The Daily Drama of a Single Baby Mama

Where's my.... BRAIN?!

2012-01-10T13:18:00.000-08:00

I'm a wreck. No really, I am.

I don't know what happened to me, but I have never been organized. I always turned my homework in on time, I like my house clean, and am usually pretty punctual (very punctual before Baylor), but have never known where my keys ran off to, or what happened to my friggin' phone. It seems that the important items in my life have lives of their own and fit me in when it is convenient for them.

My mom isn't the most organized either. I'm going to go ahead and blame her for not teaching me how to label or hang my clothes in groups by color. Although, my sister keeps everything together and we grew up in the same household, so I guess my blaming game isn't going to get me very far. I blame my birthday... Leos aren't the most structured people. We're more social! More about fun! Except when being unorganized totally ruins the fun and you just end up feeling like a loser.

I realized my passport was lost in 2010 when I missed a trip to Mexico with 10 of my friends. Sucked to be me. You'd think I would have run out and replaced that cute little blue book so that something like that didn't happen again... but it costs money, and I haven't been rolling in the dough, so I just put it off until I decided I'd be traveling internationally again.

My best friend Jen invited Toby and I to Whistler, Canada with her and her boyfriend. I've had notice. Known about the trip. She sent organized emails. Details. Time lines. Rental numbers and prices for skis. I decided that I'd just get my passport card, or Enhanced Driver's License. I read on the site that you can get it the same day if you go to a certain office downtown. So I waited. Procrastinated. What was the rush?

Upon looking at all of the requirements online while I was just trying to find the office address, I saw that I needed my birth certificate. No problem! I'd just grab it from my files and get the whole thing done. Oh crap... can't find it.

A notary, check, and form later, I mailed my birth certificate request to San Diego. It said it would be here in three weeks at the longest and I had three weeks and three days until it was time to drive up to the snowy peaks.

I was going to use my sister's passport if I didn't receive my docs by "go time." But then I read that I could spend up to a year in jail if I got caught. So... that won't work.

Here I am, on Tuesday... supposed to leave on Friday. No birth certificate. No passport. No enhanced license. No trip to Whistler with my favorite people. If my birth certificate comes tomorrow, I can totally pay $550 to get my passport expedited for Friday. You know, just $550.

What is wrong with me? Why didn't I get this taken care of before? Why didn't I just mail in the documents when I missed the Mexican vacation 18 months ago? Who am I?! I feel so stupid! So dumb.

On top of all of this, I got my hair cut on Sunday and I hate it. Absolutely hate it. I feel like Rachel from Friends in 1998. It's weird.

New lesson: Don't wait until the last minute. Just don't do it. I'm going to reprogram my brain, I swear! Or get a personal assistant...

Potty Talk

2012-01-07T13:50:00.000-08:00

I can only remember peeing my pants once. Though I'm sure it happened multiple times as a toddler transitioning out of diapers, the only time I remember was when I was eight years old. I was at my best friend Gena's house for the first time and we were walking down her street pushing dolls in strollers. I can't remember what let the warmth take over my jeans and then turn to cold, but it happened and I was mortified. I immediately tried to locate a small puddle to "fall" in so that I could wash away the urine with road water and nobody would know what had happened. I think I found a small circle of water in the road, and sat down in it, but Gena's mom still knew what had happened. She lovingly changed my clothes and didn't mention it at all.

Potty training is gross. It really is. There's so much discussion about pee-pee and poo-poo and pull-ups, diapers, big boy underwear and wearing nothing but pants. There's a plethora of choices, and so many suggestions and methods for kicking the Pampers. Everything I've read says not to push them (especially boys) if they're not ready, so I keep giving in to whatever mood he's in regarding what to wear under his pants. We're on week three or four of consistently going pee in the potty, and number two only a few times. We still need a pull-up for that. He has tried standing to pee, which is very messy. He sits and then says he needs to wipe, which is hard to explain why he doesn't need to and that only girls do - but in reality, there's sort of pee all over, so maybe wiping when he's done would be helpful? He wants to do it by himself, so sometimes, he concentrates so hard that his shirt falls into the stream and he stands up so proud of the pool in the potty with a huge wet circle across his belly. There's urine all over my bathroom and thank goodness I didn't invest in a fancy bath mat - it's sort of become his drip mat.

We've only had one accident, and he peed all over my couch. That was a neat clean up process.

When did privacy, shame, embarrassment and bodily function independence come into play? After Bay peed on our couch, he was devastated. I told him it was fine, changed him, gave him a smooch and told him to try to go to the potty next time, and then we turned on some music and started stripping the cushions. He cried and apologized, and then he refused to wear anything but a diaper for the next day or so for fear that he'd lose control again. He was embarrassed. My innocent little sweet baby was embarrassed.

Now he's telling me to leave and shut the door when he goes potty. He asks for a napkin to wipe his face if a crumb lingers. He asks me if his clothes "look cool." A baby he is not... an aware member of society he is becoming. He cares what people think... only a little, but still. I knew it was only a matter of time, but it just happens so quickly. I wish I could protect him from ever being embarrassed and shield him from shame (maybe shame is alright...). I want him to remember to be himself and to own up to his decisions and that deviating from the "norm" is a-ok with me if it's what works for him. I'd never given all of it much thought until I saw the devastation in his face after he turned my couch into a urinal. It was like he was hunting for that puddle to sit down in - to blame it on something else.

So many transitions. I told him he can sleep in a big boy bed when he doesn't need diapers anymore - but really I'm just stalling on the big boy bed because I don't want him standing at my pillow at 5am to say "good morning." I'll probably just get on amazon right now and buy a book about that too. But then what if he starts wetting the bed? Geez. After potty training and big boy beds, am I done with big changes? What comes next? Right when I think I'm caught up, something else changes and I'm scrambling to adjust. I guess this is called parenthood.

Ok gotta run... I have to pee.

TwentyTwelve

2012-01-02T15:14:00.000-08:00

My New Year's resolution was going to be to stop talking smack about people. It's not really talking "smack" as much as it's just talking about people because I like to know what's happening. Occasionally I will be harshly judgemental and critical and share my two cents with whoever is sharing, while still acting nice to someone's face - and that's what I'm going to try my hardest to eliminate. It's just nasty. I did, however, sit next to two women in their late 20s who discussed every person that they knew and what was wrong with them during breakfast. They covered whose wedding would be fun in 2012, who was bound to break up (Allison and Dave are totally out), and when they think they'll find their next boyfriends. They typed all of these conversations out into a Word document and had a total of six pages when I walked past their laptop and took a hard glance on what was happening on the screen. That, my friends, is really talking smack. I've got nothin' on them and may have to come up with a new resolution because their show this morning made me feel like a saint.

It's funny how much hype people create about new year's eve. Saying "goodbye" to a year as if things are going to be totally different when they wake up on the 1st. And then "2012 is going to be great, I know it!" covers facebook as soon as we wake. Maybe if they say it, it will be true? I suppose there's good intention here and it's better than waking up with the glass half empty, but I've learned that there's just no way to know what to expect and all I can do is roll with the punches. But I'll say it anyway, "2012 is going to be epic." There. So now it better be.

After an evening of dinner and parties, Toby and I rowed out into Lake Union from his house boat to watched the fireworks explode into the clear night. We held each other, both bundled in sweatshirts and life jackets and he told me how much he loves and appreciates me... and my family. I told him that I've never been happier. And then people in the house boat behind us started jumping into the lake.

I clicked back through some of my posts and re-read the one from last new year's day. I can remember what I was wearing when I wrote it. I remember typing the words. I remember wondering what I would be doing on January 1, 2012. I remember it like it was yesterday, and yet so much has changed this past year.

I've learned that...

Having a child is the most incredible journey that anyone can take.
Singing in the car is a must... especially if it's to the Lion King.
No means NO.
Being patient will get you anywhere.
A good vacuum is a life saver.
Abuse can come in many shapes, sizes, genders, and roles... get away as fast as you can.
Always having goldfish on you can get anyone out of low blood sugar crankies.
It's hard to read anything after reading The Hunger Games.
Potty training is a bitch. And so is still changing diapers.
Santa Claus is real.
Throwing things away is just fine. Great, in fact. Especially toys.
Value Village is my heaven.
I love being back in a classroom.
It doesn't matter how small my boobs are now... because I remember how they used to be.
Nice guys are best.
Asking for help doesn't make you weak... and living on a budget doesn't make you lame.
Whoever thought the twos were terrible clearly never had children.

2011 was full of fun, love, new friends, new relationships, and constant learning. I've never been more stressed, overwhelmed, or busy in my life and I have a feeling this pace is not getting slower any time soon.

I just hope that Mayan calendar is a bunch of crap and I'll remember writing this post during the Bachelor (does anyone else think this Ben guy is weird looking?) next year. May you all be happy and healthy in 2012!

Decked.

2011-12-26T07:30:00.000-08:00

Holy POW, Batman, it has been a wild week... and a little emotionally exhausting, actually.

I found out that my best friend's mom has cancer on Thursday, and on Friday I sat in a court room for two hours with my son's dad to meet with a judge for a whole 3.5 seconds to finalize and file our parenting plan. A plan that he told me immediately afterward he'd just broken by introducing the woman he's dating to our son well before the 12 week rule. Mama bear came out. She did. She's still out. Don't mess with my baby. And don't mess with the rules.

Christmas was rushed and not exactly picturesque. My parents are divorced meaning there's a couple of houses we have to stop by each year. This also means my mom has to attend Christmas at her boyfriend's house, and then I have to hand over my sweet baby to his dad on Christmas morning. It's a lot of factors for one holiday. We had the family over to my house on Christmas Eve from 2pm-7pm because it's the only time that fit. We tore through presents and then sat to eat the pot roast I'd been cooking all day. We may have also given my brother's girlfriend of 2 years a couple of vodka cranberries to catch up with us upon her arrival. Apparently she doesn't drink much and spent the majority of the time in the bathroom... She totally missed her family dinner and I'm doubting she woke up jolly on Christmas morning. SO sorry about that! It also could have been the jack in the box she had for lunch, right?

On top of all of this, the love of my life was taken off of the market. A man I've loved for over 10 years. He's witty, sweet, talented, and gorgeous. While my teeth were getting drilled on at the dentist, or during each contraction during labor, it was his face that I'd imagine. His lips I'd pretend to kiss on my fist that I'd turn into a mouth. Each time I'd catch wind of a break up from one of his long term girlfriends, I'd have a little party in my heart. He's the backdrop on my google homepage, and it's the only rolling stone cover I've ever kept. I remember when his manager, Joe (if that was even his real name), met me at the hotel their group was staying at in 2003. I was so set on meeting my one true love, I went on and on about how I'd do anything to meet him. Joe showed me his phone and the schedule of their appearances on late shows and special events. But that was it. As I saw nothing coming of my new friendship with Joe, I sadly returned to my room. The room phone rang... it was JOE. He so kindly offered his body in exchange for a hand shake with my love. Knowing that he would never want to marry me if I'd slept with his manager, I kindly turned him down (and wondered how the hell he had known which room we were staying in). That was the closest I've ever come to the LOML.

Jessica Biel, you are one lucky lady. I promise to not show up at your wedding with my Justin Timberlake wearing white. Promise. I know a guy who knows Jessica's brother, and I promise not to stalk anyone for the details about the nuptials. Promise. I'm just going to go cry a little (more) right now while holding my framed photo of the most wonderful man alive, who I've never even met.

Although there have been bits of drama and heartache, this month has been full of fun and magic. There's nothing better than a two-year-old learning about Santa and his reindeer. His face was priceless when he woke up up Christmas morning to find the bike, fire truck, and remote control car that he'd told Santa about just weeks ago. He agreed that the elves must have been worried about the car falling out of the package because they reinforced it with screws (really, screws?) and the plastic that you cannot break without a tool. He has been screaming about each house that has lights, and the blow up snowmen on the lawn have been a real hit. There's nothing like reliving Christmas through the eyes of your little one. It has been a magical holiday... and I'm still going to play jingle bells throughout the year because it's his new favorite song.

Ho Ho Ho... you may kiss the bride!

2011-12-15T14:37:00.000-08:00

As the end of 2011 nears, I've said goodbye to a few things already. One of them is milk... because it really jacks my stomach. I've welcomed Almond Milk to my refrigerator as it has more calcium and vitamin D, and no sugar. More room for candy... hello.

I feel like the last two weeks have been like watching that one stupid news broadcaster try to maintain balance in a hurricane in their red or green coat issued by the network. I've been like the hair on the head of the news broadcaster, flying around in the air, out of control. Take this example as an apology if I've missed your call and failed to return it or completely ignored an email from you. It wasn't intentional, it was survival.

One of my best friends from Whidbey, Callie, got married last weekend in Sunriver, Oregon. What a fantastic place! It was as gorgeous as she was - except she was more covered in white one because it hadn't snowed yet and everything was brown. I suppose she'll be brown once she returns from her sunny honeymoon. A stunning wedding...

It was amazing and even more fun because of the mix of friends that had gathered to celebrate with them. They live in San Diego, so the "California Crew" flew up and were just way more fun than us. It's true.

us.

them.

The day after the wedding, we all met in the Village at the skating rink. Christmas songs were sung by the trees and lights covered the buildings that the colorful train drove between. At one point, my sister looked across the skating rink at the ten or so "Cali Crew" that were taking a skate break against the rail and said exactly what we were all thinking, "I don't know why, but I like them all so much more than us. They are way more fun. Just look at them... skating with zero inhibition. Even attempting triple axles and backwards skating. I'd never do that... I have weak ankles." They had stayed up until 6am that morning, after the wedding, and were bright eyed and bushy tailed ready for their next adventure. None of them must have kids... now it takes me days, weeks, sometimes months to recover from an all-nighter. But, I'd never try a triple axle, not even before kids.

It was the most fantastic 16 hours total I've ever spent in a car... wonderful people and new friends... the weirdest clothes I've ever packed for a trip (keep reading)... and eight of us hanging in a beautiful home with high ceilings, lots of bathrooms, and plenty of alcohol.

At 7pm the night before I left for the wedding, I completed my final exam for the psychology class that I took this fall. I hadn't exactly read all of the chapters before the exam, and decided to cram 150 text book pages into the final 48 hours before the test. I should write Disney and thank them for providing entertainment for my son while I read next to him on the couch. I was also recovering from a gnarly cold that left Baylor on antibiotics and me sleep deprived and cranky. I was also trying to get my house, suitcase, and fake tan ready for a 4 days trip for the wedding. I was a mess.

To avoid leaving anyone in suspense, I am happy to say that I got a 96% on my test, and a big fat 4.0 in my class. That's right, the straightest "A" around. I'm going to miss my class so very much. It was so hard to say goodby! Five hours every week I was able to sit in front of a brilliant woman (really, she is amazing... she knows everything about everything. I asked if I could just sit in her other classes and listen without doing any work. She laughed at me...) and learn about things that I find fascinating. It was killer.

And now it's time for Christmas. My sister and I forced the other passengers in our car to stop by a TJ Max in Oregon so we wouldn't have to pay tax on some of the things we didn't even want to buy. We loaded up on gifts and were out of there in an hour. I hate the gift portion of the program. I felt like I just blew a bunch of cash on a load of shit that nobody really cares about (ok, I hope they do), and for what? To prove that I love them? I say that I'm going to bake cookies or make a craft for everyone to bring back the true meaning of Christmas, but then I run out of time, and buying my stepmom new PJs online is a lot easier than trying to do a hand painted pattern on the side of a vase with acrylic paint. You know?

Baylor memorized jingle bells, we decorated our tree, he sat on Santa's lap, and is getting everything he asked for on Christmas morning. I wrote "To Bay. Love, MOM" on his gifts under the tree and it really made me feel like a parent. I've never listened to Christmas songs more than I have this year and I've been baking cookies just to make my house smell cozy. Now that my class is over, the only thing on my list is to enjoy the holiday season... oh, and kick this new round of a cold that I got from staying up until 1am three nights in a row. What on earth was I thinking?!

Crazy Cyber Monday

2011-11-28T19:19:00.001-08:00

I figured that because it is Cyber Monday, the aisles of Fred Meyer would be less crazy. It seems unbelievable that it is time to throw extra goodies into the cart for stocking stuffers. It was just August, just my birthday. School just started again, right?

Cyber Monday was real-ish to me last year. I remember going online and finding a few deals, but I didn't realize that it is an official "thing," like, something that people look forward to. I guess it hasn't been around forever since "cyber" has only been accessible to almost everyone in the world for the last 10 years or so. I loved the headlines like, "Record Breaking Cyber Monday..." yeah, because we aren't really going back that far, now are we? Online shopping has become the only way some people shop. I see the colored amazon crates stacked outside on front porches ready for pick up and then they return, emptied once again only a few days later. This cyber Monday bananas is just one more crazy thing that make people rush around all crazy and cranky because they're missing some deal somewhere. Although, I did cash in on a Toys R Us gift card from my baby shower for gifts from Santa. Cyber Monday saved me $34 on a buzz lightyear bike. Not bad.

I feel like I just learned about Black Friday too. When did that happen? Maybe it's because I grew up on Whidbey Island with one stop light and we didn't have stores that participated? Until college, I thought it was a day in February when we sang happy birthday to Martin Luther King Jr and thank you to Rosa Parks. Really, I thought that.

I heard on the news that some lady pepper sprayed an entire line of people so that she could get into Best Buy first. Clips of ambulances and fire trucks whirling their red lights around in the black early morning sky came onto the TV and I laughed. People are insane. I love a good deal as much as anyone, but there's no way in hell I need something that bad that I'm going to pepper spray a bunch of people so that I can SPRINT through the automatic doors... unless it was Justin Timberlake on the other side and it was a competition to see who could get to him first. I'd pepper spray everyone. Everyone. I doubt an LG dryer has abs like JT. I'm getting hot just thinking about that - almost like I'm inside of the LG dryer right now!

In Fred Meyer today, I was in the ornament section looking at the different assortment of glittered santas and matching reindeer's. Baylor rides in this HUGE cart with 40 wheels that looks like a race car and is impossible to navigate around the tight store aisles. I usually park it off to the side and then shop within a 6 foot radius of the cart as to not leave my child unattended... or unentertained so that he does not throw random things into the cart (learned my lesson on that one... extra marshmallows and black licorice). Today, all of the mamas were shopping, it's Monday morning. It happens every Monday... the moms throw on their yoga pants, Uggs, hair in a pony and a hoodie and kill 2 hours shopping for groceries. Everyone is pleasant and sometimes the kids smile at each other and make grocery cart friends. It's great. Well, today on CYBER Monday, there were a few serious shoppers mixed into our mom club... one lady was so apalled by our "car-cart" that she over dramatically stood to one side of the aisle like there were long blades protruding from the rims of the car. I gave her the "yikes... this thing is a whale... sorrry" look and she gave me the tight lipped annoyed face. No smile. Just me wasting her shopping time. I could see the clock dropping a second with each puff of smoke that left her ears, losing money and precious website click opportunities. Our gandering was killing her. This happened at least three more times in the store... people just annoyed that we were in their way because they just clearly had somewhere better to go. So rushed!

Ready to check out, I loaded our goods onto the counter and checked for anything that shouldn't be in there because of a two-year-old arm. I started bullshitting with Susie, the sweet old black lady checker who called us "honey" and told me I looked "DAMN good after havin' that baby" and then she gave Baylor 4 stickers. We chatted about how I look too young to have a child and I asked her what that means, anyway. I told that there was a little girl who is 10 years old in Mexico that just gave birth last week and an 11 year old last year after being raped by her stepfather. (Really, really terrible, and a major topic changer - still not sure if it's appropriate to randomly bring up - but that is too young to be having babies.) "Chilllren havin' chilllren. That man needs to be put AWAY! Her mama better leave that nasty man! Lord have mercy!" And then Miss Susie chatted about all of her kids, how comcast has been ripping people off (I couldn't agree more), reproductive rights in Mexico and the US, and how being alone is better than being married at all (going back to the 10 year olds family situation if her mother leaves the stepfather, because Susie obviously thinks she should). All the while, a man is waiting in line behind us HUFFING and puffing. He was ready to blow the whole damn thing down. He was shuffling his feet making obvious position changes like he was salsa dancing or something. After being glared down by the mean lady in the aisle, and a few others because we were leisurly shopping in our race car cart, I just wanted to keep talking to Susie... make the guy wait. It was kind of nasty of me... but I just wanted to take a minute, enjoy my conversation, and be people for a while without somewhere to go! Then Susie knocked an extra 10% off of my total. Guess there's something to chatting afterall.

The holidays come too fast, Baylor is growing up too fast, and people are moving at lightening speed. Online shopping and pepper spraying at the door shows me that manners and social decency are becoming a thing of the past. I am already stressed about how many people I can afford to buy Christmas gifts for, and who will hate me if I give them cookies in a pretty bag instead of something wrapped in a box with a bow. I only have 27 more days to buy presents! Hurry! Run! I actually put up all of my holiday decor last week just so it would feel longer and not so hurried. I am going to sip cider, hot cocoa and bake as much as I can. Bay and I may just make all of our gifts right here at our kitchen table, and I might just avoid shopping altogether.

Happy Cyber Monday! May your cyber carts be full, your paypal accounts emptied, and your emailed receipts archived.

Far and Away

2011-11-21T13:01:00.001-08:00

Baylor is in San Diego with his dad visiting his aunt and uncle, and three cousins. He left Friday morning and gets back tonight. I talked to him last night and he told me he missed me, just saw an RV, and had to go ride bikes. His dad yelled after him to put on his coat, and I felt great about the conversation.

I packed him with everything he might need, and made sure to email all parties involved in the trip beforehand so that there was no misunderstanding about naps, backpacks on the plane, or what time he goes to bed... ok, and where I thought he should sleep, what I thought he should wear, and that people in the house should be quiet while he was napping. I'm not controlling, at all, swear.

It turns out, Baylor is having a fabulous vacation, and his mommy is having a fabulous stay-cation right here in Ballard. I've done infinite loads of laundry... there's still more waiting for me downstairs. I have to pool to hit, a Whirlpool washing machine that I get to load and unload, over and over. I drank mimosas and watched movies with my boyfriend all day yesterday - seriously, we watched four movies and ordered food for dinner. We didn't leave the house... it was amazing. I haven't had a hangover Sunday (we weren't at all hungover, but I think the last time I had the luxury of staying inside all day, I was probably single and very hungover) in years, really... years. I woke up at 8:30 this morning and went straight to my couch for Dexter and Homeland with a hot cup of coffee. And then I took a long shower. I even shaved my legs, and then gave myself a mani and a pedi wrapped in a robe with a towel in my hair.

It isn't that I don't miss my little ball of energy, because I really do. But it is absolutely glorious to recharge my mommy battery with some good old fashion lounging.

I am going to walk the aisles of Target, and maybe even Value Village, because I can.

Guilty.

2011-11-21T12:18:00.001-08:00

The whole crew will be at my mother's house for Thanksgiving. Aunts, uncles, cousins, neighbors, grandmas and significant others. Multiple turkeys and lots of appetizers will join the decorated dining room that my mother and her boyfriend Gary have recently hung dead animals on the wall because Gary is a hunter. I'm in charge of cranberry sauce and a few bottles of wine. My mom has vintage pilgrim figurines and turkeys with their asses missing which she will fill with olives or mixed nuts. It'll be beautiful, I'm sure.

I have had the pleasure of attending a few thanksgiving meals at other people's homes. The food is all there and little bits of tradition manage to sneak their way onto the table. I remember being appalled that nobody said what they were thankful for, while holding hands, before taking their first bit. Who were these people? I remember creamed peas missing from the table and almost packing my bags to leave. White wine only? I'm out. Where's the crystal? The hundred year old china that we have to hand wash after because it's so beautiful and delicate? I pitied them.

I've had a pretty big lesson on family diversity this week. It shockingly turns out that people do things differently than I do, or my family does. There's a part of me that will always believe they are wrong and are missing out because it isn't out of a Martha Stewart magazine (my mom calls herself "Heidi Stewart" if that translates my thoughts any better). We are raised doing things the same way each year - people call it "tradition." It's what makes holidays fun, and each year a new memory is created making us laugh, cry, or fight. Either way, it's what we know and therefore it feels right.

I may have freaked out on someone because their family does things a little differently than mine. I won't go into details, but let's just say, I learned that it wasn't, and isn't any of my business what their family does. I don't live there. I've never lived there... and I never will. They knew I'd have a strong reaction to what I was going to see, and even warned me, at which time I used it all against them and even called them weird. They're not weird. They're amazing. I totally went for the jugular. Bad, Allison, bad!

It made me think of a lesson in class from last week. Stereotypes and being so afraid that we might do something to confirm a stereotype that someone has about us. It is called Sterotype Threat. You know those studies of people who take tests, and right before the test, someone will say, "men are naturally better test takers than women." Guess who blows the test.... all of the women. They get so caught up in proving the statement wrong, or believing it and not trying as hard, that they are unable to focus all of their cognitive abilities on scoring what they would have before the idea was presented to them. This happens to all of us, all of the time. We are terrified of someone saying, "yep, see, told ya so. She's exactly what I thought."

It's so easy to judge. To look down on someone, or make a mean comment because you don't agree with the way they do things. I know about this and hate it - and here I am, guilty! I have heard comments from my family about how silly I am for having Baylor on a tight schedule - sometimes having to leave a family dinner because he has to go to bed. It works for us and isn't any of their business... I didn't ask to change dinner to 5pm just for Baylor and I, did I? We do it to make ourselves feel better, like we're "in" on something, and that something is "right." We have the experience and the knowledge, no matter the outcomes, to make these judgements and sometimes even share them even when they aren't requested. Go through a breakup or a divorce - everyone has something to say, because most people have experience with this. Kids? It's impossible not to share something.

I guess my point is this: It's hard to keep an open mind, and even harder to keep your mouth shut when your mind is closed. I hope everyone has a wonderful Thanksgiving - with ham, duck, purple mashed potatoes, or no mashed potatoes at all... afterall, it's none of my business how you like your potatoes.

Hey Step-Mama

2011-11-14T16:04:00.001-08:00

My friend Lauren lives in Alaska. I met her at PLU and was immediately attracted to her confidence, witty sense of humor and ability to "keep up" with the conversation. She is on the board of Planned Parenthood and after losing touch with her after college, she informed me last year that she would be in Seattle for a board meeting. Baylor was just a young pup and we blabbed over eggplant parmesan about all of the things that had happened over the previous 5 years.

Lauren had married a man with two daughters and had become their stepmother, or "anya" as they call her. They have joint custody with the girls' mother and as the oldest is 14, all three parents are in constant communication about rules, expectations, and what to expect.

Lauren was in town this weekend and we met up twice because the first coffee date just wasn't enough time to cover everything. I have thought of her since the last time she was in town. I remembered her positive experience with co-parenting as a step-parent. She has a wonderful relationship with her husband's ex-wife. In fact, Lauren told me that because she is the better planner, she is the one to make all of the schedule plans and adjustments with the girls' mom. Sometimes, she will even babysit their half-brother if their mom is in a pinch. She told me about the way she moved into their home and was just a friend, only enforcing the rules that already existed until she felt she had enough say to make up and enforce rules of her own. They had a special ceremony during their wedding which included Lauren's union to the girls as well as to their father. She told me all of this with such love in her voice and pride in the way she discussed her incredible parenting style.

I know that people have children, split, and then remarry and continue to reproduce. I've just never thought about how much work it would be... or why anyone would want to jump into a relationship and want to be an immediate parent to a child that isn't biologically theirs, dealing with ex-spouses and parenting plans. So I asked Lauren. I asked her why she does all of this, and if she likes it. She simply responded, "because I love them."

She told me that putting the girls first and making rules based on love have been two keys to maintaining a harmonious relationship with all parties. It was all just so evolved and seemingly easy - which is so Lauren, having everything under control - but it still made me so happy to see a modern day, co-parenting family full of such positivity and love.

Her biggest fear? Hearing "I hate you" from their teenager... and maybe talking about sex. Lauren, I hope to find someone as accepting, patient and amazing as you to complete my family some day. Cheers to step-parents!

RIP Island Boys

2011-11-13T11:02:00.001-08:00

I am supposed to be studying for a test in my class on Wednesday and it's just not happening. Three boys, around my brother's age, 19 or 20, were killed in a car accident night before last. The driver was drunk and passed another car on a dark road on Whidbey Island, where I grew up. She lost control and hit a tree. The tree was found in the passenger seat and the car burst into flames before the three boys could get out. My brother, the athletic president of his high school for 2 years in a row, is part of a large group of kids who are all friends and immediately started posting photos and memories of these innocent boys on facebook. It just breaks my heart... and makes me want to puke.

Ironically, I am studying the chapters on adolescence in my book for my test. I just typed my notes about risk taking and how invincible teens think they are - always protected from harm simply because they lack the experience to understand consequences. Speeding? Drunk driving? We won't crash... Unprotected sex? Those warty weird growths couldn't happen to me... and forget getting pregnant. That's just for those sluts on MTV. I wish it were true. I wish teens could get covered in bubble wrap with monitors strapped around their ankles so that parents would always know their whereabouts.

I know it's the way it works, and I was there once too. I've had friends pass because of freak accidents. I've attended funerals for kids that were too young and too good to go. I just googled "fatal whidbey crash" to find out the details, and the third website was the newspaper clip about a boy who died while I was in high school, Jesse Travis. They were speeding and he was ejected from the car when it crashed. It wasn't the news I was searching for, but there it was, details from a crash I remember crying about 11 years ago.

My thoughts and prayers are with all of the friends and families of the boys that died Friday night on Wilkinson Road.

Please don't drink and drive.

http://www.southwhidbeyrecord.com/news/133752268.html

Glow in the Dark Bus

2011-11-07T07:24:00.000-08:00

We leave our house at 7:14am to arrive right at 7:30 at the home of the family I nanny for. I started in August, so leaving at 7:14 was really no problem - birds were chirping, the sun was (sometimes) shining and people were out walking their pets and children. Now, it is dark. Cold. I know I should be sleeping. Baylor woke up at 5:15 this morning according to my clock which was just tossed back an hour for daylight savings. I started thinking about riding the bus all the way through high school until I got my license. So dark, and then for a month it would be light again at my stop... until it got dark again.

The earth was always wet and the tall trees blocked any light trying to fight it's way into our yard. I would sometimes wake up cold, if the fire had gone out downstairs. The tile on the bathroom floor shocked my feet and chilled my bones while I waited for the water to get warm. A space heater hummed, slowly heating the room. Our shower head made a loud squeal sound that would start ferociously, but died down to a whine by the end of the shower. It was a real bummer the year that something died in or near our pipes and warm misty animal death would waft up through the drain while the squeal joined it in the room. My mom or sister would join the steamy stench to use the toilet or wash their face, making me scream to stop using the water while I was in the shower. Three women. One bathroom.

My sister and I would scramble to find something to wear, often times arguing about who it belonged to. Then a massive hunt through the tub of socks to find a matching pair, but remembering that it wasn't a PE day, so nobody should notice if one sock had a grey stripe across the toe and the other one didn't. Wet hair twirled into a bun. Piece of bread with peanut butter wiped across, and out the door I went to wait with the neighbor boys in the dark for the lights of the bus to make their way around the lake that we lived on. Louder and louder it would become as it approached our stop. I'd shiver in my sweatshirt because coats weren't cool and my hair was still wet. The nearest streetlight was at least 100 yards away, and the darkness from the tree shadows reminded me that I was small. The boys wouldn't talk and it felt even colder.

Finally the bus found its way to us and the warm air hit our faces as the doors opened. I'd climb inside and find a friend to sit next to. A 20 minute ride full of stops, turns and bumps started my school day... in the dark.

My sophomore year, I finally figured out that my neighbor across the street could drive and convinced her to wait every morning for me to run out to her silver car, until I could drive. After that, it was blasting heat and mixed CDs all the way. On my drive to nanny at 7:14, I pass kids waiting on the bustling city streets waiting for their big yellow ride, lattes in hand, faces illuminated by flashing crosswalk signs and headlights.

Although it was dark, and oh so cold, I can appreciate the still silence in the trees against the smooth lake with the nearing sound of a school bus in the background. I can also remember the sound of my mom saying "shit" when that nearing sound was not so near, and had in fact already come and gone.

Scored!

2011-11-06T09:24:00.000-08:00

I love scoring. I score all of the time and I want to talk about it. I score in the bedroom, the kitchen, the bathroom, the living room and all around town. Sometimes I score alone, and sometimes I have a partner. Everyone can, and should score. It makes me feel like I'm "in" on a big secret and hold all of the power regarding it's future.

I'd like to show some photos of my favorite scores.

50s Dish Set

What: Set of 60 dishes from the 1950s
Where: Estate Sale in Ballard
How Much: $60 until I talked them down to $35
Notes: This set includes cups, saucers, serving plates and bowls, soup bowls, small bowls, plates, cream and sugar cups, all in gorgeous colors. Keeping my eyes peeled for more of the set around town.

Retro Lamp

What: Retro Lamp Shade

Where: Thrift Store in Clinton, WA

How Much: $2.00

What: Lamp Base

Where: Estate Sale in Ballard

How much: $15.00

Notes: I learned how to re-wire a lamp because it didn't have any wiring when I bought it.

Silk Scarf

What: Scarf

Where: Estate Sale in Queen Anne

How Much: $1.00

Norwegian Sweater

What: Norwegian Sweater

Where: Value Village

How Much: $14.99

Notes: We spotted it as it was placed on the rack for sale. Girls were hovering around us waiting for us to put it back so that they could snag it. Sorry ladies!

Kitchen Window

What: Kitchen Window - valance, mirror, cream and sugar, vase, brandied cherries

Where: I made the valance from some fabric that I liked; small mirror from Value Village; cream and sugar from the 50s set; brandied cherries homemade from my mom in a mason jar; vase from estate sale in Ballard.

How much: nothing was over $5.00

Happy Halloweeeenie

2011-10-29T12:16:00.000-07:00

We took Baylor to a Halloween carnival at the elementary school a few blocks from my house (yes, the same school as the bitch bullies) for an evening of spooky fun. Everyone was there - like, everyone. Moms, dads, kids, teachers and random people wandering in from the street bought tickets and made their way around the very sweet event.

Bay participated in almost all of the games, winning a prize at each station just for trying (my psych professor would have a lot to say about that...), and walked away with a bag of holiday junk straight from Oriental Trading. It made me think about the carnivals that my sister and I would go to in elementary school. Spinning the wheel to win a baked good and scooping up rubber ducks in a net to see how many stars were on the bottom of each duck brought me back to the fun of being a kid and really made me feel like a parent.

The costumes were creative and my little blond Shrek had a few fans - kids pointing screaming, "look Mom, it's SHREK!" like the ginormous green ogre was actually in the room. I ran into a guy that my sister used to date at Value Village yesterday. He was with his sexy little girlfriend and they were in the hunt for a last-minute costume.

"Are you going to fright night downtown this weekend?" he asked me as if he was about to suggest that we should meet up there if I was.

"I'm not. What's that?"

"Oh, this big halloween party... that's why we're here. Trying to pull it together last minute!"

Well. I suppose I could have suggested a few ideas... actually, I should have told them that I was going to the party and I was planning on being a psychic. In fact, I could tell them what they were going to be right this second! Practicing my skills a little.

For you, my pretty, you will be a sexy angel. Very creative. Lots of sparkles and shimmer. Or wait, something coming through on my psychic waves... a cowgirl. With braids. A young boys size medium cowboy shirt that will never button shut over your boobs, so you better tie it around your rib cage with a sexy bra underneath. You'll need very short shorts and cowboy boots. Maybe your boyfriend will be a horse so you can ride him all night long. Now getting an image of a cat... lots of black spandex.

I am so glad that my halloweens have come full circle and are back to tossing plastic spiders into plastic cauldrons to win a plastic spider. I hated trying to fit in with the genetically blessed bitches with perky everything wearing nothing but panties because they are Victorias Secret models for Halloween. I'd try to come up with a "funny" costume... and still wear short shorts because of peer pressure... but would end up getting real wasted because all of the angel dust would end up on my skinny legs, illuminating all of the places where I'd missed my fake tanner. Everyone at these huge parties who was a couple had themed costumes and were sometimes less slutty because they were going home with each other at the end of the evening. Everyone else was free game. The only contests taking place ended with a prize at the "after party" where costumes are optional.

And to think... there was a time when plastic spiders got them excited.

Happy Halloween!

Santa Claus is Coming to Town. With trucks.

2011-10-12T14:02:00.000-07:00

I don't know why I hadn't thought of this sooner. Santa Claus is coming to town.

Baylor asked me for new books last night and before I knew it, "maybe Santa will bring them" was leaving my lips. Baylor looked at me and asked, "who is Santa?"

I told him everything. Santa lives in the North Pole, where he builds toys for GOOD boys and girls. He drives a sleigh in the sky with reindeer and lands on roofs where he then climbs through a chimney and leaves the toys that you asked for, when you sat on his lap and whispered in his ear, under the tree, which is inside of our house covered in balls.

It sounded like madness. What in the crap was I talking about. How did we come up with this story?

Baylor immediately started making his list. Trucks, more trucks, fire trucks, ambulances, remote control trucks and Shrek books. He re-told me how he would sit on Santa's lap and whisper in his ear... and then Santa would fly away (insert two-year-old plane sound effect here) to the north pole to build all of his trucks.

He laid in his bed last night and squealed with excitement. In fact he said, "I'm so excited!!!' I told him that Santa wasn't coming for two and a half months and that he could see him, so he better be good. Then I sand him Christmas carols and he fell asleep.

All morning today, Baylor has been an absolute angel. He has given me at least 15 kisses and spontaneous "I love you, moms" without being prompted. Then he retells the story about Santa coming. It's amazing. He ate all of his lunch and marched into his room for his nap because... Santa is coming. I feel a little guilty, like I'm bribing him and lying to him all at the same time... but hey, Santa is actually coming at some point!

He's napping right now with a Santa book in his bed with him. Before he drifted off, he found the picture of Santa about to land on a roof, and listed every person he knows and pointed to a house. I can't wait to break it to him that Santa will be visiting him TWICE - once at mom's house, and once at dad's. I'm not telling him that until I absolutely have to. My new secret weapon.

Santa, you are awesome.

Bitch Bullies

2011-10-12T13:47:00.000-07:00

The older I get, the more I feel like I'm still in high school. When I actually was in high school, I wonder what I felt like, because I don't remember it being traumatic or overly competitive. I'm sure it was for some people, but I had a lot of fun with my friends and didn't spend much time worrying. Everyone liked me (I think) and growing up in a small town, we'd known each other since kindergarten so there wasn't much opportunity for reinventing ourselves. I know there are people who hated high school, but I would go back to the days of lunch tables and geometry homework in a heartbeat.

I don't know if it's because I'm considered to be "just the babysitter" or they think I'm too young to know anything about parenting, but other moms are bitches. It sounds terrible, I know, but I am so sick and tired of trying to be nice and prove myself to these cranky moms who stare me down and don't say hi. They're everywhere! The park, music class, coffee shops... but worst of all, on the playground at school.

I pick up the two girls I babysit from the public elementary school two blocks from my house once a week. Parents from the neighborhood gather in the playground area and wait for the bell to ring. Baylor and I usually find a spot alone under the covered area and watch the bigger kids ride by on bikes or tug on their mom's hands. This is the second school year I have been picking them up, and seeing the same parents every week, you would think that I'd have made a friend or two by now.

Last year, I took the girls to a friend's house for an end of the year water gun fight. Three or four moms sat outside sipping cocktails while their third and fourth graders played in the yard, occasionally sending a water balloon into the middle of their conversation. I had seen these very moms all year long, they would sometimes even say hi to my girls, but couldn't quite ever raise their eyes to meet mine.

"Well, I just can't believe she is still teaching at this school..."

"Oh, I know. When I was volunteering in her class, I could just tell that the kids didn't like her very much."

"We'll have to ask Kim on the PTA about what they're going to do with her, because it's just insane that she's still allowed to instruct children."

I sat listening to pointless gossip about who was in whose class, and which parents were unfit, and which teachers should retire. Not once, in two hours, did a question get directed my way. I sat nonexistently outside of their circle, wishing I had one of their cocktails... and that a water balloon would smack one of them in the head.

I have run into each of these moms this year waiting for the kids to get out of school and every one of them looks straight past me like they've never seen me before in their lives. I finally stopped one of them because she was waiting two feet from me and said, "Hi Anne, remember me? I watch Nina and Zara..." She looked at me with a guilty, yet puzzled expression. "Oh, that's right. What's your name? Did you have a good summer?" I gave her a huge smile and replied, "It's Allison. And mys on is Bay. We did have a good summer. Sad it's over!" And we kept on our way. I saw her the next week, and every week since, and she doesn't so much as smile in my general direction.

I am at least 10 years younger than the majority of the moms there. They can't figure out if Baylor is my son, or if he's just another child that I nanny. Many of them don't work and I can tell have put a decent amount of thought into their outfits for this schoolyard mom competition. I've started observing the "hot moms" giggling with dads who aren't there husbands, and "dorky-moms-who-are-trying-to-be-hot" make sure to talk to everyone they can before the bell rings. It's like a popularity contest for grown ups. There are the moms who I think I'd be friends with who roll in a little late and look like they could care less about which teacher should retire or who is wearing what. They greet their kids with a hug and kiss and get the hell out of there.

There was just a job post on craigslist for a mom who would represent "the Seattle mom" for a large company. It said that large financial institutions often ignore this demographic, and this company wanted to give a face to the forgotten. I watched some of the one minute video applications and saw all of these moms go on and on about how they would love to listen to other mom's hopes and dreams - and help them achieve these dreams. How "we are a team" and can work together to do whatever we set our minds to. That's all good, but I just want to make sure that none of the schoolyard bitches are on my team. They are mean. If they end up on my team, I am going to try to smack them in a face with a cherry bomb during four square. I'm sick of them looking at me like I'm going to steal their husbands or that I'm some mom that doesn't belong because my SUV isn't big enough.

Love all of the anti-bully campaigns happening out there for kids. Just think there should be a few teaching mean moms a lesson or two about how to treat others on the playground.

What about the children?

2011-10-07T15:36:00.000-07:00

It's not the kind of thing I would have guessed I'd be attending, say, ever. It turns out that when you have a baby with someone, you are connected to that person for as long as their is someone and something to discuss. When I first found out I was pregnant, I hadn't totally considered this point - not that it would have really changed anything - but there's nothing to prepare you for the backwards way that your life unfolds. First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes the baby in the baby carriage, right?

In the state of Washington, in order to file a finalized residential schedule, each parent must sit through a four hour class called "What About the Children" in the county court house. The class educates parents on the effects of their separation on their children, and then explains how the family court system works.

Thank the Lord up above that I had chatted with a single mom friend of mine before the date of the class. She had to take it too and managed to get a seat in the class I had already signed up for. Knowing Lauren would be there made me feel a little better about the way I would spend the majority of a Friday afternoon, but I still wasn't excited to go.

The room was filled with single (or almost single...) parents - at least 60 of them. Both men and women sat in rows flipping through the material handed to us when we entered. "WHAT ABOUT THE CHILDREN" across the cover of a booklet containing examples of how traumatized a child could be because of a divorce. It sounded like a hunger campaign or a new idea for public education. Samples of residential schedules and phone numbers for legal assistance filled the booklet. Two women instructed the class, taking shifts, each covering a different topic.

Everyone around me seemed pretty normal. I don't know what I expected. Every time I think of single parents, I think of the same stigma: An overweight girl in her 20s with 5 kids running around, waiting in the DSHS office for her food stamp card. Pregnant with the next baby so that her benefits will last longer. It's terrible, I know. Being raised by a single mom, and knowing plenty of others, I'm not sure why this image continues to distort my view of single parents. I know these types exist, but for some reason it's where my mind wanders off to.

After I had Bay and his dad and I weren't making it work, I remember arguing with him about being a single mom - defending myself because I was trying to take pride in my new title. Really embrace it so that it wouldn't scare me so much. It caused me to look into the meaning of the phrase as I probably wasn't sure either. I wasn't waiting in line for food stamps at the DSHS office, I have a college education, and I certainly don't plan on getting preggers again any time soon. I was just a normal person with a child who wasn't married. Sitting next to me in the class was my friend Lauren on my left - blond, gorgeous, 27, college educated with a great job; and a dad named Andrew on my right - a cute guy with two kids divorcing his wife because she doesn't want to be a mom anymore. Each person had a story. Each story had a different level of pain, struggle and question about if what they were doing was correct and which number to call in case something wasn't making sense.

We watched a movie from 1994 interviewing kids on their feelings about their parent's divorces. Some of them took the blame while others talked about what a great job their parents did communicating with them, and each other, leaving all of the fighting behind closed doors. The only thing that the children needed to know was that both of their parents loved them.

I think Bay's dad and I are doing a good job. I hope we are. After sitting through the class, it seems like most of the icky stuff is behind us and time has been a valuable tool for us. We've accepted that we have to tolerate each other and the things that used to cause a blow up, still do, but we seem to recover much more quickly. Bay will never know what it's like to have his parents married to each other - but by looking around that packed room, he's not alone.

Is this seat taken?

2011-09-29T16:16:00.000-07:00

Little tykes with backpacks and new tennis shoes, and Ballard High School students in revealing mini-dresses and brand new sub woofers to shake my home throughout the day aren't the only ones hitting class this fall. That's right, yours truly is taking a night class. Just one, yes, but I am feeling pretty cool with my 30 lb text book, highlighter, and college ruled notebook. It's as if the world makes sense again, even if only on Monday and Wednesday nights for two and a half hours. I get to feel like a grown up.

I'm taking a psychology class at a community college because I'm trying to become a therapist when I grow up. I managed to take 11 Psychology classes at PLU during my undergrad, but somehow Lifespan Psych missed my radar, and it's one of the three classes I need to get into the program I'm applying for.

On Monday, my first night, I packed everything I thought I would need into my huge Louis Vuitton bag (BHS students have taught me that nobody, and I mean nobody, uses backpacks or messenger bags anymore... it's all about the over sized purse.) and headed for my new campus. I really hate not knowing where I'm going, or where to park, or what staircase to climb, or which door stands between me and the one person I need to like me so that I can coax a letter of recommendation from her in the next 11 weeks. No pressure.

My professor is a young woman, maybe 35, named Ann. She's the type who only owns black clothes with a few hints of dark purple here and there so that nobody thinks she's a witch or something. Ann is peppy, chatty, and clearly passionate about Psychology. I sat in the very front row.

Next to me sat my new college friend, Kristy. She hadn't bought the book yet and was really torn if she should even buy it because she really needs new leather boots for fall and hears the books are "like, totally expensive." She is 30 and working toward her Associates Degree at night while she works as an office manager in the day. I think she told me at least seven times that she received a 4.0 last quarter because she worked so closely with a friend from her class. Ok, I thought, good for her for going back to school and stating up front that she's a hard studier. Maybe she should think about getting the book, since that's the only thing we will be doing this quarter, but it's cool, I need a new friend and her outfit is ok.

On Wednesday, the second class, Kristy sat next to me and told me that she was out too late the night before with this guy she is seeing and she may have to leave early because she's not wearing makeup and her hair is greasy and her dog is in her car and she didn't do the reading (shocker) and she'd call me on Saturday to see what she missed. Great. Just what I need. Someone else to look out for. Did she mean to say that she got a 4.0 last quarter because somebody else did everything for her?

I have this huge problem that I had totally forgotten about until sitting in my new college class. I turn bright red if I have to speak in front of the class. On a stage - I'm a natural. Speech in front of 500 people - where's the microphone and is it loud enough. Put me in a room with 30 people and ask me to raise my hand to discuss something I know about, and I turn the color of the bowl of tomatoes I just picked from my plant this morning. I was so scared of turning red in college that I rarely raised my hand, which damaged my grade since almost every class was based on participation. There's no time for this nonsense anymore. I need a good grade and a letter of recommendation. I do not need to be scared of speaking, nor do I need Kristy sitting next to me applying makeup during our second class, Ann shooting glares. Not off to a great start.

Our first assignment is due on Monday and while Kristy has no idea what she's supposed to do, I think it will be a breeze. PLU provided learning opportunities that involved 300 pages of reading each night only to have to write 12-15 pages about it. I hated it. Our one page, double spaced, numbered response to why we think an online article is bullshit will be nothing... and yet I'll be scrambling to get it done because motherhood has made me narcoleptic and sitting down at a computer has become as rare and pleasuresome as sleeping in. There has been a lot of "if only I'd known in college what I do now..." regarding study habits and delcaring a major before the second semester of my senior year going on this week. But then again, college was just as much about breaking up, hooking up, throwing up, and looking up spark notes as it was about hitting the books. It feels great to be back in an educational setting... especially without the throwing up.

I'm happy to be challenged. I'm happy to have two and a half hours where someone is teaching me and I'm listening. I'm thrilled to get the ball rolling toward my future. I am very entertained by my new bff Kristy and can't wait to see what will happen next week.

Better go study...

Ding!

2011-09-19T20:23:00.000-07:00

My back pocket buzzes and it's as if a force beyond my control is guiding my hand to retrieve my cell phone. An email from gymboree alerts me that there are only 3 hours left to cash in on my 40% off coupon... boring. Unable to sit on my phone in the driver's seat of my car, I place it between my knees on vibrate so that I will feel it if it happens to go off. On the counter inside of my house, I hit the middle button to illuminate the screen each time I pass it in case small red stars dot the corners of the mail icons indicating a new message.

I watch at the park as mothers and fathers guide their index finger over the rectangular screen of their smart phones. Some don't - they actually play with their children, pushing them on swings or holding a hand down a slide. But there are always the few that sit on a bench completely entranced by whatever is on that little screen.

My brother is 18 and a freshman at the University of Puget Sound. Being nine years older than him, I left the house when he was starting the fourth grade and saw him sporadically over the next four years while I was completely consumed with college and myself. Returning home more frequently over the last few years, I was able to see him more often... The only problem is, I was always competing with his cell phone, glued to one hand. It was hard to have a conversation - or wait, it was almost impossible. Buzzing, dinging, clicking and tapping were constantly in the background and good luck with getting any eye contact. We'd have to scream at him to put his cell phone down just to get a simple "yes" or "no" from him about dinner.

I've noticed that a large number of kids across the street at Ballard High School (little bastards) walk around with one ear bud in an ear and the other hanging out, bouncing on their chests as they walk. Why take the time to insert the ear bud at the first notice of an incoming call when you could just have it resting in there permanently? But what are the odds that they are actually making calls... come on, nobody talks on the phone anymore.

Heaven forbid I leave my phone at home for a day. My heart skips a beat when I hear the "battery low" warning beep and I'm without a charger. I will drop everything I am doing if my phone is sitting across the room and it dings more than once. The suspense is just too much! I had a friend answer her ringing phone in the middle of my sentence without even a "hang on one sec, I have to get this." Common manners and simple courtesies are hardly considered in this new world of hand held connectivity.

It all just seems to be happening so fast, I suppose. New versions of phones and better buttons to send things faster and clearer. I can't remember what it was like to be "unplugged." Really, I can't! I feel like I'm missing life because that little "ding" can act as a chainsaw cutting through the ties of the present, all of my attentione honed in on what everyone else is doing or saying... or baking or buying.

New rule: At least one day every week I am going to turn off my phone, computer, TV, and all other distractions so that I can be totally in the moment - MY moment, not someone else's moment who is sharing photos on facebook of a recent trip to Costa Rica. The Costa Rican moment of someone else's only makes me jealous.

Lisa, won't you listen

2011-09-03T09:15:00.000-07:00

I've fainted at concerts because it's stuffy and hot and there are too many people around me, and well, I'm a fainter. People who talk too close to my face can also make me drop, as well as dehydration. I fainted in the shower in my college dorm and a girl showering next to me had to haul my body out of the tiled box so that I didn't hit my head, or drown (thanks again, Andrea Wold in Foss Hall).

I was waiting in line, only 4 people back, when Lisa Loeb walked behind the counter to sign CDs and take photos. The light spots started appearing in my vision and my brain was full of bubbles. Allison, do NOT faint. Don't do it. Don't look like a total idiot fan fainting when you meet someone famous. It's so cliche. Get it together.

This little guy who spoke very slowly was explaining every single time he had seen Lisa perform, and she looked over at us like, "help me." We interrupted and offered to take their photo and she gave us a thank you glance. And just like that, we became best friends with Lisa Loeb and I was brought back from my almost fainting spell.

We walked up next and I couldn't contain myself. "Lisa, we just have so much to talk about," I started. "Your Nine Stories album was the first one I ever owned and memorized every single word to every song... and then your next album, and I have a two-year-old and bought your children's CD, and..."

"You have a two-year-old! Boy or girl?"

Oh yeah, the mom club.

"A boy! Baylor..."

"Oh my gosh, cute. My daughter is Lyla. Aren't they so funny right now? Lyla tells me everything to do, 'Mommy, sit here. Mommy hold this shovel.' It's just the best!"

"Oh just wait until they want to do everything on their own, takes 45 minutes just to put shoes on because they won't let you help them..."

I wanted to invite her to my mom's group! To have a glass of wine and compare notes on the highs and lows of child rearing.

My best friend since third grade, Gena, came with me to the show and told Lisa that we had been friends forever, just like the song she sang about having a friend since she was 8-years-old too. Just so much in common.

"Lisa, it's like we are the same. So nice to meet you." We got our photo and autographed CD and off we went... just like that. It was over. I don't know if Lisa felt the same as I did, about being the same (only because she started producing kid's albums right when I became a mom), but I loved meeting her.

Listening to her set at the Triple Door brought back so many memories from growing up. In so many ways it was a normal childhood, and in so many ways it was completely insane. Hearing her songs brought me back to memorizing her entire CD with my sister and my friends, fighting over the words. We'd sit and sing them back to each other feeling such a sense of accomplishment and individuality. I had a favorite singer for the first time and knew all of the words to her CD. Get any cooler.

It's Labor Day weekend and I have nothing to do - on purpose. Bay is with his dad and I said "no" to camping or boating because I would like to rediscover boredom. It's a weekend to regroup and do whatever I want. I have a list of things I should do, like study for the GRE which is in two weeks, and paint Baylor's room; but I think I may have to sit outside with headphones and memorize Lisa's newest album. I think it'll be good for my soul... and it'll make me feel way cooler.

I'll just have, um, an order of ice cream for dinner.

2011-08-29T15:30:00.000-07:00

When I watched Black Swan, I was so disturbed that it was hard to pinpoint what was the most upsetting part. Watching Natalie Portman's character spin out of control from being so controlled and protected her whole life was like a train wreck - you just can't turn away.

I say this time and time again, but I honestly don't know what I would do without my PEPS group (my group that has been meeting every Tuesday morning since our babies were around 3 weeks old). This group of moms planned their pregnancies. They read the books and took the time to research all different styles of parenting, discipline, preschools, co-op classes, yearly rummage sales, parks, and activities. Sometimes I wonder what would happen if I was living on Whidbey Island, where I grew up. I don't know that Baylor would have just finished his first soccer season last weekend, or that I would be stressed because he isn't on any lists for preschools. This is city living motherhood and there are people everywhere telling you what to do and how fast to do it. Figuring out what to chose is a job all on it's own.

I like to think I've picked up on mothering fairly well. I never really gave it much thought until I saw those two pink (or maybe they were blue...) lines on the test. Actually, I didn't give any of it much thought until I pushed that little baby out of me. Delivering naturally was the first thing I felt certain about. It was the first choice that I really made about my new son - I don't really know why I felt so strongly about it, I guess I just wanted to jump in with both feet and feel that friggin' pain.

I sat in our weekly PEPS group and would listen to the different methods for sleep training or theories on baby food and nursing. Who knew you couldn't give a 4 month old peanut butter! I've found that a schedule saves my life and our routine is something that I can count on, which makes everything more enjoyable (thank you PEPS group for telling me that babies take three naps, and then two naps and then just one. Oh, and bedtimes! And timeouts! And for letting me know which high chair to buy! You get the idea...). Yes, I've learned it's alright to deviate from these schedules and routines, but for the most part, I stick to them because I think my son is benefiting from consistency - especially since he is spending time at a different house some of the time.

I've thought a lot about this post. I was unsure if I should write it because it's a touchy subject. Nobody knows "the right way" to raise a child. Lord knows there are 50 million books and experts out there suggesting the next best way to do something. I just got an email from babycenter.com (a site that sends emails tracking your child's development and milestones) explaining what to do when your toddler reverts back to waking up in the night. In the email there were 6 different paragraphs outlining what a different expert had to say. Some said to go to your crying child; others said to let them self soothe; and a different one said a combination of the two. As I said, there is no defined way to raise your child. Each child is different and requires a certain amount of attention, discipline or love. Some are more creative where others are more physical. It really is a crap shoot and I am still getting to know my two-year-old wonder each day.

What I will say, is that I am a believer in having control. I want my child to respect me, and understand that what I say is what goes because it is my job to make sure he is safe, and that he leads a healthy life. Don't get me wrong, I want him to have a strong sense of independence and freedom... let's just say that if I didn't "have control," my sweet baby would watch Barney 24 hours a day and eat nothing but candy. He'd never sit in his car seat (he'd be driving my car...), and he certainly wouldn't wear his helmet. He'd probably never be potty trained (he said that it's too hard) and he'd never take a nap. He never would have stopped using a bottle (maybe he'd still be nursing) and my house would be a disaster because he doesn't particularly like cleaning up.

I recently met a mother who is creating a real life Black Swan character. No, really. It may sound harsh, but this woman was so far off her rocker, it made me anxious and upset. I felt the same way as I did when I watched a woman spank her son as hard as she could in public at a bus stop because he let go of her hand. I wanted to walk up to her and tell her that his little 2-year-old brain doesn't understand the concept of car and traffic lights and that her attempt at "protecting him" seemed so backwards after she just made him fly three feet into the air because of the power of her swing.

Back to Mama Swan. Let's just say I met her in a situation where there were other moms and we were sharing about ourselves, our children, and our situations. This woman was strikingly beautiful, as was her daughter. She began speaking with an Australian accent that started to fade as she continued into her story. We discovered that she had lived in Australia for the last 3 years and is originally from Oregon. Her daughter was 2 years old and was in childcare two days a week. Sounds ok...

And then she mentioned that she still visited her daughter at the school to nurse her during the day.

And nurses her to sleep.

And throughout the night. Because they sleep in the same bed together, kicking Mama Swan all night.

And that nobody can put her to bed other than her because she won't sleep without the nursing.

And the little girl "doesn't like many people" so it makes it hard to ever leave her.

She also doesn't "like sleep."

And Mama Swan doesn't want her sleeping over at her dad's house, despite him wanting to see her and have her every other weekend. The little girl "isn't ready."

The sweet little girl didn't leave her mother's side... at all. She brushed the side of her head on a chair and LOST it, to which her mother cradled her in her arms and spoke only in a high pitch squeal to soothe her screaming daughter.

Hearing her talk about all of these things and observing their interaction, I asked her if she was tired because she still nurses her 2 year old through the night. She replied, "yes, I'm absolutely exhausted." I told her that there are many ways to parent, and I obviously have no idea what she's already tried, but that I had experience with letting my son "cry it out, or it's known as the Ferber method" so that he learned to calm himself on his own and within 3 days of hearing his crying dwindle down, by the third night he was sleeping a solid 10 hours. Before I could continue with "of course he goes through phases where he'll wake sometimes because that's what kids do..." she was standing, peering down at me. Her red face made her strawberry hair look dull, and the veins in her neck reminded me of an incredible hulk plate that Baylor eats his dinner off of.

"ACTUALLY, FERBER IS SINGING A DIFFERENT TUNE NOW AND I DON'T BELIEVE IN LETTING MY CHILD SIT ALONE IN HER ROOM AND CRY!" She screamed at me. It was awkward.

I told her, of course, and that everyone has a different way of doing things, but I just thought I'd suggest something else. Some of the other moms chimed in saying that they "never let their child cry it out either" and there I was feeling like the worst mom in the room. Maybe they just didn't want to get yelled at next.

When I got home, a friend of mine, actually a mom from my PEPS group that moved away last year, was waiting for me in my living room. She was in town for the night and stayed with me - I love her. I told her about my experience with Mama Swan and she said, "HA, they would have loved me! When my son refuses to sleep in his big boy bed, we turn the door knob around and just lock him in there! I could see his lips under the door asking to come out... but hey, now he's sleeping in his bed!"

I guess my point is this. It's easy to give into these little sillies. It's easier to give Bay the piece of candy than to listen to him ask me for the next hour. It was hard to take away his bottle, and sometimes it's really hard to get him out the door! But I know that it's my job to ease him, slowly, into the real world and make him realize that you don't always get what you want and that it's important to contribute and to compromise.

Like I said, my way of doing things is probably way different than other parents, but it works for me and I've got a pretty well rounded, nice kid. I don't know everything - hell, I am learning every day - but I do know that Baylor's sleeping in his own damn bed because a sleepy mama is a Mama Swan with veins and a red face... and that doesn't look good on anybody.

Big Boy Baby

2011-08-26T21:16:00.000-07:00

He says he's a big boy,
but that he's still only mama's baby.
I believe him.
Curled on my lap, head nestled deep into the
soft spot
below my collar bone.
Elbows tucked, creating the only space between our
breathing bodies.
Damp hair pressed against my nose and face
like a drug
I breathe deep to fill every part of my body with his smell.
His back is hunched to fit along me
as my baby.
One slow hand creeps toward my cheek
and rests
cupping my hot face.
I know it is late and that he should be sleeping;
and yet every bit of anxiety
or worry
or doubt
is gone.
Like a car that won't start no matter how many times
the key is turned,
my chest has no room for the
engines of trouble.
Not when he's here,
resting quietly.
And we rock.

Ima get you!

2011-08-10T13:51:00.000-07:00

I don't know that I'm an animal lover. Not like those people who say, "I'm an animal lover." It's not that I don't like animals, or would be mean to a certain kind - well, ok, maybe.

We grew up with goats, chickens, ducks, peacocks, dogs, cats, bunnies and a pig that only lived for 6 weeks because she died of pneumonia. My brother had this weird dragon reptile thing and I had a turtle for a while... but in the end, they all died, and for most of them it was a very tragic death. We would feed our sweet little bunnies happy in their cages only to find tufts of their fur decorating our backyard in the morning. We would shovel their bloody remains into a pile and then transfer what we could into a gave in our pet cemetery. We'd lay a cross over the fresh dirt and sing "Amazing [duck] how sweet the [quack] that once was heard by meeeeeee." It seemed we were inserting a different animal and their sound into the song at least once a week. Raccoons, eagles, or coyotes would break in and feed on our pets. We would re-wire and reinforce, but these clever pests continued to find a way in. My mom would call and say, "there's been a chicken massacre. Please clean it up when you get off of the bus."

Perhaps this real life experience created a numbness toward all lower species on the food chain. We simply couldn't get attached because we knew that their ultimate fate would be a backyard shredding.

I live next door to two chihuahuas. Across the alley is a beagle. Down the street is a lady with two dogs who walks them 500 times a day. My other neighbor has some little dog with pointy ears. Two houses down is a pug. I'm in little dog hell.

I've never wanted to murder anyone or anything before. I don't know that I'm a killing kind of gal... I can imagine what I would do if someone tried to harm my son, but other than that I like to think I'm a peaceful person. I don't like getting in trouble, and I like to believe that I had respect for most life forms (not snakes - sick). However, I have never laid in bed dreaming of more ways to kill something than I have the last few weeks. Those chihuahuas sit inches from my house - my windows and doors - and bark. It isn't even really a bark. "Bark" sounds too serious and sophisticated for these rodents. It's a bitchy yelp that causes a feeling deep inside of my chest. I might go as far as to say that it is inside of my heart. They cause a pain in my heart when they try to communicate with their owners to let them in. I think it may be louder because of how precious my quiet time is. And, here's the biggest problem, their owners are so old, that they cannot hear these shithead rodents yapping away.

I've heard that raisins can put a dog into cardiac arrest. How many do you think would have to "accidentally" make it over the fence to get a little peace and quiet?

They aren't out side alone enough to hit them with my car.... Although I bet Baylor's ATV could get the job done just as easy.

Maybe I should offer to take them on a walk one day and say they ran away?

I fantasize most about reaching through the chain link fence and just grabbing their necks and squeezing as hard as I can. Crap, I'm sounding like a psycho. Don't send the animal rights people after me... A girl can dream, that's all. It's not like I own a shotgun, yet.

Just as annoying as the sad excuses for dogs are the neighborhood cats shitting in our sandbox. ONE NIGHT I didn't cover the play area that I created. 11 bags of 50 lb sand I hauled and dumped into the bottom of our play structure in the backyard. After poring my own sweat and energy in along with the sand, I've been serious about covering it with the tarp that I bought, but forgot after our birthday party last week. I first noticed the flies swarming the sand. And then, with the help of a kitchen utensil turned sand box toy, I discovered seven, yes, SEVEN piles of cat poop living and breathing beneath the miniature bulldozers. Go ahead kitties, take over. Did they have a freaking gang initiation that night? "Kitties, poop in this lady's sand box... that's right, all the cats in the neighborhood have to do it! Line up here!" I hate cats. I've told Baylor that his sandbox is no longer in commission and suppose I should figure out how to shovel all 550 lbs of sand out of there to start fresh. Little shits.

This morning, I opened my cereal cupboard and out flew 15 fruit flies. Where did they COME FROM?! There's nothing in there that they should like! Then I moved to my cupboard containing bowls. MORE! The fridge had them lining the handles. Where in the hell are they coming from. I've tried traps. I don't leave anything out that will attract them. I cover my clean garbage disposal. They just keep multiplying like it's a bad dream. More and more they arrive with a mission to make me lose my mind.

Yappers, shitters and multiplying flies. At least the moles destroying my yard were taken care of... with a trap that cuts them in half.

I'm moving to the country. And I'm buying a shot gun. Ok, and a fly swatter.

Status...

2011-08-06T18:35:00.000-07:00

New relationships are so funny. You never know what to expect. You have to let little things go because you aren't sure which category to put them in, and you have to remind yourself that it's ok not to know every single thing about the person you are just getting to know. Getting to know them is the best part... unless you are a control freak like me and hate not knowing what to expect.

We are still in that middle stage, him and I - I haven't really had to introduce him as anything yet. I think I'd call him my "friend," but that so reminds me of what my mom would call her boyfriends when she would bring them around. Boyfriend? We haven't had the talk about our titles yet, but we aren't seeing anyone else and make plans for every other day. He got me a perfect birthday gift. He has dropped off flowers on my doorstep so that I open my door in the morning and see them. He has a cabin on Whidbey and understands where I came from. He's lovely.

He isn't the type to get caught up in DTR-ing (determine the relationship), but I still think it should happen. I'm too nervous to bring it up. How about the old days when you got asked out on the playground. "Will you go out with me?" Or, actually, it was someone else coming up to you, "Will you go out with Jeff?" You knew you weren't really going anywhere, but for the next two weeks you would have someone to avoid on the playground until that same person came up to you with bad news, "um, Jeff wants to break up." And just like that, a beautiful relationship would end. I didn't have a therapist when I was 10, but I wish I would have.

It's like fashion. Wearing what's "in" this season really doesn't matter. It doesn't make you a better person. You aren't healthier for it. You don't need it, not really. But it makes you FEEL good. It's the same with relationships! I don't need to be in a relationship on facebook... I know exactly where we are and how he feels, but it just feels good to see it officialized. Like, hey, look at me! I'm "in a relationship" with someone. Good for me! It's so stupid, and yet we all do it in some way or another.

Then comes the "I love you" situation. Who says it first? When is it appropriate? Are we just feeling these love vibes because it's the early stages and we have love goggles on? Just ignore me when I accidentally say it because I say it to everyone when I get off the phone! Then the three hours of worrying if he heard me say it... or did I say it in my sleep when he kissed me goodbye at 4am to go to his job? Is there a way I can ask him? Maybe an immediate disclaimer is best, "Oh my gosh, I don't remember you leaving at all... I hope I didn't say anything embarrassing!" I'm clearly over thinking absolutely everything.

Thinking back on past relationships, it's always so nerve wracking at first, and then becomes natural and easy. All the while I am cursing under my breath about how much I hate all of this beginning shit... but it really is the most fun. It's hard to let go and open up. It's hard to let someone in after being hurt or led to believe that nobody will want to date you again... It's terrifying to consider being with someone for a lifetime, and even more frightening to imagine them wanting to be with me for the same amount of time. See, there I go again... Allison, slow down. We haven't even discussed the boyfriend/girlfriend title and here I am thinking about lifetimes together. Geeeeeez.

He'll be here in an hour. I think the most important thing, right now, is to take a shower so that I don't scare him away with this body odor I've been rockin' all day. As Baylor would say, "Peee Yeeew. YOU STINK!" Here I am stressing about "boyfriend status" and "I love you" when I should really be worrying about "pee yew."

I swear Mister, I really AM old enough! Just let me on the ride, too!

2011-08-05T13:59:00.000-07:00

I turned 27 this week. Thank God. I've been waiting to be 27. In fact, I've been telling people that I'm 27 for the last 5 months, so I suppose this birthday just stopped my from being a dirty liar. I can remember thinking, when I'm 27, I'll have this awesome career and probably be engaged... my car will be fast and my heels will be tall. It seemed so old - so far off. 25 and even 26 still sound young... but 27 is a real grown up, like everything in my fantasy would just fall into place overnight. 27 seems old enough to be a parent. It seems old enough to have friends in their 30s and 40s. It seems old enough to maybe even get married. It just seems old enough...

I went to a wedding for a dear friend of mine a couple of weekends ago. She has been teaching in Paraguay for the last 2 years and arrived home just weeks before her big day. She drove up from Portland to say goodbye to me while I was still pregnant. I remember sitting in my living room with a moving baby inside of my belly telling her how weird it would be that I would have a two-year-old when she got back. I didn't know what he looked like, or what those two years would be like... but there I was at her wedding showing everyone photos on my camera of my beautiful blond boy who just turned two.

When I went to LA to visit my friend Katie in June, we decided to get pedicures. As the sweet Vietnamese lady scrubbed my heels she said to me, "you have very bad feet. Tired." I looked at her tired face and replied, "yeah, well, I have a two-year-old son who I'm running around after every day." She stopped what she was doing and her small jaw dropped to the floor. "YOU HAVE BABY?!" YOU LOOK TOO YOUNG TO HAVE BABY!" Then she gave me an extra 5 minute massage.

It was the same thing on the airplane on the way down to LA. I sat next to a young woman from Greece. We chatted about her new job at Microsoft and how she liked the states.

"Did you just graduate from high school," she had asked me.

"Haha... you are sweet. No." I figured her English was a little rusty and maybe she meant to say "college" instead.

"Oh, ok, sorry, so then what do you do?" She was on me.

"I'm a stay-at-home mom, actually."

"YOU? A mom?! I don't believe it." She said it in her beautiful accent in an airy sort of way like an actress from the 50s would have done in a black and white. I don't believe it...

Then, she added, "You look like you are maybe 17 or 18 years old. I thought you had just graduated from the high school. You don't look old enough to have a baby." Turns out her beautifully accented English leaving her beautifully Greek lips was just fine.

These weren't the first times that this has happened. I was walking around a popular lake in Seattle when a woman out of nowhere popped in front of me. "He yours?" I nodded back. "You don't look old enough to have kids!" And she kept moving.

I was almost attacked by some moms in a changing room at the spa on mother's day. "You are a parent? Impossible! You look like you could be my daughter."

Just last week at a concert at the zoo, a tall 22-year-old helped me across the street with my toddler, stroller, three shopping bags and a blanket. "How old are you?" She just came right out and asked. "I'm 27..." There I was again, lying. "NO WAY! First of all, you have a better body than me and I don't even have kids, and second of all, I look WAY older than you and I'm only 22!" She was sweet, but I don't know why she felt the need to say all of that.

What does this mean? I don't look old enough? I've been a little insecure about the missing ring on my finger... but now about my age! I mean, I got my period when I was 12, so I've technically been "old enough" for 15 years. I don't ask "mature moms" how old they are and then respond that they look like they could be the grandma. It reminds me of how I feel when people tell me I'm "soooo skinny." I don't think it's polite! I would be slapped if I told someone that they were "soooo fat." I know they (sometimes) mean it as a compliment, but it's such a double standard.

Finding out I was pregnant at 24 made me consider what I would be giving up if I decided to keep my baby. I decided that I had traveled my fair share, received a college diploma, been trashed every weekend for a year after I moved to Seattle, I spoke another language, and could wipe my own ass - so teaching a child how to do it couldn't be that tough. My age never really crossed my mind - it was the experiences that I had under my belt that mattered. I never wanted to feel resentful, like I had given up so much just to have him. My mom was 24 when she had me, so my whole life I had thought that 24 was a perfectly fine age to have a child. Now, in Seattle, I get looked at or treated like I'm some teen mom who just got my learner's permit. They're shocked to learn that Baylor is mine and even more shocked when they hear I'm 27! It's sort of fun.

When I turn 30 I'm sure I'll be thanking the bartender for checking my ID because that's just what you are supposed to do, right? I'll reminisce about my 20s like they were decades ago and I'm sure I'll go through some crisis just because I'm older. I guess the one thing I've got going for me is that I won't look old enough to do any of these things. I have a feeling that I'll just keep right on telling people I'm 27 for a very long time.... and maybe they'll keep believing it.

It'll just take a sec...

2011-07-27T16:46:00.000-07:00

My mother raised us in a tiny house with only 2 bedrooms and a large closet, where my brother slept. She decorated this small room which held his crib and a dresser with boat wallpaper to make it look like a nursery. The bedroom ceilings were 6 feet tall in the highest spot and then slanted down to 3 feet for the majority. It was like sleeping in little cocoons and we thought it was lucky that we could simply reach up and rearrange our glow in the dark stars above our heads.

When the tree hit our house, we were all inside. It was one of those silent booms, like when you are inside of a car that gets read-ended.

I was in the eighth grade and remember wondering what this meant for where we were going to live. Would we have to sleep in beds with a tarp over us to protect us from the outside elements? My mom didn't have any money and I was sure there was no way we could fix a house with a hole down the middle.

Home owner's insurance got us our own bedrooms, and an enclosed porch that we changed into our family room. It didn't have the best insulation, so we used space heaters to stay warm. The remaining wall of our house which was enclosed around still displayed the cream siding, but our mom hung large prints and paintings to make it look like a family room and not the outside. We changed our pellet stove to a wood burning fireplace and used most of the tree to heat our home that coming winter.

Taking more pride in our little home, every weekend was turned into a project. It seemed like stacking wood would never end - clearly we had no idea how much wood it took to heat a home for a Northwest winter. My mom would report a crack and boom in the woods and we'd venture out to find a different fallen tree to turn into firewood. Chainsaws and log splitters would be the next 48 hours, and then on to the hauling and stacking.

Being a single mom, she had boyfriends who would help. There was the neighbor who would sometimes lend a hand... and a guy who she met doing something somewhere had a truck and offered to help.

But, most of the time, it was us who got roped into "one more load" or "the dump will be so much fun!"

Our friends would come over thinking they were there to spend the day playing in the back yard, or down at the lake. My strawberry blond mother's head bearing a fun-loving grin would pop around a corner, "Hey guys! Need your help. It'll just take a minute. It'll be great!!!" Before long, the neighborhood would be put to work. Re-fencing the chicken coop, scooping dog poop, laying down straw in the goat pen, or stacking that damn wood, every day was a work day at the Norris house. It didn't take just an hour... it took an afternoon. It's a wonder we had friends at all.

We got boyfriends and you could see her brain working: perfect... he's pretty buff. I'll have him move all of the boulders from the very furthest part of our yard up to the house. It'll just take a minute. Our boyfriends were requested for specific weekends and we were (and still are) unsure if we would prep them on their upcoming labor, or just let them find out on their own. I can remember when my sister started dating her boyfriend, Nick. My mom actually thought he could move all of the huge pieces of driftwood in front ouf our beach cabin on his own. These are massive trees that have been sitting on our property for years. "Come on, Nick, can't you just move these around a little?" Yeah, maybe if he had a tractor.

Finally, I get it. She is a genius. And it has started at my house.

I caught myself repeating those words, "Bay, would you just hop up and grab the diaper bin in your room. It's soooo fun!" He did it... dumped his diapers into the garbage and returned the bin to it's place. He loved it. Next was the magical vacuum. He cleaned the whole rug in the living room while I swept the kitchen. "Oh, do you mind picking up all these little food scraps under your highchair - it's so cool!" There was my 3-foot-tall baby bending over to remove his fallen nutrition. It was amazing.

Play dates will start soon and my army of workers will grow. Who needs a housekeeper when your kid has friends?! We may have hated it growing up, but I'm pretty sure my mother would have dropped dead trying to stay on top of everything with three young children. She did what we all do - try to survive and do our best at getting what we need. In her case, it was help. It gave us a sense of pride in our shitty little house and probably taught a few of our friends about work ethic and how to do things on your own.

I never did learn how to change my own oil... maybe she'll show me how to do that next time.