A bird in the hand…

A family of sparrows decided to make their home on top of our nice, toasty dryer vent. It’s quite amazing how they managed to build an intricate home given the uneven sloping of the vent. They persisted day after day, as mountains of their refuse (okay, a euphemism for bird crap) lay in our backyard. Big D suggested that it may be wise to move the nest, as it was looking not in the least bit sturdy and one of these days it was just going to collapse. I didn’t want to intervene with nature. They were working so darn hard and who was I to clue them in on the fact that danger was imminent. Well, Big D was right, something did in fact happen. Yesterday one of the little baby birds fell out of the nest. I noticed it as I was leaving with the boys. The bird was still breathing, but just lay there looking so despondent. I quickly put it into a Tupperware (I couldn’t find a shoebox) because that seemed like a sensible thing to do. I then took the boys to the park but I couldn’t help but think of that little bird. I didn’t know what the next step would be. When we got home, the bird was still there. I wanted to feed it, but Big D was right: unless I could eat a worm and regurgitate it, I wasn’t going to do much good for this little guy. I called Petco thinking that a pet store might be of some help…not so much. I called ASPCA but they were closed. I was running out of ideas and fast. I needed to help, I wanted to help, I had to help. My maternal instinct was kicking into overdrive. I made Big D borrow a ladder from our neighbor, Paul, and he put on gloves and put the bird back in the nest (Okay, this isn’t completely true. His first attempt resulted in the Momma bird trying to swat his hand away, so Big D actually dropped the bird…but no harm was done. The bird was okay). Was this the right thing to do? I’m not really sure. I wish they could give me a sign that all has ended peacefully but alas, there is no wrap up segment in this reality show called “life.”

So Nice

Today was just a gorgeous long weekend weather day. We headed to the beach and although it took quite a while to get organized (Big D waited at the front door with the two boys as I frantically filled up the Petunia Pickle Bottom), we ended up spending the afternoon at the beach all by ourselves. Okay, not even close. We were there with like five million other Angelenos that all had the same idea as us. Although it was ridiculously crowded, it was still really fun. Mudd covered his toes in the sand and Jam ran around following the older kids. He calls them all "boys." He chases them and says "boys, come back!" The younger girls roll their eyes, I don't think that they appreciate the nickname so much. I even got a little bit of sun, and I know that my white legs appreciated the attention.
Update on Friday's post: While we were reading our bedtime books, I took Gabriela's advice and said "Jam, let's take the ice cream out and eat it." He looked at me as if I were absolutely mad and said "Mom, it's a book." I have no idea what changed from yesterday to today, but abstract concepts no longer!

Abstract Concepts

Upon reading bedtime stories to Jam, I've noticed something very interesting. Either he has a tremendous imagination, or he's having a slight bit of a problem with the whole book thing. We were reading a book about a train and there was a big photograph of a train heading right towards us. Jam yelled in my ear "Watch out, the train is coming." Okay, that wasn't so strange. Next book had tons of pics of food. He pointed to a girl eating an ice cream cone and he began "I want that, I want that now, take it out." I'm explained to him that it was just a picture, and he was not going to take it out of the page to eat it. He didn't like that. He turned the page. There were jelly beans. Okay, note to self, I've got to find a different bedtime book. This was getting ridiculous. "I want that, take it out." Hmm...not again. Mudd sighed...I'm totally with you, buddy.

Drainage...

This has been a trying day. Both Mudd and Jam are sick. Mudd has an ear infection and Jam's illness is making itself known in a much more prounounced way. He's got a nasty, phelgmy cough the likes of which Robitussin doesn't want to touch and a runny nose that no amount of Kleenex want to plug. Mudd is in good spirits. He loves the taste of the antibiotics and cries when he's had his teaspoonful. What can I say? The kid's got a sophisticated pallette.
Hoping tomorrow brings less snot and more smiles...

What the....???

Today I was riding the elevator with Mudd. We needed silverware and I wanted to hit Bloomie's for the pre-sale. Pre-sales are fabulous, by the way. Kind of strange in that you could really just wait a day, but there is something so fulfilling about buying it before it goes on sale.
Speaking of houseware, I so wish that you could register for wedding presents not when you get married because you really don't know what's flying then anyway, but after you've been married for say five years. That way, you are getting something that you need and could actually use, plus it could be a way for people to celebrate the fact that you are indeed still married and thus utilizing said gifts.
Anyway, about the elevator... Some youngish man walked in and I was holding Mudd because he was fussy and the silverware was resting comfortably in the Peg. The man looks me up and down (this is LA, this is what people do) and then said "is your son going to have a sibling anytime soon?" WHAT THE @#$!% I run like five miles every day, I don't think that I look pregnant AT ALL. It could have been this guy's way of making conversation by: a. asking intimate details about my sexual life or b. calling me fat. Either way, I was beyond peeved. What is with people, I mean really???

Word Game....can you dig it?

Okay, so Rachelle has challenged me to a word game. Come up with 9 words all starting with the letter “G” that tell a little bit about me. Because I am unnecessarily competitive, I have been given the extra task of making them 3 nouns, 3 verbs, and 3 adjectives.

Here is what I’ve come up with:

1. Go-Cart: Kind of random but I’ve always wanted to ride one. They seem fun in a Napolean Complex kinda way. It’s not big, nor fast, but still calls my name.
2. Golf: I so don’t play golf. Big D does and I’ve always wanted to learn. One time he took me to the driving range. I wasn’t that hot. The sport is way overrated.
3. Gabe: This is a name I really love. But Big D has nixed it as a name for either one of our boys because “I knew a Gabe growing up….” Doesn’t that just bite that one Gabe ruined the name for any and all future offspring?
4. Going: I love to be on the move. It is totally my fault that Jam inherited this trait. Big D is content just kicking it at home and I get cabin fever from the moment I wake up in the morning.
5. Gabbing: Yup, I’ve got the gift of gab. I love to talk. Is there anything really wrong with that?
6. Guffaw: This is just a fun word. I had to include it. Guffaw, you know you want to.
7. Glad: No, not the trash bags. But, I want to know why trash bags are glad anyway? Is the trash really all that happy?
8. Great: It’s great to be great, to do great things, meet great people, great.
9. Green: It’s a fabulous color. My favorite color M&M. What does that say about me? I’m not envious, nor greedy…I just like the color. It’s vibrant. Vibrant is a word I absolutely would have chosen. But, alas, it doesn’t start with the letter G.

Paula or Paul?

One of our neighbors is a very cool thirty something Harley riding kinda guy. He sports a shaved head, tattoos wrapped around his huge chest and neck, and loves to blare really loud rap music as he parks his Range or Beemer in the driveway and escorts yet another lovely new lady to his abode with its pimped out coy fish pond and built-in stainless steel Bar-be-que. In other words, this guy is the @#$$! He exudes coolness, the kind of cool that people spend their entire lives trying to find sheer glimmers of. It's amazing how not cool Big D and I feel as said neighbor hosts a rager as Big D helps me take in the groceries. One day, Jam asked me what our neighbor's name is. As some of you may recall, Jam is big into learning people's names and this is a name I happen to know..."Paul." The name fits him. Very masculine...Paul is the kind of guy that rides a harley or a chromed out BMW convertible. The funny thing? Jam thinks I said "Paula" and I never bothered to correct him. It is so damn funny to see Paul ride off on his motorcycle and for little Jam to say "Paula's on a bike." Or for Paul to play his rap music with the bass going full blast and cause Jam to say "C'mon, Paula." He is SO not a Paula.

Not Ready to Say Goodbye...

I'm not a big TV watcher. Unlike my TV junkie husband, I'd so much rather read a book. But somehow, I became addicted to Desperate Housewives. I can't help myself. It's raunchy, soapy, but it's lured me in and now I'm hooked. So, that's why tonight is going to be hard. I'm not ready to say goodbye to all of my looney friends on Wisteria Lane. Next season seems like ages away. I'm desperately seeking susan, I mean, solace. As Jam says "see ya."

Stroller Issues...

Mudd isn't digging the stroller so much anymore. When he was just a couple of months old, he didn't love it and I could easily Bjorn him. Then one day he decided that life was pretty fun in the Perego. I was so grateful that he was finally enjoying the ride. I took in the fresh air and appreciated the walk in peace. And then today he decided he really doesn't like the stroller after all. My only problem is that he is way to big for a front carrier, and I don't want to carry him on my back because I might feel like the Sherpa of Beverly Hills. C'mon, Mudd. Work with me here. I have issues with knots and I don't think that I'd be able to handle a sling. Big D is a mean swaddler but I had some issues with the whole thing.
It's like wrapping gifts. When I was in college, I was a cashier at a retail store around the Holidays. Every time someone would ask for a gift wrapped, my palms would get sweaty because I knew that wasn't my bag. I convinced the manager that it would be much more efficient to have a gift wrapping table where one employee would wrap all of the gifts. When she agreed to my plan, I knew that I was off the hook. That was, until the day I was chosen to work at that table...
So, Mudd, whaddya think about giving the crawl a college try?

Library or Lakeshore...

Today I took the boys to the library. It's only a few blocks from my house and it seemed like a good, wholesome activity. Jam was having a grand ol' time picking out some glossy picture books. Mudd was content watching his brother mull over the choices. "Yummy, Yucky" or "No, David." Yup, life is tough when you're two and half and haven't a care in the world...except whether or not you get a cookie for snack and a clean diaper after a nap. When he finally picked out the chosen four, we made our way over to the checkout. That's where they have the "current" bestsellers...I grabbed three books on a whim and kept my fingers crossed that they were good. I miss those days where I could mull over my book choices at the library, sit in a nice, plush chair and read a few chapters in peace...After we got home and took baths, it was time to read our books. Or so I thought. I started to read our first pick. Jam said "no, thank you. I want that one."
He was pointing to a stack of catalogs in the corner. "That one" was the Lakeshore (developmental toys) catalog. Aside from the fact that it's super thick (I hate to be one of those moms that decides whether to read a book at night to their child depending on the length...but I'm just so tired of marathon picture book sessions), I wasn't sure how a Lakeshore catalog counted as a book. I picked it up and we began to go through it. Every single page....every paint brush, scissors, and crayon. Even Mudd yawned at the tediousness of it all. Remind me why we went to the library again? Who really needs books when you have catalogs calling your name?

Cooking For Dummies

I so appreciate a fabulous home cooked meal. I learned how to cook when I got married. I managed to survive college on takeout and generous roommates. I just didn’t really have an interest in it, to be honest. When I got married, I felt like I owed it to Big D to learn. But, in the first year of our marriage, my mother happily provided us with leftovers ala carte. She’s a great cook, so that arrangement worked well. When Big D and I hosted our first dinner party, my grandmother and mother did all of the cooking and that was all fine and good until my savvy guests asked me on the spot how I made certain dishes. I hadn’t a clue, and I didn’t even know enough to fake it. My answer: “Who wants another martini?” Maybe if I got them good and drunk, they wouldn’t notice. After that night, I realized that I had to get serious. I whipped out the cookbooks I received from my wedding and got cooking (literally). The most amazing part was that I wasn’t that bad. Okay, so there have been quite a few mishaps from then until now, but the overall result is healthy and slightly sophisticated fare ala Cooking Light and Williams Sonoma. I’m thinking about all of this having just made a peach bread pudding. The pungent aroma is beckoning me from the oven in its semi-cooked glory. I guess my problem with cooking, and everything in general is that I crave instant gratification. Having to marinate something overnight just kills me. You could imagine how I felt my entire nine months plus of pregnancy with both of my boys. There’s so much waiting. I have no patience. Who wants a piece of bread pudding?

Hey Look....A Friend!

Mudd is transforming every day from helpless infant to confidant tot with a swagger to boot! He's just getting comfortable in his skin. Now that he's sitting up, he's exploring the world in a whole new way. He grabs on tight to things that interest him, and then drops them shamelessly when they've become yesterday's news. And Jam is totally picking up on the fact that Mudd is actually interesting to him. Jam runs up to him and plants pecks all over his face, tries to jam a bottle in Mudd's mouth, and holds his hand when they are sitting in the playroom. It's like one day Jam looked around and decided "I've got a friend in this house, cool...." Mudd is happy as could be with this new arrangement. I have visions of them as teenagers...and it scares me. Every time they both look at me and grin, I know that I'm in for a wild ride indeed.

Separation Anxiety

Yep, Mudd's got it. He's going through that "hold me now, don't let me go" phase which is amazingly rewarding and extremely frustrating all the same. Who doesn't love feeling loved? After months of giving, giving, giving, Mudd is finally affirming to all that "hey, I kinda dig this woman." And yes, why lie, that's a mighty good thing. BUT, Mudd, now that you've let me know how much you appreciate me, could you let me leave the room for just a second? You've got all those cool toys and rattles to entertain you, and I promise it'll just be a second. Why can't I have that delectable, frosty strawberry shortcake and eat it too? Is there anything really wrong with that?

What's in Your Basket?

I love Costco. It is just so much fun. Everything is oversized, from the massive parking lot to the gargantuan carts. It's like Disneyland for grownups and it is just good shameless fun. As I walked through the aisles today grabbing lots of things I don't need but just seem too cheap to pass by, I gleamed with my adoration and devotion to this place. A half an hour and a full cart later, I waited in line in front of an older man who commented on every single thing that I took out of my basket to pay for.
I mean, we really all do the same thing. Shopping carts are just beckoning for people to come and take a look, and yet, grocery shopping is one of the more personal kinds of shopping out there. Theoretically, you could be nursing a bad case of hemmorhoids that you really don't want to talk about, and yet, you put Preparation H in your basket and it's there for everyone to see. There are so many things that you might need, but are slightly embarassed to buy should you run into your neighbor or mother. I wondered about the man who exited Costco with me, and all he bought was a bag of bananas. How could you go to Costco and only get one thing, and why bananas? Or there was the teenager with a cart full of cranbery juice. What's her story? I'm so tempted to ask, and yet, I hate when I'm confronted by strange, although well intentioned people looking through my bounty. We're curious creatures, but can't I buy my five hundred rolls of toilet paper in peace?

Happy Mother's Day...

Last night was pretty fun, okay, hardly, but it's Mother's Day and I'm trying to find that positive aura. The boys were having a hard time adjusting to the new digs. I knew that they would come around eventually but change is hard, even if it'll do you (or them) good. Jam was doing okay but Mudd was having the more difficult time of it all. At about one in the morning, Mudd was calling for me in that delicious way six month olds know best...the shriek. I couldn't let him cry for long because I worried that the new surroundings were exactly what was doing him in. I pictured him looking around and thinking "What the #@$!" It's like when you are on vacation and you wake up from your slumber and you look around and are completely disoriented until you breathe in the magnificent aroma that is 8,000 threadcount sheets and a pure down comforter...You're annoyed that you feel lost but then once you regain your composure and sit down to a glass of fresh squeezed OJ it's all good.
Mudd's going to get to that place with his new room. It's just a matter of time.

Moving On Up...

Yesterday and today have been very busy indeed. Big D and I have moved Jam out of his toddler bed into a very fabulous loft bed. The only problem with the bed that I ordered was that I failed to take measurements and thus, when Big D came home from work to assemble it, it didn't fit in Jam's room where I thought that it might. So, we swapped Jam's room with Mudd's and this involved a ton of work that I didn't forsee, and an excited but slightly leery Jam. "New room AND new bed?"

Mudd was really easy going about the whole thing, then again, he's only six months old. So, I know that you aren't supposed to introduce too many changes to a two year old, less they get overwhelmed and tantrum out on you. But Jam was being way too cool about the whole thing. He begged Big D to take eighteen naps (he LOVES the number eighteen...everything is always eighteen) in it...this coming from a kid who will do anything to avoid the nap. We read our goodnight books in Jam's new room (aka Mudd's room) and that is when I noticed that maybe the novelty was wearing off because Jam didn't look too excited about the prospect of going to bed...at all.

We put his toddler bed under the loft, and this was more of a logistical thing because Big D didn't want to carry it up into the attic. But now it seemed like Jam wanted to hang out a while longer in his old bed. I looked at the new bed with the fabulous Pottery Barn fishy sheets and down comforter and was tempted to set up camp there tonight. When we set up the bed, Jam picked his favorite stuffed animals and those were the ones that made the cut. The other unlucky fellows stayed below in the old bed. I was feeling sorry for the pig, cat and puppy. I mean, what did the funky looking octopus have on them anyway? But now, Jam was feeling a little apprehensive and he called out the big (and little)dogs. He grabbed all of his forgotten pals and and carried them up to his new bed...only then was he ready to call it a night.

Night Out

A lot of our friends with kids have been telling us how important it is to make time sans little ones...a date night of sorts. Considering that my life is filled with ABC'S and Twinkle, Twinkles, I thought that it was high time that Big D and I got on the bandwagon. We did it, we partied like rock stars. Okay, maybe we just went out for sushi but when you haven't been out in eons, it feels like walking the red carpet. It was absolutely luxurious! We got a babysitter and we may turn this into a weekly affair.
Walking into the sushi bar without the little guys in tow felt sinfully sweet. I held Big D's hand but I felt strange, not bad strange, but strange nonetheless. As I licked my lips to put the perfectly wrapped seaweed into my mouth, I heard something eerily familiar. My spicy salmon roll tumbled from my lips. Yes, it was definitely what I thought it was....a cry, coming from a one year old at the table next to us. Now, here I am constantly preaching tolerance and wishing that everyone loved kids as much as me... I love all children BUT, and here's the caveat: when you are out on a date with your significant other, and you spend every waking moment with your precious littles, are you allowed to shudder JUST A LITTLE when you hear a fussy baby? I hope so, cuz I certainly did. I couldn't help myself.

What's Inside?

Lately, Jam is obsessed with the insides of things. He holds up a book.
"What's inside?"
"Pages."
He points to the computer.
"What's inside?"
"A Hard drive, wires..."
He points to the fridge.
"What's inside?"
"Fruit, vegetables, chicken."
Then he finds my diaper bag. Big D has been on me to clean the thing out because it is filled to the brim with all sorts of things Jam and Mudd might need if we're out at the park. I swear, I pack that thing so full you might wonder if I was doing an overnight excursion to the desert, with supplies for twenty. And then it starts...
"What's inside"
"Hmm, lot's of stuff."
"Like what?"
"Too much stuff."
"Too much stuff?" (He's into repeating me these days).
"Yup, way, way too much stuff."
He starts to peer in and a packet of tissues tumbles out...then my wallet, and Jam's sippy cup, which subsequently starts leaking. What's up with these spill proof tumblers anyway...aside from the massive spillage?
"Mommy, it's clean up time."
C'mon Jam, cut me some slack! I start to clean up. The "What's Inside" game has busted me tonight.
Jam 1
Momma 0

That's mine...and so is that...

Sometimes I would just love to get inside of Jam's brain so that I could understand the two year old psyche in all of its glory...mainly, though, to grapple with the phenomeneon known simply as "mine."
It was one of Jam's first words and it became more pronounced when he started preschool, and it got sharpened at the various parks around town, and at playgroups as well. To be fair, Jam is a pretty good sharer(of course, he'll share and then push you, but that's a whole other story!!!) but he really thinks that it's Jam's world. Case in point: at the park today Jam and Mudd were sitting in the sand happily playing with shovels and pails and making a grand old mess. All of a sudden, Jam noticed that someone was on the swings.
"Mommy, my swing, that's mine."
"Uh...no, it really isn't. We are at the park. That swing belongs to everyone."
"Mine."
I don't even know why I try to reason with the wrath that is the terrible twos. Luckily, though, Jam didn't have the energy in him to tell me more about "his" swing. He went back to playing with Mudd until he noticed someone going down the slide.
"My slide."
Here we go again...
"That's everyone's slide. We are at the park."
"Mine."
It's got to be cool to be Jam. Everything is yours. Imagine having this mentality while you're out shopping. Walk past Tiffany and Co..
"Mine."
Proceed on to Cartier...
"Mine."
And then head east to Barney's...
"Mine, all mine."
Wait, I already do this. Maybe Jam and I really aren't that different after all.

Not so Kid Crazy...

I admit, I am totally momma-centric. That is, my day to day life pretty much revolves around my kids and all that this entails. When Jam says "bar-be-que" in that oh so cute way, making it sound like "bahbeeshoot," I'm absolutely smitten. When Mudd squeals with delight as he sits up proudly, I fall more and more in love with him. But sometimes I'm reminded that not everyone has that maternal instinct...the one that makes grown women goo to make your infant son laugh as you're waiting in line at the grocery store. Not everyone looks at your double stroller and then utters a variation of "so cute." I hate to break it to you, but there are people in this world that just don't love your kids as much as you think. It isn't you, it isn't your kids, it's kids in general. Not everyone has the mommy bone, and you just can't take it personally.
Today we were riding in a big glass elevator. "Up and down," Jam kept saying. The elevator wasn't busy, so I let Jam have his fun. I don't particularly love elevators, as Big D can attest, but when your kids are having fun, you'll do just about anything to keep them happy. A woman got on the elevator during one of our many trips from G to 6, and I made sure that there was plenty of room for her. She asked me if I was getting out and I explained with a laugh that we were just riding the elevator to nowhere in particular (actually somewhere between G and 6, but who's counting?) She didn't acknowledge me, let alone look at Jam or Mudd. She just got in, shuffled her toes, and got out at 4.
She could have been having a bad day. But this wasn't the first time something like this has happened. And when it happens, you can't take it personally. It's not YOUR kids that aren't cute...it's ALL kids. I always think that I can change these people, and I engage them and challenge them to say something, anything...but sometimes my efforts prove futile...

Talking Fish...

Every so often, Big D will ask me questions about the various television programming directed towards children and why some things just make no sense. Maybe someone could help me out here, because in trying to answer him, I am actually at a loss for words (this rarely happens, as my friends can attest). These are some of the actual questions Big D has posed to me:

In Jam's beloved "Thomas and Friends," how can trains have a gender?
In "Finding Nemo," why don't the fish living in Australia have accents?
In "Finding Nemo," how do the fish learn how to tell time?
In "The Wiggles," why does the dinosaur speak but not the dog?
In "JoJo's Circus," why does JoJo have a lion for a pet and a frog as a friend?
In "Charlie and Lola," where are Charlie and Lola's parents?

Hmm...

They're laughing at us...

We were all straining to get a glimpse of them. They were frolicking about, wading in the water, sunbathing on the warm rocks and just taking in the day. It was very crowded and they had quite an audience. Most of them didn't pay us any attention, as I'm sure that they were very used to being bothered. Jam and Mudd were peering out of the Urban Double with the sunshade that kept them deliciously shady, and made the stroller seem that much more cumbersome and overwhelming. We were getting pushed about some because we were taking up a ton of room. We situated ourselves at the ape exhibit although my eyes wandered to the next exhibit over because it was empty, and I longed to look at the gazelles instead. Gazelles don't exactly have the same cache to a two year old, not like apes, anyway. Jam wouldn't hear of it. "Apes, Mommy, look."
I was looking at the apes but I wasn't impressed. I knew that they were mocking us. "We really aren't that different, you and I," the big ape was saying. His wife put the kiddos on her back and moved to a rock that blocked our view. We were like the paparrazi gathering photos for the all time stupidest page in US Weekly, "Stars, they're just like us." You know, the page where they catch celebrities doing "normal" and "everyday" things like sneezing, drinking coffee et al. Uhh, yea..they're just people, people. These apes were looking at us and thinking "give us a break."
I so wanted to leave, but the boys were loving the spectacle, or lack thereof. Finally, the Momma ape had enough bothering for one day. She angled over to us, and then turned around and stuck her bottom in our faces. You go girl!

Phantom Cries

The other day I was reading an article in the NY Times about people that talk on their cellphones so often that they hear their cellphones ringing even when they are off. I admit, this has happened to me. I was walking the boys the other day, and no one else was around (so it wasn't someone elses phone ringing) and I swear I thought I heard my cell phone ring, but nope, it was silent as could be. As I checked the phone and deftly dropped it back in the Petunia Pickle Bottom, I had a "just kidding" moment. As in "just kidding, that didn't just happen."

Last night, I was pretty distraught when I heard a piercing scream at three in the morning, for a couple of reasons: It means that the sleep training isn't exactly working, I was wide awake and worried Mudd wouldn't fall back asleep, and Big D was snoring away which made everything that much more unbearable. I quickly got up to check on Mudd, even though I knew that I couldn't pick him up right away. I peeked in his room and he was silent as could be. Jam was sound asleep in the next room. Then I heard the cry again, but this time it sounded like a sharp shriek. It was actually coming from our bedroom. Sometimes Big D sleeptalks, but this is ridiculous. I went back into my room, and again heard nothing. This game was getting extremely vexsome and I was losing precious sleep and possibly going insane. Then I heard it again. But this time it sounded more like more cat and less colic. I looked outside the window and witnessed a bonafide cat fight ala Denise and Heather. I rolled my eyes and got back in bed. Feline fury, what's a girl to do?

What's in a name?

Kids are so funny because when they are really young, an adult (especially a parent) is the absolute authority on just about everything. It's crazy because Jam will ask me questions and he doesn't question my prompt answers because he assumes that I know what I am talking about. I love that! Lately he is fascinated with people's names. When we go to the park, he asks me "what's her name?" This is fairly easy to answer because the two of us (actually three, Mudd is usually in tow) will walk over to said girl and ask for her name. But now this name game has been coming up all over the place. We will be walking down the street and Jam will peer out of his stroller and point at someone across the street and down the block and say "what's his name?" Since I can't really find out, I used to say "I'm not sure." But Jam didn't like that answer. "C'mon, Mommy, tell me" he would plead. I hate to disappoint. So, I said "Jim," I have no idea why. It was just the first name that I thought of. You're probably shaking your head with disapproval. I know, I know, it's never a good idea to lie to a child. But so what if Jam thinks man walking dog #1 is named Jim, and woman shopping for groceries #2 is named Sally? They are extras in this movie we call life and it's high time somebody gave them names.

Reality Show Junkie

No, not me...Big D has got a severe case of reality-itis. It's getting ugly, because the shows are getting more and more absurd. Big D has the ability to quintuple task and so, there is always a reality tv show playing while he is working on the computer late at night.
I'm a snob. I love to read. I cannot be bothered by the mindless drivel that makes its way onto our Tivo each night. Okay, I admit that I use the Tivo occasionally to catch up on Desperate Housewives, a guilty pleasure that I know is far from sophisticated. Oprah also loves to make an appearance and show her face. But what is all this about Real World (c'mon Big D, that was cool in high school!), The Apprentice, Laguna Beach, The Amazing Race...you get the picture...? I would so much rather curl up with the latest bestseller and read until my eyelids get droopy and then close the book and call it a night.
Big D isn't a reader. I once showed him an article from the NY Times Magazine which claims that watching TV requires a great degree of concentration, often times more than reading, because plots have become increasingly more complex and developed. Okay, I have a hard time buying that...because these shows that find their way onto our television screen are getting increasingly more ridiculous. Big D is into a show that follows around the manager of a used car dealership. The premise, you ask? There isn't one. There is even a show called Reality Show Wrap Up....No joke. Big D, it's time to drop the remote...and then nobody is going to get hurt.

Farm Girl

I am completely and utterly addicted to the Farmer's Markets that roll through town all week long. In the beginning, I just went to one fairly close to my house on Sunday mornings. Before Mudd was born, I would put Jam in the jogger very early in the am and trek over there for my fix of organic fruits and veggies. Now that I've got two, I buckle them both in and head out. The problem is that I found out about another open air market held on Tuesday, another on Wednesday, and one on Thursday. Lately, I've been hitting them all. I certainly don't need that much fruit in the house, but I'm having a hard time not seeing the super friendly and smiling faces greeting me as I hand over 2 bucks for 3 corns, even though I can get 8 corns for 2 bucks (husk included- I find that supremely authentic) at Pavillions any day of the week. It's just that these guys seem super happy to see me and the kids, offer up a free sample, talk about the weather and how it's affecting the crops (I love that! Being an Angeleno born and bred, I never ever hear anyone talking about their crops!), and then grin again for good measure. Some of the open air markets even have pony rides which, if either of my children showed any interest in, could be a very fun activity I urge you to check out.
Yesterday there was a new woman there selling baby outfits that were so chic in a homemade grandma sort of way. Mudd was asleep and I didn't want to bother him to check if this luscious chenille drool bib would fit him. I handed the lady my offering with the plea that if it didn't actually fit (will post pics soon, but Mudd has a pretty big neck...all the more to love!), could I please exchange it for something else next week? Then she did something that in all my years of living in LA, I have never seen anyone do... she told me to keep my payment, and bring it next week if it fit.
Seriously?
I could not believe this woman...kind, gracious, and generous... I actually put the five bucks back in my pocket and I stared at her. "Keep the money? Really?" It wasn't even about the five bucks, it was just that this woman trusted me. And I love her for that. Next week I'll give her the five dollars owed (the bib is so darn cute, with a little room to spare too!) and probably buy a few more too. I love her, I want to keep her in business. Uh oh, this could get expensive...

So Fleeting

She was so young. Her three children have all lost a mother today. Breast cancer robbed them of a future together...baseball games, first days of school, a Bar Mitzvah only months away...
I stop and look at my two boys and hold them extra close. Suddenly the very things that bothered me only moments earlier have all faded away. I am so lucky. I hug them for a very long time. My heart goes out to the children and husband of an unbelievably amazing woman who left this world far too soon.
I urge you to take a moment to look around you and appreciate everything that you have to be thankful for.
I kiss the boys and sigh.

The Bean

The Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf is somewhat of an obsession to Angelenos. In the same way that In and Out is vehemently west coast, people in this town identify with the "other" coffee place (ie: not Starbucks, and not Peet's- which is more Nor-Cal than So-Cal altogether). This morning I got Mudd and Jam in the ridiculously large but unbelievably comfy Urban Double stroller. I swear, this stroller has been known to save lives. Navigating it over the rough and rugged terrain that is my neighborhood is an absolute breeze. It's just that any people within a ten mile radius from the thing need to step aside to give you room to pass. It can get embarrasing because the hulk takes up way more space then it should...
After our run, we headed on over to the "Bean," as Jam affectionately calls it. Jam loves the Bean and I'm sure Mudd will too, it's only a matter of time. Jam really impressed me today. He's really getting so big. He sat at the table drinking his cocoa and eating a bagel, and I saw a glimpse of him at thirty and boy was that wild! Mudd was in his stroller, and having discovered his feet just moments earlier, he was having a grand old time.
The funny thing about toddlers is that they really have no inner monologue. Jam narrated every single happening at the Bean - who entered the store, what color shirt he/she was wearing, and whether or not said person had a mustache (he's into mustaches these days...) Jam was observing the comings and goings with sheer fasination. "Mommy, lady's putting pepper in coffee.." I explained that it was actually sugar and not pepper that the lady was putting in her coffee. Then the lady came over to our table. "Your kids are really cute," "but I actually put in Splenda, a sugar derivative, I would never use the real thing, I'm watching carbs."
Are you kidding me?