Sharp Tooth, the bi-polar dinosaur

My daughter, Havely, is obsessed with Dinosaurs. I do not mean that she shows interest in them, I mean that she will watch, read or look into ANYTHING that involves the once grand reptile. Her compulsion to the beasts started when she was about three, she watched the Land Before Time, and was instantly drawn to the villain of course, Sharp Tooth. From this point on ALL tyrannosaurus rex like lizards shall be referred to as Sharp Tooth. When she discusses Sharp Tooth with anyone, it depends on the mood of the day as to which Sharp Tooth she will inform you of. There is the mean tear off your head Sharp Tooth,

and there is a the love able pet bone fetching, cuddly, friendly Sharp Tooth.

You never have any idea which one you will encounter, the tales of the ferocious Sharp Tooth are told with wide eyes and emphasis on every sentence ending. They are warnings, they are fearful questions. Can Sharp Tooth get into our house? Can Sharp Tooth eat me on the playground? Does Sharp Tooth sneak around our house at night?
My favorite was when Jaaron was trying to get our family fire plan into place and asked her to review the steps for getting out of the house.
He quizzed her about the steps. What do you do with Lavender Lamb?
She responds, "Throw him out the window first, but what if he lands in dog poop?" I love that most of her responses are quickly met with another hypothetical question. I sat and enjoyed the volley and laughed secretly.
"He won't land in dog poop, but if he does we will wash him."
"But won't our washer be broke if it is in the fire?"
"Yes, but we will find a way to wash him. What do you do after you toss out Lavender Lamb?"
"Well, I guess I would go onto the ladder," eyes open wide,"BUT WHAT IF SHARP TOOTH IS WAITING FOR ME???"
At this point I no longer can hold in the laugh, so I snicker and add to the drama, "yeah what if Sharp Tooth is waiting?"
"Sharp Tooth and all dinosaurs are afraid of fire since that whole big bang extinction thing." Jaaron retorted quickly.
Well played husband, quick thinking.

Then there are the sunshiny days that Sharp Tooth is her best friend, this pal of hers, hangs out and watches movies, goes for walks, and sleeps in her bed sometimes. Hell there was even one time that he protected her from the elusive Blue Goat.

When she was starting Kinder this year, I told her that one of the best things about school was that you get to meet new people and make new friends. Instantly one of her stipulations for a "friend" was that they like dinosaurs, and she told this to many people, so I am wondering if there is some sort of quiz the kids at recess have to pass before they can play. She also forces her guest to endure documentaries on these now fossilized creatures. When asked if that's what her head to toe pink and in princess garb wants to watch, she says, "YES! She loves it!" To which I quickly notice that the pretty in pink play mate is bored out of her mind. I am glad she loves something and wants to learn everything there is to know about them. I admire her passion and I get it, it's very simple why kids are crazy about dinosaurs -- dinosaurs are nature's Special Effects. They are the only real dragons. Kids love dragons. It's not just being weirdly shaped and being able to eat Buicks. It's that they are real. And I hope to her, some part of all this remains real and her passion and imagination never fade. 01.25.12

Don't take life too serious. You'll never escape it alive anyway.

Every since the New Beetle convertible rolled off the assembly line, my heart has ached secretly for it. Secretly because it was not a practical car, it was one of those things that you told yourself in your thoughts, someday I will drive topless, someday. I have prepared for some days, but I also have been known to be impulsive and experience the now, the moment, I grab it and go for it. I feel that some judge me for this quality, and I think some envy it, I love the few that are similar to me and act spontaneous but balance back with some responsibility. Recently the Beetle got redesigned and turned out doesn't really look like a beetle at all anymore. I decided that waiting was no longer something I wanted to do, and I began a search for a used convertible, my weekend car, my let loose mobile, my cheerio free environment. After about a month of searching I really began to get serious and I found the one, it spoke to me, and the stars aligned and it is now mine. The freedom I felt just driving it from the lot to home justified my purchase. I have also had many more thoughts about my new motive of transportation. So I have decided to Dave Letterman it, here is my top ten reasons to own a convertible...
1. Convertibles are fun.
Driving a convertible is the kind of fun that doesn't rely on speed or handling. Even a slow convertible is fun to drive. There's nothing better than being out in the elements while still being in your car -- the wind in your hair, the sun on your face, the smell of nature instead of the chill of air conditioning. When you have a convertible, you look for opportunities to drive -- a beautiful day can be amplified by a nice drive in the drop top.
2. The bugs that you swallow in the convertible will add much needed protein to your diet, plus could help cut the cost of meals.
3. A convertible facilitates multitasking. In an increasingly busy world, any time you can add a second task to your day without any additional effort, you'd be silly to pass up the opportunity. A convertible allows you to add sun tanning to your commute, then you'll prove to everyone that you are not a vampire, two birds, one Twilight Sparkling Stone.
4. If it rains, you can get your morning shower while commuting to work, two birds; one unhygienic stone.

5. Your giant pet giraffe can now ride shotgun no problem. Or now I have no excuse NOT to buy a pet giraffe.

6. The wind in your hair is a feeling like no other, unless you can run really really fast, I guess.
7. You can transport large items. How many times has this happened to you: You're on the road, when you see the perfect, authentic, 10 foot chicken for your backyard, and it's only $10! The only problem is that your sedan's trunk will barely hold a golf bag and the chicken shop is going out of business forever that day! If you were driving a convertible, that beauty would be in your garden right now, and it would have been a magnificent spectacle traveling down the highway all the way home.
8. A convertible is great for a marriage. Think about it--when was the last time you saw an unhappy couple driving around with the top down? It is much harder to argue in a convertible--the combination of wind noise and exposure make a fight much less likely in a VW beetle than a minivan.
9. A convertible gives you entry options. Haven't we all tried the Dukes of Hazard entry into a car at some point in our life, leaping through the window directly into the driver's seat? Well, with a convertible you can actually use those vaulting skills and you won't look as ridiculous as NASCAR drivers going in through the window, plus you save yourself from the possibility of sustaining major head trauma.

10. A convertible fosters an interest in science. I can throw the kids in the backseat (of course after I teach them to get in Dukes of Hazard style), and go for a late night drive with some hot cocoa and encourage them to gaze at the stars and the night sky. Before long I may be chauffeuring a potential NASA engineer or rocket scientist, and I value my kids education.

See there are many reasons I needed this car. I could go on and on, but right now I have to unload a chicken and the giraffe is hungry...01.25.12

Young boys should never be sent to bed, they always wake up another day older.

The time has come for the big boy bed. I know I lament too much on the time that has passed and that my kids grow while I blink, but I remember how tough it was to watch Havely climb into her new bed for the first time, and this is my last time for the crib to be used, and that makes me a little more nostalgic. Each milestone in our kids lives is bittersweet, we are excited for the new things, but sad about the romance of the past that we remember. We chose to purchase bunk beds, so that we could have an extra bed for sleep overs, and for the nights when an illness falls and we need to be within arms reach. I remember the evening that Havely bounded into her new bed with excitement, so happy to reach the "big girl" status. I wonder if she realized that meant leaving behind being the baby girl. I am not ready to give up nuzzling their apricot cheeks, and loving on the marshmallow like arms and legs, or stroking their soft blonde curls. The good thing about transitioning from crib to bed is that snuggling is easier. I love to curl up with my kids and talk to them about their day, feeling their body relax beside me, letting their legs intertwine with my arms. I love sharing a pillow and looking into their eyes so filled with spirit and imagination, taking in everything. I am hoping their are gazing at me knowing how much my eyes are telling them that I love them to every last drop. I am excited for them to share weekends spending time with each other, sleeping in each others rooms, and cuddling in one bed together to get through a Texas rainstorm, that are loud enough to wake the dead. Tonight I will get tears in my eyes as I tuck him into bed, his big boy bed with his new car quilt, but the great thing is when I go to check on him every thirty minutes to make sure he is sleeping ok, I will be able to crack the door and be able to see his sweet face and know that he is dreaming big, and is safe in his bed. Every part of life is faced with fun and sorrow, but I am lucky to be able to relish and enjoy so much of it! Sweet Dreams Son. 01.18.12

Having a two-year-old is like having a blender that you don't have the top for.

I remember the day I saw the little turtle shape on the ultra sound screen the surprise that skipped into my heart. I am having a boy, a boy, wait I have no idea what to do with a boy. I come from a female dominated society, I was raised in a estrogen overloaded household, we even had all female animals growing up, wait maybe I think the turtle was a dude...anyway, most of my surroundings as I ventured into adulthood were female monopolized. In college I lived in a house with 60 other girls, and my life following that, sans my husband, has been pretty pink. Now my pink was to be dotted with blue, and come to find out not just dotted someone was about to splash a whole lotta blue on this damsel. My son was born with ease and he captured my heart the moment I met him. It was weird, it was like he was the missing part that I had been waiting for but didn't know I was missing. I learned how to work with the different set of tools that were located in the diapered region. I got peed on, walls got peed on, clothes got peed on, I am pretty sure everyone was inducted into the urine hall of fame by time he was 2 months old. As he grew I realized quickly that raised a boy is far different from raising a girl, even a girl like Havely who is a tomboy at heart. She used to play with things, pick them up set them down, move onto the next. He scoops things with fury, slams them down with a vengeance, or just tossed them across the room to move onto his next kill. I sit and watch this with amazement. I feel like Jane Goodall just staring in amazement at this creature and his activity. I am in awe, but slightly afraid of his behavior, while at the same time I love it and it makes me smile wide. I am excited for new adventures to see how he acts and to watch his lack of grace that my daughter displays. My family always comments on how expressive he is and how he is full of energy and fun, I couldn't agree more. While he is outgoing and very expressive, he is also so caring and loyal that he has me totally captured. Early mornings on the weekends, we cuddle on the couch cloaked with a blanket and we sit and read. He pushes his back deep into my chest and fits his soft curls right in the crook of my neck and we go through story by story, usually never reaching the end of any of them, because he is eager to move to the next. Then once he is fully awake and usually ready to eat, the energy is fully recharged and he is ready to expend it all. The other night we had just finished dinner and I was in the kitchen observing him through the opening like a sit com that was my life. He was holding cars above his head and running in circles with them clutched as far in the air as his arms could reach. He was also making his own sound effects as he danced about, some screams, manly of course, I heard grrr, groans, and some grunts. And then without regard he suddenly flipped the cars into the air, and came running into the kitchen toward me. He stopped short of me with a jolt, and posed with his hands like claws, one arm posed above his tipped head, the other jutting out from his crotch and grrrred at me with gust, then quickly re morphed to a different position and grrrred again even louder. I stood and stared at him in amazement trying not to snicker, and once he was off again, I let loose, and told myself, this is it, this is boy, this is raging testosterone, and your house is stuffed with it. I delight in the fact that my home is a blue and pink yin-yang. We are loaded with macho, balanced with dainty. But within the swirls are the dots, the men have their soft side, and us girls can certainly hang with the boys. A boy is trust with dirt on it's face, beauty with a cut on it's finger, wisdom with bubble gum in it's hair, and the hope of the future with a frog in it's pocket. wonder. dream. play. explore. find. discover. And I love it. 01.18.12

Don't Carpe Diem-Post copied from Glennon Melton

I read this and thought it was pure brilliance. I had to re-post this.

Every time I'm out with my kids -- this seems to happen:

An older woman stops us, puts her hand over her heart and says something like, "Oh, Enjoy every moment. This time goes by so fast."

Everywhere I go, someone is telling me to seize the moment, raise my awareness, be happy, enjoy every second, etc, etc, etc.

I know that this message is right and good. But, I have finally allowed myself to admit that it just doesn't work for me. It bugs me. This CARPE DIEM message makes me paranoid and panicky. Especially during this phase of my life - while I'm raising young kids. Being told, in a million different ways to CARPE DIEM makes me worry that if I'm not in a constant state of intense gratitude and ecstasy, I'm doing something wrong.

I think parenting young children (and old ones, I've heard) is a little like climbing Mount Everest. Brave, adventurous souls try it because they've heard there's magic in the climb. They try because they believe that finishing, or even attempting the climb are impressive accomplishments. They try because during the climb, if they allow themselves to pause and lift their eyes and minds from the pain and drudgery, the views are breathtaking. They try because even though it hurts and it's hard, there are moments that make it worth the hard. These moments are so intense and unique that many people who reach the top start planning, almost immediately, to climb again. Even though any climber will tell you that most of the climb is treacherous, exhausting, killer. That they literally cried most of the way up.

And so I think that if there were people stationed, say, every thirty feet along Mount Everest yelling to the climbers -- "ARE YOU ENJOYING YOURSELF!? IF NOT, YOU SHOULD BE! ONE DAY YOU'LL BE SORRY YOU DIDN'T!" TRUST US!! IT'LL BE OVER TOO SOON! CARPE DIEM!" -- those well-meaning, nostalgic cheerleaders might be physically thrown from the mountain.

Now. I'm not suggesting that the sweet old ladies who tell me to ENJOY MYSELF be thrown from a mountain. These are wonderful ladies. Monkees, probably. But last week, a woman approached me in the Target line and said the following: "Sugar, I hope you are enjoying this. I loved every single second of parenting my two girls. Every single moment. These days go by so fast."

At that particular moment, Amma had arranged one of the new bras I was buying on top of her sweater and was sucking a lollipop that she must have found on the ground. She also had three shop-lifted clip-on neon feathers stuck in her hair. She looked exactly like a contestant from Toddlers and Tiaras. I couldn't find Chase anywhere, and Tish was grabbing the pen on the credit card swiper thing WHILE the woman in front of me was trying to use it. And so I just looked at the woman, smiled and said, "Thank you. Yes. Me too. I am enjoying every single moment. Especially this one. Yes. Thank you."

That's not exactly what I wanted to say, though.

There was a famous writer who, when asked if he loved writing, replied, "No. but I love having written." What I wanted to say to this sweet woman was, "Are you sure? Are you sure you don't mean you love having parented?"

I love having written. And I love having parented. My favorite part of each day is when the kids are put to sleep (to bed) and Craig and I sink into the couch to watch some quality TV, like Celebrity Wife Swap, and congratulate each other on a job well done. Or a job done, at least.

Every time I write a post like this, I get emails suggesting that I'm being negative. I have received this particular message four or five times -- G, if you can't handle the three you have, why do you want a fourth?

That one always stings, and I don't think it's quite fair. Parenting is hard. Just like lots of important jobs are hard. Why is it that the second a mother admits that it's hard, people feel the need to suggest that maybe she's not doing it right? Or that she certainly shouldn't add more to her load. Maybe the fact that it's so hard means she IS doing it right...in her own way...and she happens to be honest.

Craig is a software salesman. It's a hard job in this economy. And he comes home each day and talks a little bit about how hard it is. And I don't ever feel the need to suggest that he's not doing it right, or that he's negative for noticing that it's hard, or that maybe he shouldn't even consider taking on more responsibility. And I doubt anybody comes by his office to make sure he's ENJOYING HIMSELF. I doubt his boss peeks in his office and says: "This career stuff...it goes by so fast...ARE YOU ENJOYING EVERY MOMENT IN THERE, CRAIG???? CARPE DIEM, CRAIG!"

My point is this. I used to worry that not only was I failing to do a good enough job at parenting, but that I wasn't enjoying it enough. Double failure. I felt guilty because I wasn't in parental ecstasy every hour of every day and I wasn't MAKING THE MOST OF EVERY MOMENT like the mamas in the parenting magazines seemed to be doing. I felt guilty because honestly, I was tired and cranky and ready for the day to be over quite often. And because I knew that one day, I'd wake up and the kids would be gone, and I'd be the old lady in the grocery store with my hand over my heart. Would I be able to say I enjoyed every moment? No.

But the fact remains that I will be that nostalgic lady. I just hope to be one with a clear memory. And here's what I hope to say to the younger mama gritting her teeth in line:

"It's helluva hard, isn't it? You're a good mom, I can tell. And I like your kids, especially that one peeing in the corner. She's my favorite. Carry on, warrior. Six hours till bedtime." And hopefully, every once in a while, I'll add -- "Let me pick up that grocery bill for ya, sister. Go put those kids in the van and pull on up -- I'll have them bring your groceries out."

Anyway. Clearly, Carpe Diem doesn't work for me. I can't even carpe fifteen minutes in a row, so a whole diem is out of the question.

Here's what does work for me:

There are two different types of time. Chronos time is what we live in. It's regular time, it's one minute at a time, it's staring down the clock till bedtime time, it's ten excruciating minutes in the Target line time, it's four screaming minutes in time out time, it's two hours till daddy gets home time. Chronos is the hard, slow passing time we parents often live in.

Then there's Kairos time. Kairos is God's time. It's time outside of time. It's metaphysical time. It's those magical moments in which time stands still. I have a few of those moments each day. And I cherish them.

Like when I actually stop what I'm doing and really look at Tish. I notice how perfectly smooth and brownish her skin is. I notice the perfect curves of her teeny elf mouth and her asianish brown eyes, and I breathe in her soft Tishy smell. In these moments, I see that her mouth is moving but I can't hear her because all I can think is -- This is the first time I've really seen Tish all day, and my God -- she is so beautiful. Kairos.

Like when I'm stuck in chronos time in the grocery line and I'm haggard and annoyed and angry at the slow check-out clerk. And then I look at my cart and I'm transported out of chronos. And suddenly I notice the piles and piles of healthy food I'll feed my children to grow their bodies and minds and I remember that most of the world's mamas would kill for this opportunity. This chance to stand in a grocery line with enough money to pay. And I just stare at my cart. At the abundance. The bounty. Thank you, God. Kairos.

Or when I curl up in my cozy bed with Theo asleep at my feet and Craig asleep by my side and I listen to them both breathing. And for a moment, I think- how did a girl like me get so lucky? To go to bed each night surrounded by this breath, this love, this peace, this warmth? Kairos.

These kairos moments leave as fast as they come- but I mark them. I say the word kairos in my head each time I leave chronos. And at the end of the day, I don't remember exactly what my kairos moments were, but I remember I had them. And that makes the pain of the daily parenting climb worth it.

If I had a couple Kairos moments during the day, I call it a success.

Carpe a couple of Kairoses a day.

Good enough for me.