A new kind of cool

Tonight we watched some concert footage of one of our favorite bands, Flogging Molly, when they performed at the Greek. Its been far too long since we've been to any concert, and we use to go ALL the time.

Shaun: "Its been forever since we've been to a good concert."

Me: "I'm too old to be down in the pit anymore."

Shaun: "I think the last concert was when we followed FM to Arizona for St. Patrick's Day."

Me: "Yeh, and now we go and see Yo Gabba Gabba Live!"

Shaun: "And we spend weekends traveling to the zoo and Target now instead."

Me: "And we never drink."

Shaun: "And we're in bed by 9."

Me: "We're totally still cool."

Ad libitum

Sometimes, I picture myself as the band conductor of my own personal orchestra. As I stand before the instruments of my life, front and center, the red velvet curtain begins to fold upon itself, slowly revealing all the different elements that will work together to create a harmonious sound - the beautiful song that I call my life. I effortlessly cue the percussion in, then the strings, and my wind ensemble - all keeping perfect time, perfect tempo.

At least, in my head that is how it looks and sounds.

In reality the baton went flying out of my hand and over my head taking out a clarinetist in the process when I tried to signal for the percussion to back off a bit because it came in too strong yet again - my flutes are flat, my horns can't find the right sheet music and the ribbon on my bows just all busted in my string section.

What remains is the screeching, dissonant sound that I'm almost certain rabbits make when they're being attacked.

Thats been my last couple of weeks.

Instead of sweet, beautiful music - I've got dead rabbits.
Screeching, dead, rabbits.
In my head.

I usually do a really good job of blending all the elements of my life, but the past couple of weeks everything just seems to be - well - falling flat I guess. I've spent majority of the past two weeks not sleeping. I've been surviving on catnaps and copious amounts of caffeine. My schedule has been all over the place this month with parent education workshops, school visits and meetings. Shaun's worked a couple nights of overtime and in between all of us have been sick on some varying level for the past three weeks. Did I also mention we're in the process of looking for a house and trying to survive a teething toddler?

I spent last night with a sick 17 month old watching the Wiggles and eating bananas and milk until 4:00 in the morning. If thats not living the life, then man, I simply don't know what is.

I finally took him to the doctor this morning where he had the worst freak out I have ever witnessed. He cried so hard, and so uncontrollably he actually passed out on my chest for 5-10 minutes while we waited for the doctor to come back with some of his test results. I mean, there was boogers and snot and tears coming out of places I wasn't aware was even possible. And the glares. It was enough to make me want to crawl into a hole. The way he looked at me as if to say, "This is YOUR fault" - I think I was just as traumatized as he was with the whole morning. I called Shaun crying and refused to take him to the doctor anymore by myself. I offered him a new train once we got to the car. He just looked at me sideways from beneath his red puffy slits of eyes and said "No", then looked straight ahead and wouldn't acknowledge me for most of the way back home.

Damn. Ouch.

Look, I'd like to clarify - I'm not a crybaby, nor am I typically oversensitive. I'm chalking my heightened emotional state to the lack of sleep as of lately.

And perhaps my crankiness.

I'm sure the belligerence has something to do with that too.

Okay maybe not the belligerence so much, I've been informed I'm usually that way sleep or not. But when you're denied by a toddler, let alone your own, I'm not really sure theres any step lower at that given moment. Especially when the very thing that has put you on his shit list is what you were hoping was going to help fix him.

Anyways after the doctor fiasco, Sully and I came to an agreement; that Lucky Charms are in fact the cereal's god answer to breakfast. I was willing to throw the whole box at him at that point if it garnished a smile. I gave him some rainbow's and my last clover's. We decided to be friends again. At nap he insisted one 1. Being given milk in a tiny miniature bottle and 2. bringing his giant monster truck into bed with him. Nobody will ever accuse him of not being a boy. I tried to trade the truck for a cuddle blanket or a stuffed animal.

My offer was refused.

I had to laugh mainly because watching anyone try to spoon and cuddle with a giant piece of metal is awkward at best, let alone an insistent toddler.

As he started to fall asleep, he crawled practically on top of me and wrapped his hands around my fingers. He rarely does this, so I knew the doctors visit really upset him (I still have a slight ball in the pit of my stomach thinking about it). It was one of the very few times I've felt guilty for having to work. I so badly wanted to be the one home with him today, ALL day, taking care of him. Its just been an off couple of weeks, with all of us simply playing to a slightly different tempo.

I sat there, watching him sleep, instead of doing a million other things I should have been doing at that moment. His sweaty head drenched my shirt as he tossed around little. And I watched him.

And I smiled.

And I thought about all the times I've watched him hammer out a tune on his Papa's piano, squealing with delight and hysterical laughter as he plays his song. He doesn't care that its flat. He's not phased by the fact he can't read the sheet music. He's not bothered with the fact that to anybody else, the sound is just noise. But to this Mama, it's music to my ears. And I applaud loudly.

And he smiles. He's proud.

Because he doesn't care what the song sounds like, he's just happy that its playing. He's happy that its his. And I know that he has it right.

My past couple of weeks have been noise. But I need to start finding the joy of hammering out a rhythm again. I need to find the music in the noise, and relish it, whatever the song is sounding like right now. I need to learn to improvise when the start, or the middle, or even the end isn't going or sounding quite how I planned in my head - that its okay to omit out the parts that aren't working and change them up from time to time at my liberty - ad libitum.

And I look down at this face. And there it is. The slow hum of all my various elements warming up once again - getting ready for a great performance. I suppose sometimes all we need is a little inspiration to kick us back onto the stage, front and center, to try again. I tap the podium and count off - And one, and two, and three ...



Screeching rabbits be damned.

Pant Head

I think the title explains itself.

"The most wasted of days is one without laughter" E.E. Cummings

Have I said lately how in love with this child I am?





Tonight, before bed, Shaun asked Sully to give me a goodnight kiss and he extended his hand out instead and shook my hand. Kid, you crack me up.

Happy weekend everyone!

Habitual line stepper

Dear child of mine,

No amount of coffee could save either of us from the train wreck that I think we both can agree was this morning. Or last night for that matter.

We could talk about how for, the third night in a row, you woke up singing the Wiggles and then demanded them in the middle of gods hour. I don't care if 3:00AM our time IS 3:00 PM Australian time, you ain't getting them child. And if you don't stop, I will be forced to call Intervention and get you the help you need.

And you should know by now that no sleep, especially over 4 grown men who sing with a dinosaur about cold spaghetti, is going to make for a not-so-happy morning for all involved.

We could talk about that water bottle you decided to pour all over our barely-year-old-couch. Lets just say you owe your Nini and Aunt for saving you from that one this morning.

Or maybe we could talk about the rake you used to chase the dogs around the house with today. And when the rake was removed from you possession ...

Maybe we could talk a few minutes about the broom you used to chase the dogs around the house with today. And when said broom was removed from your possession ...

Maybe we can talk about the hockey sticks you used to chase the dogs around the house with today. And when the hockey sticks were, yes, removed from your possession ... you resorted to using the baby vacuum.

That mommy almost threw out the window.



We could talk about the flower beds and trees you decided to scale in the yard to get to the "bitey" cat. Or when you decided to run not once, not twice, but three times into the side yard where all the dog poop is. Damn kid, you're quick.

Or the toilet paper you unraveled into a mountain heap ... again.

Or the train set you took apart and then demanded put back together in a crumbled fit on the floor.

Or the tomatoes at dinner you figured looked better on the ground than in the salad bowl because you decided after biting into one and not liking it, that meant nobody could like them.

You test me. And you know, I'm fortunate for that.

And in the brief moments of insanity when I felt like this may be the day Mommy actually goes completely out of her mind, I remembered what Tammy said to the parents at our workshop last night.

"Do we want "yes" children, children that obey and do always as they are told by everyone around them, or do we want children that think for themselves? They may not be easy to handle, but when they grow up, are they going to do what everyone around them will pressure them to do, or will they be confident enough to think and stand up for themselves?"

I don't want you to be a yes child.

I wasn't a yes child.

And while your Nini smiles and declares at least once a day that you're my "payback" for everything I put her through, I smile on the inside, because, well,

...I'm okay with that.

While it would make my days less hectic and crazed, and just plain easier if you would listen the first time around or (even period sometimes), I'm happy that a gave birth to a habitual line stepper.



God knows I love that tenacious, spunky, wild-child spirit of yours.

I have to admit, the annoyance of having to run after you a third time while trying to get dinner on the table quickly disappeared as I watched you laugh hysterically running through the grass to the one place you know you aren't suppose to be. And as I ran after you, watching your still awkward movements navigate through the yard as quickly as your feet could carry you with your arms out strecthed wide, I laughed too. You had the biggest, widest, most mischievous grin on your face as I caught up to you - and honestly it made me a little sad because I knew in seconds that would be replaced with screams of anger. But because I have to be the responsible one, you still got a time out for a minute or so. And my heart broke a little as you cried those big crocodile tears, because in my mind I pictured my actual foot crushing down your actual tiny free spirit.

As I crouched down to you on the floor to explain why you couldn't be over there, again, you responded with your typical get out a free jail card - a giant unwarranted kiss - and damn you if it doesn't work like a charm every time.

Mommy's a sucker.

As quickly as you can push me to the brink, you reel it all back in with peaceful cuddles in my lap tucked into the crook of my arm just because - and finish it all off with kisses and giggles and sharing of toys and love. And I smile.

Mainly because you didn't try to escape a single time after our "talk". It could have also had something to do with threatening to let the gardeners take you home.

Either way, maybe you do listen after all.

You are my push and pull, my give and take, my daily reminder to do better tomorrow from the lessons we learn from today. And in this fine dance we do of laying down boundaries and trying to step over them; I hope that you have your days of trying to scale up them, or over them or pour them all over my couch. Because the truth is, what works best for us in our family is valuing all members. You may just be a child, a baby, but you've come prepackaged with your own feelings and thoughts and ideas and likes and dislikes ... and if we do this right, you'll grow up knowing that you've always been valued, you've always been respected - that you're allowed to say no to things and we have to be okay with that sometimes. That we're already working hard to set the foundation down for you to be a confident being, an independent thinker - someone allowed to think outside of the box and go against the flow. You're allowed to be stubborn and headstrong, because I guarantee you those are the all attributes that will one day also make you a passionate person, an outspoken person, a driven person full of determination and strength and heart.

No, I doubt not that you will ever be a yes man.

Its not in you nature.
Its not in your genes.

I know you will not always agree with our rules, you will not always be happy with our opinions, you will not always like the outcome - but its my hope for you, that you will not be afraid to every now and again run through the grass, with your arms out stretched laughing hysterically when you think nobody is looking.

You never know, I may be a few steps behind laughing too.

Vampires, we has them.

One man band

Nothing like getting a solo practice in while its drizzling outside on you