Thirty minutes

The other day I was putting my sneakers on to go to the gym and my son asked when I'd be back.

Me: About half an hour.
Him: Is that how long you're supposed to go to the gym?
Me: It's a good amount of time.
Him: Is that because the lady in the exercise video told you?
Me: No, but that's how long she exercises too.
Him: How long is half an hour?
Me: 30 minutes.
Him: 30 minutes is a long time.
Me: It's not too long. I'll be back soon.

Pause. I actually thought the conversation was over.

Him: It's longer than 29 minutes.
That's when he flashed me a giant grin.

Move over Michael Phelps

Yesterday was such a fabulous day on so many levels. I made two sales. Always good. I finally got up the courage to make a few cold calls to some Bay Area Judaica shops. All three were very pleasant on the phone and I didn't trip over myself during my pitch. Kept is short and sweet. I asked if I could send them an email with a link to my work and all were happy to give me their email addresses. So I sent off my charming email and by the end of the day one of the three was thrilled with the work and wanted to know when we could meet to decide on what he would purchase. CHA-CHING.

I also spent two hours sketching and getting frustrated that nothing was looking like I wanted it to look. Like when your horse looks like a dog? Ever happen to you? This is why I never draw horses. I haven't painted in a while and I started to panic that three weeks into this new career my well cf creativity was dry.

Not so! I made a birdhouse! And I went back to the thing I like to draw most which is trees. And then I remembered I used to draw these "trees of life" with branches full of all good things so maybe a series of those is on the horizon. Anyway, the main thing is that I actually painted something.

But the nutella on top of an already pretty great day was swim lessons. I picked up my son and we went straight to the pool. He changed into his suit in the car and we walked over to the meeting place. One of his buddies was already there. He asked for his pink goggles that he had picked out with his dad from Target and we waited patiently until it was his group's turn in the water. I started chatting with one of the other moms and before I knew it, my son was lining up and then lowering himself into the pool and clinging on to the ledge with everyone else. And he was SMILING.

And for the next thirty minutes he had FUN. He blew bubbles and did a semi-head dunk. He went out with his teacher on the kick board. He did assisted floats on front and back. He was amazing. And all of the parents were on the side cheering for our kids and each other's kids. I loved it. When it was time to come out I wrapped him up in his giant towel and we were both so proud. And on our way out we saw the barfy girl from the day before. She looked much better. There was enough great day to go around for everyone.

Fuzzy is good

You know why digital television sucks? It's because now we get probably forty crystal clear channels, none of which I want to watch. We don't have cable so over the last five years I have grown accustomed to watching only shows on NBC, ABC and PBS. They came in fuzzy but good enough to watch the occasional show. We didn't watch much but if I happened to be home for the four o'clock hour, I'd catch a little Oprah. Or a little late night with Leno. Maybe the news with the news team I recognize.

But times change and we are forced to march begrudgingly toward the future. And the future, my friends, is digital. So we got our subsidized converter box for our 2002 RCA 22-inch fat-screen television. We even bought a new flat antenna so that at least something related to the TV would be flat. We hooked everything up per the instructions. We pressed the button to make the television scan all available channels. So now we get twelve Korean language stations, seven Spanish language stations, a NASA channel (to my husband's utter delight), CBS , the CW and a bunch of other local stations (like the radio - who the hell listens to the radio on the television?) The channels so obviously missing from this line-up are ABC and NBC. How the hell am I going to watch LOST if it ever comes back on the air? What if I want to catch an episode of Days of Our Lives (which I have been watching three or four times a years since 1986 and, miraculously, can still follow)? I'm screwed! I got nothing! Sure, we still have PBS. Only now we have like six PBS channels and I can't figure out which one is what. And none of them have Animal Planet.

Yes, I have tried moving the antenna and reprogramming. Nothing brings back my channels. Plus, did I mention, now that there are fourteen things hooked up to our television to make the damn thing work including our toaster and my hair dryer, the DVD player doesn't work?

I bet it's a right wing conspiracy to get me to learn Korean. OK uncle! 삼촌! Just give me back Oprah.

More swim lessons

Today we tried swim lessons again. Let's just say the universe is conspiring to keep my son from learning to swim. I signed him up for a two week session. It meets Monday through Thursday for two weeks. Today was our first meeting and we talked through some early anxieties. He was concerned about swallowing water. About falling in the water. About drowning basically. Valid concerns. I tried my best to validate his concerns and assuage any fears. I likened his use of swimmies to his use of training wheels. It's unclear if he was able to complete that analogy.

Anyway, the lessons are at a middle school in Palo Alto so we give ourselves 25 minutes to get there which is PLENTY of time. And indeed we get there with ten minutes to spare. Fabulous. We'll get set up...check out the pool area...go pee maybe... do some deep breathing...

Wrong pool. This pool was a swim school that does private lessons and swim team. Any idea where our pool might be? Try Rinconada pool. It's around the corner.

So we walk back to the car and drive around the corner and park and then walk very quickly to the pool. We don't see anyone we know and it becomes clear that this is also not our pool. By now it's 5:45 and we're already ten minutes into our half hour lesson. The lifeguard there tells me it's at JSL - another middle school - ten minutes back in the direction we just came from. So we rush back to the car and of course my son trips and skins his knee and now he is shrieking and trying to walk while holding his knee and I feel kind of bad for dragging him along but I mostly just want him to shut up. It's not even bleeding.

He cries the whole way in the car and FINALLY we get to the right place just as everyone is getting out of the pool. I ask if he can drop in on the next class to which they agree but my son wants nothing to do with the pool and is still hyperventilating about his skinned knee. Meanwhile his friends are all squealing YOU MISSED THE CLASS and I feel like a chump.

So we stick around for the next class just so he can watch and see what it's all about. And of course a girl gets in who is three and maybe a little too enthusiastic because she starts to make heaving coughy noises and then of course she throws up though thankfully not before the swim teacher lifts her out of the water. So my son and I are sitting by the side of the pool looking at the little girl's barf and listening to the woman I presume is her grandmother yelling at her for throwing up in the pool and she's crying because she threw up but also because she wants back in the pool but of course she can't get back in because she's the barfy girl and has to wait til tomorrow. And I'm thinking I'd rather have the barfy girl because at least she wants to get in the pool. But I don't say this out loud which means I'm not as mean as the the nasty grandmother. So I give myself a pat on the back.

Halfway through the lesson my son starts whining to go home and I'm annoyed because I want him to stay for the whole thing but eventually I relent and as we get up I say to him, I'm so disappointed. To which he replies in a very teary small voice, don't be disappointed in me mommy.

I've been using this new method (or trying to at least) of talking to him where I really name the emotions he's experiencing and we talk about them and we've had amazing results. I've been able to completely diffuse tantrums. We go whole days without incident. Sometimes just talking through our frustrations makes them dissolve as quickly as they appeared.

So I tell him, sweetie, I'm not disappointed in you. I'm disappointed in me and everything else. That I took you to the wrong pool. And then another wrong pool. That we missed your lesson and all of your friends. That you didn't get to have fun in the pool. And he agreed. Mommy, I'm disappointed too. And frustrated. Tomorrow will be better though because we'll come to the right pool and I'll go in the water.

Life lessons for the price of a swim lesson. I'll take it.

A girl and her flower

This morning my daughter woke up and told me she needed to use the poppy (her term of endearment for potty) and when I took off her diaper it was DRY. She didn't pee all night. This is mind blowing. For a girl who sleeps so deeply that she unconsciously shimmies her way under her brother's bed all the way to the wall without waking up, it is remarkable. And that is why I am currently remarking on it.

Anyway, she peed on poppy and then yelled at me for trying to poor the pee into the toilet for her because she wanted to do it. I apologized. It's her poppy after all (can you tell that I love saying poppy?) Then she wiped herself and wiped her nose too. Oops. That was a teaching moment. Then tonight after her bath we put on her diaper and in the middle of good-night songs she asked for her poppy again, relieved herself and then told her Aba she didn't want her diaper anymore. Tonight she's going commando. Wish us luck.

And to be honest I don't think she's especially mature or tuned in to her excretory needs. I think she just wants better access to her vagina. Like many her age this is a girl who really loves the ole v'jay. So when she's not in a diaper she likes to lay back and "relax". Though sometimes with gusto. When she's in a diaper she often uses her belly button or her toes as a proxy but obviously nothing's as good as the real deal. You go girl.

Houdini

The night before last my daughter woke me up at 3am moaning for me. It was kind of a muffled maaaawmy...maaaaawmy...I finally hauled my 600 pound ass out of bed (that's how heavy my ass feels at 3am. Like I might need a forklift). I walk into her room and see her head and half her body is under my son's bed. She's stuck under there. She's basically unconscious so you can see how it would be difficult to shimmy backwards in that state. How did you she get in there? Good question. Their beds are catty-corner. His bed is in the corner of the room and her mattress is against the back wall, flush with his, but on the floor. They make an L or a lower case R. So there's a space where she might be able to crawl under his bed. But why she scoots herself in there while she's sleeping is a mystery. Anyway, I pulled her out and put her back in her bed and since she was asleep this whole time there was no protest. And I hauled myself back to bed.

Last night, same thing. Only when I went into their room, she was missing. And just as panic was setting in I took a breath and realized I could still hear her mommy moaning. I waved my hand under my son's bed and came in contact with a xylophone, a roll of butcher paper, grandma's neck pillow, a stack of puzzles and a tool box but no toddler. But I could hear her in there.

Now, just so we all understand, this is a twin bed (with a lot of large items stored underneath). It's not a queen or a king. I finally get on my belly and really reach my whole arm under the bed where I feel her leg. She has inched herself all the way over to the wall, navigating between the aforementioned obstacles. I can't really comprehend how it's all possible. I decide at 3am that she must have magical powers beyond my tired imagination. I pull her out, put her back in her bed and barricade what we now refer to as the crawl space.

Kids sort of love soccer

I signed my son up for soccer. Did she not learn her lesson after the swimming? Don't remind me about the swim lessons. I signed up for more of those too. What can I say? I like torture. But I did. I signed him up. For a number of reasons. You see I'm pals with some moms of other kids in his class and they were signing their kids up (this would be their SECOND session) and I thought, well, if there are other kids in the class that he knows, maybe it won't be horrible. Maybe it will just be awful which is a big step up for us. Also, I've seen him pass a ball around with his uncle, CIF Champion 1987, and he's pretty coordinated. For a four year old. He's no Pele or Ronaldo but he's also not Brazilian, born with cleats for feet. Anyway, I figured we would try it. 

So I bought him soccer socks and shin guards and shorts but I skipped on the shoes which seemed to me like a bigger investment. The program is called Kidz Love Soccer and as a former copywriter I have to question the Z. Really? You want to make it plural with a Z? Suit yourself.

The week leading up to it I'm telling him that he's going to learn to play soccer like uncle Aaron and his friends from school are going to play too and won't that be great. And he's going along with it, probably for my benefit. The morning arrives and he wants out. Has no interest in soccer practice. He already knows how to play soccer. His uncle Aaron taught him and now he's even better than me. As if. 

Anyway, after much discussion I convince him to go except he won't wear any of the gear. Fine. Not a problem. And when we get there he starts to cry and begs me to stand with him so I stand behind him where the kids are all lined up. And his buddies are all trying to encourage him and invite him to stand next to them which he eventually does, as long as I'm behind him. Which I am. Holding my daughter. 

And so it goes for the half hour practice. At first he doesn't know what to do but by the end he is listening to the coaches and doing the drills and doesn't even notice that my daughter and I are not exactly behind him anymore. In fact we're passing a ball ourselves because my daughter is a KICKASS soccer player and has a huge future in the sport. 

After practice ended we went to Starbucks to reward ourselves with a latte/chocolate milk and a morning bun. And he asked if he could get soccer shoes. My mom then went and got him a soccer ball for graduation and everyday since that first practice he's asked to play soccer at the park across the street. And I bought him cleats. He wanted the ones with pink stripes but settled for the yellow stripes. Kidz love soccer cleats, to be sure. The jury is still out whether kidz love soccer.