My Airbrushed Life

I admit, I have an unhealthy addiction. I read a few parenting blogs. The ones that make you feel completely inadequate. Smiling, engaged kids, thrifty, inventive moms looking like they may spontaneously combust with happiness and creativity. The internet is full of parent/child teams knitting cozies for their toothbrushes, sending pets to outerspace, raising money for worthy causes while donning quirky outfits and a JCrew smile. I love to hate them. Some days I like to pretend I live this airbrushed life. Today we invited two families over to help build a rocket ship and space station in our garage. Paint, egg cartons, bubble wrap, tubing and large cardboard boxes served as our building materials. We can pretend that the kids didn't end up painting the garage floor and that Vivian spent most of the morning hissing at our guests (I realized she does not people in our home). I can pretend that I wasn't running down the aisles at Trader Joe this morning trying to appear like a thoughtful host with exotic juices and quiche. I can pretend the damn banana coconut muffins weren't burnt because I was dealing with a client's crisis and didn't hear the timer go off. I can pretend I wasn't completely exhausted at the end of it. Doesn't the rulebook mandate somewhere that playdates last no more than two hours? Who's with me? We can also pretend that I didn't have to wrestle these kids down to get their picture taken. "Smile!"....said with a snarl. But despite the craze, I want to document the mornings when your mom can be present. I want to remember the fact that your father hulled up in the garage after-hours the night before working magic with a box cutter and duct tape. I want to remember that although it's not perfect, and amidst all the faxes and emails, voicemails and meetings, we try to have fun. Above is Laura and Lauren (Ella's Concordia pals) showing off their "rocket boosters", Viv in Lanie's dance recital costume??? and the gang hard at work (including Nathaniel and Jack)

It rained candy all morning at the parade. Two happy girls braved the heat and watched their buddy march with her tae kuon do club. Their enthusiasm and frantic waving to the candy throwers helped add a bit of levity to what I think is a somber and reverent holiday. And although I don't always agree with America's foreign (and domestic) policies, I have to admire the staggering bravery of the men and women who choose to enlist. They rarely get the respect they so deserve. It's a dirty, dirty, complicated job maintaining our standing in the world. The older I get, the more thorny it seems. I reap the rewards on the sidelines and wonder if there isn't a way that involves a little less sacrifrice for all involved. I wish I had an answer. I used to think I did. The big picture is way beyond me.

Birthday Celebrations: A Time Line

1994: An exchange of gifts. Sarah receives an oversized Winnie the Pooh bear and Jerry a carefully selected shirt inspired by the movie, "Cool Runnings". We were dorks, we were in love, we had just turned eighteen. Mid-Late 90's: A blur of celebrations, drinks with lewd names slammed in plastic cups. An intense bond with friends. Singing, dancing and general acts of public indecency at Urbana-Champaign. 98-06: An extension of the 90s save the thrifted flannels. Thankfully, we had bit more style. We were young, single, adventurous and employed in Chicago. We followed "new on the scene" on metromix like a religion. We hit all the big restaurants while they were still BYOB. 2007: We had just returned from Mexico. On the 19th of May, I had an inclination I was pregnant, on your birthday it was confirmed. Little did we know what kind of turning point this would be. Current Day: Prayers that we find a babysitter. All celebrations must end by 9 p.m. and in a sober state lest we suffer grave consequences the following morning. No babysitter? Dinners at 5:30, booths and highchairs are a must. Proper attire includes shorts and stained Ts. Birthday wish is to not feel like a human jungle gym for the evening and that some how the five extra minutes spent getting ready (total of ten minutes) pays off. Blowing out the candles and making wishes for our family. Taking a moment to share a smile with you over what we have created...totally beats a shot of Jaeger any day. I love that I've been able to enjoy this evolution of birthdays with you. *Below: A portrait of Dad

Time Out

Viv, you're one cool customer. You take your lumps with dignity and restraint. No side show drama here.

Images From This Weekend...

More on turning 36 later.

Shoes are Viv's latest obsession. I love how they respond when I tell them to "pose".

Just because my mom is probably wondering where my face is...

Hapy Mother's Day!

After an amazing evening with the grandparents, Jerry, Ella, Viv and I were able to enjoy today at a leisurely pace. Last night we had Lolo, Lola and Mimi over for apps, champagne, dinner, fruit tart and story telling. Jer and I were able to indulge in four hours of laughter and uninteruppted conversation thanks to the help of Dora, Diego and abundant dessert. Our parents shared battle stories of raising us kids. I realize that Jer and I are still only in the shallow, safe waters of parenting right now and already the amount of love and sacrifrice it takes to parent can be staggering. We have the upmost respect for our parents. I am so glad we can celebrate the thrills of parenthood together, because I know they get it. Today we woke, layered up and drove to the beach. It was empty, the weather was agreeable and I was allowed some time to rest with my sweetie on our beach blanket and watch the girls explore. Before heading home, we grabbed tacos and Ella bought us matching rings from the gumball machine. After naps, Jerry and three other neighborhood dads planned a surprise ice cream social. Ella was pretty darn proud of herself for keeping the secret. It was only when we were half way down the block and she said, "I bet you can't guess what is in Viv's backpack", did she give anything away. It was the ice cream. Overall, an A+ weekend.

Jer just returned from Germany last week. He had visited Adidas and came home bearing gifts (Viv's new kicks). His visit prompted us to grab this little frock out of her closet. I guess we were past due because her diaper is hanging out of bottom. This outfit is direct from Deutchland circa 1977. I wore it, Ella wore it and now my scraped knee, Adidas wearing baby girl is wearing it. Ach du lieber!

She Wants So Badly To Be Dancing

Ella practices for her upcoming recital. Viv waits in the wings, wishing it was her turn. p.s. That's Ella waving her yellow-laced tap shoes.

Self Discovery

How I cringe at the sound of trash cans being lugged down the driveway on a Sunday evening. The garbage trucks always comes early on Monday mornings. Another weekend has passed. I think it's been a few weeks since I last wrote and here it is May 1st. The weeks go by so quickly; weekends barely offering enough to recharge us for the next. But these last two weekends have offered a chance for real self discovery. Now to update you...because I know you hang on with bated breath. Two weekends ago I redeemed a Groupon at the Mario Tricoci School. I left that experience learning that: 1. Hair, no matter how vain you think you aren't, should not be left in the hands of a nervous but ambitious eighteen year old. 2. That a $30 Groupon for a cut and color at a local beauty school is no excuse to experiment with color. I returned home to Ella asking, "Mommy, why did you paint your hair orange?". C'est la vie. From what I hear, red pigment fades fast. The lessons learned will not. This past weekend, Jerry and I sold our Maxima and bought a CRV. The last time we sold a car was in 2004. I distinctly remember watching the car pull away as I tearfully said goodbye to a true companion into early adulthood. My Civic helped me load up all of my belongings after college graduation, it saw me through graduate school, countless camping trips, brutal parking situations on Chicago's north side and marriage. I knew I had to emotionally prepare myself to hand over my keys to the Maxima. The faithful car that brought home our two baby girls safely from the hospital and served as my office on wheels for the last several years. We traded the car in with nary a tear. I think the adrenaline coursing through my veins following intense negotiations with the CRV dried up any tears that were readying themselves to fall. Show no weakness. I discovered I'm not all that bad with negotiating. I left my social work hat at home. Last time I accompanied Jerry on a car purchase (his Acura), he hissed under his breath, "You are on my side!". Apparently I started acting as a mediator between Jerry and the car salesman...as if they were just another client experiencing marital difficulties. This time it was my company that was writing the check and I was on the hot seat. I surprised myself, I was direct, effective, an actress and a business woman. I apparently got them down to $200 above what they paid (do they say that to everyone?) and hammered them to death over all weather mats (which we got!). The difference is, women can do this with a smile and damn it's effective. I think men like to go toe-to-toe with eachother, testosterone flying, but women negotiating can be disarming for these sales guys...and I love it. So these last few weekends can be filed successfully under self discovery. I learned that I can drive a hard bargain...even with orange hair.