Tropic of Mom: Life at Latitude 26

Mothers Day ups and downs

2012-05-14T00:03:00.000-04:00

So, Mothers Day. I had to make breakfast for everyone. The boys couldn't get along and kept bonking each other on the head. My husband took us to the mall to have me pick out a gift for his mother. Lunch was rushed, we were late to meet with the in-laws, and dinner at the restaurant was awful.

But I got to go stroll Hollywood Beach with my guys and feel the soft breezes. I got to sleep in past 10 am. My family gave me a new suitcase and a gardening book and made me cards. Several friends or family members texted me Mothers Day wishes.

I guess I should count my blessings.

Hosted by Krystyn at Really, Are You Serious?

I went to Mom 2.0 and all I got was a Dove T-shirt ... but really so much more

2012-05-07T19:13:00.000-04:00

This past weekend I experienced the best blogging conference I've attended yet -- the Mom 2.0 Summit. It was an hour's drive away from my home, so like a nerd I drove there each day instead of shelling out big bucks to stay at the Ritz-Carlton. (Which was fabulous, of course, and I'm sure worth every cent they asked for.)

Why was this the best conference so far?

It's the only one where I got to meet The Bloggess.

Who autographed her bestselling book, Let's Pretend This Never Happened, which I am giving to Heather at Cool Zebras because I know she is going to looooove it.

It's the only conference where I got to party in the Versace Mansion in Miami Beach.

(See how shell-shocked I am? Thank you, Intel.)

With local bloggers.

(Caroline from Smarty Pants Mama, Lindsey from Mrs. Potts' Thoughts, Nicole from By Word of Mouth Musings and myself (and so many other Florida bloggers)

Where there was nudity. As art.

Where even the furnishings in the women's restroom cost more than my whole house.

Which necessitated buying a new outfit and new shoes that crippled me for two and a half days.

Where I was able to tell Intel that I'm the ultra Tropic mom.

Where I got to wear a coconut bra.

(With Nature's Path)

Where my photo was taken for a Times Square billboard.

(With Dove)

The only conference where I won something from Hallmark, the very people who make it their job to make you cry.

Mom 2.0 Summit was the ultimate blogging experience for me so far. I feel so lucky.

And crippled by those shoes to the point of wondering how I might accessorize with a cane.

But mostly lucky.

You didn't think I could let World Penguin Day just slip by...?

2012-04-25T14:55:00.000-04:00

You know my boys love penguins. Scratch that, they are obsessed with penguins. Plush penguins come out of the bedrooms with the boys when they wake up in the morning, most days the penguins go to school or on errands, and the boys play with them all day and take them back to bed with them at night.

This is no small thing.

There are 25 penguins in my house.

I counted.

And each one has a name.

That doesn't include the penguin figurines, or penguin T-shirts (seven) or penguin blanket. There's a rockhopper penguin notebook and pen set from SeaWorld. We have nine or ten DVDs about penguins -- some real, some animated.

And the books! Holy moly, the books. We have everything from Sandra Boynton's Your Personal Penguin (including the song, which we've memorized and performed in the Man-cub's preschool class) to 365 Penguins to Pierre the Penguin to 10 Little Penguins and many more. Nicole tipped me off to another Sandra Boynton penguin masterpiece, Penguin's Lament, performed by John Ondrasik from Five for Fighting.

We've had missing penguin scares a few times. And sadly, we have lost a couple penguins. Then the whole colony mourns.

Our penguin love knows no bounds.

I know the stuffed animal adoration stage doesn't usually last.

But in 10 years, when we look back at pictures of the Man-cub and Junebug as little boys, we will see many photos of them holding and playing with their penguins and say...

"Huh. Our penguin collection was so small then!"

How to avoid cooking

2012-03-30T07:08:00.000-04:00

My stepmother had me cooking from the time I was six years old. Oh sure, at that time she just gave me an Easy Bake Oven, but I know her designs from the beginning were to pretend cooking was fun so I would eventually take over and she wouldn't have to cook any more.

From helping to can summer vegetables to preparing the cakes she would professionally decorate and sell, to pulling all-nighters when my stepmother eventually started her own catering company, I was her sidekick in the kitchen.

All of that training paid off now that I have a child with multiple food allergies and have to come up with ways to feed him that don't involve nutrients via IV.

Occasionally, I've posted my recipes here (and now I post recipes here) because when I find something good, I like to share it.

But as much time as I spend in the kitchen cooking most of my family's meals from scratch, I confess sometimes I really just don't want to even look in the kitchen's direction.

Even for someone who volunteers to take meals to people after they bring home a new baby or have surgery, there is such a thing as cooking burnout.

It happens.

So here are my tips to avoid cooking dinner.

1. Use leftovers. No matter how weird a combination you have. Scrounge through your fridge and cabinets and serve whatever is there. It's OK if all you have are stale freezer pancakes and a can of beets. Dinners like that will make your family appreciate it even more when you actually do cook.

2. Shuffle things around in the kitchen. Your family might actually think you are cooking when you aren't. Of course, eventually the jig will be up and you'll have to put food on the table, order takeout or tell everyone to fend for themselves.

3. Use restaurant gift cards. No lie, I have a stash of them. In my kitchen. Both my mother and my husband's are so good about mailing us gift cards for Big Name Restaurant That Offers To-Go Meals. If you don't have a family member who likes mailing you restaurant gift cards, then get sneaky and swap gift cards with a friend. ("Hey! Look what a friend gave me! I think we should put this to good use.") Or buy them for yourself. (Note my stepmother doesn't send us restaurant gift cards. She thinks I should be ever cooking.)

4. Distract your family. "Let's look at the stars!" "Let's go for a bike ride!" "Wow! Bedtime already?" "I think I might be contagious and should go lie down." Maybe they will forget about dinner altogether.

5. Remember there is always cereal. In our house, organic and gluten-free.

Oh, and? My husband thinks cooking is heating something in the microwave and making popcorn. So he's not much help in the kitchen. He has been known, however, to bring home a meal from Whole Foods, which is just as good as tip #3.

If you're the family cook and facing burnout, there is hope. Just be creative outside of the kitchen and take the night off. You deserve it.

What other tips would you add?

An appeal

2012-03-16T11:47:00.002-04:00

Dear James Farr, Creative Genius Master of Everything Cool,

Your Trains-formers videos are more awesome than a robot fighting machine that also makes cotton candy riding a mag-lev train to a space station in a galaxy far, far away.

It's a sad day in Sodor because my two-year-old (whose morning routine includes requesting, in his words, "Thomas Prime") and five-year-old couldn't see their cherished movies due to HiT's copyright claim. ("This is really going to aggravate a number of legal departments!")

According to my sons, here is a list of things that are awesome:

Trains

Cars

Racing trains and cars

*James Farr videos featuring Vector*

Disney World

Penguins

Bananas

Hot dogs (both shaped like light sabers and fantastically delicious)

Legos

Knocking things (and each other) over

You can see that you are very, very close to the top.

I don't suppose I could plead, beg, flatter or buy the chance to have your supremely perfect Trains-formers videos??? We didn't even know about the fourth movie you made with Lady until today, and we can't even watch it.

Our family will always think you and your team are awesome no matter what, but it sure would make our millennium to be able to watch your movies again.

Humbly,

Holly

PS I wish my comic-book-artist-wannabe little brother had turned out more like you. Instead, he stopped sleeping on Spiderman sheets at 30, shelved his creations, got a degree in history, and became an EMT.

Weekend by numbers: Tag-team parenting, and trains

2012-01-08T23:29:00.000-05:00

1: Afternoon spent hanging with my Junebug, while....

1: Afternoon the Man-cub tried out the dadster's prototype bicycle-pedal-powered train.

2: Arms and shoulders that got tired (much needed for still-developing fine motor skills).

1: Birthday party I took the Junebug to while the Man-cub stayed home.

1: Birthday party I took the Man-cub to while the Junebug stayed home.

(1: Time I couldn't bite my tongue and told a party-goer it wasn't nice she stole my parking spot. She turned out to be the birthday boy's grandma. Go me.)

I say blah blah blah

2011-12-14T16:06:00.004-05:00

The so-called blogging experts say you shouldn't write "why I haven't blogged" posts, but I figure you deserve an explanation.

If you are coming here in your free time to read my silly drivel and even check in on me (which I didn't realize until 10 minutes ago ... thank you!), then you are true friends.

I could wax poetic about writing and life, but I'll spare your eyes. (Save your good vision for wrapping presents, reading holiday cards that arrive in the mail and watching specials on TV.)

Basically, I just can't keep up the blogging game anymore -- and trying to do so has ruined my health.

I started blogging while expecting my five-year-old, and it was great to find a community of other dedicated moms from all philosophies, locations and walks of life. I depended on their support during my pregnancy and first months as a mother, and later to find out how other moms were walking that motherhood walk. Because I sure didn't know how to do it!

Maybe it's just me, but commercialization has changed that community a bit. There are the haves and have-nots of the blogosphere, and, well, I guess I'm just not as hilarious or poignant as the blog superstars (some of whom I "grew up with" as a new mom blogger), or maybe it's that I didn't have a hook or niche of some kind to catch much interest. I admit I compared myself to other bloggers. And I admit lack of success got me down.

Also, I have two little boys now who don't really nap, and they are just too cute and fun (and OK, needy) to ignore while I devote my attention to a computer screen. (Well, that's what they think I'm doing.)

So I stayed up in the wee hours after everyone was asleep to blog and comment.

And/or I ended up ignoring my children. (I am right now. But they are enjoying a new DVD and are happy for the moment.)

And still got nowhere with my blog.

So, whatever.

A five-year track record of five to six broken hours of sleep every night made me cranky and ill. I finally had to say enough was enough, turn off the computer for the night, get some rest and get well. Some people say they trained themselves to need very little sleep. I say that's awesome for them! But yeah it didn't really work for me.

After so much time away from my blogs, I feel guilty. Almost like How dare I try to post again? Who will even remember me now?!

But I made a deal with myself. If I focus on my health and family first, and I get a chance to post something, great! I'm just not going to care about how many posts I do every week. I'm not going to worry about stats. I'm not going to try to be popular. I know some of my blogging peeps would say it's blog suicide and you have to treat your blog like a business. I say blah blah blah. Tried it, failed, ruined my health and slighted my family, moving on.

Because even though I'm a writer, I don't have to be a great blogger.

Maybe I'll be able to give it another earnest try some time. Just not now.

Now, I need time to rest and time to enjoy my boys.

They are the reason for this blog, after all....

Weekend by numbers: Rain, rain and more rain

2011-10-30T23:51:00.004-04:00

1: Flash flood warning.

1: Closed street.

1: Day without Internet access.

1: Neighbor's birthday party that was postponed due to the weather.

1: Friend's birthday party that carried on ... but was flooded.

3: Days of rain. Hard rain.

5: Inches of rain from the former Hurricane Rina on already-soaked land. (Um. Did you see that picture above? How does a 5-inch rainfall create a 7-inch-deep lake in a field?)

6: Halloween cupcakes.

(Yeah, those are Easter and Hanukkah decorations. I thought I had Halloween decorations but turns out I didn't. I don't know how I got a Hanukkah cupcake topper, but the Junebug loved the Star of David. The Man-cub loved his Valentine's Day heart. We love all the holidays.)

(OK, this cupcake I didn't make. It was a surprise from my husband. Which is why I had to make cupcakes the Man-cub could eat.)

13: Apollo mission that inspired my husband to create this costume for Halloween.

Moved in the stillness

2011-10-25T22:14:00.004-04:00

After dinner, I looked out the window. The sun had dipped below the horizon until all that was left of it were pink and orange streaks making arcs and bubbles in the sky.

Without saying a word to my family, I passed through the doorway, crossed the patio and collapsed into the hammock to watch the spectacle of dusk. Just a moment of peace after a busy day.

I'd been outside hardly a minute when my husband opened the back door, letting the Junebug out.

"Mommee-ee-ee-ee!" he squealed as he ran to me.

"He wondered where you were," my husband said, who stayed inside and closed the door.

I pulled the Junebug onto the hammock next to me, and soon the Man-cub joined us. I was flanked by little boys.

"That looks like a rainbow!" the Man-cub said, looking at the same marvel of sky.

I smiled and squeezed them close to me, one of my arms around each boy.

Time slowed down. I remember the rising and falling of breathing. I remember the Junebug's baby-fine hair whisping across my cheek like a feather. I remember the individual fronds of the palm trees, looking almost black in silhouette against the sunset in the west, moving together and yet individually in the breeze. Even the rarely-still Man-cub melded next to me in the quiet. We listened to the local high school band practicing -- starting and stopping in such a way it could have been just another cricket.

And we watched the sky, like an Impressionist painting in motion.

It was probably only a few minutes, but it may as well have been an hour.

It's great to do just nothing with my guys.

Yet even while we were doing nothing, I was completely moved.

Reach for the stars -- if you don't make it, at least you might get a lamp painted

2011-10-17T16:43:00.007-04:00

Recently, I broke down and told my husband I want to move.

Yes, I mean I literally broke down. I had a weak moment. Probably caused by too little sleep and too much stress. And possibly a little wine.

"I can't live this way," is something I think I remember saying.

That sounds a bit dramatic to me now, but you decide....

For starters, our master bathroom has been "under construction" since I was pregnant with the Man-cub (who is 5). Friends, I have no drywall in this bathroom. There are small holes in the ceiling where the room is open to the attic above. There is a pockmarked concrete floor with no working bath tub or shower. I could show you a picture, but I'm too embarrassed. At least the two sinks work. The toilet works now -- but it didn't for the first year or so. Having a pregnant bladder waking you up at night is no fun, especially when you have to walk to the other side of the house to get to the working toilet! (The boys' bathroom is freshly redone and awesome.) Ah, memories.

Also, our stove/range unit is dying -- one burner won't come on and another one recently caught on fire -- and the handle of the oven (which runs too hot) broke off a long time ago. Because of the Man-cub's food allergies, I do a lot of from-scratch cooking, so I really need a place to cook. A place that actually works.

Then you add a floor redo that is half finished (the front half of our house has a nice laminate wood flooring and the back half still has 25-year-old chipped, stained tile), a hedge that always needs to be trimmed and shaped but never is (we have a huge yard) and a driveway that is crumbling due to tree roots and never having been resurfaced in the 15 years we've lived here ... and my joy is complete.

But actually, no, wait, there's more! Now there is a construction project going on right behind our property line. Here in southern Florida, there are lots of canals that were dug out so houses could be built. We have a canal behind our house too. It's considered an outfall canal -- all the water from other canals in our neighborhood drain into our canal and gets pumped out to a larger canal that runs from the Everglades (1 mile away) to the Atlantic Ocean. The water management folks are building a new pump. I don't know how they are accomplishing this, but I have two bull elephant-sized piles of dirt on the other side of said beat-up hedge, and their equipment shakes our house from 7 am to 4:30 pm six days a week. I mean, glasses in my cupboards are rattling. On the upside, I have a lovely view of a construction crane in my backyard (the Florida state bird).

When I recounted these things to my husband, he pointed out that no one is going to buy our house while the construction project is going on.

I may have literally choked back a sob.

But then he told me he would finish up the master bathroom before the end of the year and that we could get an all-new kitchen (not just a stove and oven, but cabinets too, which I wanted since before we moved in) in the first half of next year. It's not a matter of needing the money (well, OK, just a bit), but needing the time for him to do the projects. He is the kind of man who has to do everything himself.

I didn't know if I could believe he would actually get the ball rolling, but he started working on the bath tub right away.

Because everyone builds their own custom-sized bath tub, right?

My husband also repainted the yellowed used-to-be-white chandelier that hangs over where we eat in the kitchen.

Before

After

So we won't be moving into a beautiful new home. And maybe that bathroom actually won't get finished in 2011. But the stove and oven are on its last legs, so if he wants to eat, my husband knows the kitchen has got to materialize.

And if I'm still staring at exposed electrical wiring in the master bathroom this time next year, I'll console myself knowing at least that lamp got painted.

Different vs. better: When do you give other parents the benefit of the doubt?

2011-10-11T23:10:00.008-04:00

I worked as an editor for a while before starting my own (failed) magazine, writing a book and then staying home to take care of the Man-Cub. I learned that when editing, changing something a writer has written doesn't always make the piece better -- sometimes, it's just different. And if editing didn't improve the piece, then I learned to just leave it alone. Because different doesn't equal better.

I have similar thoughts as a parent: Just because other parents do something I wouldn't, it doesn't mean either one of us is better. We're just different. All parents have to make their own choices that are right for their kids and their families.

But in some situations, I still worry about the kids involved. While editing, if someone wrote "lead" when she meant "led," misused a semicolon or needed better organization for her thoughts, that's one thing. Kids are more important.

One night recently, I made a quick dash to the supermarket when my husband was home with my boys. I pulled into the parking lot at the same time as another car. The car had a young man, an elderly woman and a little girl around three or four. The girl wasn't in a car seat or even a seat belt. I could tell because she was bouncing around. Later, I was surprised to see the elderly woman limping through the store with the girl -- while the young man in the driver's seat waited in a handicapped parking spot. I found myself casting judgment against this family. Then I reminded myself there was probably a reason the little girl was out late, there was a reason the young man wasn't the one to go into the store instead of the feeble grandmother (even though the handicapped parking sticker was probably for her). Maybe the grandmother was raising the girl herself and wasn't aware of child restraint laws, and the young man was a neighbor who offered to drive her after dark. Maybe the woman couldn't leave the girl with anyone but had to get something for breakfast the next morning.

So I didn't say or do anything. But I worried about the girl not being in a seat belt. I always buckle my kids in, after all. It's the law.

Then yesterday afternoon when I was taking my boys to an appointment, we parked near a large SUV outside a cafe. As I was getting the Man-Cub and Junebug out of their seats, I could hear kids playing inside the SUV. The engine was running, and the front windows were rolled all the way down -- but I didn't see any adults. I looked around to see if someone was nearby. All I saw were a man and woman sitting at one of the cafe tables. As I led the Man-Cub and Junebug away, the woman got up and opened the SUV to yell at the kids to get back in their seats. I instantly thought the couple was enjoying an early dinner while the kids were left in the vehicle. But then I wondered if the couple was just waiting to pick up a to-go order and didn't want kids running around the cafe tables. The SUV was right in front of them, so the children were in sight. And I'm sure with the engine running, the A/C was still on, so they weren't going to die of heat.

But the situation reminded me of a time when parents went into a local restaurant and left their son and daughter in the car in the parking lot, and a woman in the nearby store I was in called the police. A community resource patrolman -- a volunteer "cop" -- showed up to give the couple an oral warning. That was it, in spite of the trouble we have in steamy southern Florida with children being left in cars (and even school buses) to roast to death.

I didn't say or do anything about the SUV full of kids. I gave the woman the benefit of the doubt, even though I personally wouldn't leave my children in my car while picking up a meal (if that's what was going on).

Most of the time, I do give other parents the benefit of the doubt, because parenting is hard, and we all are trying to raise our children the best way we can. Defend the mother whose toddler was burned by hot coffee at Starbucks? I was the only one who did so on my local newspaper's Facebook page. Stick up for the woman who was ahead of a friend in line at a fast-food place and was apparently taking too much time ordering meals for the kids in her van? Yes, even though my friend complained it was somehow rude of the woman not to usher the children inside to order and leave the drive-through window for people who are trying to get to work.

A few months ago, I blogged that Jaycee Dugard's story taught me to trust my maternal instincts even if it meant calling the police. In these definitely less-dire situations I witnessed, I hope that those instincts were right and that the kids would be OK. Still, it's something I struggle with, knowing when to speak up.

Have you ever confronted a parent or called the police?

Weekend by numbers: Friends and food

2011-10-09T22:50:00.001-04:00

1.5: Years since my husband and I had a date. Yeah, really.

2: Friends who came in from out of town we got to hang out with.

5: Attempts the Junebug made to make his peas disappear. (Disney magic.)

42: Homemade donuts I made this morning, half of them wheat- egg- and dairy-free.

50: Times I wished I had something better to do with the kids, but it rained all weekend.

On monkeys in hospitals and giving birth to a third child

2011-10-06T17:27:00.005-04:00

This week, we had to deal with an unexpected health crisis.

I took the Junebug to visit my husband in the hospital, and he sweetly snuggled with him on the bed.

But later, when I took the Junebug and the Man-cub together to visit their dad (quite mellowed out by two painkillers), the boys climbed on and off the bed, pulled on the window blinds, pushed every button they could find, opened and closed the bathroom door, played with the lever on a chair, turned the lights on and off, ran down hallways and were generally too loud. Even though I laid out my expectations for their behavior beforehand and told them not to be so rambunctious in the hospital, I guess the excitement of being there trumped the excitement of seeing their dad for the first time in over a day. (Sorry, honey.)

Now I can see why, when I was little, hospitals didn't allow young children to visit....

Mainly, though, I think there's something to the "monkey see, monkey do" dynamic. (There must be a good sociology term for this.) One child by himself or herself can behave quite nicely. Get two or more of them together, however, and anyplace becomes a playground.

I have learned my lesson. No more taking two boys to the hospital. Or mostly anywhere. Or maybe the lesson is No More Hospitalizations.

But if my husband wants to be the next one in the family to give birth, that's fine by me.

Weekend by numbers: Ups and downs

2011-10-02T23:24:00.004-04:00

1: Missed girls' night out

1: Day of cooking

2: Days of cleaning

2: Days of feeling blah

But....

1: Gym membership I signed up for

2: Days of dreaming about home improvements

2: Boys being brothers

Ah, weekends...

Reverse psychology gone wrong

2011-09-27T16:40:00.001-04:00

A mom friend of mine once declared, "I will not take my three children to the supermarket. I'd rather be shot."

I thought, "Really? That seems extreme." But I had one child then. One small child who couldn't walk.

But now? With two sons who act like whirling dervishes from the moment they wake up until they fall into bed at night from exhaustion?

Oh yeah.

Unfortunately, I recently had to take both boys to the store. I needed just a few things, so I figured it wouldn't get too out of hand.

Things went fine with the Man-cub and Junebug sitting in a two-seat shopping cart that looks like a truck, until the Man-cub wanted to steer both his and the Junebug's steering wheels. The Junebug socked him. The Man-cub shoved him back.

"Guys, guys," I said, "Look, you can beat each other up when we get home. But not here in the store." I hoped this would pacify them long enough to forget that I said they were allowed to clobber each other.

Nope.

The Man-cub continued to hog both steering wheels, and the Junebug continued to whine about it and smack on his big brother to get him to stop, so the Man-cub would retaliate, and pretty soon even I couldn't steer the shopping cart.

"Look, boys," I said, getting close for eye contact. "You can break boards over each other's heads when we get home, but here in the store, you have to behave."

The Man-cub looked at me, doubtful. "No, I'm not going to break boards."

They kept at it, and I decided to carry the Junebug, who eventually wanted to walk. Then the Man-cub wanted to walk, so he climbed out of the cart on his own when I wasn't looking, and before I knew it, two women shopping in the bakery weren't able to maneuver around my boys, who were sprawled on the floor, wrestling.

So of course, I looked like The Mother of the Year, and their looks to me told me so.

I put the Junebug back in the cart, and the Man-cub proceeded to smash his little brother's fingers while I raced to the checkout.

"Not in the store!" I pleaded. "Stick each other in the eye with hot pokers! Give each other karate chops! Sock each other in the eye! WHEN WE GET HOME!"

My tactic was flawed from the start. Preschoolers and toddlers ... waiting ... not a chance. Instant gratification is what they operate on.

Silly me.

And when we got home, the Man-cub and Junebug played together quite nicely.

So when it comes to going to the store with two boys...

Just shoot me.

Cornhole is one word

2011-09-12T23:41:00.005-04:00

Here's a typical conversation between my husband and me after the kids have gone to bed:

Hubs: You remember on our trip when the guys were out back to play cornhole? And Hope came out and asked if I'd ever played cornhole and I said I only watched it on ESPN?

Me: She probably wasn't ready for that kind of answer.

Hubs: I asked if I got extra points for hitting Tom, and he said, "Yes, but I know how you play."

Me: He knows your athletic ability.

Hubs: We played like champions!

Me: Where was Title IX? No one invited me to play.

Hubs: No women came out until Hope. And she was just watching. There wasn't enough interest.

Me: I didn't even know there was a game going on.

Hubs: Exactly.

Me: I think the game was rigged. I think you were taking bets for lack of anything better to do.

Hubs: People say the mob was around, but those rumors are exaggerated.

Me: Ah, cornhole....

Hubs: Are you mocking me? Wait, here.... There are 6500 results for cornhole on eBay. For all your cornhole playing needs.

Me: You get a cornhole! And you get a cornhole! And you get a cornhole! Everybody gets a cornhole!

Hubs: There are only 47 results for lawn darts. So there, cornhole is more popular.

Me: Do you ... need something to do right now?

Hubs: It's late.

Me: Mmm-hmm.

And then the Junebug cries in his sleep because we're probably too loud. Getting worked up over cornhole.

I love my husband.

Five

2011-09-07T01:56:00.003-04:00

You really get to know someone when you hang around him every day for five years.

You find out he is a thinker.

(Even if he doesn't want to show it.)

He throws himself into the things he loves. He's sincere that way.

You humbly realize you are the only mother he will ever have, and so pity him a little (!) and try to be patient when he, say, cries for 10 minutes over not being able to decide which shoes to wear.

You want to show him the world and open doors for him so he will reach out and grab hold of life and living.

Some days, you're not sure if the end of the day will ever come because you can't bear squaring off with him. And if he yells, "You're not my friend! I don't like you!" and you say, "Oh good, that means I'm doing my job," and then he panics a little and says, "No, I want you and me to be together forever," then you think you just might be doing something right after all with this little life that you're guiding.

And while you wonder what kind of person he will become, you achingly wish for him not to grow up too soon. And even though he's five years old today, he wasn't too big to ask you to lie next to him while he fell asleep (which hasn't happened in two years).

You know what he likes and doesn't like and can usually predict how he'll react in a certain situation. You learn the best way to get him to take a bath. Or try something new.

You learn a lot about a person in five years, including realizing there's still a lot to be discovered about him. And when that person is your son, mostly you learn that you couldn't live without him.

Week by numbers: My big fat family road trip

2011-09-05T21:28:00.016-04:00

0: Times I ever thought that when I moved away for good at age 14 that I would eventually go back to visit with a husband and two sons.

1: Family wedding that never happened. (1: Heartbroken bride who slumped to the grass, sobbing, which I never want to see again. Ever.)

1: Beautiful neighboring city.

1: Perfect afternoon on the South Shore, climbing sand dunes and enjoying a calm Lake Michigan.

1: Perfect evening on Navy Pier.

1: Family member who saw too many trains for a family trip. (That would be me.)

1: Crazy little volunteer firefighter brother who sneaked the Man-cub and Junebug out for a spin in the town's fire truck and scared the whole volunteer crew, who thought they'd missed something.

2: Boys excited about penguins, as usual.

3: Excellent museums that aren't like any others.

7: States. Florida -- my home. Georgia -- land of peaches, pecans, "boiled p-nuts," red clay, carpet factories and lots of hills. Tennessee -- where people seem to love fireworks, vehicles are mounted high in the sky for advertising, and there are beautiful mountains I'm not used to driving through. Kentucky -- where you find horses, caves, lots of hills and a thick Southern accent. Indiana -- a state covered by corn and soybean fields, and towns that advertise two-for-one cemetery plots. Illinois -- similar to Indiana, but it has Chicago. Michigan -- land of lakes and forests and friendly, efficient people, some of whom don't accept cards for payment.

2,000: Miles. Give or take. (Ahem. Husband corrected me. It was 3,180 miles.)

???: Love for family.

It's good to be home.

Food allergy police

2011-08-26T16:05:00.004-04:00

Every Friday in the Man-cub's class, the preschoolers have a cooking activity. I think this is great because I believe cooking is a life skill everyone should learn.

But.

It's also just another reminder of how the Man-cub is different from the other kids because his food allergies keep him from eating what everyone else is eating.

Today, it was pancake day. There is nothing about a pancake that the Man-cub can eat. Pancakes are made with wheat, milk, butter and eggs -- not something he can eat. Then, pancakes are usually covered in "syrup" made with artificial colors and flavors.

Before school started, the teacher told me about cooking every Friday and asked if I would bring in alternatives for the Man-cub. Absolutely. I had warned the teacher, though, there might be some things there aren't any alternatives for.

Right out of the starting gate, this first week of school, we met our allergy match. I have yet to find wheat- egg- and dairy-free pancake mix, and I wasn't about to attempt to make my own and send the Man-cub to school with something that could easily be mistaken for the "regular" pancake mix. So this morning at school, he had a frozen Van's gluten-free waffle with real maple syrup.

He didn't eat the syrup because syrup is sticky and he doesn't like sticky things.

And then later I found out there is pineapple juice in the waffles, and he and I are both allergic to pineapple.

{smacking my forehead repeatedly}

Thank goodness he doesn't appear to have had a reaction.

There are lots of different ways a person's body can react to allergens. I used to think if you were allergic to something, you went into anaphylactic shock. But that's just one way you can react.

We are fortunate that, although the Man-cub has several food allergies, they don't seem to be life-threatening. They affect his digestive system more than anything. No one wants a pukey kid.

I told his teacher that too.

The first day, she sent out a note to everyone in the class that I'm sure is the school's stock letter that gets sent to anyone who is in a class with a child who has a peanut allergy. The note stressed how important it is for the kids in the Man-cub's class not to bring any peanut products to school with them and to read the labels.

The next time I saw the teacher, I told her that a child bringing peanut products to class was OK as long as the Man-cub didn't eat them. I told her that, heck, sometimes my husband and I eat peanuts at home. That a classmate bringing a peanut butter sandwich to school gave the Man-cub no worse reaction than someone bringing in a banana-walnut muffin or an almond cookie. He is allergic to all nuts, but not severely.

Despite this, the teacher told me the note had already gone out and the class would just remain peanut-free.

I worried the Man-cub might be bullied like the little girl with a peanut allergy in another Florida town. Some parents get up in arms when told they can't do something with or for their child to benefit someone else's child.

And here I was, telling the teacher and also the office that it's OK for the Man-cub's classmates to have peanuts, but they chose not to tell the other parents. The school didn't tell those parents about the other nuts, or the dairy, or the eggs, or the wheat, or pineapple, or kidney beans ... but peanuts have a way of making schools jumpy, I guess, because they can be so life-threatening to some people. (And yes, the school has an epi pen for my son in case the worst actually does happen.)

So on the one hand, I have the frustration of finding alternative food for the Man-cub to take for cooking class, and on the other I have the guilt that mothers are taking away granola bars and using sunflower butter in their children's lunches because of the Man-cub. (I know, because one mom told me this after she overheard that my child is the one with the allergy.)

I can't be the allergen police for the whole class. I can't go behind the school's back to tell the parents myself about the peanut policy, that it's OK for their kids to eat them around the Man-cub. Nor can I request parents stop having their kids' birthday parties at Chuck E. Cheese, where the only thing the Man-cub can eat is a plain salad that I have to pay for that he doesn't even want.

Basically, food allergies just aren't fun. It's tough to navigate all of this, when the Man-cub just wants to be a regular preschool kid and I just want to be a regular mom. We don't want to have to worry about what he's going to eat so much.

I love my son's school, and I know many other schools would likely be the same way. But it's almost enough to make a mama want to homeschool.

The first day of VPK preschool

2011-08-22T22:54:00.002-04:00

I did this all wrong. A friend today told me the best first-day-of-school pictures are the ones you take after school, when the kids are worn out and have finger paint smeared on their shirts.

Live and learn.

The Man-cub started VPK today (four-year-old preschool -- the year before kindergarten!), and we had to do the traditional "ready for school" snapshots.

Or maybe not so traditional....

Week by numbers: Last week of summer

2011-08-21T18:12:00.007-04:00

1: Tummy bug (mine) that kept me from whooping it up with the kids the week before the Man-cub starts preschool.

1: Visit to a local children's museum that (I hope) made up for that fact.

1: Motorcycle cop.

1: Educator.

1: Carpenter.

1: Stevedore.

2: Machinists.

2: Anglers.

2: Firefighters.

6: Balloons of someone else's that got caught in our hedge and trees.

6: Inches too much hair that should be cut before our trip.

36 32: Homeade-from-scratch-without-a-recipe delicious oatmeal cookies.

Weekend by numbers: Books and silliness

2011-08-14T23:40:00.003-04:00

1: Time I was grateful that brick-and-mortar bookstores still exist, when I took the Junebug to pick out some books for our upcoming road trip and we were surprised to see a costumed Cat in the Hat there. ("Cat Hat!" the Junebug said.)

1: Time I jumped on the bestselling novel bandwagon and bought The Help. (I usually don't read books that are super popular.)

1: Time I was angry at my husband because he wasn't listening to me, but he still thinks it's because of the way he trimmed a bush in the front yard. (Men!)

2: Naps. (For me.)

3: Belated birthday cards I bought. (Don't you want to be my friend now?!)

47: Times the boys got a case of the sillies. (You mean everyone doesn't spontaneously roll on the floor?)

It's my kind of town

2011-08-12T19:10:00.003-04:00

Can you go "home" again? I'm going to find out in a few weeks.

I grew up partially outside of Chicago, in northwestern Indiana. Summers and Christmases, I'd visit my father and stepmother here in southern Florida. When I was 14, I came to Florida to live permanently and have never been back.

Writing these words, just simple letters from my keyboard, it seems so detached. Beyond just words, though, making the decision to live with one parent over the other was a hard decision for a 14-year-old me. It was emotional. I gave up lifelong friends to follow my heart.... And then my heart was broken. But that's another story for another time.

I'm looking forward to going home with my husband and two little boys. We're planning to see the Museum of Science and Industry, Shedd Aquarium and Chicago Children's Museum. I want to show them the magnificent dunes on the south shore of Lake Michigan I remember so fondly playing in when I was a girl -- where I first fell in love with nature. I want to drive by my old houses and my school and the library where I decided I wanted to be a writer. We'll attend a family wedding at my sister's house and drive through the Indiana countryside. Maybe I'll even get to catch up with some friends.

It sounds all so nostalgic, but my mind and my heart are definitely still looking forward.

Going back to my roots will be nice (if I can survive the long car trip with the littles), but southern Florida is truly my home.

Citizens can suck it

2011-08-08T16:34:00.005-04:00

This is a post where I am going to complain about the Powers That Be just because this is America and the Internet and because I can, and well, because the Powers That Be can suck it.

I know, it's not like me, but insurance and bureaucracy are hell, and my kid is going to pay for it, so I'm going all Mama Bear on the crapmeisters.

Florida. Property insurance. All down the tubes because of the one-after-the-other hurricanes we had in 2004 and 2005. Even though my husband and I never had a claim and paid on time for 15 years and don't even live in an evacuation zone, our insurer dropped us. We were the perfect clients, and then suddenly we weren't. Thank you, State Farm (rhymes with Great Harm, hmmmm....).

Our agent helped us find another insurer, and the only thing he came up with was Citizens, which is run by the state.

Boo.

Citizens has been insuring us for a few months and now is saying the trampoline in our backyard is a huge problem.

That's funny, because we got the trampoline for the Man-cub's fourth birthday last year, on the advice of his occupational therapist, who said it would be great for his sensory issues, for therapy.

When our agent told Citizens why we have the trampoline, Citizens said it would insure our home but not give us any liability protection. Unfortunately, we have a pool, so we need the liability protection.

So the trampoline has to go.

But wait a minute, Citizens will insure us with a pool, but not a trampoline?

Let's look at some numbers, shall we?

- Number of deaths in the United States from trampolines: 11 from 1990 to 1999. (Source) (Whole nation -- one decade)

- Number of deaths from drowning in pools in Broward County, Fla., 1998-2000: 34 (source) (One county -- two years)

- Drowning is the leading cause of death in children 1 to 4 in Broward County, where I live. (Source) I have two children, who have friends their age come and play.

- The Consumer Product Safety Commission said in 2000 that trampoline injuries were caused by people colliding with one another, doing stunts and flips, falling or jumping off the trampoline, or falling onto the frame or springs. Because my son uses the trampoline for therapy, he isn't doing stunts, and the tall net keeps him from jumping or falling off or falling onto the springs or frame. The CPSC also reported there had not been an increase in deaths or neck injuries from trampolines. (Source)

So why not give the Man-cub a small trampoline indoors? Well, we thought about that originally last year. The smallest trampoline will take up four feet of floor space (three feet around for the smallest trampoline, and one-foot cushion of space around it). We don't have the room for that. Anywhere in our house where we would put a small trampoline, it would actually be a greater hazard than a larger one outdoors. That's because his sensory issues make the Man-cub clumsy, so he falls more often and bumps into things a lot. A smaller area to jump in means he would most definitely fall off the mini trampoline and into a wall or a piece of furniture. I haven't seen a small indoor trampoline with a net around it to prevent falls like his big outdoor trampoline has. Some trampolines come with bars so you can steady yourself while you jump, but forget it -- the Man-cub isn't going to hold onto a bar while he jumps. If he would do that, he wouldn't need a trampoline.

So, Citizens, bravo for making our life harder. Way to go on reason and logic. Congrats on telling Floridians that a swimming pool (aka potential child death trap) is OK, but a therapy trampoline for a little boy is out of the question.

I'm going to go daydream of an alternate universe where the people in charge don't kick puppies for a hobby.

Week by numbers: Smiles and slumber

2011-08-07T22:22:00.005-04:00

2: Little boys who were curiously and extremely closely inspecting our new Nikon D3100.

3: Times around the park. On 3 wheels.

5: Days the Junebug refused to nap. (1: Evening he made himself a nest and fell asleep.)

9: Thomases.

2,000: Watt smile.

Infinite: Relief that the Tropic Home and Family site has been transferred to Wordpress and most of the kinks have been worked out. Whew!