My Boston apartment at 403 Commonwealth Avenue was still cloaked in grayness. The sun hadn't even come up yet when my telephone echoed loudly and eerily in the living room down the hallway. I let it ring and ring, filling my sparsely-furnished place with a sound that made me sick to my stomach. I did not want to answer it. I reluctantly sat down on the cold hard-wood floor and slowly picked up the receiver. It was Papa calling from Vermont, letting me know that mom had passed away peacefully just minutes before. I bent my head low and started to sob. I somehow managed to get out a "thank you for letting me know Papa" before hanging up the phone. I went back to bed and put the pillow over my head. I wanted to stay in that flannel cocoon for the rest of my life.
Mom died 18 years ago today. She was only 52. Her parents lived into their early nineties. There was no cancer in our family. She wasn't a smoker, heavy drinker, or overweight. When acquaintances or good friends early on tried to assuage my grief by saying that she was in a better place, I would whisper to myself, bullshit. What's more important than watching the daughters that you adore go from truculent teens to blossoming, lovely ladies? What's more important than to be Grandma Genie to four gorgeous, plucky, and smart-as-whips grandchildren? Nothing. She just got unlucky and every day our family feels her absence profoundly.
My sister tells me she heard my mother call out her name just a few mornings ago while lying in bed half asleep. It was the first time that has ever happened to Annie. There have been only a couple of instances where I'm certain I've heard her call to me but it's usually in a dream. I'm absolutely convinced she hovers close by watching over me and my sister, making sure we stay healthy and safe and in a very good place. There have been too many close calls and miraculous occurrences to think otherwise. So I know mom has not stopped being our mom - she does what she can from wherever she is. But oh my god what I wouldn't give to have her back in the flesh, being the recipient of her hundred little kisses to the neck. Telling us how proud she is of all that we've accomplished. Being our biggest fan and our loudest cheerleader.
If your mom is still here in the flesh let her know how much you appreciate and love her. Knowing you might be reaching out to your moms makes my sadness today a little bit lighter.

I knew I always wanted boys. Anyone who knows me well knows I'm not a girlie girl.
As much as I'd like to have trendy Top Shop items hanging in my closet and feel like everything is right in the world because I own multiple pairs of designer jeans and sexy knee-high leather boots, I don't make fashion or make-up or pretty girl things a priority. I wish I did more so, but I don't.
I don't have the patience to spend an hour doing my hair. I'd rather take that time I'd spend on myself and spend it with my kids doing something outdoors. I'd rather read them a stack of library books then take the time to blow out my hair and put on foundation and eyeliner.
I'm not saying this is good thing. I know I should get my haircut and highlighted more regularly. I know I should probably look in to getting my teeth whitened and my sun spots lightened. I know I'd look better with bigger boobs, tanner legs, and a sassier hair style. And if the Zappos fairy did come and stock my closet with 12 new pairs of luscious leather shoes and boots, I wouldn't turn around and donate them to Goodwill. I love nice things but I don't want to go out looking for them and I don't want to have to pay for them and hence this is why I own next to nothing.
And so back to having boys. My guess is that as Dax and Skylar grow older they'll want to dress in hip, stylish clothes and do their hair the way other boys do their hair but they won't want to hit the mall every weekend to shop. Their vanity will stay in check, I hope. They won't invest all their time in their looks. They'll be too busy with sports and homework and exploring to think about it much.
But it seems more than ever, girls seem to be unhappy with what they were born with and absolutely consumed by needing to alter their looks to fit in with their peers. Do they get this message from their moms who are also tinkering daily with their appearances trying to get the look just perfect? Does it come from the media blitz - be thin all over but large chested on top! Be tan year round! Get that nose smaller, lips larger, and hair blonder! Turn your teeth as white as chalk and never, gasp, step into a pair of sandals without the toes painted!
I'm simply amazed that young teenage girls (I know many!) who are getting breast implants and putting the $8,000 bill on their credit cards. And their parents are allowing this?! Why do young girls feel they now need to be tan all year round? It seems getting sprayed weekly is just part of a normal beauty routine for them. The hours they are spending on their make-up and hair could be spent with a nose in a book actually learning something new.
Parents who tolerate and even condone this narcissistic attitude in their young girls is sending the message to their daughters that spending this inordinate amount of time on their looks is OK. Why aren't we teaching our girls that they are gorgeous just the way they are?
I understand that when you feel beautiful you feel confident and when you feel confident you feel you can conquer the world. But we need to also get the message out to them that they are perfect and smart and wonderful just the way they are. Being attractive gets one ahead. We all know this. But you've got to have the smarts to back that up or you're just a pretty girl with a bad paying job.
I give kudos to all those parents out there who are not allowing their baby girls to grow up too quickly. Who are not focusing all their attention on how their girls look - who don't tell them every day how pretty they are but how smart and amazingly gifted they are too!
I feel surrounded by some young divas and it bums me out. I want to see a return back to natural where we embrace our our imperfections and rejoice in all that is different and not the same.

This one is about finding home.

When Dax was just four and a half months old we packed up our things and moved from Santa Fe, New Mexico to Castle Rock, Colorado. Tim had been hired by Douglas County as their new Water Resources Manager. It was June 2008. I did not want to leave Santa Fe - a place I had called home for nine years. I did not want to move away from family. And I certainly did not want to have some 400 miles separating me from some of my dearest friends.

I moved, physically. I didn't have much of a choice in the matter. But emotionally and spiritually I remained tied to a city where homes have been made out of mud and hay since the 1600's, Hatch chilis are roasted on street corners, and fragrant pinon wood is burned in kiva fireplaces. Santa Fe had profoundly changed me. I thought I had the world figured out until I moved there. And then I met the most intelligent, creative, and non-conformist folks who showed me how to embrace "different" and "alternative" and to stay true to myself.

So because I resisted settling in to my new home town of Castle Rock, I treated this place as a temporary stop on the way to something better. It probably didn't help that we rented for the first three years we lived here. The rental home served its purpose. It had a huge yard for Dax to perform his bike tricks in and an area for growing vegetables. It even had a rhubarb patch that I got two pies out of every late Spring. But for us, renting was synonymous with rootlessness. We felt restless, unsettled, and merely visitors in a town we had now called home for three years.

And then that all changed this past June when we finally purchased a home here in Castle Rock. Waiting three years to buy goes to show that not settling for a home in a sprawling sub-divion pays off! We could not have found a home more perfect for us. As I write my blog today I sit in the cozy office looking out at a backyard of white pine, cottonwoods, gambel oaks, and aspens. The leaves which have gone from green to yellow are being blown off the trees. I see no people. I see only woodpeckers, mountain chickadees, and red squirrels and hear the gobbles of the wild turkeys in the distance. It's just the way we had envisioned our home to be.

From the stunning views of Castle Rock and the Rockies beyond from the master bedroom to the screened in porch that is so lovely to sit in on sunny mornings, I'm in love with my new home. And now when I visit Santa Fe I miss it a little less each time and that's a good thing. I don't want to pine away for a place I'll probably never live in again. I want to be fully present in the place where I reside. We have finally put down roots and it feels like now we can start growing again.

My 2011 Memorial Day Weekend has been playing nurse Ki to a sick baby Skylar.

A common cold that was checked last week and all was well unfortunately turned in to Bronchiolitis this week requiring round-the-clock oxygen and a Nebulizer not to mention antibiotics, a decongestant, and infant Ibuprofen (that's for the two new front teeth that are coming in. Great timing, right?)

I think my last three days have gone something like this (but with serious sleep deprivation, it's all kind of a blur) - Nebulize, administer the plethora of medicines, make baby food and give a bottle, keep "cupping" his back to loosen phlegm, apply new re-adhesive Band-aids and adjust oxygen tubing in nose while trying not to trip over the 50-foot cord attached to a giant oxygen tank in the living room, do laundry, change sheets and crib bumper, clean and fill humidifier, love on Skylar, remove tubing to bathe him, put tubing back on as he thrashes about, soothe his wimpers away, wake to a 1 a.m. and 4 a.m. alarms to Nebulize all over again and oh, try to find time to pick up the house, get to the grocery store and Target, help the landlords make repairs to the house, and try to get Skylar out for some fresh air.

So yes, I'm going on little sleep and lots of anxiety (it's hard to sleep when I'm worried the tubes have come dislodged from his nose - they had on a couple of occasions - and just plain troubled by his cries that are muffled by juicy gurgles that could send him to the hospital with pneumonia if I'm not diligent with his treatments.

But on our third visit to the doctor's on Sunday morning (yes the pediatrician on call opened the office just to check Skylar) I got the go-ahead to take him off oxygen and to Nebulize every six rather than every four hours. All good news and all going in the right direction.

I say this honestly, but not once have I felt sorry for myself that I missed out on camping with Tim, Dax, and the grandparents. Not once am I sorry I couldn't attend a social BBQ or partake in typical Memorial Day activities.
For so long I've struggled with not having a full comprehension of what I'm "suppose" to be doing with my life. Feelings of inadequacies have always haunted my thoughts. But this weekend solidified just how important it was for me to be there 100% for my boy - to love him well, to stay strong, and to be competent as his hospice nurse (i.e. like trying to absorb a quick lesson from the Apria Healthcare guy delivering oxygen tanks to my door at 10:30 p.m. when I was going on only four hours of sleep from the night before. Um, could you repeat that again, please?!).

In all the isolation brought on by his sickness there were amazingly sweet moments between us - his over-zealous splashes in the tub that left my face dripping with sudsy water, all those skin to skin hugs, watching him wave to inanimate objects in the house, and chasing his naked bum around the bed as he tried to flee in a fit of giggles. And he said my name, mama, more this weekend than he's ever said before.

Sure my needs took a backseat for the past three days - I barely had time to eat and yes, I just plain stunk from a lack of proper hygiene. But like those in the workforce who receive satisfaction from a job well done when they've landed a new sales account or can feel a sense of accomplishment after delivering a well-choreographed power-point presentation, I too feel like I've accomplished so much when I see my boy improving day by day. To see him get some color back to his cheeks, to note an increased energy level and appetite, higher Pulsox numbers, bigger smiles and babbles, more restful sleep, and fewer coughs.

This afternoon as he was standing at the coffee table beating it like a drum, he looked up at me smiling with his tongue, in all its silliness, sticking out to one side. I felt like he was saying thank you mama.

Oh baby, it was MY pleasure.

This is a story about vanity. And about one very sweet husband who helped me through it.
The other day while shopping in one of those big box stores, I was picking up some baby bath products when I decided to check out the different brands of hair dye a few aisles over. Yup, I was finally fed up with the skunk streak in the back of my head that with every sleepless night and stressful day was just growing bigger. It was time to cover up those silver threads with an $8 box of soft medium brown L'Oreal Preference.
As I was trying to decide how dark I needed to go to bring back that youthful head of hair, I felt like everybody was looking at me. Ah, the poor woman, they were saying, she must be . . . old! Of course they were minding their own business and probably struggling with their own vanity issues, but I felt like all eyes were on me as I perused my choices.
Now mind you this box of L'Oreal sat on a shelf above my bathroom sink for nearly three weeks because I was still in denial about having a "graying" problem. But last night after the kids had gone to bed I asked Tim if he wouldn't mind being my hair stylist for the night. I thought he'd balk but he surprised me with a "sure, why not, I have nothing else to do." Cool. With the solution mixed, he went to town meticulously turning gray back in to brown.
Having my scalp massaged and my tresses tendered, gossipy talk for my "new" stylist just naturally oozed out of me. Usually Tim hates Hollywood hoopla or any details about the drama going on in my friends' lives but because he was in his zone if you will, he joined in.
Before I knew it, I was ready to rinse, condition, and dry my hair. When Tim grabbed the blow dryer from me because he didn't like how I was drying it out, I had to laugh out loud. "Oh my gosh Tim, I think you're enjoying yourself!"
We were both pleased with the results. I feel grateful to have a husband who wants me to feel beautiful inside and out and who is confident enough in his own virile masculinity to show me his feminine side.
(I haven't broken the news to him that from now on, he'll have to dye my hair every six to eight weeks!)

I waited on two older ladies the other night at Augustine Grill. They sat at table 9 - a pretty two-top table by the corner windows. I introduced myself and per usual, they commented on what an interesting name I had. In turn, one of the women told me her name was Freddy and that like my short name, hers was not a nickname either. We immediately clicked.
I took good care of them throughout the night. I noticed that they splurged on dinner, not holding back on calories and decadence. And when I suggested a dessert they said they shouldn't but then they went ahead and ordered our delicious homemade butterscotch bread pudding and ate every last bite. They stayed long after their dessert was finished engrossed in conversation like best girlfriends do.
But it was after they had gotten up to leave that I learned from Evelyn why they were out that evening. While Freddy was primping in the bathroom, Evelyn shared with me that they had been friends for nearly half their lives. She told me that Freddy's husband was living in a nursing home and that he was dying. And then as her eyes welled up she went on to say that she had lost her husband five and a half years ago to pancreatic cancer - the cancer that kills so quickly. She explained that years before he had battled melanoma which had moved to the lungs, surviving it and living another 20 odd years. But the pancreatic cancer got him in his late 70's leaving this lovely lady widowed and devastated.
I realized that this dinner was for Freddy. That night she needed her friend's sympathetic ear. She needed Evelyn's love and support and mostly she needed a friend who would understand what it was like to be loosing a husband.
Freddy came out of the restroom unaware that I had been filled in on her story. Here was this spunky older woman still hip with her choppy blonde haircut and red leather jacket obviously in very good health herself about to be widowed and on her own. Through her spryness I could see the sadness. It was there underneath her red lipstick smile. I just wanted to give her a hug but I didn't want her to know we'd been talking. Instead I laid a hand on Freddy's shoulder, telling them to take good care and to come back to see us again soon.
After they left I felt overwhelmingly sad. I went and sat down at the bar with my boss Anna who I knew would want to hear about this particular table. We talked about how no one is immune to death and dying, that we will all experience it with our partners. Depressing. But as I explained to Anna, even in this very dark time for Freddy there was one thing that was light and beautiful and uplifting - her dear friendship with Evelyn.
It made me realize how much I need my girlfriends and how lucky I feel to still remain close with so many of them. It's my girlfriends who pick me up when I'm feeling my saddest. They have been there to empathize and analyze and to help me sort through the messy chaos that is life.
Whenever I get off the phone with Annie or Corinne or Emily or Holly or Faith or Kate or Susan or Dawn or Julia or Nik, or Anna, Carole, Lisa, Melisa, Wendy or Sally, I always feel rejuvenated and clear-headed and mostly, I feel like I can face whatever darkness has come my way. I'm healthier and happier to have these women in my life. I don't know where I'd be without them. I'm pretty sure Freddy and Evelyn feel the same way.

Here are a few more of my favorite things:

For babies: I just discovered the BEST diaper rash cream. It's called Dr. Smith's Diaper Ointment with zinc oxide. It's sold at Walgreens. Bye bye Butt Paste, Mustela, and Desitin - this one tops them all.

For toddlers: Dax has been loving a series of books called, An If you Give book including If You Give a Mouse a Cookie, If You Give a Moose a Muffin, If You Give a Pig a Pancake, etc. by Laura Numeroff and illustrated by Felicia Bond. They are so much fun and they teach kids full-circle reasoning while picking up the concept of cause and effect. They capture how a toddler thinks and responds and to them, it all makes perfect sense all the time!

For mamas: Ok, I'm loving the new Revlon Just Bitten lip ($7)stain in Frenzy. I'm not a lipstick wearing girl so this has been perfect for having color that actually stays on for hours and hours. I just reapply the chapstick end and it brings back the luster. And I'm also not a foundation wearing kind of girl but I've now discovered the perfect tinted spf 15 moisturizer that goes on like a light foundation and evens out my ruddy skin. It's called VitaZing by Origins and it blends with any skin color. As soon as it goes on, it starts matching ones own unique skin tone. I'm hooked. ($37.50)

I bet everyone of you reading this blog knows someone who has a "doctor's complex", right? You know the type. They freely dish out unsubstantiated medical advice they read on-line and because they got it off the Internet, well, it must be true. Or worse, they try to cure your head cold, skin rash, or heart condition with herbal tinctures and high levels of one vitamin or another. (Now we're treading in dangerous waters.)
Really, moms are the biggest culprit. We spend so much time trying to make our babies' boo boos go away that we think we can cure cancer too. I'm the first to admit that I appreciate an old fashion panacea to make whatever I have go away but when a friend or a family member is adamant about how much Vitamin D I should take or how I should treat full-blown mastitis, I quickly start to tune them out. Because I know what they're doing. Most often, they're regurgitating information they found on a random Internet website or an article they read in Town & Country. Thanks but no thanks. Because the web is right at our fingertips and because we've all gotten so good at surfing it, we are starting to see ourselves as experts in fields we know absolutely nothing about and that's scary. We read and then we pass these unsubstantiated bits of knowledge on to our peers. But who says what we read is medically sound? The thing is we're bias ourselves. We read what we want to read from those who we like the most.
So during this horrible cold and flu season, I've learned to take others' unsolicited doctoring with a grain of salt. I smile and say, hmmmm, maybe I'll try that, and then I pick up my cell phone and call my internist.

Skylar Drake turns six months old today. Happy Half Year birthday chunky monkey! For all my family and friends who read my blog regularly, I wanted to let you know what our big Sky has been busy doing.

1. While on his back, Skylar grabs both feet and rocks from side to side until he's finally on his stomach and then he rocks back to Happy Baby yoga pose!

2. Sucks his thumb.

3. When on his tummy, he can push up so high on his forearms that his head clears the co-sleeper. We've now moved him to the crib!

4. Can successfully grab at all the hanging toys on his Jungle Play Mat (on loan to us from our dear friend Dawn), make them rattle, swing and dance. And everything goes in to his mouth.

5. Can sit on his own unsupported but because he's so big, he sometimes starts to cant forward and when he finds his toes, they go right in his mouth.

6. Has a late afternoon snack of DHA-fortified infant oatmeal, and either mashed banana, garnet yams, or avocado as a side dish. He'll be trying applesauce today.

7. Skylar points with his index finger at nothing in particular.

8. Is really trying to talk. The other day I said, "thank you" to Dax for turning off the outdoor faucet and a second later I swear I heard Skylar trying to say the same thing. Whatever he said it sounded like thank you. He also says "hi". No joke. He does.

9. When crying to be picked up, he has said "ma" and "mama" and Tim's pretty sure that he's also heard him say "da".

10. If you ask Skylar where mama is, he looks to find me. If you ask him where dada is, he looks right at Tim, and he does this for Daxie and our dog Kodi Bear, so Sky knows who his family is!

11. When you come toward him with a diaper, he lifts his legs. What a helpful little guy.

12. Dax can get Skylar to grunt out a deep, hearty belly laugh. Dax has nicknamed Skylar "Noonie" and "Pooping Machine".

13. When you say "kiss?" he opens his mouth for one, especially when Kodi walks by because he knows he'll get a nice wet one from his furry friend.

14. When I ask if he wants a bath, he gets very animated and starts punching and kicking with arms and legs. Same goes for "neh" "neh" (breast milk) and when I ask if he wants his oatmeal.

15. Can palm his bottle for a short bit but he isn't quite holding it on his own yet.

16. Is loving the Rec Center pool.

17. Coos along to songs on the car radio.

18. His pediatrician says it looks like Sky's two bottom front teeth are about to come in. He also says that at 90% for weight, 90% for height and 96% for head circumference, we've got a very healthy baby boy.

19. Aside from getting fussy when hungry or tired, Skylar is such a happy, laid-back baby. We adore him.

I want to dedicate my next blog to some funny (and frustrating!) toddler antics. One glace at this list and you might think I never have my eye on Dax but somehow he manages to pull these escapades off in a matter of minutes!

1. While the red load was washing, Dax manged to open the dryer door, stand up on its lip, grab the partially opened and brand new bottle of Downey softener, and proceed to dump its entire contents into the wash cycle.

2. Flushing a pair of small nail clippers down the toilet.

3. Getting in to a giant tub of Vaseline and smearing it ALL over his face, his bed, and the carpets. Oh what fun it was to clean up, but his skin was as smooth and silky as a newborn's bottom!

4. Dropping DaDia's beloved snow globe on the living room floor and then not owning up to it. He continued playing as if nothing bad had happened. So naughty!

5. Finding Dax sitting in the middle of the kitchen up to his elbow in a brand new jar of all-natural creamy peanut butter. There were pools of it around his entire body and he just smiled and said, "Look mama!"

6. Dressing up in mama's headband (he actually got it on right) and beaded clutch purse and telling me he was going shopping for turkey. (And just to set the record straight, he prefers playing with monster trucks and tractors!)

7. Smearing washable finger paint ALL over his playhouse with his good friend AJ. They even managed to get it on the fuzzy rocking horse.

8. Left alone for 10 minutes to play together upstairs, Dax gets into the shower and AJ keeps turning it on and off. Dax is soaked and both boys are giggling uncontrollably.

9. Lifting Skylar out of his vibrate seat and nearly toppling over from the weight of the chunky monkey.

10. Finding Dax standing on the coffee table launching himself through the air onto the couch.

11. Getting in to the chewing gum in the center console of the car and leaving wads of it for us to find.

12. Taking himself to his potty, he later yells for me to come look at the "18-wheeler" he had pooped out. Lordy, it was enormous.

More to come . . .