The Sh*t My Kids Fight About

First of all, my sincere apologies to all my readers (even if there are only like 3 of you). I've been very very bad about updating this blog. In fact it would be accurate to say that I've been down right neglectful. Sorry if I have caused anyone with abandonment issue grief. I did not leave you. I do intend to still write.

My excuse is that time is hard to come by since going back to work. And when I do find myself with some time, I usually spend it doing something incredibly thrilling like doing laundry, doing dishes, or swiftering my kitchen floor for the upteenth time. (And, yes, "swiftering" is now a verb- although I'm not sure if it has made it into the dictionary yet).

You see, I was not living in reality this past summer. Between the months of June and August, I was a stay-at-home mom that got paid. But at the end of August, I faced the truth. I actually have to work for this money. It doesn't just fall from the sky into my bank account. Sucks, I know. So here I am, frantic once again, trying to do everything I did when I stayed home and work.

But, I digress. Onward to the topic of this post. Sh*t my kids fight about (Do you like how I put that little * in there instead of the i? Now it's rated PG).

So I've started trying to get the boys to do more chores. I have faith that the DAY is coming. The DAY I am talking about when my kids can actually be a help rather than a hinderance to household cleaning. The DAY is when they will be able to run laundry, fold clothes, clean bathrooms, clean the kitchen, vacuum, etc all by themselves. My God, I'm getting giddy just thinking about it. Imagine...

But they're not there yet. Having them "help" is usually a bigger pain in the a$$ than just doing it myself still. But, instead of giving the man a fish I want to put in the extra effort and teach him how to fish. Maybe if I really work on teaching them a few basics the DAY will come sooner.

So today, they helped me pick up Honey's caca in the backyard. Honey is our dog and caca (for those of you who are not hispanic) is dog sh*t. Mateo voluteered to hold the bag, but I had seniority and said that was my job. He and Nico were the scoopers. I held the bag and supervised. It started out good. Since I hadn't done this in a while, there was an abundance of caca to be found and scooped. They were quite excited the first few minutes.

"Hey, look at that huge piece!" I said. Both boys lunged at it, but Nico was the first to scoop it up. Mateo burst into tears.

"NICO! That was mine! I wanted to scoop up that big caca!" wailed Mateo.

"There's lots of caca in this yard. I bet we'll find a bigger piece." I said, "Let's look over by the fence. That's Honey's favorite place to go caca." Isn't it gross that I know this?

Mateo and Nico sprinted over to the fence like two athletes fighting for 1st place.

"Wow! Look at all this caca, Mateo!" said Nico with delight.

"Yeah, but it's all little small pieces." sighed Mateo in defeat. No big caca. What a let down.

So we kept cleaning up dog sh*t for another ten minutes or so.

"Mommy, I'm getting tired. This job is really stinky." moaned Mateo. Nico's interest, meanwhile, was as intent as ever. He getting very mad if I did not acknowledge and praise him for every piece of sh*t he put in the bag.

"Ok, that's enough. We got most of it. Let go was our hands." I said.

"But, mommy, look! There's still caca." said Nico " We have to pick it up!"

"We'll get it next time, ok? I promise you can come pick up caca with me again soon."

Ah yes, some parents promise to take their kids to the park or Chuck E. Cheese as a treat. But so few consider picking up dog sh*t together as way to spend quality time. Nico, at least, looks forward to doing it again. And I look forward to the DAY that they can do this fun activity all by themselves while I sit on the couch and watch TV (will that ever happen again?...oh well, different topic)

Losing the Spice of Life

I really like spicy foods. When I was kid, I used to get the "suicide" chicken wings at Elmwood Taco. Those of you from Buffalo know what I am talking about. You also know that no one in Buffalo calls chicken wings Buffalo wings, because there is only one kind of wing. A super hot one with lots of blue cheese dressing. Or what about a hot chicken finger sub smothered in blue cheese from Jim's Steak Out? But, I digress.

I don't just like hot stuff, I like things that have a lot of flavor. I like all kinds of ethnic spices too. Mexcian. India. Well, let's be honest, all food really.

So here's the problem. Although my family memebers have very spicy personalities, they have the blandest taste buds ever. I seem to have married the only hispanic man that does not like spicy food. Max's only complaint about my cooking is that "it's too spicy". How, I ask you, can something be too spicy? But Mateo and Nico have followed suite and declared that "this food has too much spice!"

I have tried to tone it down, for everyone's sake. But still find myself making things that are rejected due to "too much spice". Many times, I don't even realize that what I am preparing is too spicy until it is too late.

Here's an example. The other day, I made a meatloaf that had some mild enchilada sauce and chili powder in it. Nico took a bite, gagged, spit it out and said definatively, "No! Hot!".

Mateo replied, "It's okay, Nico. You can do it. You just have to eat it like this. Watch." He then proceded to show Nico how to take a miniscual bite of the meatloaf and immediately chase it with a huge slug of apple juice.

Ok, maybe that was a little to spicy. I guess even mild enchilada sauce can be spicy. And oh yeah, the chili powder. I see that now. But, they are getting older. When is one old enough for some spice? I mean what do people in Mexico feed their kids? I bet the 5 years olds there eat chile rellenos every day.

I may have to accept that my boys have inherited their father's bland taste buds. At this point, my only hope is Daniela. But if she also rejects my spicy food, I may be doomed to live a bland life...at least when it comes to food.

Batman and Robot Legs

Today NBC re-aired their coverage of the 2009 Ironman World Championship, so of course I DVRed it and watched it with the kids. Right away, Mateo recognized it as "Mommy's race". Haha, not quite. I do little managable sprint triathlons, not 112 mile bike rides followed by a marathon. But, as I have mentioned in the past, this is one of the advantages of having small children. They think you're a super hero.

Nico, in fact, is convinced that I turn into Batman when I put on my wetsuit. He kindly ignores the fact that the real Batman's suit doesn't cling to a post-baby belly. A dead give away in my opinion. When we are watching the swim portion, Nico reminds me about Batman.

"Batman swims! It's you mommy!"

"Hey, mommy," chimes in Mateo, "which one's you?"

"I'm not in this race, Mateo."

"Oh" he replies, "Mommy, I'm confused. Are you Batman or Ironman. This race is an Ironman."

"I'm Batman. Hey, let's just watch, ok?"

"No, let's just talk!" Mateo then proceeds to ask me one question after the next about the race. He is occasionally interrupted by Nico asking over and over again which one of the racers is me.

The coverage follows the elite racers and then, of course, introduces us to a few of the age groupers with inspirational stories. Cancer survivors, stroke victims, amputees. The story that captures Mateo attention is that of Rudy Garcia-Tolson who was born with severe birth defects and did not have lower legs. He was riding his bike with two prosthetic legs which fasinated Mateo.

"Look at his legs. Why do his legs look like that?"

"Because he wasn't born with good legs, so doctors had to make some for him. Cool, huh, they're like robot legs."

Mateo looked a little nervous and asked, "Mommy will I need robot legs?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Because you were so lucky to be born with perfect legs. That guy wasn't so doctors had to make him perfect legs. Perfect robot legs so he could race."

"Mommy, I have robot legs?" asked Nico

"No, your legs are perfect too. I'm so lucky that all my kids were born with perfect legs and are healthy." At this point, I'm tearing up. Damn inspirational stories.

"Mommy, I want robot legs." said Nico.

"No, Nico. Remember, you have perfect legs. You don't need robot legs."

"I want robot legs! I want robot legs now!" I tried to explain again that he could not have robot legs and when that didn't work I tried to distract him & calm him down. But, Nico was hell bent on a pair of robot legs and totally pissed off that I could not amputate his legs immediately and fit him for some prosthetics. In the end, the solution was to close him in his room where he promptly feel asleep after about 5 more minutes screaming about robot legs.

Back to the triathlon. The elite guys were on the run and Mateo was quite into it. Craig Alexander was closing in on the lead, and about to pass the guy who was currently in first place. As he came up on him, Mateo said, "Uh-oh. Look out. Here comes Alexander!" Mateo was very excited to see him win.

After that, the coverage shifted to the women's win and the age groupers. Lots of people hobbling along, trying to make the cut off. People starting to walk, collasping.

"Hey, why are those people stopping and lying down?" asked Mateo.

"Because they're tired."

"Why?"

"Because they've been running for a really long time and they're really tired."

"Oh. You don't get really tired, mommy. You don't lie down in your race."

That's right because I'm Batman. I am, however, too tired to do the dishes...

Buffalo 5K

When I first started this running thing, my only goal was to finish a 5K. I didn't really care about my time, but I figured whatever it was it would be my benchmark, my starting point. After all, I could only improve from there. So I finished my first 5K in January around 36 minutes and set 2 new goals. The first being to be able to run the entire thing, and the second was to run it under 30 minutes.

I reached my first goal back in May, and then was able to run the entire 5K at the end of my July triathlon. My best 5K times were right around 31 minutes, so I knew I was getting close. Physically, I was totally capable of doing it. I was pretty sure it was the mental part that was getting in my way. Isn't it always?

So in my attempts to not totally fall of the wagon with my training, I decided to do a 5K when I was in Buffalo. Originally, I was going to do one that benefited the Ronald McDonald House, but other plans conflicted and, as luck would have it, it turned out to be a good thing because it was pouring rain that day.

I figured my Buffalo 5K was not to be, but luckily, I ran into Beth, a friend of my mom's, at my future sister-in-law's bridal shower. She was doing the finish line for a 5K that benefited a local high school, so the race was back on.

My mom recruited her friend, Brigid, to do the race as well. And, thankfully, Brigid offered to let me leave Daniela with her babysitter. Taking 3 small children to a 5k does not a warm and fuzzy memory make, so no one had to twist anyone's arm to agree to that.

We arrived at Brigid's house with the kids and Mateo & Nico immediately ran into the house and started playing with all of Brigid's kids' toys. Mateo found her son, Will, and declared that he would not be coming to my race but "staying with this kid". So, we left Mateo behind and Brigid, my mom, Nico, and I got in the car. As we drove away, I saw Mateo and Will cruising around the driveway in a mini jeep, Will in the driver's seat and Mateo riding shotgun with his arm around Will's shoulder. Very funny.

Surprisingly, my dad had also decided to do the 5K. He is a former triathlete who used to be a very fast runner. However, he's had many injuries and surgeries, his most recent being a hip resurfacing less than a year ago, so he has been sidelined from racing for a while. But, he's been feeling better and decided to give the race a go.

So Brigid, myself, and my dad lined up at the starting line. The horn went off and we started running with the crowd. Brigid sped right ahead, but my dad held back. I figured I should probably stay with him. There are plenty of 5Ks out there to run, no reason I had to have a PR on this one. So I hung back with him, but after a couple minutes he said, "You know, you're allowed to beat me. Why don't you go catch Brigid?"

So I did. And I was actually passing people, believe it or not.

I came to the one mile mark and a guy was standing there with a stopwatch yelling out times. "9:17". Hey, that's kinda fast. I might have a shot at getting under 30 minutes. So kept pushing myself wondering if I could, in fact, catch up with Brigid.

As I approached the turn around, I saw Brigid running towards the finish. I wasn't that far behind. So I kept going. I past by the guy with the stopwatch again, which was the 2 mile mark on the way back, and I heard him call out 18 something. Ok. This is going to happen. Unless I slow down a lot, as in start walking, I'm going to finish this thing under 30. So I pushed myself ahead, but I was wanting to stop. I glanced at my HR monitor and it was in the 190s. But I had less than a mile to go.

Don't stop. Don't walk. Just keep running. At this point, I distratced myself by finding people to pass. People just a little ahead of me that I could probably reach if I just didn't stop. Stopping now would mean not breaking 30, and that wasn't going to happen.

I was getting close to the finish, but it seemed further away then I remembered. The last half mile was killing me. Some off those people I past started passing me. I knew my pace was slowing down, but if I pushed harder I knew I wasn't going to make it. I'd have to walk.

Finally, I reached the 3 mile mark. I could see the timer at the finish line and could make out that the first digit was a 2. Go faster! As the timer came into full view, I could see the next digit was a 9. Hurry!

As I ran across the finish line, I saw the time 29:41. I saw Nico jumping up and down. And I could hear him yelling, "Mommy! It's my mommy!" Even though I'm pushing myself during a race, I still find it surprising how physically worked up I am when I finally stop. As I was still trying to catch my breath, Nico leapt into my arms, and I almost fell over.

"Mommy, you fast. Mommy I see peoples racing. Racing fast. Fast like this" And with that comment, he jumped out of my arms and started sprinting away from me. And so began my next race. Despite being so winded, I was able to catch up to him fairly quickly, but of course, he insisted that I carry him after that. So getting my heart rate down was no easy task.

We caught up with Brigid who had come in ahead of me and also had a 5K PR. We saw my father cross the finish line. Nico was very excited to see grandpa running and immediately wanted to jump on him too, but I walked around with him to distract him and give my dad a minute.

All in all, a good race for everyone, including Nico who now likes to play "racing". Which I think is just code for running away from me.

Fishies!

Forgive me, readers, for not updating this blog for a couple weeks, but as you know I am quite lazy and always half distracted by one of my children. I know I left you hanging about the Carlsbad triathlon, and I promise I will write about it. But today I am inspired to write about a different topic, so I will tell you about the fish.

I'll start off by saying that we used to have two fairly decent sized fish tanks before we had kids. Ahhh, yes, the golden years and we didn't even know it, but I digress. Anyhow, Max was very into these aquariums for a time, but eventually decided they were too much work and gave them away.

Fast forward to the present. I will admit, I started it. So technically this is all my fault. At the beginning of the summer, I took the boys to Walmart and let them each pick out a Beta fish. Mateo picked a red one which, surprise surprise, he named Mario after his video game hero. Nico picked a blue one who he named Luigi although Mateo argued that the fish was not green so it probably shouldn't be named Luigi, but Blue Mushroom. But by that point, Nico was no longer listening to Mateo, or myself for that matter, and was wholely absorbed by the fish.

"Mommy, fishy has eyes. Mommy, fishy has a tail. Mommy, fishy is blue." Nico said as he walked along jostling this poor fish.

"Yes, Nico. Now carry the fish gently. Don't shake him." Yeah...right. Nico had already dropped the fish 2 times on our our way to the check out. When I suggested that maybe I should carry the fish, he shrieked, "NO!" and violently slammed the plastic container with the fish inside it against his chest. Uh oh, maybe this was a mistake. But it was too late. I already said we could get the fish.

I let Nico hold his fishy the whole car ride home thinking that it may never live to see our house. But it did. And I put both fish in a small tank that had a divider so they wouldn't kill each other. Mario & Luigi, our new friends. No sooner had I turned my back on that fish tank than Nico had flipped the lid off and was reaching his hand inside. "Oh!" he yelled, "I touched fishy!" and he exploded into a fit of laughter. Telling Nico not to touch the fish and leave the tank alone is, of course, totally useless. I may as well tell my dog not to go outside and leave the door open.

So the fishies' new residence was on top of our refrigerator. I took them down a few times a day for supervised visits, of which Nico spent the entire time trying to touch them. It was during one of these visitations that Luigi met his unfortunate demise. Daniela woke up from her nap and I went to go get her, leaving Nico alone with the fish. I was delayed for much longer than I planned due to a messy diaper change that necesitated a quick bath and outfit change (yes, one of those.) Upon my return, Luigi was pronounced DOA. Nico had put him in a Pez dispenser. I will spare all you animal lover the gory details.

Meanwhile, all of this fish watching seemed to rekindle Max's love of aquariums.

"We should get an aquarium again." he told me.

"Really? I thought you said it was too much work to clean."

"It's not that much work."

"Actually I think you said you didn't have time to clean it. Do you have a lot more time now that we have three kids?" Ok, that was a low blow. I know. But REALLY?

"Yeah, you're right." But, obviously, that's not what he meant. He doesn't think I'm right. He's just done discussing it. The wheel had been set in motion and there is nothing I could do to stop it now.

Predictably, a few days later he returned from Walmart with the boys and a whole new set of fish and a mini aquarium. Not a simple tank like Mario's current home, but one with a filter and a light. A definate upgrade from his last pad.

"This cannot go on top of the refrigerator. Where will this go?" I ask.

"In their bedroom." OMG. Bad. Idea.

"I give these fish less than a week. Nico will kill them all."

"I don't think he'll be able to get up on top of the dresser and get the lid off." Ummm...ok. Denial. It's ok, that's how I deal with a lot of things too.

So Max set up the tank and Mario joined 4 new friends who he immediately started attacking and killing off one by one. Oh, yeah, and Nico immediately figured out how to stack up some storage bins in his room so he could reach the tank, take off the lid, and "play" with the fish.

"Mommy! Mario goes fast."

"Wow. Ok." I say as I surf the internet and ignore my 3 small children.

"Mommy! See! Mario drives a car." Nico exclaimed as he shoved a small toy car in my face. I glanced at it, then did a double take and gasped. Slumped over in the driver's seat was Mario the fish! And he didn't look fast. He looked dead. But I gave him the benefit of the doubt and threw him back into the tank. A few hours later, he was swimming around. A miracle.

When we left to visit my family in Buffalo 2 weeks ago, Mario was the sole survivor of the tank and looked worse than a Civil War vet.

"I can't believe he's not dead" Max marveled.

"Yeah... I know." I replied. I was beginning to like Mario. Mario and me surviving Nico together. He looks like I feel somedays.

So on our way home from the airport today, Max announces that he got more fish while we were gone. Bigger fish.

"But won't Mario and Nico kill them." I asked

"No, Cifi gave me his old aquarium." And so we walked in to find a 30 gallon aquarium set up in the living room. And there was Mario. Who did look very small swimming next to two massive goldfish.

"Nico won't be able to get into this tank." said Max knowingly as Nico busily started empying out storage bins and pushing them to the base of the fish tank.

Why suck at one sport when you can suck at 3?

A lot of people get into triathlons because they have a background in one of the 3 sports. You know, like they've run 21 full marathons already and wanted to add some triathlons for the cross training benefits. Or they were champion college swimmers and wanted to try something new. In other words, a lot of triathletes have a strong sport.

Those of you that know me know that I do not fit into this catagory. In fact, I am proud to say that I suck equally at all three sports. I'm not a natural athlete by any stretch of the imagination. But, as my Uncle Jim always said when he played a piano song no one knew the words to, "If you don't know the words, just sing louder." In other words, fake it till you make it. So I just flail my arms and legs around in the direction of the bouys, keep spinning on the bike, and keep putting one foot in front of the other on the run. And, I'm happy to say that this got me to the finish line back in May.

After the shock of actually finishing my first triathlon, I decided maybe I should try and improve. You know, like learn how to swim and learn how to my bike works. Details, details. So I signed up for a swim group and started getting more consistant with the running. I also talked my friend Glen into taking me on several torturous bike rides through Red Rock. Here is how those things went:

1. Swimming- I am officially the slowest swimmer on Earth, well at least the slowest swimmer in my group, but not by that much which is good cause I just feel slow as opposed to totally pathetic. My coach is a good guy and so are the other slow people in my lane. Last class we were suppose to swim some drills for 700 meters. I always get so exhausted that I lose count, so I just keep going till someone tells me I can stop. Anyhow, the other day, the coach said stop and I was really surprised at how fast those 700 meters went by so I said, "Hey was that really 700 meters?" He smiled at me and stage whispered, "No, you only did 600, but that's ok." Awww. Thanks coach.

That's just the kind of modification I make for the really low kids in my class. I pull them to the back table and just make them do half the math problems with my help. The whole swim class really reminds me of reading groups cause the fast swimmer are a couple lanes over doing something totally different while I learn how to do the front crawl the right way.

2. Running- So did I mention I also run really slow. But that's ok because I'm currently really happy about this area. Luckily, I've been able to convince my friend Jamie to train with me for a half marathon in December. So we have been running together 2 times a week. I've come to love this time because it is the only time I have to speak with another adult uninterrupted for an hour. Those of you that have children know that an uninterrupted conversation is virtually unheard of after one has given birth. I can't even use the bathroom without an audience these days, so running has become a good escape. In fact, I find myself wanting to run an extra mile so I can have just a few more minutes of peace.

I also joined a running group that meets once a week. And believe it or not, there is a whole group of people who run as slow as me. Who knew?

3. Biking- Even as a kid, I never much rode a bike. I don't really know the first thing about how a bike works. In fact, in the beginning if I could get on and off the bike without killing myself and maintain my balance for a few miles I called it a success. The only person I knew who knew anything about bikes was Glen, who taught 4th grade with me when I worked at Whitney.

So, I emailed him, and he took pity on me and offered to take me biking out at Red Rock. This is where the torture began. I will give Glen credit that he didn't kill me my first day and he always stayed with me no matter how painfully slow I was going. But, let's just say he defined the meaning of climbing hills for me. For those of you that live in the Las Vegas area, you may be familiar with the Red Rock Scenic loop. The first 5 miles are a non-stop uphill climb, like a slow march towards death. I can't manage to make myself go more than 5 mph at some points. Hell, I could WALK faster than I'm able to bike on that hill. And I thought people seeing me in labor was embarassing. During this lovely bike ride, I start breathing like some kind of farm animal. I get so congested I have no choice but to blow snot rockets like a teenage boy. And when I really push myself, the other cyclists on the loop have the pleasure of seeing me stumble off my bike as I try not to puke down the front of my jersey. Of course, Glen finds this all highly amusing as he asks me if I'm ok in a voice that does not sound the least bit out of breath. Whatever, shut up.

But just like my running time with Jamie, the bike rides with Glen have been a nice break from the kids. And I like to see what I'm really capable of doing and how far I can go. And just like Jamie and I are planning to do the half marathon, Glen has talked me into doing a 110 mile bike ride in October. So it gives me yet another reason why I need to make myself go a little further each time.

After all this training (yes, I no longer workout, as a triathlete I now "train" just to be extra obnoxious) I hoped to do a bit better on my second triathlon, but was not expecting any miracles. So I was definately pleasantly surprised to say the least with what happened in California this weekend.

To Be Continued...

Movies & Ice Cream

Sometimes doing simple things can be anything but. Take tonight's outing with the boys for example.

The first stop of the night was Blockbuster. All the kids movies that are not new releases are $1. So the deal is that each of the boys gets to pick 2 movies from this section. Like a moth to a flame, Nico immediately finds 2 copies of Kung Fu Panda and hugs them tightly to his chest. "Mommy, Kung Fu Panda! Mommy, Kung Fu Panda! KUNG FU PANDA!!"

Now, here's a little background for you. We OWN Kung Fu Panda. In fact, Nico has already seen it several times today. Well, not exactly. He hasn't seen the whole movie several times today. Just his favorite scenes. He knows how to work the DVD player to find all the fighting scenes which he reinacts with Mateo, jumping from couch to couch, screaming and kicking and punching. He always take the role of the bad guy who he calls "black tiger". His favorite toy is a black tiger action figure that came in his Happy Meal months ago. Not knowing the location of this toy at all times is enough to bring on a full hysterical crying melt down. So, it's not very surprising that this is his choice.

"Mommy, Kung Fu Panda! Mommy, Kung Fu Panda! KUNG FU PANDA!!" He's voice is starting to go up an octave as he frantically waves the movies in front of me. "Yeah," I say calmly, "You're right. That is Kung Fu Panda. We have that at home. Go pick something else."

"Ahhhhh!!!!! Nooooo!!!!! I want Kung Fu Panda, I want Kung Fu Panda, I want Kung Fu Panda..."

I know there's some correct response on my part, but I just want to leave, so I say, "Ok, let's get Kung Fu Panda! Give the movies to mommy. I have to pay for them." Nico seems satified and hands over the 2 copies of Kung Fu Panda. Mateo, who thankfully gets the idea that he is suppose to pick two different movies that we DON"T own, gives me his two picks. I whisper to the cashier to please return the 2 copies of Kung Fu Panda to the shelf after we leave and discreetly hide the other 2 in our bag after paying.

I distract Nico by talking about our next stop. Ice Cream. Mateo knows exactly what he wants, which of course, is what Nico wants too. The cone with rainbow sprinkles. When we get to Baskin Robbins both boys run over to the cones and start pointing at them.

"What kind of ice cream do you want?" I ask.

"I want rainbow sprinkles" says Mateo

"I want rainbow sprinkles too!" chimes in Nico.

"Ok, yeah, I know. But what kind of ice cream? Vanilla? Chocolate?"

Mateo lets out a sigh and and gives me an exasperated look. "Mommy. Rain. Bow. Sprinkles. Ok?"

The cashier looks even more exasperated then Mateo as she snaps her gum loudly. Ok. I get it. Just order. So I get 2 rainbow sprinkle cones with vanilla ice cream, figuring I can't go wrong with vanilla. I get my favorite peanut butter sundae for myself because that's the reason I agreed to come here in the first place. My only motivation for leaving my house.

As soon as Nico is handed his cone, he expertly scrapes all the sprinkles off the cone with his teeth in less than a minute. He then hands the cone to me and declares that he's all done. No wonder he still weighs less than 30 lbs. I put the cone in a plastic dish and start to eat my sundae. Mateo does a better job on his cone, but is equally fascinated by my sundae which he insists he needs several bites of. Oh well, less calories for me, guess it's a good thing. Nico, meanwhile, has found a frozen ice cream cake with a dinosaur on it and is quite insistent that we need to buy it. "Maybe for your birthday." I say. Then, " Hey, look a bus!" I say pointing out the window trying to distract him.

Surprisingly it works and Nico comes to the window and starts a running commentray on every vehicle that passes by. Only problem is he wants me to pay attention and acknowledge everything he says. "I see a truck mommy. A truck! A TRUCK!"

"Oh, yeah, a truck. Nice." I say.

"I see a blue car. A BLUE CAR!" And so it continues.

"Hey, Nico. Do you want this ice cream?" I ask

"No."

"Are you sure?"

" No, no, no ice cream." he says in a calm certain tone

"Ok it's going in the garbage. Let's go." I reply.

Nico remains unresponsive, so I figure he's ok with this and I toss his almost untouched ice cream into the trash can. Is he really related to me? How can you just throw out ice cream? It isn't until we are in the car that it dawns on him what has actually happened.

"My ice cream? My ice cream?" he asks as I'm buckling him into his car seat.

"Nico, remember we threw it out. You said you were done."

"Noooooo!!!!! ICE CREAM! Ahhhhhhh!!!!!!"

"Do you want some of mommy's ice cream?" I ask feebly offering him the rest of my sundae.

"Noooooooo!!!!" he screeches giving me the most pissed off look. Mateo, however, knows an opportunity when he sees it and jumps on it.

"Ooo, yes mommy! I want that ice cream. Please." And there goes my treat. I hand it to Mateo, telling myself I didn't need the calories anyway. Miraculously, Nico stops crying about halfway home and a calm settles over us. I pull into our garage and start to take Nico out of his car seat. He turns his head and looks at me and says, "Mommy, Kung Fu Panda?"

The Benefits of Being Delusional

Anyone who has small children can tell you that they are very hard to reason with. Saying they are out of touch with reality is an understatement. I've come to find that my kids are down right delusional in their thinking. Even though this is really inconvenient the majority of the time, it can work in your favor.

For instance, delusional thinking can be a real ego booster. When I first got our mini-van, which incidentally coinsided with the year I turned thirty, I felt a pang sadness for both the loss of my twenties and my cool car. But when Mateo first laid eyes on the 2005 used Caravan he exclaimed, "Wow! This car is really, really BIG and really, really FAST. Mommy drives a blue race car now!" Or the other day, at WalMart, when Nico pointed to a copy of people magazine featuring Sandra Bullock on the cover and said, "Hey look! It's mommy!" One day they will be teenagers who are well aware that I do NOT look like Sandra Bullock or drive a cool car, but hey, for now let's not shatter this myth.

Delusional thinking can also be quite economical as well. While deciding on vacation spots for the family this summer, Max, who has minimal interest in these things, just said, "Why don't you just take them to Chuck E. Cheese and tell them it's Legoland. They won't know the difference." Sounds sad, but you know what? He's right. They think going to Target is better than a Disney Cruise. Getting to buy a $0.25 ring pop is just as exciting as a $100 toy, and holds their interest for about as long. Again, I'm sure this won't be the case forever, so I'm taking advantage of it while I can.

Reflecting on it, being a delusional thinker is really not all bad. I mean, even I have my recurring delusional thoughts, like thinking one day I'll be out of debt, weight 130lbs, and wear stylish clothes free of ketchup stains. And what's wrong with that if it makes me happy and doesn't hurt anyone. Here's to delusional thinking, may we all embrace it.

Barbie's No Biker

One of the things I love about doing triathlons is that you never can tell who is going to kick your butt or whose butt you are going to be able to kick. Sure, the guy who wins the thing is gonna be your stereotypical super lean, super fit, triathlete. But, for those of us hanging in the middle to back of the pack, we get to enjoy some surprising versions of "looks can be deceiving" as a kid in a T-shirt and cargo pants on a mountain bike blows by someone on a pricey tri bike with all kinds of gear, or a really old man out runs a group of fit looking guys half his age.

Being an underdog myself (which is my euphemism for being fat and slow), I love this kind of stuff. I experienced it for the first time at my first triathlon. When I was in line to get my race number marked all over my body, I took note of the girl in front of me. She was tall, lean, tanned, and blonde. You know, everything I'm not and Barbie is. As an adult, I know I should no longer care, but the truth is that Barbie intimidates me. Huge chunks of my adolescent years were wasted either trying to be Barbie or being depressed that I wasn't Barbie. I would like to think that I've matured a bit since then, but let's face it: I have no love for Barbie and I'm sick of her always being better than me.

So we get into the race and I survive the swim and make it to the bike. This is when I see Barbie again and surprisingly blow right past her on the bike. Just as I'm thinking that that was really weird, I meet a new woman. This woman is definately not Barbie. If fact, her butt is so big I can't believe she can sit comfortably on her bike seat. She had to be at least 50 pounds heavier than me. But she is pumping it. Fast. Up a hill. As I shift into an easier gear, she plows right past me and keeps on going. I try to follow her, but have to drop back. I can't keep that pace. She then disappears into the distance.

As I finish the bike, I find myself thinking about this woman and how she can just power up a hill like that and leave Barbie spinning miles behind her. As I transition into the run, I start to hurt. I know I must look bad because people in the crowd are starting to shout to me "Keep going, you can do it, looking strong, etc". I know I don't look strong, I look like I'm ready to keal over. I start progressing towards the turn around and who do I see? The lady who passed me on the bike. But she is not running the same direction as me. She's running towards the finish line. She's already been to the turn around. Phenomonal. I pick up my pace a little to meet her and give her a thumbs up as I pass her and yell "You're awesome, you're almost there!" I push myself up the hill knowing that I've really got no excuse if this lady can do it.

So, Barbie didn't beat me. But, I've long since stopped thinking about Barbie. I've got a new hero. A real woman. An inspiration.

Unattachment Parenting: My New Parenting Philosophy

Many of you many be familiar with the concept of attachment parenting. This is basically where you keep your baby velcroed to you 24 hours a day because it will help the little one better trust you. Here's a link if this is your thing http://www.askdrsears.com/html/10/T130300.asp .

Now, now, put down your mommy boxing gloves if this IS your thing. I'm not trying to challenge you or your way of doing things. I just need to let my readers know where I am coming from.As the saying goes, "I may not agree with what you have to say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it." Or something like that.

Ok, now that I've calmed down the crazies let's get to the point. When I was pregnant with Mateo, I had all kinds of ideas about how I would perfectly parent and how my perfectly parented child would respond. But I happened to overlook one small detail. I'm lazy. Like really lazy. And, I enjoy having a life. Yes, yes, I enjoy my "family life", but that's not what I'm talking about. I'm talking about I enjoy my let's have a drink, socailize with adults, and not involve my kids for a little bit kinda life.

So, with each consecutive child, I've began to rely less and less on the experts and have really come into my own. I like to call my parenting philosophy "Unattachment Parenting". I understand that my grammar may not be correct; perhaps "deattachment" is the term, but like I said I'm lazy, too lazy to google it.

Anyhow, back to my philosophy. Unattachment Parenting, which we will now refer to as UP, to be cool and confuse everyone, involves distracting and tricking your children into amusing themselves so that you are free to surf the internet, talk on the phone, read a trashy novel, or pursue whatever leisure activity you choose.

Now, I'm not going to claim that UP is a new philosophy. In fact, I'm pretty sure it's an ancient philosophy practiced across many cultures. My mother, in fact, used many of the techniques of UP while raising my siblings and me. So if that isn't proof of it's success, what is?

My youngest, Daniela, was raised 100% using the UP method. And, I'm quite happy to report is thriving and the most easygoing, advanced, and brillant of my 3 perfect offspring. So here are some basics of UP. Note that this is by no means a comprehensive list, just a few main ideas regarding infants.

1. Formula is your friend. Buy the super cheap Walmart brand. At night, give your baby a huge bottle and mix in some rice cereal. Helloooo sleeping through the night! Now, slow down there mommy, I know what you're thinking. Won't this make the infant obese. Well, possibly since most of America currently is, but it will help prevent II (infant insomnia) and preserve your sanity.

2. Do not carry your baby around. Get some swings, bouncy seats, bumbos, whatever, off of craigslist and tell his or her older siblings to "show the baby some toys".

3. When the baby cries, act like you're the baby's father and "pretend" not to hear him or her for at least the time it takes you to finish cooking dinner, wiping your older kids' butts, etc. If the baby is still crying after that time tell one of the older siblings to "go sing to the baby".

4. Pay absolutely no attention to the baby's milestones and do not get stressed out about what he or she eats, poops, or does or doesn't do.

I'll tell you, Daniela's babyhood has really flown by and been a joy using the UP method. I feel as if only yesterday I brought her home from the hosiptal and now she is feeding herself cereal off the floor that the boys have dropped crawling around largely unsupervised amusing herself.

Don't Leave Home Without It

Most of the time, I'm pretty good about remembering to bring everything we need when I'm out and about. I try and have bags pre-packed for routine outings. I keep a lot of these bags in the car, so that I don't have to think too much when I leave the house. Along with the bags, I usually keep our double stroller in the trunk. Now, I don't need this stroller because Nico can't walk longer distances; he's more than capable of walking and fiercely prefers it to sitting in a stroller. The stroller's sole purpose, therefore, is to keep us all together. In other words, it is a restraining device.
So, forgetting said stroller when I am alone in public with all three of them can be quite nerve racking. I've done it a few times and here is basically what happens. I open my trunk expecting to find the stroller and instead find myself staring at my road bike. Ok, no big deal. Not worth going back to the house. The boys can walk and I can just carry he baby, no problem. Why am I always so delusional?
So, I get the baby out of her carseat and then proceed to get the boys out of theirs. As soon as Nico's feet hit the ground he looks at me and realizes that the stroller is not present. He gives a sly grin and then screams and and dashes away from me at full speed. Not to be left out, Mateo goes for the gusto and chases after his brother into on coming traffic. Meanwhile, Daniela has also realized that there will be no stroller today and is trying her best to leap out of my arms by violently throwing herself backwards. I try my best to keep her from falling onto the pavement while also holding our 2 bags that roughly weigh about 5 pounds each.
I trudge after the boys and manage to get Mateo to stop running by screaming threats at the top of my lungs that video games will not happen this weekend if he does not get back to me right now. I then locate Nico in a bush and pull him out by what ever body part I can get a good grip on. Then we all start walking to our destination, all the while I'm trying not to drop the baby or dislocate Nico's shoulder as he twists & turns in an attempt to escape my grasp.
I think the theory has sufficiently been tested that the double stroller, in all its bulkiness, is in fact essential for our ventures to the outside world.

Another Week of Summer Vacation

As anyone with small children knows, life can be quite monotonous if you do not leave the house. It becomes an endless cycle of cleaning, preparing meals, and breaking up fights. Not something I "love" doing in a sober condition.

Yes, the actual act of leaving sometimes seems impossible. However, if you can perserve and get everyone in the car along with the extensive gear and supplies needed you will be happy you did. Because this, people, is how time flies. As the saying goes, "Time flies when your having fun." Time drags like nobody's business when your cleaning your kitchen for the 5th time and it's 10:30am.

So each week I try and find something to do each day with the kids. The last 2 weeks, Mateo has been doing swim lessons at the Rec Center which worked out great because we would just pack lunches and stay for open swim. I'd keep us there until the kids were near exhaustion and then pack everyone in the car and drive around the neighborhood until I knew they had all fallen into a deep sleep (borderline comatose) so that they would stay asleep as I transfered them into their beds. Nice!

Anyhow, the first swim session has finished and there is a one week break in between sessions. So we are left with a week without plans. Panic. But wait, as luck would have it my friend, Jamie, found a free 1/2 day camp for ages 4-12 year olds. Vacation Bible School at a Baptist Church. Now, I'm not Baptist, but I have no problem with the nice Baptist folk taking my unruly 4 year off my hands for 3 hours. Much like my own mother who sent me to Jewish summer camp for 7 weeks. I'll have you know that I can still sing several blessings in Hebrew.

So Mateo loved his 1st day, especially since he was in the same group as Jamie's son Connor. The lesson of today was "I am special" which of course is perfect for Mateo (and most other 4 year olds) because he is totally convinced that he is the most awesome person alive. Too bad so many of us lose that confidence as adults. When I asked him what he did he replied, "I made a picture of myself, I sang songs, and I prayed to Cheez-its Christ."

Meanwhile, back at the house, Daniela took a nap and Nico did his daily ritual of lining up small toys and trying to break random electronic devices in our house. All in all, a good day.

Welcome to My Blog

So, lately I've been spending a lot time online since I've been under house arrest (AKA staying home all day with 3 kids under 5). In this time, I've been posting quite a bit on Facebook and other websites and decided I'm probably better off just starting a blog.

So, here are some things you will probably read about on this blog

1. The amusing, annoying, and/or insane things my children do.

2. My new obsession with completing triathlons, despite the fact that I'm slow and fat.

3. My general commentary on things that happen to me or are in the news (as in E news, people).

Be forewarned that I am not much of a writer. In fact, I'm pretty much of a nit-wit and nothing profound or of much worldy importance will be discussed here. Also, if I am anything, I am honest. So there will be no sugar coating here. Expect the uncensored version.

Ok, well, enjoy the blog. That's it for now as I have already been interrupted numerous times by my husband, children, and dog in the 10 minutes it took me to write this.