Boston, we are here...

When a horror like Newtown, CT or the Boston marathon bombing of today or the Colorado movie theater shooting happens, I feel compelled to watch the news coverage. I can't, almost won't turn it off (when my children aren't around, One Philly Kids are 1 and 3. They have enough life ahead of them to confront these heady issues.)

Given my overall life philosophy and goal is to avoid negative, painful, violent, angry and evil thoughts, feelings, events, images and information, I've often wondered why that is. I barely watch the daily news because its too depressing, but this, this I feel compelled to watch.

Why do I not turn it off?

I don't feel the icky rubber-necking feeling from gawking at accidents and other people's pain.

I don't feel a rush of anger, or desire for vigilante justice.

I do occasionally find myself overwhelmed with disbelief, sorrow, and tears, but I do not feel an overwhelming disappointment in humanity. I, as many are, am struck by the bravery and courage of those rushing forward to help, to protect, to comfort, to serve.

Unfortunately I've had plenty of opportunity to reflect on this is recent history.

In a twist of fate, I found myself in PA, glued to a television, in horror, during the Colombine shootings, when a loved one lived in Colorado, minutes from the high school. A few years later, I lived in Colorado, and awoke to the horror playing out in New York on 9/11, hours from those I loved, and thousands of miles from the horror. In both cases, I felt bizarrely displaced, not where I should've been, not where I'd been all along. And all I could do was watch.

So why don't I turn it off?

Quite simply, because 113 families will never be able to turn off this horror show. As of this writing 3 families will be forced to remember this as the anniversary of the day they lost their loved one. Countless first responders will wait days, weeks, months before they are able to tend to themselves, as they put the safety and survival of others first. Every person who lives and works in Boston will be dealing with this reality, for days, weeks, months, years to come.

I can not save a life. I can not comfort a victim. I can not find those responsible. I can not provide relief for those who can not escape this reality.

The only thing I can do, right now, this minute, is not turn a blind eye.

All I can do is not avert my eyes, cloaking myself in the dark comfort that at least this isn't my reality, not today.

I watch, not to give undeserved glory to those causing the pain, I watch to say to those affected : you are not alone.

I can not fathom your pain; I do not presume to know an ounce of the burden you now carry.

But you are not alone.

I offer my strength, love and peace, by not pretending this isn't happening.

I offer my condolences by refusing to look away.

I acknowledge your new reality by not ignoring it.

I offer my fervent hope that you will find what you need to carry you through this unspeakable experience by watching, paying my respects by being here in the only way I can.

My thoughts, and prayers are with you, I wish you peace, strength, love, and all that you need.

You can't turn it off, so for now, neither will I.

I'm still here, I'm still watching.

"He makes me laugh"

I think One Philly Daddy is funny. He says I'm easily amused.

We're a good match like that.

Have you ever seen "Roger Rabbit"? I remember the scene when Jessica Rabbit is asked why she's with Roger, a goofy rabbit, and she answers "he makes me laugh" in that sultry voice.

That has stuck with me - as a reminder that the reasons of love may not be obvious from the outside looking in, that what a person needs and wants in a partner may not be what is expected. And that joy and laughter will end up being more valuable than looks or money.

One Philly Daddy is crossing something off his bucket list, and took a stand up comedy class at a local theater. He's been writing and asking me "is this funny?" for weeks. He's taking his funny business seriously.

The class culminates with a showcase of performances by the class for friends and family.

I can't wait to see him perform.

No matter how it goes I'm proud of him for doing something he's always wanted to do, impressed by his dedication and work, and inspired to do the same with my dreams.

Knock 'em dead babe, they'll be rolling in the aisles.

You know you're a parent of toddlers part TWO

When you stumble on one child messing with the other child's meticulous toy set up, you find yourself panicking, frantically trying to set it right and muttering "no, no, no, he's going to be so mad!" under your breath.

When your children get the stomach flu, you reach out to catch the vomit with your bare hands.

The morning bathroom routine that used to take 45 minutes has been whittled down to 12. Brushing your hair and teeth is now considered your "routine". Bonus points for deodorant with a pretty scent. Lose points for using Daddy's Old Spice because yours never made it to the shopping list.

Every surface of your house is now fair game for toys and fingerprints. This includes the dining room table, bathroom sink, and hallways. The stairs will be a hard battle to win, but stick to your guns. If you have metal framing and magnetic toys, even the walls are fair game. (See photo)

In addition to the previously mentioned urine aroma, you'll likely have crumbs and the occasional aroma of spoiled milk. This will occur regardless of how strict your food-doesn't-leave-the-kitchen policy is.

When greeting your child in the morning, after a nap, or a long play date, you subtly feel the seat and crotch of their pants for leaky diaper wetness.

You carefully coordinate meal and nap details in the mere hopes of obtaining 5 solo minutes in the shower. Despite careful planning, your dogs lose their sh*t as you are in a state of undress and mere seconds from turning on the water, waking one baby and infuriating the other. You may or may not have fantasies about mute dogs, sound proof bedrooms and hiring a nanny for half an hour a day.

You know you're a parent of toddlers when...

The poopy diaper falling off the changing table and landing face down on a pile of books is merely annoying, instead of Haz-Mat suit gross.

You stop wondering why your house has a persistent urine aroma.

Your own clothing becomes an acceptable place to wipe runny noses, ketchupy faces and sandy hands.

On the first day of Spring, you find yourself driving in the warm sun with the windows down and Elmo blaring.

You pull the car over to take off your child's shirt because he is hysterical that he spilled chocolate milk on it. You don't argue when he asks to remain shirtless.

Singing the "A,B,C's", "wheels on the bus" or "B-I-N-G-O" while at a restaurant for dinner isn't embarrassing. Nor is congratulating your child on his pooping in the potty.

You wake up after 4 hours of sleep, even if no children are awake, because your body is convinced this is enough.

Having enough time to complete the simple task of loading the dishwasher, going to the bathroom, brushing your teeth or folding a load of laundry is both rare and exhilarating.

You love every minute of it.

Too cool for school

One Philly Son's nursery school (which we l-o-v-e love) has a fundraiser in the spring, which consists of the classroom parents constructing an obstacle course in the community room, and inviting friends and family to attend and make a donation to support the programs that they offer.

And the programs include a Whale Watching program, music from an outside music teacher, visits from a local theater, 4-H chicken hatching, and a dog visit from the ASPCA. So the funds, in my mind, are well spent. These are programs at a nursery/pre-school. I know elementary and high schools that don't offer extra programs like this.

Since I have a flexible, work from home schedule (thank you!) I am one of the classroom parents for One Philly Son's class, so I was charged with creating an obstacle that reflected his class, the Rainbow Fish.

In our parent meeting to brainstorm, I was told other parents had done a "pond" with "fishing" - a kiddie pool with a net and some plastic or cardboard fish. So I gathered that, as well as my contribution to the "filler" obstacles - tunnels, riding toys and a small trampoline.

I didn't think I was knocking one out of the park,but I figured I was making a full, classroom parent contribution.

But, an over-achiever, I am not. Apparently.

There were parents with carefully, hand-crafted and hand-drawn ponds, turtles, bees; obstacle courses with multiple steps and parts.

Uh-oh.

I had a brief "oh. shit." moment.

Crap. My stupid kiddie pool and fish were nothing compared to the hours and effort put into these other obstacle courses. I was falling short.

And yet. There were classes who's parents didn't contribute an obstacle at all. 

And I find myself reeling in the urge to make a "at least I'm not as bad as..." speech.

Mind you, I have no desire, nor will I ever, to stay up all hours of the night to hand craft art for a school of 2 - 5 years old to tromp on. But I also don't want to be the Mom who is just phoning it in either.

Due to circumstances, there were times my Mom was the go-to Mom, heading our Girl Scout troops and attending school functions, taking care of classroom parent duties. And there were times we were the ones perpetually without permission slips and gym clothes on the right days. These things happen, and good-Mom's everywhere have different skills, aptitudes, abilities and life circumstances in the 20-odd years of parenting.

The only person I want to compare myself to is myself (sounds easy, doesn't it?) - so I'm trying to avoid the "oh, poop, I'm not the Martha Stewart of pre-school obstacle courses" and "can you believe the so-and-so class didn't do anything!?" reactions.

Cause neither feels nice, productive, relevant, or something I want One Philly Son or Daughter to learn.

The point is, I want to do my best, and strive for improvement, but accept who I am. I want to be the Mom contributing, but not at the cost of my or my families happiness or well-being (or sleep). But, I don't want to be the Mom bringing in the bare minimal requirements of involvement.

Next year, I'm gonna step up my kiddie-obstacle course game. Look out!

Until then, have fun fishing, kids!

The landmines of Motherhood...

The plan is that we're "done" having babies. And I'm thrilled with it. I'm not old, but I'm not young enough to want to do "this" (i.e. conceive, house, create, birth,and, oh yeah, raise another person) again. I want to love, giggle, laugh with, chase and revel in the two glamorous little beings we've already created.

My sister is expecting, and I, rather tentatively, took in the news. Would this shake my resolve? Would I get the itch? Would I get baby-envy? Would I suddenly have the secret desire to create another life?

Gladly, I did not, and my resolve stood firm. I'm thrilled with my family, just as it is. Should we be blessed with another, we'd welcome him/her with open arms. (Though I am out of "One Philly" Monikers. That would take some thinking. Hmmmm.) But I'm not in the business of baby-making any more.

I gleefully packed bags of items for my sister, and sorted the items she didn't / wouldn't need into a "consign" pile. I've never consigned before, so this is the grand experiment, is this worth the time/effort? Or will I just donate the stuff going forward?

So I've already sorted through the stuff once, in a gleeful Sister / Sell exercise. Now, I'm just tagging and preparing the items for sale to be sold.

And then....the memories started coming, perhaps because this is meant to be the final pass before they go on to live with someone else....

the one silly shirt I bought proclaiming the obvious to the world.

followed by........

Also obvious.

A few short weeks ago, these were items I was joyous to be getting out of my house. Less than 18 months in this house, I'm eager to get the space back from all the baby items we're no longer in need of. Excer-saucers, highchairs, bouncy seats, bassinets, activity mats. 

Necessary, all of them, but bulky and used for such a tiny short window of time. 

Even so, some of the items brought back memories....

Our positive pee-sticks, both planned and still a surprise. One Philly Daddy and I (8 months pregnant and sweating in the July heat) trying to install our car seats. One Philly Daddy filling a baby pool in the yard to make an oasis for his hot and cranky pregnant wife. Me insisting One Philly Daddy take belly shots, and them turning out amazing, and meaning so much more, because it was him taking the pictures.

 The odd sensations of my body not being my own. The mind spinning of trying to figure out just how this was all going to work. The decision to try for One Philly Daughter, and the rainbow we saw the day we found out she was on her way. The joy they bring us. The sleep we lose for them. The stress of wanting to do it right. The fear of frightening medical news. The pride in their first steps, their first words, first jokes, first friends, all the firsts to come. The time we give them instead of ourselves, and each other. The overwhelming love and the yearning desire that it be enough. The beauty and blessing of it all. 

See, I'm just trying to make some room in the garage, and now we're all weepy. 

Be warned, Mommy's-to-be hunting for consignment bargains, these gently used and greatly loved items priced at a discount are going to find a place in your heart, even after you need the space back in your house.