I joined the gym several weeks ago and I must admit that I have been LOVING it. I didn’t really know if it would go that way. It could so easily have been that THING I committed to that I hate but that I paid money for so I go. Instead, it is the place I look forward to going to because it makes me feel good and happy and healthy and accomplished.

I typically work out at the gym every day but Thursday but this past week found me hacking up a lung from a combination of severe allergies and viral bronchitis so I have not been to the gym since Sunday. SUNDAY. And today is Friday. I am crabby. Pissy, cranky, angsty, and even surly. I miiiiisssss the gym!

HULK SMASH!

I honestly feel like I’m going through a bit of withdrawal. I miss that achey feeling in my muscles. I miss that endorphin high that hits me about 20 minutes before my dance class ends. I miss sweating. (Well, ok…I miss sweating because I’m working out, not sweating because it is June in California and it is hot.) It’s awesome, really, how much I miss it. This means that I REALLY love the gym and I’m not just trying to talk myself into it to keep myself motivated.

My fingers are crossed that I will get to the gym tonight for Zumba class. And if you have to deal with me in any way then you should cross your fingers as well. If I don’t get a workout in soon then things are going to get ugly.

Dax started at a new school today. He’s enrolled in the Pre-K program at the private school he’ll be attending for regular ol’ K in August. I am freaking out a tad over this development. Seriously. Where does the time go?

See, the decision to do this was made pretty abruptly just a week ago. Dax had been getting into some trouble at the school he’s been attending for the past 2 and a half years. When I tried to talk to him about it he just kept saying he was bored. He’s been saying that school is boring for quite awhile now and I guess I’m feeling guilty that I let it go this long without taking him seriously. A bored Dax is a troublesome sort of fellow. I really wish I had made a change for him sooner. I feel like I let him down.

But here he is this morning just before his daddy drove him to his BRAND NEW SCHOOL and you can see that he’s pretty happy. I mean, he has his very own official school book bag AND he gets to take his own lunch. Who is the BIG BROTHER NOW, punks?

I’ve been trying to wrap my head around why I’m having so much trouble with this adjustment. I mean, why did I put it off for so long? Why didn’t I listen to him when he first said he was bored? We could have put him into this early enrollment program sooner but I just didn’t even think of it. In fact, I dreaded the day that he would officially start Kindergarten because….well, I’m not entirely sure. My baby is just growing up so fast. And i think I didn’t realize until now how much that freaks me out.

In the interest of full disclosure I must also say that one of his teachers had some pretty negative things to say about my boy. Things that were hard to hear. Things that I don’t want to believe are true. She pretty much said that he’d fail in Kindergarten because he has poor impulse control and because he doesn’t listen and because he has trouble dealing with his anger. She did not have anything hopeful or promising to say. His other teacher, on the other had, did. She thinks this change is good for him. She tells me he is going to be just fine.

Guess who I’m choosing to side with?

I’m just watching the clock now because I can’t wait to go pick him up and hear him chattering excitedly about all the new experiences he had today. I can’t wait to meet his teacher and find out how he did. I can’t wait to make up to him for what I have missed in the past several months. I can’t wait to hear all the words he’ll use to describe school (and not one of them, I betcha, will be BORING).

Dax and Devin could not be more different from one another.

Dax talked early (and often). Devin uses very few words and tends to communicate with pointing and nodding and grunting.

Dax is very social. Nearly pathologically so. Devin is shy. So, very, very shy. Birthday parties are a nightmare for him. I have not been able to get him involved in any activities because he’s terrified of crowds and people he doesn’t know.

Dax is the world’s worst sleeper. He hates bedtime. He doesn’t like the dark. Devin loves bedtime and prefers to sleep in a pitch black room with the door closed. Ahhh, peace and quiet.

Dax is a picky eater. Devin will eat anything. Even things not meant to be eaten.

I could go on and on (and on) about how different these two are. Admittedly, I sometimes do. But what is important here is how much I LOVE that they are this way. They remind me of me and my brother. In fact, the way they are the same is the way my brother and I are the same: we all have the same ridiculous sense of humor. And that, my friends, goes a LONG way toward building loving and lasting sibling bonds.

I am hoping that, as they grow, they can help one another in the areas they are weaker in and that they can learn from each other’s strengths. I am hoping that they become friends. I hope they find themselves strong allies against their parents who can just be soooooo annoying.

I hope for a whole lot more of this.

Man, this parenting gig has been tough lately.

My four year old has been having some challenges at school. He’s been attending the same home-based preschool for about 2 and half years now and, well, he’s decided he’s “bored”. Getting him out the door in the mornings has been difficult. His behavior once he is there has been troubling. The entire situation has sucked and we are all getting frustrated.

Fortunately, Cat and I are not ones to sit around and do nothing when things are not going as they should. Usually, I’m the one to take action first but this time it was Cat. My horrifically shy husband took it upon himself to call the private school where Dax will begin Kindergarten in the end of August to find out if we could start him early in their summer program. Long story short: Dax starts there tomorrow.

I am both looking forward to and nervous about Kindergarten. My boy needs challenges. He thrives on it. This is fantastic and it means that he can already read and use a computer and do some math and identify almost all of the states on a blank US map. Kids are like sponges and my little sponge soaks up every bit of learning you can toss his way. I worry a bit that after the newness of Kindergarten wears off that he’ll be hiding under the blankets in the morning again moaning about how he doesn’t WAAAAANT to go to school because it is BOOOOORING. And what the heck to we do then?

I should be finding out by mid-July who is Kindergarten teacher is. I kind of want to contact her ahead of time and talk to her about the things he is already able to do and ask her for her thoughts and advice on how to keep him engaged. The problem is that I don’t want to come off like THAT mom. You know…”My kid is SOOO brilliant that you need to treat him differently!” That’s not it at all. I just know that a kid who loves to learn as much as he does has the potential to LOVE school so much but, sadly, also has the potential to lose interest quickly if he isn’t learning new things. I’d kind of like to know what they do with a kid who already knows how to do what they are trying to teach because I’m sure they’ve encountered that before (see: kids are sponges).

Anyone have any thoughts or advice on this? Do I wait and see how he does or do I try to talk to his teacher beforehand?

Actual conversation I had with my son today.

Dax: What’s the last number?
Me: There isn’t one. You can count forever.
D: But what is the HIGHEST number?
M: There isn’t one. You could get up every day and not do anything but count for the rest of your life and never ever stop. (Trying to distract him.) Look! Cows!
D: I like cows! Can I have a cow?
M: We don’t have anywhere to keep one.
D: We could keep it in the back yard.
M: No, that’s not enough room.
D: Why?
M: Because cows need a lot of room.
D: The front yard?
M: The front yard is even smaller. A cow needs a pasture.
D: What’s a pasture?
M: Um…a field.
D: And a barn. A cow needs a barn.
M: Yes, and we don’t have a barn.
D: Can we get a barn?
M: We don’t have anywhere to put a barn.
D: How about the back yard?
M: No. Honey, there’s not enough room in our yard for a barn.
D: How ’bout a sheep?
M: Dax, no. No barn and no farm animals. No cows, horses, sheep, chickens….
D: Sometimes cats live on farms.
M: Yep.
D: Why?
M: So they can catch mice.
D: How do they catch mice?
M: They are very fast and they chase the mice until they catch them.
D: Like Tom and Jerry! Only Tom never catches Jerry.
M: Yes, Jerry is very smart.
D: Why?
M: Because he has an enormous head.
D: I want to go fishing.

I just read this beautiful post over at Jenn’s blog and it managed to make me smile and cry and the same time. It also gave me a little boost of bravery to write this entry.

My childhood memories of my mother are all wrapped up in body image. I very rarely saw her naked but I remember her constantly talking about how she just needed to lose ten pounds and about how her father impressed upon her how important it was that her tummy be flat about how I, like her, would be cursed with FAT THIGHS no matter what I did. Those terrible, terrible fat thighs.

My mother always spoke apologetically about her body. It was something to regret, something to be embarrassed about, something to compare to others. It was never something to celebrate. And, let’s face it, when you grow up seeing a perfectly healthy, normal, weight-appropriate body on your primary female role model and she is continuously failing to appreciate it in any way whatsoever you develop a ridiculously high standard in your mind of what your own body SHOULD look like.

The nail in the coffin? That would be when you start to develop at the young age of 10 and that same woman starts hounding YOU about “if you could just lose ten pounds” then you would just be beautiful. (Except, of course, for those cursed thighs which you would NEVER ESCAPE.)

I have had issues with food and body image my entire life. I still do. I can’t imagine a day when I won’t. I have never thought myself beautiful. Not at any weight. In my mind, beauty is simply unattainable. I flip back and forth between thinking, “Fuck it, pass the cookies” and “Maybe, just maybe, I really could lose enough weight to be sort of pretty”. The voice in my head tells me that I *could* be beautiful if I could just be thin but I can never be thin because my thighs will always be fat no matter what. The voice says, “It’s a shame. You have such a pretty face.” And just last week the voice asked me what is behind my inability to lose weight and I nearly lost my mind because the voice was coming from my mother. It has always been her voice.

Now, as much as I would like to, I can’t make this post about my mother. At this time in my life I can not be whining about how I was parented. I am 38-years-old and I have to take responsibility for myself, my eating habits, my exercise habits, my methods for dealing with stress and sorrow.

I have made so many mistakes and so many bad decisions related to my health and well-being and so many of those stemmed from ideas I got in my head when I was a child. I am not a child any longer. In fact, I have two children of my own who are depending on me to not start them off with any nutty ideas in their heads because it is difficult enough to grow up in this world.

I sometimes wish my brain had an undo button. I don’t want to go back in time and relive portions of my life; I just want to get rid of some of the stupid beliefs I’ve been holding onto that have contributed to me getting to where I am now. When I hear that old voice in my head whining about how fat my thighs will ALWAYS be I could hit undo and replace it with thoughts about how strong my legs are. I would absolutely delete the word “shame” altogether. Every thought that reduced my feelings of self-worth? Undo, undo, undo, undo.

Of course, I don’t have any such magical button but that doesn’t mean I can’t undo the damage. In fact, I’ve already started. I’m noticing small changes in my thought processes. I joined the gym and I’ve gone every single day (even twice on some days). Not only am I going to the gym, I’m ENJOYING going to the gym. I’m spending less time worrying about my jiggly belly and those infamous FAT THIGHS and spending more time being impressed with how long my legs can keep climbing fake stairs and how much weight my arms can lift and how many crunches my belly is capable of churning out.

I took a dance class the other night and I literally started crying in the middle of it simply out of the sheer joy I was getting out of it. I was shockingly comfortable in the midst of a huge crowd of people, moving my body in ways that I never would have imagined at this weight. I was proud of how much sweat I managed to work up. I was laughing at my clumsiness. I did not give two hoots if anyone in that room was ready for this jelly or not.

It was, in short, awesome.

Undo, undo, undo, undo.

Reload.

I can’t stop thinking of Maddie Spohr.

If you have not been fortunate enough to have “met” Maddie through the internet, please let me do the honors. She is the gorgeous thief of hearts who was born to Heather and Mike Spohr on 11/11/07. Maddie was 11 weeks premature (which means she was supposed to be born AFTER my own son, Devin) and she only weighed a bit more than 3 pounds. Her story is amazing. Her parents are amazing. This is MUST READ stuff, people.

Maddie is one of the most gorgeous children I have ever seen. Seriously. It is almost like she isn’t real. There were so many times I wanted to write to Heather and tell her that her daughter was so beautiful it was nearly painful to look at her. I didn’t because I didn’t want Heather to think that was the only reason I read every word she wrote. I mean, there was that, but there was also the fact that Maddie is BRILLIANT and that Heather is hilarious. And, well, let’s face it. I didn’t want Heather to block me from reading her blog because that would thoroughly ruin my fantasy that these were my real life friends I was reading about.

What’s that? Oh, yes. I don’t actually know the Spohrs. Whatever. Because this is how wonderful and charming and funny they are. You will want them to be your friends, too.

You can read all about Maddie’s entire life on Heather’s blog. And I do mean her ENTIRE life because, tragically, the Amazing Maddie Moo died on April 7th from an infection that was complicated by the fact that she had been born so prematurely. Grab some tissues and go meet Maddie. I promise you that your life is incomplete until you do.

I am not exaggerating when I say that I think of Maddie, Heather, and Mike every single day. I have donated to March of Dimes in her honor. I have even donated directly to the Spohrs to help offset some of their expenses which, honestly, is not something I have ever done before. I have asked others to donate as well. (If you follow me on Twitter or Facebook then you most certainly are familiar with this entire story and some of you have also made donations for which I am so very thankful.) I continue to think about what I can do to help in some small way. I literally can not stop thinking about Maddie.

Do you know why I think that is? Because I’m not meant to stop thinking of her. I’m meant to think of her every time I hold my own children. I’m meant to think of her whenever I see a beautiful flower. I’m meant to think of her whenever I see the color purple, whenever I see a dog that looks like Rigby, whenever I see her picture, hear her name, catch a glimpse of a tiny little girl with curly blonde hair and big blue eyes.

At one point last week I was sitting in an urgent care waiting room, far from home, holding my very sick baby being told he had pneumonia. At the same time, my four-month-old nephew was battling collapsed lungs and pulmonary edema resulting from the heart surgery he had on Good Friday. I prayed and wished and bargained. I asked everyone I know for good energy for both babies. I thought of Heather and Mike. I thought of Maddie. I asked Maddie to be a tiny guardian angel to Devin and Dalon (and she has been). Most of all, I felt nearly shaken to the bone with gratitude that neither of my little ones had been born too early for their little bodies to recover.

There but for the grace of God. What Heather and Mike are living through right now could be any one of us with children. Think about that for a moment.

I am meant to remember Maddie. And so are you. And we are meant to take care of the very smallest of us. So, if you haven’t already done so please consider donating to the March of Dimes in honor of Madeline Alice Spohr and all the tiny babies who need us most of all.

And don’t stop thinking of Maddie. Ever. I know I won’t.

When I was six years old I saw an episode of The Waltons in which their house caught on fire. I don’t remember being particularly scared while I was watching it but when I went to bed that night I couldn’t stop thinking about it. It was the first of many, many nights where I went to bed fearing my home would burn as we slept. My grandpa had taught my cousin and I that we should always say a prayer before bed and mine always ended in “and please don’t let my house catch on fire”. I also would gather all my favorite toys together so that I could grab them if I had to make a quick getaway.

I wish I could say that I outgrew it but I didn’t. Even as we would walk through the house we currently live in as it was being built I would place my hands on the boards that made the skeleton of our future home and invoke any sort of blessing that would protect it from harm. I also never outgrew my nightly prayers and, yes, I still ask for protection for the house and all who live in it.

I guess this is why I understand my four-year-old’s fear of night and bedtime. He’s afraid of giants and bedbugs and bad monsters. He questions every pop and creak the house makes. His head is filled with imaginings of what he can not see.

I am so thankful that he slept through some major drama that occurred down the street from us on Friday night. So far his fears have been about things that I can promise to protect him from because, while it seems so to him, it isn’t real. What happened on Friday was real and frightening and something that caught me off guard and made me wonder how on earth I could protect both my boys from the monsters who really exist.

While I can’t stop tracing my fingertips down the hallway walls and placing my palm against the doors as if I am somehow imbued with blessings and good luck I realize that is simply not enough. I had already been thinking of starting a neighborhood watch program but now I’m definitely moving forward with it. This isn’t the easiest thing for me as I only know a few of my neighbors and I’m not comfortable talking to people I don’t know but I know that I’ll feel so much better knowing that I’m not the only one helping keep all our homes a bit more safe.

For months now we have battled with our four-year-old over bedtime. Ok, maybe it has actually been years. He hates going to bed and fights it tooth and nail. I have actually caught him holding his eyes open by the lashes to avoid falling asleep. We’ve been through so many different “phases” and implemented 18 kajillion rules and rituals and filled his bedroom with all sorts of protective and magical talismans. Nothing works long term.

The baby? He is an awesome sleeper. We tell him it is time for night-night and he waves to us and heads off toward his room. When we put him in his crib he usually rolls over onto his belly with his little diapered butt up in the air and just, y’know, goes to sleep. And, yes, I know that this very well not last (just as I HOPE Dax’s complete inability to handle bedtime DOES NOT LAST) but right now it is just about the most fantastically magical thing in the whole entire universe.

Every night I rack my brain for some solution to the Bedtime Battle. I try telling him that he won’t have enough energy for all the great things he will do the next day if he doesn’t sleep. I tell him he won’t grow if he doesn’t sleep. I tell him tiny gnomes will move into his eyeballs and eat his brains through his pupils if he doesn’t sleep. (I didn’t really tell him that. The boy is afraid that giants are going to break into our house at night so clearly I’m not going to give him any other ridiculous things to fear at night.) I’ve threatened and bribed and begged and ignored.

I hate bedtime.

Last night I had a brilliant idea and decided to appeal to my boy’s competitive nature (because if there is one thing my son loves it is to beat his mommy at any game or task). I proposed that we see who could fall asleep faster. He was totally game for it. He said, “Ok, mommy! Turn over so we are face to face so that we can watch each other to see who will fall asleep first.” And I closed my eyes and replied, “Fine. You can keep your eyes open and watch me while I keep mine closed and FALL ASLEEP FIRST.”

He rolled over, closed his eyes, and that was the last sound or movement out of him.

This morning I congratulated him on beating me at sleeping. I acted totally bummed out that I lost and challenged him to a rematch tonight. I then told him that if he could fall asleep before me all this week that I might just have to give him a prize. Some kids in his karate class got little patches tonight rewarding them for different accomplishments and that is what he asked for: a patch declaring him The Sleep Champ.

That’s when I remembered this awesome site. Sure enough, they have a badge for “sleeping”. I’m ordering it tonight.

A few months ago I was lying with Dax waiting for him to GOTOSLEEPALREADY when he announced, “A little bone fell off of me and fell to the bottom.”

Huh????

I was perplexed, to say the least, so I asked him to tell me more. My boy has always been more about showing than telling so he threw back the covers to show me what he had found.

“Oh, well. That’s one of your testicles.”

“Tess a cul? It feels like a little ball.”

“Yep. Um…don’t twist it, son.”

“There’s a BALL in my CROW!”

“There are two testicles in your scrotum. Yes.”

The conversation turned from there, of course, to discussions of the many body parts and how boys differ from girls and how funny the names for some body parts are (butt is HILARIOUS). It was one of many conversations we have about the body and the crazy things it can do.

He delights in telling me that girls don’t have a penis but then he’ll look at me quite seriously and ask, “Are you sure it didn’t just shrink?” He’ll later tell me that the difference between boys and girls is that “girls eat flowers”. I’ve always wanted to teach my boys the proper names for their most sensitive of body parts to avoid ridiculous or “cutesie” nicknames. (Don’t get me wrong, I good “bait and tackle” or “cash and prizes” or the always popular “junk” joke goes a long way.) I don’t care if they say poop. I confess that I think farts are funny. I really feel like I was made to be a mom to boys.

But all of that did not prepare me for when Dax suffered an unfortunate accident that left his junk (See? HA!) bruised. I figured that my very outspoken son would not hesitate to share this information with others close to him. What I was not prepared for was when he informed a total stranger in the produce aisle that his penis was BLACK.