Your pain, our gain

We looked at the most beautiful house today. It was stunning. Could've been a model home.

It's a short sale, as many homes on the market are around here. The owners still live there, and the woman greeted us at the door. She asked us to take our shoes off.

Maybe that's how she kept those beautiful travertine floors clean. Turns out they have two kids, ages 5 and 2, and two small dogs. You'd never know it. The house was immaculate. There wasn't even a small smear of chocolate on the banister.

At some point they'd hired a professional designer, who, to the tune of about $300,000, added such gorgeous things an imported Italian glass chandelier to hang over the stairs. There were mahogany and beveled glass doors on a downstairs library, in which there was a small gas fireplace.

A custom-made glass sink was in the downstairs powder room, which had murano glass wallpaper. There was a butler's pantry off the kitchen. Apparently this is a small area where the "butler" can set the food before bringing it out to the dining room. It included a wine refrigerator and shelves to hold glassware.

Upstairs was an office with custom built-ins and four bedrooms - with a fabulous view of the mountains from the master. The closets all had storage shelves in them. It was easy to picture how much stuff we could cram in there.

The only negative was the teeny backyard that was completely hardscaped. We asked her where her dogs peed, and she said at the park - which is literally a house away. This park has a basketball court, big grassy field, playground equipment and an Olympic size pool.

There are tons of kids in the neighborhood, and friends of ours live a short walk away.

I asked if the backyard was an issue with small kids, and she said it wasn't because the park was so close - and the nanny just takes the kids there.

Say what?

They lived in the house for just three years. And put a ton of money into it. But now they can't pay their mortgage and have to move. Wonder if the nanny is still employed.

She said she's sad, in that it's the place they brought their daughter home from the hospital, but that they're ready to move on and hope to move out of state in a few years.

I wondered (to myself, even I'M not that nosy, if you can believe it) what the heck happened. Did one of them lose a job? Things can go wrong quickly, I guess.

While we were there, tons of people came traipsing through. I can't imagine what that must be like, watching as strangers open your closet doors and wander into your kids' rooms.

I was in fact absolutely mortified to see MY kids STANDING on the family room couches, banging on the piano in the library, and generally racing around like lunatics. It was like they'd been in a tiny cage all day and we'd just released them, but not before making them suck down a pack of pixie sticks.

The woman was totally cool with it, since she has kids, but judging by how pristine all the furniture was, I don't think she lets them dribble popsicle on the couch or use the walls as a canvas for their "artwork."

David finally took them to the park, and I chatted with the owner before she had to greet yet another family coming to look around. I felt a little like a voyeur. Even though we are interested in the house and might make an offer. There was just something depressing about the whole business, capitalizing on someone else's misfortune.

I'm sure I could get over it, though. The house is THAT awesome.

It's Date Night

No, not with him, silly. Well, actually, it kind of is. Since X has taken up residence in our room, we have not watched the shows we used to watch together before bed. So with all three kids asleep at a decent hour, David and I are finally going to watch one of our faves.

House. The season premiere. We're only a month or so late.

So I'll see you tomorrow, blogosphere. I'm off to date night. On the couch. With David. My container of sorbet. And Hugh Laurie.

Well, I don't think it can hurt. Can it?

We got the call yesterday from the pediatrician that the h1n1 vaccine was available and to call immediately if we wanted it.

The message was left during the two hours the office is closed for lunch, and shockingly, I totally forgot about calling them back. Until this morning. Then it was like trying to call to get concert tickets back in the day. Just constant busy signal. I just kept hitting redial until I finally got through.

I made the appointments for 4 p.m.

Then I was left to stew for the next six hours or so.

I guess I have the same questions about the vaccination as everyone else. Is it safe? Is it necessary? What's the deal with the thimerasol?

This is one of those times I wish I wasn't the Mommy, having to make this decision. David did not seem all that excited for them to get the shot. He assumed I did all the research, and I have, but it's all conflicting.

If every time Sawyer got a cold it didn't immediately take up residence in his chest, I probably wouldn't get the shot. But it does. Even the simplest of colds end up with us having to give him nebulizer treatments.

Still, I didn't want to put something in his body that potentially could be dangerous. I also don't want him to become really ill with the flu.

Unfortunately I'm no longer someone who just goes along with whatever "they" say. Chalk it up to all the stuff I discovered along the way to making my decision to have natural childbirth. I learned to question the medical establishment. That of course has its downside, in that you end up with a lot of information to sift through.

The CDC says, of course, that it's safe. Logically, it makes sense that since they already make a safe seasonal flu shot, then one made exactly the same way but with a different strain should also be safe.

I think there is a basic mistrust of government. Especially lately. Like this is just a big money-making scheme for the government, which is in bed with the pharmaceutical companies. And that's why they're pushing the vaccine like a meth dealer on a playground.

The thing is, that just sounds so, well, cynical. Maybe it's just trying to keep people healthy, and in some cases, alive. Keep them productive and at work and at school.

We are left to read and question and poll our friends and ultimately, make the decision that's best for ourselves and our family.

So off they went. Sawyer came home and proudly announced he didn't even cry. Sage was STILL crying when they got home.

I feel okay about getting them the shot, though. At least I can say that today I did something to protect my kids.

Eight Months

In honor of his eight month birthday, Xander decided he wanted lots of together time. So he was up every three hours through the night. He chose 5 a.m. as the perfect time for us to get up for the day. Once I put my glasses on I could see why: the boy had the runniest nose. Ever.

There is something rather sad (and, truthfully, quite amazing) about such a tiny nose producing such a prolific amount of snot. He clearly didn't feel good. Which means he wants to cling. Which is okay, except for I did something painful to my back and it's at times difficult to stand.

So I'd occasionally have to put him down, and he'd cry, thereby creating yet even more snot. Sawyer was playing with him and kept me updated by such helpful comments as "Mommy! He has boogers running down his nose! And into his mouth! And onto the floor!" Needless to say I got quite the workout chasing him down with kleenex.

See, X does not sit still. He pulls up on everything. The door. The stairs. The vacuum cleaner. One of his favorites is the shoe basket, because then he can reach in and extract a flip flop or sneaker to gnaw on.



He's been babbling for awhile, but now he likes to do it back and forth with his siblings. He hasn't advanced past bababa but he now likes to do it louder. Sometimes he follows me around when I'm busy getting stuff for the other kids, and I'll hear "Mmm mmm mmm mmm" as he frantically tries to get my attention so I will...wait for it...pick him up.

The thing that's so cool about him is that, generally, he's a happy little dude (except he is now starting to cry when you take something he's crawled all the way across the room to stick in his mouth - like a Bionicle piece or a Polly Pockets shoe - away from him, he cries.

Otherwise, he smiles at everyone. When David is holding him and he sees me coming, his face explodes into a grin and he bounces up and down and flaps his arms. I think the only one happier to see me is one of my dogs when I start scooping out the kibble.

He likes to be where his big brother and sister are, and is beyond thrilled when they roll a ball or crawl next to him. And he is totally into the Leapster.



He is still eating the same stuff: sweet potato, pear and apple, along with a little ground turkey. He's also eating cheerio-type ceral that is made from oats, and he seems okay with it. I've been gradually adding a little wheat into my diet and he's been okay so far (cross fingers). Of course, I hope this runny nose isn't an allergic reaction to it.

My neighbor has a son who is six days younger than X. She was feeding him his first graham cracker yesterday. I couldn't help but be envious. What must it be like to not worry about what you feed your baby? I've never known it.

But just like with Sawyer, I focus on what he CAN have. And what he can do. Which is fill us up with his cuteness.

I got nothing

I mean, seriously. Blog every day for a month? That's a lot of, you know, thinking and stuff.

Kinda reminds me of when I used to cover a Major League Baseball team. Every day I'd have to come up with notes to file soon after the game started. Sometimes I had a LOT of space to fill.

I'd drive to the yard, wracking my brain for SOMEthing to write about. Maybe someone broke a fingernail putting on their batting glove and I'd be the only one to find out about it? Seriously, I'd occasionally feel THAT desperate. I'd go back over my notes from the past couple days to see if there was something that I didn't have the chance to get in the paper yet.

So all the way there, I'd mentally run down every player on the team, wondering if there was something about one of them I hadn't written about yet. There was also the manager and five coaches to consider.

Then I'd get to the stadium and set up my computer in the press box before heading down the stairs or the elevator. Mild panic had now set in. I'd walk through the tunnel to the clubhouse, notebook and pen in hand, silenty praying that I'd actually get to use them.

I'd enter the room and look around, seeing which player might be at his locker and available to talk. Hoping an idea would come to me.

And you know what? It always did. Every day. A casual conversation with a player might reveal something interesting about him that I didn't know. Or maybe the shortstop on the opposing team was his best friend.

There were days when I'd luck out and the team would announce news, whether it be an injury, a trade, a player signing a new contract. Or, once in a while, a player would confide something really juicy and I'd get a big scoop in the paper the next day.

Either way, I still had space to fill. And as we say in the biz, "We're a daily, not a weekly." That means do your job today, and come back again tomorrow and do it all over again.

Kind of like this blog.

Hopefully, before this month of daily blogging is done, I'll give you something juicy, too.

Home Sweet Home...Somewhere...

We love our street.

It currently has 18 kids, ranging from a little boy who is six days younger than X to a senior in high school. Our neighbor diagonally across the street is pregnant and due in January, so that'll make 19 (yes, even I can do that math!).

Drive up our street any afternoon (if you go too fast we will stand in the middle and stare you down) and you'll find a bunch of them riding Razors or bikes, or running around waving light sabers, or in a front yard playing soccer or baseball, or maybe in a driveway coloring with chalk.

Usually there are several parents hanging out, drinking an adult beverage (or, as one neighbor says, having a drink with "grownups" in it.) We don't have a problem neighbor on our street. Now, there might be those on our street who feel they have a big problem neighbor (namely us), but we can literally walk out the door and have a great conversation with everyone who lives here. And we all looks out for one another's kids.

The location is awesome. We're right across the street from a good elementary school, and close to the toll road and shopping. What's also nice is the houses are terraced so we're not right on top of each other. Our backyard is definitely pool-sized.

The problem? We've outgrown the inside, all 1560 square feet of our house. We have three bedrooms, and, as the old joke goes, they're so small you have to walk out to change your mind. Sawyer and X could eventually share a room, but it's not like they could each really have their own space. There's just not enough to go around.

The master bedroom barely contains our queen size bed and two dressers. The entire downstairs is really one big room, except for the extra small room which serves as David's office.

The "laundry room" is the garage. Need I say more?

We've considered renovating our house, adding a downstairs room and a bedroom, loft area and bathroom upstairs. I'm just not eager to deal with construction crews while trying to get X to nap.

We have started casually house hunting. We've seen a few, but nothing outstanding. It's been eye-opening, however, to see how small our house really is in comparison.

There is much to consider. Do we try to stay in the same general area so the kids can attend the same school Sawyer is at now? Do we stay in the town but move to a different section? Or do we figure this will be our last move and expand our search, especially to areas closer to the beach?

We dream of space. A playroom to contain the kids and all their toys. A loft with an area for them to do homework. A retreat in the master bedroom where I can curl up with a book and escape for awhile. A three-car garage so David can finally get either a project car or a zippy little number to cruise in.

Laundry UPstairs. Possibly a pool in the back yard.

Thing is, this house is jam-packed with memories. We bought it nine years ago and signed the closing papers while on vacation in Hawaii. We got engaged a few days later. It was supposed to be our home for five years max, but after we bought it, the housing market went through the roof and WE couldn't even have afforded to buy this house a few years ago, as it more than doubled in value.

The walls have more chocolate finger prints than I'd care to admit. The hardwood floors are grooved from the dogs running in and out and in and out of the back door. Dress-up clothes spill over the trunk and onto the floor of Sage's room; the closet is already full. Sawyer was suprised to learn he can now see into the top drawer of his dresser. He's getting bigger. X can crawl from one end to the other in less than 10 seconds.

It's our first home, where we brought our first baby from the hospital, where two others breathed their first breath. Our family has grown. The house has not.

Still, could we find such wonderful neighbors, or such a perfect spot for our kids to play? Will summer evenings find everyone outside, gathered in someone's driveway while the kids run and play until it's way past bedtime?

Maybe. We can hope.

We're not in a hurry, but if the right place were to come along..well, then we'd be ready to stuff another house full of life. We already have all we need to make a new house a home: each other.

Guess we'd just have to sit in our driveway and invite all our new neighbors along for the ride.

The Mouth That Roared

Actually, it's the mouth that screamed. And it belongs to my daughter. A healthy pair of lungs on that one. The exciting this is that everyone within a square mile radius are aware of just how hale and hearty they are.

Just today she proved how loud she could shriek to all six teams playing soccer, including her own, at an elementary school field. She also impressed all the parents, friends, siblings, etc. who were lining the sidelines, the four tee ball teams on two separate diamonds on either end of the field, and everyone in the parking lot.

I actually ordered her to SCREAM LOUDER as I was carrying her, kicking and hollering, across those fields and to our car.

The whole exercise started when she complained she was HUNGRY during her game. There were like 10 minutes left. It was her turn to go play, and she instead whined and cried and refused to go in.

I told her either stop crying and go in and play, or we could leave. She didn't want to do either. So after going back and forth for a little bit with this, I'd had it. So I grabbed her, picked her up, and hilarity ensued.

Sawyer walked along beside me, and got injured by a flailing cleat. But even he looked impressed with my lack of Bullshit Tolerance.

Of course all the way to the car I'm having the classic internal dialogue of am I doing the right thing, did I lose my patience too quickly, how could I have handled this better, etc. I'd already committed, though, you know?

The lesson here for the kids wasn't so nebulous as the parenting angst swirling through my mind. For them, they learned that you DON'T MESS WITH MOMMY.



Luckily David was there and held the baby while I transported her. It was also fortunate because I put X and Sawyer in my car and stuck David with Little Miss Sunshine. She entertained him by screaming most of the way that she wanted candy when she got home. She also wanted to watch TV. Imagine her surprise when Daddy wasn't down with either of her visions.

She had calmed down by the time we arrived. She even ate a nice grilled cheese sandwich and didn't complain much when she noticed it was burned on one side.

The awesome thing about her tantrum ability is the way she can flip that switch more than once in a day. Just when you think you've seen the Tantrum To End All Tantrums, she outdoes herself.

This time, we had dropped Sawyer off for the miniature golf portion of a party. We had to kill an hour or so before we picked him up and then transported him to the pizza place. Sage was pretty good as we bought baby gates (I know! Finally!) and then went to an open house of a million dollar home.

But once we picked Sawyer up, a certain reality set in: she still was not invited to the party, so she would not be going to the pizza place. Worse, she would NOT get a goody bag.

David had to stop at the grocery store real quick to pick up a garnet yam for Xander's dinner. In the 7 minutes he was in the store, Sage worked herself up into a full roar.

It went something like this:

"I WANT A GOODY BAG!!!"

You're not getting one, because it's not a party for you.

"I WANT A GOODY BAG!! IT'S NOT NICE!!! IT'S NOOOOOOT NIIIIIIIICE!!!!!"

And then she bit Sawyer's finger. Not sure how she even got to it, but she's never bitten anyone in anger. Ever. Cleary she was upping her game.

Just then, David came back to the car. Cue the screaming. It continued all the way during the few minutes it took us to get home. She kept it up as I ordered her to her room. She refused to go. I threatened to drag her by her hair. She still didn't move, so I grabbed her ponytail and BOY did she run!

Okay, a little digression here, but if you haven't seen this video yet, check out the ponytail yank (and NO, I did not even tug Sage's ponytail, just grabbed it, so this isn't meant to be an illustration). This is simply an example of a player who just loses it - and it's a girl.



Anyway - Sage then came back downstairs, and this time David chased her back up. I wish I could describe the exact pitch of her shrieking and what it does to the inside of my brain. Think of a thousand nails scratching on a thousand chalkboards in a tiny room, and you have the general idea.

David and Sawyer left, and Sage came back down, promising to be nice. Her eyes were puffy, her cheeks red, and I actually felt bad that such a little person can expend such a huge amount of energy.

She snuggled with me on the couch. For the second time today, I forgave her.

Most important, she forgave me.