The inner Samantha in all of us

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Kid-free weekend

For the first time in 3 1/2 years, we just don't know what to do with ourselves.

My folks are in town all summer and they decided (and we agreed) to take Hannah and Luke with them to visit my uncle in OC.    All weekend.

Now, we've taken overnight dates and weekends before.  But they were away vs. here.  At home.    And what a novel concept - a weekend away at home.  Who knew it could be so nice?

So after work yesterday,  Dave and I met for Happy Hour and dinner.   Straight from work.   Like we used to do.  

And for the first time, we didn't feel pressure to come home and see the kids before they went down for the night.  Because they weren't home.  And we felt guilt-free because we knew my parents were with them and we were comforted that they were in good hands, having a grand old time without us.

And then we came home.  He watched a movie on TV.   I leisurely surfed the internet...bought iTunes, read the news, skimmed the Hollywood gossip sites, caught up on e-mail.  All before 9pm.  Then we reconvened and sat in our living room and sipped wine and watched Friday night programming.  

Uninterrupted.  Relaxed.

A rare bliss at home.

No running around to make dinner for them and for ourselves. 

No drawing straws to see who got to bathe them.

No fighting with them to stay in bed after lights-out.

No wistful looks exchanged between Dave and I at the end of the night because of the realization that we'd have only 1/2 hour of alone-time together before collapsing into bed after a long week at work.

Just a quiet evening at home.  Like the old days.   With seemingly all the time in the world to ourselves.  

This morning, we slept in until almost 8:00am.  

Then we went for a run in the trails behind our neighborhood, together.    

After making a big breakfast in our kitchen, we leisurely sipped our coffee and we wondered and speculated on what to do today.  

Perhaps that art festival in La Jolla?  

Or a little shopping at Fashion Valley?  

Or a hike in Torrey Pines?

No naptime considerations to time-box our day's agenda.

No scurrying around before leaving the house to make sure the kids have all their snacks and gear before running off to our kid-friendly schedule of Saturday activities.

No coordination of who will be with which child and when, so we can run errands and get in precious-few "me" moments during the weekend.  

We felt a rare peace.  

Yet we also felt eerily empty.

And tomorrow morning, they will return.  And sounds of  their laughter and giggles and fighting will again fill the house.  

We will again return to our seemingly chaotic weekend schedule and enjoy the rest of Sunday together in a kid-friendly manner  -  a birthday party at the park, a playdate, dinner at Pat & Oscars.

And for as much as Dave and I have longed to have the extra time together the last 3 1/2 years, we realize that we just can't stay away from them.

Bunko is the new Bridge

I have a pastime once a month and it is one of the few non-family, non-husband related extracurricular activities that I actually look forward to doing.

Bunko.

It's what bridge and mahjong used to be for my mom when I was growing up in the 70's - a time for busy moms to get together away from their husbands, the kids...reality, time to not have to think and take care of someone else, and time to just be YOU and be girly again.

But girly with a twist - a motherly, I-have-responsibilities-and-am-getting-a-hall-pass-just-for-tonight twist.

For many women, it's their one big getaway for the month. For me, it provides an outlet to rediscover my former self -- my pre-marriage, pre-babies self. It takes me back to the old days when I was single and had all the time in the world to spend with girlfriends having the typical, estrogen-filled discussions over the same tried but true topics:
Men.
Relationships.
Careers.
The glass ceiling.
Sex.
Shopping.
The latest collection of Tom Ford shades at Bloomingdale's.

And today, years (and weddings, and several pregnancies) later, it's a different group of ladies but we women still discuss the same topics, but with a new, slightly different filter.  (Add kids to the topic list!)

Rather than talking about THE ONE and what type of weddings we'd plan, we now talk about the importance of date nights and maintaining some semblance of a romantic relationship with our spouses.

Rather than trying to figure out men and the meaning of their every move like we did before, we recognize and accept that our husbands are pretty transparent -- what you see is what you get -- and we compare stories and learn that we are not the only ones who have to deal with not-involved-enough partners or too-involved-partners or semi-anti-social-partners (I'm not saying that Dave is any one of these people, by the way).

Rather than discuss our male hook-up escapades and compare tactics, we still talk about tactics, and we discover and learn new ways to make things more um,  interesting with our spouses in the bedroom when our everyday existence becomes mundane.  And sex becomes an event reserved only for adding to our brood (think: Bunko Challenge...ask me if you are ever interested.)

Rather than talking about graduate schools and the GMATs or GREs to advance our knowledge,
we still debate the merits of school - preschool, that is - comparing one over the other, and we list the benefits and drawbacks of private vs. public school education. Our knowledge swap consists of parenting tips and tactics. From potty training tips for #2. To redirecting power-addicted 3-year olds. To tips for raising our little girls into strong women. To coping with sleep deprivation. To handling our toddlers when when another one is on the way.

Rather than talking about that great deal on a new pair of designer jeans we got at Loehmann's, we ... oh we still do that.

And rather than talking about that next promotion or career step and making more money, we now talk about our work as "jobs", whether they are in the home, outside the home, or whatever or wherever each individual life calling takes us. We swap ideas and inquisitively discuss how to morph our "jobs" into passions that can help us do a better job balancing family life and the need to do something just for ourselves.

And we wonder and look in awe at the women around us and we ask ourselves how they manage to do it. And we feel better because we know we are not alone, and we have a wonderful network of women who can support us just because they listen, and understand.

(All of this while we role the dice and sip Merlot.)

Overextended

I royally messed up the planning of my twins' end-of-preschool-year class party this weekend.

Why?

Because I'm overextended, and as a result I was disorganized.
And I have so much going on right now that I don't know my head from my ass.

Dave reminded me that this screw-up is a sign I am taking on too much right now. Between the demanding nature of my job, being a mom, taking a parenting class, training for a half marathon, extra-curriculars and non-profit work, our busy summer social calendar, preschool class party-planning, and oh yes, blogging, way too much. Oy. With all of this juggling, I was bound to mess something up at some point.

And the sad thing is that I had planned this way in advance.

I put the sign-up sheet for potluck and RSVP on the parent's board up um, a month ago.

And I had carefully planned the potluck sign-up menu so that we had a good balance of the food pyramid for both preschoolers (protein, bread products, fruit, veggies, dairy and juice boxes) and parents (same food as preschoolers + beer).

Then I took down the sign-up sheet so I could create another fun poster on the board to remind the parents of the party. I was feeling oh, so momsy and involved and proud that I could be such the pre-school party planner given my full plate.
I really felt like I could do it all, dammit.

And then, in my state of busy-ness and chaos last week, I lost the damn sign-up sheet.
But all was not lost - I asked their teachers to put up a reminder sign. Problem solved (or so I thought).

It gets worse. I guess on the original sign up sheet (that no one seemed to have a copy of, except the one I lost), I wrote down the right day (Saturday), but the wrong date (Sunday's date). And of course, the teachers wrote down the wrong date on the reminder, my wrong date, but the right one as far as they were concerned.

So guess who got to call every one of the parents today tell them about the screw-up, my screw-up with the dates? Yup, me.

The good news is that I caught about 2/3 of the class and told them about the date of the party, and that most of them can come.

Oy.

What's your thing?

Most women have a thing.  

For some, it's shoes.

For others, it's purses.  

For me, it's sunglasses (and purses, but that's another post). 

And my latest coveted prize is Tom Ford's Raquel. 

I once read somewhere that a famous, fashionista first lady by the name of Jackie O had a big basket near her front door where she would put all of her fabulous designer glasses and choose one that suited her mood for the day.

Feeling luxe? Wear the Chanels.

Feeling fierce? Slip on the Dolce & Gabbanas.

Feeling some drama?  Wear the Guccis.

Feeling sporty? Put on those Oakleys.

Feeling a little Hollywood? Don those Diors.

Feeling inconspicuously classic? Wear the Tom Fords.  

I have about 4 pairs of sunglasses worth wearing, but I just have to have this one.  

Sunglasses are the perfect accessory.  Why?  Because you could be all junked out and casual in your track suit or old jeans & T and, because you are wearing fabulous glasses, you feel fabulous.   (Fabulous sunglasses have the same effect as fabulous jeans, by the way.)

Jackie O was a smart, smart lady.

Parenting lessons and the Woods (as in, Tiger) Family Playbook

I *heart* Tiger.

Best. Athlete. Ever. Period.

And the best role model I've ever seen on mental toughness and internal drive to be the best he can be. For nobody else but himself.

WOW.

So what does this have to do with augmenting our parenting skill-set?

Well, we're taking a page out of the Earl Woods playbook. Earl Woods. You know, the father who raised, mentored and trained the greatest and most mentally tough golfer, the greatest athlete, to walk the face of this planet?

Many criticize and say that Earl was hard on Tiger and pushed him into the sport. But talk to Earl and he claims it was all coming from his little boy.

Have you seen the new Nike commercial (called "Never") where they show old clips of young Tiger in his early beginnings of greatness with the voiceover of his late father?

"You don't really instill anything in a child. You encourage the development of it. "

Those are the first few words uttered by the late Earl Woods in the 60 second commercial.

Dave and I are taking a fantastic parenting class right now called Redirecting Children's Behavior. Last week's session was on praise vs. encouragement. And boy, did we learn that we were doing a few things, um, wrong.

Basically,
Praise = bad. (Well, not bad, really but not sustainable for the long term.)
Encouragement = preferred method.

Praise = External focus that often results in kids wanting to please mommy or daddy or other people besides him or herself. Such common culprits are "I'm so proud of you, Hannah" or "Wow, what a great job you did, Luke."

And what parent hasn't said that to her child? You read every parenting book and magazine and listen to every child psychologist who tells you that praising your child helps build him or her build self esteem. But the difference is that you are focused on how you feel as a parent about the child vs. how the child feels about their task or accomplishment. And it makes sense, it's an innate, human need to feel wanted and be recognized.

Encouragement = internally focused on the child and the child's feelings and his or her process of getting to the desired outcome.

Encouragement results in the child feeling and articulating how she feels about what she accomplished vs. having you the parent bestow your feelings and pride upon the child. This results in the child wanting to do this because it makes the child feel good, or it makes the child feel like she worked hard...vs. mommy being happy and proud about the task.

So what does encouragement look like?

Hannah was practicing writing her letters the other day and when she finished, she proudly showed me her paper with her crayon scribbled alphabet.

Me: Wow, Hannah, you wrote all your letters? How does that make you feel?

Hannah: (Expecting a praise statement from me and not getting it. Pause. Pause. Pause. Then all of a sudden...) Happy! It makes me feel happy. I wrote my letters! I did it myself.

Me: It's a nice feeling to work hard and get good results, huh?

Hannah: Yes, it makes me feel good.

Me: So, what did you learn?

Hannah: (Pause. Pause. Pause. Looks curiously at me since I've probably never asked her this question before because I typically praised her before I could ask her how she felt about the task...if I even did that!)
Well, I learned that if I keep trying, I will do good.


And with that, I learned and practiced a new parenting tactic, and hopefully Hannah learned a life lesson. It's not about trying to get praise and then stopping if you are not getting attention or not succeeding. It's about focusing on learnings and the process. It's about enabling them to recognize and find their own strength. And it's about giving them the tools to dig deep within themselves to cope and manage through issues and capitalize on opportunities.

Just like Tiger.

Encouragement vs. Praise.

BIG difference between the two. And probably a BIG difference in outcomes and self-esteem later on.

Who knows, really. But we won't know unless we try.

Part 2 of the Luke & Hannah Chronicles (more from Year 1)

More baby photos of our not-so-babylike-anymore babies.  

My, how fast they grow.

Photos! (Finally....) Year 1 (0-6 months)

I started blogging again to document Hannah and Luke...me...Dave...US.  But since I have re-started my blogging endeavors, I have yet to actually do a retrospective and chronicle the last few years together (as my Catholic guilt sweeps over me...seriously).

So here goes...and it all starts here.

And hot dayummm!

Why is it so darn hard to post photos as a WYSIWYG?

I guess I'll start another post with more photos then...

Chapter 2, more from Year 1 is forthcoming.

How much is too much?

Last week I signed up for this half marathon.  

To top it off, I signed up with about 5 of my co-workers, one of whom is a regular running partner.   So now this means I'm totally committed.  No backing out now.  

It's my second half race this year, after the Carlsbad race I did in January.

All of this said,  I must admit -- a small part of me is disappointed in myself for not doing the La Jolla Half in April.  I would have had a cool medal come August and bragging rights of having run the Triple Crown.  Of course, damn work got in the way.  And other more important priorities, like spending time with the twins and Dave.

But how much else can I do with everything I have going on?!  I guess I need to set limits for myself too or I'll probably make myself insane.

True Religions...Move over

I have a new favorite pair of jeans.  

Yes, the Hudson flap pocket jean, boot-cut stretch in Marcy Wash.

Wearing Hudsons is like wearing sweats (no joke) but WAAAY cuter and oh, so, un-momsy like.   Top this with a pair of wedge sandals and a cute pastel blouse and  voila!   Instant chic, AND they make you feel like a million bucks.  

And every mom wants to feel like a million bucks.

This little incident also helped put this lovely denim on top of my designer jean fetish list:

When I wore my Hudson's to work for the first time the other week, within 10 minutes of being there right after grabbing my morning coffee,  the most discriminating of fashionistas in my office commented on how skinny I looked (this, after my Spanx post  -- just so we all know I need help).   I knew it was the jeans immediately.  

(Oh, and flattery helps, too)

Hudsons, where have you been hiding all these years??

And why did I wait so long to buy you?!

Broccoli

Last Monday night, Dave and I went to our parenting class (which is a totally different post alltogether) so we had Alejandra, our old nanny of two years, watch the kids. When we came back that night, Alejandra told me that Luke ate a whole plate of broccoli for dinner, among other things.

My jaw dropped.

Now let me tell you something about Luke. Like many toddlers and preschoolers (or kids for that matter!) Luke is a carbo-loader by nature. If it's got any form of carbohydrates (especially bread product) in it, he will eat it. He has a natural aversion to anything that does not take a bread-like form. (Although he does like chicken and fish too, thank goodness). But if it's veggies or even remotely non-grain-like in texture, he won't even try it. Even if I entice him with a treat afterward, he shakes his head vigorously. Veggies = "No can do mommy."

So imagine my surprise when I heard that he had a whole plate of broccoli...from someone other than his mommy no less. What gives?!

Once I got over the fact that he agreed to eat veggies from someone other than me or Dave, (after months, years of trying to feed him such nutrients), I thought I would check it out myself.

Sure enough, twice this past week he ate broccoli. And gladly, I gave him his two mini oatmeal cookies as a dessert treat.

Alejandra is coming over again tonight to watch the kids. I think I'll ask her to try spinach and carrots.

The $72 Tummy Tuck

Spanx is my new best friend. 

And it's the perfect solution for my 3 1/2 year old twin tummy (read: muffin top) that I will never get rid of (without surgical help, obviously).  How did I not pick one up sooner?!

I know that they've been around and popular for some time now, especially thanks to Oprah's well-documented adoration of them.  And who doesn't listen to Oprah?

Apparently me.

A few weeks ago while at Nordstrom's Half Yearly Sale, I decided to give them a shot at the urging of my mom who with me.  After trying on lots of cute summer clothes and nearly 30 swim suits,  I was (not surprisingly) semi-depressed.  

Mom: I don't understand how you can sit here and try on clothes, shop for nice things, and not get the most basic of basics.

Me: I have bras and underwear, mom.

Mom: Do you watch Oprah?

Me: No.  I'm at work.  And plus, our Tivo is filled with WordWorld and SuperWhy.

Mom:   Geesh, Clarissa.  Spanx.  Don't you read US Magazine?!  All the stars wear them.  All that skinniness is not real.  They get help.  And so can you.

Me: But mom, isn't a girdle?  I don't wear girdles.

Mom: (exasperated) Ackkk.  Here.  Just try them on and see.  (as she hands me some Spanx and ushers me away)

So off I went, into the Nordstrom dressing room with my size Small pair of Slim Cognito Spanx.

And all I could say was WOW.  Just like that, my body was transformed back to my pre-baby figure.  

It's been a few weeks now and I can still say that I'm happy with it.  It truly is one of those rare life-changing products.  Spanx certainly lives up to the hype.   

And true to form, I do find that since I've been wearing my Spanx, I stand straighter, I walk taller, and I fit back into my old skinny jeans without seeing the muffin top.

Hey, if Gwyneth and Jessica Alba can wear a girdle, so can I.  

And I'm proud of it.

Stopping to smell the roses while running a (half) marathon

Life these days as a mom feels like I'm running a marathon. I trained, I conditioned, I prepared for what I thought it would be like but I never knew how I was quite going to deal until I was actually doing it. And sometimes race day is a good running day, sometimes notsomuch. But I keep going, because I have to. I'm committed and don't want to let my support system down. More importantly, I don't want to let myself down.

And sometimes I feel defeated because I have to stop because I've lost my breath, or I begin to cramp. And it's necessary to rest myself just so I can finish. Even though I am disappointed when I have to pause, I rationalize it because I know it's required so I don't hurt

even more later. And I wonder what I am missing, who I am not passing as a result of my short hiatus.

With each mile marker and water station, I take a breath, and for a split second, I appreciate the small accomplishment I've achieved. And then I realize that I still have a long road ahead. And while at the mile markers, instead of feeling like I'm truly doing my best (as I thought I would do when I was in training), I just try to make it to the next one, and the next one, and the next one. So off I go, continuing to trudge along without enjoying the scenery and my beautiful surroundings -- always anticipating what the next mile has in store for me as opposed to enjoying the NOW.

My parenting class instructor, Susie Walton, recently said, "Never in the history of our lives will anyone live more in the NOW than your 3 year old children."

It's so true. I watch what they do and it's so obvious they are on no timeline or agenda. They just ARE and they just DO, whatever and whenever they want. Whether it's assuming another 5 minutes of playtime when I called "time!" 5 minutes ago, creating an unsupervised opportunity with their water faucet (and making their room a small water park for a day), or getting into a stray jar of vaseline and pretending that it's shampoo -- they live in the NOW with little regard for consequences.

Now I'm not advocating acting irresponsibly with them or living in the moment every time we're spending time together. But admittedly, I do feel guilty (see the running theme here?) because I rush them through so much every day. I rush them in the morning when I get them ready for preschool and I throw myself together for work. I rush them to our weekend outings, even if it's to go to an unscheduled event like the library or the park. And I plan their schedules for after-school, for summer, for the rest of the next 15 years, it seems. What a disconnect it is for them and for me. But it makes sense because it's consistent with my marathon mentality of moving along, briefly celebrating small successes, but pacing for the long haul.

There's a lesson to be learned from their NOW attitude. And I better take heed. Because before I know it, they'll be rushing too.

Bribery and The Poopy Cake

Ah, the art and science of the #2.  Yes, that #2.  

The science of it all is quite simple, really - from the ever-popular words of Taro Gomi's beloved potty-training book Everyone Poops, "All living things eat, so...everyone poops."

But it's the art that's more interesting.  Especially for Hannah, my 3 1/2 year old who has still not mastered the art of the poop.

In fact, she claims that she is afraid of it.  Why?  I have no clue.

After almost a year of being potty trained, she still won't do it.  Even with all of Luke's gloating when he takes his daily dump, her typical competitive spirit won't budge when it comes to poop.

I saw my cousin in the Bay Area recently and vented to her about my potty training issues with Hannah.  

"Oh, you've got it all wrong."

"What do you mean?"

"Incentives, Clarissa.  Try this."  (gesturing to a piece of colored construction paper posted on her son's bathroom wall with a hand-drawn cake with candles and scribbled-in stars atop a few of the candles)

"What's this?"

"A poopy cake.  Every time she poops, put a star on one of the candles of the cake.  After 10 stars, tell her you'll take her to Target where she can pick out a small toy.  Once I did this, he was pooping like, 2 times a day!" 

"Really?  Isn't this just a form of bribery?"

"Yes, but it works.  Try it.  I guarantee you'll get results."

I obviously haven't caught on to the practice of bribery.  And this obviously is not a new idea. But better late than never. 

So I ended up creating this.

As I write this post, I am interrupted ironically, by Luke, who claims needing help with the potty.

(10 minutes pass)

I just drew another star on Luke's poopy cake and defeatedly, I just threw another dirty, poopy pull-up of Hannah's who held her bowels all day to wait for that extra cushion.

Oy vey.

  

Channeling Charlanda (Charlotte & Miranda)

Like most women in America these days, I will be attending a Sex and the City happy hour and theater viewing with about 20 fun women this weekend. Many of these women are very similar to me...30-something, mostly work-outside-the-home moms, living in San Diego suburbia, trying to balance it all, and also trying to retain a sense of their former selves.

We're supposed to dress like the SATC character most like us.

So that got me thinking.

And I think I'll dress up like Charlanda.

(That would be the Charlotte York and Miranda Hobbes hybrid.)

As I recall from SATC, Charlotte was the feminine and proper, Park Avenue-bred, liberal-arts major from an Ivy who was almost Bree-like (from Desperate Housewives) in terms of her domain expertise on all things Miss Manners and etiquette and planning. But she also had a little crazy streak in her, while still putting on an innocent and proper facade. Charlotte was idealistic and believed in true love. And like many women, she had a crystal-clear vision for herself in terms of who should thought she would be - and that was to be married and to have kids. But the reality didn't always meet the fantasy, yet she was always the optimist.

Then there was Miranda. She was the tough, straight-shooting, down-to-earth, cynical attorney
who was self-assured and proud of her achievements, yet still vulnerable enough that it showed in her self-deprecating humor. She raised the bar for herself continually, be it in her professional or personal life. And ironically enough, she ended up marrying her unlikely match - a guy who did not totally equal her in terms of ambition and focus, but who was her strength and support. Oh, and she's also a mom trying to balance her career with the trials and tribulations of parenting a toddler.

Then of course there's Carrie and Samantha. Both so NOT me. (Although, I am an aspiring Carrie in terms of style-sense...but who isn't?!)

So what does a Charlanda look like?

I'll let you know what I come up with for my get-up this weekend.

(Thanks to my hubby for yet another hall pass this week! I love you, honey.)

Designer bag = piece of art? Or is this my crazed form of justitication?

A few months ago, we received a small windfall into our bank account. Since then, Dave and I have been plotting on how to spend, oops I meant, save it.

So, we have our short list of expenditures/savings buckets we've discussed:

• spring/summer wardrobe refresh for Clarissa (check)
• Clarissa's shoe collection refresh (check)
• crown moulding in great room and master (check)
• Hannah and Luke's 529 accounts for college (check)
• Big overseas trip in 2009 (jury is still out. ask us about our 2007 fall trip to Europe with the twins)
• New 3 row seat hybrid SUV in 2009 (still under consideration)
  
• integrated audio/stereo system for the house (ummm, and what's the benefit of this??...still not sure about this one.)
• other random nice-to-have house enhancement knickknacks like new barstools, drapery on the main windows, etc. (check)

And then there's the hidden item.

And only a few of my friends know about it. It's the one I'm most excited about but also the most ashamed of. It's this.

Yes, the Pelham from the House of Gucci, at a whopping price tag of $1330.

And this doesn't include tax. Nor does it include the $8 of gas I will probably consume just to drive to Fashion Valley Mall to purchase it. And it's not even all leather. It's the classic Gucci canvas with leather straps (but not just any set of leather straps, according to the Gucci sales guy).

I have been coveting, oops I meant admiring this purse for some time now.
And it's within my reach if I just don't let my own perceived overindulgence and my designer purse and sunglasses addiction get to me.

Actually, never mind about my adoration of beautiful purses and sunglasses. Again, it's my Catholic guilt sweeping over me. How could I spend that amount of money when it's about 2/3 the amount of the twins' monthly preschool tuition?! Or when it's the amount that some folks in mid-America pay for a mortgage payment?! Maybe I feel guilty because the rest of the family can't enjoy it like they do with some of our other big ticket splurges like vacations. Or pieces of art. Or furniture.

Only I will reap the rewards of the Pelham.

Call me practical. It's not that we can't afford it. It's just that it feels just so...wasteful... indulgent...irresponsible. Especially when I think about what I could put that money towards in terms of the kids - their 529s, for example. Not that this amount will make a dent with the growing inflation of college tuitions. But when taking into consideration the compounded interest over a couple of years, hey - it's like $10K, which by 2022 (when the kids are college freshmen), can buy maybe food for a semester assuming the same rates of inflation. Who knows?!

My girlfriends remind me that I need to treat myself because I deserve it. And yes, I've worked hard at home and at work. They also remind me that this is my thing and the occasional luxury splurge is OK.

But still, I feel guilty for entertaining the thought.

One of my work colleagues (and friends) once told me that buying designer purses is like buying a piece of art. Like fine art, fine purses only grow in value over time. (This is the same woman who has Manolos and Fendi shoes out the wazoo). Of course, you display fine art, and alternatively, you wear purses and then eventually put them in their dust bag in the closet along with the other countless purses you've collected and swore "I just have to have this."

(Clarissa is still obsessing over the purse and has not taken action. She anticipates that she will continue to think about the purse all summer and spend at least that amount on useless other accoutrements. She will justify the lack-of -designer-purse-transaction by attempting to enjoy all of the accoutrements she was able to purchase as a result. And then she will end up regretting that she just didn't go ahead and buy that damn purse. But also by then, she'll be obsessing over the Fall collection.)

Future Blue Devil

We went to an ACC alumni event this weekend in San Diego.  For you non-east coasters, that's the athletically powerful Atlantic Coast Conference.  There were all kinds of ACCers represented - the Cavaliers, the Demon Deacons, and even those rascal Tar Heels (they had, by far, the biggest showing).  I must admit, however, that I was quite disappointed in the Blue Devil faithful.  Perhaps there aren't a lot of us Dukies in San Diego County or are we just apathetic?

And we ate good old BBQ, flown all the way from the South. A traditional pig-pickin' as the southerners call it.   Just like I remember it.   And dayum, was it GOOD!  

So, during the course of the day in talking up the event to Hannah and Luke, there were more mentions of Duke to them than they've probably ever heard me utter in their entire 3 1/2 years.  

"What's Duke, mommy?"

"It was my school, a long, long time ago"

"Did you make art?"

"Yes, and other things too."

"Is it a boarding school?"

"It's kind of like a boarding school, but not really."

"Were there trolls there, mommy?" (Background: kids watched the first Harry Potter movie months ago and now they think that all "boarding schools" have trolls and three-headed dogs.  BAD idea.)

"Do gargoyles count?" (I said this thinking of the stone gargoyles that happily decorated the corners of some of the quadrangles on Duke's West Campus.)

"Huh???  What's a g-g-...  Well, mommy, are there castles there?"

"Castles? Um, yes, Hannah."  (thinking of the Duke Chapel at the center of campus)

"Oooh, just like Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty."

"Yes, Hannah.  Just like Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty and the other princesses."

"When I grow up, I want to go to Duke."

And just like that, I have an aspiring Blue Devil.  

My grand master plan is working.  Hehehehe.  Much to Dave's chagrin.

Got any ideas for how to work on Luke?

Maybe this time I'll succeed...

This is at least my 5th time starting a blog. And I gave up on each one because life gets in the way. My twin preschoolers, my career, my husband, my involvement with extracurriculars, my girlfriend-time, my me-time...   My crazy, chaotic, full life.  Just like I always planned it.  

And like any good Catholic, I feel guilty.  Guilty because after 3.5 years of the kids' existence, there are no baby books chronicling their every milestone, no journals, no Flickr sites with their photos plastered all over the pages.  Just a computer with thousands of unorganized, digitized images, a Facebook account with a few scattered photo albums and their occasional photo as my image profile, and the beginnings of a scrapbook I pulled together when I was pregnant.  And I only got through scrapbooking my 6th month of pregnancy in my scrapbook.  That was almost 4 years ago.  Because life got in the way.

But then I realized, this IS my life and I want to remember it.  I need to remember it. And I want my kids to know who their mom is.  And I don't want them to be in their teens asking me what it was like when they were babies.  Or what I was like when they were babies.  What better way to experience it than to read about our life together as a family and my experience in raising them during this wonderful, insane time in our lives?!  And maybe they will even like me - not as their mom, but as a person.

So I vow to Hannah and Luke that this blog is my love letter to you.  This is your mom at 36 years old - warts and all.