Some recent photos

A few pics, from Wilder's first day of school and today, Labor Day:

First Day of School + Labor Day 2009

A recent lunchtime chat

School starts tomorrow -- sneef -- and a few photos

Wilder starts pre-school tomorrow. We're totally prepared for this new ruffle in our morning routine: the clothes are laid out, the backpack is packed, the forms are signed, supplies packed and all I have to do is hit "brew" on the coffee pot in the mornings.

So yep, everything is pretty much ready. Except for maybe my heart. It seems like just yesterday my baby boy was born and I was holding his squishy little body in my arms and he was squishing up his eyes, gazing into mine, as if to say, "Oh, so you're the lady who's been carrying me around bitching for all of eternity." I know it's cliche as hell, but it just goes too fast. I know that if you multiply these last lightning-quick almost-four years by just four, he'll be driving a car, getting ready to graduate from high school, with his little brother not far behind him. There is nothing to prepare your heart for how quickly time flies and how fleeting it seems that they're in your nest. I'm not sure how I'm going to make it through the drop-off and orientation in the morning without shedding a few tears. I'm hoping I can hold it all together until I get in the car and then get a good cry on the way home.

All that said, I AM looking forward to more alone time with Hunter. He doesn't know it yet, but he's my workout partner. A few weeks ago, I got this crazy notion in my head that I was going to run a half-marathon in December. Now I've bought the new shoes, the new jogging stroller and all but paid my entry fee, which I'll probably do this week. So yes, little H and I will be at the lake three days a week (at least), pounding the pavement. Hunter LOVES the new stroller (it has an iPod hookup so he gets to jam), so he'll enjoy it. I, however, am truly scared at how my body will respond. Keep my knees and hips in your prayers.

Enough rambling. Below are some photos from the last couple weeks. Enjoy and love to all.


The boys had just woken up from their nap and were cuddling on the couch. They really do seem to adore each other and it makes my heart sing to see things like this.


Posing with the new jogging stroller at the park. I call this Wilder's "Blue Steel." (From the movie "Zoolander.")


Flying down the slide with unadulterated joy. This kid hasn't met an adrenaline-enhancing experience yet that he hasn't enjoyed full throttle. I fear I might be holding my breath for the rest of my lfie.


One more cuddling pic, just for good measure.


There is no food that Hunter does not love rubbing over his face and head. It just so happens that oatmeal is the hardest to remove.

Our day at the zoo

On Friday we hit the Fort Worth Zoo with my friend Liz and three of her four kids, twins Madelyn and Hannah, 4, and Jack, who's almost 2, I think. It's an hour drive from our house and I was thinking it had better be a darn good zoo for that commute. Not only was the drive pleasant and quick, but the FW Zoo rocks. If you ever get out this way, I highly recommend it. I'm already hoping to go back when the fall weather sets in.

Below, some pics:

Fort Worth Zoo: August 2009

Hump day, indeed

Two phrases I never thought would come out of my mouth, uttered within two minutes of each other just now:

1. Do what you gotta do. Dry hump the pillow. Then get off of it so I can put it back on the couch.

AND

2. If I catch you licking the TV again, you're going to time out.

Clearly someone's feeling, uhh, tactile here at our house today.

Big Praise

I was just called "the best mad mama in the world" by Wilder. I guess that's OK with me. I'll have to work on getting him to drop the "mad" though. ;-)

Scenes from a Thursday in August

Hunter hasn't been feeling well for a few days. We've all gone through this round of crud, but it's been relatively easy on the rest of us. Hunter, on the other hand, hasn't been feeling so hot. And his brother's been running around the house pointing at his face and yelping "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOGIES!" as if a Chernobyl-like incident has just occurred on his brother's upper lip. It can get to a kid.

So today he's feeling better, and I woke up determined to get out of the house. Keeping these two inside for a few days on account of a cold is no fun. No fun at all. We were all walking around, I think, with a few extra facial tics on account of being tired of walls around our heads. And, frankly, a little sick of each other.

So we hit the lake, then had lunch with friends, then naps and, after waking, we headed to the nearby TC Shaved Ice, which is about five minutes from our house, has a drive-thru and serves, as Jerry put it when I told him, "stone-cold sugar." Then we sat in the front yard and ate to our hearts content. Hunter ended up wearing half and eating half and is still stained a bright shade of red. But he sure enjoyed it, as he slurped happily through it for 20 or 30 minutes, stopping only occasionally to murmur "mine" and "yummmmmmeeeeee."

Here are some pics of our day.

After tiring themselves out at the playground, the boys sit on the bottom of a hill near the lake's edge and watch some folks fish while snacking. There were THOUSANDS of dragon- and damselflies at the lake today. I was really kind of amazed that Wilder, who can be a bit neurotic about bugs sometimes, hardly even seemed to notice. Hunter just screamed "cocka!" at them, believing they were tiny birds. I do this bird call every time we see a bird come close -- "caw-CAW!!" -- that Hunter has just malappropriated as "cocka." The nannies at the park seem amused that my kids keeps uttering "shit" in Spanish.

A self-portrait of H and I. It was a hot day!

Early in the shaved ice experience, and clearly not knowing where styrofoam ended and the sugary goodness began. By the time he finished, those shorts were pretty much ENTIRELY pink, including the booty.

Wilder keeps a paranoid eye on some birds, whom he was convinced were going to try to make off with him. Like I said, a little neurotic sometimes.

A happier demeanor after having the physics of the impossibility of bird-on-human kidnapping to him.

The bi-yearly portrait

So I've taken to taking portraits of the boys every six months (or so I'm trying), in February and August. Here's the latest:



Going to put the previous ones in a Picasa web album that I'll link to here once I get it done, along with some outtakes from the photo shoot. It gets harder every time to get them to sit still and not tackle each other for a few seconds so I can get a half decent shot. But I think it's worth it ... I love seeing the changes in their little faces, though it hurts my heart just a wee bit to see them growing so quickly.

Tomorrow, Wilder and I go meet his new pre-school teacher, Miss Cherry. I love that she has such a memorable name, and she's supposed to be the teacher-in-demand at this place, so I'm really hoping we like her.

More photos TK in a post soon, including a series of pics where the boys try to make Jerry's head pop off. Pretty funny stuff.

xo, k.

The fine art of flattery

When we put the boys down at night, we read books and sing lullabies to them. Well, we do that for Wilder. Hunter is often so ready to go to bed that he can't be bothered with our little rituals, pushing the book aside and lunging for the crib. I'm sure that'll change. In the meantime, we do this for Wilder, and he looks forward to it so much that threats of no books or no singing work as great deterrents against any anti-bedtime protests. As in:

"I don't WANNA GO TO SLEEP!"
"Well, OK. But I just won't read you any books."
"OK. I'll go."

He doesn't get the anti-logic of his argument yet, thank goodness.

So, during the day, when he goes down for his nap, I do a little mini-version of bedtime wherein I read him one quick book, turn on his lullabies and leave the room. Today, just now as I put him down for his nap, he asked if I would sing after I read. No, I answered, we only read at naptime. No singing.

"But Mama," he implored, "you're the best singer in the whole world."

Somewhere in Phoenix, my father is reading this and laughing, as he's always been the first person to point out -- insistently, I might add -- that I cannot, in fact, carry a tune.

Still, you gotta give the boy credit for learning the subtleties of fanning a person's ego. It's like those co-workers I used to have that insisted I made better coffee than anyone in the office. I knew they were blowing sunshine up my ass, but I still made the coffee.

For the record, I didn't sing. I'm learning to stand my ground. ;-)

The darndest things

So Jerry and Wilder went to the store a bit ago and brought home some fresh produce, among other things that little boys and their papas get when they go to the store (it's always a surprise, and I love to go through the bags and consider the conversations that revolve around those purchases).

Anyway, Jerry bought an acorn squash. Just now, Wilder walked into the kitchen and told Jerry that he had to put that outside for a squirrel. Jerry told him it was for dinner tonight.

Wilder: "No, Papa. It's not for people. It's for squirrels. A BIG SQUIRREL. You have to throw it outside, Papa."

He would not be deterred, and left the kitchen in a bit of disgust at his father's ignorance of common-knowledge squirrel diets.

Wilderism No. whatever

Wilder, walking around buck naked with a cowboy hat on, looks down at his belly, assumes a bow-legged stance and declares: "Hey, pardner, you look SHARP."

In which one boy amazes me with his bodily functions

I should just go ahead and put in the disclaimer that this will be a potty-training focused blog post. I know it's one of those annoying things parents do, assume everyone cares about their kids' toilet habits, so feel free to go ahead and stop reading now.

Anyway, if you're a regular reader, you know that Wilder did not get potty-trained until a couple months ago. He's going great now. But I guess it goes without saying that, after that experience, I did not have high hopes for Hunter. I assumed maybe it would help that he had an older brother who was showing him what to do, and it might help even more that I'm home full-time now. But beyond that, I had no aspirations. I just wanted him out of diapers before college.

So you can imagine my surprise at the events of the last couple of weeks. I think I mentioned that he had peed outside a couple times. And then, this afternoon, after bath time, I was putting a diaper on Hunter while Wilder continued playing in the tub. Hunter started emphatically shaking his head and yelling "pee pee!" at me. I asked him if he had to go. Emphatic nods. So I stripped the diaper off, we went and got his little potty together, brought it back to the room so I could keep an eye on Wilder and I plopped his booty down on it.

And. He. Went.

Now, I'm not saying he went No. 2. He peed. But he did concentrate really hard and fart about four times, so I know he gets the gist of what goes on there. Again, I realize, too much information. But what can I say? I'm damn proud of my boy, and though I realize that we're still a long way from a diaper-free existence, I think I'll ride out this high for awhile and visualize two boys using the potty by Summer 2010. It's possible, right? We'll see.

Nothing but photos

Just a couple of collages of photos -- first from the last couple days and second from the last few weeks -- that do nothing but make me smile. Enjoy.

In which I relate a story that will embarrass them when they're teenagers

Thought I'd jump on here real quick while the boys are napping. The photos below are from the last few days; just a bunch of random pics of us enjoying the outdoors and one of Wilder in an increasingly rare moment of stillness.

I'm relearning how much fun it is to have a boy learning to speak English in the house. Hunter's vocabulary has really taken off in the last week or so and it's changed his outlook on life, to say the least. He seems to be in a constant state of amusement now that he understands more of what's coming out of everyone's mouth and learning his own little set of words. Of note: puppy, ball, outside, shoes, nana (this means cup), pee pee (more on this in a minute), poopy, moon ... there's more, I'm certain, but some of them escape me now. While he still doesn't say too many words, he understands a ton, and I can tell him to do something now and have him do it. He takes a box out of the pantry. "Put it back, please." And he'll do it. It's pretty fun watching him go through all this ... I'd forgotten just how cool it is.

He and Wilder seem to be deepening their relationship as cohorts and brothers-in-arms. They make each other laugh constantly. The other day Wilder was -- apparently -- doing the funniest thing in the world by dragging his feet through the wood chips everytime he swung backward at the park. Hunter just giggled and giggled, and then Wilder caught on and so kept it up. More giggling, more goading, me wondering what the hell was so funny about it all but laughing hard with them because they were laughing so hard. Good times.

This is a story a story they'll no doubt exact revenge on me for when they're 16 and 18 years old, but so be it. Last night in the tub, Hunter started sticking his tongue out at me and giggling. So I did the same. Then I started counting to three and yelling "TONGUE!!!" and sticking my tongue out. Pretty soon the boys caught on and we were all sticking our tongues out. Then Wilder leaned over and touched his tongue to Hunter's. Mutual freakout occured as Wilder started scrubbing his tongue with the washcloth and Hunter kicked his feet, screamed and shook his head violently. Then they proceeded to do it over and over, each time having their "ooooh gross!" reactions for another five minutes or so before I announced that it was probably good to stop as tongueing your brother in the tub as looked upon by society as fairly inappropriate. Still, while it lasted, we all had a good time cracking up.

On to pee pee. As you all are well aware, I had a hard time training Wilder to use the potty. He's now fully potty-trained and even staying dry through most nights and naps. Very, very proud of him as once he got it, he just got it and is doing fantastically. So it's of no small amount of import that Hunter is learning even the beginning steps of pottying somewhere other than his diaper. A couple of times, upon getting out of the pool, I've let Hunter stand naked next to his brother while Wilder pees in the grass, and lo and behold Hunter will pee too. The way we all cheer and freak out, you'd think world peace had just been attained. This morning, I'd pulled H out of his crib and had him on the changing table, putting a diaper on. He violently shook his head and hollered "PEE PEE!" at me. "Outside?" I asked. Emphatic nodding. So we took him outside and ... whadaya know? The kid peed in the grass, then climbed back up the steps and trounced into the house.

Woot. :-)

All right, I need to get some stuff done before the natives wake back up. Enjoy the photos.

Starting the day off right

Last night, we spent the night at one of our favorite Dallas haunts, the Belmont Hotel. They were having a Fourth of July special on rooms, and the price included admission to a pool party, blues band and a great view of the fireworks around the city.

Anyway, all that only goes toward explaining that we spent the night in a strange place. We had two connecting rooms, and Wilder had one big bed to himself, and Hunter slept in a portable crib next to the bed in Jerry and I's room. We were lucky that, for the most part, he slept through the night. But when he awoke this morning, he was clearly a little upset about the strange surroundings, crying out, and so we pulled him into bed between us.

He laid there for a moment, getting his bearings, and then rolled over and climbed up on top of Jerry's chest, sleeping stomach-down on his Papa, both arms wrapped around Jerry as far as he could reach. My first thought was to smile and simply appreciate how much my boys love their Papa. My second, of course, was a little twinge of jealousy that he had not snuggled up to me. I can't help it, just a little — both boys have gone through their "only Papa will do" stages, though they feel that way about me sometimes, too. Anyway, since I was feeling a little envy, I closed my eyes and remembered all the times during Hunter's first eight months of life — when I was nursing — and we slept snuggled next to each other during most nights. I'd wake up almost every morning to his smell and his breath on my cheek or arm or chest. He'd snuggle up close as he could possibly get.

As I was remembering this, I suddenly felt a small hand patting my arm. I opened my eyes and there was Hunter, looking at me with a wistful grin, as if he was remembering the exact same thing, and wanted to assure me I was still part of his early-morning world of love. He then rolled off Jerry and snuggled up to me.

For the next 30 minutes or so, he continued to go back and forth between us. At some point it became more of a wrestling session than a snugglefest, so we turned on the lights and began stirring around. Peeked in on Wilder and he was sitting up in bed, sleepy-eyed. He looked at me, said: "Mama, I took a LONG nap in this new big bed," and rolled out of it and into our room.

This is how we started July 5th. It was pretty great.

Hope everyone had a great Independence Day. We did. I posted some pictures here.

Wilderisms of the week

So Wilder has reached that age where he says pretty funny stuff all the time. Or at least I think so. This week:

Me (to Wilder): Hey! I am not your personal napkin!
Wilder: Oh. Is your SHIRT my personal napkin then?

And just this morning after going No. 2 in the potty:

Me: Good job. That's a good poop Wilder!
Wilder: Yep. Look, Mama, it looks like an ALIEN.

There was another time he insisted I come look at his poop because it looked like the No. 7. And it did.

Hunter is also getting funny with words. He loves to say "En Guarde!" when he and Wilder are playing with their foam swords. And I swear he walks around the house saying "oh shit oh shit oh shit" sometimes. I don't think I say that a lot, but I guess you never know. There are days when profanity for me is like blinking and breathing, I'm ashamed to admit (not really, but I should be).

I am pathetic and old

So last weekend, Jerry and the boys and I had a party to go to. It was the birthday of my friend and former co-worker Can (pronounced John, he's Turkish), and he was turning 34. One of my other former co-workers, Marlena, was helping to organize the party, and she's 26. And her nickname is "Shots." So, yeah, there was going to be some alcohol at this party.

Unfortunately, it was also a pool party. This was great because it's been hotter than hell here and because it meant the boys would really enjoy themselves. It also meant that my inner-uber-competitive formerly athletic self would come out. I am a normally pretty competitive person. But throw in liquor of any kind and a body of water, and I become some ancient Roman leader or something ... I want to CONQUER.

So, at some point, some bastardized version of water volleyball got started. (There was also a diving-board theatrics contest in which I took part, and I'm told there's video, and I'm frightened). But it was during the volleyball that things were getting pretty heated. It was Shots and me against three or so guys, and we girls were determined to win.

You see where this is going. At some point, I rose up in the air to spike a beach ball into someone's face (a futile gesture if ever there was one), and came down crooked with my weight on my left leg. And ooh ahh ouch holy *many many swear words under my breath* later, I was clutching my knee and grimacing and trying to pretend that I wasn't old and out of shape and in pain.

So yeah. That's the second knee I had operated on, had my ACL replaced back in 2003. (The other was in 2002 ... nothing like having the anaesthetician recognize you and welcome you back to the OR.) I've probably blown it again. I'm hoping it's a partial tear and I can just rehab it back to some semblance of useability. There's no way I can have surgery again -- maybe not ever but especially not right now. I am able to walk on it but I'm having a little trouble going up stairs and putting much weight on it or bending it too severely.

Anyway. Crap. At this rate, I should be in my walker by 2020 or something.

OK, I admit it: I'm overwhelmed

I'm sure a few of you are saying "duh" at that title line.

Where to start. I quit my job in late January because I was feeling overwhelmed by work and home. I wasn't feeling like a good mom, a good wife, a good employee/worker. Seemed like I was sucking wind at everything, and I was tired of it. I thought by becoming a stay-at-home mom, I'd be able to excel at at least one thing, that being the "mom" part. Boy was I wrong.

I suppose it's not all my fault. I do have a tendency to be extremely hard on myself. I've been missing my mom a lot lately because she used to always remind me of that, and she was always there to tell me to lighten up. If she could talk to me right now, I'm sure she'd be telling me I'm doing the best I know how and to stop freaking out about not being the "perfect" mama. I hear you, Ma. I really do.

I guess I just expected to rock this mom thing. But I've been incredibly humbled by it. I'm not patient. I can't let go of my control-freak tendencies. I yell too loud and react too quickly and generally feel like I'm scarring my boys for life some days. I do still have plenty of days when I feel like I'm a pretty damn good mom. Some days I just don't, though, and that hurts a lot. I want to raise them to be really exceptional, kind, well-adjusted young men. I don't see any reason to aim for less.

Anyway, long story short, I've set some more boundaries for myself and set out to do what I do well - research - to help the situation. Boundaries, for example: I'm getting the hell off Facebook until I feel I have the situation more under control. I've a FB addict, I admit. I mean, it could be worse, right? I could be popping valiums for comfort and instead I'm connecting with other human beings I actually like on a social networking site. But it's become an all-too-frequent outlet when I have five minutes. One that does nothing for me or the house or the boys. There are other rules I'm setting, but this is an example of one, and one I hope will give me back more time to blog, because I enjoy this and get a helluva lot more out of it than trying to be clever on Facebook in three sentences or less.

I've also ordered three books, which arrived today. One on parenting, which I've already started and can tell is going to be HUGELY helpful. The other two are on raising boys, specifically, and how to do this in such a way that you don't screw them up.

My whole life I've said I'm more like a guy than a girl. And that's still partially true. I have a lot of what people think of as typically male characteristics. For instance, I'm pretty good at shooting pool and taking the occasional shot of whiskey without throwing a facially contorted hissy fit and I can toss a football farther than a lot of guys I know and I enjoy throwing stuff away whenever I get the chance (my father tells me this makes me a pretty good wife). Ha. But it turns out that when it comes right down to it, I'm not a guy in the way that matters most right now: I want to understand how my boys' brains work and parent accordingly. Again, fine, kind and exceptional young and adult men ... that's the goal. So these other two books, I'm really hoping they'll help in that regard.

I'm trying to crack jokes and the truth is I'm sitting here with tears running down my face in rivers. I don't like to expose myself emotionally, but I have really felt like I'm failing my kids lately. And I can't have that. But I also have to learn to forgive myself for it. Parenting is not a skill you're born with, and I don't have a whole lot of role models near me. I'm not good at reaching out, and the one person with whom I would normally share all this and ask advice from ... well, she's just gone. And I didn't think I could miss her more, but I do. And that compounds it all.

Dammit.

Well, anyway, drying up my tears now and moving forward. Armed with knowledge and new resolve. And humility. If any of you mamas and papas have advice or encouragement or wanna give me a good kick in the ass, please do. I'm sure I could use any and all of it.

And Wilder and Hunter, I haven't done too bad by you two. But I know I can do better. And I will, baby boys. Nothing could inspire me more than your two beautiful faces and incredible spirits.

Chalk art

The boys and I got this Monday morning off on the right foot by heading outside first thing to blow bubbles, draw with sidewalk chalk and take a little walk up the block.

Up until today, whenever I've given Wilder chalk to play with, he just kind of scribbles. I've asked him to draw me faces, but he mostly ends up with something sort of Pollock meets Picasso: facial features all out of wack and the chalk just kind of smeared onto the sidewalk.

Until today. Below is what he drew me today. A face with eyes and mouth in the right place and arms and legs attached. There's hair there, too, and even a mustache. Some of the other scribbling can be attributed to Hunter, who's still in scribble mode. But, seeing as how this is Wilder's first real recognizable drawing, I wanted to get a picture and put it up here on the blog.

The other two pictures are from yesterday's visit -- the first of the year -- to the spraygrounds. Although Hunter went last year a couple times, this was his first "real" sprayground time, and he enjoyed it full throttle. Wilder did, too.

Happy Monday all.

Yes, I still blog. Harumph!

So I've been accused recently of not maintaining this blog anymore. Not accused really ... just my 10-year-old niece, Allie, mentioned to me that her parents were talking in front of her about how I didn't keep the blog up anymore. So, JAY AND DEBRA, this blog post is for you.

Actually, they're kind of right. Between Facebook and Twitter and having a preschooler and toddler and a husband who's constantly trying to show me and read me things from his favorite magazines (I don't kid ... he just walked up to me to show me a house in Mother Earth built from dirt bricks and I had to shoo him away), it's been really hard to get on here and blog. Despite the fact that I promised myself that if I quit my job I would write more. Turns out I meant less. Whoops.

But this morning, Wilder is at his friend Owen's house. Not his first sleepover, but the first where he was actually fully cognizant of the fact that he'd be somewhere other than his own little comfy bed with his parents 20 feet away all night long. A little background: Jerry had shoulder surgery a week and a half ago, and ... OK, I might have been freaking out a little bit about how I was going to handle those aforementioned small people and the one-armed love of my life. And I might have unloaded some of this freak-out on my friend Carmen, Owen's mom, to whom I've become pretty close over the last couple of years. She and I have kids the same age and, though we're not all that alike in some key ways, our differences seem to play well off each other. She's inspired me to be a better housekeeper and I've inspired her to, oh I dunno, probably blow off the occasional bathtime in favor of a cold drink and relaxing moment.

So, anyway, Carmen being the good friend she is, she offered to -- after Jer's surgery -- have Wilder for a sleepover. You see, Owen and Wilder are two peas in a pod. Wild, unfocused and high-spirited boys who often completely ignore the repeated entreaties of their mothers in favor of doing whatever the hell it is they'd rather be doing anyway. They're also both completely adorable and loveable, but just read that last sentence again, and it might explain again why Carmen and I have become so close. We're like foot soldiers together in the war of raising 3-year-old boys who do not listen. I know this applies to practically every 3-year-old boy out there, but trust me that Wilder and Owen bring it to art-form status. If you don't believe me, come spend an afternoon with them. Carmen and I will be glad to help you get over your doubt by going out for coffee and pedicures while you yell, sweat and run your way to confirmation.

So, back to Wilder's sleepover. As of 5 yesterday afternoon, he's been at Owen's. And we've been here. With Hunter. Alone. We took the opportunity to pretend that we're parents of the blissful one child again and went out to dinner. We strapped Hunter into a high chair and ate and drank really strong margaritas and cast looks of pity at the couple near us with their two kids. It was great fun. And we've been enjoying Hunter, whose personality and desires are often overshadowed by his big brother.

You see, people often mistake Hunter for the calmer child. They'll ask me: Is he really always this mellow? (Which I think translates into "How high is his IQ?," because in public, around people he doesn't know very well, Hunter can be quite the mouth-breathing, blank-stared little guy.) And the answer is that he's not. He talks constantly and he LOVES a good game of peek-a-boo almost more than he can stand and you can't take Hunter outside without walking to the opposite side of the block with him (and he's glad to go without you and will have a downright come-apart if you try to turn him around before his little toes are perched on the last square of that sidewalk). He really and truly embraces life with near the level of vim and vigor that his big brother does. It's just that in the blur and noise level that that brother brings to the table, it often gets lost. At least for now.

Just this morning, Jerry and I both got up early to take advantage of our alone-with-Hunter time. I think we were both encouraged and inspired by last night, when we found just how much we enjoyed his company alone. He ran around the house unmolested by his big brother, choosing toys that were not ripped from his hand. Jumping around on the couch w/o being tackled. Cuddling with parents who were not being tugged and body-slammed by another small body. We both wanted more of that. And so did Hunter.

Anyway, I have to cut this short (I know, I know ... it's LONG, but I've been accused of not keeping it up, so I had to cram a lot into one post). But Jerry and Hunter have headed back outside and I can hear the fun being had without me. And that just will not do. So I'm signing off to spend time with my dear little Hunter. Honey, I wish we had more moments like this (not that I don't miss your brother terribly and can't wait to go pick him up), and I'll try to make sure we do. You are such a magical little boy. Don't think for one moment, EVER, that no one notices that.

Florida photos

I had intended to post photos of our trip here, but time has gotten away from me again, and since I've already posted them on Facebook, I figured I'd just link to them here and you could all see them there. So here they are.

The trip was amazing, and just what we all needed. It was great to see and spend time with family, see the shuttle launch and spend as much time on the beach and in the ocean as we could. The boys were both trepidacious about the water at first, but were splashing around like they'd been in it their whole lives by the time we left.

Jerry is having shoulder surgery tomorrow to replace a torn rotator cuff. It is supposed to be a pretty minor tear(though it's causing him plenty of pain), and the recovery should be OK. But he'll be in a sling for five weeks.

The boys are doing great. Hunter is starting to mimic everything his big brother does and it's entertaining as hell to watch this. Of course, they don't always get along, and this has resulted in one facial wound this week. I'll post pictures later.

I'd love to write more, but the boys just won't seem to let me lately. Logging off for now and will try to post more later.

A day at the Mote

We've been in Florida since Saturday, in Cocoa Beach first and now in Bradenton Beach for the last few days. We had two days of solid sun pretty much, and today's forcast called for some rain, so we decided to do something in one of the nearby towns. There's a research aquarium near here called Mote Marine Laboratory.

It sounded pretty cool, and when we figured out that our Dallas Zoo membership would get us in for free (the two organizations are reciprocal partners), it was a done deal. So glad we went. It was a pretty amazing place, as evidenced by the fact that we spent more than four hours there. All kinds of marine life, holding tanks where you could touch things like sea cucumbers, sea urchins, saltwater hermit crabs, rays of all kinds, etc. Then a seabird rehabilitation center, and a separate building that housed sea turtles, manatees and dolphins. There's also an immersion cinema, where filmgoers use video consoles to help determine the outcome of the short films played there. We tried that but the boys were too young to last.

All in all, if you're ever near Longboat Key or Sarasota, Fla, with kids, I highly recommend this place. It was awesome. I'm bummed I won't get to take the boys back anytime soon. I have a few photos I'll post later, but we talked about the trip just as the sunset tonight with Wilder. Here's some video of that.

Wilder movin' and groovin'

A little video of Wilder singing and dancing to Woody Guthrie's "Car, Car (Riding In My Car)," as performed by Donovan. Notice: HE NEVER STOPS MOVING. Ever.

Mama and the boys

A couple weeks ago Jerry shot this photo of the boys and me. We have these little yellow flowers growing in our front yard that we're sure the neighbors hate, but we won't treat them to get rid of them. Look how pretty they are! Anyway, I love this shot.

A violation of the open-door policy

Just now, Jerry had taken Wilder into the family room for a little downtime before he goes to sleep. I took the opportunity to change into something I could lounge around the house in, and then to pee. I closed the door.

Suddenly, the door swung open. There stood Wilder, an impish grin on his face, with one arm behind his back.

"Mama! I have to show you something!"

"OK, what is it?"

He pulled his popscicle out from behind and proudly displayed it. As if the orange goo around his mouth hadn't already given it away.

"Good?" I asked.

"Uh huh!" Long pause. ... "Mama, what you doing with this DOOR CLOSED????"

"Well, Wilder, believe it or not sometimes I actually shut the door when I have to pee."

Stares at me. "OK then. Pee." Closes door. Runs.

Haircut day

I took both the boys to have haircuts today. Wilder's poor mop needed rescuing from what I did to him a few weeks ago, and it had grown out enough to be fixed, and Hunter's hair was just starting to take over his cute face. I can't believe how much more like little boys they both look with the cuts. And, for his first cut ever, Hunter did great. He zoned out for most of it, but started grinning like a jack-o-lantern when she was near the end ... I think he was just so damn glad to have his hair out of his eyes and not tickling his ears anymore. Anyway, when we got home, I really wanted to get some photos taken of them. Not an easy task these days as they both have a very hard time sitting still, particularly Wilder. I swear if we could harness the energy of 3-year-old boys in this world we wouldn't need coal, oil, wind, solar or nuclear fuels. Phew. But I got a rare treat this morning, along those lines ... both boys decided that sitting in my lap in our big comfy chair while watching Sesame Street was OK, and I had a blissful 10 to 15 minutes of relative calm and good snuggling with these two cuties. Here are a few of my favorite shots from this afternoon's photo session:

Right after Hunter smacked Wilder in the head. Great facial expressions ... Wilder: "Mama! He hit me!!" and Hunter: "Uh oh!"

I was jumping all over the room trying to get them to sit relatively still and look at the camera at the same time. They were more concerned with sitting on each other's head, trying to fall off the couch, etc.

The money shot.

Brothers in giggles.

Wilder suddenly noticed the scraped knee Hunter got last night and hadn't even noticed himself. As Jerry says: "Kid don't feel pain." But W. was very concerned, like the great big brother he is.

Self portrait of my recent haircut as well. I think I get weirder looking the older I get.

Reason No. 2.396 to love Hunter

You know that full-body grin that Ray Charles did when he was happy? It was like, being blind, he never realized how other grown men didn't do that, and so he did it anyway, and was thereby able to show the world just how much joy it gave him? Yeah ... Hunter does that. It's so friggin' great.

Flash Wilder

There is absolutely nothing good about this photo composition-wise. But that blur you see on the left? Well, that's Wilder. Sticking his face in and out of before the lens in typical Wilder fashion -- i.e. as fast as he possibly can. Tired. So very tired.

The Brothers Scott: Now on Twitter!

So I've found myself without a lot of time to blog again lately. I've taken on some more freelance projects because, well, apparently I'm a glutton for punishment, work and money. In the immortal words of Chicago frontman Peter Cetera (a reference I'm sure you never thought you'd see here ... surprise!): It's a hard habit to break. 

So, anyway, The Brothers Scott is now on Twitter, which allows me to essentially make blog posts in 140 characters or less. It also forces me to be succinct, which — as an editor/writer — I really appreciate. It's a continual challenge, and I love it. 

So, if you're interested, you can follow us on Twitter by clicking here.

Lesson learned

Here's a little parenting lesson I've learned the hard way: Never, EVER tell a 3-year-old that you're all going to the beach unless that trip is imminent. Like, leaving the next day or in the next few minutes imminent. Otherwise, you'll have to endure this conversation for weeks:

Kid: I want to go to the beach.
Mom: We are, but not for a few weeks.
Kid: Well, let's go then.
Mom: It's VERY far away.
Kid: But I want to go. Now.

And pretty much repeat ad infintum. I might have to find a beach in Dallas here soon.

Hunter turns 1, and other blathering

I've neglected the blog as of late. No real reason, just busy and taking on extra freelance projects and such. Lots of other little tangential stuff going on: planning a trip to Florida, planning the neighborhood Easter party (Can you believe I got tagged as events planner? Why, WHY? can't I just say no to these requests? I don't know what children like ... I only know what my kids like and that's because I've forced my own tastes in entertainment on them ... i.e. we play poker and dance to awesome music and drink cocktails every night ... I kid.), trying to research pre-schools for Wilder next fall, doing the taxes, filing our lives away in nice little neat manila folders. Etcetera. I'm telling you, the excitement NEVER ends around here. It's jazz hands 24/7!

Actually, we did have a big day: Hunter turned 1, and we had a nice little party with dinner and cake and ice cream and a few friends. Very small, very mellow, very awesome. I'm posting some pics below. Little Hunter is talking more ("uh oh," "hi," "ball," and "AGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!," uttered whenever something goes even minutely in a direction other than the way he's intended. Yep, our little Baby Buddha has gotten decidedly un-Buddha like; he's more like Mohammad, The Early Years.) At least I've got Wilder under my belt, because now I can just kind of look at Hunter, give him my, "Yeah, let's see what having a come-apart gets you," look, and walk away. It's not that I'm not nurturing; it's just that I don't want to encourage his little fits. It'll either work or he'll end up in therapy in 30 years bemoaning his horrible mama.

So, without further ado or torture at the hands of my sarcastic prose, here's some photos. Love to all, k.

Hunter's first birthday ...

PS. Hoping to get more photos from the last few weeks up here soon.

37, and feeling every second of it (in a good way)

So today is my 37th birthday. Each year they seem to get a little less exciting, and I don't mean that in a cynical, "bah I'm getting old and cranky" way. I actually kind of like that most years now my birthday sneaks up on me, and then it's gone before I know it. I know some of you will say, "What? You? No WAY," but I actually used to be a pretty damn self-absorbed and moronic individual. I still am in some ways, but having kids has made me so much less concerned about anything having to do with me. I like that. It also helps that Hunter's birthday is two days before mine and I get pretty wrapped up in his day. 

Which, by the way, was great. We kept it really mellow. Just had a couple friends over and had a nice dinner and cake. I have some photos and video that I hope to post later this week. I can hardly believe he's not really a baby anymore.

Anyway, in their own unintentional ways, the boys have given me some great birthday presents:

1. Though I don't expect this to last, Hunter has slept through the last three nights, starting with the night before his big day. When Wilder turned 1, I had to convince Jerry — who by the way claims that he spent his entire childhood hungry, though knowing his Momma and her cooking the way I do, I don't believe it for a second — that Wilder would not in fact waste away in his crib at night if we did not rise to give him a bottle whenever he demanded one. It literally took a compromise wherein we agreed to ask his pediatrician and go with her advice. Thank goodness she sided with me (though I was pretty sure she would, which is why I proposed the deal). Anyway, we'd agreed to do the same with Hunter when he turned 1, and I think both of us have been dreading it, because he shows more signs of putting up a fight about it than Wilder ever did. Dare I say Hunter might have my sense of righteous indignation about getting what he wants out of this world? And getting pretty pissed about it if he doesn't. Poor thing ... another trait inherited from his mother. Anyway, long story short, he's just snoozing right through the nights now. At least, until I typed that last sentence and now he'll wake up tonight, mark my words.

2. I haven't blogged much about potty training since those last posts, and there's a reason. We hit a wall and were going nowhere. I won't go on and on about this because this is definitely one thing I don't want to jinx, but Wilder got through an entire morning today without any accidents in his pants, on the floor, etc. And he even went No. 2 for me without any fuss. HUGE. I think, for me, realizing it was a marathon — not a sprint — and realizing that M&Ms go a long way has made the difference. And probably W just being ready. 

Way to go, kids! Oh, and they danced their little tails off to loud music with me before going down for their naps. Also very nice birthday blessing. 

Gotta get to work. Love to all,

k.

My alter egos ...

Just now, while I was lying on my back on the kitchen floor letting Hunter -- who'd been quite cranky and needed a cheering-up -- have his fill of crawling on top of me, eating my face and wiping his nose on me (the fun of this was only lessened by the fact that I pulled the hell out of back muscle in the process), it occurred to me that I am much more than a stay-at-home mom. To wit, a list:

•Human Kleenex
•Chew toy
•Rope (for tug-of-war)
•A mime (apparently I'm gesturing wildly but nothing is coming out of my mouth because no one is hearing me; fortunatley, this one works more and more to my advantage, as I perfect my own mother's "stop-that-now-or-you'll-pay" look and my ability to point to make my demands known and abided by.)
•Furniture (for pulling yourself up on)
•DJ (this one's not so bad, unless I'm forced to play that Madagascar movie song 11 times in a row)
•Verifier of "cool moves"
•Chef (albeit a not very good one ... actually, I'd say I'm more a "lunch lady" -- in appearance and demeanor -- than a chef)
•Mechanic (I fix all cars, whether they're actually broken or not)
•Architect (Legos, baby ... this is a good one)
•Vigil-keeper (I keep a constant vigil over what Hunter might/could/possibly find on the floor and put in his mouth; of course, with a 3-year-old around, the possibilities are endless)

It's an ongoing list, ever evolving. I'd love to keep adding to it, but someone's using his Human Furniture to demand his Lunch Lady satisfy his cravings.

Just two pictures

Just a couple photos, the first because it makes me laugh when I see it. The second because it's Jerry and the boys on the computer, all making the same face and looking adorable. Because of the time of year, Jer doesn't get to spend too much time with the kids these days, so any moments like these are precious ones.

Watch out world!

The boy is mobile ...

Oh happy day!

You know that song that always plays over slow-motion shots of flowers blooming? Yeah, that song is in my head right now. Why? Wilder had a BM in the potty! I was so happy I started crying and had to explain "happy crying" to Wilder.

Seriously, God, just go ahead and suck out the remainder of my soul that pottytraining hasn't sapped

All right, I know. I know. That subject line is a tiny bit over the top. But seriously, is there anything in the world worse than potty-training (I mean, other than genocide and certain Sci-Fi channel movies that a certain significant other of mine watches, and other things along those general lines)?

I had decided that today was the day. I'm tired of pussyfooting around with this business, and so I decided that TODAY WAS THE DAY THAT WILDER WOULD POOP IN THE TOILET. Like it was some kind of decree that I had drawn up in gold-leaf and unrolled next to the toilet paper, a mama-mandated ultimatum that Wilder could not, would not deny.

And, like most things that I've decided I would do or would never do when it came to being a mom, that has gone right down the drain. Pun intended, though I swear I'm not even close to laughing.

Today we have cried on the potty. We've hugged and said supportive words. We played catch with a football (and yes, my FACE caught it more often than not), we pasted temporary tattoos all over our body, we read one VERY enthusiastic and, if I do say so myself, appropriately dramatic version of "Horton Hatches An Egg," and I've spent more than my fair share of time tackling an almost-walking Hunter while Wilder stared emptily into space, no doubt willing his sphincter not to release the precious poo inside of it. Oh, hey, we even played a game of "Poke Your Brother's Penis Because You're Not Sure What the Hell It Is While He Hollers His Head Off To Quit TOUCHINGGGGGGGG His Penis." (The boys didn't need me for this one.)

Sigh ...

I've been on Poop Stalk for hours. That's where I have the distinct pleasure of following Wilder everywhere he goes watching for signs of grunting, face-reddening, stomach-muscle tightening, etc. etc. and I swear if I had $20 for every time I said "Are you pooping?" or "Is it time to poop?" today I would be able to pay off my car note.

I image-googled "ice cream" and pointed out all the delicious frozen combinations that Wilder could have if he just deigned to have ONE flippin' BM in the potty. I printed out a copy of his favorite of the photos and let him carry it around the house as a reminder of the deliciousness that awaited him if only, if only ...

So, sure, you can see where this is going. The boys are FINALLY down for naps and of course nary a bowel movement has occurred here today. Not only that, but I have not showered, brushed my teeth, brushed my hair, hardly cleaned (I DID vacuum, because I -- no kidding -- thought the sound of the vacuum might relax Wilder enough to poop), etc. All available minutes have been devoted to this.

It is 83 degrees outside today. The sun is shining. Why, WHY do I plan these things so poorly?

OK, I feel better. And lest anyone think me the Idi Amin of potty-training, I swear we have had our fair share of fun today. For instance, I've taught Wilder how to catch a football (eyes open!) and he will be the next Brett Favre. Of course, he'll be wearing Depends in the locker room, but who cares when you make that kind of money, right?

What a difference six months makes

I'm working on a series of these, because I realized how many similar photos I have of these two. But these particular couple of photos, to me, are very striking when juxtaposed. They grow up SO fast. Sneef. But they're such beautiful boys, aren't they?


Late August 2008


Late February 2009

Exciting Hunter news!!

I was just trying to get Hunter to join Wilder and I in the front room to download some photos. He wasn't, as is his contrary nature, following orders, so I said: "OK then. Bye bye!" thinking he'd follow me if he thought I was leaving him.

He said "Bye!" waved his hand at me and went back to doing whatever he was doing (Searching through some drawers for something to stick in his mouth or light afire, no doubt.)

I started jumping up and down and hollering for Wilder to come see. We tested it out about 63 more times, and it's official: Hunter says "bye bye" and waves!

Yay Hunter!

PS. We just finished a brotherly photo shoot so new photos TK here soon!

Walk in the woods

For quite some time now, Wilder has decreed that he would like to go "for a walk in the woods." It's something that makes Jerry and my hearts sing with joy that our boy should express such a desire. We'd like nothing more than to be somewhere where taking a simple walk in the woods was an everyday occurrence.

Someday ...

In the meantime, there is a little area near our house, an area that I go out of my way to drive by most every time we get in the car, that I've been meaning to take the boys to for some time. It's really only five minutes from our house, and it's a little hard to believe it's in the middle of the city here. When you get down in the trees, it ceases to smell like big-city Dallas. In fact, when we went there today, I made Wilder stop and take a huge breath through his nose. Smell that, kid? That's fresh air.

So yes, today we went. I strapped Hunter into his baby backpack and Wilder used his own two strong boy legs and we went for that walk in the woods. It was pretty awesome. Eventually, the woods open up into a meadow, which open up into a field, which merge into a couple of baseball fields and a playground, which is where we ended up before looping back. I think we're going to have to make this a regular occurrence, if my back can take it.

Wilder and Hunter were both pretty tired by the time we got back. In fact, you can see from the photos below that Hunter was more than tired. He was passed out face first into his pack. A biker rode by us laughing his butt off at our little Hunter.

On a completely separate note, this seems to be Facial Wound and Concussion Week in the Scott household. For Hunter, anyway. He's trying so hard to walk that he's caught himself with various facial parts more than once. Well, that and the near black eye that Wilder gave him with a toy. (No lie, as I typed the last part of that sentence, he faceplanted behind me.)

I need to make dinner. I leave you with photos. xo, k.

Highs and lows

Two random and unrelated happenings from today:

• A little background here for the first. A few weeks ago I visited Washington DC during inauguration week to see our first African-American leader ushered into the presidency. I was an Obama supporter, but I was also just damn proud to see my country finally do that. So anyway, while I was there I picked up Obama T-shirts, hats, etc. including a couple for the kids. I'm not really the type to dress up my kids in politico-wear and drag them off to rallies, parades and such. But I figured they could wear them around the house, keep them as keepsakes, etc. Anyway, in the interest of having a half-aware kid, whenever I wear my T-shirt or Wilder wears his, I ask him who it is, and he responds, "President Obama." I've tried to tell him who this is, what he does, etc. Today, we were driving to a play date, listening to NPR, and there was some stimulus package coverage. All of the sudden, from the back seat, Wilder pipes up: "Hey Mama! They're talking about President Obama!"

I thought it was kind of cool that he was listening to the radio news enough to recognize that. Made me kind of proud.

• On the flip side, Jerry and Wilder and I were eating dinner tonight while the already-fed Hunter wandered around the sunroom. Wilder was being Wilder, which is to say he wasn't listening to a thing I said and generally acting like a barbaric cave boy while we were trying to have a nice meal. Finally, I just dropped my head, shook it and said: "There is not enough booze in the world to raise a 3-year-old boy for more than a year."

Jerry said it was profound and should go on the blog. I dunno about profound. I just know it's damn true. I'm sure the same can be said for 16-year-old girls. At least I won't have to deal with that, eh?

Nite all. xo, k.

The poop chronicles

I haven't mentioned it on here before, but we've started potty training pretty intensively; at least, a lot more intensively than we have in the past, which admittedly wouldn't take much. I'm pretty sure I figured Wilder would eventually wander up to me before the age of 13 and let me know he was ready to use the toilet. I've severely underestimated his stubborn streak in the past, and this was no exception. I'm pretty sure at this point if I don't force the issue, he'd be wearing some bedazzled Depends to his prom.

So we've begun. And let me start by saying this: I don't believe in hell, but if there is one, my version of it would involve an eternity of teaching 3-year-old boys to conduct their business in the commode. I've been able to find a silver lining with most things parenting-related, no matter how unpleasant. For instance, when the children are projectile vomiting, sure ... I smell like death on earth and spend a good portion of my time scrubbing floors that look like Linda Blair stopped by for pea soup. But hey ... look! That boy who never sits still? He's cuddling with me for hours on end.

But potty training? Nothing. Zilch. Nada.

So back to Wilder. He's actually doing pretty well. He's peeing in the pot on a regular basis, doesn't require a lot of props (either physical or of the atta-boy variety, although chocolate rewards help), and you can be assured that if he's acting like a bunch of fire ants are in his pants, he's gotta take a leak.

But poop? Well, he just won't do it. Won't even seem to consider it. I've heard there are a multitude of reasons for this, and that it's completely normal. So trying to get to the bottom of it, I asked him why he didn't want to poop in the potty. I can't remember his exact answer, probably because there was nothing even remotely resembling logic involved. But it basically came down to he just didn't think it's what people did.

So, if your ears burned today, it's probably because I was sitting on the bathroom floor assuring Wilder that everyone we knew, myself included, poops in the potty. Grandpa? Check. Luke? Check. Micah? Check. The list went on and on.

It didn't do any good, but at least it filled some time.

If only we had mountains for neighbors ...

This past weekend, somewhat impulsively, Jerry and I decided to set up the tent in the front yard. Well, it was my suggestion. Jerry did the actual setting up. Anyway, it was still a little cold to throw the boys into it to sleep, but we wanted them to crawl around in it, feel the wonder of it, etc. It was a hit, though when I asked Wilder if he'd like to sleep out there, he looked at me like I'd just suggested he ritualistically set his Buzz Lightyear on fire. We'll have to work on that.

So we set it up Saturday afternoon and left it in the yard overnight. The next morning, I wanted to show Wilder what it would be like to cook breakfast and eat outside, so I broke out the Coleman stove and cooked eggs with blue cheese and garlic and fried some bacon. Jerry brought out the French press and made coffee to put hair on your chest. We sat in the tent's vestibule and ate, while Hunter napped happily in his crib inside the house (he'd had a good romp inside the tent, hugging and soggifying Betty for quite some time).

Wilder seemed to think the idea of eating outside wasn't too big a deal, though he talked about how he loved the eggs over and over. And really, that's what always happens to me when I cook outside; I always think everything tastes so much better. So maybe I've cast the spell after all ...

I imagine as the weather warms, we'll be doing this somewhat regularly. It's not hiking in for three hours and being surrounded by mountains and cold high-altitude lakes, but it's better than nothing, I guess. And it gets the boys primed for the eventual move back to Colorado.

So anyway, here's come pics:

Wilder helps Jer hang Hunter's tree swing.

Pre-nap post

The boys are down and I'm getting ready to take a little nap myself. But I had to put a couple things down before I forgot them.

On the way home from a Valentine's Day party at Wilder's old school (his teacher invited us to join them), we were playing Slug Bug (or Snug Bug as Wilder calls it). Wilder will sometimes point out non-VW cars and say things like Snug Bug Shiny or Snug Bug Stripey. I did the same today, and he hollers at me: "Those are CARS, mama, not Beetles." What are Beetles then, I asked? Without missing a beat, he says: "Beetles are bowls that can GET YOU!!"

Also, I realized today how nice it is to be told by your kids that they like you. I always knew that to be told "I love you" by my kids would make my heart skip a beat. But the simple statement of "I like you, Mama," can sure do wonders for your confidence as a mom, too.

Wilderlingo

Jerry made a nice post about Wilderisms and Hunterisms the other day. You can read it here.

I've got two to add to it:

PYOOP (pee-yoop): It means "puke," as in "Damnit, Hunter just puked again!" But Wilder seems to be confusing puke and poop and just combining them. The way he says it is so forced; it definitely does not roll off the tongue.

And this new one today:

Sun 'jamas: I was just now putting him down for his nap, and he was still in his jammies. I went ahead and changed him into normal clothes so he'd be ready for his playdate when he woke up, and he asked: "Mama, are these my sun 'jamas?" It took me a second to recognize the brilliance in that question, but then it hit me. Night 'jamas for bedtime, sun 'jamas for naptime.

Run Wilder Run

So here's a video clip of Wilder dancing to the soundtrack of "Run Lola Run." For the record, Lola ain't got nothing on my boy. He could have saved her boyfriend in every single vignette.

Hunter + Betty = Love