2012 Christmas Concert, Starring Rowan Quin Shankleton... Sort Of

This little elf made his stage debut last Friday night at the PSOH Preschool annual Christmas concert.

The scene was from out of a cliche Hallmark Channel holiday movie, but genuinely warm and fuzzy nonetheless. What appeared to be at least 200 parents, grandparents, older (and younger) brothers and sisters crowded into the church sanctuary for an entertaining evening of melodic Christmas revelry. And by melodic, I mean yelling at the top of your their lungs participation by the pre-schoolers and full-out flailing of the arms and clapping choreography by the infants and toddlers.

This lively bunch of 62 children were over-flowing with holiday spirit and some to share. As we all scrunched in elbow to elbow and puffy coat to purse, we armed ourselves with camcorders, flip-video camera's and smart phones to try and capture this jolly little memory.

Rowan was carried out by Miss 'Um-buh' (a.k.a. Amber) because he was not interested in walking into that sanctuary with all of those strange people staring at him. He was followed by several of his little friends to the Christmas-scene that had been erected on the stage. Older toddlers were arranged in the back row so that they could fully execute their merry movements and infants were set up like dominoes in the front row. Of course we could barely see because we were sitting in the second to the last row of pews and we did not realize that you need to arrive an hour early if you want parking or a good seat for the show. This bad working mama failed to get a video or a picture of her child's first program because of plain poor planning. Oh well, my mom always told me that there will never be as many photos of the second one... I tried to dispel that myth but poor Rowan, it's happening little buddy. Mommy is sorry!
Once these little tots were all situated, Twinkle-Twinkle Little Star began, which also initiated the funniest dance moves that I have seen. Rowan was doing a full on swaying routine, using his entire upper body. Straight-faced, looking around as if, he was scared to stop. Hysterical. No, darn it, I did not get this on video but I'd be happy to demonstrate it to anyone in person. Noah and I are still giggling about how cute and funny Ro-Ro was... ahhhh - good times, good times, as Noah likes to say.

Rowan was one of three infants that decided that this was all a bit much and mostly just stared into the crowed with a half-pout, hoping that someone was going to rescue them. The other three were having an all-out blast, jamming to the music, no matter what the tempo - these little boogers were gettin' down!

I scooped up Rowan after their three-number set that also featured Go Tell It On The Mountain and Jingle Bells. He was so thankful that I was there and pretty exhausted... you see they had been rehearsing for two months and had to get in one last practice that day as well. Schwew - he was pooped!

The lovely little concert ended with the pre-schoolers reading poems, catching mommy kissing the big man in red and numerous other ditties that made us all tear up, clap, 'ooooh' and 'aaah.'

These are the sweet memories I will treasure, even if I didn't get a stinkin' picture. Next year I will be early and prepared.

So, This is Christmas...

So This is Christmas has been remade by several artists since John Lennon's original Happy Christmas in 1971. My new favorite is Sarah McLachlan's version...it's a few years old now, but she has a special place in my heart (my dad liked her music) and hearing her angelic voice seems to soothe whatever is ailing... or else make you bawl like a baby.


I've been trying to put my finger on just exactly how I feel lately and there are no pithy phrases or comical prose that comes to mind, when usually the holidays tend to bring out my creativity. So, This is Christmas... has many meanings and it seems to sum up how I'm dealing with the holly and the jolly... the mysterious and the mystical... the deeply spiritual and the feelings of sadness. Because I'm me, 'dealing with it' means a lot of sarcasm, sharing anecdotes about my dad that make me and others smile, a lot of reflection and prayers and treasuring each and every moment with as much gusto as possible.


Photo by sweet friend and memory capturing queen, Jaime Lenhart.

This photo explains exactly how I'm feeling this holiday season... from Noah - 'let's be silly and just get through this...' and from Rowan - 'WTF is happening here?' Pardon the French in Rowan's thought bubble... no, he does not use the web 2.0 acronym WTF, but he does say, 'Caaa'mun!' Like my dad used to... 'Awh, come on!' when something went wrong.

When there is so much wrong about the last two months, I am trying to the find magic in the little things, like my sons' faces.



BTW, my dad has BC

I've been spending a lot of time texting and emailing my friends and family members lately. I still have to re-read my drafts because it's unbelievable to me that the words brain cancer have been included in the messages.

One note to a former co-worker turned very good friend was, 'Yes, you read that correctly. My dad has brain cancer.' It still is a foreign concept to my brain, as I try to process this whole thing. It seems impersonal to text or email about such a serious subject, but when the hospital server blocked my laptop connection and delayed emails from my smart phone, texts were the way to go. Plus, it's a lot easier than the prospect of a telephone call with a close friend... where you know that the sound of their voice is going to cause you to completely loose control and bring on infinite water works. To prevent the sobbing I conducted most of my family crisis communications via text. Probably partly protecting myself from breaking down... and delaying the in-person conversations where I had to say the words out loud: my dad has brain cancer.

People ask me how I'm doing... I have my moments. Usually alone or when it's just my husband and I. The strangest things will make me break out into uncontrollable sobs. Often times it's thinking about he and my oldest son and how so very close they are. About memories had and memories yet to be made with my dad and my kids, his grandchildren. Or sometimes if I'm just looking into my boys' innocent little faces.

I remember hearing myself say, It's not fair...' My husband knows this, his brother and mother have gone through this and conquered this terrible disease. Hodgkin's and Lymphoma. Such ugly words, befitting of an ugly disease. As much of a support-system that my husband has been, he's having a rough time, too. He and my dad have become very close over the years. Plus, all of this is just complete non-sense. What none of us can understand is how a perfectly healthy (and I mean perfect) 55 year-old with no prior history, symptoms or indications that anything was going on... can up and have brain cancer one day. How and why does that happen?

My dad is the epitome of health. He worked construction for 30 years and after recently retiring, didn't slow down all that much. He had a bevy of projects on his to-do list at home and at his hunting property during any given week, helped family members and friends with home improvement projects, exercised regularly, ate right and of course, chased his grandchildren around as much as possible.

It is not fair. I'll keep repeating that because although I don't think I am in denial, I just haven't completely processed what is happening.

He had a craniotomy last Friday, where they attempted to map his brain activity and determine how the Cancer is affecting specific areas of the brain. They took two small biopsies and we'll know for certain this week what sub-type of Glioma it is... and the recommendation for treatment. I'm ignoring the thoughts like bumper cars in my head... about what this conversation will be like... if it will feel like I'm not really there, but looking down on myself in the moment.

Due to the surgery, it's taking a while for my dad to get back to normal. His language skills are slowly getting there and his memory is coming back in precious bits and pieces. He is so strong, stronger than all of us, I think... that he's almost annoyed that we are doting on him so much. He's taunting my mom and sister, I hear, about meal time... apparently one of the medications has elevated his appetite back to his teenage days. This is how I know that he is doing well.

I'll also continue to keep this guarded but positive outlook because really, what else can you do but think that everything will be okay? I can't drive myself crazy... it's too easy to go there and it's taken everything I have to keep it together. I am so very thankful for such amazing family, friends and co-workers that have been holding me up with warm thoughts and prayers over the last three weeks. It's working.

My boys got to see their Papa yesterday and it was a wonderful visit. They are incredible, those two little guys. Noah stared for a moment and then just like that, he was over it and sat in my dad's lap like any other day. Rowan reached for his Papa to pick him up at least a half a dozen times and did not seem bothered by the new hairdo. Seeing all of this was exactly the medicine everyone needed yesterday.

Ghosts, Goblins and Garden Gnomes

I knew this when I found out I was pregnant with a boy the first time around. I had maybe four, maybe five years tops, before I lost all cuteness control, fashion influence and first choice power concerning Halloween costumes.

Noah's first Halloween was a blast - he was our little Giraffe and as cute as can be. His second Halloween featured our little tot as an adorable baby Frankenstein and he stole the show. His third Halloween it was Buzz Lightyear for preschool and Woody for trick-or-treat. His fourth Halloween he was a fire truck. No, that is not a typo. He was very explicit about his costume request that year: 'no, not a firyure-MAN, mom, a firyure-twuck!' Amazingly, a little searching on the net and I found a fire truck costume. It was a big hit that year at Cleveland's Boo at the Zoo.

And then it happened. Noah's fifth Halloween was upon us. The Costume Express catalog arrived (because I was a customer of Birthday Express, naturally) and it was like a pumpkin rolling down a hill from there - smash! Granted, I didn't want the kid to dress up like a cow or pink bunny like in A Christmas Story, but I was a little deflated at the prospect of GI Joe, albeit the modern version, a white and gray space-age-looking character.

My parents invited Noah to spend the weekend and trick-or-treat at their house, too, that year. How excited was he that got to be Incredible Hulk at Nana and Papa's house that year, in addition to GI Joe at home. Coolness! Well, that's how I pretended to act, even if a Reese's Pieces-sized part of my heart was breaking off with each laser-shooting, green muscle monster costume he chose.'You look awesome, buddy!' Is what I'd tell him because he did and he was jumping out of his skin with excitement to go door to door and show the neighbors just how awesome he looked. Last year, he and the neighbor kids were all 'army guys.'

So handsome in his camo gear and face-paint, yes, but where was my little fuzzy giraffe?

Then along came Rowan. I was and still am over the moon about having boys, but man am I holding on to these baby years with a vice grip!  Ro was bound to have the most snuggly, cuddly cute costume available and I think I succeeded. His nickname is monkey, so inevitably, he was a monkey last year. So stinkin' sweet, I couldn't stand it.

2011 rolled around and I started thinking about Rowan's costume in, oh, May. Lame, right? N to the O. I've got to get my cute quotient when and where I can, ok? One evening I was giving Rowan his bath. He was into sticking his face in the bubbles. When he lifted up his head, I laughed out loud - he had a bubble beard and with those little ears sticking out a bit I said, 'you look like mommy's little gnome!' And, the vision for Rowan's 2011 Halloween costume was born.

Noah took no less than three weeks and about a dozen choices to settle on a werewolf this year - 'but it has to have ripped jeans, mom,' he said, matter-of- factly. Not just any werewolf, but a freaky, black, piercing-eyed werewolf from a cult horror film including gooey looking blood smears. Ummmm... 'Be sure to look through the whole catalog to see if there's anything else you like,' I heard myself blurting. Over the last few weeks, Noah considered a swashbuckling pirate (with beard or without) a Ghost Buster, Captain America, a vampire, The Flash, an astronaut... all ideas I was in full support of if we could forgo the Rated R gore. It was time to order and he had settled on the werewolf so I did some digging on the costume site and found a little less scary one without any blood. No, I'm not a Halloween prude, I just don't think that my 6 year-old needs to wear blood and guts quite yet. 

The package came yesterday and in the box was a tell-tale blue plaid ripped 'werewolf' style shirt, you know the one, right? Werewolf hands (kinda creepy) and a very, very hairy (shedding, in fact) werewolf mask with a scowl. It was no less scary, but less demonic for sure. Noah was pleased with it. We were secretly attempting to try the costume on before Rowan caught a glimpse and got scared. Too late, just as Noah was turning around, Rowan saw the side profile of this harry thing in his house and flipped. Noah ran out of the room and took it off, we soothed Rowan for a while and all was well. Werewolf man went in the basement for a few more weeks.

Now it was time for Rowan Gnome's big reveal. The costume was so perfect and I couldn't wait to get it on him. He was obviously tired and tentative due to our scarring episode with the werewolf but I was determined to try this on and dial up the cute. Rowan was less than excited about the one-piece and shoe covers. My clue should have been his repeated, 'mmmt-mmm's' and 'unt-uh's' that I tried to gloss over by giggling, tickling, putting the hat on myself, playing peek-a-boo and overall making a fool of myself. And then, this mean mommy, in search of a Halloween high, put the hat on her child. And he screamed. Poor kid. I took it off and put it back in the package as quickly as I could, and comforted him... all the while he's saying, 'I taird, I taird.' Which I didn't realize until about a minute later was 'I scared.' Darned wicked werewolf. You scared away the Gnome!

Ah well. Noah is psyched about his cool and frightening costume and that makes me happy. Even though I'm a little sniffly that it's not 2006 and he's not a Toy Story character.

Noah will be trick-or-treating with friends and the plan is that he won't put his mask on until he's down the road a bit. Hopefully this OCD Halloween strategy of mine will be successful and I'll get a fun little photo memory of Rowan, the Garden Gnome. Naturally, I have a plan B and my sorry butt is going to have to go to Target to pick up a less alarming costume.

The Big Finish

No, my blog has not been hacked.

I really, truly participated in and finished a relay in the Akron Marathon. And amazingly, I didn't slip, trip, twist an ankle, pee my pants (entirely possible - thanks for nothing, worn out bladder!) or make a fool of myself in front of 20,000 people.

The training was rough and I didn't have the time, energy or enough sports bras to last me a week... I had to stay up way too late some nights doing dishes and laundry after the kids were bathed, 'homeworked' and put to sleep... so I could take time out to run before dark 3 times a week. It was sweaty and gross and chafing... but the months of grueling training paid off big time. I never thought I could do it. It was a short leg, so had the distance down for sometime, but only started incorporating any sort of elevation into my runs until July. I was panicked about the hills. Let me tell you, it really sucked in that 90 weather. I never thought I'd be using Desitin at 36 years-old! 

The map that the Marathon has on their website makes the 2.8 leg look deadly. Any runner I spoke to who found out I had this leg would say, 'Ohhhh, you have the hill!' but I kept thinking, I've got this, I've been running the steepest hill in the neighborhood for two months. Then I spoke to one of our attorneys who designed the Akron Marathon course and of course, he knows every leaf, spec of dirt, crack in the blacktop of each and every leg of the race. So I checked in with him about a week out. He had been asking me how I was doing with the training all summer and giving me little tips, advice and encouragement. This guy has run over 100 marathons. He knows his stuff. He proceeded to tell me what I could expect during every step of the 2.8 leg through Sand Run. Previously fairly confident, I was petrified.
 

When I got off the shuttle at Sand Run, there were hundreds of people and just a long road surrounded by trees... you didn't really know what to expect. I think the element of the unknown was good thing! It was a continuous uphill terrain with no huge inclines. I kept a decent pace and just ran. Before I knew it, I saw the finish/pass-off and was so thrilled that I had done it... it wasn't nearly as bad as I expected. I had worked myself into a delirious tizzy for nothing! My first relay in a Marathon. Pretty damn cool. I completed my leg and met my personal goal of finishing under a 1/2 hour - 29.29 to be exact.

L to R: Tom, Me, Diane, Isabelle - waiting for Steve (click Steve for photo) to finish the last leg.

My team was a fantastic group of co-workers who really brought it on Saturday! Diane was solid. She had the first leg, did an amazing job and just started running for the first time EVER, like me, back in the early summer. Tom ran BAREFOOT in a kilt along the Towpath Trail - yes, barefoot and was the talk of the runners after the race... 'Dude, tell me about the bare feet!' Isabelle, our fierce friend from France was super quick on her leg and Steve brought us home with the longest bit, the 7.9 mile leg. What a trooper this guy is. He was coerced by me to join our team, that had been completely dismantled due to three injuries, in late July. As a soccer player, he's in terrific shape, but ran this relay, then had a game Saturday night and Sunday morning! We earned those bronze medals, let me tell ya.

Previously, I would have made fun of people who sound like me - I mean, what kind of masochistic weirdo loves to run??? It is seriously a part of my life now and I'm so glad that I made the time, let the dishes go once or twice and just did it.

Maybe next year I'll do the half marathon (13 plus miles)... who am I kidding? I like cupcakes too much to train that hard.

And Just Like That... He was a Big Kid

How did Noah, my first born little guy go from all cheeks and drool and hanging on my leg to saying, 'dude,' and 'are you kidding me?', playing air guitar to commercial jingles, swooning over Selena Gomez on the TV screen and shaking his money-maker to Rhianna songs with goofy little dances in his under-roos?

Yesterday was the first day of first grade. Kindergarten is still little. First grade is a child's official entrance to big kid-dom. First year with a locker. No more tables in class, he now has a big kid desk.

Noah was so ready. He couldn't decide whether to button the top button of his polo shirt. Buttoned up at home; right before we opened the door at the before-school program, he decided to unbutton it for a more stylish effect. He must have been reading GQ in the car on the way over. 'You, know, Mom, I used to have a girlfriend at school, but I'm not sure if she'll be back this year,' he says. 'What was her name?' I ask. 'Eh, I don't remember...,' says Noah. Well, at least she hasn't taken my place quite yet.

I gave him a pep talk during the car ride to daycare, asking kindly that he keep all of his school supplies in his backpack on the bus and wait until he got to class and the teacher asked the class to open their bags. I reminded him that his lunch was packed and how exciting it would be to see old friends and make new ones. My baby boy's beautiful blue eyes were wide with anticipation. I think that was mostly due to the admiration of his new spiffy tennis shoes - in his favorite hues, Browns colors.

So, off went my football-loving, mystery-girlfwriend-having, big kid first-grader with his new backpack overloaded with supplies and himself, brimming with school spirit. I teared up as I rushed down the steps at daycare to my car and caught a glimpse of a school bus chugging by... keeping his handsome little face in my mind's eye, I cursed the short summer and the quick vacation we spent together in June, and wished him the best first day of school ever, imagining that he still was hanging on my leg. I love you big guy.

Runner's Rump?

Excuse me, but I started running because I wanted to be healthier, shed a few pounds and tone up. No one bothered to tell me that my behind would appear larger (as objects do in the rear view mirror)!

Those suckers (you know who you are!) that conned me into doing a relay next month failed to mention that the junk would amplify in the trunk, that the booty would have more bounty, that my derriere would have additional flair.

All jokes aside, I truly just want my clothes to fit. They should be looser, not tighter, right? I'm eating less (sort of) and better (OK, except the Reece's Pieces peanut butter cookies yesterday) so what gives - does running plump up your rump?

According to Livestrong.com, running has it's advantages and disadvantages. On the 'pro' list would be that awesome feeling of euphoria, or runner's high, as they call it, that one feels after getting a few good miles in. Plus, running is fantastic for your cardio health. On the downside, it can be rough on your joints and if you've never laced up and taken a jog, it can take a little while to build up your endurance, giving your body the energy to keep going or 'ruuu-uuuning', as Forest Gump would say.
Nowhere on this or any other running or fitness website I found, did they mention that your behind would have more oomph and your relatively new dress pants in that elusive color that took two months to find... would probably no longer fit. That's just plain annoying. What is mentioned, however is that you should probably buy a good, supportive sports bra because running can cause sagging. That's okay, breastfeeding already took care of that, thanks.

Apparently, the behind is the largest muscle in the human body! Huh. And we thought that we had heard enough about Kim Kardashian's assets. These people are simply admirers of our number one muscle, fascinated by its shear greatness. Athletes, maybe, who know the secret behind the bee-hind?

Well, all of that aside, I am going to keep running because I do enjoy it (even though I really kind of suck at the sport). Some evenings it's all I can do to drag myself out there, and I feel like I could not possibly be any slower on those 95 degree days. But I can really tell how much more energy I have. I just hope that my gluteus maximus looks good in my favorite jeans this fall - Pajama Jeans perhaps?

Little Eyes, Little Ears, Big Hearts

Exactly two Tuesdays ago, my heartstrings were stretched, my mind was blown and I tried with all my might to hold back those ever-present mama tears.

As many children are, our little Ro-Ro (his daycare nickname) was bogged down by multiple, continuous ear infections all winter. Noah had the annoying ear troubles too, but never with this consistency and frequency and thankfully grew out of it.

Our usually happy go lucky baby boy Rowan would be miserable with pain and pressure, sometimes fever. I likened the last five months to a Wipe Out challenge obstacle course. Just when we thought we had made the jump to that slippery, spinning wheel, the big log came and knocked us off again. The constant crying, not sleeping, completely out-of-sorts situation (oh, and your child doesn't feel so hot either) can be a lot to take.

We went through the paces, tried every antibiotic, steroids, anti-inflammatories and although the last two options prolonged Rowan's pain-free periods, he ended up back at the dr. with more ear infections. The Ped referred us to a doc at Children's Hospital. Dr. Masin was wonderful from the get-go and had us try a few last resort ideas before committing to surgery. Unfortunately they did not pan out so Rowan was scheduled for his tube procedure on July 21st.

I have two nieces and a nephew who have been through multiple sets of tubes so I knew the drill and was put a little at ease by recaps from my sister-in-law. But I was getting a bit more anxious as we got closer to surgery day - of course letting my mind wonder. I started to worry as all mama's do.

We arrived at Children's a little early just to make ourselves more at ease, perhaps? I know that this is a surgery that docs perform many times a day and it's considered a routine outpatient procedure. From the amount of kids we saw in the waiting area, I think I'm right. However, about 20 minutes into our multi-faceted check-in process, I realized that I was gnawing at my cuticles. Rowan was fine, Jason was fine, I was the one acting like a toddler who couldn't sit still. My knee was bouncing, I was pacing from toy to activity to toy under the guise of keeping Rowan occupied - but it was me who had the issues. When I started making sucky fish faces at the aquarium and realized that Jason and Rowan were on the other side of the room, happily entertaining themselves, I rethought that regular-caf iced coffee I had a few hours earlier.

Everyone on Rowan's team that day everyone was genuine and thorough and amazing, really. The environment was perfect - lots to stimulate and keep little (and big) people busy, distracted - whatever you needed, it was there. There is a person dedicated to acclimating your child to what can be a scary situation - she brought in doctor's hats and hair caps for Jason and I to try on and play peek-a-boo with Ro. He thought we were nuts, did not crack a smile and ripped them off of our heads each time, but we had fun.

Then it was time. Watching your child being carried away in a hospital gown while he cries and does the biggest pouty lip known to man just plain sucks. Knowing that your child has to go under general anesthesia for a five minute procedure is suckier... mostly because of all of those mysterious, freak stories you read about on line or see on Oprah. God forbid you Google or Web MD your procedure before the event... not good. Ugh. You try so hard to not let your brain go there, but it does anyhow. Kind of like a pinball game. A scary thought pings up in your head and then you shoot it back down again. It's exhausting.

They said that this would be quick. I mean barely time for your butt to hit the waiting room chair and the doctor is standing in front of you quick. You get a pager. They explain how fast the doctor will be back out to talk to you and ask that you please don't leave the waiting area. They practically make you pinky swear before handing over the pager. But when you take that pager, you hold your breath. You're still in shock that you just gave up full control of the situation (hard for mommies), your child was carried away by a stranger and know that the next five to ten minutes will be the longest of your life. Ha - us moms thought that longest minutes of our lives occurred while birthing our children - no longer so.

So, I shoved the pager in my husband's hand, threw the diaper bag and stroller in his direction and ran to the ladies' for a pee and hand washing contest that other restroom guests did not realize they were competing in... and practically ran back out to the waiting area to eat my Welch's Fruit Snacks. It was nearly 2:10 and we had not eaten lunch yet. My head was pounding, my stomach was growling, I was fidgeting and nervously checking my work email every three seconds for no good reason.

As I was finishing up (inhaling, really) my snack, the woman sitting next to me asked, 'how old is yours?' I snapped back into reality. She had an infant carrier barraged in pink. I asked her the same and what procedure her daughter was having. I concentrated on listening and pushed down the urge to insert commentary about Rowan's history, weight, height, current words and estimations on walking... I just shut up and listened. This baby girl was only two months and she was there to have cataracts removed. Up until then, she was legally blind. Gulp (fruit chew stuck in throat). She couldn't see until now - wow. 

My big guy when he was a bit littler.





That wallop really hit my heart hard. It was already beating through my chest and melty and gushy from seeing all of the other kids that day, worrying about Rowan and thinking about Noah back at his summer program. When one child is experiencing something, I always think about the other if they're not with us - do you do that?

Immediately, I posted a daydream Facebook update on God's page and thanked him for my blessings, asking for forgiveness for being a blathering idiot about a small ear tube procedure when so many other children were undergoing much more serious, significantly more stressful (on child and parent) surgeries. Facebook because I am too verbose for Twitter, and plus God isn't on that often.

My child was in for a simple set of tubes. We had passed many kids in the hallways of Children's Hospital that day, in for treatments or check-ups or procedures but I wasn't seeing clearly. I had a one track mind. My baby was going under anesthesia and I was a tiny bit freaked out. Just a 'lil bit. 

I cannot imagine what other moms and dads go through with children who have more in depth health challenges. What big, soft, cushy hearts they have. What amazingly broad shoulders they have, what thick, tough skin they have, what open minds they have. How trusting they have to be, how strong they have to act.

Just a little ear procedure for Rowan opened my eyes to a whole world that I had never been entrenched in  before. My cousin is special needs and I see what challenges my aunt and uncle (one phenomenal set of human beings) go through in managing her care. They are just extraordinary to me. Like the parents I met in the waiting room two weeks ago. It's humbling. It's inspiring. These parents just do what they have to do.
They are my heroes, my rock stars and I strive to be as half as patient, loving, kind and open as those mommies and daddies.

Miss Golf Greenhorn 2011

When you're new at something people call you a rookie, a novice or from my husband's favorite reality show, Deadliest Catch, a greenhorn.  I've personified all of these adjectives this week in a random assortment of activities. To say that I am a newbie at golf is a catastrophic understatement.

On Monday I played in our firm's golf outing - the second time I've played in the outing and the second time I've played golf, as one of those Disney-Nickelodeon teens would say, like, ever! There was that time that my college chapter of Women in Communications had a pro-lesson at the local golf course and the time my husband tolerated taking me to the driving range early in our marriage purely out of necessity so he could prep for an upcoming round. But other than that, I am a golf greenhorn.

NOT ME.

I was sort of dreading the day and spent more time figuring out what I would wear (I do have really cute golf shoes) than practicing my swing.  I didn't want to 1.) Sweat so much that I soak my clothes and pass out from the heat and humidity like one of those Civil War era women in a corset and bonnet, 2.) Embarrass myself into oblivion by tripping on a root, falling down a ravine or into a pond, or 3.) Golf.  You see, I am pretty bad but I can hit it occasionally (not far) and put in one or two puts (I think that's called Birdie). Anyhow, I was stressed, anxiety-ridden (if you read my blogs on a regular basis, you are probably now thinking that this woman needs some help as 'stressed and anxiety are a reoccurring theme) and already sweaty and uncomfortable just sitting in the cart waiting to leave for our first hole. Thankfully the group I was, er, playing, golf with was comprised of all men and pretty good at the game. When I say pretty good, I mean they wear special gloves, have GPS's to calculate distance for each hole, feature tags from dozens of local courses on their golf bags, and drive the ball like a PGA pro, etc... Compared to me, who, didn't even know what those containers of sand on the back of our carts were. Oh - for pouring into those huge holes I was making in the manicured green. Now I get it, he-he-he, oops, ahem. 

Thankfully, these gentlemen, who I only knew from occasional business interaction were patient, helpful and really out to have a good time. When I wanted to fake small pox and stay back at the office, my colleagues came through. They put up so well with my horrible technique and crappy putting and with having to tell me every time which club to use. I heard that they finished up OK that afternoon and weren't completely and utterly embarrassed (they kept that well-hidden) by how much I drug them down, as I had to leave early to pick up the boys (it's true, I really I did.) I was surprised by my teammates' (I'm sure that's not the correct terminology) patience and happy as Gilmore that I put on my big girl pants (khaki Capri's), pushed myself and played on Monday. I really am. LPGA here I come.

Totally Under-rated: The Babushka

Those gals in the '50's and '60's knew what they were doing. You prepared for a convertible car ride in your Lincoln or Ford and you put a head scarf on. Marilyn got it, so do all those fascinatingly fashion-forward girls on Mad Men.

So why has the babushka failed to make a come back? (In case you were wondering, the actual definition is 'usually, a triangularly folded kerchief over the head'). Do-rag, pashmina, kerchief, bandanna... whatever you call it, they are really the passed over hair-saviors in humid weather. Why aren't we taking advantage? We're willing to deal with hat-head in the winter, yet a scarf protects the style and allows you to emerge from the elements to your destination with pristine locks. Well, it's because we as women are too vain. In the '50's and '60's head scarves were used to preserve your look - today it would be considered a major fashion faux pas, unless you're Lady Gaga or Nicki Minaj. We need more down-to-earth celebs, famous and fabulous women to don the head scarf for it to be more socially acceptable - someone like Kelly Ripa.

Kim Kardashian pulled off this look this month in a photo shoot for her new fragrance. Maybe this could catch on. Blonde Episodes blogger also posted a 'halla' to head scarves (schwew - I thought I was really out on a limb, here) so I know that my babbling about babushkas is not unfounded.

The other day I passed a lovely older woman in a, um, Grand Marquis, I think and she was all dolled up, properly donning a head scarf. The humidity being at 1005, she had something going there.

Me? I had used every stop light that morning to perform the lick and slick method to keep my baby hairs from going haywire. I had only walked from the house to the car to the car to daycare and there it was, I could see the rebellious (previously straightened to within an inch of their life that very morning) ends getting ready to flip out, under and every which way. And the worst part is they laugh at me while doing it. "Ha - sucker, I know you tried to use smoothing serum and straightening lotion and conditioner and an ultra expensive straightening iron but we will still look like a mushroom lampshade by 11 a.m.!" said my collective hair.

I studied Mrs. Betty Babushka and thought, there may have been a time in her life when the head scarf went out of style. She complied. She had a beehive, a Jackie-O' bob, a shag, a Farrah and now she has come back to her, er, roots with a perfectly styled Betty White coif.

Thankfully we're experiencing a little break, but the next soupy, 90 degree or miserably rainy day I'm going to forgo the usual 10 hair products and straightening iron and try on my head scarf of choice... I'll wear it at least from daycare to the parking garage at work (with my big, dark sunglasses so no one recognizes me on the commute.)

Life is Better at the Beach

The first few days back to work after a lovely vacation in Corolla, OBX... 

Ouch, it's really hurt getting up in the morning. I'd rather be lounging at the beach. And by lounging I mean those few precious half-hour breaks when someone was sleeping... (see above.)

I miss the ocean air and the yes, the sand, even though it keeps showing up everywhere, including Rowan's diaper. That kid thought it was an all you can eat sand buffet. Forget the seafood, he was shoveling handfuls into his mouth faster than the tide washes away a deserted beach bucket.

Every little shop or restaurant you visit or beach house you stay in has these quaint little signs with thoughtful little sayings about how wonderful it is to be at the beach. They're all right, you know. Noah had the time of this life. We saw wild horses at dusk, Rowan felt the ocean water on his toes for the first time and we were able to just "be" for 7 whole days. Life is better at the beach.

Barring all the sand I'll be finding in my house for the next 6 months, for moms, the beach is a let your hair down soulful sigh. You can go without make up except for going out to dinner, your kids can live in their swim suits and you have two wonderful natural activities built right into your trip. The pool and the beach. Hallelujah! We reveled with a great group of friends and between us, there were 10 children in all ranging in age from 1 to 12 (including three six year-old boys with energy to burn!)  The kids had an absolute blast. They played and swam (and ate!) until they dropped. Around 9 p.m. every night, which was excellent, allowing us parents to have some much needed down time. Except for those of us with the smaller children, who just as easily passed out from exhaustion at 9:05 p.m. A day full of sun and salt air (and chasing toddlers down the beach) really helps you hit the pillow and snooze!

We so love going to the Outer Banks, that almost immediately, we start thinking about the next trip... identify houses that we want to look up on-line for next year and count the days until we can go back. 

Getting there and back home, now that's a different story all together. There are some who scoff at the thought of driving 10 hours with children in tow. I don't dismiss their looks and comments... they are not wrong, it's certainly not first class on Virgin Air. The SUV was packed to within an inch of its life and my back was sore. The trip down spoiled us because the mood was light, the kids were perfect and we stopped overnight half-way to our destination. We woke rested and excited to get to the beach so those few hours left to drive was no North Carolina sweat... easy peasy. The trip back was an alternate universe. We got up early, we were tired, we drove for 11 hours (that includes bathroom breaks and diaper changes, gas and lunch) and Rowan cried for about 8 of those 11 long hours in the car. His ears were popping and he's normally plagued with ear infections so he was not feeling the best. Thank the heavens above for my sweet, amazing sister-in-law who (along with our 12 year-old niece and Rowan's new fav) had the hot seat next to Rowan because, well, if I sat there, he'd want me to get him out, happy baby boy or not. 

We all but put on a dog and pony show in that vehicle, she and I.  She is a regular Mary Poppins... always has been and she was a live saver. She gave until all of her tricks and tactics were spent and then we sent in the artillery. Mama. I sang and stroked hair and she passed snacks and toys and we were able to glean two tiny naps out of our uncomfortable 'lil fella... and a few stretches of solace (thank you animal crackers). 

Now, don't let this anxiety-ridden car ride back paint a grim picture of our vacation. It was fantastic. We had a week off, we went to the beach with family and friends and we could not have asked for better weather or surroundings. We were at the ocean - what could be bad about that? The ride back was the only bummer. My husband and I played that game back home on Monday on our way to get groceries... what would we do differently? I would have packed this or left that at home... we should have done this or that would have made things easier with the baby... 

When I had a chance to recap the trip with my mother-in-law...  I mentioned the few things we wished we would have thought of or done differently. She said this, 'I think back to dozens of years ago when we were taking family vacations. Some of those times I thought I'd never been more uncomfortable or hot or inconvenienced and thought, this is supposed to be a vacation? But, when I looked at the pictures I realized that it was the only way to make those memories..." At that point, all of my babble about forgetting toys or not getting to do this or that slipped right out of my mind.

Cheers summer vacation 2011. It was everything we'd hoped for and we can't wait until next year.

Slacker Sports Parents?

I think that's us... my husband and I. We both played various sports and participated in activities throughout our childhood (although my husband would argue that rolling skating and dance team are not sports - me and 23 other Skipper veterans would beg to differ!)  But, when it comes to jumping on that fast train to forced super stardom for our 6 year-old, we are cringing and looking away. We suck at the unspoken 'protocol' that comes with the territory... but we try.

We're late to practices and running to games five minutes before start time because, well, we work. We forget water bottles and what field the game is at on any given day. We forget to bring sunscreen and bug spray and end up standing and pacing with the baby because we left the chairs in the trunk of the other vehicle... organized sports parents, please don't judge. When you see me running through the park with a 1 year-old on my hip in wedge sandals and my workday attire, impatiently urging my sports-playing kid to get a move on and I don't acknowledge your smile (or curious looks) I'm not snotty and superior. I'm sweating it here, people! My kid forgot his cup and the baby has two cups full in his diaper! (As for the onesie, check out Remix Athletics - they have cool and adorable sports wear!)

We often wonder if we're not as plugged in as we should be to this whole sub-culture of youth sports mania. Is it bad that we're (what feels like) the only parents who don't have our kid in three to four activities or on traveling sports teams? At 6, he's almost too old and it's almost too late to start some sports in our surrounding communities... the kids he's playing with have been at it since 3. I was still trying to potty train a late bloomer at 3! 'Um, coach, I got poop in my shorts...' not so sure that it would have worked so well back then. He's trying to keep up with the mini-Heisman trophy candidates at the ball field when he's just learning the fundamentals of the game. 

My husband grew up in a town and we currently live in a town where youth sports are ingrained, expected and revered. In fact, the high school football programs in these towns rival the NFL. Some would argue that the local Friday night football game is bigger than professional sports! Move over Madden, the biology teacher and the gym instructor run this gig and you better pay attention!

Hubby lived that life. He was written up in the local newspaper sports section plenty. He both loved it and hated it. He misses playing the sport but admits that by the time he was in high school, he almost didn't want to participate... he was burnt out by age 15. Is that what we want for our boys? Eek! I know that I am making a few people uncomfortable right now because the sports-mentality is a culture, a lifestyle and you don't think about it or talk about it, you just do it. (Nike is not a paid sponsor of this blog).

We have endured three seasons of what can only be described as painful organized sports activities. Soccer was the first entree into the world of youth sports. "PLEEEEAAAAZZZZEEE can I play sock-ur because all my frwends are, mommy..." says our 4 year-old a few years back. Ok. Great, fun, it will be cute. It will let him burn off all that extra energy, he'll learn a team sport and make new friends. I shall bring a chair, wear the spectator-mom uniform (sunglasses, dark rinse jeans, tee shirt and Sketchers or Rocket Dog tennies) and watch in proud anticipation with all the other parents.

My suburban fantasy was squashed. SPLAT! like a cleat on a piece of bubble wrap. There they were, a bunch of pre-k kiddies, carted to the soccer field by good-intentioned parents. Instead of running for the ball, they were running in circles, picking dandelions, giggling, yelling over those very patient instructors (god bless them!) chasing each other and overall creating (some really cute!) chaos. What the what? This was not what we paid a hefty fee for, purchased team pictures and a preppy little uniform for... I want my money back. My kid is out past the high grass, watching cheer practice in another field (see I Hate My Daugher-in-Law for additional feelings on this topic). Ok, so we got over the fact that he was young and this was his first go at it... and realized that he wasn't the only one squinting through grass blades and sunglare to catch a glimpse of Brittney and LiLo's pom-poms.

Flash forward to next season. 'Dad, I want to play baseball like the big kids.'  Conveniently forgetting the agony we just put ourselves through barely a year earlier, we hop right over to the local Y, sign him up and... what a minute. Oh, right - that's how this is going to go. 95 degrees. 5 year-olds catching bugs (some eating them) and ten time-outs to pee. But he got a really cool tee-shirt and hat this time.

It's a year later and we're at the next level of baseball. He's older, definitely more athletically inclined, a high-energy kid with great coordination... um... did you know that when you're out in left field no one really notices when you scoop up dirt and make an hourglass funnel into your mitt? Except maybe your mom and dad, who think that those mind-penetrating stairs and a parental version of baseball call signs will help. My favorite is the Robert Dinero 'I've got my eye on you' gesture from Meet the Fockers. He just giggles and thinks I'm a nut case. My husband uses the 'point-and-show-pay-attention method' - we look like a pair of crazy flight attendants during a demonstration gone awry. That usually gets us a lively wave back.

We admit it. It's our fault. We thought - fun, yay, new year, new team, he'll be playing with friends and he wants to do this. What we failed to remember is that 6 year-olds change their mind like Apple upgrades it's i-products... we need an i-Sports gadget to keep up with all of this hoopla: snack duty, gear, schedules, remembering to wash the uniform...

As we close out another season (oh, wait says my husband - don't forget about playoffs!) I have learned this: it's ok to run at your own pace when it comes to youth sports. Whether your kids are scholarship-bound or just playing for fun... it's ok and I'm not going to stress about it. He'll find something he really loves and we'll be there to support him.

We're just along for the ride... mostly to manage the car pool.

Superlative Mom

I know Mother's Day was a few weeks ago, but I had to share some thoughts on a species of Mom that I have been lucky enough to befriend and admire up close in my career. It hit me the other day when I was catching up with a colleague of mine. We were sharing working mom war stories and I realized that I am playing in the kiddie pool. I've got nothing on "Superlative Mom."


She has one to three children and two to four degrees. She pumps gas in designer shoes and keeps wipes in her laptop case. On the weekend she is like the rest of us, carting kids from one activity to another, but don't mistake her for a Nanny (nothing against Nannies - love 'em, wish I had one) when she's in pony-tail, dark-rinse jeans, eye glasses and ath-leisure shoe mode, she'd b-slap you.


I complain about a wild day of work-and-momdom or a rough night of teething and ear aches and then I get to revel in a story or two from these Superlative Moms - professionals and practioners, with clients and infant carriers. She proudly paraded child number two or three in a Moby or a Bjorn across the auditorium stage to get her MBA. She closes deals on her I-Phone on the drive from the office to daycare to ballet and soccer. She cooks and hosts a full-course Martha or Mario Thanksgiving dinner the day after she returned from 4-day conference in Chicago.


Superlative Mom is insanely smart. So smart, she doesn't realize that others of us had to go into Marketing because we need our calculator to figure out what inning it is at our kid's tee-ball game. The day I locked the keys in the car, Superlative Mom probably could have texted me how to disarm the anti-theft system in less than 5 minutes.


As Superlative Mom whisks past me in a flash, heels smoking... juggling her work and family schedules with a Harvard Business School discipline, I try to pay close attention and maybe absorb a bit of her working mommy mojo. She doesn't mind, in fact - she developed a formula and is emailing me the recipe tomorrow.

Monkeying Around over Memorial Day

Dark Chocolate Cake with Banana Frosting

We celebrated our little monkey's 1st birthday with party number one at Nana and Papa's over Memorial Weekend. Rowan came away with a sports-themed toddler jungle gym among other fun 1st birthday gifts (thank you Aunt Jessie for the dapper little dude short-alls) more birthday hugs and kisses than he bargained and a new love of frosting. 



Big brother Noah was the sweetest kid, trying to urge Rowan to try the cake. And let me tell  ya, if there is a child who knows his way around a sweet, it's this one. (It's only a coincidence that my profile picture is a row of cupcakes...) Noah has a philosophy regarding treats. There are categories for use in persuading us to give in and supply said request: 1.) Snack 2.) Treat and 3.) Treat-Snack. When he asks for a snack he may also specify that he does not want the healthy kind, in fact, he's already had his quota of smart snacks for the day.  So, the mere thought of Rowan sitting there in a high-chair with an entire cake being handed to him on purpose... had Noah in tail spin. He had been asking when we were having cake since 7 a.m. that morning.



Noah patiently watched as his little brother took what seemed like an eternity in 6 year-old time, to start his trial subscription of cake-eating. Rowan sat there, staring at all of us as with most curious face I've seen on a baby. From us to the cake and back to us as if to say, "Um, this feels a lot like a set-up..." Bursting at the seams to get some good pictures, Nana put a little frosting on his lip and Rowan very deliberately got to town on that cake, making his big brother proud. I'm not sure if birthday cake constitutes a treat, a snack, a meal or a treat-snack in Noah's book, but Rowan liked it just the same. Thanks for the sweet memories, my funny monkeys!

How May 26th Rocked Our World

Today I am thoughtful and sappy. Nobody told me that they actually grow up (babies that is) and somehow it's caught me off guard.

A few years ago, we were having dinner with friends in Little Italy. We had just taken the kids to the Children's Museum and now the six of us were enjoying a little pasta and pizza. Our sons were born on the same day and were about 3 or 4 years-old at the time. Our friends had a new little bundle in tow, a sweet little girl who slept during our entire outing. The scene was idyllic. All of us eating there, enjoying one another's company. My husband and I looked longingly at each other and them and admired their new completed family of four. How wild and wonderful we thought - should we dare?

"So...?" they ask, "When are you guys going to try for another?" We made the typical excuses of wanting to enjoy the first one, timing, finances, work, etc... but ended on the promise that we did want another baby some day and gee, didn't it look like such a fun-loving time? "It'll rock your world, the second one..." says our friend. Followed by all the reasons why she wouldn't trade her fresh role as mommy of two for anything in the world. We giggled... all the way to the delivery room.

I was not prepared for the overwhelming amount of joy, possibility, excitement, wonder and love my husband and I would feel on the day that we met Rowan Quin (a.k.a. little browtha according to Noah Mitchell). When the doctor held him up, I couldn't believe it. We created another little being and he was just as beautiful as the first! We were both speechless, overcome with emotion - how amazing was this moment?

The day I had to go back to work after maternity leave was earth-shattering to my already hormonal state. I bawled. I didn't expect to CIO in the ladies room or my office, but I did. Maybe it was the fact that we were officially done having children and this was so final... the last maternity leave, the last size 3 months onesie off to the resale shop, the last mid-day nap together with my itty-bitty buddy... my heart hurt.

I settled in, eventually got used to the routine... (that happens without you even noticing) and here we are. My snuggly little monkey is 365 days old. As I was feeding him last night, I stared down intently at his delicate eyebrows, his dimpled elbows and chubby little feet that now hang over the end of the Bobby... I used to lose half of him down through the middle when he was, well, littler. I now fully understood what my mom has said to me for years. The cliche' that 'it goes by so fast,' is real and true and in your face screaming - pay attention, lady - are you going to take notes or not? It seems like just yesterday that I was rocking my now 6 year-old. Where did the last half dozen years go? When I see a baby picture of Noah (a.k.a. Bubba to his little brother Rowan) flash by on the laptop screen saver I tear up and laugh at the same time. C'mon guys, just stay little for a while longer.


Happy Birthday Rowan Quin - thank you for completing our family and rocking our world.