car since we knew who he was…and where he workd). After much discussion, it was determined that one of the McD employees (a father of two, himself, I was informed) stood watch over my children (who were still sitting eating and Zach was strapped into a high chair, so I knew he wouldn’t run away). But what would you have done? Do you judge me for abandoning them in a restaurant with total strangers for 30 seconds? I even played all of the worst case scenarios out in my head: “OK, if someone tries to steal my offspring – based on behavior this week (mine and theirs) – I might let them because maybe they’d be a more fit parent than I. No. I would see them exiting out of one of the doors that I’d be very close too, and I would be able to use my super ppd, Zoloft-withdrawal violence to Kung-Fu chop them down, snag my kidlets and get the heck outta there.” They’d be fine. They were fine. They were still there, happily munching away on McNuggets unaware that I’d even left.

Apparently I was on such a mission not to let anything detract from my McDonald’s dining experience, that I kicked an entire huge pack of unruly young teenage boys off of the McD’s playland equipment. They were too big to be on there (requirement is four feet and under) and they were freaking out the little kiddos. My boys stood frozen just watching the big hooligans rip around. Yes, I’m an old fart, a fuddy-duddy, a stick-in-the-mud, a party pooper. You name it; I’ll admit to being it. My threats of getting the manager to escort them out worked, and they managed to leave with my lame, scary mom threats trailing after them.

John Deeres make things better
When all else fails, John Deeres do provide some cheering up; especially to Matthew. This past Wednesday, we successfully attended Matthew’s first ‘real’ field trip (like leave the property, go far, far away field trip). We went to a pumpkin patch way down in Orting, WA – about a 45 minute drive from our house. Matthew was ready to roll in John Deere hat, construction worker rain coat, and “army man” camouflage rain boots – this kid is ALL boy. The first thing we saw when we pulled in was a HUGE John Deere tractor on display complete with pumpkin head scarecrow in the driver’s seat. Next to the John Deere was a 975 pound pumpkin on display. I informed Matthew that no, sorry, that would not be the one that we took home with us. When we saw Matthew’s preschool teacher, she said, “Matthew! Are you so excited for the pumpkins?” He replied with a confident, “No! I’m excited for the John Deeres!!”

Of course, our trip to the pumpkin patch wouldn’t be complete without pouring down rain. So, all the raincoat clad kids and parents were huddled under a tarp while we sat and listened to a woman talk in a really bad, fake Southern Drawl about how the ‘old days’ were – covered wagons, cooking food on fires, etc. The kids sat there, heads down to keep out the cold, eyes glazed over, not listening to a word that Old Fashioned Lady had to say. She attempted to lead the crowd in the most unmelodic, lack-luster rendition of ‘Old McDonald had a Farm’ that I’ve ever heard. But then, OH, but THEN, she announced that we would go on a covered wagon ride – but a little different than the kind they rode in the old days – and on perfect cue three – THREE – huge tractors pulled up towing long cow-themed-painted wagon/car/tram-type thingies. The first tractor that drove by was red. This was exciting, sure, sure. Matthew sat up to get a better view. But then the next two tractors to appear were – you guessed it – great big, beautiful green John Deeres. Matthew shot straight up off of his hay bale seat and exclaimed, “John Deeres, Mommy! John Deeres!” And wouldn’t you know, that being in the emotional state that I was in, I had to blink hard to not let my tearing up be noticed by anyone. (I could’ve blamed it on the rain, I suppose). He was so ecstatic, it was like Christmas morning; I’ve got a knot in my throat just thinking about it.

We managed to push into the line for one of the John Deere-pulled trams (again, I was not about to let anyone rain on our John Deere parade – yes puns intended as it WAS raining AND a John Deere parade). We rode around the huge corn maze and by the pumpkin fields, passed by the pumpkin-catapulting field (complete with hundreds of small smashed and squashed pumpkins), and eventually came to the small area where pumpkins were neatly lined up in rows, ready for the taking. We stopped to see the goats and miniature horses in the fenced pasture and picked out the two best pumpkins available. (Zachary got one too). After putting the pumpkins in the car, we went through the hay maze in the barn and then had hot apple cider. It doesn’t get any more Harvest-y perfect than that.

On Saturday, we had another fun-filled day. We ended the night at our friends’ Fourth Annual Pumpkin Carving Extravaganza. Mike chose not to stay for the carving process (he would’ve stomped the competition AGAIN), plus we decided that being near all the knives and sharp carving implements was maybe not the best idea for our children. Before the carving extravaganza, we had dinner with some friends from Engaged Encounter. Their kids are 4 and 2 and the boys LOVE them. Matthew walked out into the backyard and stopped dead in his tracks before sprinting off their deck faster than I’ve ever seen that kid move – they had a toy riding John Deere, the kind that every John Deere-loving kid DREAMS of having. He was in HEAVEN. Amy (mother of Tyler and Amanda) had been on backyard duty (making sure no child got seriously harmed or mutilated in any major way) when she came in laughing. She said that Matthew was playing with the John Deere and had said, “This John Deere is mighty perfection.”

I’M NOT RACIST!
Matthew has reached the age of questions. What’s and why’s and how’s fill our days, ALL the live-long day! He and I had been having a very deep conversation about how people are different (i.e. different hair color, sometimes skin color, sometimes people have to be in a wheel chair etc.), but that we’re all the same (i.e. no one is better than someone else because of their skin color, etc.). I had said to Matthew that there are people in the world who, for example, are light-skinned people, but think that people with dark skin are bad. I stressed that THIS is bad, that it’s bad for people to say that someone else is bad because their skin is a different color.

That night, when Mike was putting Matthew to bed Matthew told him, “Hey, Daddy. People with dark skin are bad.” “What????!” Mike said. Mathew casually responded, “Yeah, Mommy said that. That people with dark skin are bad.” Great. So great. Here I’m trying to teach my child all these great lessons in acceptance and to be a loving little being, and it’s going to come back and bite me in the butt. I can only imagine the things that Matthew will be telling his best little buddy, Mason, at school – Mason, who happens to be darker skinned and whose parents we hung out with at the pumpkin patch. I now live in fear of the moment, when Mrs. Mac asks me to stay after class. I’ll be SO busted, by the preschool teacher…for something that I’m SO not guilty of. That would NOT be mighty perfection.

The wedding was beautiful. So, so beautiful. And SO exciting. Liane and Jeff shared their first kiss on the altar. (Mike and I easily admit that we were disappointed with the quickness of the event – it wasn’t even long enough to get a picture!). But we made sure that at the reception they shared numerous others – frequently initiating the obnoxious clinking of glasses and hitting-of-plates-with-forks that signifies the requirement for a bride and groom smooch. The first time our table started it, Liane looked over quizzically – the photographer had to bend over and explain, “You’re supposed to kiss.”

They are such a perfect couple – absolutely made from the same cookie-cutter – and they were so happy and humbled yesterday by the beauty of their special day and the love emanating from everyone present. I was so happy for them. I smiled ‘til my cheeks hurt, laughed and cried. (No worries: I came prepared with Kleenex and waterproof mascara. I’m quite a clean cryer. I do it well. Lots of practice).

I’m happy to report that my practice paid off (ridiculous amounts of practice, Mike would have you know) – I didn’t mess up on my reading at the wedding and MORE important and exciting – I didn’t fall on my face and moon everybody walking up to the mic in my high and oh-so pretty heels. Here’s a question: why must women suffer for beauty? When we got back to the hotel after the wedding last night, it was determined (by me) that I looked too darn good to check-in early for the night. We’ve got built-in babysitters for the weekend; we best make the most of it. So, I changed (dressed down a little) and put on my cute shoes #2 – a pair of slip-on, shiny silver high wedges. Why, oh why, must women suffer for beauty?! I even said to Mike on our walk up to the bar/bumpin’ night-spot that I’d decided that life is “too short to wear ugly – yet comfortable shoes. I don’t get to go out much,” I said, “so I might as well look smokin’ hot when I do.” Having cute, sexy shoes really helps with that whole goal of being the Ultimate Hotness. And thanks to both pairs of cute shoes #1 and #2, I’d achieved. I was THE Ultimate Hotness. About two minutes further down the street I said, “life is way too short to wear cute – yet completely uncomfortable shoes.” I had a blister the size of…Texas…appearing on the top side of my left foot where the cute, sassy shiny silver strap was rubbing my cute, sassy foot totally and thoroughly raw. Not so cute and sassy anymore, huh? Here I thought that cute shoes #2 (the silver shiny strappy wedges) would be more comfortable than the shoes I wore to the wedding – cute shoes #1 (a pair of sparkly and bedazzled bronze multi-strappied, oober-high heels). Cute shoes #1 rubbed my baby toes the wrong way, cute shoes #2 rubbed the top sides of my feet the wrong way. My feet now look as if I ran a marathon and suffered extensive damage. Mike gave me a piggy-back ride some of the way back to the hotel. But at least my toes are still pedicured nicely and thanks to last night’s damage I’m forced to wear my hopefully-more-comfortable but cute shoes #3 (periwinkle and black dressy flip-flops that sport a periwinkle flower on the top – between my big toe and 2nd toe). We won’t be walking that much today – we have to wait for a couple hours for our airport shuttle bus, then we’ll sit at the airport for a couple hours, then we’ll sit on the plane for several hours…what with all this sitting around, wearing cute shoes is practically a requirement.

October 5, 2007

My dreams are coming true. It’s 5:35 in the morning, I only got about four hours of sleep last night, but I don’t care. I’m at the airport – sitting in a fairly comfortable leather chair, looking out the window at the pitch black sky beyond the runway. We flew through security – no strollers, no carseats, it was a dream – and now we have an hour until our flight to Dallas. I’ve got Kara plugged in and look oh-so important. I can just imagine people seeing me (“Wow, look at her – typing away on her laptop at 5:30 in the morning, she must be very important. She’s working…or maybe she’s an author. Wait! Isn’t that Jenny Martin…THE Jenny Martin?!”)

Traveling without kids is like…it’s like a date! We’re having a weekend-long date. I even carefully planned my outfit for today (well, of course I planned my clothes for Liane’s rehearsal and dinner tonight, but I mean my butt-crack-o-dawn flight outfit). I’m Casual-and-Comfy-Yet-Cute Sporty Spice for my day of travel. And so far, my date has been a perfect gentleman. He lugged the heavy suitcase, carried the carry-on laptop bag and he’s currently on a coffee run – hunting down one of the 250+ Starbucks at SeaTac airport. (OK, maybe not that many, but I wouldn’t be surprised if the number were way up there).

I do worry (very selfishly, I know) that on the plane we’ll end up sitting next to a single mother traveling alone with her two toddlers and colicky infant. I, of course, will feel her pain and will spend the entire flight walking a cranky wee one up and down the airplane aisle. But there’s something to it not being your own kid.

I will definitely miss my kiddos. Wouldn’t you know that yesterday, as we spent the day at home playing, doing laundry and packing, my boys were excessively cute (mixed with moments of seriously not-so-cute crankiness)? They were the right balance of I’ll make it so you CAN’T wait to leave but then you’ll feel SO GUILTY that you left us and that you couldn’t wait to leave us that you’ll have a ridiculously hard time checking the guilt at the gate. But darn it! I’m determined to gate check-it. What dedicated parental unit wouldn’t enjoy two weekends away from their offspring?...ahh, my coffee and date has arrived! Wait, I better not rest my Latte on Kara – the last thing I need is a coffee-in-keyboard laptop. Oh wait, I already have that.

Matthew is giving the art of guilt-tripping his absolute all. 100% effort. No sign of weakness. It’s currently “Quiet Time” in the Martin household. Quiet Time ideally means that it’s quiet…time. Zach is napping and Matthew should be having some quality time with Green Bear in his room, playing with Legos, listening to an audio book or looking at books. But no. Instead, recently, Matthew has declared that he no longer wants to do Quiet Time in his room – he wants his Legos out in the living room. This isn’t – and shouldn’t be – a huge deal…but then Quiet Time turns into “Lay it on Thick” Time.

I was trying to work on my book a bit ago (since this is the only time during the day – unless I get up early) that I can do so. But I couldn’t really concentrate when all I could focus on was the steady stream of whining. It started like this: “Mommmmmmy. I NEEEEED you to come PLAAAAAYYYY with me…I get very tired when you don’t play with me.” Then it turned into this: “Mommy. I LOVE you. I need you to play with me because I love you SOOOOOOOOOOoooooo much…Don’t you want to play with me? Why don’t you want to play with me? You’re a fun Mommy and I want you to play with me.” See the change of tactic there? He figured his odds for my caving were much better should he go the guilt-trip, butter-me-up route. Hahaha! How he underestimates my will of steel – my complete and total dedication to MY Quiet Time. (He finally gave up and went to play Legos in his room).

Now, if that isn’t enough for you to judge me – (What kind of mother wouldn’t cave under those loving pleas?) – I will now provide with some more proof as to why Mike and I deserve the “Deliquent Parents of the Year” award. We abandoned the boys this past weekend – they were in good, loving and capable hands – but we totally ditched them. We went to Eastern Washington for an Engaged Encounter hootenanny. Well, technically it’s the Unit 3 Board Meeting but the board meetings are WAY too much fun to call them meetings.

We got put up in a house of another EE couple – pretty much a mansion where we had our own Master Suite (the house had two!) complete with ginormous bathroom with soaking tub. We spent Saturday evening doing a ‘blind’ wine tasting. (Everyone brought wine from their region – Washington, Idaho, Oregon, but it turns out Montana doesn’t have wine or there would’ve been some). All the bottles were placed in brown paper bags (classy, huh?) and numbered. So, we just drank away trying to pick our favorites and guess what they were. Then on Sunday before we came home, Mike and I stopped at a vineyard and did some more wine tasting. Mike drove. I drank. We left with two beautiful wine glasses and a few bottles – one for us, one for my parents and one for our friends who hosted Matthew for his first ever sleepover on Saturday night.

[Ahh, beautiful segue, which I still think should be spelled “segway”…] SO, Matthew went on his first ever sleepover! That’s right – four years old and the kid is doing slumber parties! Matthew (and Zach) spent Friday night at my parents’ house and then Saturday, Matthew got to go to his best pal, Jack’s birthday party and then spend the night. We met Jack’s parents, Megan and Kelly, in childbirth class, so the boys have literally known each other since before Day One. And Matthew LOVES Jack and anyone slightly related to him. Megan reported that Matthew is officially a Sleepover SuperStar. The best story of the night happened around bed time.

The boys were getting all tucked in and settled to sleep when Matthew said that he didn’t want to have bad dreams. Megan assured him that they chase all of the bad dreams out of their house, so there was no need to worry. Matthew thought about that and replied, “But my bad dreams are in my eyes, so when I close my eyes they’re there.” Without skipping a beat, Megan blew into Matthew’s eyes and said, “There! I just blew away all the bad dreams. You’re good to go.” Matthew thought that was hilarious! (When I heard that I thought that’s just another reason why I need to take parenting lessons from Megan). Then, Megan suggested that the boys – though they had to stay in their own beds – could talk a little bit about the good things that they wanted to dream about. With that, she left the room….only to return a few minutes later when she heard nothing but hysterical laughing coming from Jack’s bedroom.

“What’s so funny?” she asked.

Matthew, who was busting a gut laughing, managed to squeak out, “We’re going to dream that Jack and I are at the beach….giggle giggle….and that we sit down in the sand….haha…and TOOT IN THE SAND!” And with that the boys both collapsed into gales of laughter again. Needless-to-say, they had a great time…and Matthew was in bed for a nap by noon.

So, the reason why you need to thoroughly judge us (because I do) is we’re leaving our children behind AGAIN THIS weekend. We fly out of SeaTac at the butt crack ‘o dawn on Friday morning for Dallas to go to Liane’s wedding. Liane is my best friend from college, Freshmen year roommate, one of my bridesmaids and fellow Marathoner…she’s gotta be a good friend to listen to me talk for five hours of running. I ADORE HER. And I ADORE her man – Jeff. As much as Mike and I are absolute opposites-attract-types she and Jeff are exact carbon-copy-types. Jeff is pretty much the boy version of Liane. They are so stinkin’ cute together and will go forth and make the most stinkin’ cute little Korean-American babies that you ever did see. And….drumroll please….they haven’t even kissed!!! They’re saving their first kiss for the altar. Now, that’s a lot of pressure. I mean, when they’ve waited that long to kiss, what’s the likelihood that they’ll actually pull apart and come up for air anytime soon? I’m thinking it’ll be a long wedding.

And since I’m the first to admit that I completely judge us and our parental dedication (or lack thereof) for ditching the boys two weekends in a row, I will also be the first to offer the following confession: I am SO excited to travel without children. I’m excited to sit on a plane for five hours with my book and my laptop. I’m excited should we get delayed at an airport! I’m excited to not have to travel with car seats and oodles of baby gear – heck! We aren’t even going to rent a car! And I’m super excited that it’s 90 degrees in Dallas right now! (It’s currently cold and windy and rainy in Seattle…welcome to October in the northwest)!

Alas, Quiet Time has come and gone. The boys are here eating Goldfish crackers and whining…and asking questions…and begging for more food…and dropping food on the floor. I AM going to miss them this weekend – maybe not the whining part – but I will miss them. I mean it.

Matthew threw up last night. It’s a bad sign. I had stomach ookiness for a few days last week (still kind of have stomach strangeness…which is one step up from stomach ookiness for those of you not up on the terminology), so it appears that the stomach ookiness could, in fact, be a contagious kind. Although, with Matthew it’s hard to tell. He takes after me in the stomach ookiness realm – he’s prone to it. He’s proving to be a pukey child just like I was. He almost always vomits at some point during a cold since he still doesn’t blow his nose to get all the nastiness out.

Unfortunately, the vomiting last night was one of those very unfortunate vomir experiences. We’d been sitting at the table attempting to get Matthew to eat something (toast) which he was refusing to do. If the kid won’t eat carbs that’s a sign in this house that something is definitely amiss. Matthew started to act a little gaggy, so I jumped and ran to the bathroom to get our “puke bucket.” (Yes, we call it that). Hearing Mike’s cry of alarm alerted me to the fact that I wasn’t going to make it in time. It was too late. Vomit. All over. Dining table, Matthew, Mike, floor. Every where. What amazes me the most about Matthew is that he has completely mastered the vomit skill, unlike me; he’s hardly fazed by it. I’ve spent a lifetime as a pukey soul and still struggle with it. Well, who really enjoys throwing up, but still, some are better than others. Matthew is one of the good ones. And last night’s vomiting took the cake. Mid-gasp – I mean he wasn’t even completely done – Matthew pants out, “Mommy, I love you, but I’m yucky.” Mid-puke! So, what do I say? What any parent would say: “Matthew, I love you too, even when you’re yucky.”

I’m happy to report that the vomiting does force things like a deep cleaning of the carpet on and around the incident and a total table wipe-down. Sadly, it may take a throw-up incident for me to finally getting around to washing the windows. Every window in the living room and dining room area currently acts as our growth chart. – we interrupt this fascinating BLOG with an important update: at the very moment that I was typing, I looked over to see Matthew commence at throwing up his oatmeal breakfast all over himself, the sofa and Nick. Well, there’s another area of our home that has now received a thorough cleaning. Thank you. Some people measure their kids and draw the little pencil line on the wall or the back of the pantry door, not us; not here. In our house, all we have to do to see how the boys have grown is look at the windows. The hand prints gradually have gotten bigger and the face smears are a little taller – smooshed lip-impressions higher up on the glass.

It might be time to do something about this situation. This morning while I typed this (pre-couch vomiting episode), I looked out the living room window and thought, Hmm, it’s raining and really foggy out there now. Weird. Just a second ago I looked out the dining room and saw nothing but blue skies. Yes, that’s when I realized I was looking through the window at the boys’ exact look-out spot, and my view was clouded and hazy, filtered through oodles of face and hand prints.

Nine times out of ten, passersby on our street can look up at our front window and see two little heads pop up – one brown and one blond – above the sofa and smile and wave, faces pressed to the glass. My philosophy: why bother wiping away the face smooshes of their youth when A.) they’ll just do it again and leave new smears and B.) before I know it they’ll be too old for leaving face smooshes on my windows. I should savor them while they last, right?

Thanks to Zachary’s latest adventures (dancing a jig while dumping luke-warm coffee all over Kara, my laptop); my keyboard now makes a satisfying click-click-click sound whilst I type. I’m actually a fan of the post-stale and crusty coffeed keyboard. It makes me feel like I’m working on a typewriter. I should be in a dust mote-filled, sepia-hued office in a film noir, wearing a trench coat. My Fedora hangs on the coat tree behind the desk – empty save for my trusty typewriter. Most likely I’m a detective/private eye named Wednesday or Thursday…maybe Friday. I’m awaiting a visit from some mysterious visitor. The pouring rain outside splatters against the only window in the dimly lit office. A soft knock on the frosted glass door alerts me to the arrival of said mysterious visitor. Click-click-cli…my fingers pause mid-type as I slowly roll back from the desk ready to…

OK, my clicking keyboard has carried me away. The only thing really mysterious about my life right now is how a being as small as Zachary can possibly produce so much snot from two cute and innocent-looking nostrils. Yes, barely a month after our post-California trip colds, the Snot Fairy has landed at the Martin Household…again. And the Snot Fairy brought with her a friend – the evil Fever and Stomach Issues Nymph. I hate her. Hate is a strong word that I rarely use, but there’s just nothing pleasant about a visit from Fever and Stomach Issues Nymph. We’re nearly out of Kleenex thanks to Snot Fairy and we’re scraping by on the remaining squares of toilet paper thanks to her Nymph pal. Like I said, I hate her. Although she has helped me lose a couple of pounds…but still, I hate her.

Somehow, while Zach and I suffered, Mike and Matthew were able to delay their sickness a few days. Therefore despite my issues, we still managed to get Matthew to his first full week of preschool. And it is full – we go Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday mornings now. Then with my music classes on Fridays that only leaves us with one morning when we aren’t scrambling to be ready for the day. Welcome to the real world, I guess – a world where pajamas aren’t really socially acceptable past 10am!

The one small blessing Snot Fairy brought with her was the inability to smell any weird crusty, mustiness at Matthew’s preschool. I arrived on Monday with nostrils flaring, inhaling like a hunting dog on a mission but was unable to detect any Church Basement Stank. Maybe they did, in fact, get the place aired out – the stink and musty smell could have been from a summer of being closed up followed by a thorough carpet cleaning that temporarily released all stinkiness into the air. Mike reassured me that when he brought Matthew to preschool on Wednesday he, too, embarked on some serious sniffage. He thought everything smelled fine. Phew. The last thing I need is to pull Matthew from another preschool. It’s mid-September! I’d never find something else which means I’d be facing a year of being a hands-on, semi-educational mother! Pa-lease!
[CORRECTION: should you want to visit the website for Matthew’s marvelous and STINK-FREE preschool it is: www.highlandspreschool.com with an S at the end of highland…missed that the first time].

Zachary is in the stage of life where the word “No” is funny to him. (Mommy says it in a louder, deeper mean mommy voice; therefore it must be a joke and mean that whatever activity I’m involved in is both ingenious and hilarious). So this is the response that I received this morning to my yelling of “No! No! Oh no! Stop! Oh no!” when I found Zach standing on the dining room table dumping my mug of luke warm coffee all over my laptop keyboard. (The thoughts in my head were definitely worse than “No! No! Oh no! Stop! Oh no!”) Haha! That mommy of mine. She’s SO great. She must really love my new game of ‘laptop coffee dump’ since she’s making so much noise. She must really be telling me how wonderful I am! Man, I rock…I AM hilarious with all this coffee dumping. And she really liked my dancing on the table top yesterday, though she likes this show even better! Now that she’s busy cleaning up the coffee mess (I don’t see why she bothers though…) I think I’ll go jump on the couch and then do a headstand off of it.”

The good news is that Kara, my laptop, doesn’t seem to have suffered any permanent damage (other than emitting a slight coffee smell, which quite frankly, I enjoy).

Matthew attended his second day of preschool today. Yesterday was Open House where both he and I stayed and met his teacher, Mrs. Mac, and played together for an hour. He definitely approved of the truck selection on the playground. He could hardly wait to get to school today. The parents sat out in the “big room” for Parent Orientation while the kids experienced their first hour of flying solo in class. Only two or three of the twenty kids (in the two 3’s and 4-year-old classes) came sobbing out to their parents. Matthew certainly wasn’t one of them. The second Mrs. Mac opened the classroom door he was like, “See ya,” without even looking back.

My one, one little worry with this preschool – I know…if I quit another preschool this year, then I’ll probably be banned from ever enrolling in a preschool again, [“Oh, YOU’RE Matthew’s mom…you’re the one who joins preschool and then drops out because something just isn’t up to your standards…right. We know all about you.”] well, anyway my one issue is the smell. Yes, that’s right, I have an Odor Issue. (I’m seeking treatment for my OI problem). Here’s the issue: the preschool is in a church basement – which I knew ahead of time and visited and inspected thoroughly, if you’ll recall – and it smells of…of church basement. I inquired when I visited if the place gets cleaned and I was reassured that they were busy preparing for the carpets to be thoroughly cleaned that very weekend (four days ago) in preparations for the first day of school (yesterday). So, I was hoping yesterday to find a fresh-clean-scented school. No, it still smelled of church basement. Then today during parent orientation, after a while I thought, “hmmm, I have a little bit of a headache.” At the end of parent orientation, I overheard another mother asking Mrs. Mac about the smell and I thought, “Oh good, I’m not the only one suffering from OI.” Mrs. Mac reassured Other Mom that the windows are usually opened to air the place out and…I didn’t catch the rest. (I didn’t want to be too obvious in my eavesdropping). Out in the parking lot, I mentioned to Other Mom that I heard her mention the OI and I was glad not to be the only one.

She replied, “Yeah, it’s bad. If it doesn’t get better and they don’t do anything about it then I’m going to pull my daughter from this school. I had to take allergy medicine when I got home yesterday.”
This comment is what led to the worsening of my OI. What if it’s mold? What if this school will poison my child? I do have a headache, after all. Oh my gosh, it’s a brain tumor! I have cancer from the church basement stank. I can’t keep Matthew in a moldy, stanky odor church basement cancer school. The more I thought about it the more frustrated I became. But I LOVE this school. We’ve been registered for three different preschools in the last three weeks, and I was sure that the third time was the charm. I love the teacher, the curriculum, the playground, the classroom is great. It’s just the stanky, cancer mold that’s a problem.

The first chance I had I researched moldiness on-line. I, of course, am now an expert on things moldy, reactions to it and the ways to deal with it. I am thoroughly reassured that my headache was an unrelated fluke and not caused by mold. Turns out the whole mold thing usually takes a while to have an effect on the unsuspecting victim. (And headaches aren’t listed as one of the common side effects). So, I’ve concluded that the church basement stink is just that, church basement stink. It’s probably mildew at the very worst. Besides, it’s not like I’ll be there all that often to suffer through the stank…I’ll just drop Matthew off in his class and go. It’ll be fine. He’ll be fine. Anyways, it if is mold at least he’ll be getting a really great preschool education!

Here’s an update on the Adventures of the Martin Family (soon to be turned into a Major Motion Picture):

- Nick may be regressing. As reported earlier, our new little buddy (that I’m nannying this month) has declared that when he grows up, he wants to be a flower girl. I was given explicit directions from Nick’s parentals to work on this…and where better than in a house full of trucks and all things boy?! We had made a small improvement, sure enough at least now Nick does say that he wants to be a Flower Boy. Unfortunately, the influence of Nick’s five-year-old sister, Sydney will take some time to completely break. While Matthew and Nick were playing pirates, I walked into the room to find that Nick was completely bedazzled in all of the “treasure” – plastic bead necklaces. “Wow, Nick. Look at you!” I said. “Yeah, I’m a pretty princess!” He happily exclaimed. I broke that one to his dad Geoff, as easily as I could.

- Too many. To celebrate Matthew’s birthday, the boys (Matthew, Zachary and Nick) and I walked down to McDonalds and met up with friends for lunch and to play. As we commenced the walk home – Matthew walked while Nick and Zach were in the double-jogging stroller – we walked by the bank. An older woman had just exited. She looked at the boys. She looked at me. And then back at the boys. She shook her head disapprovingly and passionately said, “That’s WAY too many.” “Oh, well just these two are mine,” I said, gesturing to Zach and Matthew. But a second later, it hit me just how rude that comment had been. So what if I did have three kids close together – plenty of people out there do it. Later, when I thought about it, I regretted that I didn’t come up with something wittier to say. I could’ve placed my hand on my perma-belly-pooch and said, “Oh, well, actually we’re working on number 4…and since you said that, I think we’ll go for five!”

- Don’t bite. On Friday, Zachary and I were playing on our bed. It’s one of his favorite pastimes. He throws the pillows all around. Rolls on ‘em, under ‘em over ‘em…gets into general mischievous fun. Thus, we were playing on the bed and laughing away. My mouth was open (it was a good time – it was an open-mouth laugh) when somehow our faces totally collided. “Ow, shi…uuuut.” Escaped from my mouth as I felt my lips and checked to make sure no teeth had been knocked out. Oh, right. The kid. Zach had started to give a good cry. I inspected the damage and low and behold found that I had indeed left my mark on him. Right on his cheek – next to his nose – were two teeth mark gashes. One a top tooth and one a bottom tooth indent. Bad mommy. Don’t bite your children! People have asked when they see the little scabs, “Oh no! What happened?” And I mumble my answer: “I bit him.”

- Preschool trauma and drama. Somehow, I’m going to make a LONG story short. (Right, good luck with that one, Oh-Me-of-So-Few-Words). Matthew has been enrolled for preschool at the Renton Community Center (RCC) – same place he attended last year – since last Spring. This year he’d go Tues/Thursday mornings for 2 ½ hours. Andrea (also planning on doing the program for daughter Brooke) informed me that they were switching to the YMCA because it was a.) closer – a LOT closer and b.) longer – 3 hours instead of 2 ½, but I’m sure that the extra half hour makes all the difference in the world. We both withdrew from RCC and registered at the Y.

Last Wednesday night was parent orientation. The kids would have their first day the following morning. Andrea and I walked into the church basement room (where the Y is currently renting space) and found ourselves in an oversized storage closet – not a preschool classroom. And CERTAINLY not a classroom prepared to have 17 three and four-year-olds show up the next day for their first day of school. The place was crusty and musty, barren and blah. The teachers were kind of the same. The restrooms and nearest running water was down a long hallway. 40 minutes out of the three hour class schedule was allotted to shuttling kids to the potty and to wash hands. That’s 40 minutes of peeing and washing that we’re paying for! The teachers didn’t have answers to fairly important questions like, “So, there’s no running water in this room, do you have water for the kids to drink? What about drinking water for an emergency?” There response was, “Yes, there’s water in the emergency/disaster bins for …..hmm, I wonder where those are. We had them at the old building. Huh.” They were so not prepared and I was BEYOND not impressed. I could go on and on about all of the things that they didn’t seem prepared for. I could also go on and on about how unprepared I was for jumping into a new preschool without doing more research….but, whatever. Andrea and I walked out and looked at each other. “I think I need a drink,” I said.

After a lot of discussion we decided there was no way that Matthew would be going there. I pulled him out the next morning (when he should’ve been attending his first day). I called RCC to see if there was any chance there was still a spot for him in their class. Right. We’re 17th on the waiting list. Not going to happen. Don’t hold your breath. So, right when I was coming to terms with the fact that Matthew might not be in preschool this year, I might have to have him home with me ALL the time, I might have to actually start paying attention to him, maybe even attempting educational activities with him…I had a sudden thought! I remembered a preschool that one of my former music students had told me about. Actually, she dropped out of class because it conflicted with the preschool. I thought, any preschool that’s worth dropping my music class for, must be phenomenal! I called and found out that they’d had a cancellation THAT very morning. She’d hold it for a couple of hours but then she’d need to give it to someone else. I immediately jumped in the car to go see the facility and meet the teachers. (I was going to do some more in-depth research this time).

The teachers were all there – cleaning and organizing and decorating!!! Already a major improvement! One of the teachers spent nearly 25 minutes with me telling me all about the curriculum (they go on three field trips a year and have many special guests come throughout the year: musicians, magicians, firemen, policemen, etc.). She answered every question I could possibly think of and many that I never would have thought to ask. She knew her stuff and was definitely on top of things. And the bathrooms were RIGHT there! They have a fantastic playground for sunny days (including a sandbox and a vast toy truck supply – a requirement for Matthew) and they have a huge room for indoor play (on the many Seattle rainy days) equipped with tricycles, climbing equipment, tumbling mats, etc. Check out the website too: www.highlandpreschool.com – a website! With information! Imagine that! I’m sold. Wait, it gets better! It’s cheaper than the Y program PLUS an additional day! Matthew will be there Mondays, Tuesdays, and Wednesdays from 9:15-11:30am. That’s three mornings a week he’ll be gone. I’m sure Zachary and I will just sit around twiddling our thumbs until it’s time to pick him up! (Mike has already asked, “So, that’s three mornings a week that you’ll only have one kiddo, what are you going to do during that time?” Translation: Don’t spend it “running errands” also known as “spending money.”)

- Crazy-Busy. So, I’ve gotten you all caught up on our lives. Oh, no wait. I forgot something. We walked down today to the Newcastle Days (little town fair/festival). Both Matthew and Zach went on a pony ride and loved it. Zach barked at the pony the whole time. (According to Mr. Genius Zachary all non-human mammals bark including deer, rabbits, squirrels, sometimes ducks and ponies too, it turns out).

I may be MIA for a bit. Matthew starts preschool – his AWESOME three-day-a-week preschool – this week. I’ll also be watching Nick Tues-Friday, and I start up the Fall session of Little Ditties music class on Friday. SO I need to plan for that, and we’re trying like crazy to finish painting in the entryway and down by the music room -slash- laundry room before class rolls around. And because of school starting up and Nick arriving early, Andrea and I are now meeting for our MWF runs at 6am! Crazy-Busy, indeed.

HAPPY 4TH BIRTHDAY, MATTHEW!!!! Four? FOUR! Can you believe that it’s been four years since “I don’t think he’s going to like that name [Abigail Madeline]” Mr. HUGE surprise?! Crazy. Four. I remember four. It wasn’t that long ago. OK, well, it doesn’t feel like it was that long ago.

Yesterday was my first day watching little Nick (2 ½ yrs. old) from up the street. The combination of three boys ripping around this house was a little madness. But Mr. Nick, out of all three boys here, was BY FAR the most well behaved. Way to go Martin Boys. Nick is quiet and mellow and sweet, and it was all Matthew and Zachary could do to keep from smothering Nick in their love and adoration. And Zach couldn’t resist entirely. I heard Nick croaking something. I looked over and saw that Zach was squeezing Nick as hard as he could in a neck-hug of total devotion. Nick was quietly squeaking “Get off me….get off me, please.” Zach adores him and Matthew thinks he’s pretty darn cool too.

And how successfully my first day with all three boys was! I got them all down for naps at 2pm and they were out for two hours! Matthew had me up at 5:20am with a bad dream and I stayed up for an early run with Andrea, so I was pretty wiped. I managed to nap for an hour and a half! I’m working hard for my money.

Nick has a 5 yr. old sister, Sydney, who is as girlie as they come. She showed up today to drop Nick off and to head off to her second day of school dressed in sparkly top and metallic silver cowboy boots. I asked her what she wants to be when she grows up and she said, “a Rock Star.” This boy-infested, truck-obsessed household is absolutely the best place for Nick to spend the next month. I asked him yesterday what he wants to be when he grows up and he said, “A Flower Girl.” Matthew looked at Nick and said, “Huh?! You can’t be a Flower Girl. You gotta be a firefighter like me.” I told Geoff, Nick’s dad the story, and then with Sydney announcing her Rock Star aspirations this morning, he just looked towards the sky and said, “A Rock Star and a boy Flower Girl…help us.” I promised him that after a month with us, Nick will want to only be things manly: bulldozer driver, fire fighter, pirate…or in the very least a Flower Boy.

Mike has gone all Dr. Phil on me. Let me explain. So, Matthew, last night was acting all crazy – really wild and emotional, bouncing off the walls, general tom-foolery, etc. Turns out the poor child is sick. He was fine yesterday – well, behavior-wise, not so fine, but health-wise; fine. He woke up today complaining of a tummy ache but was in good spirits, otherwise. We went to church where he proceeded to just lie across us through the entire Mass (sign #1 that something wasn’t right), he passed up the offer of fruit snacks (this is when I really wondered what was up), didn’t finish his donut (there’s something seriously wrong with this child!), complained of being hot and cold and hot and cold in the car and begged to go straight to bed when we got home. His temperature at noon was 99.4 – not terrible, but he definitely didn’t feel well. He took a three hour long nap and perked up a bit during the afternoon. Tonight, at bed time he started fading again and had a temperature of 101.9. Thankfully, his Tylenol kicked in and he came out of his room, feeling much better and ready to party until way past bedtime.

So, last night because of Matthew’s bad-choice-making behavior, I said that he couldn’t come with me to visit the kitties next door. (Our neighbors are out of town for a couple of days, so we get to cat-sit). Matthew was absolutely devastated that he didn’t get to come visit the felines and proceeded to wail and sob and carry-on in the most tragic – and loud – way. I could hear him next door!

Mike, in a moment of complete parental peace and tranquility, asked Matthew why he was sad. They discussed that Matthew’s actions had caused the consequence of not being able to visit the cats with me. Then, in a moment of pure child psychology-genius, Mike channeled his inner-Dr. Phil and asked Matthew to draw him a picture of how this all made him feel. Matthew, being the complete artist prodigy and genius that HE is, commenced at drawing a self-portrait complete with TEARS running down his cheeks. (If this doesn’t make you do the Oprah-ugly-that’s-just-so-darn-touching-Cry than there’s no hope for you). Matthew began his picture again this time drawing sad Matthew sitting on a bus. Matthew explained that he was sad on the bus because he’ll be going to a new preschool [starting this week] and won’t have Ms. Susan for a teacher anymore. Then, in the last artistic masterpiece, Matthew drew yet another bus and yet another Matthew – this one without tears. He added another little person on the bus. “Who’s that?” Mike asked. Matthew smiled, “That’s Jack. He’s going to come to my preschool to make me feel all better.”

Jack is Matthew’s special-good-pal from our childbirth class. Matthew is, shall we say, just a little obsessed with Jack…and his mom (my good friend) Megan. Anytime we’re playing – trucks, legos, workermen, whatever – the toys are named Jack and Megan. He named plants in our backyard: Jack, Jackie, Jack’s Grandma, and Megan. Every once in a while, Matthew refuses to answer to the name Matthew and claims that he is Jack and I am his mother, Megan. Now, we love Jack and Megan just as much as Matthew but we’re a little concerned. It’s touching that Matthew wants to bring Jack to his preschool to make him feel better, but we may just have to have Dr. Mike look into this whole obsession a bit more.

In the meantime, Matthew and I discussed preschool a bit more tonight when he was feeling better. He said that he’d be sad because I’d leave him there but he’d be OK too ‘cuz he was going to put a force-field around himself to protect himself. I pray that the force be with him.

http://picasaweb.google.com/mike.james.martin/ New pictures: Disneyland, John Deere cucumber craftiness and more!

Job security. That’s the only reason I can come up with that they would have an entire row of open boxes of DONUTS at the gym. Thank you, 24 Hour Fitness, for congratulating us on finally making it into the gym and exercising. Thank you for treating us with PURE FATTY SUGAR! Cruel. Just cruel. The boys though, who had been playing in the Kids’ Club, were pretty happy to stumble upon the donut buffet.

Zachary has LOVED the Kids’ Club. It’s been months since I took the boys with me to the gym. Zach had been going through the whole separation anxiety thing, so I usually got pulled out of Spin Class to attend to my poor, suffering, tortured child. And because Zach was so upset, it upset Matthew. I decided recently that it was time to try again.

Zach took one look at the place and was like, “Woo hoo! What IS this place? This is awesome!” and took off running to see all the toys. Matthew, on the other hand, scarred by the last traumatic visits to the gym, does not easily forget. HE was totally upset to be there. He cried the whole way and then barricaded the Kids’ Club door so as not to let me in. (Yes, not at all awkward as I realize that everyone on the treadmills and stair climbers are watching me pry my sobbing child off the door frame just so I can quickly deposit him into the last place on Earth he wants to be). It was reported to me by a fellow mom that after I left, he cried for about a minute, rubbed his face and trotted off to inspect the truck supply (they have a decent collection, I might add). I don’t care if she was lying…it helped with my severe mommy-guilt.

Yesterday at the gym, as I checked the boys in, I saw that there was an 18 month old girl who had signed in just before us. Her name was Orphelia Martin. (Orphelia?! That’s not one you hear every day. I actually really like it though. But Martin – now there’s a name I could live with). Anyway, as soon as Zach was released into the wild of Kids’ Club kingdom, he went straight up to a little lady about his size. (Turns out it was Ms. Orphelia). The two tykes immediately started playing “house.” (Opening and closing the different parts of the play kitchen).

Orphelia looked over at me and shyly smiled. One of the childcare attendants said, “Wow! She rarely smiles. She’s the sweetest thing but really pretty quiet and serious. Her Mom speaks French.” (Hmmm…is this supposed to explain why the child has a more serious disposition?)

“Oh, that’s funny! I speak French too…and we have the same last name.” (Do I always sound like this much of a genius?!).

“No way!” she said. “Then they [Orphelia and Zachary] speak the same language. They can totally talk to each other!” Speak the same language?! Zach is 16 months old!! I’m not even sure if he speaks English. Well, he says the important things: hi, wow, uh-oh, all-doh (all done), ow, MaMa, DaDa and MAAAAAAAAAAAA (for Matthew).

Anyway, it is ironic that just in the last week or so I began speaking French a lot more. I really should be doing it more with the boys, and I need to keep up with it. So, I’ve decided that I’ll speak some chaque jour. Usually, when I speak French, Matthew will yell, “STOP TALKING FRENCH AT ME!!” Now he just responds to my French with a flowing-sounding, “blahblahblah, blowbleeblahbluuu, blahblahh.”

Zachary, with the help of baby sign language, too, is picking it up really quickly. Now, if I say, “Tu veux manger quelque chose?” He’ll trot right over to his high chair ready to mange (eat). And if I ask “Fini?” He’ll sign “all done.”

In the last week, that I started speaking French everyday, there have suddenly been native Francophones coming out of the wood-work! (And yes, Francophone is, actually, the real word for it. I can’t take credit for that one). We got a phone call from a woman at my therapist’s office. Her name was Veronique and by the hint of her accent, I immediately knew she was one of them. So what did I do? I spontaneously continued our conversation in French. What did she do? She continued on in English and didn’t acknowledge my Frenchly attempts.

Later that same day, up at our little neighborhood park, there was a woman speaking French to two children. So, again, I jumped at the chance and quickly started to parler with her. She was fantastic – very complimentary of my accent – and didn’t make any attempt to slow down her French or speak in English to me. It was great!

Last week, we saw Matthew’s buddy, Maxime who goes to the French Immersion School. They just got back from spending all summer in France visiting Maxime’s dad’s family. So, Maxime is completely in French mode and can’t shake it. It was so fun speaking French with a four-year-old! Patricia was telling us that when they were in France, if there was a word that Maxime didn’t know, he’d simply say it with an accent. Par example, he was telling people about his race car bed back at home, so he said, “J’ai un lit de…rrrrrace carrrrr.” (Complete with guttural French r’s).

Later, Maxime rattling on in French was being helped by Cathy (not at all a Francophone) with putting on his shoes. He’s going on and on en francais about his new Spiderman back-pack. Cathy tried explaining to him that she doesn’t speak French. So, he should speak English to most people and save the French for at home and at school. Maxime looked at Cathy for a moment and taking a big breath replied, “Oui, mais regarde mon nouveau sac-a-dos…” Cathy sighed and shook her head.

A few minutes later, I hear Cathy from the other room say, “English, par favor!”

So, back to yesterday, and our newest little French friend. When I went to pick up the boys from the Kids’ Club, the ladies were all excited to tell me about Zachary and Orphelia.

“They spent the whole time playing together…they didn’t leave each other’s side. After a while they walked around holding hands. And when Orphelia’s mom came to pick her up, Zach stood at the door, resting his head on the gate and kept waving to her. He looked so sad!”

“Hmmm…if they get married, she wouldn’t even have to change her last name!” (And I’d get to speak French even more, I thought). I’ve got it all figured out.

I’ve had plenty of time to practice my French (out loud to myself) while painting. We got the entire entryway painted. I have some more doors down now that I’m working on and am starting in on some of the doorways and trim. I’d like to get the entry way completely finished before music class starts back up in a couple of weeks. And, starting next week, life will be even busier. I’ll be watching a little boy from up the street (Nick, 2 ½ years old, very sweet, was in my music class for a while) just for the month of September. It works out to only being a 3 day week, a 4 day week and two 5 day weeks, but about 9 hours a day of having three boys ripping around to watch! I’ve got music class to get ready for and Matthew starts preschool next week, so things are getting busy!

I can’t wait to be done with this house painting project, so I can have more free time for writing. Even though I’ve been staying up late to paint, I’ve, for the most part, been managing to get up early to run or get to the gym, but I haven’t been able to write much. I’m looking forward to getting back to my book (mid-grade chapter book)….I have about 40 pages and I love it! (It’s pretty darn good, if I do say so, myself).

With three boys ripping around here for a month, I’ll have all sorts of blog material and yet no time to blog!

We’re having one last hurrah today before life gets even crazier. We have a babysitter coming to stay with Zach, and Mike and I are taking Matthew to see Ratatouille. I’m thrilled, what with all this French, to see a film about a Parisian rat! C’est trop parfait.

Breaking News: this JUST in. We interrupt this witty Blog conclusion, to inform you that a deer was JUST seen meandering through the backyard of the Martin’s. In the five years that the Martins have been in residence at 7337 127th PL, they have seen deer twice in the last two months in their yard. (Before that, wildlife consisted of squirrels, the occasional rabbit, a raccoon – once, and three random and horny ducks). This concludes our breaking news report.

[I wrote this on Aug. 25th and forgot to post it on-line!]

It’s a little scary just how brilliant these children are. Yesterday, I casually mentioned to Matthew, “Hmm, this room is a mess; we should pick up your books.” Neither Matthew nor I immediately made a move. Zachary – who was on the other side of the room – came rushing over right away and started putting books up on the shelf. He’s not even 16 months old!! (OK, well, he will be in three days, but still…)

Later, I was taping off the hallway at the bottom of the stairs getting ready to paint. Zachary wandered over to inspect what I was doing. I realized that we hadn’t changed his diaper since he’d gotten up from nap a little while before, “Zach, we need to change your diaper,” I said continuing with my taping. A moment later, I heard Zach behind me. He was handing me the packet of baby wipes. He took me by the hand and walked me over to the little Elmo sofa on the floor where he proceeded to lie down and wait for me to change him. C’est incroyable!

Matthew, who we also know is a genius beyond all measure, has reached an interesting stage of boyhood. He’s come to the place where everything is a “good guy” or a “bad guy.” Despite the fact that he’s never watched anything violent – nothing with guns – in our home, every object can and will be turned into some sort of shooting, self-defense device.

Last night, we’d gone to the neighborhood park with some of our little neighbors – Sydney and Nick. Somehow it had fallen upon my shoulders that I was the “bad guy” who was chasing them. (I was actually thinking of the game more in terms of tag or ‘catch me if you can;’ but without failure I soon found myself being referred to as “bad guy mommy.”) At one point, I ran around the play structure and found myself face-to-face with Matthew holding still and ready in a position of attack. He let loose with his version of a common boy theme, the “you’re a bad guy, and I’m going to kill you” or “Die! Bad guy!” verbal attack that accompanies the spraying or shooting of said-bad guy.

Just before he sprayed me with his imaginary “fire hose,” Matthew yelled, “You’re a bad guy and I’m going to get you to heaven!” If this is the most vicious thing that Matthew can come up with when fighting off a bad guy, I’ll take it.

* * * * *

Bob and Therese Buckley – my parental units, my kin, my folks, the spring from which I offed – are celebrating their 40th wedding anniversary tomorrow. FORTY YEARS!!! That’s a LONG time. Over the years, there were some sad times – particularly the years of “BJ” – Before Jenny – that they so fondly refer to wistfully. What, did they do for the first 13 years of marriage before my blessed arrival into their lives? I’m fairly certain that they sat on a retro, plaid sofa somewhere and twiddled their thumbs. So, while I can’t reflect on all of their forty years of marriage, I can reflect on the 27 years of which I’ve played a crucial role. I came up with a list forty things about my parents. They included everything from, having the ability to fix anything with duct tape, to sleeping on the floor in an empty condo with three chicken-pox riddled children (that's one heck of a story!), showing up on our wedding night at the ER still in their tux and mother-of-the-bride dress, making one heck of a Bourbon Slush, becoming President and First Lady (of their Condo Board), making all sorts of crafty, home-made costumes (the kind my kids will never have, once Grandma kicks the can), and they've watched "A Christmas Story" and lit their "electric sex" leg lamp in the front window for many, many years.....these are just a sampling of the many characteristics that make my parents so amazing.

What was I thinking?! How on Earth did I manage not to realize that if it all happened at once, suddenly my life would loose so very much of its’ meaning? On the same day that I had my last ever therapy session (well, at least last insurance-covered session for 2007), I had to also sadly say adieu to So You Think You Can Dance (SYTYCD) – only, possibly THE BEST reality TV show of all time which has become my best friend come Wednesday and Thursday evenings. So, my show and my therapy come crashing to an end on the same day. Then, while still reeling from the loss of those two vital aspects of my existence, an even worse reality comes to fruition. We finished Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. Book 7. The end of the series. The end of an era. How, I ask you, how will I get through this?

Mike and I have read all of the Harry Potter books out loud together. We’ve read them since we were dating. We read one of the books driving to Spokane to stay with Mike’s family at the lake house. We read another one the night that we got stuck on Snoqualimie Pass in the snow storm. We had to pee in the woods next to the highway and slept in the car until 4am – reading the book outloud to keep our minds off how cold we were. We finished book 4 the week after our wedding, when we were supposed to be on our Honeymoon but instead were lying low due to Mike’s cancer. We read book 5, the summer that I was pregnant with Matthew. Mike read the entire book out loud – we finished it in a week. I didn’t read much because in-utero Matthew was pushing on my lungs and diaphragm so much I couldn’t get a deep breath. Mike read book 6 to me in the evenings while I painted the family room downstairs. And just two nights ago, we finished the series. Mike read while I painted doorframes and doors. He read and read and read. And then it was done. I don’t know how I’ll move on.

OK, but I’ll manage. I don’t have a choice – these boys keep me busy, keep my mind off of the lack of therapy, the lack of SYTYCD, the lack of Potter.

I discovered Zachary up to an interesting activity the other day. I’d left the room (the nerve! Using the restroom! What was I thinking?) and came back find that Zachary had climbed up on to the dining room table and was typing some additional comments into an email I’d been writing. I couldn’t help but keep his added note. I’m sure my friend Kate enjoyed hearing from him.

On Saturday, we went to dinner at our friends Jason and Rebecca’s house. Matthew and Joshua (2 ½) were happily playing downstairs. Rebecca had gone into the kitchen and wondered why she could hear them so well through the window. We figured it was because a window was open downstairs and their gleeful voices were carrying up to us. After a bit, I decided I better go check on them. When I got downstairs, Matthew and Joshua were no where to be found. The slider door to the backyard was open and as I approached, I could hear the hysterical laughter of the boys from outside. Matthew and Joshua had somehow managed to get the slider open – a really old, heavy LOCKED door that takes a VERY strong adult to open, mind you. They then proceeded to turn on the hose and were spraying each other and were head-to-toe completely drenched. Saturday was rainy, cold and overcast. When I came upon the boys and their activity, Matthew was happily squirting Joshua who was giggling through chattering teeth and lips that were turning blue with cold. I tried to keep my laughter hidden while Rebecca and I both firmly chastised the boys for their behavior. Matthew, who was practically holding the hose practically down his pants and with water running down his legs said, “But Joshua sprayed me. That’s how I got so wet.” Right.

Thankfully, Matthew and Joshua stayed indoors and dry today at Matthew’s (early) Birthday Play Date. For some reason, I’m in denial and just can’t admit that it really was a Birthday party. I had already scheduled our little play group to come over and figured – well, what the heck! We’ll just turn it into a little birthday play date celebration. We had five mommies, five little boys, two toddlers, and two infants. I suppose that was a party.

Matthew and I even decorated the dining room with pictures of John Deeres and Fire Trucks (the theme for this non-birthday party-birthday celebration play date). And somehow, I managed to channel my Inner Therese Buckley (mom!) and found myself with a moment of crafty. I, yes, me, jenny martin – queen of the anticrafties – carved cucumbers and yellow peppers into little John Deere tractors. I made tractors out of vegetables!! Me!!

Maybe vegetable art can be my new therapy.

Matthew just groggily stumbled out to the dining room (where I’ve been working on my laptop, Kara – as named by the almost-four-year-old). He sleepily informed me, “I had a bad dream, Mommy.”

“Oh no,” I said, wrapping my arms around him. “What was it about?”

“The monster was using his Number gun to shoot the ABC bug.”

“Wow,” I replied (trying not to smile), “that sounds pretty scary.” But how happy am I? I thought. With preschool starting back up in a couple of weeks, it’s pretty great that his bad dreams are at least educational.

Today is my last therapy session. I’m pretty bummed about it. So sad, in fact, that I might need some therapy to cope. It has been such an amazing experience – one that everyone should experience at some point in her life. I’m a little disappointed that Louise had it so easy though. I really wanted to experience an appointment where she really had to ask me questions to get me talking. (I suppose, the fact that I never ran out of material to discuss, is no big shocker). It’s been pretty great having such a guilt-free one-sided relationship. There have been times where I thought, hmm, I should probably ask about her – see how she’s doing and all. But then I thought, Nahhh. I’m paying to talk about me not her! Terrible, right? But oh-so satisfying.

I’m going to miss that hour where I sit on the green couch and take a break from my life – look at it from the outside for a bit and see what’s good, what’s not so good and what could use my energy. I feel so blessed to have had this opportunity. So, I guess, in a way, I’m thankful that I had to suffer through Post Partum Depression. While I’d never want to relive it, and it’s a darkness that I’d wish upon no one; it has forced quite the journey of self-discovery though. I also now can truly empathize with the many people I know who suffer from Depression. I think that they’re a misunderstood lot – sometimes considered as weak, making excuses or taking anti-Depressants to avoid coping with life on their own.

I’m currently weaning off of Zoloft – ahh, Zoloft, a friend and foe for this past year – but will continue on Wellbutrin for a bit. And I’m happy about that. I’ve made peace with being on the happy pills. And I’m happy that come January 1st, 2008, I’ve got 20 insurance covered therapy sessions coming my way, should I want it!

Yesterday, Matthew – who has become quite the argumentative, testing-our-limits, talking-back little boy – provided a moment of pure joy to me. I was saying that something had been a good choice (I don’t recall the specifics), and Matthew jumped up, ran over to Zachary and said, “Zachary’s a good choice!” He wrapped his arms around his little brother planted a big kiss on the top of Zach’s head and whispered, “I love you, Zachy.” That, my friends, is a dose of happy, right there.

August 13, 2007

We’re BACK! Actually we’ve been back from sunny So-Cal for a few days but have been busy battling colds. Yes, as always, we caught a bug on the plane. Mike was sick for most of the trip – though he pulled through – and the boys and I really came down with it towards the end. Despite the illness and the trip getting off to an interesting start; we had a great time.

So, yeah, the trip started out with a bang. We were up at 4am, got the boys out of their beds at 4:30 and headed to SeaTac. Upon checking in at 5ish for our 7am flight, we were informed, “Oh, by the way, your flight is cancelled. The pilot didn’t show. The next flight, direct to Ontario, CA is at 1pm.” Right. We debated on whether or not we should head home, but we’d already paid for the parking garage, taken the car seats out (installing Zach’s is a mega-pain), had all of our luggage, etc. So, we bit the bullet and spent 8 hours hanging out at SeaTac before even boarding our plane. And, believe it or not, it was the best airport experience of my life and so much fun!

We had to wait four hours before we could even check our luggage and get through security, so supplied with tons of food vouchers, we bought some goodies and coffee from the one open espresso stand and set up camp by the empty baggage claim. We had the place pretty much to ourselves and boy did we make the most of it! The boys would’ve been surfing the baggage belt if I’d let them (and we did think about it), but we spent most of our time riding the escalators up and down and sprinting across the empty sky bridge. Once we were able to check in, we had all of SeaTac at our finger tips. We bought (and ate) tons of food and found the coolest airport-themed, indoor playground for kids! It was great! By the way, the flight went well too, and Matthew thoroughly enjoyed chewing gum for the first time.

Our Engaged Encounter Convention was great. We went to workshops, the boys played in the daycare, we swam in the hotel pool, danced and drank and ate. Zach and I got up early on Sunday morning (and since Mike wasn’t feeling well and Matthew was still sleeping), we headed out for a run. The foothills surrounding Ontario were cloaked in a fog so thick I couldn’t make them out. Sadly, with my throat burning, I eventually realized that it was SMOG and not fog. Talking to friends at the Convention later, I found out that years ago, the smog was so bad that they used to cancel school due to health concerns. My friend’s mom would cover his face with a cold wet washcloth. When she removed it there would be a black circle on the cloth where he had been breathing. Crazy.

We spent Sunday afternoon at the big mall in Ontario, then drove to our new hotel near Disneyland, did laundry and swam in the pool. Monday morning we were up bright and early to catch the shuttle to Disneyland. We got through the main gate and headed straight to the new Finding Nemo submarine ride. The park had only been open for about fifteen minutes and there was already a TWO HOUR wait to ride the submarine. Mike and I took turns walking the boys around while the other slowly creeped up in line. By the time we made it on the ride, Zach was fast asleep in the backpack. Oh well, he wouldn’t have remember it anyway, though he would have loved all the fishies. Mike and Matthew shot “bad robot guys” (according to Matthew) on the Buzz Light Year Astroblasters ride. Then, we all went on the circus train ride, the boys and I went on the carousel, and we drove cars at Autotopia. We paid WAY too much for lunch. Rode the big schooner ship, then Matthew braved the Thunder Mountain Railroad rollercoaster with Mike. Matthew was only slightly traumatized (he didn’t like the dark tunnels). Then I got to do the ride before Mike and Matthew headed to Pirates of the Caribbean. (Where Matthew was traumatized by the shooting pirates). I went and did Space Mountain and the Matterhorn. We went on It’s a Small World – Zachary’s favorite (he couldn’t decide where to look, what to point at and whether he wanted to sit or stand). We also went in the Tiki Room (which we all loved…until the thunderstorm which Matthew didn’t like). We caught the parade – where Matthew was traumatized by the Ursula the Sea Witch float and where Zachary fell in love with one of the parade ladies (even blew her kisses). We met up with Mike’s dad, Jim and stepmom, Annelies for dinner back by our hotel. The boys (and I) fell into the dangerous zone of post-Happiest Place on Earth crankiness and attempted to get to bed a little early (which ended up being 10pm).

We slept in Tuesday morning and then set out to California Adventure. The boys and I rode the Under the Sea carousel while Mike rode the California Screamin’ roller coaster. He then joined us for the Bugs Life rides that the boys LOVED. Matthew loved driving the Bumper Bugs, the spinning ladybugs, the “silly hungry Caterpillar train” and Flik’s Flyers (where we flew inside a huge Chinese take-out box). Jim and Annelies joined us and the two of them, Matthew and I rode the Soarin’ over California ride. (You sit strapped in a seat that lifts up and moves like an airplane/glider in front of a huge movie screen showing views of California). Matthew loved it…until he was traumatized by the loud planes and the fireworks. After that, Mike, Jim and Annelies went on Tower of Terror (the highlight, for Mike) and the boys and I watched the 3-D Muppet Movie (which Matthew liked until the fireworks and loud explosions at the end). Do you sense a theme? Basically Matthew loved Disneyland except for…something…on every single ride! We watched a live stage show in which Mickey magically appeared at the end. Zach immediately started rushing the stage waving and yelling “hi…hi…hi” at Mickey. It was very cute.

That night, we had dinner with Jim and Annelies and got to meet her son Erik for the first time. Erik is a 19 year old surfer dude studying to be a nurse. He was SO nice and fun and the boys LOVED him. Wednesday morning, we went to their motel for breakfast and then we all went to Huntington Beach for the day where we got to watch Erik surf. I quizzed Erik on surfing and surf culture and decided that in another life I should be a surfer chick. I’d be one now except that I look frightening in a bikini; I get lobster red instead of golden tan, I don’t have sun-kissed highlighted blond hair (my hair gets bigger and bushier with sand and water); and I’m probably way too chicken to even try surfing. But despite my lack of California beachiness, we all had a blast at the beach (and yes, got a little sunburned). We had a quiet night at the hotel and packed up for the trip home.

The flight home was a little bit harder for Zach. He was SO done with sitting down, being strapped in or tethered to anything. Once we were able, he and I pretty much paced the aisle the whole flight. He was the Walmart greeter of Flight 435, waving, saying hi, giving high-fives and making everyone on-board his new best friend.

As predicted, we arrived home tired, sick, cranky and ready for a vacation! We had a great trip and we’re so happy to be back home.