And the Award Goes To...

Because I could use a little cheering up right now (and because you might need the same), I'm going to share a story that I've been holding in my pocket for a while now, waiting until I really wanted to post it.

Before I begin, I will preemptively state that I know the words I'm about to write could easily land me a runner-up spot for the Worst Mother of the Year Award. I KNOW. But it's already happened, and I have to share this.

It all actually began several years ago one nice afternoon when the boys and I were itching to get out and enjoy the weather. About a mile from the house was a playground at a brand new elementary school. I'd seen it from the road and thought it was a grand idea to try it out that day.

A word about me and playgrounds that I've learned with time: I don't know what it is, but we tend to not get along. I use poor judgment about the boys' abilities, I often get even myself hurt, and other parents rub me the wrong way. Bad things happen there. But that didn't stop me that day, because the boys weren't really all that old yet and I was just getting started in the world of playgrounds.

After the excitement and anticipation of going to a special new playground, we arrived and I quickly deflated, realizing that upon closer examination, this playground was way beyond what the boys' gross motor skills were capable of. Perhaps it was because it was designed for elementary school age children and not two-year-olds.

But in typical stubborness, I was determined to make the best of it. We were going to play, by golly. I helped and assisted and demonstrated the best I could, but the look on the boys' faces clearly told the story: This sucks, Mommy.

At the end of the playground stood what might have been the redeemer of the afternoon-- a huge (that should have been clue #1, Sherlock), slicky-slide complex. After a long climb up some steep steps (clue #2), you had the option of taking three different slides: one that twisted to the left, one that twisted to the right, and one that went straight down the middle.

As I gestured and enthusiastically guided them to the slide, the boys just kind of looked at me. As if I was a total nutcase. But bless their hearts, they were good sports and I know they trusted my judgment... which was their first mistake. Up the stairs we all went. It wasn't until I watched (from the top) Ben get about 1/4 of the way headed down the middle slide that I realized this was a Horrible Idea.

Perhaps it was because he had no core strength in his little body.... perhaps it was because he weighed less than 25 pounds... or maybe it was because the slide was much steeper than I realized.... but as he headed down the slide, he started to lose control of his body and pick up more speed. As he flew off the end of the slide, he seemed to hang in mid-air, his whole body twisting superfast so that in one motion, he was facing downward, deposited facedown in the mulch.

Thank God for mulch. It was in his mouth, in his shoes, and down his shirt, but it saved us a trip to the ER, I'm convinced. Picking up and comforting the now completely mortified Ben, I first glanced around to see if anyone else had seen this and was dialing CPS. Coast was clear. I then turned my attention to Jake, standing at the top of the slides. Firmly (and wisely) resisting my pleas to slide down the slide and let me catch him, Jake insisted I come up and rescue him, which I did. Tail tucked, we packed up and went home.

Showing the true resilience of children, Ben never really let that experience bother him, and as he got older and stronger, he enjoyed slides of all types. So when we discovered that the great playground at the elementary school right over the hill from our new house had an identical triple slide, I never even thought twice about suggesting he try it out. He was nearly 3 1/2 now, and probably weighed a good, what, four pounds more now? (I wish that was just a joke, but it's probably accurate).

"Come on, Ben! Come down the slide!" I cheered from the bottom. I even had my camera ready to take a picture in the perfect evening sunlight of autumn.

He looked me square in the eye, scooted his little bottom to the top of the slide and pushed off.

I am sad to say that the same exact event occurred. Little Ben was doing fantastic until he got to the end of that slide and did a perfect re-enactment of his past slicky-slide mishap. I tell the truth-- I had no idea he'd bite the dust like that again. I would have gone down the slide with him. Or been there to catch him. Or not suggested it at all. But instead I stood there with my camera ready, like the ignorant, terrible parent that I sometimes am. I was even able to quickly snap a pic of him pre-flight (see Exhibit A below).

There were tears this time around, again, but most of all, he was just mad. And indignant. And clearly in disbelief that he'd been suckered into that one again. But once the mulch had been brushed off, the tears wiped away, and the boo-boos kissed, he got back up and marched to the slide again.

This time with Mommy's help.

Prove Your Point

Through the miracle of technology, a considerable donation is headed toward little Michael Angelo and his family in the Phillipines, gathered from family and friends who otherwise would have spent the resources on probably unnecessary Christmas gifts... What probably would have bought relatively luxury items such as sweaters, jewelry, and electronics has instead been wired across the planet to literally feed and clothe a family that has nothing at all.

But more on that in a minute.

Last week on Thanksgiving Day, I was going on a much-needed run and was approached by a stray dog that I immediately recognized as being some sort of Pitbull mix. Our neighborhood is a virtual landmine of dogs for a jogger, and as I felt the hair stand up on the back of my neck, I tightened my grip on my pepper spray. The dog seemed playful, but when he tried to jump on my back, I let loose with screaming and nearly used the spray. He ran off briefly, but by the time I'd finished my run, he was hanging around the house. He continued to stay around the house, making me uncomfortable and angry with his presence. I used to be a dog lover, but I wanted him gone.

A few days later on another run, he caught up with me again. He seemed a little aggressive, but on that day, I noticed he was looking pretty ribby and was scavenging trash cans. This dog was hungry and lost. Still annoyed with him, I continued to yell and try to shoo him away from me. Once back inside, I called animal control but only got a voicemail saying they'd open in a few days.

I kind of forgot about him, but today when I opened the garage door, there he was, right in front of the boys. I screamed loudly, waved him away and called animal control, who said they'd come pick him up. When we arrived home from preschool later in the day, I passed the animal control truck leaving the neighborhood and assumed they'd found the dog. But as I fixed the boys lunch I saw him saunter around the front lawn. Throwing the boy their lunch, I grabbed a fistful of dog treats and my cell and ran to the door. I was going to keep him on the porch until animal control came back.

As I reconfirmed my address over the phone, I really noticed for the first time how thin this dog had become. Every rib and point of his spine stuck out prominently. His stomach was completely caved in. His eyes were sunken in and dull. When he ate those first few treats, his tail wagged and he looked at me with hope. I considered what these last few days had probably been like for him and the uncertainty he was headed into within a matter of minutes.

I ran back and grabbed about ten more treats. And then back for a hotdog. And another hotdog. And then bowl after bowl after bowl of dogfood.

I have never seen a dog eat so fast in my life. It was frightening and heartbreaking. And probably also a little misleading to him about where this was all headed, as well as likely to give him a stomachache. But it was all I could think to do. I would have emptied out my fridge to feed that dog. And this is pretty much my MO when it comes to helping those in need, and possibly my tendancy toward co-dependancy. I just want to take the creature in, nourish them, fill them up, make them better. What do you need? I'll get it.

When I first saw Michael Angelo, my first instinct was to hop a plane and find a way to get him home where I could make sure nothing bad ever happened to him again. But then I looked at his picture again and saw two other brothers behind him, and I knew there were many more. What about them? What about their neighbors? Their neighbor's neighbors... it would never end. Finding a way to adopt him wasn't practical, and it wasn't the answer. So I've worked to find a way to help them in other ways. I don't know where our help will lead them or what Michael Angelo's future is, but I know that for a certain period of time, they will eat decently, drink clean water, and have items like new clothes and beds that they could only dream of before. And for now, that will have to do.

So as I watched that dog fill his belly as fast as he could, wagging his tail furiously and nearly gasping between bites, all I could think was Eat, poor creature, eat. Eat as fast as you can, take whatever you can fit in your belly. I can't fix the problem that got you into this mess in the first place, I can't take care of you once that truck shows up, and I can't promise you your life is going to get better with this. But for right now, I can feed you, so eat. For goodness' sake, eat.

I cannot fix the world's problems. I cannot take all of the hungry, hurt children into my home. And I've learned over time that I cannot bring all of the pain in this world into my heart, or it will shut down and break forever. But I can focus on this one boy, this one family. And I'll do it, for a multitude of reasons, beginning with His command to love one another, and not this world, for it it not our true home. But I'll also do it as my way of proving a point (however small) to the world that I will not be changed by it and its darkness.

If you also want to make your statement to the world in the Philippines, PCF (The Philippine Community Fund) could not have made it any easier, practical, or effective. Go to http://www.p-c-f.org/ and check out what they do. Online donations can be taken through the site, and if you want your contribution to go directly to a certain cause (such as Michael Angelo's family, or another family they choose for you), simply e-mail Ange ange@p-c-f.org to let her know.

I promise you'll make a difference.

How Do I Love Thee, Doritos?

Confession Time.

I'm addicted to Baked Doritos. Completely, unequivocally, obsessively addicted. I want them for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I try to resist them all evening and then I just can't help myself. Even if I'm not really hungry, it's an itch that has to be scratched. When I notice we're getting low, I'll make a special trip to Wal-Mart to buy some more (they have the best price on them there, belive me I've checked) under the guise of needing something else to buy. I even have a special way of eating them: I crunch them up into tiny pieces so it lasts longer. Strange? I don't think so.

But I think my family's on to me and intervention is imminent.

Last night as I settled down with the computer I tried to discreetly munch away, but it wasn't long before Hilton noticed in the next room. Busted.

"Do I smell Doritos?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I think I smell Doritos."

"At least they're baked! It's not like they're the real thing!"

Even the boys know Mommy Has a Problem. When Jake saw me getting stuff together to make dinner the other night, he had it all figured out.

"Mommy, you making Doritos for dinner tonight?"

Step #1: Admitting you have a problem. Check.

Poof!

When the boys were still drinking out of sippy cups for meals, we'd let them carry around their cups and drink even after they got down from the table, something I learned was a big no-no in parenting magazines but let them do it anyway because honestly, it wasn't worth the battle to me. However, they had a maddening habit with those cups.

They hid them.

They hid those stupid cups in a different place nearly every time, causing you to crawl around the room cursing for ten minutes until, like the Holy Grail, it was uncovered and there was much rejoicing (along with some incoherent rambling about "those %$&* cups). I never really figured out if they were intentionally trying to make us crazy, but I have a sneaking suspicion they were watching with amusement out of the corner of their eyes.

And that suspicion has been confirmed even more so with a new and much more deliberate game.

The object to hide these days is a doorknob cover, a childproofing item that was previously considered, well, childproof. Until Jake figured out he could squeeze the heck out of them until "the eggs hatches!" Well, isn't that great. But wait, there's more.... He "hatches" the doorknob covers while I'm not looking, and then in what I'm certain is part of their ultimate plan to send Mommy to the Crazy Place, they leave one half of the cover out as a tease for me, and then hide the other somewhere I'm sure not to find it.

The first few times they did this, I gave up after about 15 seconds of looking and simply put a brand new cover on. But I started to wonder where these covers were all going, so the other day I went on a hunt. I asked the boys to help me and politely obliged. At least, I thought they were helping me. What they were really doing, however, was simply playing along.

They knew where they were. This was a game.

"Boys, where did the doorknob covers go?"

"We hid them!" The truth was out. Finally, some honesty.

"Where did you hide them?"

"I can't tell you," replied Ben. "It's a secret hiding place."

"Poof!" interjected Jake with glee. "We made it disappear!"

"Poof!" agreed Ben.

I gave up at that point. My life motto anymore is pretty much "Whatever." They won.

But the next day, I decided that two (or three) could play this game. Tired of having them play with their bedtime "loveys" (little blankets) all over the house, I decided I would put them in a place where they wouldn't be accessed until bedtime. Somewhere they'd never look. Like my underwear drawer.

"Where you put our loveys?" Ben asked.

"Hmm... let me see... oh yes. A secret hiding place. Can't tell you," I replied. Maybe a little too smugly.

And the hide-the-hatched-egg game hasn't been played since.

What I'm Thankful For

Every Thanksgiving, I'm inevitably asked the old "What are you thankful for this year?" question. I usually answer with the true but cliche "My family" answer, but it's clear this year that has altered my perspective drastically.

This Thanksgiving season, I'd like to say I'm thankful for multiple potties on the first floor of our house.

It sounds shallow and flip and ingenuine, but I promise you, dear reader, it's not.

For what else could be so practical, convenient, and crucial in the life that I lead? The life in which, immediately at dinner's end, both boys run screaming in opposite directions clutching their bottoms for dear life as they make a run for it, one making it to his potty in plenty of time, the other... not so much.... causing much drama over the diarrhea scattered here there and everywhere in one bathroom... while the other screams down the hall for me completely without mercy or understanding for the situation taking place in the other bathroom despite my equally loud screams of explanation back to him that I have to help his brother ... leaving the Abandoned One to his own devices for cleaning his bottom... which involves rolling out the entire Double Roll of toilet paper onto the floor before finding the right piece with which to wipe his bottom.

Yes, thank you God for multiple potties in our house.

I Dare You Not to Laugh

In the special language of horses, there is a phenomenon where a foal tries to show another (usually larger) horse that he is merely a baby horse and to be easy with him. He literally makes a silly expression, mouthing and licking the air as if to say "how can you be mad at this face?"

Jake is a master manipulator in disguise, and he has figured this trick out as well. Ben is so mean in his ways that his intent is always obvious. Jake (like someone else, ahem), uses his clown skills to make you laugh and forget that he's getting away with murder. He's a Funny Man, and his schtik usually works, resulting in Hilton and I having to actually turn our heads to the side and bite our cheeks so that he can't tell we're about to break down in laughter. But Jake's way too perceptive to not catch even the slightest of a sideways smile, and he takes it and runs with it....

Here it is.

Crazy Level: Red

So, dear blog-stalkers (I know you're out there), I've been neglecting you. The already-scarce breathing room in my life and brain that was reserved for the occcasional blog has been rudely taken hostage by The Madness That Is My Life.

In my head I often think about the state of my life in terms of the terrorism threat level (you know, green, yellow, orange, red). We started to take the craziness to Level Red a few weeks ago when we started a major home renovation project that needed to be completed before a certain holiday family dinner was held at our home for the Very First Time. In what is just one of the many complexities of this home improvement project, the area being renovated is in the basement, where little boys can hear loud noises right below them when they're trying to sleep.... which means they either go to bed way late, or they have to stay elsewhere for the day or night.

And I've determined that the Greek derivative for "home renovation" is actually tied to the same derivatives for the word "divorce." Let's just say it was the hand of God that led us to decide the remodel the kitchen before we moved in.

But don't feel too sorry for me. Feel sorry for my poor kids, who don't know whether they're coming or going. On top of all of this, I've had an unusually few busy weeks of deadlines with work. It's one thing to be slammed at work when you go to an office and do your thing and go home. It's a whole other deal when you work from home and there are no boundaries.... meaning sometimes you're putting a casserole together, screaming at a child to use the potty, and sending an email on your Blackberry all at the same time. I've always tried to only work when they're sleeping or being taken care of by someone else, but lately I've just had to fit it all together.

Suffice to say, I don't feel like we've been stellar parents lately. We're on survival mode here, and apparently, it shows.

One morning the boys were playing while I sat and returned some emails. Ben briefly came over to show me something, but Jake knew I was trying to work.

"Come on Ben, you're bothering Mommy." No, no, it's okay, I insisted. They glanced at me for a second and then went right back to playing, as if to say Whatever, Mommy.

And then the other day, after giving Hilton a hug down in the basement during a quick break from the renovations, Ben knew the drill.

"Now get back to work, Daddy." Yes sir.

And then Jake, trying to get my attention somehow, anyhow, to remind me that he needed me, took to following me around the house.

"Mommy, I like you," he said over and over, in a sad, dramatic little voice.

Enough was enough. Bring out the crafts, bring out the trikes, it was playtime with the boys.

This one's for you, my little boys. Hang in there. It'll be Thanksgiving soon and things will be much.... calmer?