Put the Rice Down and RUN!

Day 8 of running and it's getting a little easier. A bit addicting actually, which is a relief. I'm not sure if it's the adrenaline high I get from the running after about 15 minutes or so, or the fact that I just have an addictive personality in general. When I find something that makes me feel good, LOOK OUT!

Luckily, I'm finally getting over that slow and difficult climb uphill that is getting into the habit of exercise again. It isn't easy. It's taken about 3 weeks, averaging about 2 really good long one hour sessions on the ol' treadmill each week, to get me over the hump.  It's going to take a lot more than that to get where I want to be though, but I gotta start somewhere.

If I think too much about long term I might get overwhelmed by just how much more its going to take! I'm in no hurry though. If I could go on some extreme diet I might, but since I'm nursing I gotta eat, so I might as well just plod along and do this the healthy way.

Today I ran two 11 minute miles at a 2% incline and walked uphill for the duration of the other 2 miles- all the while keeping a tentative eye on Baby Sumo who was asleep in her swing and praying that my dog wouldn't bark at something (like she does so often just for the hell of it) and wake her up.

Juggling 2 babies leaves even less time for exercise than I had when it was just juggling Jude. When it was just baby Jude, I'd run during his nap. With two, however, it's been damn near impossible- because newborns nap so sporadically. That and for the past few weeks, Jude has taken to temper tantrums and fit throwing, complete with screaming and throwing things, when it's nap time.

I'm finally getting them on a synced schedule though- having learned how to time Baby Sumo's feedings/awake times/natural napping cycle with Jude's nap, as he's winding down with the screaming and actually taking his nap.

And that is the key I think- timing. I'm managing to get them both to nap at the same time in the afternoons which is valuable beyond explanation (all the moms out there I'm sure feel me here!). Both of them snoozing in their beds in their rooms at the same time in the afternoon like clockwork... it's been a challenge to the umpteenth degree, but so worth the work!

This is called the "promised land" for new mothers of two.

Anyways, so now that I've got exercise under control again (for the most part), I just gotta work on this "watching what I eat" thing. I'm struggling to end my love affair with white rice. And cookies (a guilty pleasure that I never had a problem with until I got pregnant. I blame the babies!). I guess it's just in my DNA, but I love me some white rice, unfortunately. Why is it so f*ing good?????

It's hard for me to let it go. I've grown up with it as a staple in my diet, having an Asian mother I guess. It's so cliche, but such an unavoidable reality. White rice as part of my identity? Yeah, I'll accept that. White rice and other empty carbs don't do a whole lot for your figure though. I wish that it did. I wish that eating white rice was equivalent to eating salad, or a bowl of broccoli, or some healthy vegan/vegetarian item, like tofu- all things I do like to eat, but still. They aren't white rice.

I suppose there's that thing called moderation- which hello, for people with addictive personalities, isn't really in the cards. Like I said. If it makes me feel good... Hello, my name is Meika and I'm addicted to white rice.

OK- so, anyways, here are some of my choice songs for my "Put the Rice Down and Run!" Playlist. Each of these songs do wonders at making me feel like kicking ass and releasing some much pent up energy.

A good playlist and a mean tolerance for blasting music in your ears makes all the difference.

"Twilight"    The Raveonettes
"Search and Destroy"   Iggy and the Stooges
"Waterfall"    Coldplay
"Dancing with Myself" & "Take it Off"    The Donnas
"Sweet Disposition"  The Temper Trap
"Baba O'Reilly"  &  "Won't Get Fooled Again"   The Who
"Rock and Roll"    Led Zeppelin
"Young Folks"     Peter Bijorn and John
"Paranoid"   Black Sabbath
"Black and White Town"   Doves
"Girls and Boys"   Blur
"Babylon"   David Gray
"When I Grow Up"    Garbage
"Let There Be Rock"  &  "Whole Lotta Rosie"  ACDC
"Get Together"   Madonna
"Ceremony"  New Order

Beauty in Lack of Sleep

The weekends are flying by- I'm starting to lose track of my days. The forecast? Hot. Hotter. More Hot. And it's going to last FOREVER. I exist in a constant state of "tired."

Some days I'm able to tap into emergency energy sources deep inside me, and other days, like today, I'm somewhat of a robot- going through the motions on autopilot. Physically functional, but not all there in the head. I like to think of myself as always all there in the head- always having a firm grasp and handle on my business- but I know that this is overcompensation for the fact that I quite often am not all there in the head. I used to pride myself on that when I was younger, but now it can seem like a handicap in this new role in life I play if I don't keep it in check.

Before I had my babies, I embraced my need to drop my basket- let go, escape, TURN OFF.

Now I have to find more constructive ways of doing this- ways that are healthier, safer and more responsible. It's tricky, as any parent knows, to go from a lifetime of taking Number One into consideration first, to suddenly putting yourself at the bottom of your totem pole.

I try to run a tight ship at home, and it gets exhausting. It's not my babies that are exhausting. It's being a mother in general. Don't get me wrong. I'm not complaining. That's another thing about being a mom... learning to accept the fact that you can still be grateful and thankful and appreciative for your life, love your children and your husband unconditionally, and still admit to being worn out and yearning for alone time.

There's a billion things I want to do but there's never enough time. Balancing getting the necessities done to keep my home from falling to pieces, keeping my babies entertained, happy and taken care of, and being a good partner to my husband leaves little- if any- room at the end of the day for "Me Time." Lately I've been managing to somehow find bits of time for myself... usually later in the evening when I should be getting some sleep. Emptying my head on a blog seems to help with the mind clutter swimming around when I lay down at night.

People offer to "take" my babies so as to give me a break- but a lot of the time I don't need or want anyone to "take"my babies. Despite a desire for alone time, I want my babies with me. I don't like being apart from them, even when I do get the opportunity to get a "break." It's a contradiction of mind and heart that I never anticipated when we decided to become parents.

Every now again I get a few moments to surf through other people's blogs to check out others' perspectives. The ones I find myself most drawn to are usually the ones whose styles are so very different from my own. There is one mommy blogger whose blog strikes me as a completely different end of the same spectrum that I operate from, if that makes any sense. Her photos and her writing are very "rose colored lenses," with beautiful photographs of tiny natural details in life (threading in cloth, dewdrops on flowers, trees "dancing" in the breeze, etc. ), whimsical, wistful, poetic writing that paints imagery in pastels.

There are pretty, crisp, artsy photos of her doing maternal things like gardening in cute, chick, bohemian mommy clothing, wearing her baby in stylish baby wraps, day dreaming with her baby while swinging in hammocks, looking at gorgeously captured sunshine, dishes of exotic looking meals she's cooked, right down to the itty bitty details of the spices used to create them.

Her world of motherhood looks so peacefully hip and glamourous. She could make even the most child-phobia ridden woman's uterus ache to be filled with a baby, I think.

I enjoy her blog because it is so opposite from the tone that my own voice stems from. I wish that I had an eye for that kind of beauty, in that way. I admire her ability to creatively speak from a place like that. I wish I had moments where my bliss is captured so ethereally. And I guess I wish that I had someone photographing me doing all the maternal things that I do too- although I don't think I could ever look as cute as she does, so effortlessly.

I don't think that I'd look as put together and chick in the beat up old, baby spit up stained Beatles shirt and workout shorts that have become my uniform most days of the week, make up less with an unwashed ponytail, chipped black fingernail polish and black-rimmed Ray Ban glasses, picking up hundreds of Hot Wheels off my floors, washing poopy cloth diapers and making peanut butter jelly sandwiches.

I read her blog, and the artistic talent reflected through it says to me that those kinds of pretty pictures and that kind of flowery language is the way that a mother's voice is supposed to look like and sound like when reflecting on her life... but it's not realistic to think that way- to believe that any one picture of motherhood is the way it's "supposed" to be.

We all have our own realities and project them in our own ways, and I know I can't force my voice to be anything than what it is.

I find beauty in my own right, and these days it's all wrapped up in the faces of my babies- even on my most burnt out evenings, the image of their smiling faces is what helps me go to sleep at ease.

READY, SET, GO!

ONCE UPON A TIME

R&R

ABOUT A BOY

FUN UNCLE

SOLAR SYSTEM CREATION

MIRROR, MIRROR

NEXT GENERATION MEOW

GRIPPING

REGRESSION

Viv's Future Prom Date

Jude, Viv and I got to hang out with my friend Krysta and her two boys Jackson and Gavin today- always a treat. I'm happy to have a girlfriend who not only has a new baby so close in age to my own, but who also has a rowdy first born little boy (Jackson is 4) to boot... with one additional bonus: Krysta and I were both pregnant with Viv and Gavin at the same time. What a relief to have been pregnant- only one month apart- with a friend! I wish every woman I know this kind of luck of the draw. When I was pregnant with Jude, I was all by myself. The first of my closest friends to have a baby- which was tough. 

You not only learn a lot about yourself, but you learn a lot about the people you surround yourself with and the relationships you've invested in when you are pregnant alone. It's hard and sad and difficult, because suddenly you find yourself on a totally different page than friends who can't understand where you're coming from anymore, or not only do they not understand, they simply just don't care enough to even try to appreciate it. People get weeded out of your life- it has to be done- in order for you to continue to grow and flourish. Those precious few friends who stick around and stay there for you, even when they can't relate in that way, are the friends you know you will have for forever. The others- who get weirded out by your "condition" and lifestyle adjustments (particularly if you had, um, a WILD streak in you before getting knocked up) become a big fat waste of time and aren't worth the effort.

The good news is that after the first baby, you more than likely make friends with other women who have also had babies, and gain a whole new group of friends to relate to, or you begin to relate to people you were already acquainted with on a whole new level, and in turn, establish new friendships. When this happens, baby number two has a nicely established network of friends they are born into. Two and a half years after having Jude, I now have the benefit of this kind of social treasury and I am so SO incredibly thankful for it. 

Anyways, enough with the rambling. It's going to be fun to watch the two of these babies grow up together. First come the pictures of them slumped together like little potatoes on the couch, then comes the prom pictures. I can see it now- Krysta and I smothering the two of them with our cameras, them rolling their eyes at us, ready to get out the door to get into the kind of teenage trouble that will most likely get them grounded (or since they are our children, possibly arrested), and Taylor a nervous wreck of a dad- because he went to high school with Krysta and knows her all too well. If these two babies are anything like their mothers, our days are numbered.

Vivienne Alice at 2 months and Gavin Rush (doesn't that name just scream ROCKSTAR? I think so) at 3 months

Here's Jude and Jackson giving their babies some love. They took a brief break from extreme car racing, crashing and throwing to pose with them.

It took about 100 photos to get this one perfect shot. Never thought I would live to see the day that I would become a blithering, high pitched voiced baby-talking mom throwing out all the stops to get a gang of rug rats  to look at me so I can get just ONE damn picture where they are all doing what I want at the same time... but TA DA! Here I am. I'm not as good at it as Krysta, who would do a fine job working at the Picture People, or even better, as one of Santa's helpers at the mall during Christmas- you know, the one who tries to get screaming, crying children to smile at the camera while they are poised and miserable/terrified, sitting on Santa's lap.

Here we are at her baby shower- I think I was like 31 weeks pregnant and she was probably around 35 weeks (something like that). Our first babies were relatively average, and then these second babies wound up being relatively huge- for us anyways. Both Viv and Gavin are in the 95th percentile, which blows my mind. We're both relatively small chicks- about 5'3- and we both had big babies- Viv right under 9 lbs. and Gavin weighing in at 9 lbs., if not a little bigger- and pushed them out into the world the old fashioned way. I know this happens all the time- small girls delivering big babies- but in my world and our circumstances, it seems like a pretty big deal. It was relieving for us to have bigger babies. I think it explains how we got so huge around the end. I knew it couldn't have been the ice cream and cupcakes.

I blame the baby! 

Very distinct personalities, I'm seeing with these two. Laid back Miss Viv and Mr. Outgoing Gavin.

You think Gavin gets his picture taken a lot? SO handsome. The camera loves him!

"Dude, you're like totally cramping the paci action I've got going on over here!"

The 3rd Enchilada

Had a long overdue date night with my husband last night. We went to RedRock on Lake Hefner and followed that up with the final Harry Potter movie- since nothing says romance like 2 hours of big screen wizard mania. After almost 10 years together (10 as of Halloween'ish time this year!), 8 of which were spent with just the two of us, it's amazing to me how an evening out with JUST the two of us now seems so refreshing and new all over again. But most things haven't changed much (except now we talk a lot about our kids- big surprise!).

We both order beer- something light and Mexican for Taylor and something dark and European for me. I order something healthy to eat, and then eat a lot of his order off of his plate. We went back and forth over his decision to order enchiladas. Should he order the standard 2, or for an extra buck order 3 and give me the third one? No, I said, I'm trying to be good. I don't need a whole enchilada on top of my fish and vegetable meal. I just want a bite of  yours. Just a bite.

He was skeptical and laid down the law.

"Ok, if I order 2 enchiladas and you have a bite- you get one bite. I don't want to get stuck with half an enchilada when I could have just ordered a third one and gotten two whole ones for myself."

It sounds a little greedy, I know. I mean, we're married. His enchilada is my enchilada. But he's right. He knows me too well. I would've eaten most of the second one if he hadn't been so adamant about making sure he drew a line in the sand. So I made sure to make my one bite huge in the middle of a really heated conversation, when he wasn't really paying any attention and I knew I could get away with it. Those kinds of sneaky bites taste better than others. Try it sometime.

We joked around. Gossiped. Discussed family, work, current events- arguing politics, yet still finding middle ground to agree on: politicians all suck. I told him about a dream I had the night before, involving Sarah Palin (whom I can not stand BTW) coming to our house to have coffee with me and then later making out with my husband on our couch. Taylor got a laugh out of that, but I'm still haunted and mildly disturbed by it.

We find other people in the restaurant to hone in on and discuss what they are wearing if it's something unusual or strange, what they are talking about if we are so lucky as to pick up on pieces of an extra loud conversation, speculating on strangers as if we are in a zoo studying wild animals... whatever.

We complained to each other about how long it took to get our beers and how irritating it is when the manager of a restaurant comes to your table and puts words in your mouth, "Was everything EXCELLENT tonight?" Seriously. What if it was just OK? Or mediocre? Excellent is a big check to write. But we're both polite so we just said, "Yes!" and discussed the situation amongst ourselves when the manager walked away.

He teased me for turning into a lightweight after my 2 Guinness drafts. I reminded him that I could probably still drink the bar but choose not to do so because I'm a responsible mother now, and he agreed which made me feel good. 

The drive to the movies was funny. We banter each other- we're one of THOSE couples- but it's all in good humor, that is until we get carried away. This is when he says something douchey and I get up in arms about it. 

Thankfully, we've learned that this is just part of our dynamic and we bounce back to normal without batting an eye and are back to holding hands on the walk through the parking lot to the theater. It doesn't take more than someone wearing a stupid looking outfit or article of clothing to get us back on the same page. Yes, I guess you could say we are assholes like that, but come on. You know you do it too.

In the theater we get a Sprite so big that we will never finish it and I get popcorn that I don't really need but buy because I have a weakness for it. Taylor grumbles about the price of concessions as I make a salt bomb in a napkin and put it in my purse so that when the popcorn bag is half empty, I can resalt it and make it delicious again- something Taylor also teases me about, but secretly thinks is adorable.

We make fun of the trailers and play movie critic and commentators, judging each preview as if we can tell if the movie will suck after only a couple of minutes of footage. A sequel to Sherlock Holmes? Really? THUMBS DOWN. Did anyone even watch the first one? We watched about 45 minutes of it on Netflix and turned it off. 

I geeked out after a teaser trailer for the next Dark Knight and made him swear on his life to take me to see it on opening day next year. Mega crush on Christian Bale reignited. 

Harry Potter was PHENOMENAL. I've been dying to see it. Taylor still hasn't forgiven me for making him sit through the last one, which was about an hour too long and super boring. After looking around at the people in the theater, I could tell that a lot of other couples consisted of wives/girlfriends who had dragged their hesitant boyfriends/husbands to see this final Potter flick after making them endure the last one. This one made up for the last though- super dark, with lots of wizard battling and action abounding.

7 books, 8 movies later- it all came down to this film. It was orchestrated beautifully. Bravo David Yates- Bravo! Applause all around. When the final credits started, a couple of people started clapping, only for a second before it flittered away into nothing after more people didn't join in. I guess it's not cool to clap at the end of a wizard movie, but in my head I was clapping too. 

(BTW, I'm an avid reader, but I haven't read any of the books. I'll admit to having gone to Barnes and Noble to read the last chapter of the last book when it came out a couple years ago so I could see if Harry Potter dies at the end. Sitting on the floor in the book aisle, surrounded by kids and adults alike who were anxious to pick up their copies, I speed read the final pages, got my closure, got up and left)

I've been making Taylor take me to see these Harry Potter movies since the beginning- literally, as a new couple who had just started dating, when the first one came out in 2001, till last night... now, married with two little ones at home. 

It's the end of an era! The ending of the movie, the epilogue, was bittersweet. It's super nerdy to say that- it really is- but it's true. Watching Harry and Hermoine and Ron, in a scene set 19 years down the road, send their kids off to Hogwarts reminded me that I have my own little ones at home now. 

The irony of what has come full circle is pure magic to me!

Buying Time

We had a pretty big weekend. Jude transitioned from his toddler bed to his new big boy bed- a full size that completely freaks me out when I see how tiny he looks in it. Taylor pointed out that he will probably be in this new bed until he goes off to college and I had to fight back a few misty tears that are reserved only for things involving my babies (since I like to pretend like I'm made of steel and don't cry at sentimental mush- which I am finding out is a big fat lie. I blame it on hormones). 

Taylor and I document all of these little "first" milestones in Jude's (and now Viv's) life, from first smiles and steps of course, to first grilled cheese sandwiches and poops in an adult sized toilet, complete with pictures naturally, because it's all super important stuff. I am Jude's personal paparazzi, snapping pictures of everything and trying to ignore my husband's snarky remarks about the irony of me being Japanese and always taking pictures (which is so douchey of him- I don't know why he feels like he needs to say stuff like that because he knows the reaction he'll get out of me- but that is a prime example of why we are together believe it or not). I always tell Taylor, "You'll thank me when we're old." I know when we're a little old couple someday, smelling of moth balls and fiber fortified cereal, these pictures will be our most worldly possessions. I find myself planning for old age a lot these days. Having children really kicks that into high gear.

So we made Jude's last night in his toddler bed the big deal that it is- because everything around here has to be a big deal and honored for the big deals that they are. You only get so many firsts before they become routine and uneventful. As usual, his routine was total cake- bath, tooth brushing, changing, picking out the book- all the while he's talking about how excited he is for his big boy bed. Then, right on cue, when the last page of the book is read and the book closes, all hell breaks loose and it becomes a desperate battle of him buying time. 

One more drink of water. One more book. One more trip to the potty. Lately it isn't just a trip to the potty, but he suddenly has the need to poop. I have caught onto this new strategy of his. He goes into his connecting bathroom and sits on the toilet. Just sits there. He doesn't really need to do anything but instead wants to start up a conversation with you (or sometimes just with himself), because he knows that camping out on the throne buys even more extra time. For so long now we've been so adamant about him pooping on that potty that he expects a round of applause every time he does it. But Mommy wasn't born yesterday. I'm on to him.

My parents used to take photos of me when I would get mad and cry when I didn't get my way as a wee one. My "Boo Boo Face," is what they call it (and yes, I still make it). I've seen them all. When I was a teenager, I remember thinking how cruel they were to take photos of  me being so pissed off. The nerve of them taking pleasure and getting a laugh out of my misery. Then I got older and had me a baby and I suddenly understand what's so funny. With everything you go through as a parent- all the sacrifices you make and the crying and temper tantrums and sleepless nights and messes to pick up and gross things to clean- you not only have to laugh sometimes, you have to laugh a lot. Sometimes out of delirium and most of the time at the expense of the child you love so very very much. Luckily, they make it pretty easy for you too.

Since Jude is mine and Taylor's, and comes from bloodlines like ours, I know that someday he too will appreciate pictures like these. He makes a gold medal boo boo face. NOTE: T and I already had the camera out and took plenty of happy "last day in the toddler bed" pictures of Jude and I reading his favorite book. But the cute pictures just aren't as much fun as these. When the book closed and it was time for bed, this is what we got:

I call this one above, "Baby Drama."

ONE...

LAST...

BOOK!!!

Yeah, so he totally won. I'm weak. 

The next day we went to put his big boy bed together only to discover after we'd taken his toddler bed apart, that the converter pieces we'd ordered were not the correct pieces. Converter bed my ass! It's a long story that involves pieces of a converter bed that has pieces, so we discovered, that are manufactured in 3 different countries. For those who don't have kids and don't understand this, a converter bed goes from crib, to toddler bed to big person bed, growing with your kid and saving you money down the road- which is all great, that is unless you discount the money saved for the headache caused when the shit's pieces are not manufactured in a close enough proximity to get all the complete pieces you need to make it work. Yet another reason that too much outsourcing out of America is a stupid idea. So for now, Jude is ghetto rocking the mattress on the floor. It bothers his dad more than it bothers Jude, who is completely content so long as it is covered in sheets with cars and he can jump up and down on it.

Zzzzzzzzzz. Can't have too many photos of your kid wiped out and sleeping! This is bliss!

Heavy Weight

Took Viv, AKA Sumo Baby, to her 2 month appointment today. Our little heavy weight weighed in at 13 lbs. She is in the 95th percentile, which I am just now discovering means she is larger than 95% of other babies her age. I never bothered to figure out what the percentile thing meant with Jude, not because I didn't care. Well, I guess I must not have cared that much or I would've checked into it. I didn't check because he was just perfect to me, and I hate numbers (they make me want to vomit), so it was like, "Ehhh. Ok." With Viv AKA Sumo Baby though, she just seems huge (in a perfectly endearing way, mind you) so I'm more curious to know. The numbers prove me correct. I do in fact have a sumo baby. I try not to get into the whole percentile thing still, because those numbers in the big picture don't mean squat. I've eavesdropped on too many other mothers' conversations where they are already talking about their babies and comparing numbers as if they are taking tabs on test scores for college entry into Ivy League schools- which is just stupid. I'm learning that in the world of babies and children, women can be just as catty and competitive and snide as they are/were before they had them. Gross.

Here she is (above) just moments before she got her shot trifecta, which she was totally thrilled about. It sucks watching your baby get shots. Just walking into a pediatric doctor's office gives me anxiety because as you are walking back to your little room for your check up, the screams and cries and shrieking from other children in the surrounding other rooms make you feel like you are walking into a house of horrors. 

My mother is also beginning to give me a slight complex about Viv's head getting flat on one side, since babies are strongly urged to sleep on their backs. Viv favors turning her head to the right, and in turn, the right side is getting a little flat. When we were babies, we slept on our tummies and we turned out just fine so I see no problem with some tummy sleeping from time to time. Our awesome pediatrician not only ordered her more tummy time, assuring me that it wasn't anything to be concerned about and that it will fix itself after a few months, but he also ordered me to tell my mom to stop giving me shit about my baby's head. More than happy to oblige. 

Zonked. Sleep little Sumo. Big brother will be up from his nap and ready to harass you again in no time.

I had to drive out to BFE Edmond/Deer Creek yesterday to bring Taylor a disk of boring land man stuff he forgot at home. The drive through the rural area was super nice and made me, for the first time ever, consider what it would be like to live out in BFE Edmond or Deer Creek. I hear the schools there are better than those in Oklahoma City... I always forget that those are the kinds of things we are going to have to start thinking about eventually now that we have kids. It's weird thinking about that stuff. It makes me nervous.

Here is a beautiful gigantic castle I saw on my drive out in Northwest Edmond and Deer Creek. I can't imagine needing a house this big, but I'm guessing that the King of Oklahoma must live here, so he must need plenty of room for the royal family and all of their servants. 

On a completely random and irrelevant note, I make the best f'ing jambalaya you've ever eaten. It's radioactive and you'd think I'd been raised a Cajun and grew up amongst the swampy marshes of Louisiana with how fantastic it is. Here is a picture of it right before Taylor, Nicholi, my mom and I killed pretty much the entire thing. I'm thinking I will make it again this upcoming Sunday for True Blood, because that deliciously gratuitous show is even sexier and tackier when eating hot Cajun food while viewing.

Make it RAIN!

It rained today! *Happy Dance*

I am not at all a fan of hot weather- despite my preference for tanned skin and that lovely after sun glow (slight burn) on the face after being out in the heat- so when a 20 minute cool front swept through the City today with the much needed, much appreciated thunderstorm, I opened my doors and said, "Bring it on divine higher power, whatever you may be!"

The rain was especially welcome because it bought me 20 minutes of something for Jude to do that didn't involve him running crazy through the house destroying everything in his path, tormenting my poor cats or pestering his baby sister who just wants to chill and sleep in her swing without his ever present busy body threatening to shake her in her seat until her bow falls off her head.

I feel for the little guy though. I have moments where I want to run crazy through my house and destroy things too, but he can get away with doing it, where I can not reasonably do so. This heat'll make you bananas.

This reign of terror is what he has resorted back to doing while we hole up in here, hiding from the Armageddon sun outside. There is only so much you can do inside to keep someone with such a short attention span entertained- pillow forts, finger painting, cooking, play dough, stickers, reading, flash cards, car races, car crashes, chasing the cats, chasing the dog, letting the dog chase you. I only allow him so much TV time a day, and save that time for when I really need him to completely zone out and not pay attention to me. At all. Literally at all. I don't know if all 2 year olds are like mine, but Jude gets eerily sucked into the TV when his show is on (Little Einsteins). It's both a relief and disturbing.

Unlike when it was just Jude and I, and I had the freedom to tote him around looking for fun activities to keep us entertained, having a toddler and a newborn baby is irritatingly limiting- particularly when it's 110 degrees outside and you're terrified that your babies are going to get heat stroke. After noonish these days, me and my little tribe hide out in the AC, often looking glumly at the pool in the backyard that is now as warm as bathwater after so many days of belligerent heat.

Rain makes for fantastic toddler energy releasing time! We've been letting him do this since he learned to walk and he LOVES it. Happiness is being 2 and running around your backyard in your underwear, screaming and dancing and spinning circles in a thunderstorm. I hope he always remembers me encouraging him to do this, even when he gets older... especially when he gets older.

He's braver than "big puppy," our German Shepard Gretchen whom he kept shouting to come "Wun in the wain!" She stayed back under the porch with the baby and looked at him like he was nuts.

Let it rain! Earth is THIRSTY around these parts!

Like in the dead of winter, we must get creative to keep Jude occupied in the house. Lately he has taken an interest in the breast pump. I guess because you can turn it on and it makes noise. I don't know. He's all over it when I'm trying to use it, just like he is all over me a lot of the time when I am trying to nurse the baby (nursing a baby with a toddler trying to crawl into your lap to push the baby away, whining, "No baby eat mommy's boobies!" makes for a fine time, let me tell you).

Normally I shoo him away from farting around with it, but I'm at my wits end by 5 o'clock most days now and if he isn't breaking anything or making a mess, I'm a little more lenient. 

"Will you be quiet if I let you play with this? Ok- knock yourself out."

SO, here is Jude having free reign with the breast pump, which he gets a huge kick out of. 

He laughs like a loon when he puts it on his tummy. And his head. And the dog's head.

These are going in my file of embarrassing pictures to show future girlfriends as punishment for future things that might get him grounded.

Running Sucks

Ironically, right before I finished up writing this, my good friend Nicholi posted the following video on my Facebook. He shares my movie fanaticalness, particularly for Karate Kid- in which this song plays during the final tournament montage (classic awesomeness right there!). Connecting this with my weakness for all things cats made my day and is case in point why we are friends.

This entry is actually funny to me when read with this song playing, which I figured out while going back to proof read my spelling (NERD). ROCK!

Today marks Day 3 back on the treadmill since getting the green light to do so again by my midwife. The first week after I got the green light, I dragged out what had become 9 months of sedentary living by taking it easy and simply beginning to pay closer attention to what I was eating. 

As much as it was tempting, I decided not to jump right into any kind of extreme diet and exercise routine postpartum- no matter how eager I am to see the last 10-15 lbs. of the 45 I gained while pregnant with Viv disappear.

Now I'm into week two, and I am determined to make my treadmill my bitch. Right now though, as I have discovered, I am my treadmill's bitch. I have a love/hate relationship with my treadmill- which exists solely as a coat rack and collection point for shoes and junk in my living room, unless, like now, I've just had a baby and am in need of running off a bunch of baby fat. 

I hate cardio and I hate running. I am by no means a runner and have no desire to be. But I refuse to let myself go because I've had babies, and I understand that running is a fast and effective way to melt fat off my bod, and if that's what it takes, I will do it. I want to wear my clothes again!

I'm dying to return to hot yoga- but I know I just couldn't hang with that yet. Not just the yoga part, but the stamina it takes to hang in a hot yoga flow class. I imagine attempting some of the asanas I had worked my way into by the time I found out I was pregnant and I think I would just drop dead if I tried right now... that and I can't fit into any of my yoga clothes. 

Yep, I enjoyed sitting around on my ass and eating cupcakes and ice cream while I was pregnant, and it certainly took its toll on me. 

I enjoyed not feeling obligated to exercise- although I probably should have, I didn't care. I spent the first trimester sick as hell, with fast food being the only thing I could stomach. By the second trimester, that cute middle part where you are feeling better, have energy and are only slightly showing, I got put on pelvic rest and was ordered not to do any physical activity at all if I could avoid it. Then the third trimester I was just so huge and uncomfortable that you couldn't pay me to walk down the driveway to get the mail, let alone walk for the sake of walking.

I decided that pregnancy is one of the few times that you can get away with straying away from your normally more limited diet and regular exercise routine without feeling guilty. I applaud all the women out there who stick to regular exercise and eating super healthy the whole 9 months. Bravo! I wish your discipline and will power were contagious and you would have sneezed in my face, because despite any and all my good intentions and plans- I have accepted the fact that I am just a lazy pregnant person.

And oh, how it hurts me on that treadmill now. When I run, I can feel the cupcakes and ice cream weight bouncing around on my ass and it grosses me out (and probably grosses you out too reading about it. Ugh!). 

Nursing boobs hurt when running too (note to self: better sports bra STAT)... I hate them and am looking forward to when they deflate again.

But I told myself, around week 33 or so when I started getting super uncomfortable, that when I could move normally again, I wouldn't take for granted the energy and mobility that you have when aren't pregnant. Pregnancy really gave me a whole new appreciation for this vessel I operate on a day to day basis. 

Going from not being able to get up off the floor to being able to tough out a 45 minute haul on the treadmill hurts so good really. When it starts to get rough on there, I always think back to being 41 weeks pregnant and how it hurt to walk at even a snail's pace- and I feel re-energized. 

I also had my baby naturally, without drugs- a personal goal I've always had for myself. Obviously that kind of pain is not for everyone- and I would go so far as to say that that kind of pain isn't really for anyone, myself included. But hey- why not kick it old school? Our mothers did it, and our grandmothers too. My grandma delivered 8 healthy children without an epidural, and my mother had my brother and I without it too. Call me a bit of a sadist I guess, but I was excited to follow in suit.

I've been called crazy for doing so, but I believed that if I could endure natural childbirth, then I could endure just about anything I try to do and anything life might throw my way. 

I was right. Delivering an 8 and a half pound baby without drugs was the most empowering thing I've ever done and I'd do it again in a second (and my girl parts are instantly frightened as I write that). 

Remembering that helps me tough things out when I start to feel overwhelmed- not just by exercise, but with my patience and confidence and everything else that poses as a challenge to me.  High five for challenges!

Late Night Brain Jogging

I've had a few friends express to me that they are glad to see me blogging again, and that makes me feel good. I forget sometimes that when I post these, there are people who actually read them. I know the possibility is always there, but who knows how many eyes ever actually graze these lines? A lot of people don't care to read. A lot of people aren't the least bit interested in what other people have to ramble on about.

But I suppose some people like to read and some people are interested. Like me. I like to read what other people ramble on about- because I'm nosey.

As a writer, I appreciate my friends and family reading these. Blogging to me is not only excellent writing practice, but it's also helpful in learning to put myself out there more: something that never gets easier no matter how much writing I've done.

Writers, like most other artists with their crafts (musicians, photographers, painters, poets, etc.), tend to hide behind their grammar and words and quips and punctuations....

This got me thinking about the actual act of blogging today. Blogging is really pretty narcissistic. Isn't this just a way for all us bloggers to toot our own horns? Pat ourselves on our own backs? Brag a little? Show off our kids? Talk about ourselves and our lives because it makes us feel more interesting? That's how I feel about it anyways. I won't lie. Sometimes I wonder if I blog to make myself feel like a more interesting person than I really am! I'm sure deep down, that element is there.

Blogging is a fancy way of saying "writing in a public diary"- hiding and revealing bits and pieces of yourself and your life that you want people to see or not see. By including and omitting certain things, we can all turn ourselves into characters of ourselves, like on reality television. It's no different really, the concept. Exhibitionists put themselves out there and the voyeurs eat it up.

I've blogged on and off for years- starting with Myspace back in the day, then a couple I started up and then soon deleted shortly after having my first kid.

Blogging takes time and energy- two things that quickly melt away after having children.

Not only that, but the content of blogging changes after children... and even more so after having 2.

This change is a pretty accurate illustration of the changes that happen to the content of your character after becoming a mother.

I used to rant about issues that irked me, people and scenarios that struck chords, injustices and current events , spilling my guts off of soapboxes and spouting theoretical bra burning. Those kinds of feelings and ideas still exist in me, but I'm so distracted most of the time right now that it takes more effort and time to get it all out than I have to spare. When I do have a window, I must just regurgitate what's freshest on my mind as simply put as possible.

In short, I'm very much a PG version of my former Rated R self, and that's quite honestly something that has been difficult for me to deal with- as I'm sure many people my age (the 30 somethings) are going through. Think Eddie Murphy "RAW" compared to Eddie Murphy Donkey from "Shrek."

That's how it feels, and it's disheartening and relieving all at the same time.

Although it's cute and endearing, I don't want to see Eddie Murphy as Donkey from "Shrek." I want to see Eddie Murphy "RAW."

This dilution of content had to happen eventually, and if it didn't happen after I had kids, I think I'd be pretty irresponsible- but the Rated R gal inside me is still in here and itching to get out and kick some ass most of the time, and that can now only happen when the little ones are tucked away in bed or T and I get a night out.

I gave up blogging for awhile because in the midst of going from childless to becoming a mother, I temporarily lost my voice. That kind of transition inevitably throws your whole being for a loop and you must rediscover who you are: After you've spent years coming into your own and finally finding yourself, you have a baby and must start all over.

Frustrating, confusing and baffling- enough introspection and self-reflection to choke on, really. Growing pains, learning to dribble with your left hand (or your right, if you're a lefty!) and plenty of personal seclusion all locked up in a pretty little box in your head.

For me, I found myself bored with the things I found myself writing about: AKA, my baby and being a mother and how blissfully happy I felt. It's all I could talk about.

My boredom made sense.

I've always been bored with happy endings- that's why I've always been turned off by chick flicks.

Don't get me wrong. I'm humbly grateful and happy with the happy ending I've created for myself in my life, but I've learned that it's not necessary to rehash my happiness and gratitude for my life and the people in it all the time in my blogs, like I ultimately had started doing- hence the boredom that resulted from going round and round.

Just because I don't talk about it all the time doesn't mean that it exists any less. It's the little moments and things that happen in day to day life that I want to write about: not the bigger picture, but the tiny threads that weave it all together.

Once I figured that out, I felt renewed and inspired to blog again.

As it goes, my favorite things to read that other people write/blog about are the itty bitty kinks in their simple realities. I appreciate narrative from that place in people's minds that they usually don't voice because they are afraid that they will be judged as being rude or crude or tacky or inappropriate- because we all have those thoughts. 

I like to see some vulnerability. I like to see flaws and imperfections. That's the real stuff and that's where I've found the best kinds of food for thought within other people's writing.

A little cynicism, a little skepticism, a little criticism, a little more ism isms... I prefer dryness over the ooey gooey. What's your neurosis? I want to know. Give me your uncool side. Give me real.

I found this quote back in high school and it always resonated in my mind. I keep it on a Post-It in my notebook to remind myself :

"The good writing of any age has always been the product of someone's neurosis, and we'd have a mighty  dull literature if all the writers that came along were a bunch of happy chuckleheads."  
                                        ~William Styron, interview, Writers at Work, 1958

That might sound crappy- the happy chucklehead part- but let me explain. When I read, let's say, creative nonfiction for example, I don't particularly care to read other people gushing about how fantastic their lives are. Not that I don't appreciate other people's happiness by any means.

It's just not interesting to read about. I'd rather realize the writer's happiness through their writing- realize the blogger's happiness through their blogging- through a situation or a memory or a conversation or a happening or a photograph- rather than have it told verbatim.

Don't tell me. Show me!

Summer Love

Continuing on from a status update posted on Facebook the other day:


Tuesday, July 5th
"Embarrassing moment of the day: having the Sonic car hop have to bang on my window to get my attention because I am too busy being turned around recording Jude car seat dancing to the Justin Timberlake song blasting out of my speakers. D'oh!"

As Jude and I are hitting the road on our way to Play School this morning, I scrolled through my iPhone to search through my music and find the perfect song for our drive. Since I was drawing a blank, having spent the past 2 hours it takes to get everyone up and ready for the day, rushing around the house and running late despite all of my good efforts, I hit the shuffle button and let my magically wonderful electronic DJ do the choosing for me.

Smashing Pumpkins' "Cherub Rock" came on. Nice. That'll do.

Not 5 seconds later, the little voice in the backseat of my car whimpered, "No- not this one."

"No?" It was the first time that Jude expressed any like or dislike to any one particular song.

"Ok buddy, let's try a different one." I hit shuffle again, and this time DJ wonderful chose Cake's "Love You Madly." Excellent selection, DJ wonderful.

But then again: "No- not this one."

Interesting. I realized that perhaps my kid is developing musical taste, and this thrilled me. So I asked him,

"What would you like to listen to?"

I looked in my rearview mirror and watched his face. He smiled big and began to nod excitedly.

"Car song. CAR SONG."

Car song? What is Car song? Stumped for a moment, the only thing I could come up with was Justin Timberlake's "Summer Love" song, which I had played about 10 times the other day in the car, the same day that the Sonic car hop busted me for dorking out with my camera phone to capture Jude dancing.

So I scrolled through, found the song and turned up the volume. As soon as the intro came on, Jude's face lit up and he began movin' and groovin' in his seat, swaggin' his shoulders to the beat like Taylor has been teaching him to do.

"Is THIS the Car song?"

"Yeah! Ok!"

So we jam the whole way to Play School, with me cracking up and him making me play it 3 times straight, including one extra time in the parking lot before he would get out of the car without freaking out.

I have a feeling I am going to be hearing "Summer Love" a lot over the next few weeks, since whatever it is he takes a liking to, be it Hot Wheels or Little Einsteins, he becomes obsessed with and nothing else will do. I'll take that- I can think of a billion other things that I'd rather not listen to over and over again than Justin Timberlake.

"Summer Love" has now taken on a whole different association than it used to have, back when my girlfriends and I went to Vegas for my bachelorette party in 2007. Justin Timberlake- who was especially hot at the time with his new album- was the topic of a lot of conversation- with his music and name thrown in at least once every couple of hours or so. His is not this rock and roll girl's typical taste in music, but seriously: who can resist this guy? Hello SWOON!

*Nerd Alert secret: At the time, I secretly day dreamed that we'd run into ol' JT at one of the million dollar Vegas nightclubs we partied at and he'd not only ask me if I would consider blowing off my impending wedding to run away with him, but he'd also teach me how to dance, since my dancing skills are pretty much less than mediocre, even after drinking the bar when out on a Saturday night.

Anyways, now that I've spilled that slightly embarrassing tidbit about myself, here is what has now been deemed the "Car Song," if you'd like a mental picture of my little dude getting his toddler swagger on.

I suggest playing it for your own kid- and even just for yourself- today. Just a little splash of sunshine for everyone.

On a side note, the following video is what solidified my ongoing crush on Justin Timberlake. Gotta love a guy that can make you laugh!

Add the Movie Badge to my Mommy Sash

Here is a photo of Jude's feet as we waited for- drumroll please- his very first big screen movie adventure to begin! CARS 2- the day had finally arrived! It was all and all a pretty fun experience- just the three of us: Jude, Taylor and I (no Baby Viv. I refuse to take babies to movies- need I explain???)
Since our house has been invaded by and taken over by everything cars since he first watched the Disney movie CARS at 18 months old, it only seemed appropriate that his first movie be the sequel. I'll spare the movie review, despite how hard it is for me to to do that (~cough cough~ too long! ~cough cough~ too many over the top explosions and a crappy story line! ~cough cough~ it's the Bourne Ultimatum for children, do not let them watch this in the morning or before bed, it will make them bounce off walls!).
I'd never taken a toddler to the movies, and I won't lie. Taylor and I were scared.  Jude did pretty well considering he has the attention span of a rough and tumble labrador puppy.
He did fantastic starting with the pre trailer commercials (he was very impressed with the gigantic TV screen we'd been telling him about all week), the trailers, and then the first 20 minutes or so of CARS 2- but as his attention span began to fade there were of course unanticipated hoops to jump through during this kind of adventure, as I'm learning there always are when you have a toddler. Like, for example, your toddler suddenly telling you he needs to poop in the middle of the movie. I'm honestly surprised I even heard him say it with as loud as the sound was blaring and all of the explosions. But I've developed a pretty good mom "poop" radar and I instinctively listen for that word, or else be faced with the scenario of cleaning a tiny pair of crap filled Lightening McQueen whitey tighties out in public (no thank you). I thought it was tricky and awkward slipping out of a movie theater aisle to go to the bathroom when I was alone, but it was tricky on a whole new level while squeezing past people carrying a gangly-legged two year old who is a virtual Number Two time bomb waiting to go off ("Omigod Omigod, please don't poop PLEASE don't poop on these people!"). Once that crisis was averted after a successful drop off in the ladies room, we get back, and ten minutes later he has to go pee. Round 2.
He watches more movie with his hands over his ears for a lot of it (like I said, Bourne Ultimatum action here) before he resorts to crawling all over the seats next to us, turning into dead weight while Taylor and I try to peel him up off the nasty disgusting floor he just suddenly has to sit on, and a few squealing in protest episodes that would've caused for major shushing if it weren't so loud in there that no one really noticed. Across the theater I noticed throughout the movie other parents getting up to take their little ones out of the theater to shush them or take them poop or what have you and I suddenly felt this huge wave of relief- which tends to happen to me when I get out around other parents and realize that I have all of these allies around me.... something I forget sometimes until I get to witness some other person's kid acting all crazy out in public. When this happens, I find myself thrilled to see a stranger's child going berserk and freaking out, because then I'm reassured that my own child is normal for going berserk and freaking out. I never thought I'd live to see the day that I would find any kind of pleasure out of seeing a kid have a brat attack out in public, but what do you know? Here I am silently hoping to find the same amused/horrified/irritated/knowing/patient look in another parent's eyes as they shuffle their whining, temper-tantrum having hot mess of a toddler out of a public space to take care of.