Mothers or Martyrs

It's the end of an era. Today I finished breastfeeding. The milk factory has shut down. The lactation station in no longer. No more indecent exposure in public. I am not a food source. E is officially as they say in the South "off the tit". I must admit that it is bittersweet. Bitter, in that I can no longer burn 2,ooo calories sitting on my keister. Sweet, in that I have a new found sense of freedom!

My body is once again mine or what's left of it. After my last feeding, I proudly strutted to the mirror and gave it my best "Girls Gone Wild" flash. And then with new eyes, I saw what was left of them. The aftermath of pregnancy and breastfeeding was quite apparent. I don't know what I was thinking. Did I think they would plump right back up to pre-baby body? I should have known better. The old grey mare definitely ain't what she used to be! There they were... deflated party balloons, melted ice cream cones, 'Girls Gone South'. The cup was not even half full. ARRRRRRRRGGGGHHH! At this point, you might be thinking this kind of talk is not very lady-like (sorry Mom). Well people, if I looked like a lady I would talk like one.

Alas, all is not lost. Victoria Secret has come a long way. It's just back to ample padding and false advertising. Perhaps I'll invest in those rubber boobs that look like chicken cutlets. Either way, I would sacrifice it all over again for the cause.

Closing thought:

Why is it that celebrities get hotter after babies. They are practically on the runway 6 weeks later (still love ya Heidi Klum). I know where I messed up...I should have found a plastic surgeon to deliver my babies instead of an OBGYN. What was I thinking?! Maybe Dr. Rey will be available next time.

Be Aggressive

"Hey G-bean, do you know what it means to be aggressive?"

"No?!!!" (looking perplexed while fidgeting with her carefully selected hair accessories)

"It means to chase the ball and kick it. Don't be afraid of the other kids. You just have to get in there and kick the ball."

"Okay." (still perplexed)

At this point, we roll up to G-bean's soccer game blasting her theme song. It's a little ditty called "Busta move". You might of heard of it. It's a classic. You better believe we have dance moves to go with it. It always seems to do the trick in pumping up our daughter to run out on the field and and ...that's about it. Don't get me wrong. We are very proud parents. It's just that I have this sports minded husband who was raised with a pack of wolves (3 brothers). Sports are sports. No, he is not one of those psycho fan dads. He is just hoping to stimulate some type of reflex in G-bean. So when the ball rolls in front of her, she might try kicking it. She has great fun running with the other players, but I don't think she knows why they are running. She just giggles and waves back at us as she trots up and down the field. She also makes a delicious grass pie while sitting in the goalie box with her best buddy M. There is more sport in eating half time orange wedges and retrieving the post game treat. (She's truly my daughter).

Game time. As we are walking towards the field, R says "G-bean, do remember what it means to be aggressive?" To which she responds, "Nope".

Montreal Madness

We made the pilgrimage. Ten years ago, R was pounding the pavement and knocking on doors. Was he a traveling salesmen you ask? Why no, he was a missionary with a crew cut and a badge spreading the good word for free. He was merely a boy dressed in an ill fitted suit armed with a message. As the silly lovesick girlfriend (I still can't read the letters without gagging), I could not imagine what his life was like in this faraway destination. A decade later, I got my chance to see it in person.

We were able to spend 2 1/2 days in Quebec City and 6 days in Montreal. One thing I love about R is that he makes a great travel companion. We love to read maps and navigate every nook and cranny of a new city. We turn into these wide eyed little kids on a grand adventure. When we landed, we hit the ground running. With E in tow, we rented a car and drove up to Quebec City. This was a highlight. It was this incredible walled city that makes you feel like you've traveled to Europe. It was very french, which made me curse my lack of dedication in high school french class. Sorry Madame Durst...R proved to be too much of a distraction (But look at us now!). Note to self, send her an official apology. Walking down cobbled streets, diving into little shops, nibbling on french pastries and gelato, visiting historical landmarks, dining at sidewalk bistros, admiring cathedrals, strolling by the river- OOOH la la it was wonderful. We just needed berets and some very french background music to complete the scene. J'adore Quebec City!

In my estimation, Montreal is a hybrid of San Francisco, Seattle and New York. Translation, FABULOUS!! It was here that we met up with our parents. Don't gasp aloud or cringe...we invited them. Crazy huh? You'll understand in a second. We have the rare privilege of having parents that actually enjoy each other. They were friends long before we were a twinkle in their eyes. No, it was not an arranged marriage. It was by chance that 2 red heads fell in love. Plus, who doesn't dream of traveling with a nanny. We brought 4 doting ones.

We had some other pressing business to conduct. Montreal was hosting the President's Cup which is the U.S. golf team versus an International golf team. Yep, my husband was in heaven! While the men went to the golf events, the women did what we do best, shop & dine. Surprisingly, R was able to pull himself away from Phil Mickelson to show us some of his old apartments and stomping grounds. It was great to visit this chapter of his life that I only knew through letters (extremely sappy letters). We then paid homage to the building where Ghostbusters was filmed. After seeing it, "I still ain't afraid of no ghost." Sorry, I couldn't help myself. I was also able to attend the final round of the golf tournament. For once golf didn't put me to sleep like it does on TV. It was quite fun...plus, R kept me well fed with snacks. It doesn't take much to keep me happy. I just might turn into a bit of a groupie. Don't tell R, he might get the wrong idea. Did I mention that golfers are like celebrities, they are much shorter in person. It's not all smoke and mirrors, Phil Mickelson still has man boobs.

All in all, it was the grand adventure we had hoped for! Minus, E's somersault off the bed. It's always fun to visit new places and meet new people. It awakens your senses and pulls you out of the humdrum. So, if it ever looks like we're not home or we're late for carpool...check Montreal.

Acrobats and Circus Rats

We have added some new acts to our traveling circus. First , we have E who can now pull herself up to a standing position. (future trapeze artist in training). As for the scab on E's nose, she has made her first attempt to hurl herself through the air without the assistance of a cannon. Hold your applause. She has also mastered the art of crawling backwards. Why backwards? Because crawling forward wouldn't allow her to wedge her body into tight corners and under chairs. Perhaps we have a future contortionist that we can zip into suitcases.

And then there is G-bean. She likes to practice her daredevil bicycle balancing act...picture a tightrope under her and you've truly got a show. Sometimes even R gets into the act. Now if we could only get him into a tutu and tights.

"Ever Lasting Loves"

Now that I have my own family, I only have one wish... I'm quite sure it's one and the same for most parents. I want my family to genuinely love each other. I know it's cheesy, but it's true.

Every family has growing pains. You are constantly stretching, changing, and adapting to each stage of life. You want your kids to like themselves, each other, you...Heck, you want to like yourself, your kids, and even your husband (some days). So how do you survive the noogies, sibling warfare, toddler/teenager drama (Isn't it all the same?), marital disconnect, and everyday life. How do you love each other through it all? There are moments in life when you feel like you are living in a hallmark card and want to freeze time. Five minutes later, you feel like you should call Dr. Phil to put the smack down. It's such a wild ride and you don't have time to make popcorn.

Without even realizing it, I start to channel my parents. "Be nice to each other. You are family.", "Don't do that to your brother (in our case, sister), one day he will be bigger than you" or "Why can't we all just get along?". If only we would have heeded the words of our elders. My sister was my nemesis until college. We were the kind of enemies that would write "I hate you" on the mirror with wet' n wild lipstick. And now she is my best friend. I hope it doesn't take my girls that long. But I now understand those pearls of wisdom past generations tried to impart. Here I am...attempting to do the same.

There will be a time when family might not be considered friends and friends might become family. I am already preparing myself for the day when I am not "cool". I know, hard to believe isn't it? The mom they invite to a tea party and cry for to apply a princess band-aid will soon be on the D-list. The sister that once made G-bean laugh and dance will copy her every move and steal her clothes. And the wife that was once so put together (HA!) will be a frazzled mess in yesterday's sweats. Oh, the ebb and flow of life.

Last night G-bean granted me my one wish. Dressed from sparkly tiara to sleeping beauty heels, she told me she was going to cast a spell on me. With that, she gracefully waved her magic wand and said "Ever Lasting Loves"! I did not ask how long the spell would last...but I hope forever.

Time Travel

I have officially cornered the market on time travel. I am not referring to the Napoleon Dynamite crotch shocking crowbar. I am talking about going back in time without even leaving your house. Curiosity peaked? It's called cleaning out your closet. Yep, today I walked into my closet and went back in time. I unearthed artifacts dating back to the early 90's. Short of finding Girbaud's, a Unit's ensemble and a neon Bodyglove swimsuit with the zipper, the items I found looked like they belonged on the set of Saved By The Bell. I am pretty sure that 12 years ago, I might have turned Zach Morris' head. But worn now, you might have to report me to the fashion police.

So, why do I hold on to all this stuff? Do I hope it will come back in style? Because some styles were pretty horrendous the first go round. Sentimental value? Future dress ups? (That's always my rationale). Reliving the glory day's- HA!? Even worse, am I still actually wearing it?Whatever the reason, it's time to let go.

Before I entered my time warp of a closet, I set some parameters for purging. Have I worn it in the last year? How shapeless and stained does it need to be for disposal? Do I have a photograph of me wearing it in a yearbook (junior high? high school?)? Does it fit? Does it fit well... or just look okay, but only if I squint, suck in & stand on one leg? Do I feel like a million bucks in it or just sale rack price I paid for it? Am I willing to walk the runway?

You hear about the stages of grief, I think I experienced all of them. SHOCK & DENIAL- I wore this in public? This fit?! I could make this fit. I might need it one day. BARGAINING- It might come back in style? Now that I know this is in my closet, I will totally wear it. G-bean would love this as a dress up. DEPRESSION- How could the fashion gods do this to me? I knew comfort came at a price! ACCEPTANCE- Out with the old, in with the new.

Five bags of clothing later, I am pleased to tell you that I have returned to the year 2007.

Off to Neverland

Today I decided that I didn't want to grow up. So, G-bean & I cleaned house, but not in the conventional sense. We fired the cleaning lady, secretary, chauffeur, gardener, cook, and ball-buster (all fancy names for me). From there, I followed the bliss of my 3 year old. Baking cookies at 9 am, building a fort & reading books, finger painting in our skivvies (they don't make princess panties in my size), nap time, playing dress ups (E is not a fan yet), delivering cookies in capes (no need for a maternity test- she loves capes!)...you know the usual stuff midgets like to do. It was delightful.

Oh, to be 3 years old again. The world looks so different when you are only 3 1/2 feet off the ground. It was refreshing to go on strike from all of the have to's and probably should do's. Being a grown up can be overrated, especially when we forget what it's like to be a kid. I learned things about G-bean I never knew. For instance, fruit snacks are a food group, Dora the explorer is a religion, preschool politics are cruel ('boys with spiky hair are mean') and when she grows up she 'just wants a computer' and 'wants to plant trees'. Who knew? Which made me wonder, what do I want to be when I grow up? Who knows! For now, it's off to Neverland with G-bean, E, Jack & R. No grown ups allowed!

Favorite Quote & Daily Mantra:

"The most important thing she'd learned over the years was that there was no way to be a perfect mother and a million ways to be a good one." Jill Churchill