An actual conversation

My husband has been procrastinating, but finally pulled off what he had to do to have his vasectomy tested. He ejaculated into the cup.

Me: "What did you think about while you were doing it?"

Him: "Getting a hand job."

Me: "That's it?"

Him: "I'm not that imaginative."

Me: "Well, who was giving you the hand job?"

Him: "A hand model."

pause. snicker inwardly.

Him: "You know. Like those hands in the I Can't Believe I'ts Not Butter commercials."

Playing the journalist

We all have the one that got away. Mine just happens to be my career as a journalist.

I was a rebellious teenager. In the 11th grade, I skipped so much school I almost had to repeat a grade. I was not participatory in high school activities. I had no school spirit. I wasn't even sure I wanted to go to college.

Then I took a journalism class. And literally came to life.

I started going to class and actually paying attention. My teacher, Mrs. Wiegel, was so passionate about journalism, and the craft of writing, that it was infectious. I caught the passion. I drank the Kool-Aid. I tried ambition on for size. And parlayed that into a spot as a staff writer for the school newspaper.

I went to college with big dreams of being the chief editor of Rolling Stone magazine someday. Then, I took a class in advertising. The professor was just as passionate about the creative process of advertising as my journalism teacher had been. Maybe I am just gullible. But I drank his flavor of Kool-Aid and changed my major.

Throughout my advertising career, I've often wondered what would have happened if I'd stuck with journalism. I long for the process of writing articles and seeing my byline printed above a long column of words that I carefully strung together. I've even taken some time off here and there and tried to get back into it. I've had small pieces published, but it is hard to make a living as a journalist. Especially when you've become accustomed to an advertising salary.

But I still dream. And I still pitch. So on Wednesday I sat down and wrote a query letter to my local newspaper about an idea I had for a story. They wrote back and said they weren't interested in it as a feature, but as a personal essay to run in a section called Tales of the City.

Now all I have to do is write the piece. And make it kick ass. Oh, and I have to continue the kicking of ass for 1,000 words. If they actually run it, it will be the longest piece of writing I've ever had published.

I'm so excited about it I can't stand it.

Regardless of the fact that it doesn't pay a dime.

Wish me luck.

I'm really going to need it this time.

Just another day in Cuteville

Sharing

Once the Lil' Man began sleeping through the night, we moved his crib into the room where his sister sleeps. The room is no longer hers, but theirs. No more Z monitor and R monitor, marked with their initials on the back. Now there is only one monitor between them. And as they've both been sick lately, sometimes it's hard to tell which one of them is stirring. They have the same cough.

We realized this room sharing would work when we went to the beach last month and they were forced to share a common space. We waited until Z was good and tired before putting her to bed, ensuring the process would be a quiet one. And by the time we put her to bed, the Lil' Man was so deeply into his dreams that our lullaby playing and "night nights" didn't wake him.

That's how we do it at home, too. He wakes earlier than she does, and since he's been sick he'll still wake randomly in the night for some comfort. But as long as we get to him quickly, we can get him up and out of the room before Z is too cognizant of what's happening, so she slumbers on.

It's a system that's worked for us. And hopefully it will continue to work until Z is old enough to demand her very own room.

The other morning they both woke up at the same time, which sometimes happens. They each lay there in their own cribs across the room from each other and babbled to themselves. Although I like to think they were babbling to each other. And discussing how nice it is to wake up and realize you're not alone.

Mother's Day Weekend Extravaganza

My mom came down from Dallas Friday afternoon to watch the kids so Chris and I could go to a party. We watched a silly dance performance complete with fog machine, drank wine and chatted with people in our little town's advertising community. Deon Sanders was there. I'm not even sure why.

Saturday night, Chris made my Mom and I Filet Mignon over mashed potatoes over spinach. He stacked one on top of the other, fancy-style. I love it when he does that.

After dinner, I got to open my present. A shiny new iPhone. Ever since, I've been having a hard time putting it down.

Sunday, he took all of us to brunch at our favorite brunch place downtown. The kids were angels. The eggs benedict was divine.

Sunday night, one of Z's favorite daycare teachers came over to sit for us so we could go see Wilco, one of Chris's favorite bands. Now I think they're also one of mine.

It was probably one of the best weekends I've had in a long time. And I haven't been made to feel that special, felt so much love from my husband since the kids were born and began absorbing all the attention we should be paying each other.

After our dinner on Saturday night, Chris said "Thanks for having Stefani" to my Mom.

And the Husband of the Year Award goes to...

Being There

I missed a few of Z's firsts. The first time she rolled over I was actually standing right there, but was watching something on TV so my mother-in-law was the one to see it. And then of course she wouldn't do it again. The second time she rolled over, she did it for my nanny while I was driving to work. My nanny calling me and telling me about it with her signature jubilant glee didn't make me happy at all. I should have been there. I wanted to be the one to see her first roll over. And I was sad that I wasn't.

The first time the Lil' Man rolled over, I was sitting right there, too. But, I was watching something on TV. (Note to self: Perhaps less TV watching?) I look down, he's on his stomach. I look down again, he's on his back looking a bit stunned by what had just happened. Drats! Missed it again.

But yesterday, I was there. And I was tuned in to my son instead of the TV when he set his eyes on a block a few inches out of his reach and he lifted his little chunk of a body up onto his knees and propelled himself forward a step, making his first attempt to crawl.

I am brimming with pride that I saw everything. I saw the intention in his eyes. I felt his desire to touch that block. Then I saw him fulfill that ambition with his own free will and strength.

It was a glorious sight to behold.

So let the record show that on May 4th, 2008, at six months and four days old, the Lil' Man began to crawl.

What sibling rivalry?

I just sat down to blog about my latest revelation in the wonders of having two children, then I find out there is a virtual shower going on for Her Bad Mother, Mrs. Chicky and Mrs. Chicken, who are all expecting their second ones soon. Shower gifts are being wrapped in blog posts of advice. Here's my gift to them.

I've written many a post about this in the past. (See here, here and here.) In fact, it's practically all I write about lately as I'm just six months into life with two children so I'm still figuring it out myself. You'll get a bit of wisdom from those older posts. But what I want to say here about having two children is not really advice, but encouragement.

Yesterday I saw a new benefit of having two children that I'd never fully realized. Z was doing something silly (what are the odds?) and the Lil' Man got to chuckling at her. She kept doing it just to amuse him and he kept laughing as deep a belly laugh as a little guy can. His shoulders were actually moving up and down. He might have even slapped his knee. But it was the eyes that got me. I thought stars were going to shoot out of them and sprinkle fairy dust on us all.

I see more love in the adoring way my son looks at my daughter than I've ever seen in my life. We made him for her. We made him because I never had a sibling and I always wanted one. I wanted them both to have the experience that I didn't.

Seeing the love flow between them makes up for every one of the sleepless nights.