Favorite Moment | Books

I had a terrible week and the boys were trying my patience, so when I called the Mister yesterday and asked if he would like to meet us somewhere for lunch, he quickly agreed. Secretly, I think he was worried I would dust the boys' lunch with crushed Excedrin PMs if he didn't take us out for burgers and fries. Wise move, the Mister.

Mikey is still obsessed with dinosaurs. We go to the library weekly and bring home 3-4 books and videos, which he spends devouring the rest of the week. The idea of taking him to the library was mine after one exceptionally expensive trip to the bookstore. Prior to dino-mania, trips to the bookstore were not so frequent that they hindered our ability to buy food and diapers. But, it turns out, they are many, many books on dinosaurs--and Mikey wants all of them. So, perhaps, the Mister and I weren't thinking strategically when we decided to meet for lunch at our favorite outdoor '50s diner, which happens to sit across the street from Borders.

On our way to lunch I promised Mikey lunch and a trip to the park with daddy, which had him very excited. But when the rods and cones in his eyes feasted on that large, national bookstore with a cavernous children's section and an entire shelf devoted to dinosaurs, he could think of nothing else.

Jules: Mikey, eat your food before it gets cold.
Mikey: Oh, mom. I can't eat another bite.
Jules: Another bite? You haven't had your first bite, my friend.

And so it went. The Mister and I imploring Mikey to eat his food while he tried to convince us to take him to the bookstore.

Jules: Mikey, I'm serious. Eat your food.
Mikey: Mom, I can't! My tummy is telling me something. It's telling me I need to go to the bookstore.

What Mikey needs is to go into network marketing because he is a relentless salesman. When the Mister and I bought our first house, we made the mistake of allowing a water purifying salesman in the door. Three hours later, the Mister was forcibly pushing him out the door while the salesman yelled he could outsell the Mister any day of the week while he waved the checks of little old ladies as proof. Mikey is that guy. An hour into lunch, and he was still presenting to us the features and benefits of visiting the bookstore.

The Mister: Mikey, we said no. We're going to the library this weekend. If you want a book, maybe you should ask Santa.
Mikey: Well, actually, the bookstore is a really good idea.
The Mister: Mikey, we said NO.
Mikey: Well, I think when we get there you will think it's great.

Finally, the Mister had enough of Mikey's sales presentation. He was going to put an end to this compaigning by hitting Mikey where it hurt: taking away the trip to the park. Mikey, like every little boy out there, loves the park. He loves climbing, running, jumping, swinging, and getting sand in his shoes. Me? I can leave the park. There are germs everywhere and I can't function when there is but one grain of sand in my shoe. The Mister loves the park, so he was confident he had the upper hand when he told Mikey, "Okay, buddy. I guess we won't go to the park. What's more fun? The park, or the bookstore?"

To which Mikey responded, "Oh, Dad, books are better than everything."

Favorite Moment | Hell in a Knitting Basket

Oh, dear. What a week. I have been quiet for many reasons, not the least of which was the implosion of my internet service on Monday. We were able to get things partially squared away by Wednesday, but we are still unable to get the Mister's PC communicate with my Mac/Airport Extreme router--or at least that's what I think it's called. This means if I have to use our backyard office if I want to do anything internet related. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy the peace and quiet, but I can't leave the kidlets inside unsupervised because they might eat the dogs.

Speaking of kidlets, Mikey has been sick, although not terribly so. We've been up a few times with him the last two night dues to fevers and runny noses, but nothing serious enough to prevent him from obsessing about dinosaurs. This morning, while I was changing him into some fresh pajamas, he perked up enough to point out the manufacturers had made a most embarrassing mistake: Tyrannosaurus Rex has two fingers, not three like depicted in red, iconic glory. Three fingers is clearly an Allosaurus, which predates T-Rex and is really something any pajama-maker worth their snuff would know.

And while we are on the subject of pajamas, I finally broke down and had a sleep study done. I thought I was a light sleeper, but I didn't know the half of it; I have severe sleep apnea, and must now sleep with a cpap, also known as the world's sexiest oxygen mask. I only exaggerating slightly when I say it looks like this.


I have yet to wake up feeling magically refreshed as promised, but I've had interrupted sleep due to the aforementioned paleontologist. I'll reserve comment, for now, until I have at least two full nights sleep under my mask belt.

Lest you think my week centered around sick beds and sleep masks, I did venture out for a lovely lunch with Ms. Kara on Tuesday. She got to witness firsthand Nico's latest trick: food compulsions. Familiar foods (nothing new, please!) must be eaten in groups. There is no mixing allowed. No crazy touching of the chips with the strawberries! While you're at it, don't you dare offer a chip when he is clearly having a chicken tender moment. Sacrilege! And did you know you eat chips with a dinner fork? Of course not. You are uncivilized. Sometimes I look at Nico and wonder how I gave birth to such a persnickety child. Then he'll take the frosting off a cupcake and use it to moisturize his cheeks. Welcome home, son.

So this week our internet asked for a bail out, Mikey caught another cold, I learned I am awake more than I am asleep, and I ate lunch with my best friend and the next Howard Hughes. While not the best of times, it certainly hasn't been the worst of times, either. We have a roof over our heads, no one has been laid off (knock. knock.), and we are are happy and healthy. And, besides, if it wasn't for that little internet snafu, I might not have been able to do this:


It looks wonky, but they assured me at the yarn shop everything is as it should be, which, coincidentally, describes my week perfectly.

Favorite Moment | Hope and Change

Those of you who have written Favorite Moments know they are often simple and ordinary. Consequently, these moments are often difficult to encapsulate with mere subjects and predicates--or even my beloved adverbs--because while the moment is mundane, its impact on the soul can be magical. For those moments, a string of words makes a paltry net.

Hope and change. Two words on a string that have transcended their once rudimentary place in the dictionary. They now define the future of a country that, until recently, remained shadowed by the stigma of racism. They symbolize the belief of the majority of the nation, and balm the incertitude of those who retain misgivings. They unite and divide and speak volumes, but to me they are so much more.

I find my hope in two pairs of eyes, one gray and one brown. And change, well, I see that frequently in a new word, a new skill, or a new passion. My favorite moment for me happened not at the national level as one would expect, but at the dining room table in a red-brick ranch in a drowsy, if not sleepy, town southern California.

I found my favorite moment in a bowl of apples.

And the dinosaur footprints on the table.

After lunch and acrobatics on the school swing set.

The milestones in my life shape me, but I am built on the moments that on their own amount to little. I am surrounded by hope every minute of my day, and I create my own change. God help me if I one day fail to see the hope in playdoh and apples. Should that day ever come {doubtful} I will go looking for it tirelessly, until I come up empty.

Favorite Moment | The Mister

I never intended to be a stay at home mom. I went to one of the top ten colleges in the country. I had a master's degree in health care administration and ten years real world experience before I entered law school. My career path, while circuitous, promised to be fulfilling and financially rewarding. I had big fish to fry, so I wasn't going to waste my time baking fish sticks.

And then came Mikey. To say we had a rough beginning would be a heinous understatement, but we survived and bonded. The Mister and I were completely taken with our bald baby, and suddenly, after years of scoffing at "The Oprah Set," we realized perhaps there was more to staying at home than we previously imagined. But, it was too late. I had to finish my final year of law school and study for the bar. We had my student loans to repay. I had to live up to the expectations of my family, my professors, and myself.

And I did. I finished my classes. I studied for the bar and passed on the first attempt. I secured a job, thanks to a close friend, as a part-time research attorney for a small family practice/criminal law firm. My mom took care of Mikey and I made very good money. The Mister was relieved to no longer shoulder the weight of everything while I studied. We moved to our dream home: a mid-century fixer upper. We started a complete kitchen remodel and picked out fancy finishes and appliances. Everything was perfect; I was miserable.

There are a series of events I remember clearly leading me to the decision to stay at home. The first had to do with my mom taking care of Mikey during the day. My mom is wonderful with children. My dad frequently says, unprompted, that she was born to mother. And it's true. She is the consummate mother hen. No need goes unmet on her watch, and Mikey feasted on her tendency to dote. So much so, he often cried when it was time for me to take him home. This happens frequently with lots of babies and their daytime care providers, so I wasn't too worried. Somewhat annoyed and hurt, but not terribly so.

Then, one day, my mom called and asked if I could come home early. Mikey was clearly sick and running a fever. Of course, I left the office immediately. When I arrived, there was Mikey snuggled in my mom's arms. I walked up to greet him and take him home. I can't describe the hysteria that ensued when I tried to take him from my mom. He cried until he could no longer breathe. He screamed and scratched at me and clung to my mom desperately. He could not be consoled while he was in my arms. In the end, she had to put him in the car seat for me. He was about a year old. My mom laughed it off to break the tension. I didn't find it funny.

A month or two after that, when I got home from work, we went to order and pay for $20,000 worth of new kitchen cabinets. As we stood there waiting for someone to help us, the Mister held Mikey and occasionally tossed him in the air just to hear him giggle. I stood there holding the check book and smiled at them both. When it came time to pay for the cabinets, the Mister handed Mikey over to me. Again, he cried until he could no longer breathe. People started coming from different parts of the store to figure out what was wrong. The Mister asked the salesperson for the balance three times over Mikey's screams, before he finally turned the computer screen around and looked for himself. In the end, I had to write the check and hand Mikey to the Mister. He was scratching my eyes and hurting me and twice I almost dropped him.

When we drove away, I stared out the passenger window and said in the dark to no one in particular, "I think those cabinets cost me more than $20,000." The Mister knew better than to answer.

Although I was technically part-time, I worked constantly. When I was home, on my days off, I would often drop Mikey off with my mom so I could research and call clients. On the weekends, I did more of the same. I slept poorly, thinking about the latest stressful case and everything I had to do the next day. And always, I thought of Mikey and how we just didn't seem to connect.

Not long after the kitchen cabinet debacle, the owner of the law firm where I worked told me I needed to work the weekend and draft an emergency motion for a divorce client who wanted to increase his visitation with his kids. The client was an insufferable commercial photographer who had left his wife for his much younger photographer's assistant. The rub: he didn't actually want to spend more time with his children. He intended to pick them up and drop them off at his mother's house while he and the girlfriend partied in Las Vegas. He just knew it would piss off his ex-wife. He also knew if we had the visitation agreement amended permanently, he wouldn't have to pay as much in child support. In his words: "I piss her off and pay less. It's a win-win."

When I walked into my office and saw that 7 inch file in front of me it hit me: I was sacrificing my time, spending time away from my family, alienating myself even more from my child, so that some jerk could get more time with kids he didn't even want to see. I sat down, wrote the motion, and placed it on top of my boss's desk. On top of it, I placed a letter of resignation.

I came home and told the Mister. We canceled the cabinets and reordered much cheaper ones online. We eliminated many of the fancy finishes we spent so much time researching. To this day, three years later, we still don't have a back splash. Many of the items in our fixer-upper still need fixing. I decided to focus, instead, on repairing my relationship with Mikey.

This is a decision we made for us. This isn't something every family can do, or something every family wants to do. I understand that, and admire the families out there who can make it work. We--I--couldn't. I have never been good at balance, especially when it comes to work or school. The need to succeed and be at the top consumes me and, unfortunately, those around me suffer my tunnel vision. I realized if I was only capable of being good at one thing at a time, that one thing should be mothering.

It hasn't been easy. Although the decision to stay at home was, ultimately, an easy one, the actual practice has been difficult. After being so focused on my career for so long, it took me a while to adapt to the change in my identity. I would be lying if I said I didn't still struggle every now and then.

And, of course, we made a huge financial adjustment to our lifestyle. We had to scale back until we didn't think we could possibly scale back more. And then we scaled back again. There are times, like this week, where I wonder if I made a mistake staying home. If, maybe, I should be working in a firm instead of eating popcorn with boys, beagles, and dinosaurs. Maybe if I was worried about my billable hours, I wouldn't be worried that Mikey's feet grew an entire shoe size since I bought his school shoes last month. I wouldn't be looking in shock at the brand new jeans that barely graze his ankles when two months ago they dragged on the floor when he walked barefoot. I wouldn't, I moaned to the Mister, be putting all new clothes and shoes on a credit card because we have to pay the car and home insurance premiums this month.

We should be paying down our credit card, not putting more on it.

The Mister waited until I was done orating and then said, "Every second you spend with our boys has far more value than any dollar we can put towards our credit card."

And for once in my life I had nothing to say except, "Thank you." Thank you for putting such a high value on what I do everyday. Thank you for always putting your family first, even when it meant turning down promotions and jobs I know you really wanted. Thank you for being such a wonderful father that people in restaurants will stop me after you walk by to tell me they have never seen a better dad to his children. Thank you for being nothing but supportive when I said, "I want to be a lawyer!" and then, "Or not!" Thank you for always trying to grope me when I unload the dishwasher, even though I've gained 30 pounds since we got married. Thank you for telling me every morning before you leave to go to work, "Thank you for doing what you do," when it should be me thanking you.

Thank you for being my favorite everything, now and forever.

Least Favorite Moment

About an hour ago the Mister received the call he dreaded all week. His beloved grandma passed away in her bed, surrounded by as many loved ones as the room could hold.


She loved roses and books, but not as much as we loved her. I don't imagine I will ever drive past the 30 or so heirloom rose bushes that line our driveway without picturing her standing in the thick of them, a huge smile lining her kind face as she called out to me names like Kennedy, Lincoln, Darby, Fire and Ice, Agatha Christie, and countless others I knew I would never remember. No, I knew even then the memory of her laughing waist high in roses would be the thing worth remembering.

The Mister just read this and he said 'scrabble.' He wants you to know she loved scrabble, too.

Favorite Moment

As an adult, the childhood moments we laugh about most with our parents are the moments where we were sure they would have killed us had they been able to hide the bodies. I think this is because at its core, the moment is built on hysteria--first anger, then laughter. There is one story in particular that make my brothers and I laugh until we can't breathe.

Hawaii, 1982.

In order to find this funny, you have to understand my father. Vacations with him were best likened to triathlons. Only the fittest and psychologically strong individuals survived. There were no sick breaks. Montezuma's Revenge? As a physician he felt confident in giving you a near lethal dosage Pepto Bismal, which had the added benefit of constipating you for the rest of the vacation and thereby sparing him those inconvenient 5 minute bathroom breaks. Car sick? Roll down the window and pray the puke doesn't fly back in your face. We didn't count on sleep, either. No matter where the locale, we were always up at the crack of dawn to catch some obscure 14 hour bus tour. If there was a monument, a ruin, a landmark, or a frayed ball of twine of some significance, there is a picture of me, my mom, and my brothers standing in front of it looking exhausted.

True to form, our family vacation in Hawaii amount to us touring all the islands in 10 days. We stopped at every beach, peered down every volcano, and sampled every pu-pu platter from Kona to Kuai. One day dad decided to visit some beach that was particularly important for some reasons that allude me now. As usual, dad encouraged us to observe all the native plants and read all the markers lining the path to the beach. We were 9, 6, and 3; we couldn't care less about some waca-caca plant dating back to the Mesozoic era and my mom, charged with taking care of the lot of us, didn't care, either. We kept walking, but eventually the weight of Catholic guilt forced us to stop a few yards down the path and watch him read dutifully the history of the great waca-caca plant.

And read it he did. From beginning to end, he read every last sentence while shouldering the weight of an ice chest, a beach umbrella, 4 beach bags, a boogie board, a pail, and two shovels. He looked like John Candy in Summer Rental.

There we were, my mom, my brothers, and I, looking back at him in apathy. Shoulders slumped, dejected and beaten, we stood there as he read out loud all the critical information we were missing regarding the waca-caca plant from 10 yards away. Finally, finally, he made a move towards us--towards the beach. But something on the marker caught his eye, and he turned back briefly. It was a move that would live on in infamy, because while his head turned back his feet kept moving. If he had been staring ahead instead of at the marker, he would have noticed his Hawaiian flip-flop shod foot was perched on the edge of a craggly, sandy step. He would have known to step down and not out. But alas, he was thinking about waca-caca and had no idea he was about to eat shit.

He did the splits and bounced back up like a toy soldier in The Nutcracker. He fell backwards, but thought quickly and used the beach umbrella as a pole-vault. Unfortunately, he put all his weight into that vault and succeeded only in launching his sherpa-like body two feet forward. He twisted and turned, the centrifugal force of the beach bags and ice chest keeping him in place while above his head the pail and shovels flew towards freedom. It was choreographed chaos, and it was over in ten seconds.

We stared back at him, amazed at his agility; he never fell, and never dropped so much as a grain of sand. Inside my belly a chuckle started to form. My mom snorted. My brothers stole a glance at each other and said simply, "Whoa."

My dad, on the other hand, was not amused. Just seconds ago he was pirouetting across lava rock and he had to save face. He contorted his red face into a mask of anger and growled between bared, clenched teeth, "HOT DAMN, WILL YOU GUYS HURRY UP?!"

My mom, now shaking under the strain of hiding her laughter couldn't help but point out smugly, "But we're ahead of you."

No longer interested in the waca-caca plant, my dad stormed off towards the beach while my brothers and I imitated his near fall again and again down the path to the beach all the while wiping tears of laughter from our eyes. We couldn't stop laughing, and 16 years we are still laughing. The only difference is that now my dad joins us; it's one of his favorite stories.

A while back I was thinking of this story and tried to imagine what story Mikey and Nicholas would share years from now at the expense of the Mister and I. I can only imagine what piece of family history will make them laugh decades later. In keeping with this thought and my desire to document as much of their childhood as I can without scrapbooking, I've started taking pictures of those moments where I debate putting the boys on the curb next to our recycling. Invariably, by the time I get my camera I am already cooled off enough to see the humor in whatever it was that had me infuriated moments earlier.

It doesn't always work, and I won't even bother trying it for big transgressions when they are older, but it certainly worked on Thursday afternoon when I walked outside the office to find Nicholas playing "paleontologist" under Mikey's direction. The planter beds were all but destroyed, empty of every last piece of green. Dirt strewn two feet in every direction and Mikey, clean as a whistle, imploring that Nico "dig deeper" for fossils. And dig he did.

I pulled him out of the flowerbed and yelled at the sight of our destroyed garden. Then I remembered: this might be it. This might be the story we laugh at 16 years from now. So I put him down and ran into the office for my camera. Nicholas resumed the dig, and I started living in the moment, only stopping when he started eating rocks.

Favorite Moment

Who says favorite moments have to be about kids and family and everything nice? Not this narcissist. Today it's all about me!

So, did you see? Those lovely Virginians, John & Sherry, from This Young House created for me a little moodboard for my Mamie pink bathroom. Not too shabby, eh?


The Mister is quite taken with it, really. Of course I love it, as it features prominently that silly rubber-maned giraffe I love so much. Some people mentioned they don't understand my enchantment with him, and to that I say some things are like acid-washed z Cavaricci jeans from the 80s: they can't be explained and you just have to work through the fad and burn all photographic evidence.

We both love how it is "little boy" because it celebrates two little guys who won't always take baths together and won't always marvel at shooting soap out of a lion's spinal column. While we have them young and squishy, we wanted a bathroom equally sweet. I think when we are done it will be fun, happy, and, dare I say, whimsical?

To read more about it go HERE. To get your own moodboard go HERE. I know doing these design boards take a lot of time and effort, especially when there is a challenge like mine. Sherry even called a few bathroom enclosure manufacturers for me regarding some issues with fixtures and extensions and all sorts of other boring things. All that hard work is much appreciated. Thanks, guys!

Favorite Moment

"Mama, I want my hair to have a twisted circle like Superman."

"Mikey, I don't think it's long enough for a twisted circle."

"How can I make it grow longer?"

"By eating all the food mama and daddy give you. And taking long naps everyday."

.........2 weeks later.........

"Mikey, what do you want for dinner?"

"If I ate a grilled cheese sandwich would it make my hair grow longer?"

"Uh...I think so, yes."

"Then I want Superman Grilled Cheese Sandwich."

Favorite Moment

I wish Nicholas would stop sneaking bags of cereal.

You would think I don't feed the kid the way he stuffs his cheeks like a squirrel storing nuts for the winter.

Sure, he thinks it's funny. Just remember, Nico. A moment on the lips...

A lifetime on the hips.

Favorite Moment

When I was a young child, my parents had hanging in my room a painting, most likely mass produced, of several girls dressed in white playing Ring Around the Rosie. In the moonlit dark of my room, those girls came to life and danced and twirled in their canvas cage. Sometimes they would form a tight huddle and point and whisper in my direction. They terrified me. I went to bed each night with the sheets pulled high above my head, and the sweat of fear mingled with the sweat of poor ventilation. My parents, thinking I was cold, added more blankets to the bed. I was too scared to tell them of the painting, but I can't remember why. Maybe I knew it was silly, maybe I didn't want the girls in the painting to know I was on to their hijinks.

So when I first saw Mikey several weeks ago covered in sweat with the sheet wrapped around his head, I knew the monster he insists lives inside of the ceiling light was keeping him up at night. At four years old, Mikey's imagination is now developing faster than his compact little body.

He is interested in the difference between good and evil, heroes and enemies. His dinosaurs hold elaborate conversations with the cars and trucks in his playroom while they wait patiently for the chocolate cake to come out of the toy oven. Superman counsels the Incredible Hulk on why it's not nice to be a bad guy.

He won't go in his room if the noon sun isn't there to blind him as he walks in. I set up a child's stepping stool next to the light switch so he can climb up and turn on the light, even in the bright light of day.

He doesn't like for me to roar loudly, and never when his back is turned. If I do, he holds up two small hands and admonishes me by saying, "Mama! Don't do that! You're a mama, not a monster."

He always sleeps with his stars on, and when he wakes up at 1:30 or 2:00 in the morning and finds them turned off, he creeps into our room and asks the Mister nicely if he could turn them back on because his room is very dark.

I remember so clearly being his age. I remember being afraid of ghosts and monsters and things that went bump in the night. I slept on my back so no one could sneak up on me. I closed my eyes during most of the Wizard of Oz.

The only thing that made me feel better was having my mom sleep with me or, even better, sleeping sandwiched between my parents in their bed. I remember that feeling of comfort and safety and warmth. And, within minutes, I wasn't afraid anymore and quickly fast asleep.

This is why I never get mad when Mikey comes in at 1:30, 2:30, 4:30 in the morning. I don't see it as a nuisance or as manipulation. In fact, I love it. I love the feel of his small, smooth arm as he pulls me in for a tight hug. I love the way he burrows his toes in the hem of my pajamas, and the way he rests his cheek on my shoulder. I love when he says wants snuggles more than stars.

So my heart did a little flip-flop in my chest when I opened my bedroom door late Wednesday night and found him and Big Bunny asleep under the tidal wave of our blankets. He was sleeping in the middle and surrounded by pillows, like I always tell him to, so he wouldn't fall out of the bed. He just couldn't wait for us to come to bed, and instead found comfort in the sheets and pillows that smelled faintly of us.

I stood there watching him for a very long time as the moon light turned his skin a milkly iridescent and the floor boards creaked softly under my feet.

Favorite Moment

Getting pregnant isn't always easy. For some of us, yes. A couple of months of easy work produces a team of dividing cells that bubble inside you, not unlike like happiness you feel when a second pink line suddenly appears alongside the lonely control. It was like that for me, but not like that for more than 12% of women out there, and not like that for my best friend, Kara.

She's tried things. Lots of things. They haven't worked, except one time, and it was fleeting. A few short weeks of dividing happiness before the bubble burst. So she and her husband decided she would take a break from trying lots of things. They decided to become foster parents in hopes of adopting domestically. Within a couple of short months, they were the foster parents to two girls aged 7 and 2. The youngest one had red hair, like Kara.

The girls were removed from their home because their parents were dealing and taking methamphetamines. They came with two trash bags of clothing, abandonment issues, and developmental delays. Kara and her husband were thrilled.

They went to the beach and museums and parks. They ate real, complete dinners as a family. Kara met with the oldest's teachers and both she and her husband worked around the clock to bring her up to speed academically. They put her in private school for the summer and attended her awards ceremony at the end of the term.

They were bubbling with happiness once again.

The parents, while clean, were not making the progress stipulated by the Court. They failed to secure a job. They had no place to live. The girls came back from visitations hungry, dirty, and, on three occasions, with with heads teaming with lice. Kara took off work all three times to take care of the situation because that's what moms do.

While the parent's lack of progress was unfortunate, Kara and her husband were, albeit secretly, bubbling with happiness at the prospect of adopting the girls.

And then, on an ordinary Wednesday, the social worker called Kara and her husband to let them know she would be recommending to the Court reunification. She wanted the girls placed back with their parents full time. The parents were still jobless and homeless, but she felt those were issues to overlook in light of the fact they had been clean for almost six months.

And, again, Kara and her husband's bubble burst.

Thirty days later, I attended a farewell party for the girls. The next morning, Kara dropped the girls off at the adoption agency and said goodbye for the last time. That night they received a phone call about another little girl, this one eight years old. For many reasons, they gently closed the door to their open home--temporarily. They needed to take a break from blowing bubbles.

And so that is why this week my favorite moment is not really a moment. Instead, it is a feeling of respect and admiration for those couples out there, like Kara and her husband, who open their homes to the many children out there who have no family of their own. Children out their who are alone in a world without family, without hope, and without bubbles.

If I had a magic bubble blower, I would surely blow them some. And a few for Kara, too.

Favorite Moment

I love it when a story comes first circle. This week I started off with the Petrie Dish Boarding Facility. They thought Buddy was sick, a humming, buck-toothed, cyclops was left in charge, and we came home from vacation early to find two healthy, pissed off dogs and almost $400 in boarding fees. Oh yeah, and an additional $136 in ER fees. Today I ended the week with none other than Petrie Dish Boarding.

When I answered my phone late this morning I decided, solely on the lack of nervous tics, I was not speaking with my usual contact. This person thought she was returning my call. Of course, that was not the case. I never make the first move! Curiously enough, she called the Mister at work instead of me. It appears my reputation precedes me, and she was trying to avoid speaking with me at all costs. The Mister, naturally, wanted no part in any of it and gave her the home number, my cell phone, all four of my emails, and my weekly schedule in case she wanted to catch me at Mikey's swim lesson.

Verdict: The owner decided to write off Buddy's boarding fee, and so our account is now clear.

Score one for the good guys! She decided this on Tuesday, which is the same day she turned over the boarding facility to a new owner. Did I make her sell her business? We'll never know, but according to the people who have argued with me in the past (my mother) it is possible. I didn't get a chance to speak with the owner; an administrative assistant delivered the news.

So that's it. Completely anticlimactic, and I can't help but feel a little guilty. Would our $175 gone towards the old owner's mortgage? Did she make enough money in the sale to feed all her cats? What does the future hold for her, and would our money have made a difference? I think I won fair and square, but I can't help but feel like it was taking candy from a baby.

Then again, $175 is a nice purse. Some good shoes. And, [gulp] not quite a law school loan payment.

Favorite Moment

Every time I think I have my favorite moment of the week pegged, something better happens. Not a bad thing, eh?

Nico is really starting to interact with us now. I love it. This week he started calling Mikey by name, or at least as close to his name as he could get with his little rosebud mouth. "KeyKey! KeyKey! KEYKEY!" I hate to be all "mom blog" on you, but it is just the sweetest thing.

And then! Today! Oh my goodness the cuteness just went positively overboard! For the first time ever, Nico offered Mikey a hug. Mikey "hugs" [choke holds] Nico all the time. Nico always pushes him away. But today he went up to KeyKey with open arms and then snuggled into Mikey's chest like a little koala bear, smiled, and closed his eyes while he patted Mikey's back! GAH! Can you stand it? Is that not the cutest flipping thing ever? To see two little dudes [3' tall and 2'6" tall] loving it up made me positively burst with happiness [and laughter].

Mikey was beside himself. He's a hugger so this was especially exciting for him (we had issues during school where he had to be told he can't hug everyone, and he must ask first).

So there they are, rocking back and forth in a big hug and Mikey looks at me over Nico's head with a huge smile on his face and says,

"Mama, look! We're married."

It's all so damn sweet my teeth hurt.

Favorite Moment

When you have one child and you capture a nice picture of them it's a good moment. You're happy and pleased as punch.

Father's Day, 2008. Because God Forbid they take a nice picture on Mother's Day.

When you have two children and you capture a nice picture of both of them--a picture where they both look human, both are looking into the camera, both are sitting properly, both are almost smiling, and neither one is poking random objects into the other's orifices--you better believe it's your favorite moment. And trust me, it's just a moment. Ten seconds later all hell breaks loose and life returns to normal.

Favorite Moment

Children squealed with delight as they ran under the fine spray of outdoor misters. Adults faked nonchalance as they wrangled for the best positioned picnic tables. Teenagers pushed up slipping over-sized sunglasses, pulled down their slim jeans, and cast furtive looks at their reflections in shaded boutique windows. Everyone gathered to hear the band play.

While the band checked sound and set up the donation box, the crowd settled down into various stages of dinner. Some ate leftovers from compact tupperware containers. Others were finishing up takeout dinners and gearing up for ice cream. Most stood in lines that curled like tendrils and waited patiently for this century's answer to T.V. dinners: Pick Up Stix, Quiznos, Pizza Palace. The hamburger joint boasted the longest line.

One bacon cheeseburger special, one veggie burger special, and one kid's grilled cheese special, please.

Minutes later, everyone is outside, seated and ready to eat food that makes one pause given the news of poor Tim Russert. But that thought is something to tuck under the carpet and hope denial inoculates against tragedy. For now, the focus is on long, crispy spears of fried zucchini dipped in ranch dressing. Is that dill? It must be. A faint taste of dill in the ranch must be what makes it taste so good. The baby inhales his half of the grilled cheese while his brother peers over the crowd in hopes of catching a glimpse of the band. They have real instruments. It will be loud, like The Wiggles. This is all very exciting.

Who's playing? No one knows, no one cares. The line-up is always available online, but it is doubtful any of the people gathered took the time to look before showing up. The weather is perfect, the mood is light, and it's Friday. For many of them, no work tomorrow.

The first few notes from a zampoña, or panpipe, swirl up into the air and jump on a passing breeze. Peruvian music. Really? A few weeks ago it was Rockabilly. But no one cares. If they did, they would have checked the line-up. Peruvian music it is.

By now the grilled cheese sandwiches are nothing more than a congealed memory. It's time to dance, and if not dance, it's time to run around like a headless chicken in a roped off parking lot and call it dancing. One song. Then two. Three. Four. One "dances" while the other toddles around the crowd in search of standing water and sharp objects.

Six songs and intermission. It's time to go home, amidst the pleas for one last song, one more "dance," and the need to satisfy a sudden, ravenous hunger. It's time to go home.

It will all be there again next week. The people, the music, the family. Dill scented ranch dressing, crispy fried zucchini spears and the strains of a schizophrenic play list.

Favorite Moment

Thank you, Word to Your Mother, for making me laugh so hard I couldn't hear my perpetually sick child hacking up the last lung he has left.

If you've ever seen Everyday Italian with Giada De Laurentiis, you're laughing, too. And if you haven't, click on over and enjoy the teeth and cleavage.

p.s. Mikey is doing better. The doctor at the Urgent Care said he has a bad ear infection. He missed his birthday party at school today, but should be able to attend the last day of petri dish school next week.

Favorite Moment

My favorite moment was hearing my best friend, Kara, who is participating in the Foster/Adopt program, received placement of two little girls. She and her charming husband opened their home and their hearts to a 7 year old and 24 month old in need of a home. They would love to adopt them as well, if possible. Hearing about the success and failures of this state program is inspiring. I hope she updates her blog with just half of what she has been through. You can read all about her long journey to become a mom HERE. Good luck, Kara and Duane!

Other moments that were fantastic but didn't make the final cut?

1. Making an egg free cake with Mikey for my sister-in-law's birthday party. I was reading the recipe and muttered under my breath, "OK. 2 teaspoons vanilla..." To which Mikey responded, "No, mama. It's called Banilla Extra. That's how Mazy says it." I stand corrected. Banilla Extra, it is.
2. Watching Nicholas take a few more guarded steps today and having him NOT tear his frenulum in the process.
3. Not getting fired by a client who had waited patiently for two weeks for me to finish a sales letter. Bonus: she loved it.
4. Going to LA with the Mister to pick up another Craigslist find. No kids + shopping = bliss.
5. Hearing the Mister admonish Mikey for tossing his sweater on the ground. "Mikey, pick your sweater off the ground. We don't toss our clothing on the floor whenever we feel like it. We drape it over all the furniture. There's a difference."
6. And, finally, you know your three year old watches too much Food Network when he bites into a Ritz cracker with chicken salad on top and gushes, "Oh, mama! These crackers are so light and crunchy!"
   

What was your favorite moment this week?

Favorite Moment

Hi. Nico here. Don't tell my mom, but my brother and I read her blog. We still can't believe she didn't know it was called a sofa.

Anyway, I caught her diatribe against Baby Center and felt bad for the ol' bird. I didn't mean to worry her. What can I say? I like it when my peeps carry me like a prince. So, the next day I decided, 'what the hell' and walk about 5 steps for her. She's tried a couple of times to catch it on film, but so far I've stayed committed to the Loch Ness Monster School of Photographic Evidence: slim to none.

Here's one of me when I thought she wasn't looking. She's quick with the camera, but luckily I can drop faster than she can click. I think I'll call this one, Close but no Cigar: You'll Have to Point and Shoot Faster Than That!


This one is my favorite. I made sure to fall like a flour sack the second I saw Fuji. Look--you can't even tell that I know how to stand! Brilliant. I'll call this one: I was Born Last Year, Not Yesterday.



Stay tuned next week: my mom might actually write something entertaining. I was thinking if her blog got any more boring this week it was going to have to come with a pillow.

Later,
Nico

Favorite Moment

Mikey: "Mama, I don't feel well but I don't want to take a nap. I want to sit on the sofa and relax."

Jules: "Well, alright. You can sit in the Lay-Z-Boy. How's that?"

Mikey: "OK. But I want to watch Mazy Cook."

Jules: "You want to watch Mazy Cook?" I scanned through the roledex of cartoons in my head and drew a blank. "What does Mazy look like?"

Mikey: "She's just a mommy. She has brown hair like this," Mikey looked at me with both hands pressed on either side of his face. "and she has brown eyes."

I immediately thought of someone who matched the description, but I thought maybe it was a mistake.

Mikey: "And Mazy makes cookies and cakes and chicken and juice and steak and cookies and smoothies and soup and cookies and she's just a mommy!"

Jules: "Mikey, is this Mazy?" I pressed the TiVO button and looked back at him with a mixture of amusement and confusion when a huge smile broke across his tired face.


Mikey: "Yes, mama! You found her! Good job! That's Mazy. I like her."

My three year old has a crush on Ina Garten. Clearly he has Oedipal issues, because I'm pretty sure that's what I'm going to look like in 30 years. And I know why he calls her Mazy. If you've ever watched The Barefoot Contessa on the Food Network, you know Ina loves to state how many of her ingredients "Amaaaazing" in her east coast accent.

And so that is how it came to be that on a Wednesday and Thursday afternoon in May Mikey and I watched back to back multiple episodes of The Barefoot Contessa, many of them two and three times. During commercial breaks he would run to his toy kitchen and reenact some of the finer parts of the episodes, talking to the wall in his toy room like it was a studio audience.

Why is this my favorite moment? Well, because it's hilarious. Mikey is almost four and I think it's amaaaazing how obsessed with cooking he has become. Since Santa brought him his toy kitchen in 2006, he has played with it every day. And Santa brought him that kitchen because Mama was tired of looking for her pots and pans after they had gone missing. His teachers at school say all he does is make elaborate dinners and desserts in the kitchen and serves them to the class and faculty.

I love that we are really getting a glimpse at his personality. He is developing likes, dislikes, innate skills and talent and all around becoming a little guy. I love that he is passionate about something. His joy for cooking may not last forever, but I love that right now it is gender neutral and isn't some prototypical "boy" thing, like playing army. I love that he is well rounded and gentle and funny and not some violent little monster. I love that all the cakes he bakes in his toy kitchen "don't have eggs in them, mama." I love that he has a group of boys at school that are now his soux chefs. I love that when he is done cooking he'll go outside and play golf or soccer or baseball. And I really, really, really love that he asked for Mazy and not Rachel Ray.

Favorite Moment

Despite having a week that had me wrapped around the axle, I am pleased to report that I have several favorite moments to share.

1. I narrowly avoided riffling through baby poop like some beleaguered anthropologist searching for evidence of meals long past.

Yes, I found the "S" key!

My joy was quickly dampened by the discovery that I was also missing the #1 key. This then lead to the realization that if I couldn't find it under the sofa I would soon be digging around in #2 in order to find the Mister's #1.

Image from, Luo Ferrigno, The Hulk Library

I was all over that sectional like Lou Ferrigno and didn't stop until I found the #1 key. I like to keep my days figuratively crappy, thank you very much.

2. I am {this close} to having the Mister completely snowed into thinking I'm a wife worth keeping.

Did you see the Mister made a comment on my last post? So exciting! Isn't he cute? You know, when he's not leaving me with two maniac boys for almost 50% of the month. Speaking of leaving me alone for countless hours in the month of April, that leads me to my next favorite moment.

3. The Mister is Home!

Not only is he home, other than two days of golf with his dad (he's visiting from Florida) I don't think he has to go anywhere until June. Maybe--as in maybe not even that!

4. A Baby, But not Mine.

My dear friend, K, suffered an unspeakable horror in January 2007: the loss of her infant daughter, J. Today I am thrilled to announce that little J will be looking over her baby brother, Joshua, who was born today at 35 weeks. He is doing fantastic, and we all couldn't be more excited to meet J's little brother.

So, basically I was in the crapper, out of the crapper, feeling abandoned, showered with love, and witness to a miracle. Not bad for a work at home mom from the 'burbs.