Other things may change us, but we start and end with family

J called tonight, probably his last call before he gets on a plane to come home.

We exchanged how-are-yous, what-did-you-do-todays and all that.  He sounded relatively chipper.  He told me how the kids and I are getting custom-made Ugg boots (Josie's will be pink!), how he had a nice time seeing his sister, how the weather was good.

"And I got to spend some time with my dad."

"Well that's good.  How's he doing?"

"I went to the doctor with him yesterday.  He goes to the hospital for another treatment."

"Huh."

"Yeah, the doctors told me that this will most likely be the last time I see him before he dies."

He was so nonchalant about it.

I, on the other hand, burst into tears.

Apparently, his condition from this crazy-ass disease that only 60 people in the entire world are known to have, and only 3 adults, all of whom are on the verge of dying, is deteriorating.  He's developed lesions on his brain.  His mental acuity is getting worse.  His vision is worsening.  And all of these things have gotten much worse, quickly, in the last month.  The doctors only give him a slightly better than 50% chance of even surviving the treatment he's going through next week.

J said that he's sad, but that he's spent good time with his dad and has said everything he needs to say.  He's said good-bye.  He'll have no regrets about leaving anything unsaid.

But I feel so awful for him.  Awful not only at the prospect of losing a beloved parent, and at not having more time with him.  Awful because I can't even imagine what it must be like to go through this and then fly to the other side of the world, and not be there in the end.  It makes me feel guilty for pulling him away from his family, even though I know that I never forced him into anything -- he made his choice.

Still.  It just sucks so much.

Welcome to the world, baby girl

From the day she was born, Josie has been The Good Child.  The one who's mellow and easy and only fusses as a way of communicating hunger or tiredness.  She hasn't had tantrums or screaming fits.

Until now.

I know it's the age.  A combination of starting to assert independence and separation from others, and frustration with an inability to communicate as well as she wants to and feels she should be able to.  She is so, so close to truly functional, conversational speech.  But she's not there yet.  And it's pissing her off.

Over the past month or so, she has occasionally put herself into a strop over something she wanted but couldn't have.  I accommodate her wishes to the extent that is reasonable, but I'm not going to raise an asshole, so she doesn't get everything she wants.  And when that happens, she'll run and flop herself on the ground in front of me very dramatically, crying as if I had just run over her puppy.  I'll say something like, "I'm sorry you're upset, honey," and walk away.  So she'll get up, run over to me and flop herself on the ground in front of me again.

It's hard not to laugh.

Yesterday she had her first full-on tantrum at school.  Screaming, running around in circles and then throwing herself on the floor, throwing things, arching her back when people tried to console her or pick her up.  No one could figure out what was wrong and because it is so out of character for her, the teachers were very alarmed. 

I told them that once they had discerned that she wasn't hurt or in some kind of danger, to walk away and ignore her.

The time from birth to about 18 months, as hard as it is, is lovely in that you don't have to make any real efforts at discipline.  You establish schedules and limits and say "no" when you have to, but it's way too early for scoldings or time outs or any of that kind of thing -- the kids just don't have the cognitive or emotional capacity to understand or benefit from it.  Discipline is a pain in the ass -- it's no fun to fight with your kid or watch them be miserable while they're being punished.

But I fear the time has come for Miss Josephine.

Love given to you will evaporate like a puddle, unless you are open to absorb it.

The first week of Daddy being gone passed relatively smoothly.  I made a point of emphasizing to Zeke how I needed him to be a big boy and help me out with Josie and to generally be a good boy.  And the three of us seemed to be ever-vigilant about being patient and taking care of each other.

This week the bloom is off that rose and we're all just crabby.  I ask Zeke not to splash water out of the tub and he gives me a throat-fart* and a surly face.  Zeke tries to lean in to give Josie a kiss (and to be honest, he's got issues with personal space) and she pushes him away and says, "AWAY!"  Josie starts whining because she wants to watch Elmo, but I'm in the middle of cleaning toys off the floor and I snap, "oh, for God's sake, hold on!"

The weather has been weird.  It was warm for a couple of weeks, then last week a cold front moved in and it's been chilly and either raining or threatening rain.  When I went to pick up the kids from school, it looked like a storm was moving in, meaning we wouldn't be able to go to the park, so I just took them home.  We all had dinner, but then the bitchery ensued about who was going to get to watch Dora when the other wanted to watch Nemo, and then Josie ran towards the front door and started to cry when I wouldn't open it for her because I was in the middle of eating a plate of food.

I looked out the window, saw that the sun had poked out for a spell and said, "c'mon kids, put your clothes on [Zeke was naked, naturally], we're going to the park."

The elementary school down the road has a great playground that's open to the public.  Play areas with structures that increase in size and complexity, for different ages and levels of dexterity, surrounding a big open baseball field.  But the field was soaking wet from being watered.  Both kids immediately made a bee-line for it.

I started to yell, "watch out for the puddles! You'll get wet and make a mess!"  But then I stopped myself.  The kids were running back and forth in the puddles, soaking their shoes and their pants but giggling their little asses off and having a great time.

So their clothes got wet and dirty.  Really, who gives a shit?

I just sat and watched them have fun.  Zeke fell down in the mud at one point, but we all just laughed.  They ran around, they went on the slide, they played "chase."  And when it started getting colder and I told them it was time to head home and have a bath, they were happy to oblige.

There were no more fights the rest of the night.  Everyone was tired and happy.

Four more sleeps until Daddy gets home.

________________________
*A wordless, gutteral exclamation of irritation made from the back of the throat.

The distance is quite simply much too far for me to row, It seems farther than ever before

When I was a kid, we almost always lived overseas, so my grandparents (who lived in Michigan) were always far away from me.  We loved them and loved seeing them and they were a big part of our lives, but not because we got to see them often.  We visited them when we could and they visited us, but it wasn't a relationship built upon regular interaction.  The notion of parents and their grown children living in the same city was not the model that I was exposed to.

So when I grew up, I went where school and jobs and whimsy took me.  It never occurred to me to make a serious effort to stay physically close to my parents because I didn't see it as something that people did.  At least, not something that we did.  My brothers and I are as emotionally close as we could be to our parents, but none of us lives near them. 

When I was living on the East Coast and was making plenty of money and my folks were an hour and half away by plane, I didn't think much of it. 

But then we went to Hawaii and had a baby.  And Hawaii is so, so far away from the rest of my family.  And distance is made more so by young children, who are difficult and expensive to travel with.

Denver is so much closer.  But it's still far away.  And money is so much tighter, and two small children are such a pain in the ass to travel with.

It's making me sad.

My folks were in town this weekend to hang out and visit and also to help with the kids while J is gone.  It was so wonderful to have them here.  They're such amazing grandparents - totally engaged, fun, willing and able to go out and do things.  We went to the book store.  To Target.  To the park.  To the indoor pool.  They took Zeke to the science museum.  Hosted him at their hotel for sleepovers (two nights!). 

They left this morning, so they hung out at the house until late last night.  We ordered Thai food and watched baseball and my mom and Zeke played Angry Birds on her iPad. 

And then they had to leave.  Zeke was all ready to go with them to the hotel and was very upset to learn that he would have to sleep at home without Mimi and Papa.  And that Mimi and Papa were leaving and he wouldn't see them for a couple of months.

"Why do Mimi and Papa have to go away?  Why, Mama?"

Then a few minutes later, "where are they?  What are they doing right now??"

When he woke up this morning:  "Where are Mimi and Papa?  I want to see them."

I want my children to be able to see my parents whenever they want.  I want my parents to be able to see my children whenever they want.  I want to be able to see my parents whenever I want.

My heart feels heavy today.

Oh where have you been, my blue-eyed son, and where have you been, my darling young one?

I was having a bit of an existential crisis last night.  Looking at my life with a critical eye and wondering how I got to this point, miles from where I thought I would be at this age and this stage of my career, and not feeling particularly good about it. 

I started to cry and was sort of weepy throughout the night.  No doubt a combination of hormones and exhaustion and a little bit of loneliness, of feeling like the weight of keeping the family going is on my shoulders.  Wondering if I'm doing my children any good at all. 

Zeke saw that I was upset and said, "what's wrong, Mama?"  And I mumbled something about being a little sad and a little tired, all the while feeling more like an asshole for even subjecting the children to my moods in the first place.  They need me to be the solid, stable one.  It's not their responsibility to make me feel better.

Zeke's eyes were wide and concerned.  "It's OK, Mama.  Everything's going to be OK."  He rubbed my cheek and gave me a hug.

Later, after Josie had gone to bed, he and I were hanging out downstairs when a thunderstorm rolled in.  Super-loud thunder, crashing lightening and rain driven sideways by the wind.  Zeke was mesmerized.  When a particularly loud clap of thunder exploded, his jaw dropped and he said, "WOW!" in total wonderment.

"Let's go over to the window and watch it, Mama!"

So we went and sat by the front picture window that looks over the road.  "We need to wait for more thunder, Mama.  Sometimes it takes a little while.  But do you see the rain falling on the road there?  It's falling really hard!"

I looked down at him and marveled at how lucky I am to have this sweet, beautiful, sensitive boy in my life.  I put my arms around him and held him close.

"I love you, Mama."

"Oh, Zekey.  I love you, too.  So, so much.  You're the best boy in the world."

"Are you still sad?"

"No, honey, I'm OK.  You gave me great hugs and that made me feel better."

He patted my face and then turned to look outside again.  We sat like that in the dark living room, our arms wrapped around each other, looking out the window until the storm passed.

Mission accomplished

The first few days of J being gone were tough.  Especially Sunday, which was Mother's Day. 

A few weeks ago, Jon Stewart did a piece mocking the media's reaction to a J. Crew catalog that featured a mom having a nice moment with her 5 year old son, who happened to have his toes painted pink.  In response to the outcry about confusing gender roles and other bullshit like that, Jon made an excellent point:  "Do you know how long a weekend is with children??  Everybody gets bored.  You will do anything to fill the time.  'You want to paint your toenails, honey?  Sure, let's do it.'"

Truer words were never spoken.

So Sunday we got up and it was a beautiful day, so we went to the zoo.  Which is fun, but it involves me either pulling the kids around in the wagon or chasing them around when they decide to climb out of the wagon and sprint off in different directions.  But I managed to keep them in my line of sight, and for 3 hours we walked around and looked at the lions and giraffes and tigers and fish and elephants and hippos and gorillas.  We even got to see the baby orangutan, who is insanely cute.  And we rode the train.  And the carousel.  And Zeke used the potty 3 times.  By noon they were tired and starting to melt down, so I had the pleasure of pulling two crying children through the zoo on my way back to the parking lot, absorbing the looks of pity and "Jesus, I'm glad those aren't my kids" that you tend to get when your kids are acting their age in public.

The afternoon was spent napping and watching Dora, then we went to the park for a couple of hours to play. The thing about taking both of them to the park when I'm the only one watching them is that I have to go back and forth between the two of them because they can't do the same things.  And because Zeke is older and more physically able to play safely on the gym equipment, I tend to stick with Josie more.  She has J's attitude towards physical challenges -- bring 'em on, and the consequences be damned.  Leading to me standing next to Josie as she climbs all over equipment made for kids 3 times her size while Zeke sprints off to the other side of the playground by himself.  Then I get the nervous glances from the other parents, who are saying with their eyes, "aren't you going to go get him?  Aren't you going to hover over him every moment of his life?  WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU???"

I just smile and yell, "Zekey, don't go too far off!"  And we managed to make it out of the playground and to the ice cream store without anyone dead or maimed.

We had ice cream.  We went home and watched Nemo for the 70 billionth time.  The kids had a bath and splashed water all over the place.  I painted Zeke's toenails blue.  We read some books and went to bed.

I didn't get breakfast in bed.  I didn't get to leave and get a massage.

But I filled the time.

The Daily Show - Toemageddon 2011 - This Little Piggy Went to Hell
Tags: Daily Show Full Episodes,Political Humor & Satire Blog,The Daily Show on Facebook

Mental blocks

I am a relatively intelligent person and a relatively organized one, at least in my head (you wouldn't know it from looking at my desk).  I remember things, for the most part.  I've got my shit together.

And yet. 

There are certain things about which I have incurable mental blocks. 

Where I put my keys, for example.  Every single time I look for my keys, I always have a moment of panic.  "Shit.  Did I put them in my briefcase?  Are they on my desk?  In my pocket?"

And because I have trained myself to put them in the same place every day (I occasionally mess up, but I'm pretty good now), I always find them. 

I need to figure out something similar with my computer.

Our computers at work are laptops that click into a mechanism that essentially turns them into desktops.  It links the hard drive up with a monitor and connects it to the office server and there's a separate keyboard and mouse.  But if I have to work from home, I can just detach the laptop and take it with me.  Easy peasy.

Except that I always forget to bring it back to work the next day.  And when I say always, I am not exaggerating.  I am currently batting .000.  0-fer-5, I think.

I had my computer with me in Phoenix this week, for checking emails and getting some work done (but mostly for watching The Daily Show in my hotel room, because the Hyatt does not subscribe to Comedy Central).  I left it in its little computer bag in the trunk of my car, thinking that I would just grab it when I headed to the bus after dropping the kids at school.  I must have had at least 5 conversations with myself about it.  "Don't forget!"  "I won't, I won't."

At least this morning I was only half-way to work when I remembered that I had forgotten.  All the other times, I was all the way in the building when I had to turn back.  So today, I got off the bus at the next stop, walked across the street, caught the bus going the other way, went home, grabbed the computer, walked back across the street, caught the next bus and came to work.  I was only 20 minutes late.

I guess it's progress?

Pros and cons

I'm in Phoenix now for a special education law conference.  Downtown Phoenix is generic and relatively free of charm.  It is warm, though, which is a nice change because it's been ridiculously cold in Denver lately.  I got a text from J this morning:  "It's snowing here." 

Fuck that.

Other benefits are that I get to sleep in a comfortable bed by myself without anyone climbing on me, kicking me or peeing on me during the night (Zeke tends to soak through his pull-ups at night -- I'm not saying that J and I are into golden showers).  I don't have to clean up after anyone, including myself.  Phoenix is in the Pacific time zone, meaning that I can get up at my normal time to work out (5:15 a.m.) and still get an extra hour of sleep. 

Of course, there are downsides.  My children make me tired, but I love them and miss them.  And they're still so little and rely on me for so much, including looking to me as an emotional anchor.  When I'm not around, they're a bit adrift.  They even shunned me when I was saying goodbye to them yesterday at the airport.  Josie burst into tears and pushed me away and when I went to give Zeke a hug and a kiss, he turned away from me. 

Ouch.

So as I write this, I'm enjoying free wireless in an outdoor bar as I nurse a glass of oatmeal stout.  It's very pleasant.  But I'll be happy to get back to my messy, noisy life, with children clamoring for my attention and showering me with love and slobbery kisses again.

T.S. was off by one

I know April is supposed to be the cruelest month, but for my kids (and somewhat for me and J), May is shaping up to be a doozy.

On Sunday, I leave for a 3 day legal conference in Arizona.  So J, who is normally out the door by 6:30 to go to work, will have to fuck up his schedule to get the kids up and off to school and get them in the afternoons and deal with dinner and bath and bed.  Which isn't so hard - hell, I did it for a year and a half when J was working in Vail, but still, it's exhausting.

And I think the kids will have a rough time of it -- they're very used to their routine:  Mommy in the morning, Daddy after school, and then both of us for the evening.  Josie does not like that routine upset, and I can't even prepare her by explaining that I'll be gone for a few days.  At least with Zeke, I can get him ready, and he's old enough to understand that just because I'm gone doesn't mean I won't be back.  So he'll deal.

Then, 3 days after I get back, J is leaving for Australia.  For two weeks.

He needs to go home.  He really does.  His dad has been really sick for years and J hasn't been back since he took Zeke almost 3 years ago.  I can't imagine not seeing my family or my homeland for that long.  So I begrudge him nothing with this trip.

But still.  Two. Fucking. Weeks.

Like I said, I've been there, done that (though never for 2 straight weeks), so I'll be OK.  My parents are coming to visit the middle week and I've enlisted friends and family to be available for a dinner or a playdate to keep the kids distracted. 

But I think it's going to be really, really hard on them.  I fully anticipate acting out, fussing, toilet training regression.  Ugh.

At least they'll have us for 2 full weeks after J gets back before I leave again for my college reunion.  Without them.

Poor little monkeys.

Getting through

I was emailing with Lisa yesterday about life.  She had written a post about how it feels like life is just a series of fighting the same fights, worrying the same worries, getting through it, most of "it" being not particularly fun or pleasant.  I felt like it described my life to a "t."

So much of it is just a slog, getting through chores, making sure everyone is fed and bathed and cared for, and then cleaning up the endless messes.  The endless dishes.  The endless laundry.  The endless bills that, right now, seem to exceed our ability to pay them.

And then last night I found out that one of my cousins had died (he's actually my mom's first cousin, so he's once-removed from me).  He was in his 80s and had been sick for a long time, but he had actually been doing really well, so it was a bit of a surprise.  He was one of the DC cousins (as opposed to the Michigan cousins), and he was always fun to talk to.  Quick with a dirty joke or an inappropriate remark, big sports fan, smart, and far kinder and more generous than he would ever let on.  He and Zeke even shared a birthday, so there was that little connection.  I will miss him.

And his son (my second cousin) has aggressive brain cancer and probably doesn't have much longer left.

Shitty times for their family.

And there's my brother, whose middle daughter needs a heart procedure sometime soon.  She was born with a heart condition and recently had a test that the doctors weren't thrilled with.  The procedure shouldn't be a big deal, but still.  It's their kid.  And it's only a year after almost losing one of their other kids.

It's hard.

As always, there are glimmers, points of light (geez, I never thought I'd be borrowing a phrase from former Pres. Bush (H.W., not W, obvs)).  My goofy-ass children bouncing around and hugging each other on the couch.  My sweet husband.  My fledgling Beachbody business (I started getting checks after the first week - not huge ones yet, but they're growing).  The roof over my head, care of a beautiful old house that will some day be really beautiful.  My health, and in particular, my shrinking waistline.  My generous parents and my wonderful friends and family.

Lisa and I didn't solve any of the world's problems with our email exchange, or even any of our own, most probably.  But as always, it's nice to connect with an old friend.  So there's that, too.

And we just keep going.

Things to do in Denver when you're Jewish

Yesterday morning the weather was kind of crappy and cold, so rather than look to outdoor outings to entertain the kids, we decided to go to the science museum (aka "the dinosaur museum"). It's really close to where we live and we have an annual membership, so it's a good "go to" when we're looking for something to do.  Zeke and Josie love to run around, looking at the dinosaur bones, the wildlife exhibits, the bugs.  It's fun and they learn things (Zeke knows the difference between a diplodocus, a stegosaurus and a pachycephalosaurus, for example).  Plus they have this great kids' center where there are tons of "hands on" projects for the monkeys to play with, dancing, demonstration, puzzles, games, etc.

I hadn't even thought about the fact that it was Easter, other than having my annual trade-off of tasteless Easter jokes with my dad when we called in the morning to say hi.  Not my holiday, yanno?  So we were pleasantly surprised at the lack of crowds - makes it easier to keep track of short people.  And then we started noticing...characteristics.  Like the abundance of men wearing yamulkes.  The kids named "Yael" and "Isaac" and "Abe."  The moms named "Chava" (hard "ch") and Rivka.  A few stray prayer shawl fringes hanging out of shirts.

"J!"  I whispered.

"What's up?"

"I think we're here with all the other Jews in town!"

He chuckled and nodded.  "I was thinking the same thing.  We Jews need to stick together, baby!"

Cross-pollenation

I started a new blog just for my fitness and coaching stuff.  I'm over there today (with challenges! and prizes!) so feel free to check it out.

My little monkey-bean

I was bouncing Josie on the bed the other day - holding her hands to help her achieve greater height - as she giggled and smiled at me and said, "again?" every time I stopped.  I can't really do it with Zeke anymore because he's getting so big.  But Josie is still such a peanut.  The right height for her age, but definitely on the skinny side -- she might have crossed the 20 lb. mark recently, placing her solidly in the 1st percentile for her age.  So it's easy for me to rough-house with her as she squeals with glee.

As we were playing and laughing, I was thinking back to my surprise and (mild) consternation when I was pregnant with her and learned that she was a girl.  How I was kind of hoping for a boy because I already had one and felt like I "got" little boys.  How I was nervous about her growing up to be an evil teenager. 

So stupid on my part (not the evil teenager part -- that will undoubtedly play itself out and I'll just have to deal). 

Because I love her little girly tendencies.  Her love of baby dolls, for example.  She has a couple of them at home, plus there's a box of them she plays with at school, and she walks around holding Baby or sitting with it and patting its back or using a towel or a cloth napkin to swaddle Baby and then rock it from side to side.  Sometimes she'll hand Baby off, and if you're the recipient, you had better hold Baby up to your shoulder and gently and soothingly pat her on the back like you're burping her, because if you hand her back to Josie without having done it right, Josie will hand her right back for you to try again.

And she's so sweet and happy and snuggly.  She loves to sit on my lap just so, holding Baby, while we read a book or watch Elmo.  She loves to play "chase" through the house, making the loop through the front hall to the dining room through the kitchen to the living room and back to the front hall. 

It's so much fun, and so gratifying, to see her with Zeke.  They adore each other.  They bathe together every night, splashing and giggling.  He shows her his books and they stand at the front window and look out while he explains what they're looking at.  They give each other hugs while they say, "awwww" and pat each other on the back. 

He's teaching her how to talk.  "Jo-Jo, say 'flower'!"  "Flaw!"  "Say 'window'!"  "Winnow"  He goes to her classroom every day at school to check up on her, see how she's doing and give her a kiss.

After having Zeke, I always thought, "little boys are the best.  They love their mothers.  They're hilarious and sweet and wonderful."

Now I look at Josie and think, "little girls are the best.  They love their mothers.  They're hilarious and sweet and wonderful."

Maybe I'm just blessed with great kids. 

Tradition!

I'm coming down from the high of Passover.  Maybe a little bit of a Manischewitz buzz.  A little overstuffed with brisket, haroset, horseradish, matzoh ball soup and way more coconut macaroons than I have any business eating.

It was lovely.  My cousins and their 1 year old came over, and my high school friend Kim came over, and a good time was had by all.

Passover is my favorite holiday.  I love the themes (Freedom!  Let my people go! Next year in Jerusalem!), the food, the family chaos, the telling of the story, the ceremony.  J loves it, too ("Baby, it's my favorite holiday since I became a Jew").

I love the fact that every year, we carry on a tradition that is being carried on all over the world, and that has been carried on for thousands of years.  And I love carrying on my own family traditions.

Using the china and silver that used to be my grandparents'.

The china I inherited from my grandparents, still meticulously packed with 35-year-old pieces of foam and paper towel protecting the plates, just as my grandfather always left them.

I'm third generation Royal Danish.

Using the kiddush cup and monogrammed napkins that I got for my wedding.

Using my grandmother's matzo ball recipe (the secret is seltzer water).

Enjoying the holiday with my children, who don't really get it yet, but they will, and they will carry on the traditions as well.

Zeke, of course, isn't wearing a shirt.  The Australian wine is a nod to J.

Traditions like this are a blessing.  A mitzvah.  They link us to each other and to a greater purpose.  On days like this, I am honored to be chosen.

Wishing you all a happy Passover, blessed Easter, happy spring.

Why my house is a shit-show

Yesterday, within a span of about half an hour, Zeke:

• tasted something I had offered him, decided he didn't like it, and "wiped" whatever it was (probably some sort of vegetable, I don't remember) off of his tongue by licking the couch;
• went off to the bathroom fully clothed but came back naked, having left his clothing next to the toilet;
• dumped his bucket of Mr. Potatohead parts all over the living room floor to play with them, only to abandon them when the next shiny thing caught his eye; and
• sprayed water all over the couch in an effort to "help me clean up."

Meanwhile, in approximately the same time span, Josie:

• ate half a cereal bar but crumbled the other half in her fists and threw the crumbs in the air;
• took off her diaper, played for awhile, peed on the floor and then used her hands to spread the pee around;
• took clean laundry that I had just folded out of the laundry basket and flung it around; and
• pulled pots and pans out of the cupboard and arranged them throughout the kitchen.

Everyone with kids tells me to cherish these early years because they fly by so quickly. 

That rapid passage of time doesn't seem like such a bad thing sometimes.

Will work for underpants

I'm putting the kids in the car to take them to school.  As I'm buckling Josie in, I'm saying to Zeke, "come on, sweetie, hop into your seat and I'll come and strap you in."

"Where are we going, Mama?"

"We're going to school and then I'm going to work."

"Why?"

Josie, who is in that stage of language acquisition in which she repeats everything she hears without necessarily knowing what it means, parrots, "why?  why?  why?"

"Why do I have to go to work?"

"Yeah.  Why, Mama?"

I think for a second.  "Well, you know what money is?  What we use to buy things at the grocery store?"

"Yes."

"The way you get money is to do something for someone, to do some work, and then they pay you for it and give you money.  So Daddy goes to work and he gets money for the work he does, and I go to work and I get money for the work I do, and then we take that money and we use it to pay for the things in our life, like our house, our cars..."

"And food?"

"Yep, food's a big one."

"And underpants."

"Exactly.  Underpants are very important."

"Yeah." 

He goes back to looking out the window and humming to himself, satisfied that he has covered the bases.

The Costa Rica fund

I've mentioned more than once my fondness for exercise programs like P90X and Insanity and TurboJam and a few others, all by a fitness company called Beachbody.

I started using them about 6 years ago in preparation for my wedding.  I was getting fitted for my gown and the seamstress told me that the dress was ever-so-slightly tight around the bodice, but that if I lost 5 pounds, I wouldn't need any alterations at all.

I had been doing home exercise programs since I was in college, but I was bored with my collection.  Then I saw an ad for P90X in Esquire magazine.  The program didn't promise any quick fixes or easy weight loss -- just great results if you were committed to working incredibly hard 6 days a week for 90 days.  I liked the no-bullshit approach and the money back guarantee, so I ordered it, figuring that if I didn't like it, I could return it and get my money back.

Long story short, I rocked my wedding dress, got into the best shape of my life, and became a devoted consumer of Beachbody products.  I've used 5 of their programs and then just started a 6th, TurboFire, this morning.  I've recommended the programs to friends and relatives, who have become similarly addicted.

Now I've drunk the Kool-Aid in full.

The company has a coaching program in which you can sign up to become a coach and a rep for the company's products.  I've been thinking about doing it for a while.  There are people I've read about it who have been able to turn their coaching gig into a full-time job that allows them to work for themselves and quit their day jobs.  I don't see myself doing that, but I would like to be able to help people get in shape and at the same time, maybe make a little bit of money that I can use as a vacation/rainy day fund.

So I signed up. 

I'm not going to give a hard sell, because the products basically sell themselves.  Here's my page -- it will link you to all the information you could need about the programs, products and coaching opportunities.  After a couple of days, I'll move this post to a separate page (linked at the top of the homepage), and I'll put some links on the sidebar.  Check it out.

What a fool believes, he sees, no wise man has the power to reason away...

As I said, I'm generally not creative enough to come up with worthy April Fool's gags.  Nor do I usually even remember it is April Fool's Day until it's too late to do anything about it.

So it's nice to be included in someone else's gag.

In this case, my high school friend Mark emailed me and asked if I would be willing to participate in a blogging gag flowing from last year's awesome punking of the New York Times.

But of course, I said.

So this time the gag was not on the Times, but rather on readers eager to see the Times taken again.  Eric Turkewitz,* a New York lawyer who writes a law blog, conceived of and executed the prank, involving a series of links promising a great punking story, but never delivering.  Click here for his deconstruction of the gag.  (For reals, this time.)

Happy April, all!

* Part of the gag was that I know Eric at all -- the story about meeting him in India way back when was made up.

Punk me once, shame on you. Punk me twice...

I've always been one to admire April Fool's Day from afar.  I was never able to come up with anything clever enough to make a worthy prank, plus usually by the time I actually remember it's April Fool's Day, I'm driving home from work and it's pretty much done.

An old friend of mine pulled a great one last year, however.  He's kind of the adventurous type - I met him when my parents were still living in India and he ended up there as part of a big round-the-world trip he took on a bit of a lark. 

Anyway, last year he planted this story on his law blog that he had been hired as the official White House Law Blogger. I have no idea if that position actually exists, but it would be kind of awesome if it did.  Anyway, he got a bunch of his blogger friends in on the gag -- they chipped in with their comments about how they confirmed it with anonymous sources in various places. The New York Times and the Wall Street Journal both got taken, but the NYT ran the story without checking. The WSJ got a denial from the White House before posting. The NYT, after pulling down the post, then went on to  include it in an editorial about new media.

So it was kind of a big deal.  And also very funny, and embarrassing for the NYT.

But I guess some people never learn.

Because a year to the day after being totally punked in an April Fool's prank, the NYT has once again fallen victim to their own sloppy practices.

Eric tells it better than I could:  http://www.newyorkpersonalinjuryattorneyblog.com/2011/04/nyt-gets-punked-again.html

Who knew the Gray Lady was run by such a bunch of punks?

At least we're not *total* failures

Today was our first parent-teacher conference for the kids.  I don't know why, but I was terrified.

Not about Josie, who is a total rock star in her class.  She's perfectly behaved, easy going, everybody loves her.

But I was a little worried about Zeke.

Not that I actually think there's anything wrong with Zeke.

He's just so... 3.

And if you've ever spent significant amounts of time around a 3 year old, you know that "annoying," "difficult," "infuriating" and "unpredictable" are words that come to mind when asked to describe them.

So are "adorable," "hilarious," "sweet" and "effervescent."

But quite often, the former qualities overwhelm the latter.

And Zeke is a lot like me -- not a huge joiner, not one to prefer a big noisy crowd when a quiet corner with a book is an option.  Except that I'm old enough to know when I need to suppress my own preferences and do as I'm told, whereas Zeke doesn't really have the maturity to have mastered that particular skill.

So I frequently get reports about how he doesn't always participate in group activities and likes to do his own thing.

Which is fine.  It's not like he gets grades.  And that's not a trait that bothers me.  But that observation is frequently presented to me as a "concern."

And then lately he's totally regressed when it comes to potty-training.  He's gone from having no accidents, like, ever, except when he was in a situation in which he truly couldn't get to the bathroom in time, to having 3 or 4 a day.  Nobody can figure out why.  When I ask him about it, he shrugs his shoulders.  We've had conversations about it, I've scolded him, I've threatened with the return of "baby diapers, because big boys don't poop in their pants."  Nothing works.  So now I'm trying bribery -- I bought a big bag of M&Ms -- every time he uses the potty, he gets one.  I don't know what else to do.

So, the parent-teacher conference.  J and I were nervous that we were going to get reports that our kid is woefully behind and that somehow it was all our fault.

Of course that didn't happen.  The teacher said she is concerned about the potty training thing, but that we'll work on it together, and it will right itself eventually.  Other than that, he's fine.  He's really smart.  He has the emotional maturity of a 3 1/2 year old.  Which he is.  And that's OK. 

We drove away relieved, not just that our kids are doing well, but that we weren't branded as parenting failures.

Until we drove from the preschool straight to McDonald's for dinner. 

Hey, nobody's perfect.