Sassafrass

Lil E explains: The hereafter

On death: Wait..wait..waaaaiiiit. When you die, does your body automatically go to the gravestone. When your body dies, is it already in the gravestone? Or...how does it get right in there? What about your spirit? It's in the gravestone, too, right?

On transcendence: What is your spirit? Is that like, "Ooooooooooooooohhhh, I'm a ghoooooooosssssst! Oooohhhhhh...."? Like all spooky at the gravestone?

On what happens next: I think heaven is like going on vacation. But you don't need a plane because, like, YOU are the plane. Then -- blooop! -- you go right to your vacation in heaven!

On the many possibilities: So some people think everything gets all black and it's then it's like over, for real life? Orrrrr, you could go to heaven. OR --ooh! Mommy! -- you can come back to life as a dog or kid or something? Like, I could come back as a kid who is smart and funny and knows all about Star Wars? I think I believe in heaven. What do you believe? I think I believe in heaven, too, Mommy. And we will all be there together. And we can play games and stuff!

On God: God has a cane. He does!  He really does! A creaky old man cane. Like, "Crrrreaaakkkkk, I'm an ollllld, ollllld man. Where is Jesus?" When I see God in heaven, I will say, "Hey, God, where's your cane?" and I will do this thing [stroking an imaginary beard] on my beard like he does...and like Grandpa! HAHAHA. God and Grandpa both have beards!

An excuse to escape all kinds of turkeys this weekend

The idea of trading in your leftovers and in-laws for a night brightened by expensive put-your-eye-out glow-up plastic whirly white tiger toys and pretzels slathered in nacho cheese might not be your idea of how the holiday should be spent. OR...it could be the Best. Thanksgiving. Weekend. Ever. At the circus, which has moved over to the United Center and the Chicago tour stretches through this holiday weekend. 

Still not convinced? Consider this:

It's too dark to see a football game and too loud to listen to that one great-aunt tell that one story again. Those inadequate paper hot dog holders don't need to be hand-washed. No matter how much you dole out on souvenir toys that the kids will leave in the car and forget all about hours later, you will be spending far less money than you would if you were standing in line at Toys R Us.

We saw this season's show, ZING ZANG ZOOM at the beginning of the Chicago tour. Lil E adored the funny, little trained dogs and played "tiger tamer" for days and days. Just as last year, I loved the amazing aerial acrobats, who gracefully maneuvered themselves in, out, climbing up and sliding down beautiful floor-to-ceiling fabrics. It lacked the "oh!" moments that last year's show had, which my parents and I agreed was more cohesive, even glamorous. But really, this is the circus, people. It's fun, crazy, and all about the silly. It's a good time, and a bigger show that, all tallied costs the same or less than seeing a movie this weekend.

A note to parents of sensitive kiddos: ZING ZANG ZOOM has many loud booms and flashes. I would have packed ear plugs to soothe my own boy's ears and fears had I known.

There are plenty of shows playing this weekend in Chicago (click here to find one that fits in your schedule). If you live outside this fair and freezing city, get tickets before the train pulls into your town. Best of all, Sassafrass readers can purchase tickets at a special rate of $44 for a 4-pack of tickets (valid Monday-Thursday and Friday Matinees, excluding holidays) and can save $4 on all weekend shows by logging onto Ticketmaster and entering the coupon code: MOM.

Have you seen ZING ZANG ZOOM? What did you think?

We were given tickets to see and review ZING ZANG ZOOM. If you and your family would like to see the show, please do take advantage of the reduced Sassafrass rate.

A pause before the parent-teacher conference

Before the in-depth discussion of gross motor skills, code-switching, class leadership and imbuing a sense of responsibility for caring for others, letter shapes and sounds, independent play, and the sad goodbye to regular weekday naps, I paused at one of my favorite cafes.

I had a list of things to do on my brand new bad ass iPhone (which I am sure sounds more like "EeeeeeeeeePhone!" when I squeal about it), but there wasn't time to get too deeply involved in calls and follow-up messages and digging back through my inbox for those nagging, unanswered emails. I'd already used up most of my time to be productive running back home for a forgotten backpack and lunchbox. And because I stopped there to do a few little distracting tasks, I raced back to the school once again without the backpack and lunchbox. At that point, with just shy of a half-hour left, there wasn't ample time to make one more trip or worry about much else than a few articles in a paper from yesterday left behind and a random text from a friend.

I took that time to sip a very strong latte, have a few bites of one of my very favorite sandwiches -- brie, prosciutto and fig jam -- and let my sore legs and buzzing mind rest.

Not too much time passed before I headed off to Lil E's parent-teacher conference, where his teacher told me all is happy and well and on target for him in the classroom. I was at ease to hear what I knew but still was reassuring to hear and, for the first time, to enjoy that time alone, without the tension of having The Ex sitting beside me.

We covered a lot in twenty minutes, and after that, there was still one final trip home and back to be sure my boy had a sandwich of his own to eat for lunch. It was a busy morning, but the deep breath of that time for coffee and a bit of breakfast lingered.

I wonder what my days would be like if I pushed pause, if only for fifteen minutes, on more of my mornings.

Linkety dinkety doo: I used to send crapmail forwards, now I just put it all here

I ran 11 minutes in a row today, lovelies. ELEVEN MINUTES! This is nothing to all of you who are seasoned runners and those of you who don't spend a majority of your life elevated in five-inch heels. But for me, it is big. Eleven minutes is a little bit longer than the block of commercials in between each really important, intellectual, action-charged segment of "The Hills". It's way longer than I can be on a dating site without doing a screen grab of some poor sucker's profile and emailing it with snarky comments to all of my grrrlfriends. Hell, it's even longer than I can stand to sit still on the couch before I grab my laptop. Far more impressive to think of it that way.

While I'm busy sweating and sprawling myself out on my dining room floor  rehydrating and stretching, here are a few bits for you to ponder. As soon as I can speak again, let's discuss thoroughly. We will also discuss how in the name of all things gloriously rack-related, Lynda Carter kept it all in the bustier, even if she only ran a few feet for each take. Until then, this stuff:

• When he turned five, Lil E graduated from the big Duplo block to itty bitty Lego. It's pretty incredible to see what he can already put together. It's also pretty maddening to search the entire interior of the car in the dark to find the tiniest plastic light saber of all time (Lego Anakin needs some serious grip strength rehab). Maybe one day, if the passion and the playing continue (and if a good portion of the pieces steer clear of the seat cushion cracks), my boy will graduate to this level of Lego awesomeness. How cool is that?

• When I saw that Single Mom Survives created videos for Follow Friday on Twitter, I had to check her out. I can barely get a list together of the people who write tweets that make me go from skim to laugh in 140 characters, so I was all kinds of impressed by her. I immediately followed every single person she recommended. How could I not. And then, something magical happened. She featured me in her next round of Follow Friday videos. I was so excited, I messaged her to say she was bringing me to tears. She promptly told me to shut up or she would come steal my shoes and make me cry for real. I am a little in love with her now. Check it out here. I am #FFfamous, y'all! And in fabulous company, too.

• While you're at it, do visit me on Twitter. My tweets are protected (like my heart, my shoes, and the 4,000 random facts about Clone Troopers passed on to me in confidence during the morning commute) but if you ring the bell, I will very likely let you in to the party.

• Speaking of what happens in my car...why, yes, lots and lots of jamming out. As much of a vehicular rock star as I am, there is a reason I will never ever turn a camera on while I am shaking and singing on the stage of my C-RV. And if I ever waiver, I will let this be a reminder of why it's good to just live in the moment rather than archive it online for all time.

Sweetness, cubed

My patience was tested cropping and printing and cutting photos for a class project Lil E brought home last week. The kids had to create a cube, and on each side, place or draw a picture of some aspect of their family life. They are in the middle of a big unit on families, which is important to both Lil E and me, as he learns about all the ways these kids he knows live differently and similarly to our own.

That meant a small project had big meaning. I dug and dig for recent pictures of him with his dad, only coming up with a few that we've already used for other class projects. We narrowed down which parts of our life were important and which he wanted to share on this piece of construction paper folded into too few spaces. He made thoughtful choices and I tried -- hard -- to minimize my irritation with a tempermental printer and ink that smears easily to put together this mosaic with my boy.

The first photo to finally be glued on the cube was in the "favorite family vacation" spot, and shows a very happy and relaxed Lil E and me on the fine, white sand of Anna Maria Island, Florida, with the blue, blue sky and bluer water behind us. We sat silently for a moment, staring at ourselves in that photo.

In the end, it wasn't an easy trip, but it is one we will take again early next year. I felt a wave of comfort wash over me just thinking that, in a few months we will be back there, that we have these plans in place. As a family.

Lil E chose to use a side of his cube to draw a picture of he and his dad swimming in a pool in Portland, alongside the photos from his Star Wars party and steering the boat at the lake and the two of us sitting on the porch of my parents house. It was work getting those individual pictures to fit just right. But after some shifting and editing and trimming and negotiating, it all came together. It looked just like it should.

I loved seeing him turn that cube over and over in his hands on our way to school. Watching from the rear view mirror, it almost looked like a flip book -- Mommy and Lil E, Daddy and Lil E in the pool, Florida, Lake, Star Wars party, holidays.

And yes, while it all and we all do meld in some way, I selfishly love that this is the picture he chose to replicate in a follow-up to the cube class project.

I love the ocean and the half-sun and the grains of sand. I love our hands holding on to one another, his spiky hair, sunglasses and the detailed surf shirt. I even love my googly eyes behind big glasses and the strange appearance of a coconut swimsuit (swimsuit! swimsuit! that's what we're choosing to believe it is). There we are, floating silently and still for a very brief moment, one turn away from everything and everyone else.

This one's just between us

There are times when I long to feel the shallow breaths of the baby curled up like a bug on my chest, cooing in his sleep, tiny fingers grasping my necklace.

There are moments when I swear I can smell the lavender oil I once smoothed across his newborn skin, days when I see a photo of him bathing in the sink and would like to relive those giggles and splashes.

Sometimes, I go back to the evenings we spent in the kitchen of our old apartment, me spooning homemade applesauce and him flicking Cheerios from side to side of the high chair tray. I bounced on an exercise ball in front of him and we danced in our seats to Nickel Creek, Jack Johnson and Missy Higgins. And in that quiet before the storms hit that household, I wish to be be there for just a few more songs.

Occasionally, I think I'd like to watch my boy toddle from couch to coffee table to ottoman again or pull him tight to my chest while I nurse the baby to sleep.

I remember the excitement of tallying the words he could say by the time he was only months old and I would like for him to fit back in those little leather monkey shoes and crazy-small onesies and maybe even carry him around in the sling for a while.

I'm not a mother who has preferred one age over the other. I've loved every age for some reason or another, even when the heartbreak of crying it out or teething or time outs or potty training has temporarily silenced all those other delights.

And as I guess we all do, I see those legs stretch and his face change and it is bittersweet to know my baby boy is not just getting bigger, he is growing up.

All of that longing for the early days, for the completely dependent and swaddled infant were set aside last night. Last night when my heart exploded as we lay on the hallway floor, laughing so hard at an inside joke we've been laughing at all week.

All of this over Mrs. Peabody, a character in the book we read devoutly every night. Mrs. Peabody, who's character is inconsequential because her name is so freaking hilarious to preschooler who can't stop giggling every time her name is mentioned.

"Does...this...mean...she....pees...with...her...whole...body? Or....that...her...body's....made...of...peas?", he somehow got out in between gasps for air and shrieks of laughter.

This led me to draw up a picture and scribble out a poem about the newest Jedi, Master Peabody, in one of his daily lunchbox notes this week. And that led to a parody of this ear-worm of a song, which morphed into a slew of normally un-funny riddles revolving around the entire Peabody clan.

I know, none of this has any of you in hysterics. And wouldn't even if I mentioned that most of these performances apparently require recitation by a nakey 5-year old. But there we were, locked in a moment that can only happen when your kid gets to a certain point, to this point.

Of course, I miss fitting my child's whole body between my palm and my elbow. But now, there is this. And this is very different and still so good.

First a line, then a bump

In a slight pause before a big weekend, we stopped off at a coffee shop for after-school treats and a little quiet time together. Lil E asked to practice his letters, so I sipped a latte while he wrote out lower case r after r after n after n after h after h. It was by far the best moment of the week.

Postcards from the past: Three Novembers ago

Of the thousands and thousands of photos of this child living on my hard drive, this may be my favorite. He wore that newsboy cap without flinching and the hint of the smile was already well-practiced. I hadn't yet worked up the courage to take for his first real haircut and instead snipped little bits while he played in the tub or sat wrapped in a blanket on my lap. And there it is, peeking out, reminding me it is time to let the wispy baby hair go.

Or maybe it is telling me to hold on, one last moment. To the cheeks and round belly and willingness to be held for hours. That's all gone now -- and for good things like attempts at winking and a toothy smile and long legs stretched out and running. But I've still got a lot of that baby held tight in my heart, like we all do. And tucked into the corner of the lid of my jewelry box and inside the front cover of my favorite books,  I am also keeping close some of these little, precious moments.

Coming to town

Whenever I think of the circus, I can almost immediately smell the warm cotton candy and my eyes get all hazy with the thought of glittery costumes and bedazzled horses and acrobats hanging from trapeze swings and rings suspended from the rafters and each other.

I love the circus, and last year I loved watching Lil E light up in the same ways I did as a kid. And honestly, I had more fun watching it than I ever dreamed way back then that adults could have if they weren't swinging flashing light-up wands and clown noses.

So when I was offered tickets to take Lil E and my parents back to the circus when it comes to town this week, I quickly shuffled our schedule to make sure we would be there to see a new show that I imagine will stir up all those same nostalgic feelings.

Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey's ZING, ZANG, ZOOM tour lands in Chicago tomorrow night and runs through Thanksgiving weekend. This show promises to include magic and illusionists alongside classic acts like human cannonballs. After our visit this weekend, I will be putting up an honest review of the show that I promise will only be biased if there are baby Bengals or I get a full stick of pink cotton candy to myself.

Ringling Bros and Barnum & Bailey has kindly offered a reduced ticket rate to Sassafrass readers. If you'd like to slide into the holiday season by getting your own ringside seats, simply click here for more information. Sassafrass readers can purchase tickets at a special rate of $44 for a 4-pack of tickets (valid Monday-Thursday and Friday Matinees, excluding holidays) and can save $4 on all weekend shows by logging onto Ticketmaster and entering the coupon code: MOM.

Lil E explains: [Feel free to insert interpretation here]

In the car, driving home in the dark (thanks, Daylight Saving Time), trying desperately to have our routine "5 things about my day" conversation.

Me: Did you take a nap at school today?

E, shaking his head no: My brain and my body just wouldn't let me.

Me: What centers did you play in?

E: I didn't play at all today.

Me: In preschool? Really?

E: OK, I played, but only a little bit.

Me: Maybe you could tell me one thing -- anything -- then.

E: Mommy! Mommy! Mommy, guess what? One time, when I was leaving a Chicago Fire game with Daddy, we were in the parking lot and I saw an old lady...WITH ORANGE EYES! SHE HAD ORANGE EYES.

Me: Yeah, I'm not buying that one bit.

E: Mommy! She did. For real life.

Me: Well, if you say it was for real life, then...

E: I saw her! I did. She had orange eyes! It totally freaked me out.

Me: It did?

E: Yeah, I was totally cheesed out, man!

Me: Cheesed out...man?

E, breaking in to song:

Ollllllllld lady, old lady

She needs to concentrate

reaaaaaaaaaaaal hard

Old ladies have canes

And they concentrate on things

Frankenstein goes with fruit

Because they both begin with F!

And old, creaaaaaaaky lady

What are you talking about?

It. Is. Windy. And. Darrrrrrrrrrrrrk.

There are goopy, green things

That look like boogers.

The Biiiiiiiiiible tells me so!

As awkward as it is, these moments, the ones when the child loses all grip with reality and the English language and launches into some kind of preschoolian babble song, the only option for sanity that remains is to act like a Very Important Mommy Call has come in on the cell phone and proceed with a pretend but far more coherent conversation with with blissfully silent airwaves.

Eventually, the song will give way to uncontrollable giggles. Then, and only then, is it safe to give your attention by scooping up the cute but clearly crazy kid in the car seat.

Postcards from Halloween: Before and after dark

Halloween went, as these divided holidays often do, just fine. Lil E got to spend a few hours in our neighborhood with four other boys (and two toddler girls -- one as a bug and one as a garden gnome...so funny -- who tried very hard to keep up with the super heroes and Rebel Alliance representatives who sped up and down the steps of each house). After a breather of passing out candy to kids from our own front porch, he took off for the suburbs with his dad for more trick-or-treating. 

The next morning, he happily agreed to send his very-full pumpkin bucket of candy back to his dad's house and turned in a big pile of mini chocolate bars we had here for a Star Wars action figure. Not to worry -- there are plenty of Reese's left in our house, but I am loved that the tricks I touted on channel 5 Saturday morning actually worked once Sunday rolled around.

 

 

I also admit I had a great time sipping my treats on Saturday night with one of my favorite grrrlfriends. Although I haven't been out to a bar or adult party on Halloween in years and years, the scene was pretty much the same -- lots of priest costumes, some puke on the bathroom floor, and the obligatory sexy nurse working her way up and down any Mad Hatter, Michael Jackson, or NASCAR driver who came her way.Oh!  And a very drunk shiny cop. It was good fun.

 My favorite costumes of the night? The dude with the baby from "The Hangover", Billy Ray Cyrus and one of the Texan polygamist's wives. The cult wife costume lady said she just HAD to take a picture with me, which made me think maybe we both were dressed as people being lured to the Dark Side. 

Despite my failed prediction that there would be a lot of Balloon Boys and Kate Gosselins, there was a Mr. Incredible who took a shine to my friend. He's apparently looking for just the right lady to wear the Mrs. Incredible costume he has hanging in his closet at home. No, really. I think he might have to keep looking, but I let him try on my Leia wig anyway.

The final pic: Leia's very practical running shoes and the cowgrrrl's roping boots.

Clawed

While Lil E is off on Halloween adventures with his dad before coming home to trick-or-treat with one of his buddies and scare up a special pizza dinner, I will be on NBC's "Weekend Morning Show" talking about cutting back on sugar for your kiddos this holiday weekend. Please do not judge me if I leave the studios and let my kid O.D. on high-fructose corn syrup and whipped-up orange lard. (I kid. We really did and will follow the five tips I will offer up -- my dad's fingers are crossed for this anchor -- to Nesita Kwan.)

I imagine Lil E's tossing and turning with dreams of sugar-free plums and spider rings in his head. I'm not in bed yet because I'm too busy staring at my pumpk-spired piggies and fingers. Lil E so cutely obligingly squealed, "Oooh! Your little fingers are so fancy, Mommy!" that I made him say it three times fast. (Not kidding about that.

I'll see you from the airwaves tomorrow. And if you miss it, worry not. I will surely shove the clip down your throat since the Milky Ways and Blo-Pops will not be there.

Carved

Let us not delve into the psychological indicators present when a small child creates a story of a family out of a table full of pumpkins and then gleefully demands them to be disemboweled and carved into scary and shocked faces. We will just stick with the happy, safe "being a kid!" theory and enjoy the craftswomanship of these free-handed jack-o-lanterns.

This year's pumpkins are not as fancy as last year's but they were a lot more fun to create. We also got wiser and propped them up on a window sill on the inside so that they simply mock the ravenous squirrels rather than becoming their soggy lunch.

I bought cheesy red, flashing lights to go inside and Lil E was delighted into silence when we went outside and watched them flicker down at us from our second story apartment.

He doesn't think our place is decorated scary enough and for weeks he's been begging me to buy styrofoam tombstones and life-size Frankenstein dolls and inflatable ghosts. That all sifted out when he saw the drawing of the spooky face he wanted, that he thought would scare "even my daddy when he comes to get me," come to life in eerie red light flickering from his white pumpkin.

He asked me to pose with his pumpkin, and to "be really, really scared of it." (Yes, I realize I resemble my pumpkin a little too much.)

Of course, the whole night was capped off with taking a picture of ourselves, silly, slimy and just scary enough for Halloween in our house.

In case you haven't already cooked up and devoured the eleven pumpkin seeds you salvaged from your kids' pumpkins, here's the closest I will ever get to sharing a recipe on this blog: How to make toasted pumpkin seeds in 18 complicated and disgusting steps.

Lil E explains: The giant, bulbous circle of life

First, there is the Mommy Pumpkin. She is smooth and orange and tall.

 

There is a Daddy Pumpkin, too. He is white and...like, sort of smaller.

 

The Mommy Pumpkin was pregnant and then...LA! LA!...she had some babies. They were sooooooo cute. Aren't they the cutest little pumpkin babies? [Pictured here with and looking a lot like Daddy Pumpkin, an injustice to be explored in gourd therapy for years to come.]

 

OH! They also had other children. They were sort of bigger. And one was rotten. Remember, I just stuck my finger in it accidentally and had to wash my hands? It was disgusting. And it was stinky. It smelled so gross! So we put it on the porch for the squirrels to eat. The squirrels are going to eat the children...HAHAHAHA! [This shall be explored in real person therapy that will likely be funded by me.]

 

These are other pumpkin babies. I don't know where they go. They live on those acorns and pine cones. They are funny. I like the bumpy one best.

 

This is the whooooooooole pumpkin family. Mommy, Daddy, children, and babies. Everybody's together on Halloween. Aren't they a sweet family?

OK, let's carve them!

In case you need directions

...to the troll house, apparently you just need to follow the arrows.

Yes, right there next to the beaded Pier One pumpkins and club chair is the two-story Chez Troll, constructed solely out of cushions and strange preschool preoccupations with small creatures that should scare the bejeezus out of them.

It has a peaked roof, a bedroom and a bathroom because (duh) a 5-year old's projects are never complete without a potty. Perhaps I would have minded crawling over the 17-cushion creation for two days, but the architect and developer was so polite and grateful.

"Mommy," he said quite seriously over dinner, peering past me at the couchy little goblin fort in the middle of our living room, "I just want to thank you -- really, really thank you -- for giving me a medium amount of time to make my troll house."

"A medium amount of time?" The troll house was puzzling enough but the construction time threw me over into complete confusion.

"Well, you didn't make a QUICK dinner like mac and cheese or something or a LONG dinner so I was starving. You made a dinner in just a medium amount of time so I could make my troll house."

So that's how we got there, over curry chicken and rice and just feet from the strangest and most delightful thing I've seen this holiday season, to the place where trolls dwell among us.

No, Jesus is HIS homeboy

The dinosaurs that have long occupied our home have apparently bred with or evolved into some far more mechanical being. And in that, is now (pardon me) hanging with out buddy, Princess Jesus.

There's a lot of love here. If you can't see it now, just wait until the nativity's open for business.

Gearing up

As another holiday approaches, I've felt that familiar feeling crawl up and make me catch my breath. How in the world would I handle Halloween -- Halloween! -- without being with my child? Halloween is all about the child. The very idea of him trick-or-treating without his friends, without me, in some unfamiliar neighborhood was unbearable. For a moment.

As I have learned to do over these few years, I exhaled. It will be OK, I put out to the universe, I promised myself.

Our parenting agreement simply says we will share this day with our son. Over the past few years, this has required very little negotiation since Halloween landed on a day Lil E was at home with me and his dad was working late into the evening. This year, though, it falls right in the middle of a daddy weekend.

And so I slowed my breathing, put on my best calm voice, and called The Ex to explain all the reasons why I thought it we be best for our boy to dress up as Luke Skywalker and join his pack of costumed buddies to trick-or-treat in the neighborhood near his school. I offered to drive to the suburbs to pick Lil E up, I said I wanted to make it work out for all of us.

Surprisingly, he agreed. Although my time with the young Jedi will only come to two hours, it is still two hours of doorbells and candy and that kiddie glee that comes from being hopped up on too many Sweet-Tarts and mini Reese's Cups.

When the vision of tucking an exhausted Luke Skywalker into bed with chocolate still smeared across his face and a light saber still locked tight in his grasp, I calmed the reactionary voice that panicked, "What will I do if he's not here?"

Instead, I considered all of my options to make my own arrangements, put together my own costume (just like I did last year) have my own fun with friends, skipping around in the dark.

I'm not sure what I will do yet, but I feel better knowing there is a plan in place, and that it started -- and will end -- with it all being OK.

If this is how it is, then I will make it work.  And you can count on a fair amount of spandex, cleavage and candy of my own is going to help me out with that.

Will you do some trick-or-treating of your own? What is your plan for Halloween?

King of his own little hill

My friend Katie snapped these shots while our boys were running wild at the pumpkin patch over the weekend.

She and I stood laughing as Lil E climbed to the top of a heap of hay -- or is it straw (I never can remember)? -- threw up his arms in victory and screamed out to the sky, "I am the kiiiiiiing! I am THE KIIIIIIING!"

It wasn't long before her boys heard the war cry and scaled to their own victory. Katie's camera click-click-clicked and I silently cheered them along.

Who knows where these boys' lives will go? There is so much potential in each of them, so much spirit, so many ideas, so much laughter, so much more love. Those small bodies and growing brains are housing a lot right now.

 

As much as we don't want to think about it, as parents we know they will go through things. Tough things. Challenging things. Heartbreaking things. We just have to pray that we are preparing them with the skills, the faith, the fortitude, the humbleness, the grace, and the wisdom to make it through all that. To keep clamoring toward the top. 

 

Watching them, standing tall and empowered on that mountain, I was overwhelmed by gratitude and joy for that moment. They have big lives to lead. So, for now, let them revel in being the kings of their own little hills.

Pumpkin with pumpkins

We took a day this weekend and drove to Wisconsin to see some dear friends who we haven't seen in far too long -- since the day after our family changed forever, to be precise. We pulled in to their driveway as very different people and still, once we exchanged hellos and hugs and reintroduced the kids, it was really very much the same as it always was.

Lil E got to geek out on Star Wars with the boys, playing, dueling light sabers, and watching "Return of the Jedi" on a projection screen. I got to spend a long time catching up with one of my favorite friends, Katie, about little details and major life transitions.

As we talked, I kept having flashes of all the moments Katie and I had, beginning as coworkers and quickly becoming friends. There were many escapes from our offices to eat chicken dumpling soup and whisper about the conservative old men we worked with. There were Halloween parties with cauldrons of sangria and crazy suburban scrapbooking get-togethers and secret meet-ups to edit resumes. There was the moment that I believe defined our friendship, when Katie called during my first attempt at letting Lil E cry it out during nap time. I picked up the phone sobbing almost as much as my baby was in the other room.

"Jessica, listen to me carefully," she said. "Go in to your bedroom, close the door, and talk to me. Trust me. He will be OK."

Every ten minutes or so, she would pause our conversation and ask if I could still hear cries. Finally, 47 minutes in, he'd stopped.

"You did it," she said calmly, sweetly. "You survived. I'm proud of you. Now call me at nap time tomorrow and we will do it again. And again and again until he goes down without crying."

I will never forget the care and the guidance she gave me that day, how she helped me carry out the choice I'd made and how concerned she was that I was as safe, sound, and OK as my boy.

Today, Katie and her husband and boys took Lil E and me to a pumpkin farm, where the kids climbed bails of hay, did somersaults in the bouncy house, squeamishly fed llamas and goats from their own wiggly hands, and picked out pumpkins to take home. As we tromped through a corn maze with our silly, leggy, talkative boys, I asked Katie if we would have ever believed the scene if we'd been shown it on fast forward ten years ago when we met.

"Oh no!", she laughed, and I tried to imagine what we looked back then in our suits and with our Franklin Covey day planners, what was important to us, what we dreamed lay ahead of us.

It wasn't this. But this...this is so much better.

The only change I'd make is seeing Katie and her family more often.  But even if it is another two years before we meet in person again -- and I am going to do my best to make sure it isn't -- I know we will be back up in Wisconsin, picking out pumpkins and picking up right where we left off with each other, no matter how much our lives may changed.

Postcards from the past: One year and 44 boobs ago today

Ignore the nose chapped from being wiped incessantly for days and days. Avert your eyes from the bad $7 haircut that was ridiculously entrusted to that one other parent. No need to even give your attention to the look of slight confusion on the small child's face.

Instead, set your eyes upon the stickers that cover Lil E's little body. The ones he placed there proudly with help from my mother. The ones he cried real tears over when I gently peeled them off to wash the snot- and juice-stained shirt.

Yes, those stickers. The ones of tiny bras that came from a giant Victoria's Secret catalog that, much to the delight of my mother -- no, not my dad, who started reading Perez Hilton when I told him there were pictures of Britney Spears' hoo hoo on that site, my mother.  The stickers with photos of WonderBras and other boobtacular contraptions filled with water and decorated with little hearts and bows and nonsensical sentiments like "PINK", that the child's grandmother thought would be hilarious to use to cover the chest of the kid who referred to his own "tiny boobies" and "nippohhhhs" back then.

Ahh, family. My grandmother made angel food cake and knitted potscrubbers. Lil E's grandmother puts bra stickers over (what he now calls) "dimpohhhhs."

Fortunately, this stickering and the snickering that followed (OK, by all of us -- I am not righteous), did not scar the kid. He's forgotten all about it. Come to think of it, I'd venture to guess my mother has, too.

But not me. I may be even crueler than the grandmother. I'll hold on to this one for another twenty or thirty years especially for the wedding video.