When the kids are away, Mommy and Daddy… go to Wal-Mart. Yup, Luke and Natalie went to Oma and Opa’s for a few days and what did we do on our first night “off”? We shopped! We:
1) Strolled leisurely around the store (sans stroller, ironically)
2) Bumped into someone we knew and chatted for longer than 2.75 minutes and with no interruptions
3) Bought all sorts of crap we could live without (except for the cheese slicer, I don’t know how we’ve survived without one all this time)

That was just the first night. The second night “off”, I worked until 7 pm and Mike napped. We did have lunch together, just the two of us, for Gyro Wednesday at Lou & Harry’s so we did still manage to take advantage of the free time.

I met my dad and stepmom halfway to pick up the kids tonight and wouldn’t you know it, Luke accidentally left his blanket at their house. His blanket is his most prized possession. It’s a small square of yarn I knit together for him before he was born. He has grown to love it immensely. He seemed okay with knowing it was gone and that Oma and Opa would be sending it in the mail. He was okay for the first 15 minutes into the drive home, but then he suddenly realized that he wanted it and just couldn’t survive another moment without it (Get over it, right? It’s not like it’s a cheese slicer…). He went ballistic. And stayed at Ballistic for forty-five minutes. He wanted to go back to Oma and Opa’s but that would have been at least another three hours of driving and I was not about to go that distance. He was just going to have to learn to cope.

I did stop the car at some point during the drive and I put my hand on his knee, looked him in the eyes and spoke calmly to him. “You can do this, Luke. You can go without the blanket for a little while. Just stay calm. Let’s count to ten.” And as I counted, “One, two, three, four…” you could actually see the tension in his face melt away. It didn’t last too long because he still had more fit to throw, but it helped a little I think. I eventually just exited the highway and took some back roads home and at that point he started thinking about the days ahead and was distracted enough that he almost forgot all about the blanket.

The rest of the night went surprisingly smooth. He was happy to participate in his normal bedtime routine; pajamas, stories, teeth brushing, potty time. He was even willing to go to bed with the toy alligator who followed him home from Oma and Opa’s. He even explained to me that he was using it instead of his blanket. Then about five minutes after I left him tucked in his bed he started calling for me, crying. He wanted his blanket. I offered alternatives. “Do you want the blanket Aunt Kari made for you? No? How about the blanket I made for Natalie?” No? Oh, you do want the one Aunt Kari made? Okay! No problem!” I have tried on several occasions to get him accustomed to using my sister’s blanket as an alternative but he has always refused. I don’t understand why, they were both made with the same yarn and the most important ingredient: love. Thankfully, this time it was found to be a suitable alternative because he never made another sound and is now fast asleep, clutching that little blanket his Aunt Kari so lovingly crocheted for him.

To top it off, Natalie was happy as a clam all night and went to bed without a fight! It was certainly nice to have a few days off but I am so glad to have my little monkeys home again.

My son and I have been learning a valuable lesson together. We are learning anger management and the art of counting to ten. Mind you, he is 3 years old so learning to count is not out of the ordinary. He has known how to count to ten for some time now. I am 32. I have known how to count to ten for much longer. So it is not actually the counting we are learning. That we already know how to do.

I have been trying to teach Luke that when he gets very frustrated or angry (which is often in the life of a fiercely independent three year old), he can calm down by breathing slowly and counting to ten. What’s interesting is that after a week or so of lecturing Luke with the “breathe, count to ten” mantra, I didn’t really see much of a change in his behavior.

It is true that kids follow after what we do, not what we say. I was very intentional about teaching Luke this lesson in anger management for a week or so before I realized I needed to take some of my own advice. If I keep having temper tantrums and make excuses for my behavior and never try to change it, how can I expect any different from my child? When I get very frustrated or angry (which has been increasingly more frequent lately) I can count too. I can breathe slowly and I can count to ten. So having come to this realization, I am really making a conscious effort to be more calm.

Less yelling. More breathing. More counting.

Do you know? It already seems to be working! Today at dinnertime Luke started to throw a fit because I wouldn’t let him sip his fruit punch and walk at the same time (I didn’t try explaining to him that even grown adults can’t walk while chewing gum, so of course a toddler can’t do it while drinking). He started to flip out when I took the cup away but I remained calm. Before I even had a chance to say anything more he stopped, took one look at the floor and then at me and said, “Ten. {deep breath} Five. {another deep breath} Four. Three. One. Ten.” Then he continued his walk to the dinner table, sans fruit punch, completely calm.

I don’t even care that the numbers were out of order, I’m just proud and astonished that Luke was able to calm himself down like that. Of course he knows how to count to ten, but when one is about to flip their lid they can’t be expected to worry about the details.

We were discussing last night that we are overdue for a date night, but to be sure there was no doubt left in our minds that it was true, we spent the morning arguing about a trash can. And a fairly ugly trash can at that.

So to my dear, sweet, loving husband Mike: I wuvver! And I’m really really looking forward to our date this weekend!

Luke hates corn on the cob. Just hates it. Or does he? You be the judge:

No Corn Left Behind

One of my favorite and most joyous memories from my childhood is singing in the car with my mom. We used to sing all kinds of songs, but the songs I remember the best were from this album:

Raffi: More Singable Songs

It’s a great album, and I highly recommend it. I also highly recommend this one:

Raffi: Singable Songs for the Very Young (this one actually came first)

The first Singable Songs album has a favorite song of Luke’s: Down By The Bay. So I am now an owner of both albums  I don’t know if you know Bay the Bay song (that’s what Luke calls it), but it’s a fun one. Luke and I sang the song over and over and over while driving back from a family reunion in June. It was a three hour drive. Needless to say, we ran out of verses but we did manage to make up some new ones. The song goes:

Down by the bay
Where the watermelons grow
Back to my home
I dare not go!
For if I do
My mother will say
“Did you ever see a….”

And that’s where you fill in the blank

“Did you ever see a moose kissing a goose?”
Down by the bay,
Down by the bay…

and then it starts all over again with whatever you can think of that rhymes. Raffi offers lots of different rhymes, such as:
A whale with a polka-dot tail
A bear combing his hair
A fly wearing a tie
A llama eating his pajamas

And when you can’t think of any more:
“Did you ever have a time when you couldn’t make a rhyme?”

Since we sing this song a lot (and sometimes take really long drives) we have a whole collection of additional things you might see down by the bay:
A duck driving a truck
A frog sittin’ on a log
A cat swinging a bat
A boat that wouldn’t float
A snake baking a cake

I’m sure there are more we have come up with but they are escaping me at the moment. How about you? Can you think of any to add?

My sister and I had a great conversation yesterday about letting go of things. I have long been an avid opponent of hoarding stuff, simply because it is a struggle of mine and I work hard to keep the clutter out. I recite the FlyLady and I watch those reality shows about hoarding and I see myself in those people. You feel like you’re drowning in stuff? You can’t seem to let it go? I have been there. I get it.

Why is it so hard for us to let go of our stuff? Why do we look at a ceramic bunny and get warm fuzzy feelings and our fingers clench? My theory is this: We are afraid of forgetting. We hold onto those memories for dear life. We don’t even know why. Why do we value those memories so highly? They are in the past. What does Yesterday have that Today doesn’t? Is Yesterday really all that special? Is Today really all that crappy? And does inviting Yesterday into Today really reap that much of a benefit? Does it really make us happy? I believe the answer is no.

The sad thing is that we can ruin Today by becoming so obsessed with holding onto Yesterday. In fact, when we clench so tightly the past we often let the present pass us by. Let’s learn to let go of the past and make room for today. Live in the moment. In the words of Flint Lockwood, “We’ve got some diem to carpe!”

And to quote an actual person who was actually wise: ?
“There are better things ahead than any we leave behind.” C.S. Lewis?”

I don’t remember what Luke was doing, but when I asked him to stop he asked me why? (because that’s what kids do) I answered, “Because you are driving me crazy.”

And he replied, slightly confused because we were in the house, “But we are not driving.”

You can’t get anything past him.

I gave in. I swallowed my pride. I let the doctor write the script. Then I went to the pharmacy and had it filled. And now I’m taking the pills.

Xanax. It’s a palindrome, did you know?

But back to my pride. I didn’t want to be “That Girl”. You know, the one who after a tough day at the office collapses on the couch and sighs, “I need a Xanax”. I don’t know any of those girls but I think I’ve seen them on tv. And yes, I realize I totally bought into a cruel stereotype. But no longer. In my previous life I had never had a real problem with anxiety, but that has changed. In this new life (the one where I have MS, ugh) I am learning what an anxiety attack is like. Repeatedly.

Three days a week I am a b.i.t.c.h. Three days a week I am seemingly unable to cope with… well, with anything. The smallest, most insignificant thing can just set me off. I am like the female version of the Incredible Hulk. Three days a week. This has been going on for a few months now and it only just occurred to me that it was happening on certain days. Certain days that happen to be coinciding with my Rebif shots. I don’t see stopping the shots as an option, because the MS seems to be under control. I am feeling great and have had no physical symptoms. My gait and balance have returned to about 98% of what they were, which is fantastic! But these side effects need to be dealt with.

So Xanax it is. And also, I moved my injection schedule back a day so that my day after side effects (Hulk days, if you will) are on days I am mostly at the office and not around my children. We’ll see how it goes.

A common exchange between my son and me (keep in mind it’s way cuter when you hear it):

Luke to Momma: “You’re my good boy!”
Momma: “I’m not a boy!”
Luke: “What are you?”
Momma: “I’m a turtle!”
Luke: “No, you’re not a turtle. You’re a Momma!”

I picked a bad year to become a real baseball fan. I had been on the fence for the last decade but this year, this year I decided I was all in. It was fun at first. They had a smokin’ hot start to this season and were right at the top, neck and neck with the White Sox and the Twins. I was so proud to cheer them on and to see them win game after game. Then my beloved Tigers took a break for the All-Star festivities and I haven’t seen them since. Oh sure, they are wearing the same uniforms and have uncanny resemblances to my favorites – Guillen, Jackson, Cabrera, Boesch – but they are clearly not the same team. Do you see what happened? They are now nine games behind. Nine!

I wanna be a loyal fan, I really do, but I’m having a hard time watching this train wreck. I need to find my stash of false hope. If I can’t find that I’m sure I’ll come across some blind optimism somewhere around here. That should do the trick, right?