I'm here!

And by here I mean

HERE.

That is our awesome new house (which I finally got around to taking a picture of a few weeks ago), or "white house" as Cole calls it. I think "nuthouse" is more appropriate. The past few months have been ridiculous. Dan has continued to be out of town 3 nights a week (apparently that has come to an end, though he IS out of town as I'm typing this, so we'll see...). And we took the boys out of the crap ghetto daycare and hired them a full-time nanny, Margo, so they've been home 24-7 which has been an adjustment. And I'm still working full-time nights, and the nightshifts seem to be getting busier and busier and busier. And... what else? I cannot even begin to sit and try to pinpoint where all the time has gone. All I know is that it has flown by. My life is incredibly rich but probably too fast-paced, and amidst all the running, running, running my babies are growing up and now Cole is already getting ready to turn 3!!

Since my last post,

We've had an impromptu weekend at Virginia beach

to celebrate summer's end(s).

We had a family trip to Ann Arbor, Michigan for a football game at "The Big House."

And of course we had all the usual October festivities like Halloween

with cute costumes

and candy.

Our little Pooh (Graham) just made himself at home at each house he visited. He walked right in to each and every foyer and tried to keep going like he lived there. At one house he shut the door behind him, leaving me on the front porch with my two kids inside!

The boys are doing great. Graham is talking now: He'll say "Again!" when he wants a book repeated, "Bubble Bath," "Dora" & "Boots," and he surprised me with "Paci" the other day. Of course he says "Mama" and something resembling "Dada" (but sounding more like "Nana") and lots of others, including some colors. His favorite word by far, though, is "DOGGY"! He is a HUGE animal lover and squeals with glee when he gets to play with our two corgis, Savin and Winston. He has learned to give the sweetest little kisses on command, too. He's our sweet baby!

Cole is a pistol. He is getting more and more independent and he wants to do everything "all by myself." He loves to do anything he sees Dan or I doing... even housework! About a month ago he got put in time-out for misbehaving and he was PISSED about it. When Dan went to check on him, Cole was standing in time-out with a pouty little stance and looked up at him defiantly and snapped "DOUCHE BAG!" at Dan. Like father, like son. Since then Dan has curtailed his language around our little imitator.

I'm going to try to do a better job blogging their day-to-day memorable moments because the things they do and say are priceless.

So, those are the whirlwind highlights of the past 3 months... presented at the only pace appropriate for this family -- really, really FAST. I will say one thing, though...

It's NEVER boring!

Saving that anatomy lesson for later.

"Mama, I got a boo-boo" is a very common phrase around here. Cole loves to point out every little scratch. We have a "bandaids for blood only" rule, or else he'd be covered from head to toe in them.

The other night Cole was running around naked while I was bathing Graham, and I heard it: "Mama, I got a boo-boo."

I looked up at him and he was standing there staring down at his bare chest. He had found his little nipple.

In an effort to keep him from being the only little pervert at daycare who points out his nipples on the changing table, I decided not to enlighten him and kept my mouth shut.

A few seconds later: "Mama, I got another boo-boo."

For now, as far as he is concerned, he'll always have a pair of "boo-boos" right above his belly.

Cole vs. The Crib

He did it. Cole got his little ass out of his crib. He's been getting INTO his crib by himself for a few weeks... by climbing up onto the nightstand next to the crib and then flinging himself over the side crib-railing. We knew we didn't have long until he figured out how to do it in reverse and got himself OUT.

This past Saturday morning Dan went to wake him up and he was in his room with the light on pulling his toys of his dresser. When I went to wake him up that afternoon, he was standing on the nightstand flicking his light on, having just escaped the crib, looking particularly proud. Since then, if he wakes up in the morning or after nap before we go in his room, he climbs out, turns on his light and starts playing by himself.

I was dreading this milestone for so long, fearing that we'd put him down at night and he'd get himself right back up, or that he'd wake up and open the door to his room and go roaming all over the house. So far it's not as bad as I feared.

The next step will be converting his crib to the toddler bed configuration (you can get an idea at the link). Then I will be REALLY impressed if he still stays in bed at night and doesn't come out of his room in the morning.

So far so good. Keep your fingers crossed!

"Don't talk to my son that way!"

Stupid f*#!ing new daycare.

A week ago today the boys started their new daycare by our new house. We chose the place with the not-as-nice physical facility but with the very convenient location and warm attitude and environment (at least that's what I thought when I toured it). It was an angst-filled decision, and an even more angst-filled transition.

It's been a rough week, which was to be expected, since we pulled them out of the place they'd known since they were each 2 months old. Yes, I expected them to cry when they were dropped off at a foreign environment, but I also expected someone to give a shit and pay attention to them!

If they ever cried at drop-off at the old daycare, they were cuddled and loved on until they forgot about Mama leaving. Not so at this new place: The first day I had to literally tell the teacher in Graham's room that she should pick him up and hold him until I was out the door.

Dan and I have been literally having to drag Cole in from the parking lot, and then once inside his class he claws at the door to get back out. (This from a child who would happily run right into school and start playing before.) Tuesday he came in screaming and upset and neither of his teachers even acknowledged him. It wasn't until he got about a foot away from the one teacher with his pathetic wailing that she casually said "Oh Hi Cole." I left and he was wandering around crying getting no attention. It took every ounce of restraint for me not to gather him up and curse them out and take him back home with me.

Today takes the cake, though. Today he did a little better and willingly went into the classroom and didn't cry until he saw I was leaving. I kissed him and left and then went back to the door to spy to see how he did. They got a chair for him and sat him at the table for art. All the kids were gathered around getting moons and stars with glue on them, but the bitch at the table was handing them out like it was an assembly line, not smiling, not talking to the kids, not teaching the kids.... just gluing white moons on the blue papers in front of them like she was miserable. Cole continued to cry and call for me from his chair. He had Terence the tractor with him and was clutching it looking generally pissed off. I think one time the teacher acknowledged him by saying "Mommy will be back for you," but no affection and no real re-assurance.

Finally she looked at him and threateningly snapped, "Do you want me to take your toy away?"

Cole just looked at her with his big sweet blue eyes, half-shocked / half-afraid and said "noooooo."

"Then CALM DOWN!" she snarled.

Then, she quickly jerked her head toward another little boy who wasn't sitting at the table but was over playing with some other toys. "And YOU GET OVER HERE!"

Nasty bitch.

Cole stopped crying, but he wasn't happy.

I went to the front desk where the director is, and I immediately voiced my concerns. The director did not share my level of concern. She gave me some "blah, blah, blah, we'll talk to her" kind of answer. At that instant nasty bitch herself came out of the classroom for some more glue and I took the opportunity to tell her, in a nut shell, that nobody talks to my son that way. When he is upset and trying to adjust to a new school he does not need to be threatened; he needs positive reinforcment and affection.

I looked at the director after my confrontation for some back up, and she didn't have too much to say. The assistant director said something along the lines of, "If we need to address some things to make you feel better, we will." Make ME feel better? Like I'm the one with the problem? PLEASE!

I went back and spied through the door on the boys one more time to make sure everything was kosher, then I stormed out, got in the car, broke down crying, and called Dan. When Dan got wind of what had happened he called the director and reamed her a new one. Good ol' Dan... I can always count on him to be "the enforcer" when someone messes with me or the boys.

After an hour working out at my new gym I was a little calmer and more composed and decided I'd check on the boys one more time before going home to go to sleep (since I work tonight. Trust me, if I weren't working all night and didn't need sleep right now, Cole would not still be there with Ms. Nasty Threats.)

I went back into daycare and the director just looked at me. I matter-of-factly told her, "I'm just stopping in to see how everything is going with them," and walked by towards their classrooms to spy on them again. I want everyone there to know that I am going to be dropping in and out keeping tabs on everything until we can find a better childcare alternative.

I spied some more, and both boys were on the playground. Ms. Nasty was telling all the kids to stop touching the "dirt", which really is playground mulch, composing the ENTIRE playground surface. Everytime a kid bent down to touch it they got "corrected." She was civil about it, but PLEASE... the mulch is everywhere. If you don't want them touching it, put down grass. Cole was filling a dump truck up with the mulch, and he was looking at her with his "guilty" face, like he was waiting to get yelled at. She didn't actually yell at him... maybe I got through to her. He had made his way to the slide by the time I left and seemed okay, but just not HAPPY.

What infuriated me even more though, was that after the scene this morning, when I stopped there the second time, the director didn't say one word to me. She let me walk in and out without addressing the big elephant in the room, which was me being back there because I was so worried about my babies.

Undoubtedly she thinks we're "difficult," and maybe she wants us to disenroll our kids. But we're no strangers to daycare, and we don't have unrealistic expectations... because the last school was able to take care of Cole and Graham in a way that met our expectations and we never had to be difficult. I'm going to keep being difficult until these people become competent.

Meanwhile, I think the time has come to consider a full time nanny. At least until they get into where I initially wanted them to go, The Cedarhouse School (where they've been on the wait list since February).

It almost makes me want to quit my job and take care of my kids myself.

"Gi-gi pick my pee-pee off!"

During our holiday weekend at my parent's house, I left Dan to bath both boys while I scurried around getting their pajamas out of the suitcase and the guestrooms set-up with the pack-n-plays. I came back into the bathroom to find both boys in the tub, and Dan laughing hysterically.

"What?" I demanded to know what was so funny.

"Look!" pointed Dan.

I looked down into the tub -- Cole was looking very pissed off, and Graham was very intently pulling on Cole's little wienie.

"Tell Mama what's the matter, Cole."

"GI-GI PICK MY PEE-PEE OFF!" he whined.

I had to laugh. "Pick it up? or Pick it OFF?"

"OFF!" He wailed. "GI-GI PULL MY PEE-PEE OFF!"

When Cole noticed that Dan and I were too busy laughing to take care of the situation, he took matter into his own hands. He turned to Graham and assumed a very authoritative tone and shook his pointer finger in Graham's face. "Graham Daniel Simons, NO-NO!" he scolded. Then he looked at Dan and I and shot us his proudest grin, pee-pee intact and all.

4th of July at Oma and Opa's

My family knows how to live it up!

Last week we had our long adventure-filled holiday weekend at Oma and Opa's. It's definitely the sign of a good trip when you get back and you've played so hard that you can't lift your arms without wincing. Hanging on for dear life to a tube going 20+mph behind Opa's boat might have something to do with it.

We had a lot of fun grown-up time on the boat in the afternoon while the kids napped. Not only did we ride the tube; We road the "Crotch Rocket!"

The kids went nonstop too: the slip n' slide,

the playground (and the tallest slide Cole's ever seen),

the pool, the boat, and Oma and Opa's deck. (Don't call child protective services! Those are EMPTY.)

The best part was having my whole family together. My sister and her husband (Auntie Nussy and Uncle Matt) were thoroughly amused by my wild little boys.

We were all exhausted by the end of the week!

I need a vacation to recover from my vacation... not to mention some serious dieting after all the excellent home-cooked meals. Graham agrees!

Top 10 Chief Complaints (minus 1)

Last night we had an especially "special" bunch of patients come through the ER. In a single shift I had the following chief complaints:
1. "My toe is swallowing."
2. "A spider crawled across my arm earlier today and I want to make sure it didn't bite me."
3. "I had sex with a hitch-hiker and need an STD test."
ALL IN ONE NIGHT!! I kid you not. I couldn't make this stuff up.

This rounds out a list of Top chief complaints that I've been accumulating -- all real patients from my ER:
4. "Feeling Overwhelmed"
5. "Buttock Laceration"
6. "There is stool in my vagina."
7. "Pregnant, Vaginal bleeding & Cramping. Fetus noted in bed pan."
8. "My Cooter Hurts so Bad."
9. "Every time I pee out my peterpecker my peterpecker hurts."

When I get the 10th one I'll let you know...
Stay tuned!

What's that smell?

Cole has begun to pay attention to his farts. He'll look at me and say "My butt say pffffttt!"

So, always trying to increase his vocabulary, I've started explaining to him, "Oh, you PASSED GAS."

The other night Dan forced out one of his huge, offensive Coke burps and Cole looked up and commented, "Dada pass gass out his mouth." So I thought the "pass gas" terminology was sticking.

Until the other day...

Cole and I were sitting in McDonald's having lunch together and I smelled shit eminating up from his crotch. There were people at the table next to us, and I figured it wouldn't be long until the stench wafted over to them, so I tried to be pro-active and address any diaper-changing needs before the smell was too widespread.

"Cole, did you poo-poo?"

"No, just pee-pee."

I leaned over and checked his diaper, and, lo and behold, it was clean. Noticing how perplexed I was, Cole explained, "I farted."

"What did you say?" I was horrified. This was not the vocab term I had hoped for. I didn't even know he knew what a fart was. What happened to "passing gas"?

"I FARTed," he said, loud enough for all the surrounding tables to hear.

Next time I'll just let the smell of shit waft up from his crotch and leave it at that.

Opa's Song

I think I've listend to University of Michigan's fight song, The Victors, about 100 times in the last few weeks. This is "Opa's song" to Cole, since Opa is a die-hard Michigan fan. Cole is learning it in preparation for his return to The Big House for Michigan vs. Penn State this fall. He will sit in the back of the car and yell "Opa's Song" over and over, as I play it ad nauseum from my ipod.

Sometimes he mixes it up and yells "Mama's song," at which point I play My Wish. Sometimes he yells "Dada's song," at which point I play Higher. But his favorite is "Opa's Song." Now he will yell "Hail! Hail!" both when it plays and sometimes randomly when the song is not even on. I think we might have a future Wolverine on our hands!

Moving Up, or Maybe Moving Out

Today when I dropped Graham off at day care, he went into the "First Steps" classroom. He's transitioning into that new room little by little, leaving the Infants room behind. He thinks it's great -- new toys, new teachers to check out... but I was all teary eyed when I left him there, because my baby is growing up.

The day care dilemma is a hard one. They are both still in the phenomenal Goddard School right by our old house, the one they've been in ever since they were each 6 weeks old. Not all Goddards are the same, but this one is award-winning and we've loved everything about it. In February when we put the contract on our new house, I began my tour of high-end day cares near in our new part of town. There are two other Goddard Schools near us, but neither of them are as good as the one they currently attend, which is now a 30 minute drive one-way. On my tour of the Goddard house right up the road I saw a number of warning signs: a teacher yelling at her class, an infant room teacher (who would have been Graham's) who was condescending to me beyond belief, one classroom where only one teacher was in the room when there were supposed to be two, art gone wild in another room - with no art smocks and purple paint consequently all over the back of this kid's light pink shirt, no windows low enough for little eyes to see out of, and no bathrooms in any of the rooms (kids have to leave the rooms to go poddy). The other Goddard was farther away and didn't really get me excited. I also toured a nearby PrimRose, but that was too, too rigid, i.e., "We pride ourselves on being an ACADEMIC center." Give me a break! They are babies! My FIRST choice is The Cedarhouse School, an independent place started by a mom who didn't feel like any day care was good enough for her kid. When you walk in the classrooms, you feel like you're in a pottery barn kids catalogue. And both kids and teachers are happy. It was like a little day care utopia. They have a big beautiful gym and bring in private companies to do their classes there, so you don't have to haul your kid around trying to get him the same experience. They do foreign language. They do it ALL! Problem is, there is a KILLER wait list and I don't know if and when I'll ever be able to find two baby spots.

So, I'm stuck with two kids in a great school that's 30 minutes from our new house and am spending too much of my life in the car. Yesterday I kept Graham home with me to have Mommy-and-me day, and by the time we dropped Cole off and then picked him up later on, Graham had been strapped in the car seat for two hours on a day that was supposed to be his fun day.

So I looked a little further and found this day care called Chesterbrook that is literally 4 minutes from us. And, even better, they have spots for BOTH boys right now. It was recommended by another doctor at work who had his kids there and LOVED it. I have incredibly high standards, because nothing is more important than my kids. I went and toured it and the physical facility fell short of my expectations (everything needs a new coat of paint), but I liked the attitude there and I liked what I saw happening in the classrooms. And I like that we'd have TWO LESS HOURS of travel time, and the boys would be right up the road from us if they got sick (which they often do). And... they are open earlier in the morning and later at night. AND... they provide all meals (breakfast, snacks, beverage and lunch), which would save me 3o-40 minutes of chopping, bagging, labelling food and packing up their breakfasts/lunches at night. Basically, I like it because it's convenient for me... which would translate into a better home life and more of it for them.

Dan is going to look at Chesterbrook tomorrow to give his opinion. It is such a dilemma. Do we want them close for better quality of life at home for all of us, or do we drive all over God's creation for maybe a few more amenities that they may not even notice? The other thing is that when they turn school age, all the other schools in question do not even provide buses to their elementary schools. But Chesterbrook will bus them to and from their elementary school when the time comes. I'm thinking maybe enroll the there while we wait for something to open up at The Cedarhouse. Then, if and when they get spots at The Cedarhouse we can re-evaluate (the drawback for Cedarhouse is that it is a good 15-20 minute drive, better than what we are doing now, but still not quite ideal.. and they won't be able to bus when they become school age).

I feel like a high-end day care connoisseur. I know what all the pros and cons are at each place but I still can't make up my mind because no place has it all and it comes down to what's more important. Anyone have any advice? It is such a difficult decision and has been more agonizing for me than deciding what house to buy and what job to choose. I'd love to hear any helpful insights!

32 and damn fine

We celebrated my birthday this past weekend. I can count on one hand the amount of times since I've been a mother that we've gotten a babysitter and have gone and had some grown-up fun. This is because we require so many babysitters just to allow Dan and I to work, with all of his travelling and all of my weird hours. It feels a bit frivolous to have a babysitter come not because we HAVE to but because we actually WANT to indulge ourselves a little.

So, we had our big night out with a our favorite local couple, the Thackstons. For a few glorious hours I was not a doc and not a mom but just some chic boozing it up a bit. We went to a new hotspot in town, Can-Can, for some French food, then we walked down Cary Street to Bev's for some hand-made icecream. Then we took the party back to our house so the babysitter could leave and we had some more drinks on the deck while the kids slept. My last two birthdays have not been particularly festive, so it felt GREAT to CELEBRATE!

I got exactly what I wanted for my present -- another "Cole & Graham" necklace. I got one for Christmas and I wear it everyday to keep my babies close to my heart. I asked for another one so I can mix up my colors a bit. Great gift for all the moms and grandmoms in your life, by the way!

Birthdays are AWESOME!

Stepping out, Speaking out

Stepping out.

Graham took his first unassisted steps last weekend. I thought his first two little steps on his own were from the chair to me, until Dan came down to the playroom shortly after and corrected me when I prouldy announced "Graham just took his first steps to me!"

"Oh... he took a step from the coffee table to me a few days ago."

You'd think MAYBE this might be something worth mentioning when it happened? Not until I tried to take credit for being the target of Graham's first steps did Dan claim that honor. That's okay, we'll give Dan that one, since overall Graham is a Mama's boy.

Then this weekend Graham REALLY got his confidence and has been taking 5 or 6 steps at a time. It won't be long until his little baby walker is retired!

Speaking out.

Cole is constantly being reprimanded and put in time-out for for hitting, kicking, and pushing down Gi-gi. But Graham LOVES Cole and continually goes back for more. The other day Cole was standing near where Graham was hanging onto the ottoman and Graham transferred right over to Cole and started hanging on him.

"No! Gi-gi!"

"Cole, what?"

Cole looked up at me and pointed at his little brother and tattled on him for the first ever time in the most pathetic little dramatic whine: "Gi-gi push me!"

And so it starts...

Happy 1st Birthday Graham!

Dear Graham,

My little angel, you turned 1 year old last week. A year ago when I was bringing you into the world, I had no idea what a precious, gentle, sweet little soul you would be. If I could spend all day every day sitting and cuddling you, I would, because there is nothing sweeter than your warm nuzzle on my shoulder.

Maybe it's because you are our second child, but you are such an easy baby. You go for days without crying. Instead of fussing when you don't get something, you'll hang back and patiently wait for us to meet your needs. I don't know where you get your patience, because neither Dada nor I are anywhere near this patient. And then when you finally get the attention you need, you light up in your big cheeky "I love you" grin and reward us with your million-watt smile. We all could learn a lesson from you about positive reinforcement. You are already a glass-half-full kind of person.

When things don’t go your way you are the most forgiving and easy-going little man. The other day Cole hauled off and hit you in both cheeks with BOTH hands simultaneously while you were bathing together. I was so busy disclipining Cole that I didn't fully appreciate how little attention you required after what was probably a traumatic event. When I got done yelling at Cole, Oma pointed out, "Man, he took that like a champ. Didn't even cry. Just kept doing what he was doing." Likewise, the other night while I was changing Cole's diaper, you managed to pinch your fingers in Cole's dresser drawer, and you actually DID cry for once. Of course, I had a finger-full of diaper creme and couldn't pick you up right that instant. By the time I threw Cole's diaper on and wiped my hand and could get to you, you had already comforted yourself and were done with the tears. It's like you're just thankful and happy for what you have and don't want to waste time bitching. May you always keep this rare and enviable outlook on life. I'm still no sure where you got it.

Even when you do fuss for longer than a few seconds it's so hard to get mad at you. Dada and I often comment that we don't mind hauling our asses out of bed at 4am on the now very rare nights that you don't sleep through the night, because even at that hour you are unusually sweet and just take your bottle and snuggle up to us then doze right back off. It's easy to tell when you are sick, because that's actually the only time you really, really cry.

Next to happy in the dictionary should be a picture of your face. Everyone comments about your smile, and you flash it often, as if you know it's your best asset. There is nothing more rewarding than getting on the floor and crawling over to where you are contently playing by yourself and giving you a big tickle or squeeze or kiss then hearing your HUGE squeal of glee and watching the joy just radiate out of your face.

Many things make you happy:

You love your walker, and soon you will be walking on your own. With the walker's help you are practically running. On your own, you will stand and balance on two feet with ease, but you are still hesitant about taking that first step. You want to so badly, I can tell, but aren't quite sure enough yet.

You love WATER.

If I don't hear you or see you, I go to the dog's water dish and usually find you tipping it over and gleefully playing in the puddle. For your birthday you got a water table and you've been having a grand old time splashing away in it on the porch.

You love exploring. While you are content and easy-going, you are NOT timid. You'll assert yourself and get into the middle of whatever is going on and then just be so pleased with yourself... Like when you crawl on over and sit your little butt right in the middle of the big picture book we're trying to read Cole at bedtime, or when you come into my room while I'm trying to get ready and help yourself to my make-up drawer and start sucking on my lipstick, or when you try to steal our beer,or when when you crawled into the middle of the sandbox while the bigger kids where playing.

And you love, above all, your mama. Definitely a mama’s boy, you always want to be nuzzled into my neck, and I love it. When I hold you and kiss your fat little face and stroke your soft whispy baby hair, it is instantly calming. It's like you radiate purity and peace.

I can't believe you are one now. Your first year has gone by so fast. You have blossomed before my eyes into this angel of a baby, and I am so lucky to call you my son. I know you are going to do great things.

Happy Birthday to my perfect little man.

I love you!

Love,

Mama

I eat Gi-gi arm.

I called home from work the other evening to check on the boys.

"Cole's in deep doo-doo," Dan reported.

"What did he do now?"

"As they were both waking up from their naps, I put Graham in Cole's crib with him and let them hang out together while I went and peed really quick in their bathroom. I was only gone for a few seconds when I heard Graham crying."

"Uh-oh. Why?"

"I went back and asked Cole what happened and he said 'I eat Gi-gi arm.' I looked and saw a big nasty bite on Graham's forearm. He even broke skin in one place. When Cole saw how upset Graham was, he started crying too. I had to give him a 'no-biting' talk."

When I got home from work, sure enough, there were three sets of Cole's teeth imprints up Graham's forearm, like a little snowman. The last one looked like it hurt -- with brusing and a scab.

Apparently, Graham is too sweet for his own good! What a trooper!

First Family Beach Trip

We had our first family beach trip this month, to Myrtle Beach, SC. It was incredible just to watch the boys frolic on the beach.

The second we arrived we were so excited to let the boys see the ocean that we piled out of the car and immediately ran out onto the beach fully clothed – no bathing suits, no towels, no cameras, NOTHING. I wish I had pictures. I’ll never forget it – the tide was low and the beach stretched forever. The late afternoon sun made everything glow, and the slight crisp chill in the salty air kept most other people off the beach, so we had it all to ourselves. It took about 2 minutes for the boys’ little matching polo shirts and khakis to be covered with sand . Cole was fearless. We rolled up his pant legs to mid-calf so he could wade in the surf with us. Silly us. Next thing we knew he was up to mid-thigh in freezing cold water, pants sopping wet, just laughing. And then next thing we knew the tide pulled at his feet and he tripped and fell into the shallow water, completely soaking himself and laughing hysterically the whole time. He is a maniac.

The next day we were more prepared – with matching bathing suits and camera charged and ready. I took a zillion pictures, ‘cause there’s nothing cuter than babies on the beach… especially MY babies. I’ve done a lot of things that I’m proud of in my life, but the pride I got as I watched Cole and Graham frolic and had people stop to watch them too and tell me how cute they are is a different kind of pride… not pride in anything I did or earned, but pride in the incredible gift I was given in each of my baby boys. Any idiot can be a parent, but every parent hopefully will see their children as the miraculous gifts they are. There was something about watching them run (and crawl) on the beach that made me feel so lucky to be their mama.

Even though it was a little chilly and windy, we managed to get the kids on the beach every day. They loved it.

Graham loved eating the sand, eating shells, eating seaweed. When his hands weren’t shoving something he wasn’t supposed to into his mouth, he was digging. He really loved digging holes and then splish-splashing in the mucky wet sand. Graham utimately got pissed at the surf because it kept hitting him with cold waves while he was trying to play. The first few times the waves got him he was okay, but once he realized how cold these surges of water were, he wanted to be no where near them and cried for me to carry him when we were down by the water.

The little man sure did work up an appetite. This trip marked the first time that Graham ate more than Cole at meals. He’d sit in the high chair for an eternity and eat second and third servings, then when Cole didn’t finish his food, he’d eat whatever was left on Cole’s plate. Can’t wait to see what percentile he falls into at his one year weigh-in!

Cole, always wanting to be like Mama and Dada, commandeered our beach shoes when we took them off, and did a surprisingly good job of walking in adult-sized flip-flops. So I bought him his very own first pair of toddler flip-flops. They are the most impractical purchase ever, because they don’t stay on his feet too well and he is continually giving me his trademark "I need heeelp" when he wants my assistance putting them back on. But he was so proud to wear them each time we walked to the beach that is was worth it.

The most endearing thing Cole did the whole trip was randomly and without solicitation start belting out "My Wish." I do sing this song to him sometimes, because it is the perfect parent-to-child song, and I guess he's been paying attention. One night while everyone was hanging out, Cole just sang out the first line, "My Wish...."

Dan and I weren't sure what we heard, and we looked at each other and looked at him, and then he belted out the second phrase, "For You...."

Then there was a pause and he started humming the rest of the melody. The song brings tears to my eyes as it is, but imagine hearing your little 2 year old sing it... now THAT's a tear jerker. I need to fire up the video camera and capture it, because it is priceless.

All-in-all it was a great trip. It’s amazing how different "vacations" are when you’re the mommy. I was so busy every day that at night I’d have one drink and pass out. We went with our good friends the Mednicks, who also have a 16-month-old, Ian, and we didn’t end up getting as much adult time with them as we’d hoped. But the daddies at least managed to golf and the mommies managed to squeeze in a massage.

Most of the time we were chasing, dressing, feeding, watching or cleaning up after our beach babies. The memories on this kind of vacation, though, are so much more poignant to me. I’d choose this kind of a vacation over a lazy one every time.

Even Dan did his part to make special memories, doing things that are usually completely out of character for him, like letting me dress him all matchy-matchy with his boys, and then letting me take multiple pictures of them.

I love ALL my boys! I can't wait until our next adventure.

At least I can wipe this screw-up away...

My sister started a blog, inspired by this blog. So now I am inspired to post some of the blog-worthy stories that I've been accumulating.

Here's a quick one from work:

On a busy night shift the other week I found a minute to run to the break room and scarf a chicken salad sandwhich way too-fast before running into room 11 to see a guy who was suicidal. I grabbed his clipboard and rushed in and started taking notes while he gave a history. As I was looking down at the chart I noticed a HUGE glop of chicken salad right smack dab in the middle of my scrub-top between my boobs. The thing looked like I had been in a food fight and lost. I tilted the chart up to cover it and tried to play it off, but it was too late... I could see the guying staring at it.

"Um.... you have something on your shirt," he pointed out.

"Oh, yeah. That would be my chicken salad sandwhich. Sorry about that. I was going to wait until you finished and then try to make a joke about it. Let me just wipe it off." I grabbed a towel and removed the offensive glop.

"No problem." He laughed at me.

"If it makes you feel any better, I apparently can't even feed myself without causing an embarassing mess."

"Yeah," he started sounding more depressed, "But at least you can wipe your problem away."

I decided to move on and forget the glop, as this guy clearly had more important problems than my messy boobs. We finished the history, and I went to do a quick physical to medically clear him before admitting him to the psych floor. As I removed my stethoscope from around my neck I realized that the "diaphragm" (the part you put on the heart) had been dangling down near the chicken salad glop, so I grabbed an alcohol wipe and ripped it open to clean up the diaphragm before I put it on the guy.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" he screamed with an unusual level of angst.

"I'm cleaning the chicken salad off my stethoscope so I don't get it on you."

"Oh," he was immediately relieved. "I thought I was getting a shot when I saw the alcohol wipe."

"No, sorry. Just my embarassing mess again."

I got back to business, trying to salvage any ounce of respect this guy might have left for me. I quickly put the ear pieces of the stethoscope in my ear to move on with the exam.

"Eeewww. You're kidding me!" I shrieked. In my ear I could feel a big wet chunk of chicken salad. I had forgotten to clean off my end of the stethoscope, which had also been dangling down too close to the glop on my scrub-top (obviously).

The guy was speechless and just looked at me like I was a freak.

Wonderful. The pscyh patient thinks I'M crazy. "Sorry," I managed to mutter. "Don't mind me. Just a little chicken salad in my ear from my stethoscope."

He looked at me again in disbelief, probably waiting for the real doctor to walk in. His question spoke volumes -- "How long exactly have you been a doctor??"

I guess nothing wrecks a doctor-patient encounter like chicken salad on your boobs.