equilibrium-girl.com

Mother's Day Magic

I enjoy Mother's Day quite a bit, particularly when the boys take me to TMP for lunch. I like cheese. I like chocolate. If I had a billion thumbs, they would all be up.

Best of all, I got to see both of their smiling faces across the table from me.

The thing about no flash in low lighting is that it gives my child that all-black-eye-devil's-spawn look that all of the demons get on Supernatural. Except in this picture, he looks more like "bored evil" rather than "evil evil"--like he's thinking "You're already past the point of an eternity wallowing in a hot pit of bikini wax, there's not much more pain I can inflict on you, so why bother?"

Oh look, here is is trying to cast a spell on me across the hot pot:

"You must will half of your chocolate cookies-and-cream fondue share to me or suffer the wrath of incessant paper airplane flying in your nice living room."

Ok, ok, I give!

That little spellbinder drives a hard bargain.

She has great taste in prints

That's Molly, the newest member of our family, enjoying some floor time. I sewed the bag from some Marimekko print fabric I had from my stash, and some fleece I had handy.

There isn't a single member of our family that can resist her charms.

Ice Ice Baby

At 6:49 this evening, I found myself taking pictures of a pile of pistachio shellings.

Who doesn't love pistachios? They are surely addictive. To me, part of the charm is the actual process of shelling them and dislodging that striking green nut before you pop it into you mouth.

But then again, maybe it's me being stir crazy after a couple of days at home due to an icy coating that blanketed trees and roads.

I'm happy that we are safe and warm. As an added bonus, the ice is adding extra dimension to our Christmas lights.

I'm glad the boys put up with me. I had a slight meltdown last night since the combination of holiday overload, work overload, and house-full-of-boys overload seemed to combine in some random vortex of stress. A couple of tears, some daily husband-wife hashing it out, some hugs from His Honor and I was generally good to go.

We are getting there.

Today's holiday tally

Personal relationship with the holidays: love-hate.

I love the festivities, the decorations, and most of all having an excuse to listen to the A Charlie Brown Christmas soundtrack. The "hate" parts involve obsessing over gifts, cards, etc. I have the tendency to go "overboard" on gifts for my mom in the sense that whatever I give to her is the right mix of personal and much-needed. This year will be no different-I was just glad I got myself a clue earlier than, say, Dec. 23rd.

Yesterday, we did that tree decorating thing:

It did tend to slant things towards the "love" side.

Friiidayy...

Man, you spam bots are relentless. I delete many a spammish comment and 'tis all come back, but with a vengance. That's what I get for being a bad blogger.

Did you know about Nikka Costa? I didn't, but now I do, thanks to an iTun3s list about songs in commercials. I like her, but I'm in a soulsy female singer phase these days. The Gov. and I have taken to blasting music top level and dancing like fiends. Well, I dance but His Honor jumps on the bed and shakes his body in a convulsive manner. Must sign him up for those hip-hop dances I keep talking about in my head. Right now, he's outside "helping" Conan put up the long-awaited outdoor playset, which has given me some time to putz around the house. I'm supposed to be cleaning, but just picking stuff up here and there. But that counts, right?

INTEROFFICE MEMORANDUM

To: Governor of Equilibrium-town
From: Your scheduler/assistant/chauffeur/guide

As you realize from your briefing this morning, it is your sixth birthday. I commend you on your accomplishments this year and believe that your term has been well-balanced and enjoyable. I have taken notes from your various meetings of the day, and they are as follows:

7:14 a.m.: Initial briefing by myself and the Canine Assistant. Your request to have the Canine Assistant not greet you by jumping on your bed when you are half-awake has been noted.
7:33 a.m.: Breakfast meeting with myself and Conan. Canine Assistant lurked around, hoping for scraps of Frosted Mini-Wheats, but was satisfied with his Weight Control Iams. You received presents from your Aunt and from myself and Conan. Upon completion of your breakfast, you attired yourself to meet with other dignitaries of like stature and position.
8:30a.m.-5:00 p.m.: You attended a caucus with other dignitaries involving swimming lessons, cupcakes, play, etc. Many negotiations over Legos, space on the reading rug, and Yoshii's Island were held, but you walked away from your meetings feeling satisfied with the results.
6:00 p.m.: Dinner with myself and Conan at Red Robin.
7:05 p.m.: Open eyes very big and gape at foosball table that Conan bought off of Craiglist for your birthday
8:10 p.m.: Wrap up 20th straight game of foosball
8:37 p.m.: Get last birthday hug from mom and from stuffed animal "friends"

Happy birthday, Your Honor. You're the best boss I could ever wish for.

Unraveling

Little by little, His Honor extracts himself from me. I feel it in every unraveling of the string that binds the two of us together. In the mornings, he comes to our room with his arms laden with stuffed animals and lies between Conan and myself for about 10 minutes before it's time for me to shower. That really is one of the few moments where we are still, his head on either my shoulder or Conan's. We are side by side, but only for a brief moment of the day.

As he bids me goodbye in the mornings, he does not run up to me and kiss me goodbye. I suppose he's in the presence of friends, but I did not think that that type of self-consciousness set in until the pre-teen years. Is he mature for his age, perhaps? I hope that is not the case. Hugs and mommy-cuddles are for right before bedtime, and for breaks during soccer games and for those times when we have tested each other's limits and rubber-band back to each other after the storm of a tantrum. But they are becoming a little less frequent. And that makes me sad.

The past few days, we have been working on a poster with pictures that show his growth over the past near-six (!) years. The roundness of his cheeks has almost vanished into thin air, but I remember the pudginess that framed his eyes so vividly. "Wistful" would not even begin to describe it. Have I started thinking about another baby simply because I miss those days--or am I starting to be ready once again for our lives to be shaken to the core again?

Tools of the Trade

Today marks the end of a 5-day sans Conan interlude. We're leaving in half an hour to pick him up from the airport. I'm pretty proud of being able to tend to The Gov without turning on the T.V. until this morning. We've managed to keep ourselves pretty busy with soccer, errands, and finding things to do around the house.

Of course, it's taken a little toll on the clutter state of our house. Right now, the Revolutionary war Lego-style is taking place on my kitchen island, with the King of England vs. the Thirteen Colonies...with China helping the rebels. There is once again a huge pile of wooden trains on my living room floor as well.

I am, however, charmed by the series of "stores" on the front staircase. You see, His Honor has decided to branch out from his usual duties of administering control over the house, and has taken on additional responsibilities as a captain of industry. Last weekend, he set up of 4 stores, each one managed by either an Uglydoll or Bonnie, who is the little orangutan he's had since birth.

There is quite the portfolio of inventory per store, ranging from the usual toy cars to wooden tool sets to puzzle pieces. Everything cost between $51 to "eight thousand thousand" and then some. I couldn't afford too much, but I heard Spider Man was a big spender.

Ox runs a pretty tight ship. Here he is, explaining why a Jeff Gordon race car might suit your needs better than a stuffed basketball:

Not looking forward to cleaning all of this up before the cleaning people come tomorrow, but what would life with a 5-year old be if not filled to the brim with puzzle pieces and stuffed animals with complex personalities?

Still Here

Originally, the plan was to put myself on a yarn diet. I didn't buy any new yarn for 2 whole months and used what I had in my stash. Among other things, I've completed what I call the "Big Button Baby Sweater:"

Right now, I'm finishing up a minisweater in Lamb's Pride, Orange You Glad color (slightly edited to account for my not being 6 ft. tall), left over from a three-generations-of-Bears-fans-hats project. I've really tried to be good about yarn purchases, but Q and I were up around my LYS...so that plan sort of went down the toilet. However, I've got a list of things that I'd like to make to decrease the stash:

*white baby sweater for friends who had their second child this past week
*felted mittens out of Lamb's Pride odds and ends
*3 or so random baby bibs
*lace pattern scarf

His Honor has taken to waking us up at 6:30 every morning, crawling into bed with us with his collection of Uglydolls and orangutan that he's had since birth, and kicking me out of bed to take a shower. I have to admit that he is correct that I do need to leave that warm mass of jersey and 200-count cotton, but having a child direct you to go take a shower every morning is really something else.

Dog n tha hood

When he gets pushed too far:

Almost There...

Almost finished with the b00bholder but I ran out of Suri Merino and need to pick up a single ball from my LYS so that I can finish the last 2 rows of one sleeve and the rest of the other sleeve. Am I going to ONLY buy that single ball of yarn when I go to my LYS this afternoon? I think we know the answer to that. I love that yarn-it's soft and springy and I can't wait to wear it in a couple of months.

Feeling not-so-great this morning. The Gov. and I are curled up on the couch watching a show about volcanoes while it pours water from the sky. My stomach is turning waves and I slept so poorly last night for the fourth night in a row. At least it's Saturday and one where nothing is really planned. I'm feeling discombobulated, but maybe it's my body telling me to slow. down. I know certain people who don't listen to that voice, and I think it's turning them into less admirable people. They grow hard exteriors and become not nice to be around. I think it's unnecessary, and I've seen people at the other end of that transformation, and I've had to disassociate myself from them.

But for now, with the volcano show in the background, we're warm and safe. His Honor might have been my salvation from the above. Who knows where our journey together ends, but for now, I think I'm set.

Eating steak & shrimp

Hopefully He's an Ambi-Turner

Wednesday night at 1 a.m. found Conan and myself quoting from Zoolander as we attempted to settle ourselves into some semblance of sleep. One of the male Chez Equilibrium residents may soon be making forays into the world of modeling, and it's not the dog (on account of poor posture).

I'm somewhat ambivalent about it, but all along we've been wondering whether this was something we should just try. We bit the bullet, and Conan took him to a local agency and they just about went nuts. I think it's really more of a supply/demand thing, since you don't really have a lot of bi-racial boy models. We'll see.

Wouldn't it be great if we could always wash our hands via the following method:

We've finally recovered from our tropical holiday vacation-the traveling was a bit difficult, but it was great to spend a week just sunning, beaching, and exploring. I learned that I probably couldn't have a second career as a World Rally Championship pilot, because I get awfully, terribly sick when careening via auto down steep, two-lane mountain roads. However, I did enjoy the beach and the lovely weather and finding pieces of sea glass to convert into jewelry. I never did get a picture of the water right before the tropical rainstorms hit. When the sun is out, the water was a deep, jewel-like navy blue. However, as the clouds start to creep it and the water becomes choppy, it turns this teal color-not just "sea foam green," but a true blue/green mix like the aventurine in my bead stash. I'd made a note to head back to my post by the hotel pool to grab my camera, but I was waylaid by the call-to-lunch before the rains really hit on our last day there.

"Where Am I?"

We're just waiting for the kid's version of The Blair Witch Project to begin casting so that we can send in this picture:

Christmas...Bliss?

I can't stand to look at my calendar anymore. There are eleven (!!) days until the three of us leave for the territory of P.R. and we have not completed our holiday shopping. There is an entire family side that needs to be bought for, my parents, and my brother and sis-in-law. Sometimes, I'm tempted to say "gift cards for everyone" because I agree with CTG on that issue, and frankly I like getting them as gifts. However, I know some folks in my family like to actually receive actual "things." If I'd learned to knit earlier, about 1/2 of my family would be receiving varied assortments of hats, scarves, and shoulder wraps. But alas, with 10 or so days to go, it ain't gonna happen.

Kansas City rocks, if anyone's wondering. There's tons for kids to do, and most of the major stores I like are here. Probably the only thing I really miss is TJs and the amount of Three-Buck Chuck you can scoop up in one setting. When we were at my parent's house, that was the one place we went on Black Friday. I'm super sad that we've already finished up our stash of chocolate raspberry sticks, but we still have those belgian chocolate covered cherries left.

Besides, I probably shouldn't be eating too much of thatbecause the old bod needs to be bikini worthy in eleven (!!) days.

Repercussions

The Governor has a slight fear of those put-your-face-in-the-hole-and-take-a-picture things. I wasn't aware of it until last weekend:

This apprehension comes from an incident last year at the petting zoo that we used to frequent. The cut-out in question was a spider monkey one, and he had bumped his head frightfully when I had asked him to pose. It's why he looks so perturbed in this particular picture:

Ugh

I think the internet should know that I'm huddling away in the office, sulking right now over two things:

a. Conan bought an entire pack of Twizzlers and ate the entire things, except 3 sticks that I managed to steal away at 9:37 last night while he was watching some random movie.

b. I am never allowed to watch anything I want on our new 50 inch TV whenever he is home because he is always watching it. Yeah, sure I cooked dinner, bathed The Governor, drilled him on his spelling test, played Go Fish with him and put him to bed. But does that entitle me to let me even wash 1/2 an hour on the choice TV. NOOOOOOOOO. Because Conan came and plopped himself in front of the TV when he got home, and I happened to be occupied with my motherly administrations.

If I were a guy, and the two of us were at a bar and the TV were a hot chick, that would be the biggest constant cockblock ever. But he's supposed to be my wingman, you know? Totally uncool.

He Needs to Learn To Stay Away from Being Devoured by Large Inflatables

Sin of Sins

I am about to storm into the family room and castigate my husband for not sharing with me that we had received the latest P0ttery B@rn catalog. To me, that's as close as you can get to infidelity. I'm in the process of determining which which circle to which he should be relegated. Maybe he belongs with the "Wrathful and Gloomy."

After all, he's been in a bit of a bad mood lately.

A Journey in Pictures

I feel like I have so much to write about, yet absolutely nothing at all. So much has happened over the course of the past month that its almost too much to digest, almost too much to explain. People ask me "have you moved in? how are things?" and I pause almost imperceptibly to make sure the dams that hold in my emotions and news of changes in are steadfast.

The journey here was great. The Governor was packed into the back of my in-laws van and swept along to my parents house-where he promptly learned to swim.

Sure, he has problems putting on goggles, but don't we all?

When we went to pick him up, we stayed for a while and enjoyed things in flight.

Also some things that were a bit too distracted to engage in flight as well.

Not to mention things that didn't have any inkling towards flight, but would hopefully get there someday.

But after a long drive and some unpacking, we settled to enjoy boats floating in the water and coming to a place of rest.

And soon, we were once again back to journeys again...

So Just Chill-'Til the Next Episode

The house is almost bare, save for some bits and scraps of our lives here and there: random beads left under the bed, a mattress that we are bequeathing to the next owners, a toy car-turned-bath toy left on the corner of the tub. The Gov is spending some time at my childhood home with my folks, having a wonderful time swimming every day and enjoying the attention. In a couple of days, we'll descend on the premises for a spell and then the three of us will head to...whatever's next. There is another empty house on the other end of our journey, but this one will be soon be filled with car magazines, Legos, beads, chew toys. It has the space I've been craving and thinking of it makes me happy.

In front of our house this morning

He Has Absolutely No Clue That He's About to Be Devoured By A Big Yellow Plastic Dragon

Oh well. At least he got to enjoy a tasty treat a few minutes before:

The best thing in the world is fairground ride with your dad

Lonely, Lonely Time

When Conan's away for the weekend, the house grows in size from being "too small" to being "just right"--just right for a mother and an active son who is a stone's kick on the shy side of five. There are couches to sit on for watching TV, no wayward socks on office floors, and no cut-up sweatpants functioning as pajama bottoms (his not mine) on bathroom floors.

At night, however, the house becomes too big, with corners filled to the brim with shadows and noises that induce skittishness in trying-to-sleep mothers. While I went to bed at 11 last night, I was up at least 4 or 5 times making sure that the doors were locked, the lights were out, and no random entryways existed to invite strangers into our home. Our dog, who sleeps at the foot of our bed, looked at me quizzically each time, the unanswered question of "when are you going to get in bed and stay there?" appearing in his brown eyes.

The answer ended up being 3 a.m., after a cup of hot milk finally let my psyche release enough of the anxiety of being alone to allow me to surrender to sleep.

What heaven probably looks like

'Cause I'm Back to Rock the Show

The Governor's bath water must be cold. I've let him frolick loudly for about 45 minutes, but right now he seems embroiled in some sort of rescue of two Matchbox cars from the depths of the foot-deep ocean.

Friday nights at our house always have some element of adventure.

It's nice not to be sick. To celebrate, I scrubbed the toilets and replaced my sheets. Im0dium A-D has nectar-of-the-gods status at Chez Equilibrium. We do love it so. The priority this weekend is rest. Lots and lots of it. I don't care of I napped for 2 hours yesterday and had a full 8 hours sleep last night-tomorrow is still a day of rest, and I dare someone to pry that sucker out of my steely gripped, unmanicured-nails vise grip. Can't do it.

Did my son just exclaim "Don't try this at home!" from the bath?

Has he been watching Mythbusters again with Conan?

Upscale and Trendy

His Honor is always an entertaining shopping companion. I can't get much done when I bring him along, but sometimes it's just worth it to forget the list of to-buy items for a little while as he tries on mega-huge sunglasses in upscale stores.

The One She Uses To Think Through the "Second Child" Prospect

Eleven o'clock on Christmas night, while we are lying in bed, Conan asks me: "Do you want to have another?" Child, he means. This is the first time that he has raised this particular issue-usually it's me, thinking out loud with him in the same room. His standard response to my non-inquiry has been "I don't know. I'm still getting over the first time." The Governor's birth and all of its difficulties has made us very cautious about things, and we have been continually brain-fried from the constant gerbil wheel of work, parenting, and everyday life that "restarting the clock" has never received due consideration.

Conan may want a daughter. Like the rest of us, he is enamoured with my 2-year old niece. She is adorable and mostly even-keeled and I imagine the two of them will have fun in the upcoming years as he attempts to shape her into the next-but better-Danica Patrick. I may like a daughter too at some point, but we both know that you cannot guarantee the gender of any baby. We wouldn't have a baby living where we currently do, due to the cost of daycare and life in general being what it is.

But to have another right now and continuing to devote a lot of time and emotional energy to The Governor, my job, and keeping this house together would probably require a nanny. I can't see a nanny fitting into my life, and frankly for a very selfish reason: I am territorial about my physical space. Right now, it's a small physical space crowded with the remnants of Christmas combined with the four year old storm who litters Legos and toy cars in his wake. But it is my space-I share it with three boys right now, but I am not sure I am willing to share it with another person whose primary role is to care for my kids. Trust me, it's nothing against hired child care-it's about coexistence.

I have a difficult time sharing space with a 40 lb. dog.

But yet, it's not so simple either. Since The Governor was a surprise, we've been developing our lives and careers around his presence in our lives, and as he gets older we find that we have a little more freedom and have turned our attention to some of the things that make us feel-well, human. I've felt more comfortable in my skin since I've been exercising a little more and have most of my pre-pregnancy shape back (nota bene--I said "most."). I've been enjoying my work-related responsibilities. Conan and I have been working at communicating a little better. There is a little more calm in our lives that I've been savoring, which I think I desperately need in order to preserve my sanity.

So no more kids for now-in a couple of years, I'm still not so sure.

Follow me, or perish, sweater monkeys

Ever his mother's child, the Gov. currently has a fascination with cheerleading and dancing. He watched Bring It On one evening, from 15 minutes in to the very end. But who doesn't love Spirit Fingers? I certainly showcased my fair share back in the day--but really, I'm more of a high-V type of girl myself.

He's currently loving Making The Band: 3, which is the one where Diddy's making an all-girl group. I'm feeling a little guilty about letting him watch skinny girls prance around in skimpy outfits, but we have fun watching it. I think Aubrey is my favorite, but I'm not sure about Q. He might like Taquita, but I'm not sure.

Post T-Day Musings

I love the sound of independent play in the morning. I hear The Gov. pushing his cars around on the living room floor, and while I'm halfway listening to make sure I can intervene should there be crashing/killing/fighting, it's nice to have 15 minutes to tap away here and wish the .01 folks reading a retroactive Happy Thanksgiving. :)

This four-day weekend has made Conan and I tired, but it's not that we've been doing tons of stuff. Whenever we have an extended weekend or holiday, the "all systems go" instinct that we have to survive through the weekdays gets an error reading that states "system failure" and we find ourselves lying on the couch with the TV on for 3 hours...or sitting comatose in front of the PC screen with only our fingers capable of movement. No shopping is going to get done today, frankly because we're too lazy right now to even think about fending traffic. Oh wait, strike that-I already bought something today.

It was online.

Spaces In Between

Just taking care of some down time, seeing as I will have absolutely no privacy beginning when I come home from work, and extending throughout the weekend. You see, the in-laws will be visiting. It's times like this when I wish that I could just put my mother-in-law in her separate place of the house, away from me, where she could talk to herself until she got exhausted.

Hey, I just figured out why they call that separate, fully autonomous house addition the "in-law suite."

They are really kind people, but it sure does get crowded in our house when they come to visit. Crowded with clutter (they come packed to the gills with gifts bearing this wonderful cartoon characters that The Gov doesn't really know about or like for that matter), crowded with people (house population doubles), crowded with talk (per the above, MIL just LOVES to talk).

The only places I have to myself during in-law visits are my craft nook and my bedroom. Since Hobie apparently likes to poop under my craft nook table, it's gotten a little hard on the olfactory senses to be there as of lately. And so, I'll be holing myself up for the most part in my room reading. Or taking The Gov. out for long bike rides. Or taking Hobie for long walks.

Really, it isn't that bad-I'm just a typical introvert who needs totally alone time just to recharge and rebalance myself. So I'm slightly selfish--not that one shouldn't be, from time to time.

Gimme that funk, that sweet, that nasty, that gushy stuff

The Gov. has converted a Mini M&Ms container to a bath toy, which is nice. I have no problem with that.

I do, however, question his naming of his toy, as "Mr. Earwax."

His Honor's explanation of the name is the following: "He goes into the ocean and he just collects earwax in his mouth and then spits it at people."

Note to Self: Breathe

Sometimes I just lose it, and I feel like I'm in this itty bitty raft in the middle of a big black ocean with gigantic waves pulsating around me. When The Governor has velcro'ed himself to my side, and wants me to fix everything for him, and to cater to his every whim. When Conan goes and sequesters himself outside or downstairs or in the garage. When I've been on my feet all day playing baseball or helping Q get his trucks or tractors to "do construction" and then spent two hours assembling dinners for my family so that they can be frozen and then cooked. And then attempted to purchase a suit for a business trip with my 4-year old figeter trying to do cartwheels in the middle of the store, even though I've told him 3 times to play "the statute game." And then had to put him to bed because it was "my night," and therefore had promised my husband that I would do so.

When your child gets up 4 times exactly when you need to take a break and your nerves are so raw, sometimes just "having a good cry" doesn't goddamn cut it. Sorry.

Pocket Full of Kryptonite

Happy Halloween!

I Know what Boys Like

The boys are playing with their toys:

The big boy is in the garage, working on his 1984 944 Porsche.

The little boy is in the backyard, running his Tonka Trucks in and out of the dirt and grass.

The furry boy is chewing on a nice, fat rawhide bone.

I guess this is the secret to peace and not-quite-quiet on a Sunday morning.

Updates from the field

First things first: Dreamhost customer service rocks.

Second things second: apparently, my olfactory sense heightens when I'm ovulating. All of a sudden, the dog smell in my house has started to annoy me. I turned to The Gov today and asked "why do you smell like dog?" It turns out he's been hugging on Hobie lately. That dog sure gets puts up with a lot, bless his l'il heart.

Then again, the dog does love to rub his furry little booty all over our furniture. Man, I've never vacuumed so much in my life.

I'm a "single mom" this weekend-Conan has been up at the track helping out with this amateur circuit that he's planning on joining. Oddly enough, things are pretty relaxed when it's me a The Gov-Conan and I have both find that when one of us is away, there is one less person in an 1800 ft. sq. house whose habits, emotions, and mess we have to deal with. Race weekends are kind of tough-Conan comes home and is totally wiped out and and is...well, he's kind of like a teenager: sullen, crabby, a little selfish with remote. But I love him. More importantly, he cuts the grass.

\\

Tantrumy and Crabby

I fended off preschooler tantrums while shopping today, long enough to purchase the short -sleeved ribbon sweater in ballet pink from BR. I didn't try it on, and it's probably a good thing, since that whole self-esteem thing would have told me that it made me look "fat." I did try it on when I got home, and while the wooliness of it did add a little extra layer, I can't say I looked half-bad. Overall, I'm liking it.

But The Gov has been so tantrumy and crabby lately, his brow furrowed permanently, and a scowl that's so serious that you can't help but laugh.

I think he may actually be tired of us. I would be if I were him. I would be tired of anyone trying to guide/enforce reasonable discipline on me-all these darn rules that you can't quite yet fathom. What's this? He's so tired he's apparently already asleep, poor thing(this is me blowing him a mental kiss on his forehead).

Tomorrow's another game of afternoon catch-up as the work piles on in the morning.

Weekend Post

The flood warning lifted at 4 p.m. yesterday, just in time to take my cabin-fever crazy dog out for a walk. Luckily today-while chilly-was dry and both he and The Governor got to play outside and enjoy some fresh air. I'm craving a caramel hot apple cider right now. Actually, a cold one would suit me as well.

The Governor has left with me instructions to watch Finding Nemo "in the afternoon by [myself]." Apparently, it's a litte to scary in some parts for him. But he promised me that he would "be brave" when he watches it with his cousin when we go up to visit my brother and his family. The boy just doesn't like movies-a lot of them are still a little to scary for him-he doesn't watch a lot of TV, so a lot of the fast action still kind of scares him. I prefer it this way than him being somewhat desensitized-but a part of me would love to just cuddle up and watch a family movie without him jumping up halfway through and scurrying behind the couch.

Late Breaking News

ANYTOWN, USA--A dashing, blond Caucasian man with Conan O'Brien's facial structure was found weeping uncontrollably while sitting on the street corner, surrounded by chopped carrots. A 20-lb bag of Jasmine rice lay askew at his feet.

He was initially sighted shortly around dinnertime, wandering the streets, muttering "...fish oil...sesame seeds...fish oil...sesame seeds...," over and over to himself, his 6'3" frame hunched over silently as he fumbled with a rice spatula in his hand. Attempts to calm him proved fruitless.

When brought to the police station for questioning, he broke down and admitted to purchasing generic soy sauce, even though his grocery store's supply of low sodium Kikkoman was plentiful. He was allegedly lured to this unfortunate choice by bad judgment and promised savings.

"How was I know that the green cap and pungent soy odor was everything?" he exclaimed in a fit of frustration as authorities released him from custody.

His wife and young son could not be reached for comment, having run to the Asian grocery store to correct the misfortune.

Hello There!

Keep forgetting to ad this, but please welcome the newest member of the EG/SB family, a doberman-beagle mix named Hobie:

He came to us weekend before last. We've adopted him from the local beagle rescue and he has been fitting in quite nicely. It's been a little difficult for someone like me who has some personal space issues since Hobie is extremely affectionate, but I've been learning to adjust and just put the baby gate up when I want to be alone. Like the other two boys, I think he's kinda cute.

Possible career move

I think my son would make a good consultant. Lately he has been "taking meetings" with his four favorite stuffed animals, and "working from his home office," which is a trunk in his room where he has put a couple of post-it notes and files.

Midnight Excursions

Suddenly, I'm jolted wide awake, surrounded by the darkest grey silence with the weight of my comforter on my bare legs to remind me that it's the middle of the night. At first, i hear only the faint hum of the occasional delivery truck on the freeway just a handful of blocks from our house. Then, moments later, there is the plaintive request from just outside my bedroom door as The Governor beckons for assistance with a just-past-midnight trip to the bathroom. I rush to put on a bathrobe, and then greet him with gentle reassurances as I guide him to the toilet.

He is dizzy, coated with the remnants of sleep as I help him with his pajama bottoms and underwear. I stand a few feet away as he expertly aims the steady stream to its destination. Something of an overachiever, His Honor decided immediately after learning to potty train that he favored standing over sitting, making an exception as needed, of course. We conclude our trip with the ritual handwashing, and he stealthily makes his way back to his generous full bed.

The bed creaks as he climbs on, a legacy held together with plastic ties wrapped around bedframe legs that bent during an enthusiastic, in person demonstration of the "Monkeys On the Bed" song. He lies down, and I ask if he would like his music. He nods silently, and I see the faint outline of his cheeks in the darkness, the last vestiges of his baby days countenance still remaining-at least for now. I lie down for a little while while the soft lullaby CD starts to play, its slow timbre ringing a tune that The Governor softly declares "the one I love when I was a baby."

I feel a sad pang in my heart as I realize that I can never fully experience those times any more, at least not with this one. For he is all boy-I see it in his silhouette as he races in front of me, or stands with his weight leaning on one leg. The stance embodies a sureness of gait, as he has fully mastered the art of sharks-and-minnows and duck, duck goose.

As he begins to drift back to sleep, I steal back to my own bed, and Conan utters a brief noise of recognition as I climb back in and sigh, my thoughts lagging, still lingering in the room across the hall, where a boy has fully submerged himself in sleep.

And Then...

A piece of the puzzle is in place work-wise, which has somewhat eased the frantic pace at which life has moved lately. Things are slower this morning, and so I'm just trying to enjoy the fact that my phones are not ringing every 5 minutes. To be sure, there are unanswered questions about where I will be and what I'll be doing, but for now, I just want to ease up on the reins and enjoy the possibility of leaving the office before 5:30.

The Gov has been so much fun lately. Still badgering us with questions, but now he is singing songs, making jokes, and cuddling. I missed him so much while at work these past couple of days-partially because I was overwhelmed, and thinking about him is so comforting. I still can't get him to do anything beside pretend the beads are race cars when he sits with me during my evening jewelry-making sessions. At least he doesn't try to eat them.

10-day in-law visit in a couple of weeks. I try my best not to think about it, but I get into panic mode whenever I think of my MIL being around for that long of a period of time. I typed out a "this is what you should be doing with my kid during the day" list, but I'm sure she will pay it very little mind. The trick is to give it to my FIL, because he has a very understated way of honoring my wishes. There is also this way that my MIL fills up our house with this "presence" that crowds you out. She's always wanting to be around you, and for someone like me who values her privacy and alone-time, it's very difficult. I do have mild personal space issues, but what introvert doesn't need at least some physical space just to re-adjust? When my MIL comes to visit, my personal space becomes so much smaller-it feels hard to mentally breathe, even in my own house. If I had a treehouse, I would run to it and hide every night. I was a somewhat lonely child, and I just got used to the space. I like it that way--I wish she would just recognize that.

Conan got a raise and is in line for a big promotion. Both of these are well-deserved, and so I'm so happy for him. He was in a great mood last night--when your partner and best friend over the age of 5 is happy, it makes you happy too.

The Larger Child

Conan looks so peaceful when he is sleeping. I swing my legs around and lift my upper body to get out of bed each morning, and he is always still sound asleep. He and his harem of pillows occupy the majority of our king-sized bed, and yet he looks so young with his eyes are closed and face expressionless. I like to kiss his angular pink cheeks when he is like this--he's still that adorable after 5 years of marriage.

Inner Quandries

I hate to be the bearer of anything quasi-depressing, but being the working mommy of a preschooler is sometimes as heartbreaking as being the working mommy of a baby. Sometimes, it is more so, as your preschooler has learned the art of the heartwrenching statement. I love it and hate it when The Governor says, "I miss you when you go to work," or even "I don't have any friends at summer camp (which apparently isn't true)." I don't know if this is some sort of long-standing concern or just the passing throes of miniature adolescence, and it gets to me.

He's been painfully shy to separate himself from me when I drop him off a preschool during the regular school year. Since he started summer camp, it's a little bit better since he is really enjoying it and gets to ride the bus, but there is always something and I'm still not sure if I'm "doing this right," whatever that means. I have less confidence in my parenting skills than when he was under one. I've never parented any child who is so full of energy and who talks non-stop. I have tried the gentle way of getting him to relax or use his "inside voice," but he is quite the chatterbox and question-asker. Conan and I try and have perspective-gathering sessions after he is in bed and asleep to remind ourselves that he really is a good kid (he is), bright and funny and curious. He is shy and sensitive, but cuddly and fun. He is loyal and stubborn, and a very, very generous friend. When you are in the midst of chaos, however, it's sometimes hard to remember those things. I'm still working on ridding myself of that idyllic image of a staid, quiet child who likes to sit still in the hammock while we swing in the breeze, reading page after page. Not everyone lives in the pastel-hued world of Beatrix Potter. He did, however, watch a bit of Finding Neverland with us.

The thunder outside of my window makes me sad, because The Governor and I had agreed to going "running" as our "special time" this afternoon. If it rains, we will need to reschedule for a different day. I hope I'm doing this parenting thing correctly-always some doubts along the way.

The Boy Once Again

Today is The Governor's birthday. I sent him to his first day of summer camp with his cheeks and limbs the color of perfect carmel candies from having visited the pool with my mother and father 5 of the past 8 days. He was at their house for the week, and just had the most fabulous time. He told me on Thursday night that he would like to stay there, but thankfully relented on Friday and said that his missed his mom and dad. I would have liked to say that I enjoyed the quiet of a child-less house, but I was sick for the entire week. I am still getting over my bout with some sort of weird summer flu, but antibiotics have been my friend for the past two days.

Tonight, we will have dinner at one of His Honor's favorite restaurants, and come home and unwrap presents and have a little cake (of the ice cream variety, of course). I will continue to wonder at all of the changes as of late, including a curiosity that rivals that of the best cross-examining trial attorneys out there. I missed him quite a bit last week, but perhaps I was too dizzy and exhausted to notice. But he is back with us and what a wonderful thing it is to hold his hand in mine.

Still Life: Sunday Afternoon

So much for eating well today. Had a good start at breakfast (veggie sausage and whole wheat toast w/ garlic powder and parmesan cheese), but we decided to go out to lunch--and instead of the salad I had in my mind, I got my favorite turkey panini with artichoke spread, plus some french onion soup. But the real kicker is the raspberry ice cream pie I made yesterday and have sitting in my fridge. Just had a slice--it's so light and perfect. I shouldn't feel guilty about eating it, but I do. My advice: don't put the fresh raspberries in the pie, and then freeze it. Because you have to negotiate around frozen raspberries while eating it. Bah, listen to me whine.

I let The Governor take a nap in our bed just now. He was still awake when I checked on him a little while ago. He sat up and exclaimed, "It looks like the sea, mommy!" It was almost enough to compensate for how tired I am today, for we are dog-sitting a chocolate lab mix who likes to get up at 6:45 a.m. And that makes me uber-bitchy. So let the bitchiness continue--I'm in a pouty mood.

A Most Intimidating Experience

My current work experience of herding blind cats along should be adequate preparation for tomorrow's task at hand: chaperoning a museum trip for 32 youngsters, all between the ages of 3 1/2 and 6. I don't know if they will be convinced to continue holding sweaty hands for the entire duration of the trip, or if I and the other "adult" chaperones will take turns running after individual red-shirted tots who decide to sporadically stray from the pack.

I am really looking forward to it-I enjoy visiting the classroom and the kids are just so funny, with their assorted runny noses and all. I was treated to an ee cummings-like re-telling of the Spongebob Squarepants movie last month when I went to join The Governor's class for lunch one day:

patrick starfish, he flew in and crashed
spongebob stole king neptune's crown
no he didn't yes he did
plankton did
hey hey (shirt tugging) plankton stole king neptunes crown
spongebob and patrick drove the burger car

Tomorrow will be fun-a little scary for a woman who really doesn't think of herself as an "adult" even though she's held a professional job and has had parental status for the past handful of years. Maybe that's why I eagerly volunteered to chaperone: I feel more comfortable in a group of preschoolers than anyone else.

Tossin' and Turnin'

It's a beautiful Saturday morning, bright with late spring sun-why should I not be feeling relaxed and glorious? Because I tossed and turned until 2 a.m. last night, that's why. The influx of work did not stop until 10 p.m. last night-I juggled caring for The Governor solo and answering questions from a cagey marketing person about a piece for which I lacked a critical piece of information until after 8--on a Friday night. Thanks very much for the info. I was so worked up that I couldn't fall asleep, and it seems that the remnants of the anxiety have woken me up bright and early on a Saturday morning. So lovely.

Yesterday at work felt like swimming in deep water. I couldn't touch the bottom, couldn't feel anything stable under my feet. Occasionally, I would dive down, head first, and muck around in the details--but both phones (cell and office) called me back to the surface, making me swim from one project to another. There were enough kind words of encouragement to keep me afloat. I am trying to make a mental note to try and enjoy the experience of being valued and busy for a change. A part of me can't wait for this Very Big Project to be completed, and yet it was probably one of the reasons why I was chosen for this job, at least for the near term. Beyond its completion (knock-on-wood)...who knows what will happen.

The Governor paid a visit to my work the other day. He was very well-behaved and I was able to get a couple of things out of the way. He had a great time, met my co-workers, and was fairly charming (of course), dirt under the fingernails and all. His speech and level of understanding changes every day-while we were driving home from the bookstore yesterday, he said "I wanna show you something when we get home." Usually, it's "I wanna show you something (implied: RIGHT NOW, MOMMY!!)." He understood that I could not turn around at that moment to see loader on the back of his toy truck pop up at the press of the button.

Speaking of charming, here is a picture that Conan took of him last week:

Everyone says that he looks "just like" me, and you can note the definite similarities from this picture. But more importantly, it just makes me laugh.

True Love = V. Difficult

I should have been better about posting in S3@Jay's parenting thread, but I just couldn't debate or exposit the philosophical bases of parenting approaches with someone who isn't currently experiencing the everyday mini-heartbreak of disciplining a spirited and stubborn preschooler. I will admit my own selfishness in lurking the thread, posting a single response, and not responding any further. However, the ironic reality is that I was busy trying to parent. And failing miserably at it on some days, and doing decently on others.

Lately, The Governor has started to really exhibit the wily and spirited nature that is expected of the offspring of two very passionate people. To top matters off, he is also quite stubborn. And things have started to get a little, well, difficult. Yesterday morning was very, very hard--we almost didn't go to a co-worker's picnic because he would not accept anything but sweets for a pre-picnic snack when we were choosing a light meal before the picnic at the grocery store. So we returned home.

At that point, I threw my hands up because I was so overwhelmed that I knew I couldn't parent effectively, not then, not five minutes after. I had been through a very difficult week at work, Conan and I were having a disagreement, and everything just seemed to be too much. However, the upside is that Conan stepped in and gave The Governor some time to calm down and think about how he acted, and calmly and firmly told him that he was not to act that way if he expected to go to the picnic. We ate a healthy lunch, and proceeded to have a great afternoon. I told Conan later that it may have been the first time that I just surrendered and let Conan do his job as a parent--and he did the job really well.

I'm not a perfect parent. I'm not going to pretend that I know everything. It's really hard. It's exhausting. I'm often confused. I often doubt myself. I don't think I'm doing that great of a job a lot of time. But I have to believe that I can do this. Every day, it takes so much strength and love and patience to just start parenting. But I have to believe I can do this.

And so every night before bed, I look at The Governor's picture. I look at his wonderful face, hear his happy laugh in my head, remember all of the great things he's been doing and all of the ways that he shows us that he's a good kid (throwing away the trash, realizing that he has accidentally hurt someone and saying sorry, following directions), and then I think about why I'm doing this. It's tough, but I'm doing it.

On "Worry"

My answer greschya's first question: Never.

I have never really stopped worrying since I learned I was pregnant. That's going on about five years of worry. I worried when Q didn't kick in utero. I worried when his urine turned light pink on his 3rd day, due to urate crystals in his diaper. I worried when we brought him to hospital one cold fall day when he was 11 weeks old because his temperature was so high. I worried when I brought him to the hospital again after he knocked his noggin and needed stitches. And now, I am worrying about a plane trip that he is taking with his dad. But the thing is: you get used to it. Your instincts make you reach above and beyond all of the things that would have been your limit pre-baby. You learn to depend on others for advice, reassurance, and perspective. You learn to take that worry and turn it into protectiveness and parental competence.

Because mothering is ultimately about loss: your mind's eye grasps for images and vestiges of rememberance at every stage, because it could be gone the next day as your child grows and changes. They fine wisps of hair become strong and textured right under your fingertips. The fine tones of baby cries morph into recognizable speech patterns, and all of a sudden, you don't have a baby anymore. And then, that toddler becomes a child whose days are filled with monster trucks and "bad guys" and a complex reasoning system. And it all changes so quickly that you never stop to mourn the loss of that part of your experience as a mother. But that sense of worry keeps you pressing forward, wanting to teach your child and learn from them at the same time. It's what allows you to do both.

Little Losses

I marshalled three projects (2 small ones and 1 large one) through completion by 10:30 this morning, and all of a sudden my industriousness took a nose-dive. So I'm sitting here at my desk shortly after noon, wishing so desperately for the end of the day. Unfortunately, I don't think my company has nap-time.

I have been stuck in a funk regarding The Governor's sudden transition to being a complete little boy. Two weeks ago, I could see vestiges of baby-ness in his features and demeanor. However, he had this ridiculous spurt in his conversational and mental abilities, and now does things like recall from memory and verbalize those thoughts. And those are not things that babies do.

A part of me loves it and is enthralled. However, another part of me hates it. That's right, I said "hate." I am sort of miserable about not having a baby anymore in the house, and I am coming to grips with having to let him "go" in many ways. I view motherhood as a never-ending series of "letting go" episodes; I am constantly re-assessing my relationship to him. For instance, and the extremely crowded mall playground at the mall the other day, he disappeared from my site quite a few times as he moved from the different parts of the playground. While my previous reaction would have been to immediately readjust my location so that I could see him at all times...I knew that he already knew to watch out for other kids ("especially babies!"), and to not go outside of the playground area. I also knew that he periodically searches for me from time to time, and would eventually come back to see me and boast his accomplishments.

And so I waited for a minute until I moved so that I could see him. But that minute was an eternity: I was fighting the urge to automatically "protect him" while allowing myself to wonder whether he was okay. I had to "let him go" for that minute, and it was so. hard. But parenting is ultimately about loss: you do all of these things for your child so that he can live halfway around the world if he wants--and still be safe and be a good person. I just figured that out recently, and I am sort of "grieving" about it.

It might explain why, as of lately, I can't shake this fear I have about something happening to The Governor sometime in his life. I don't know if it is resolution with this aspect of my role in his life, or if it is intuition, but for some random reason, I have this strange worry in the back of my head. I mean, there is always some healthy level of concern (which keeps me going), but as of lately (with the snow and us running around), my general level of concern has increased. And I am sort of scared about what that means.

Meditations for Preschoolers

The Governor informed me three days ago that they did yoga at his school as he carried on with his handful of toy cars and mish-mash of trains. Apparently some of the trains were on their way to "do yoga" and had just stopped to pick up a couple of more coaches along the way.

I was fascinated with the thought of preschoolers in orderly rows, striking poses such as "The Cat" or "The Bridge" as peaceful music played in the background, so I asked him to kindly demonstrate some of his "yoga" for me.

Apparently a three and a half's year old's "yoga" is drastically different from Sivananda Yoga or Hatha Yoga or really anything you think of when you think of the word "yoga." What followed after my request was my son traveling around the living room floor, alternately striking some amorphos pose with his leg up and head on the floor, and then lying on his back, with his legs stretched up to his head. He would run, and then sort of "tumble" into his next pose, and keep on going. I didn't know yoga was so...harried and frantic.

He tried to do "yoga" in the bath last night. I told him it wasn't such a good idea. One of those "hazardous to your health" things.

I probably could use some meditative space myself. I am gearing up for an in-home jewelry show, my first. I will try and take some pics if I get the chance, but I've got some other prep work to do, namely emailing invitation and sewing pink felt pouches in which people to take home their goodies. I'm mostly interested in covering my costs--If I sell 2 or 3 necklaces and the same amount of earrings and 2 purses (out of the 8 that I made so far), I should be good to go.

Saturday Night, It's All Right

the size 4T Spidey undies are orbiting the perimeter of our dryer right now, comingling with Conan's jeans, the buttons of which i can hear pinging against the metal sides of the dryer basin. it's quiet right now, but 3 hours ago our house was filled with the outrageous giggles of a toddler boy who just discovered his father hiding in the far reaches of a too-small closet. when it was his turn to hide, the aforementioned tot could not surpress his laughter, which made him particularly easy to sniff out.

maybe Saturday nights are for bottles of Syrah under Christmas lights on the back patio of a dining establishment for some, or for sweat drops glistening on your skin as the bass sends you undulating. but for me, Saturday nights like this are pure bliss.

A Christmas Visual

This pictures speaks volumes of what Christmas is like with The Governor.

It also captures what I believe is the ideal Christmas: busy, casual, full of surprises and in the company of those who love you best.

mmmm....meatloaf

what's this? Conan is downstairs, making meatloaf. he has never made meatloaf in his life. it's probably because i've put him to shame, what with my doing five loads of laundry (and folding all of them), making homemade chicken and dumplings, very badly sewing a handmade wallet, and running after The Governor.

do not bring a 3 year old child to go see The Polar Express. we thought The Governor would like it, with the train-and-Xmas theme. but it is one intense movie and the special effects are a little to much to take for a wee one. and it borders on the slightly scary, so it's just not a good choice for a first in-theater experience.

A house unto itself

here's a pic of The Governor, myself, and Conan. Note the age appropriate reading material spread out before us.

Also observe the martini in the foreground. "Another Timmy the Raccoon story? Gawd, I need a strong drink."

Parenting Karma Backlash Expected

We were visiting my sis this past weekend, and because she lives in the middle of this fine country we decided to fly. I had prepared for it being full of harassment from a toddler, sleep deprivation, and lost of frustrative venting on the part of Conan. However, The Governor was wonderfully behaved and that contributed to it being a pleasant and enjoyable trip. However, I wonder if this means that our parenting karma has a negative balance, which would mean that he will morph into demonic spawn the second I get home from work today. We shall see.

I'm still working on trying to get him to smile normally. We are to partially blame for pictures like this:

We actively encourage wide smiles when he started smiling on cue, and they just started to become more exaggerated as time progressed. I'm not sure what the cure is, but I guess for the meantime we should view attempts at emulating post-modern paintings with some humor, I suppose:

For a Change

surprise, surprise...the Governor is taking a nap, something we'd thought he'd given up for the time being. we'd not considered putting him down for a nap on the weekends, however we are all getting over a cold and/or flu and/or infection that makes one's mucus full of blood (in Conan's case), and so a nap was a good idea.

so, for a change, i have a little "me" time--some quiet time. i used about an hour of it to take care of some work, but for the past hour or so, i completed a couple of sewing projects. one was hemming a pair of new work pants, and the other was fixing a long sleeve t-shirt with a Buddha design, courtesy of the McIntosh family (go visit!).

i'd forgotten how relaxing sewing can be. i've not sewn a purse in a while, due to lack of inspiration. i'm not finding any shapes or fabrics for fall or winter that i love enough to design around. i suppose a holiday collection might work, but that would result in my breaking my back to get accomplished. i see all of these talented crafters launching sites and i'm terribly envious. i wish i had the time to sew and make jewelry and cute pocket journals and reconstruct t-shirts, take pictures, find an e-commerce provider and launch, but i don't. i'm considering selling my jewelry inventory with a certain amount of proceeds to go to Q's school as a fundraiser, but the selfish part of me wants not to start from scratch. isn't it awful?

Q has decided on being a pirate for Halloween, and i'm going to sew his costume. the pants i've figured out: take a pair of navy blue sweatpants and shorten them, by cutting them, shortening the legs, and resewing them using a shorter band of fun fabric. for the shirt part, i'm thinking there has to be some sort of stripe element to it. then there's the hat (to buy) and possibly a sword (but not plastic), and an eyepatch (to sew). i've thought about the fluffy shirt, but since the itch risk is so high, i'm thinking it's a no-go.

Open Mouth Sores: Not My Cup of Tea

The Governor has hand-foot-mouth disease. Which is contagious, but only to toddlers, because us older types have developed a resistance to the Coxsackie virus, which is its cause. He has been miserable for the past 36 hours, because the virus causes sores to erupt in the mouth and they are fairly painful and eating is quite a feat for him.

So I'm going to tell Conan when he comes home from volleyball tonight that The Governor ate a whole cup of pudding, he will be totally stunned and impressed. Imagine! An entire CUP of pudding. And he thought his cup of Jello was so great.

Anyway, unbeknownst to me, The Governor got into the box of animal crackers that was sitting on the kitchen table and apparently ate one--so that means we are getting there. Once the sores heal, the kid will be ravenous.

Incidentally, hand-foot-mouth disease is different from foot-and-mouth disease, which is plagues livestock and is kinda deadly, or something like that.

Toddler Birthday Party: The Aftermath

toddler birthday parties result in hangovers too, but they're not necessarily alcohol-induced. unless you have actually imbibed a fair amount after such a celebration. then in that case, you are blessed with twice the headache and exhaustion.

we had The Governor's birthday party yesterday, replete with clever decorations and a moonbounce. kids of all ages (from 5 months up to 65, i believe) were there and it was a family-style cookout in our backyard. a lot of planning went into it, and i was fortunate only to have fought with my mom once, and that was on the eve of the celebration.

anyway, it came and went, His Honor had a wonderful time and that's really what mattered. but clean up is a pain, and we have yet to complete the job. if i were to analogize this to some sort of organized crime anything, it would be the "long, slow, drawn-out death" variety of punishment.

the hangover symptoms are there, though: stomach ache from eating chips before 11 a.m., exhaustion, heavy-headedness, pounding headache from dehydration (forgot to drink water in the course of running around).

ah, parenthood. we love this stuff.

The Other Boy

I can imagine that life with my husband is as close to being married to Conan O'Brien as you can imagine, without the fame and having to do without him at night.

My husband, you see looks like Conan O'Brien, including the nose, only he does not have the red hair, but is blond.

The important similarity to me is that both men share an extremely intelligent sense of humor that integrates a Bell Curve dissection with toilet-related matters. For example, who else can include maxi pads and Tibet in the same joke?

Hence, the husband will be referred to as Conan O'Brien in this blog. i am probably going to draw the ire of some internet Conan (the real one, that is) stalker for being misleading, but consider it to be a tribute of sorts. i suppose

Visual Proof of His Affable Nature

Remember in my last entry how I said that The Governor was a real charmer? Well, here's proof from our most recent outing on Mother's Day, when he was spotted meeting with constituents.

Here he is displaying wit and a sense of humor:

And here he is looking approvingly upon the lastest directive implementation.

Quite the master of true politicking, if I do say so myself.

The Governor

i've taken to calling my son "The Governor" in my head, seeing as he issues directives of all sorts that apply primarily in Equilibrium-Land." For the most part, he has outgrown the stage where he can wear the "Benevolent Dictator" t-shirt found here. his style of leadership is subject to negotiation and occasional reasoning.

of course, like some other state governors, he can be bribed effectively.

he has interpersonal politics down to a science, that one. we all know that Bill Clinton was at one time the governor of Arkansas, a position that no doubt he owed to skillful negotiation and the ability to read other people. my son is a fabulous negotiator. he will wake up, bat his eyes, and shyly ask in a reverent voice, "ice cream?" first thing in the morning. i consider my role at that time to be Lieutenant Governor and recommend an alternate course of action.

but i did waver slightly in my resolution. who can resist a hug and a sunny smile?

he did almost pull a fast one on me last night. we had come home from the park, and he convinced me that all he wanted to do was to say hi to the dog who lives in the house behind ours and then come right back in for bedtime. but the second he got outside, he pulls out his toy dump truck to play. son of a gun--it's like he promised not to raise taxes, but then raises taxes.

So, The Governor it is. I promise to keep you informed of his developing political platform and public appearances.

Language Lessons and Economics

My ongoing lessons in Toddler-ese are continuing, however, my son's penchant for making words up has become something of a stumbling block. Two days ago, he requested that I tell him a bedtime story about "Tokkies," and I felt pangs of anxiety.

I was simply unable to determine whether I had knowledge of these purported "Tokkies." Luckily, I diverted his attention to something else, but I was still confused: Had we discussed "Tokkies" before, and when?

Usually, it only takes a couple of questions to determine whether: A) a certain Toddler-ese word actually corresponds to an actual concept, and B) what that thing is. However, my questions regarding the "Tokkies" have proven to be unfruitful. An example:

Me: Did you see Tokkies on Disney?

Son: Yes.

Me: Did you see Tokkies on Nickelodeon?

Son: Yes.

[we go online to the Nick website and click links to various shows]

Me: [pointing to the "Three Monsters"] Are these Tokkies?

Son: Yes.

Me: Oh, okay. [pointing to "The Wild Thornberries"] What about these--are these Tokkies?

Son: Yes. [nods head very seriously]

I've asked him the names of the "Tokkies" and he proceeded to provide me with three names, all completely undecipherable and still mysterious. He has started to just make up words lately, so I'm wondering if this is one of those types of things.

But he really is quite funny, and might start to become a tattletale. He informed me that his friend at daycare "made a mess" while eating crackers. Having to maintain my image as the Infallible Parent, I didn't tell him that I, too, make a mess of crackers. I really do. It's terrible. What if he told his daycare provider? She might not let me run around the yard pushing a toy truck, and that would be simply devastating.

I told him that it was okay to make a mess, as long as you clean it up. Besides, we pay people to clean things up in the corporate world all the time, so I'm essentially helping my son learn lessons that help him understand the fabric of the American economy.

So, yes, I'm a good parent, even though I'm still not conversant in Todder-ese.

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