I've been writing down my New Year's goals since 1997 on little lined squares of card stock and keeping them in my wallet change purse. (Well, in the first few years I taped them to my office wall or the bathroom mirror, but now they stay with me). With my new system, I'm more apt to get them out and give them a look over. In the 13 years I've done this, I've almost always accomplished what I set out to do.
So with that said, this year I'm not only writing them down on paper, I'm going to jot them down here in my blog for all to read. Keep me honest guys!

1. To be the most patient mama I can be and to teach my boys to be loving, kind, adventurous, and respectful human beings. And most important, always always make time for play!

2. To lose the last eight pounds of post-pregnancy weight and to get to my optimal weight and fit level. I'm not only needing to do this for myself but for my family too.

3. To continue to stay in touch with those I love who live far away and to be open to making new friends right where I am.

4. To make more Tim and Ki time by having more date nights, a weekend or two away without the boys, and just making sure we connect every night and have that adult time our marriage craves.

5. Travel to places I've never been before (Austria, U.S. National Parks, etc.) and go back to the places I love (the Caribbean, Santa Fe, Vermont, Cape Cod . . .)

6. Start a regular YOGA practice!

7. Begin each morning with fresh squeezed lemon juice in warm water, to take my vitamins religiously, and to drink lots of water. And here is to less sugar!

8. Reduce, Reuse, Recycle

9. Become an expert in something. Make a name for myself.

10. Treat myself to a few more splurgy things like hair highlights, facials, massages, clothes, products, etc.

11. Breathe away anger and replace it with acceptance.

12. Make every minute count!!!

I'm living in a time warp. While the majority of you are getting a solid seven or better yet, eight hours of sleep a night, those dark hours for me are comprised of vivid, sometimes troubling dreams interrupted by a small whimper that takes me from REM to a robot-feeding mama in seconds.
When one doesn't get enough sleep, weird things happen. You start to feel like you're on the rim of reality looking in but you're not actively participating in every day events. You see life unfolding as it should but you're not 100% there to a: enjoy it and b: remember it.
It struck me the other day that since Skylar was born I've gained a gorgeous, healthy, smiling bundle of coos but simultaneously lost my life as it once was. I gave up my shifts at the restaurant - and how I miss the staff, the comraderie and the money - I've lost my Sunday yoga class, my book group, my bunco buddies, my tennis matches, my physique (though I'm now back in to two pairs of pre-pregnancy jeans) my one-on-one adventures with sweet Daxie, and like I said at the start of this blog, my head. That's a lot to give up.
When it hit me the other day that so many of my favorite things were being put on hold, I had a momentary freak out. I frantically shot off emails at 11pm one evening to those friends and acquaintances I knew could help pull me back in. I wrote the book club chair and said I was committing to being there for the December meeting. She wrote back and said my vote would break the tie on which night to meet on. I felt empowered. I can't wait to discuss the tawdry prose of Wifey by Judy Blume.
Next I wrote my mom's group president and said I'd be at the next play date. We went and had a terrific time. I got to talk to moms about mom's stuff and Dax got to make a turkey out of construction paper and play with Tonka toys. And when I asked a new acquaintance of mine from Dax's school about the cardio class she was taking at the Rec Center, it inspired me to commit to going too. While we sculpt our bodies, our kids get to play together in the center's daycare space. They have a crush on each other. It's perfect.
And I know that what is going to finally make me feel like I'm back in sync with the rest of the world is re-entering the work force. I have zero regrets about being home with my children. I feel lucky to not have missed out on one minute of these early years. Every day is an adventure with them. Today, for example, I watched as Dax bravely took the water slide at the local indoor pool and each time he waded out of the water, he'd look to me for approval and a smile. I felt so happy I could be there to do that and to cheer him on.
What I'm wrestling with still is figuring out what work is going to utilize my skills and leave me feeling sated and ultimately happy.
It feels good to be slowly emerging from this weird, alternative universe. I like the real world a whole lot better.

Here are a few of my favorite things (and some products to stay far away from):

LOVE the new Aveeno Fig & Shea Butter moisturizing body wash - the heavenly smell lingers on my skin long after a hot shower.

HATE the Aveeno Clear Complexion Cream Cleanser (the micro beads are too small and too few and they do nothing to help exfoliate the skin. It's also very drying which causes the face to produce more oil and thus the purpose of "fighting pimples" is defeated.)

LOVE Bumble and Bumble Seaweed Shampoo - this moisturizing shampoo is light enough to use every day - it does not weigh my hair down. A superior product.

HATE Garnier Fructis - these products are heavily marketed and come in beautiful packaging but I think they are sub-par at best. It's amazing how many negative blogs there are on-line discussing the high price point and disappointing results. I would get a rash on my neck whenever I used the shampoo or conditioner. Yuck.

LOVE any Mustela products for my kids - fantastic scents, no parabens, amazing lather and zero tears. Gotta love it.

This entry is about body image.
I was one of those rare teenage girls who actually liked the way her body looked. I was 5'4" and 110 pounds and I never worried about fat and calories. I could polish off an entire pint of Ben & Jerry's Super Fudge Chunk after field hockey or downhill ski racing practice and then, always to my mother's surprise, sit down to dinner and finish my plate. I burned calories faster than a hummingbird. One friend described my quick movements as "flittering". He said I didn't know how to walk from one place to the next, rather I ran.
In college, there was no freshman 15 found on this lean frame. My cranked-up metabolism allowed me to drink keg beer, eat gravy fries, and even spend a semester abroad in Spain where fried churros and thick, hot chocolate that had to be eaten with a spoon were my go-to midday snacks. And still, a large butt, belly rolls, and back fat stayed far, far away.
My mom warned me that once I hit my 30's, the pounds would start to pack on. She said it happened to her. On deaf ears, she was trying to tell me that a woman's body changes. Well, she was right to some extent. My boyish figure morphed into one with curves and breasts which made me like my figure more, especially in a bikini or cut-off jean shorts.
Then in my late 30's I hit a depressive low with my divorce and gained some extra weight. It came from making myself elaborate dinners for one and drinking more red wine than I should have. But trail running in Santa Fe before work with friends and sticking to the Atkins Diet for a few weeks had me back to my ideal weight again. I lost 11 pounds just like that. Piece of cake.
And then it happened. I had my second child this past July and even the breast feeding isn't melting the pregnancy weight gain away as fast as I'd like it to. You mean, I'm going to have to actually work at losing weight? Currently, I'm looking at having to lose 15 pounds to get back to my "cosmopolitan self" as my OB/GYN describes it. For me, this is almost an insurmountable amount of weight to have to lose. I mean, this is what Skylar weighs himself and I have to shed that from my body?
To all the women out there who have always struggled with their weight, I now have the utmost empathy for you. I get it. It sucks to have a friend or family member look you up and down from head to toe with a bit of disgust in their eyes. Suddenly, I feel like the fat girl sitting on the gym bleachers not being asked to slow dance.
In order to get back to my ideal weight, I'm taking my (fat) ass to the Rec Center every week and hitting the treadmill, hiking steep trails with Skylar in the Bjorn, cleaning my house with a frenzy (this burns some serious calories)and trying to eat a more Mediterranean diet of salads with feta, tomatoes, olives, red onion and always a lean protein on top. With breast feeding, I'm not looking to cut out a ton of calories. But I am committed to exercising more, eating well, and doing my 60 sit-ups a day to get my body back to beautiful. I've never been so ready for a challenge. Pretty soon those disdainful stares will turn in to ones of admiration and envy.

By the time I started to have kids in my late 30's, I was 100 percent ready to be a mom. Once it finally happened with Dax, it was rare for anyone to hear me complain about not "having time for myself". I had wanted children for so long that when it finally happened, I found turning the focus from myself to another human being didn't feel like a sacrifice at all, it felt good and it felt right. And now the second bundle of cooing bubbles is here and again, I'm ready.
But there has been a shift in me and that shift has to do with making myself a priority again because if I don't, my emotional and physical health will suffer. I can't have motherhood be the only thing that defines this once very complex human being, ME! (I know Dax wouldn't believe it but I do have passions and interests outside of potty training, playgrounds, and Rec Center pools.)
I'm making a commitment to myself to set aside a few minutes to a few hours a day to inching my way back to the old Ki. I need my kids to know who I was before they came on board and who I still am today: a B&B manager (I miss this challenging work), an avid backpacker and camper, a gourmet cook, a yoga student and once teacher, a writer and a big-time reader, a loyal friend, a tennis player (I was actually getting good before I got pregnant!), a trail runner (oh, how I miss the obstacle course of roots and rocks), a more stylish chica (the overhaul of the closet has begun!), a Spanish speaker and a decent editor. Where did I disappear to?
So now, when I wake up in the morning, I'm setting my intention for the day to find little ways to nourish my soul. I want to merge my old self with my new self as mother-of-two.
A few days ago, the nourishment came from baking Toll House cookies with Dax and letting him stir the batter, crumble the walnuts and lick the mixer spoon. Yesterday, it came from a stroller jog with Skylar preceded by a telephone conversation with my best friend and a hot chai in my hand. And it always feels great to write. I must keep it up.
I think that by taking care of Ki, great things will happen. And loved ones around me will be happier because I'm ultimately happier.

Right before Skylar was born, my life felt out of control. We had no renters for our Santa Fe home which meant going in to debt by $1,300 every month - something we could not afford to do, Dax had decided that pooping on the floor instead of his toddler potty was where he wanted to conduct his "business", and I was worried that as a couple we weren't going to be able to handle another addition to the family. As a way to comfort myself, I started to do one very simple thing: I began to sing Bob Marley's "Three Little Birds" to Dax before his daytime nap and before bedtime. The lyric, "singin' don't worry about a thing 'cause every little thing, gonna be alright' became my new mantra - if I sang it enough times, then I'd have to start believing that every little and big trouble I had would right itself. And you know what? They did. It all worked out. Repeating a mantra, saying a prayer, thinking positive thoughts are all ways to keep the irrational and terrifying fears at bay. Every time I'd start slipping in to that dark place, I'd begin to sing Marley's uplifting words. We have renters now and even better, they wire the money each month to our Wells Fargo account, Dax prefers the potty to the parquet floor and Tim and I are finally finding our rhythm in raising two boys.

Skylar turned five weeks this past Sunday and amazingly, he is already showing his personality. He squeaks, squawks, coos, whimpers, meows, sneezes, hiccups, and best of all, he now smiles these big circle smiles while squinting up his eyes. He always wants to be held - vibrate seats, swings, and play gym mats don't cut it - he wants the warmth of a body and a beating heartbeat. With a little head or back rub, Skylar can fall asleep in anyone's arms. When he's hungry, he brings his little fists up to his mouth and he looks like a squirrel nibbling on a handful of acorns. He excitedly starts kicking and waving his arms when Dax comes near and doesn't protest too much when his big brother plants a wet one on his lips or lays his hands on his cheeks. He's a light sleeper and prefers sleeping on his belly to his back just like the rest of his family. He hates being swaddled (I thought ALL babies like being swaddled!) and if a noise is more sudden than it is even loud, he jumps out of his skin. He gives his daddy a big sideways grin in the mornings when he first lays eyes on him and is ticklish everywhere, especially the neck and behind his meaty thighs. He's already growing out of newborn onesies and even 0-3 month clothing is fitting snug. His wave machine knocks him in to a deep sleep and he's learning how to push the binki (he ONLY likes the green hospital "soothies") back in to his mouth by using his fist. He's starting to rock on to his side and back and he can follow a voice or a face across the room. Of course I'm going to sound like a proud mother when I say this, but I swear he already knows his name and Dax's name and when he looks at me with those dark blue eyes, I'm sensing he understands a lot more than he's able to articulate! I can't wait to see what the next five weeks brings.

Both my sweet boys are sleeping so I thought I'd finally update my blog for the first time since giving birth to Skylar Drake Murrell.
I can't believe our second son is finally here and he's healthy, robust, and just bursting with cuteness from his fingers to his tiny toes. I gained just about 40 pounds in my pregnancy and when the labor and delivery nurse noted what a big baby he was as he was entering in to this fine world, I realized where a lot of this weight had gone. He was 8 1/2 pounds at birth and when given his first taste of milk, he latched on with a powerful clamp. Ah, now I've witnessed with my own eyes how much easier full term babies are than early babies. Skylar latched right away, sleeps well, has nice fat on him for warmth and has a very congenial disposition. Dax was three weeks early and didn't have the muscles in his mouth to latch properly (it took him two months to breastfeed), his tear ducts weren't fully developed and so his eyes clogged easily, he needed to eat ALL the time because he was making up for his small stature and he had breast milk allergies to my dairy intake. And it goes on and on. I am so thankful that Skylar made it to 40 weeks and one day - the time incubating has helped him enormously. And unlike going totally natural with Dax during the delivery, I opted for the epidural this time and I've never been so happy with such a decision. I was able to enjoy and remember Skylar's birth and I feel like as a result, he came out less stressed and healthier because of it. I earned my badge of honor going au natural with Daxie - but this time, I knew I needed my pain to be mitigated. I made a promise to myself that I was not going to end up on the floor on all fours trying to rock away the overwhelming waves of intense contractions - ones that had me moaning but speechless and worrying Tim to no end.
Now we are a family of four. How silly of me to think that I wouldn't be able to love a second boy as much as my first. Oh, how wrong I was. They are so uniquely different that I'm already loving them each for all their differences and of course, similarities too. And having Skylar has made me appreciate Dax even more. I adore Dax for lavishing wet kisses all over Skylar's silky dark brown head of hair, for helping with bottle feedings (yes, I'm having to supplement with formula because I'm not making quite enough breast milk but my supply gets better each day!), for propping Skylar up in his lap in the big leather recliner and watching as Skylar slips in to a restful sleep in Daxie's arms and for climbing in to my bed every morning saying he wants to see "baby Skylar". The brotherly love is already there. For the first two weeks home with Skylar, I would silently weep as I fed him in the rocker. And my tears were always tears of gratefulness. I'm so incredibly grateful that at the age of 41, I could give birth for the second time to such a healthy, gorgeous baby boy. It makes me believe that there is a god or presence out there and that this spirit is closely watching over my family. I hold Skylar close and repeat over and over, "thank you thank you thank you" to whoever is listening to this teary-eyed mama.

My midwife checked me this morning and big changes have happened in just one week - I'm now 2cm dilated, the baby's head is low and it may only be a couple more days now before he arrives. I was shocked. Just last week, my uterus was posterior and it seemed like I was weeks away from delivering. But I have noticed that this little guy is moving like crazy. The Braxton Hicks last night were the strongest I'd had. He's really starting to get ready to meet us and the big big world. And I should be feeling joyous and excited but instead this amazing moment in my life is a bit tainted by something. We found out last week that our renters will not be staying till the end of October but that they are now leaving at the end of August and Tim is now scrambling to find good renters to fill their shoes. And I'm beyond stressed about it. We have a beautiful house to show but I'm worried that the competition is high in Santa Fe and landlords are competing for the few good ones that are out there. Our realtor who has been trying to sell our house has also agreed to show it to renters. That is a plus. And interestingly, he's a born again Christian and has said to Tim on a number of occasions to trust in God that everything will work out like it should. I really do want to believe that and I really do wish it were as easy as trusting but that's so hard for me to do. Don't we need to make things happen rather than standing back and trusting that the Lord will make it alright? How is this savior of ours going to find us renters for a year? But I know he's on to something because whenever I've just breathed and let go of nervous energy and angst, things do seem to work themselves out eventually. Maybe there will be a rough patch. Maybe we'll be set back financially for months to come but eventually we'll get where we need to get to, right? God, I hope so.

When I was in my 20's and early 30's, I had dozens of healthy friendships with women. Many of these girlfriends are still a part of my life and very dear to me. I wouldn't be the woman I am today without their guidance, love, and loyalty. But there was always one or two who had a quirky, narcissistic personality. It was this friend who would call me in a panic or in tears and proceed to dominate my time with her self-induced drama and like a fool, I gave her my ear, I gave her my sympathy and when the conversation was over, I felt completely used up. These women were crazy. They spent their entire lives completely consumed by their own issues - they had unhealthy relationships with their families, they had eating disorders, self-esteem problems, boy problems, school problems, and work problems. Like a idiot, I kept listening and worse yet, I kept befriending other women like them. And what I'm trying to figure out is what was going on in my own life for me to be drawn to such nuts? I think the answer is I had so much going on that when I was bombarded with their complicated stories, I was given a temporary pass from my own perplexing problems. I could focus on their doomed fate and feel lucky I wasn't them. But with age does come wisdom and I am happy to report that I stay clear of female friendships that even have a hint of drama to them. If I detect that these women have serious anger or psychological issues just brewing below the surface (tip: you can see it in their eyes), I run the other way. The old me used to agree to get a cup of coffee or go on that first date, if you will, to see if we connect. Now I pass on getting together if I sense that a particular woman has a lot of turbulence going on in her life. I can't go there anymore. I don't have the patience, the interest, nor the time. And that feels like such a weight off my shoulders. I now surround myself with bright female friends who are real, down to earth, laid back, and who are far from being drama divas. They don't psycho-babble at me and they don't eat me up alive. These friendships are balanced - there's a give and take if you will - and that makes me happy.

I think I was born with an old soul because I often connect on a deeper level with folks twice my age than I do with my own peers. My mom passed some of these geriatric genes down to me. She was a lover and an appreciator of anything that had a layer of dust on it and historical relevance including homes, antique furniture, past lives, archaological digs, ghosts - you get the point - she liked things that creaked and groaned. And on a cold winter day, I would often find her sitting in our family home's window seat wrapped in a throw knitting while re-reading one of her favorite Victorian novels like Wuthering Heights or Jane Eyre. She liked to escape the modern world, losing herself in these novels, and perhaps romanticizing about being swept away from her hum drum life in Vermont by a Mr. Darby. I think my mom would have been happier living out her life in Victorian England than in the 50's and 60's as a California girl and later as a grown woman raising kids in the 80's and 90's. As much as my mom loved to learn about the past from books, I'm more apt to have one on one conversations with the elderly. The thing is I don't see these folks as old. I see past the wrinkles and hunched over backs and find the giggling little girl or spirited boy still glowing strongly within. Most of us never stop being kids; it's just our exterior that starts breaking down. One of my favorite things to do as a young girl was to sit next to my grandfather in his winged-back chair and listen to stories of what it was like to be a kid growing up in NYC before there were cars, refrigerators, and paved streets. He'd get animated talking about hot summer days in the city chasing trucks delivering blocks of ice to people's homes and catching the ice chips as they fell off the back or playing stick ball in the dusty streets. But it's not just the stories of how different things were "back then". Some of the conversations that have moved me the most have been with much older women and how their life experiences are timeless and hence, not much different than my own. I was very close to my ex-husband's grandmother, Nan. She was probably some 50 years older than myself when I knew her and yet I felt like a giddy schoolgirl when we chatted. She shared everything from marital secrets with me that brought her to tears as well as what life was life in Austria before WWII took that all away from her and her husband. We were friends and I miss her terribly. And I have such joyous memories of my own grandmother, Gannie, taking my sister and me on nature walks and identifying every little thing we found on the ground and high up in the trees. Or swimming at the Dartmouth pool and laughing so loudly in the showers later that our voices echoed off the walls. She was spunky and full of life. I wish more people would look at our elders not as decrepit, aging people but as young people trapped inside a crumbling body. We have so much to learn from them and I can't wait to have more moments where I'm moved by my talks with these wise people.

Ah, I'm a little over 37 weeks pregnant and as much as I want this little guy to go full term, I'm over being pregnant. I'm being punched in the gut and kicked in the ribs throughout the day and night, when I eat I immediately have acid reflux, I'm a belly sleeper so trying to sleep comfortably on my sides or back is torture, my ankles swelled for two days and looked like I had cankles, the humidity sapped my energy last week and I've got the patience of a two year old - so now Dax and I have even more in common. But I keep reminding myself that if I've made it eight months, I can make it one more. And as we get closer to the finish line, I'm getting more and more curious about what our second baby boy is going to be like, look like, and act like. Will he be another blondie like Dax or will he come out with dark hair and hazel eyes like his mama? Considering that he's much more active in the womb, does this mean he's going to be more feisty and temperamental than Dax? Will he be a trouble maker or is this heightened energy going to be channeled in a positive way? We've been very blessed to have our first son be so sweet and loving. Dax gives his family and friends kisses and hugs, he loves to cuddle and out of the blue will tell us that "we all love each other". He's never bitten or scratched anyone. He's basically an atypical 2-year-old boy. And that's what I'm worried about. Will the second be more typical - i.e. more aggressive and obstinate? Only time will tell. We're committed now and he's certainly letting us know that he's here and he's nearly ready to meet us all. I think this little guy is going to have one very huge personality and a verve for life. And we're trying to prepare ourselves for the ride!

I've come to a profound realization; when those I'm close to ask me to give them "honest" advice, I need to remain neutral or completely refrain from giving it at all. It was my best friend Corinne who helped me shed light on this conundrum. My argument to her was, if those I care about are sincerely asking me what I think, don't they deserve an honest answer? "Hell no," she says. But that's what I do. I don't sugar coat, I don't do "cheery" just to make someone feel better and I certainly don't lie. The point Corinne was trying to make was that when someone says "Tell me what you really think", what I should be hearing instead is, "Please don't actually say something I'm not ready to hear." You got it, I won't. I've never been good at making "light" conversation or putting on a fake smile and saying something my heart doesn't believe. I've always just spewed forth sage advice whether I think the person on the receiving end can handle the rawness of it all or not. But boy it's gotten me in trouble and I'm tired of ending up being the bad guy because I actually spoke my mind. It's not worth it. In the end, those I love will either resent me for being too crass, get defensive over my point of view because they simply disagree or hold me responsible in some way. Tim and I have spoken at length about our differing styles - I call it like I see it and he puts a grin on and says something complimentary. After all these years living out West, he says I should at least drop the East Coast edginess and become a true Westener - which is, don't actually share what you're really thinking! I think he's right. So for all those I love out there that are reading this - if you truly want my input, you will have to really convince me you're ready to hear what I have to say. And even then, you might get a wishy-washy answer. I'm finally letting myself off the hook and it feels great!

I had a bit of a scare today. Not to be too graphic but I woke up, got Dax out of his room, grabbed a couple of his books to read downstairs and as I started walking toward the staircase, I felt a small gush of fluid go in to my PJ bottoms. "No, no, no" I said out loud, this can not be my water breaking, I'm only 36 weeks along. I ran to the bathroom and sure enough, there was more moisture there than usual. I started to cry and Dax seemed very concerned. "Are you sad mama?" "Yes, I'm sad Daxie." "You crying mama?" "Yes, I'm crying." I changed into something dry to test the wetness again, scooped up my little guy and we read a few books together. We read "Pouch" about a baby kangaroo who every day takes a couple more hops from his mama's pouch to go and explore the world but every time he goes out of his comfort range, he hops back to his mother's pouch to feel safe again. It's the cutest book ever. I stood up from the recliner nervous that if there was amniotic fluid, it would have pooled and gushed again. This time, dry. "Ok, ok, this is good." Meanwhile, Tim is still sleeping and hasn't a clue about how stressed I'm getting about the situation. As I start cooking up a weekend-style breakfast of scrambled eggs, bacon and cinnamon rolls, my father calls. It's only 7:30 a.m. but he knows I get up early. I tell him I think my water may have broken and he thinks I should ring the doctor on call right away but at the same time, his voice remains calm, which I what I need at this moment. We hang up and I make the call and am put right through. She explains that if it only happens once, it's likely not my water breaking. Wait a bit and call me. I call in 45 min. and tell her there's been no more gushes or trickles but could I still come in and be checked? Dax was born at 37 weeks and it all happened this way the first time. A light trickle and I thought I was incontinent. I ignored the moisture and saw my doctor 24 hours later. At that point, the risk of infection was already high. I didn't want to take any chances this time. She agreed. In her office, she did three quick tests and I think I held my breath until she came back to the room where I lay with my feet still in stir-ups. "Well, it looks like . . ." it took her so long to get the words out it seemed she was talking with mud in her mouth, "all three tests have come back negative." "So my water didn't break," I ask? "Yes, it seems that way." I left her office feeling like I had just gotten a second chance at keeping this baby inside me a little longer. As my father said this morning, "Every 24 hours, the baby is that much further along." That's a good way to look at it.

For friends and family who don't get to see Dax every day, I wanted to post some fun "Dax-isms" for you all to enjoy and so his mama doesn't forget them!:

Dax's new thing is to pick up Tim's phone, flip it open and have a full on conversation with his pretend friend on the other line. A typical conversation goes like this, "Hi, this is Timmy. (pause) Oh no, that's terrible! Really? What are you doing this weekend? I'm playing basketballs. Ok, see ya. Bye." And with a certain degree of authority, he flips the phone closed. Conversation over.

He's a total love bug these days and tells his mama and dada every day, "I love you dada, I love you mama. I love you bear bear (Kodi). We love each other." Yes we do!

He told my Aunt Karen the last day we were at her house and packing to leave, "Karen, Karen . . . I have to get outta here."

He told the neighbors yesterday who for some reason keep mispronouncing his name, "My name is NOT Dak! It's Dax. D-A-X." He spelled it for them!

When saying goodbye to anyone, it's always the two full expressions, "See ya later alligator . . .after a while crocodile." Then he falls in to a fit of giggles.

He says to me, "Make me handsome", which means, put product in his hair. And he flirts with himself in the mirror, smiling slyly and lifting up his shoulders in that cute way. Nope, he's not vain.

When I said we were flying to California, he turned to me and asked, "Is California a girl?"

While on our nature walk this week, he said "I hear music." He was referring to the scuffle sounds he was making with his feet on the gravel. How cool is that? He hears music in just about everything. Even in the sounds a truck makes as it backs up. He hears notes!

And now everything is, "Mama, I NEED muki (milk) . . . I need ice cream NOW! I need mama."

Dax loves to talk to my "baby tummy" as he refers to it and pats and kisses my belly. He already loves his baby brother.

I was wearing these ratty old flip flops the other day and he said, "Cool shoes, mama."

When Timmy misses a shot on Dax's basketball hoop, Dax says, "Uh oh, that was terrible dada."

He's fascinated by body parts. "Does Dax have boobies?" Then he giggles and answers his own question, "Noooo, only big girls have boobies. Dax has nipples . . . and a pee pee!" Yes, you got that right Dax.

When I asked him if he knew who God was, he said, "He is grand." Wow.

When I ask him where his crocs are, or where his sippy cup is, etc., a typical response is, "Weeeelllll, it's probably upstairs. But maybe it's in the kitchen or downstairs." He just sounds like such a little adult when he answers like this.

We were sitting on the stoop and he looked at the peeling wood frame and his eyes got big and he said, "Don't want to touch that . . .could get a splinter in my finger!"

When a stranger asks him his name, he responds proudly, "I'm Dax Reed Murrell . . . I'm two years old."
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Dax is 28 months old and can hold his breath under water for a few seconds (he comes up laughing!); ride his no-training wheels Strider bike down the paved driveway, feet up and totally balanced and in control as he takes the curve at the bottom; starting to keep a 1-2-3-4 rhythm on this drum set - he even did a slight drumroll the other day that I thought was Timmy, just amazing; throw the ball overhand for Kodi who retrieves it and brings it back to him to throw again; can almost do a somersault and can do crazy balancing acts between the coffee table and couch; will tell us when he needs to use the potty and will go number one and two in it but he's still not quite potty trained yet; can brush his teeth with his electric toothbrush almost better than mama can brush his teeth now; starting to learn how to get dressed - sometimes the shirt stays on the head like a turban though; can count to 15 and sing the whole ABC song, knows the lyrics and notes to more than a dozen children's songs and lullabies; has Good Night Moon memorized word for word, with a little prodding from mama; and he's a nature boy at heart - loves to smell flowers, look for ladybugs, collect cool looking sticks and stones, and listen to song birds; and counted out exactly how much cash I had in my wallet the other day - four single one dollar bills; understands that a "hitch" on the back of a car pulls a "trailer" and that cars have four wheels and motorcycles and bikes have two wheels.

It's not surprising that what's consuming my mind these days is the fact that I'm 35 weeks and five days along in my pregnancy and that means this little guy will be here soon. Very soon. Are we ready emotionally, financially, psychologically? Do we have homemade meals Tupperwared and properly labeled in the freezer for each day of the week? Is the house deep cleaned? Is the co-sleeper set up? Do I have enough newborn diapers to get me through the first week of clay-looking poop? Do I have a pretty, yet practical nightie I can birth him in? Do we have a name picked out?! Ah, that's a big resounding "no!" to all those questions.
I have good reason to feel slightly anxious about this second delivery. Against my wishes, I delivered Dax three weeks early and those three weeks posed some serious health problems for him. He was badly jaundiced and had to be hospitalized for a week until his numbers came down and then when it came to breastfeeding, his mouth didn't have the muscular strength yet to latch. I pumped 10-12 times a day for two full months and fed him breast milk from a bottle until he could clamp his little mouth down the right way. I was determined to not go to formula if I could help it. I'm glad I stuck with the pumping because Dax ended up breastfeeding for just over a year. But for 60 some odd days, I felt like the Vermont Holsteins I once saw on a field trip in middle school who were tirelessly hooked up to milking machines. I remember one batting her long eyelashes at me, seeming to beg to be unhooked from the constant suction. Yes, that was me.
Aside from the insurmountable newborn to-do list that has barely been checked off, I'm feeling so incredibly weepy about having to say goodbye to my first baby. Once the second one is here, Dax is no longer my baby. He's my little boy and I'm not ready for him to play this older role. I love our routine now. I love the life we all have as a family now. I'm scared to turn it all upside down, topsy-turvy style. As much as I want his father to step in and do more of the care giving with Daxie the first few weeks and months, I'm also terrified I'm going to feel left out. Will Dax start turning to Da Da when he's hurt himself or isn't feeling well? Will he feel like I've abandoned him? God, I hope not. I plan to do everything in my power to let him know just how loved and cherished he is even though I have a new baby to love and care for too. Well, with this all said, I'm thinking maybe my time right now might be more wisely spent cleaning the house and getting the new baby's room ready. It's time to chip away at that to-do list!

As I was bringing another plate of hot vanilla cream scones to table 10 at a High Tea a few months ago, one of the ladies reached out and touched my arm and in an accent that struck me as very familiar asked when my baby was due. As we chatted, I learned that the two older women were in their 60's and from Yugoslavia but had spent much of their childhood in Austria. The younger lady was a niece of one of the sisters. Ah, Austrian I say. I was married to a man many years ago whose mother's family was from Austria. I thought I recognized the accent. As we continued to chat, more about who they were and where they had come from spilled out. The two sisters had survived WWII while the rest of their family - parents, siblings, aunts, and uncles had tragically not. I've always had a real interest in WWII history but this was a slice of history I knew nothing about. I learned that morning that thousands of Austrian Jews escaped German-occupied Austria by leaving on illegal ships bound for Israel. They were put on river boats and sent down the Danube River which was considered "international waters" and therefore these refugees could not be touched. Austrian Jews continued to escape this way until April 1940 and my customers were two of those passengers lucky enough to get a spot on one of these river boats. They said they felt like gypsies living with no homeland for all those war years.
After the war, the sisters and three cousins ended up in the Denver area and have lived on American soil for the past 60 years. And then the conversation turned from war-torn Europe to life now as U.S. citizens and how grateful they both felt to be living in a country where they were free. One of the sisters said, "I never take one day here for granted." Wow, I thought, now there's an appreciation for what one has. The other sister shared with me that she miscarried four times and never had children of her own. She was very matter of fact and with no self-pity. It was what it was. But she leaned in a bit closer and said to me, good luck with the pregnancy and "stay happy". Stay happy. I thought that was a wonderful way to conclude such an amazing interaction with total strangers. I will never forget these women or this conversation for as long as I live.

I first started noticing a particular phenomenon while living in Santa Fe, NM many years ago. It was a recurring theme playing out in people's relationships, including my own for a while, that had me perplexed to say the least. Women from all aspects of my life, be it my hair stylist, a former boss, a close girlfriend or a fitness instructor would eventually share with me their stories and these stories all tended to have a very similar theme - highly motivated, driven women taking care of their free-riding counter parts for a host of reasons. Some of the men were struggling with alcoholism, others with depression, lack of motivation or not wanting to "sell out" for work that was below them. I thought at first it was just a coincidence that one or two women had similar experiences. Not the case. After living there for nine years, I realized that I was witnessing a common occurrence and I have to say, I was appalled. Appalled at myself for succumbing for some time to this but also for the women I cared about too. They were working themselves to the bone while their men were "finding themselves" or trying to get a little freelance work here and there. One hair stylist told me she had been financially supporting her artsy, live-in boyfriend for the past five years. When I asked why he didn't work, she sighed and said he was a "fine carpenter" and he didn't want to work for anyone else but himself. When I asked if he was bringing in any money, she said no. His way of helping out was to do handy man projects around the house. Turns out she was putting in 50 hours a week on her feet to keep a roof over their heads. She said she couldn't kick him out. I thought to myself, pathetic. I had a former boss struggle to pay her huge mortgage and house bills while her sober, live-in boyfriend search half-heartedly on their home computer for work for nearly seven months. He never once considered doing something other than what he was trained to do. Why should he? His girlfriend paid all his living expenses including gas for his car and food for his stomach. But it really hit me when my own boss at the restaurant I worked at asked me once as I was setting out the chopsticks and fine linens for dinner why I was putting in a full work week at my magazine internship and another two shifts at the restaurant on the weekends while my partner wasn't even working full time. I said our phone bill was threatened to be cut off and I didn't want to live that way. She asked, "Well, why doesn't he work more? You know, your lower back is sore because you don't feel financially supported." I was stunned that she had it figured out. And I sadly didn't have an answer for this wise Chinese woman. But I think I have an answer now. I think because most women have the capacity to do an extraordinary amount of work in and out of the home as well as be expert multi-taskers, not to mention that in so many instances, we care a whole lot more about keeping our shit together and our lives in order, that as a result of our type-A makeup, we let our men off the hook way too easily. This phenomenon isn't special to Santa Fe. I see it here too unfortunately. We take on more than our share because we don't want to rock the relationship. And now this rant is over.

Ah, the beauty and health care products I can't live without these days (starting from head to toe): Weleda Rosemary hair oil - I give myself a tingly scalp massage with this heavenly-scented oil; Queen Helene's Mint Julep Masque - your clogged pores will breathe a lot easier after doing a face mask with this green goodness; Tweezerman tweezers - need I say more?; Sonic Care toothbrush combined with Crest Pro-Health toothpaste (this fluoride paste is the bomb!) and a daily flossing has my hygenist envious of MY teeth, (and for whiter teeth, I brush once a week with straight baking soda - the best stain remover product out there); Neutrogena Sesame body oil right after a shower makes my skin silky smooth, and as for feet, I soak them in a warm bath of lavender Epsom salts, then use my $2.49 heel shaver from Target and with a coat of OPI red on my toenails, I just gave myself a very inexpensive pedicure that looks like I just stepped out of the salon.

At the age of 41, I'm finally approaching a place where I'm OK if others are disappointed in something I did or didn't do. I used to walk around with this weighty guilt on my shoulders if I fell short of someone else's expectations of me. When I was younger, I wanted to please EVERYONE. Now a little older and a whole lot wiser, I realize that pleasing the masses leaves me feeling depleted, used up. As my very wise cousin once told me, you can never disappoint someone. Their disappointment is theirs. You can't make anyone feel a certain way. Period. Now that's a liberating place to be - not taking on another person's emotions. Heck, I've got enough of my own to deal with. And I used to fret over the loss of a friendship. Now I can step back and see that life is not static - there's an ebb and flow to everything including who I may or may not be close to anymore depending on changes in my life and theirs. More than anything, as I get older, I'd much rather surround myself with a few quality folks than try to have superficial relationships with dozens and dozens of people. If I didn't need so much sleep at night, I'd have a few more hours in a day to keep in touch with many more people I care deeply about. But I do need my sleep and with that said, goodnight and sleep tight.

Here are a few random things I'm appreciating at this very moment . . . my spring nature walk with Daxie this morning - it fed my soul (and his) with soothing song bird calls, lilac blooms, a running creek, and soft breezes; my new yoga space in the backyard playhouse, the glass of ice water I'm sipping with Tru Lemon (zero artificial anything - just pure, freeze-dried lemon!), my newly purchased hand-painted poppy-covered ceramic bowls from Kohl's, recent calls and conversations with old friends (thank you Faith and Nikki), my ever-growing taut belly (as big as I'm getting, I'm still enjoying this pregnancy), and thinking about how devoted and loving Tim is with Dax. It's a beautiful thing to watch them cuddle, play pretend sword fights, and listen as Da Da makes up fanciful stories that get Dax's imagination roaring.

I had no idea that the wise ways of my mom would slowly seep in to my subconscious and become a part of the mom I am today. I mean, heck, I was the typical truculent teen who butt heads with mom on everything from getting my own land line to getting out of another grounding. It was the family rituals my mom insisted we partake in that I took for granted at 16 years old that now I see had merit and wisdom. My mother Genie insisted that our family sit down every evening to share dinner together. My parents asked lots of direct, sometimes hard to answer questions about how we were doing in class, how theater was going or details about our last ski race or break up with a boy. They encouraged us to be animated and opinionated. I always felt they truly cared about what was going on in our lives. And as a result, I wanted to share what was going on in my life with them - something a lot of teens don't want to do. And then I read an article at the gym today talking about how just the simple request of parents asking children to be present at the dinner table every night to talk about their day keeps these kids from getting mixed up in drugs, alcohol and the wrong kind of crowds. I can attest to the fact that this mandate from mom worked - we were basically good kids. Sure we experimented but we respected our parents and wanted them to be proud of us. And we stayed out of major trouble. Mom also insisted I join her every Saturday to do the banking and grocery shopping. Some Saturdays I just wanted to curl up in bed longer but that wasn't an option. I had to go. To this day, I am still benefiting from watching her pay the bills and balance the household budget (I do it now for my family) to reading the nutrition labels on all food packages. Mom did the bulk of her shopping at CO-Ops - grinding her own peanut butter and buying feta cheese when it still floated like icebergs in big wooden barrels. She knew to stay away from artificial preservatives, low-fat gimicks and overly refined fare. We ate whole grains, whole fruits and whole vegetables. Pesto never came from a jar but from a bouquet of basil I'd bring home from Killdeer Farms. I knew my mom was smart but I had no idea that what she was teaching me as a kid would stay with me my entire life and become part of the mom I am today to Dax. I'm confident that even during his trying teenage years, he'll be present with us and he'll want us to be a part of his life. He'll always have healthy eating habits and a strong work ethic. And I'll tell him he has his wise Grandma Genie to thank for all this!

As grateful as I am for all that I've got - the list of "have's" versus "have not's" is exponential - our coffers continue to get decimated by unexpected hospital bills, car renewals and registrations, airline tickets to friends' weddings, new suits, lawyer fees for living wills, blah blah blah. Just when I think we're getting ahead, i.e. ridding ourselves of credit card debt which we've now done (we are rejoicing on that one believe me!), someone else is asking for a piece of the pie. I feel like just handing them my wallet, tattooing my bank account on the palm of their hand, giving them an itemize list of all my assets and just screaming, "fine, take it all"! Because that's how it feels. After everyone is paid out, there's little left to play with. But you know, something struck me the other day. My brain was seething with worry over how we were going to get through May and then I found a $20 bill and another $5 in my dresser drawer. I realized that at this very moment in time, at this precise minute, I have $25. I ran downstairs and said to Tim, "Let's go out for Vietnamese!" That night, we stuffed ourselves on Pho - a healthy Vietnamese chicken noodle soup, vermicelli noodles with grilled beef, and Vietnamese egg rolls. We were enjoying the moment. Our bellies were full and the sniffles that were coming on from a cold or allergies seemed to go away too. This food nourished us in so many ways. What I learned from this experience is that I need to look at where I am now and not where things might go in the future. Being mindful of the present and laying to rest the worries of what might go wrong later. Because right now, things are good. Very very good. We will come up with the money for all the unexpected bills. We always do. And we'll always find a little extra for those times when it's important to splurge a little too.

I wanted to write about the kindness I've received from other mamas. When you're pregnant, you get this amazing chance to be the recipient of the true, generous human spirit that lives in all of us, especially, I've noticed, from other mothers. The first experience happened on the last morning of our vacation to the Caribbean. Tim and I decided to spend our last night in Old San Juan, Puerto Rico and stay at a boutique hotel I had stayed at more than 10 years ago. I've never forgotten its quirky, artsy feel and over the top Rococo decor that transports one back to a much more elegant time. After getting a great night's rest in our king size canopy bed and wall tapestries to match (we got an ocean view room), we headed to the breakfast bar to see if the staff would be willing to feed us 15 min. early since our taxi was picking us up early. The young Puerto Rican man behind the bar became frazzled - he was behind schedule, not ahead, and so we decided to just go with the flow. If all we got was a hot cup of Yaucono coffee, perfecto. As I sat in the garden room looking up at the tropical plants growing along the brick facade, a sweet faced Puerto Rican woman in her 70's who worked for the inn approached me and asked when I was due. Soon we were conversing in Spanish about what it feels to be a mother, her struggle with miscarriages, that her only son was close in age to me. I don't know what it was - her deliberate, easy to understand questions or her kind approach, but my Spanish surprisingly rolled off my tongue. When she asked if I had eaten, I explained my husband and I were waiting for breakfast but that the food was not ready yet. I admitted I was starving. She said, "of course you are, you're pregnant!" She marched in to the breakfast bar, grabbed a saute pan and told the young man she was going to cook a meal for me. He seemed annoyed and she repeated even louder to him,"She's PREGNANT - she must eat!" She turned and asked if I liked "huevos con queso or con jamon" and then preceded to whip up a plate of eggs, homemade muffins, a bowl of freshly sliced mango and pineapple and crusty white rolls with butter. And a hot cup of coffee. Tim's eyes widened when he saw my plate. We were both speechless. You've got to understand - this continental breakfast served to all guests does not include a hot plate of eggs. Turns out, this sweet woman even got us our fruit plate early. Other guests only got muffins and coffee to start. When I went to thank her again, she had vanished. Off to clean a room or make more muffins. I don't know. But I'll never forget this generous gift she gave me and my baby. I was so sated and ready to travel after that breakfast prepared with love. When I got back to Castle Rock, Dax and I were walking out of the library with a stack of 15 books. I was barely able to hold the books, my purse and hold his hand at the same time as we were about to cross the parking lot. He decided at that precarious moment to have a mini-melt down about book returns. He wanted to go back and feed our books onto the "drop off" conveyor belt. Dax didn't understand that on this day we were taking books out, not returning them. Crocodile tears spilled down the cheeks and he wouldn't budge. I finally had to be firm and say we had to get to the car, meanwhile my books were starting to fall out of my arms. Suddenly, a young mom came running up to me and said, "I'll carry your son to the car, you take the books." I wanted to say that I was fine, I could handle the situation, but honestly, I couldn't. I did need help. She got us to our car and told me to have a great rest of the day. I was flabbergasted. Dax is still talking about the woman who carried him to the car. We were both appreciative of her kindness. Thank you to moms who look out for the ones pregnant and bumbling along. And understanding that we do have our hands full literally and figuratively with a toddler and that we are always, always hungry.

We leave for St. John on Monday and after being housebound for the past day and a half with a sick child, I'm needing this time away with Tim that much more. I'm in such need of a change of pace and a change of scenery. Change reinvigorates me and makes me feel more alive. And it's been far too long since I've floated in bathtub-warm ocean water while coral fish swim below. It's been far too long since I've seen the sun set on a beach, or walked hand in hand with Tim along a bay as the waves lap at our feet. I want a mango smoothie, to eat lots of fresh fish, and swim with sea turtles and tangs. But with all that said, I'm still a little anxious about being apart from my sweet boy. Even though Dax is in the most loving hands while we're away, I've never been apart from him for more than one night. And now we'll be gone for a whole week. A whole flippin' week! Ok, just breathe. Dax will probably cry hard for 15 min. and then he'll be smiles for the rest of his stay with Papa Buzzy and Nanna. And then with Auntie Wendy there too, I think Dax is truly going to have one of the best weeks of his life. He may not even want to come home. Or am I just trying to assuage the guilt that I feel perhaps? I've never been one to think that I deserve something good - like a Caribbean vacation. When it comes to splurging on myself, I feel I have to earn it first with hard work. Perhaps twisted logic but it's how I've always operated. Luckily, I married a man who has no qualms about making sure we have the creature comforts on this vacation that I might have forgone - like pro-dealing us top-rated snorkel gear and an underwater camera. We balance each other out. I like that. And as for Daxie, we'll be calling him every day from the island and listening as he shares with us his adventures that day in his squeaky, little voice. I know I'll cry every time I hang up the phone, but I'll look around at my jungle landscape, hear the tree frogs peeping all around me, and see Maho Bay below and I won't regret my decision to be there.

Beauty tips: I'm loving Giovanni's Cool Mint Lemonade Salt Scrub with crushed mint leaves. The trick is to rub on spots you want to soften before you get yourself wet in the shower - exfoliates always work better on dry skin. Then rinse and ooh la la - your skin is super silky soft. I would not recommend using it on the face - it's much too harsh but it is a perfect body exfoliator. I've found this product at Target, Whole Foods and even Safeway in the organic section. And I've used dozens of products on my dry feet (Dr. Scholl's, H2O out of Chicago, Weleda, etc.) and nothing worked until I discovered Neutrogena's Norwegian Formula Foot Cream - wash feet, pat dry but while still soft from the bath, apply the cream, don a pair of socks and go to bed. It doesn't beat a good pedicure shaving on dry heels but it does penetrate the dryness.

Cooking tips: I just picked this idea up from famed chef Jaime Oliver - steam your veggies and then hand toss the wilted spinach, broccoli, green beans, dinosaur kale, it in a bowl with EVOO, sea salt, pepper, fresh squeezed lemon juice and crushed red pepper if you like. I used to heat my veggies WITH the EVOO and spices but Oliver's way is so much healthier and tastier. Simply delish.

I am a motherless daughter. I have been since I was 25 years old. I lost mom when she was far too young and I was venturing out in to the world and trying to make it on my own. We were getting to a point in our relationship where there was a genuine ease between us. Living under her roof was hard a lot of the time because she was easily stressed by my truculent teenage ways. It was when I moved away to college that our friendship blossomed. I no longer had to live by her strict rules and she could just enjoy my company rather than be the constantly worried parent. But I try not to feel sorry for myself. I'm incredibly grateful that I had 25 years to be her daughter. It could have been shorter. My mom was giddy about life. She giggled about silly things, blushed easily, peppered my sister and me with questions about how things were going with our friends, boyfriends, classes, sports, teenage angst stuff. There was never a doubt that she cared for us in the most profound way a parent can love a child. Our mom was proud of us and let us know that every single time we saw her or spoke on the phone. She would say she was in "awe" of what my sister and I were accomplishing. When we were feeling defeated by a break-up with a guy or troubles at work, we could always count on mom for that needed ego boost. So when I hear friends gripe about their own mothers, it seriously makes me cringe. If you're lucky enough to have a mom in your life, please tell her how blessed you feel. I wish I could.

I'm a generalist. I can smooze with the brightest of them on a plethora of subjects but my knowledge of each subject matter is quite limited. And I feel boxed in by those limitations. I envy those who know a lot about one thing and are sought after to expound on the particulars of something. So then I ask myself - what subject matter would I want to know in minute detail? That's the big question and I think if I could figure that out, I'd know what my future holds. Becoming a specialist would require going back to school and I'm not opposed to doing that - at any age. Nabbing a nursing degree has been in the back of my mind. Becoming an historian of some kind has piqued my interest. Getting my MBA (or going to a community college and getting an associate business degree) so that I would be ready to start my own business like a Bed & Breakfast or a cupcake shop or a company that makes healthy meals to be delivered to moms on maternity leave. Becoming a therapist/counselor. Obtaining my yoga teacher training certificate.
Feeling exceptionally skilled in one area is important to me. I'd feel more confident about myself and hopefully, I'd make my sons proud. They'd have a mom who was doing it all but still had the time and the energy for them, always. Once both kids are in school full time, though, there's no reason for me to "stay at home". My mom was always there when we got off the bus at 3pm and I'd like to do the same for my boys. But that still leaves 9am-3pm to challenge myself mentally, physically, and spiritually.
Years down the road when Dax starts looking at colleges, I will be gently nudging him toward degrees in engineering, medince, law, architecture, economics, business, technology, etc. I'm not against Dax obtaining a liberal arts degree but I'll let him know that I personally felt "green" when looking for work after graduation. The choices were too open and undefined. And my voice felt squeaky and small. Not to mention, the salaries were miserably low and that, too, doesn't help to feed a healthy ego. I needed to feel armed with concrete skills in a particular area and I did not.
So it's brainstorming time for now and I think the more I write, the closer I'll get to figuring out what I want to do when I'm all grown-up.

Dax has a way with words. Today I wanted to dedicate my blog to his silly, sometimes outrageous, outbursts before they're a distant memory. I could write all day - these are just some of the ones that stand out:

While in his car seat - "Mama - slooooowwww down. Driving too fast . . . dangerous!"

As Tim is leaving for work - "Dada works veeeerrry hard." What does he do Dax? "Dada works on cars, airplanes. . ." Tim's says wait till Dax discovers that his father is a Water Resources Planner and he's going to be disappointed!

If Dax sees me crying (which I often do jacked up on pregnancy hormones) - "Mama's crying, mama's sad. Mama . . . be happy!"

Tim hands Dax a sturdy plastic box that holds his fly fishing flies and Dax looks at it, turns it over and says, "so durable." We flip. But then realize, he might have said, "so adorable" - both comments still make us go "oh my gosh"!

Whenever Dax is doing something risky he says to himself in the third person, "Be careful Dax, don't fall, you might bump your head / you might hit your bum bum."

Dax has Kodi in his command - "Sit Kodi, Stay! Ok, Kodi get the stick!" And Kodi listens!

We could be in a grocery store, the library - you name it but whenever Dax has a chance to talk to a stranger, it's always about what he's going to do when he sees his grandparents in Santa Fe - "Nana, Papa Buzzy play basketball, go in wagon."

We were out for Vietnamese the other night and Dax stands up on the vinyl seat, wipes his nose on the napkin and screams at the waiter, "boogers!!" Parents are mortified.

When we're headed to the zoo and we ask Dax what he's going to see, his usual response: "Crocodiles BITE you . . . panda bears eat grass . . . beavers eat wood. . . giraffes eat crackers (they actually do at the Cheyenne Mountain Zoo in Colorado Springs). Sometimes spoken in a different order.

When Dax sees any heavy equipment, he likes to explain what each one does: tractors lift dirt . . . dump trucks carry dirt . . . snowplows push snowflakes." He also loves mini loaders and concrete mixers but he doesn't have a job defined for them yet.

While hiking: Stay on the nature trail . . . or might get lost.

Dax is fascinated by the differences in boys and girls: Boys have balls. Boys have pee pees. Da da has a pee pee! Mama have a pee pee? Nooooooo, mama has a yoni (Indian/Sanscrit for vagina - I thought that was a more pleasant word.)

I already wrote this on Facebook but Dax likes to find a purse of mine, swing it over his shoulder and exclaim: Bye bye mama, going to work. See ya. Nice to meet you and/or Have a nice day!

About Kodi, our dog: Kodi barking a lot. (a few minutes later) Kodi has a tail and a little bum bum.

I should be going to bed but instead I'm updating my blog in the hopes that the pestery things on my mind will not enter my dreams if I jot them down here. A few entries ago I wrote about the importance of saving and not spending and then my husband goes out and buys a 2009 Subaru Outback and we've got to find a way to pay for a second car payment. Luckily, all our credit card debt is finally paid off and we're letting out a big sigh. What we paid toward debt will now be redirected toward a car payment. And Tim was right - our 365,000 mile Honda had no driver's seat belt and the clutch was the original - in other words it was about to gooooooo. Tim's freelance paychecks will also certainly help ease the second car payment burden. But it's scary being locked in to two car payments. And we just found out that our renters are most likely leaving at the end of their lease in June. We could not have found kinder, tidier, more caring renters than this German couple. They love our house like we do. We may be looking at trying to find new renters of the same caliber from here in Colorado and that's not an easy task. So a lot of big financial woes on my mind and my husband's but I've just got to believe that everything works out and it works out the way it's suppose to. As much as I resist the all-out American consumerism, there are things that one needs to live. I don't want to live like a pauper but I certainly disdain gluttony. I'm just trying to find a balance, that's all.

Why is it these days that when I talk with girlfriends, they tell me how "frantically busy" they are - you can almost hear them out of breath on the phone. It seems everyone is over-scheduled and over tired from life. Growing up in a small town in Vermont, I can't recall my parents, who both worked and raised me and my sister and were constantly shuffling us from ice skating rink to ski mountain to hockey fields, ever uttering those words. Yes, they were always moving but the movement now seems at an all time frenetic high. Do folks thrive on the constant go, go, go or are they having a hard time saying "no" when another request or favor is asked of them? If suddenly their lives slowed way down, would they feel bored? It's like we've got to have a million plates spinning to feel that our lives have meaning and value. If those plates came crashing down and we were only spinning a few, perhaps we'd feel like we weren't working hard enough? Ever since I quit full time work to be a mom, I know my life has become more simplified. I'm busy but I'm not spent. When one has that much to juggle, ultimately there will be a sector of one's life that gets short-changed. Then the guilt settles in. Maybe if we could all start making that To Do list shorter, we wouldn't feel like we were always trying to play catch up. And don't get me wrong - I miss working at a job that I took a lot of pride in (i.e. managing a B&B etc.), but now that I'm on the other side, the non-stop motion I see in my friends makes me a little queasy. I'm not sure I want to get on that ride again.

This is going to be a short rant - promise. In the past couple of weeks, I've gotten in to conversations with female friends who are in their early to mid-thirties about the prospect of marriage and kids with the men they are dating. The women, surprise surprise, want it all and their counterparts, well, aren't as much in a rush to get there. These women may want it all but they're not ready to push for it and that worries me. I see them backing down, giving in to their boyfriend's ambivalence and even coming up with screwy ideas of how they'll raise the babies on their own but hope the guy sticks around to be their partner. What the hell girls? That's just nutty talk. I do have some experience in this area. I dated a man many years ago who could never commit to me fully. That even continued in to a short marriage with him. We hung out in this grey, undefined space together for years with the relationship never really evolving in a mature way. Why do we women sacrifice all that we want to be with a man we think we can't live without? When in reality, there are plenty of men out there who DO want what we want. Push the subject ladies. Don't be so afraid of the answer and stop putting your life on hold for someone else's. You'll soon be hitting "advanced maternal age" in the fertility world and then your chance at having kids at all shrinks drastically. Then the choice is taken away.
On a fluffier note, here's my beauty product pick for the day: Earth Science A-D-E creamy cleanser and face lotion (in almond) - the cleanser is a natural fruit oil cleanser that goes on milky and doesn't lather. Rub on a moist face and take off with warm water and a wash cloth. Most natural, organic products make me break out but this one does not. My skin feels so soft and not dried out - so key in this Colorado climate. The face lotion absorbs quickly and does not make my skin feel dirty or sticky - something I hate. This line is found at Whole Foods and Natural Grocers, to name a couple. And the price is right - both are under $10.

I feel unusually blessed today. My father called to share with me his real concerns about the condition I have in my right leg - phlebitis caused by pregnancy. I'm doing what I can to keep it in check - wearing compression stockings, elevating my feet even when I sleep, and taking anti-inflammatory medicine when needed. That's all good, he said, but I think your work at the restaurant is putting your health at risk. Ironically, I had had an appointment with my ob/gyn the day before who had said I would need to slow it down soon. It was hard to disagree with either one of them. When pregnant with Dax, I did not have inflamed veins and the big change in this pregnancy has been taking on restaurant work that demands me being on my feet a lot. So he made a deal with me. If I quit immediately, he will cover the money that I would have made in the next two months. (I always intended to quit about two months from my due date.) Basically, Papa is allowing me to put my health first and to ease my mind about the income that would have been lost. More than the money, it's the loving gesture my father made out of his genuine concern for my well-being. I feel so loved and even at my age, it feels good to still be taken care of in some way by my father. You never stop being a parent to your kids and Papa has an even bigger role to fill with my mom gone. He's doing great.
But I will miss going in to work - I love the owners and the staff of the Augustine Grill - a charming 1903 Victorian house that feels like a second home. I look forward to my shifts - they are my own time away from family duty and a 6 hour span where I can be professional with my customers, goofy with the staff and always participate in some dynamic conversation regarding literature, movies, politics, travel, love, etc. There's a psychology to serving customers in a restaurant - you have to be interested in other people's stories. It's more than delivering the specials and offering fresh ground pepper on a Caesar - it's taking a true interest in what they have to say. Not only do I walk away with an empty tray in my hand and some dirty plates but I walk away more informed and wiser about the ways of the world and a better understanding of myself. Anna, my boss, says I always have a job if I want it. I'll come back after I give birth - luckily, the condition goes away after delivery, and for sure, I'll need those 6-hour shifts at Augustine to just be me.

Thanks to my friend's new blog called Molly on Money, I'm reminded that it's not about how much money one brings in, it's how wisely it's spent. They cut their income in half and are living better on their 2.5 acres in Santa Fe - growing more of their own vegetables, raising their own chickens and bees and having more quality family time. Buying less crap - I love it. Molly reminded me that the smartest way to save on food is to shop once a week and have all the meals figured out before going to the grocery store. I used to do this and have gotten lazy in the past year. No more. I know what I can spend in a week and once I spend it on my one visit to the store, there are no more quick stops to Natural Grocers or King Soopers. I'm also going through my budget and finding line items I can either shrink or delete all together. Yesterday, it was goodbye to farmer's milk that's been delivered to the house since Dax started drinking it a year ago. As much as I want to support this family business, they've raised their prices and I can buy cheaper organic milk at the market. Our big trip to the Caribbean this spring only comes after first throwing most of our tax refund at credit card debt. Now we can play with the rest. It's also been a lifesaver to only have one car payment for the past two years. We've made due with one nice car and a used Honda with 365,000 miles on it. Yes, it's still running. Talk about a savings. And if there's some kind of high-tech gear Tim must have, he first sells a gently used gear item on Ebay to off set the cost of the new item. It's worked well and we don't go in to debt to support this "habit" of his! And we have less crap in our garage and that makes me happy. And I'm a big fan of putting second hand clothes on Dax. My cousin Mindy has been incredibly generous to send us box loads of boy clothes and once he's worn them, our second baby boy will get mileage out of them. I will only buy Dax new clothes if they're on major sale - like the $1.23 I spend on a super soft cotton onesie from Target that had "Vermont" written across the front - priceless!
I have a mental image of my dream home sketched out in my mind - it's got about 5 acres of land and a small creek that runs most of the year. There's a barn with a horse, a cow, some chickens, barn cats and barn owls. It's a fixer upper that's already been fixed up. And it's located in either Montpelier, VT or maybe somewhere in Colorado. And I know with smart spending and decent earnings, we can get there.

At the time Dax was born, both Tim and I felt strongly about not circumcising him. We learned in our parenting workshops that circumcision was not necessary as once thought. The Santa Fe team who helped birth him didn't even bring it up to us as an option! But for the past eight months, we've had to administer topical cream to get the foreskin to loosen up and to retract in an normal manner. Dax has complained of pain and discomfort off and on too. After the cream stoppped working, the urologist said the only other option was cicumcision. So Dax had the procedure Tuesday and what a brave little boy he was. He danced about the pre-op room in his purple rocket gown and non-stick socks and let the kind nurses take his temperature, his oxygen output, and listen to his heartbeat. The 30 minute procedure felt like an eternity but I was able to breathe fully when I saw Dr. Blythe and the anesthesiologist come in to the waiting room with big smiles on their faces - the procedure went well and Dax was just coming to. We are having another baby boy and this time he'll be circumcised as soon as he's born. I don't want to have to go through this again. And the chances he too will have a tight foreskin and complications with that are pretty good.
On another note, my pregnancy hormones may be making me feel more emotional but the feelings that are coming to the surface are still real and valid and powerful. I fully understand that as a stay at home mom, it's my primary job to a)care for Dax b) take care of the house and household budget) but moms need breaks too and if we don't get them, we break down physically and emotionally. I know it's not healthy to keep score on who's getting to play more but the scale is tipped so far to one end, it's laughable. In talking to a good friend here in Castle Rock, she made me realize that instead of waiting till the meltdown moment, to talk to Tim and tell him when it's happening that I need time for myself too. And to take it. Not to just say I need it but to actually do something about it. So I've made a new commitment to re-joining my book club, to visiting family in California, to getting my ass to yoga EVERY Sunday, not just once in a while, and to take a night out of the week for just myself - whether it's to catch a movie with a friend or drive to Boulder to see friends. And to suck up the costs and actually hire a babysitter to watch Dax while I go and find my sanity once again. No more feeling sorry for myself - it's just time to take control of my life again. Easier said than done but I know I can do it.

I'm elated. I found a babysitter - a 20 year old college student who came highly recommended by a mom in my mom's group. Now, for the first time since Dax was born, Tim and I can start going on regular dates. It's mind-blowing really. I still can't believe it. I'm already brainstorming about where to eat and what movie to see and the date isn't even until next Friday. Living far away from family has taken its toll on our marriage in terms of having quality time for just ourselves. And with a second one on the way, it's even more imperative that we start carving out Ki and Tim time.
For anyone who knows me well, they know how much I love beauty products. Forget the closet full of shoes or clothes, I spend my money on creams, shampoos, heat protector gels, scalp oils, cuticle salves. You name it, I've got it. But I'm very picky about what I buy. So here are my beauty tips for the day: Reviva Labs Rosewater Facial Spray combined with Weleda Wild Rose Day Cream. Then a thin layer of SPF 30 for the face and I'm glowing. The combination of Colorado's elevation, dry air, and intense rays are murder on women's skin. I'm 41 but I sure as hell don't want to look 41! And I took my wise sister's advice, and only wash my face with a cleansing milk. And I mist throughout the day with the Rosewater spray. It's heavenly.
And this is so as Dax's mom, I have this on record: as we drove to a friend's house the other day, Dax says without missing a beat - tractor's LIFT dirt, dump trucks CARRY dirt, snowplows PUSH snowflakes. Yup, he's brilliant.

This was an emotional day - getting the quick test results from Monday's amnio and learning that this baby boy's chromosomes are completely healthy and normal. Even though I knew my triple screen numbers were outstanding for someone my age, I needed to do the amnio to have peace of mind for the rest of my pregnancy. It looks like I got that today. And it was Dax's two year birthday. It's having to admit that Dax is no longer my baby, he's my little boy. And though he just gets more and more fun to talk to, hang with, laugh together over silly things - I'm seeing a fierce independence in him that scares me. There will be a time when Dax will think he may not need his mama (though I know he always will!). And that makes me sad. But strangely, the day he turns two, he acts more like a baby than ever before. Incredibly clingy, needing to cuddle longer in the big leather chair, and whiny. I think he's starting to understand that mama's "baby tummy" as he calls it is going to impact his life in a very big way.
I don't like to make New Year's Resolutions but I do set goals for myself at the beginning of every year. This year it's more of a mantra I'm trying to live by - to get back to who I used to be. The girl who picked quarts and quarts of ripe strawberries and then made homemade jam, the girl who loves to hike and backpack and be outdoors, not in. The dream of living in a farmhouse with a little land, some animals, and a creek that runs nearby. I don't want this to just be a "dream", I want Tim and I to work toward making that happen. And the girl who used to do a lot of yoga. The girl who used to write all the time. It's getting back to what's important and what feels right. And now it's time to say goodnight.

This is my first posting and I'm a tad nervous about having everyone read my writings - but then that's what blogging is all about - revealing oneself, right? My reason for blogging is to get back in to writing. I used to write all the time - I kept journals throughout my teen years, excelled in all my high school English classes and ended up majoring in English Lit in college. I taught remedial writing to college students at a community college and later did a six year stint at Outside Magazine as a fact checker and editor where I had many opportunities to write short pieces. Since leaving there in 2005, I've written very little. I realize I need to write to feel whole. Getting my words down on paper helps me to sort through my jumbled thoughts and to make sense of them. And blogging will be my way of recording my time at home and in the world with our nearly two year old son Dax (he turns two on TUESDAY!) - the joy and miracle of my life and my husband's. He's now speaking in five- and six-word sentences, counting to 12 and singing his full ABC's. His vocabulary is amazingly huge and he wows me daily with his grasp of the English language. And Dax is just downright sweet, funny, adorable - a one of a kind kid.