And now I REALLY want to go home!

I am sitting in the airport in San Francisco waiting for the flight that is delayed 2 hours (it's a 1 hour flight, people, from San Francisco to Los Angeles!) to board so I can go home from a conference that I've been at since Wednesday (it's Sunday).

DG has done an amazing job of taking care of T1 and T2 while I've been gone. He even went and got them Halloween costumes and he did the laundry! He's been such a good Mr. Mom that the twins don't even want to talk to me when I call. And, as I look at the clock and think about how I would have been driving up to my house and seeing their adorable faces in about 30 minutes, and now I have to wait another 2 hours, I just get mad.

When I left on Wednesday, I was really looking forward to the respite time that a conference affords a working mom. Maybe you have not had the luxury of staying in a hotel room by yourself, eating room service, and watching movies. My colleagues asked me to go to dinner. Are you kidding? And give up the quiet time? No way. They have no idea how much that down time is precious. But now, I'm just anxious to get home.

The balance between working and mothering is tipping in the wrong direction right now.

Mothering first -- working second, not the other way around.

I have a goal for when I get home. Instead of worrying about the emails, the laundry, the lunches, and all, I plan on spending the week playing cards, kicking the soccer ball around the back yard, and playing hide and seek. I'm hoping to tip the scale back in the other direction.

Ahhh, they're asleep.....

I love watching my children as they sleep. They are so serene, so peaceful. I place my hand on their faces and arms and I long for the days when I held their little bodies. Their warm baby breathing, the feel of their chests rising and falling in my arms reassured me that they were alive--that I really was a mother.


Now I can no longer cradle them the way I did. Oh, but I try. Their long, bony arms and legs poke me and prod me, but as soon as it's begun, it's over. They're off to play or ride scooters, anything but be with mom.

When they were toddlers, I was sure my twins would always need me. I scooped them up when they fell; every wail, "Mommmmmeeeeeee" was always followed by me hovering with my hands outstretched and back hunched over making sure they didn't fall into anything or break anything. It was like triage. Who was in the most danger? One twin would hopefully not get hurt while I tended to the other. I yearned for a break, screamed for it. "When will this ever end?!?"

It did. Their wiggly toddler bodies that I used to prop up on both hips like saddle bags, grew up.



It occurs to me now, as I marvel at the changes in their sleeping faces, that I can't scoop them up anymore. I can't carry them, and the break I desperately wanted is bittersweet. Sometimes I crawl in bed with each one. I get close to feel their breathing, to remember that luscious, baby cuddle. It's like that book, I Love You Forever. I will hold them close as much as I can for as long as I can, all the while knowing one day too, this will end. Hug those babies, people.

I'm Dancing, and So Are They

Note to the little people who live in my house: This is it. The jig is up. Thought you had it made with the vacations and the swimming and amusement park visits, but Ha Ha, now you have to go back like everyone else!

Oh yeah, you get your new lunchboxes and fancy new supplies like a Hello Kitty pencil case and an X-Men superhero binder, but don't worry, I'm not jealous. You've got a brand new wardrobe of fall favorites from the fabulous back to school sale, but of course, it's still 100 degrees out, so Ha Ha again, just back to the grind for you. Suck it up. No long faces over here.

What's that? You're EXCITED?!? You can't wait to go back to school and start first grade? But I'm doing the victory dance; I'm thinking, "now they'll learn that life is hard and you don't get to do what you want to do all the time. Life isn't all fun and games."

Wait. I guess first grade is fun and games, pretty much. I'm thinking, "now you'll get it. " Life should be fun and games. Everyone should love what they do. Every fall I get excited about starting school again, as a teacher now instead of a student.

So I say Ha Ha, one more time, only this time we're laughing and dancing because we love it. I hope every new fall is a beginning of happiness for you. Going back to school is fun--for you and for me.

When Life Hangs in the Balance

I have lived in Southern California my whole life. The San Gabriel Valley is east of Los Angeles and nestled into the foothills. As a kid, I always knew that north was where the mountains were. And every fall, we entered into "fire season." The hot, relentless Santa Anas whip up and fuel any relentless spark and the mountains go up in flames.

While I am used to having some smoke in the air every once in a while in fall, I have never seen anything like this Station fire consuming La Canada/Flintridge. To exacerbate matters, I have friends who live near the firestorm. When the fire started on Wednesday or Thursday, I didn't pay it any mind, but by Friday night, it bacame evident that the spreading was moving more toward homes than away from them.

(photo by Robin Swanson from LA Times.com reader's photos)

This is what the fire looked like from the top of my hill, probably 10 -15 miles away.

By Saturday morning, my closest friend's family was evacuated from the canyon. Our house has become a respite and a hell for them. They have two kids, a cat, and tons of computer equipment as they both work at home. They don't know how dangerously their house is threatened. They can't get enough information on the news or the Internet specific to their exact area. They are sequestered, isolated, and even in the age of technology with iPhones and instant information in the palm of your hand, they feel so desperately unaware of how close to their home the fire is burning. Facebook is their only link to their friends still staying to fight or waiting until they are mandatorily forced out. The posts on Facebook are heart-breaking. Some people are leaving their homes for what may be the last time. Do they know if they've missed anything in their frantic rush to leave and keep their children from inhaling any more smoke?

My friend threw clothes in suitcases yesterday as the Sherriff's' cars were coming by to tell them to evacuate. She's amazing in a crisis. She has training in crisis management in a mental health setting, but when it's happening to you, you don't react as carefully. She managed on Thursday and Friday to pack all of the important papers, pictures, kids' baby books, etc. You know, the stuff you remember to take. But this morning, she cried, "I wish I brought everything." My heart sank. I can't possibly know how she's feeling.

The house is chaotic. The girls, my T2 and their 6-year-old are watching TV in the front; the boys, T1 and their 9 1/2-year-old are watching episodes of X-Men on the computer. We have make-shift beds in several rooms, make-shift offices in the dining room. Making meals is like a army KP production. Industrial quantities of paper plates at the ready.

As I support my friends, I think about how natural disasters leave us completely powerless. What would I do if I had to leave my home? I remember when I moved in here. I didn't like the house. I longed for my old house and neighborhood; as a mother with toddlers, I felt isolated and sadly lonely, away from my community. Now, five years later, we have built a circle of friends. We see our neighbors in town, at the store, and I can't imagine living anywhere else. If I had to leave I'd want to remember to pack the brick that identifies our family name near the front door, but, obviously, I'd have to leave the lemon tree. My friends worry that their house will burn in this apocalyptic fire. There won't be anything left to buy or rent in the neighborhood. They will have to start over, they fear.

I feel scared along with them because all parents live to preserve their way of life, their home and community, the routines that make their children feel safe. I am supporting them, hoping for the best.

Beaches and Theme Parks and X Games, Oh My!

Summers are different when you have kids. When I was younger, before marriage, kids, you know, responsibility, summers were for relaxing, sitting around, staying up late, reading lots and lots and lots. Now my summers are jam packed. I wouldn't necessarily call what we do in summer a "vacation." I remember my last "vacation." There was an over-water bungalow and the words, "Bora-Bora" on the hotel stationery....ah memories. No, now we take trips. Trips to theme parks, the beach, places with cotton candy and merry-go-rounds.

I love my summer "trips" with my family. Maybe they're not the most relaxing or rejuvenating, but they are FUN. The looks on our faces can attest to that. Here are some highlights:

Parrot talons in your shoulders do feel really weird.




Big hat is a must.




Always gotta find a place where the kids can go on one of these




At the X Games in Los Angeles, we watched the inaugural "Big Air Rail Jam" skateboarding event. These guys skateboarded down that giant ramp, landed on a tiny rail, jumped off the rail and came down another ramp. Pretty amazing.



Don't we look happy? I hope you had a great summer too. Back to school (and back to work) is just around the corner....

Photo Tag

I have been tagged by clueless but hopeful mama to post a photo.

Simple Rules:
-Open your first photo folder (I took this to mean oldest digital pictures folder).
-Scroll down to the 10th photo. (okay, I'll have to use the 9th because there aren't 10 photos in the folder. I have photos from 2008 to now on this computer.)
-Post that photo and story on your blog.
-Tag five others (or more) friends to do the same.


This is my dad opening presents on his 80th birthday. If you look really close, you can see the really funny (read stupid) message on the shirt, meant to look like Japanese or Chinese characters. His sense of humor does tend to go the potty-mouthed, adolescent boy slant.

I really love my dad for a bunch of reasons. He's so self-sufficient, even at 80. Loves to do carpentry, computers, painting, gardening; he plays the trumpet, for God's sake. On his birthday, all of his cronies came out for dinner and we toasted his wonderfully productive life. He's a real renaissance man; keeps reinventing himself all the time. I hope when I retire that I want to be involved in half as much stuff as he is, so I won't be bugging my kids all the time.

Wish I knew 5 friends to tag for this post, but alas, I am new to blogging and don't know anyone, other than CBHM who tagged me. Stay tuned. Maybe I'll make some friends soon to tag here.

Summer Camp

I did not really like summer camp as a child. I remember I had to go to the YMCA day camp for a while, and then my mom sent my sister, brother, and I to Vacation Bible School at a Baptist Church. We were Catholic. Go figure. I guess if it's all Jesus, that's okay, right?

Anyway, the YMCA day camp felt very isolating. It was in this big, cavernous gym, with bunches of kids, none of whom I knew. We went on field trips and had contests--everything that should have made a kid thrilled. Not me. I was painfully shy and had trouble making friends. Mostly, I remember playing by myself and sticking with the counselors, who were like surrogate mommies to me, when what I really wanted was to be home with my mom, who was at work--like me now.

Fast forward to my own kids going to summer camp for the first time. I had a revelation yesterday that they are now forming their own childhood memories. These are the summers they'll remember as the "when I was a kid..." times. Oh, the responsibility of this makes me so nervous. What if they don't like camp? What if they have a bad experience that they remember forever and blame me for putting them there--for working.

I took T1 and T2 to camp for their first day on August 3. They knew 3 kids there from their previous pre-school. Long standing friends with whom they had fantastic relationships. There was even a counselor there from their pre-school. They'd be okay, I told myself. They had "people" there.

T1 has a similar personality to mine. He's sensitive, shy, and slow to warm. I projected all of my own childhood fears onto his experience. T2 will be fine, I thought. She's the social butterfly. No problems for her. I packed their lunches (special sugary treats included so they'd think fondly of me during the day. Why that works, I don't know), kissed them goodbye, and crossed my fingers for a good day. When I came to pick them up, the counselors' reports were all happy and upbeat. They had a great time! they said. T1 actually joined in the games and made friends faster and more easily than T2. T2 got into the game late in the day, but really, overall, they loved it.

You mean their lives aren't going to be the same as mine? Their childhoods will be different? As twins, their experience will always be different than mine. They will always have each other wherever they go together. I suppose that takes some of the pressure off. A week-and-a-half into camp now, and they're both loving it. And why not? Playing games, going swimming, and making new friends (friends that may last a lifetime, as other people tell me happens sometimes at camp) are infinitely more fun than hanging out with Mommy.

They're growing up.