Morning Checklist

Wake up [✔]

Make coffee [✔]

Quickly use bathroom before boys wake up [✔]

Pack Big Dog's lunch [✔]

Wake boys [✔]

Go through major production of boys putting on shoes and coats to let chickens out [✔]

Let chickens out [✔]

Go through major production of getting boys back in the house [✔]

Wonder aloud why they are trying to kill me [✔]

Pass off boys to Mr. Dog so I can shower [✔]

Shower [✔]

Find suitable work clothes [✔]

Get dressed [✔]

Make breakfasts [✔]

Repeatedly remind boys they need to eat now or they'll be hungry when they get to school [✔]

Clear table of half eaten breakfasts [✔]

Select outfits for boys [✔]

Encourage boys to get dressed [✔]

Select another outfit for Little Dog after he rejects initial outfit because it is not a Batman shirt [✔]

Wonder aloud why I didn't just dress him in Batman shirts year round [✔]

Find backpacks [✔]

Find jackets [✔]

Find shoes [✔]

Put on backpacks [✔]

Put on jackets [✔]

Ask boys to put on shoes [✔]

Plead with boys to put on shoes [✔]

Threaten to leave boys at home if shoe are not put on immediately [✔]

Put on shoes [✔]

Find purse [✔]

Find computer bag [✔]

Find keys [✔]

Rush to the car [✔]

Drop boys at appropriate schools [✔]

Get to the office [✔]

Check that I have:

My security badge [✔]

My computer bag [✔]

My purse [✔]

My cell phone [✔]

My sanity- oh crap!

Wordless Wednesday: Ballard Farmers Market

Playing with the dough

Over the weekend the spirit of Alpha Mom once again took up residence in my body. When the boys started fighting over a tiny piece of playdough, I sprang into action. "Let's make playdough!" I suggested, making a mental inventory of what I needed. It's easy, and holy mother of god is it ever cheaper than buying the stuff in the tiny plastic tubs with the scent that makes me a little queasy.
"Really?" they asked.
"Yes, let's go downstairs and get started."
I got to pans and measured ingredients, mixed in the water and let the boys select their color from my selection of food color pastes I use for cake decoration. Within minutes we had bright aqua blue and a deep purple globs of dough. Did I stop there? Hell no! I mixed up two more batches. A few minutes later, we had deep green and a sunny yellow glob too. The boys were impressed.

When we headed upstairs to play, I set them down at the play table and expected to sit back and relax a bit while they sculpted and molded and were generally appeased. I popped open the laptop and settled into my comfy chair for some mommy time. And that worked for about 2 minutes.

As I sat basking in my smug satisfaction that I am really good at this mommy thing, Little Dog came over and asked me to sculpt Four Arms, a character from Ben 10. I'm not entirely certain which one he is and have no idea what he looks like. I asked a few questions and made an attempt to please my child. It worked. But maybe a little too well. For the next hour I was put to work sculpting every alien on Ben 10 and the people as well. This was not the quiet creative play I had anticipated, but boy were they ever entertained. Me, not so much. Taking art direction from a bossy 3 year old is not nearly as fun as it sounds. Trust me, I know.

I love you, but...

I do, I love being a mom. My kids are amazing little people. They're funny, smart and full of love. I like to read to them. I like to cook with them, play games with them, sing songs with them. I like being mommy. I love the snuggles, the hugs, the little-bit-too-wet kisses. I love seeing myself in the boys, and seeing Mr. Dog in the boys. And I love seeing the pieces of the boys that are completely their own.

They overwhelm me with emotion. I am left spinning, completely in awe of how altered my life is and how much I have changed from who I used to be. And even with that much change, I am equally impressed by how little I miss the way things were pre-kids.

Let me just say this...Boys, I love you. But mommy wants to watch Lost. Shhhhh.

Life in the time of Jennifers

Over the Thanksgiving weekend I dove into the storage closet at mom and dad's house.  It is filled with the boxed childhoods of two little girls in the late 70s and 80s.  Amazing.  I found box after box of Barbies (mostly nude, or dressed like streetwalkers in training), stuffed animals, board games and baby dolls.  We were truly lucky children to have this playtime bounty. 

In one box I found my stash of dolls, and as I sorted through them looking for my childhood favorite, I realized it should have come as no surprise to my mother when I gave my boys unusual names.  Really, I'd given her a clear sign of my inclinations.  My two favorite dolls, my most prized babies were named Baby Anda and Bonanza.  See.  

Maybe my love of uncommon names came from being one of many Lauras in any class.  I remember feeling trapped by the frequency with which I encountered "I'm Laura too!" and frustrated by the tendency of teachers to resort to using surnames, especially since my surname is equally ubiquitous.  Instead of being just Laura, I got elevated to Laura Williams.  Yeah, it still felt about as exotic as white bread.  Sure it wasn't as common as Jennifer, but I only narrowly escaped that, since it was my mother's first choice name.  (I have always thanked my grandma for talking her out if it.)

I know my mom's love of the simple, elegant and familiar names was partly based in the frustration she had with her own name as a child.  She has told me many times she hated having to spell her name and resented people shortening it to a more common similar name.  And her name wasn't even a terribly unusual name, it just wasn't common in her generation.  

I was the opposite, I longed for a name that stood out, that begged to be spelled and required people to ask for me to spell it. Probably only because  mine never did.  At one point, as my mother will never let me forget, in the height of my surly bleached hair, dark eye liner, thrift store shopping punk badass stage, I wished my name were Skye Blu.  Yeah, I know, but remember I was 13, and that fit more with my internal struggle to be cool than Laura Ann.

Over time, I grew to love my own name.  It may not be exotic, but it is lovely.  Even the meaning is charming.  And more importantly, it is who I am, who I have grown to be.  I no longer look to change my name to match an image of myself because I am now comfortable with who I am.  It is entirely appropriate that I married a man named David, and probably even more appropriate that we chose to give our children less usual names.   Once Dave commented how funny it looked on the return address stamp with our four names lined up.  He says you can see the frustration of two parents with common names in the names we chose for our children.

But as I was saying, my mom should not have been surprised when I told her the name I'd picked for my first son, and her initial immediate response "That's a dog name" (no, not Rex, Spot or Lassie) only goes to show that my choice of names may not fit for everyone.  But it fits for me and more importantly my sons.  They are both very proud of their names.  At least until they enter their own years of teenage turmoil and wish to be called Steve or Michael.

Observations of a mother of boys

As the mother of two boy, I have at times struggled to understand what makes them go. After years of observation, there seem to be a few guiding principles of young boys. I have listed them below. As near as I can tell, these few ideas rule my sons' lives.

Principles for young boys:
1. If there is something big, climb it.
2. If you have climbed something big, jump off of it
3. Have something heavy? Throw it.
4. Something on the ground? stomp on it.
5. It is generally fun to spit.
6. If is generally funny to burp.
7. All farts must be commented on.
8. Something on the ground too big to be stomped on? Kick it.
9. Any object that resembles a ball must be thrown.
10. Any object resembling a bat must be used to whack at things.
11. Any slightly elevated surface must be scaled.
12. Any wobbly surface is there to test your balance.
13. If mom says "don't touch that" you should sneak in one quick touch while you think she isn't looking.
14. If mom says "don't do that" you should try to get as close to doing that forbidden thing as possible while watching mom to know exactly where the line is.
15. Anything that writes on paper needs to be tested on skin, preferably your face.
16. If something looks wet, or full of water, put your hand in it.
17. If you are going someplace it is best to run as fast as you can.
18. Any whiplike object must be slung around dangerously.
19. Anything that makes your parents laugh must be done several more times for good measure.
20. Any toy your brother is enjoying must be confiscated immediately.
21. If it is worth saying, it is worth saying LOUDLY.
22. Putting the toys into the toy box is only a required step to immediately taking them all out again.
23. If you get in trouble, a sweet smile and big hug can usually get you out of it.

Maybe they ARE out to get me!

At times I become convinced that the boys are conspiring to do away with me. Sometimes it has to do with the special placement of toys, right in my path from the bedroom to the bathroom, just waiting to wreck my feet on my nightly trip to the toilet. Other times it is the quick maneuvering of a nearly 4 year old, right into my path as I struggle to carry a heavy object (or his baby brother) that sends me sprawling. And sometimes, more recently, it has been the attempt to scare the life out of me by performing death defying acts just out of my reach.

In the past week or so, the boys have created all kinds of new "games" involving jumping, climbing and pulling each other all over the place. The current favorite is climbing onto the arm of the couch, standing on the narrow platform with arms raised like a gymnast then flinging their small bodies down onto the cushions wildly rolling off the couch onto a pile of pillows on the floor. Each time they start, my heart skips a little and I nearly hold my breath until they stand up and shout "TA DA!". And this activity is endorsed by their loving father. He helps to spot them, while calling to me "Oh man, you have to see this!"

Another favorite is the wild leaping on the bed, tossing themselves from the foot of the bed to the mound of pillows at the head. I was unaware of this game until this weekend when my mother was sitting for me. Big Dog had her convinced that I knew all about it and even gave my approval! To my surprise, his father had signed off on this game! (secretly I think he may be in on the plotting of my demise, he knows how this type of activity rattles my delicate sensibilities) What his father didn't know was that Django had modified the game slightly to include a mid-air twist, an acrobatic summersalt that ended up leaving him with a banged up bum when he underestimated his velocity and smacked into the wall!

More troubling than the supervised antics of Big Dog, are the overestimations of skill by Little Dog. Now, I will give him some credit. He is very coordinated for his age, he has a strong sense of balance and the ability to brush off his falls, which is great since he apparently was born WITHOUT FEAR or even a sense of survival! He thinks he is a master of the stairs and insists on making many unaided trips up and down. When he slipped and fell a few steps, I thought he'd have a bit more caution, but instead he decided it was fun and spent the next 10 minutes trying to intentionally fall down a few more steps!

I'm sure at some point they will either do me in or toughen me up, but I fully expect that between the two of them, I will get to know the ER doctors very well in the next few years. Too bad they tend to look less like Dr. McDreamy and more like Dr. McI'mVerySleepy. Sigh.