Leave Him ALONE!

Dear Laney,

That's what I should have called this blog. I thought that "Y'all hush," would be the phrase most likely to come out of my mouth with two small children in the house, but the thing I find myself saying the most is "Leave him alone." You love to poke, prod, hug and squash your brother so much that not an hour goes by when I don't have to say "Leave him alone." I say it so much that it's almost become a new contraction: leav'im'lone. LEAV'IM'LONE!!

One day, your brother will be bigger than you, and will wrestle you to the ground and sit on you. On the outside, I will insist, "Leave her alone!" and will make him stand up. But on the inside, I'll be giggling at the karma.

Love,

Mom

Happy Birthday, Superdad.

Dear Thor,

Something about your birthday coming so close after Hagen's birth has put me in the mood for a little father-and-son retrospective video. Also, I forgot to buy you a birthday card, so I'm hoping this video helps me win back some of the Good Wife Points I lost today. I will cover the rest of the deficit with corned beef and beer.

I promise that next year on your birthday, when you do the math in your head and then announce how old you are, I won't say, "Good God! REALLY?!?" and then spend the rest of the afternoon referring to myself as a trophy wife. It's the least I can do for the father of my children.

We're so lucky to have you on this day and every other. No matter how old you are.

Love,

Brooke

Best Original Song

Dear Laney,

Last night, we had a little Academy Awards party for your dad's birthday. I realize this is like having a Geology n' Showshoeing party in honor of MY birthday, but your dad is a better sport than me.

Grandma Sue brought over some appetizers and beverages, and Brooke and Todd came over with Cedar and baby Fisher. We had lobster sandwiches and hot wings and coconut shrimp and mini pies and martinis. We also had Oscar ballots that everyone filled out, but we all got so many wrong that we might as well have been taking the SAT in Aramaic, (even though I remembered the statistical fact that when it comes to documentaries, the one with the most Nazis always wins).

Halfway through the Oscar broadcast, you two girls climbed up on the counter and started playing with the coffee maker. "Laney, leave that alone." "But Mooooommm, I NEED to make coffee..." Thing I don't know: How Billy Crystal was able to host an awards show with that much botulism in his face. Thing I know for sure: The last thing you two girls need is a big hot pot of caffeine, as evidenced by this performance:

I can't explain why you started this, or why you held hands, or why you kept it up so long, or why you stopped. But you guys definitely know how to rock a party.

Love,

Mom

2 Month Check-Up

Dear Hagen,

You had your two-month check-up today. You're the picture of health, and have vaulted from the 42nd percentile for weight to the 76th. Your head is in the 80s, but your height still hovers in the low 40s.

You're officially a Lee/Burbach! Here's a congratulatory "Short n' Stocky" balloon and piece of "Massive Headed" cake.

Party on.

Love,

Mom

So Sweet, He Could Make Your Teeth Hurt

Co-Worker

Dear Hagen,

When I had to work this week, I popped you into your green chair and set you on the table next to me. Of all the co-workers I've ever had, you are the most handsome and have the best attitude. You're also - at least I assume - the most likely to poop on the conference table.* Still, the former makes up for the latter; a good attitude can make up for a lot.

Love,

Mom

*There was this one executive we worked with at Fox who we all agreed looked and acted like a howler monkey, but... my money's still on you for the poop thing, with that guy as a strong second.

One Day, This Will Be Funny.

Dear Laney,

I've told the story I'm about to share to a few people who have already raised children, which means at one point they were also held hostage by raving toddlers. Since they all laugh hysterically when I tell them about our afternoon at the library earlier this week, I can only assume that one day, with the benefit of space and time and distance, I too will find it funny. Either that, or my friends are evil.

Earlier this week, I took you for an outing to the library. I was wearing Hagen in the baby carrier on my front as you and I went to explore the children's section. Picture a charming small-town library, with scattered parent-and-child combos, all reading almost silently together. Now, cue Laney. You were loud. You wanted to crawl into bookshelves. You wanted to run. At such moments, this image often pops into my mind:

But like an idiot, I didn't push the button.

That's when you decided you wanted to start crawling like a centipede under the reading table where the other, more well-behaved families were sitting. I met you on the other side and said, "Laney, we are NOT going to crawl under the table at the library." You smirked at me, waited for me to turn my head, and made another run for the table. I caught you by the back of your jacket, which is when you started hollering, "LET GO UH ME!!" Welcome to the 4pm show, folks! Don't forget to tip your server.

Once again, I stressed, "Laney, DO NOT crawl under that table." This time, you jerked away from me and dove for the table, so I caught you by the ankle and pulled you out from under the it and hissed, "Laney, if I catch you under this table again, we're going home." Every parent reading this is thinking, "If I had a million dollars, I would bet it Laney went under that table again." And you're right, my friends!

I had no choice but to stick to my word and haul your butt home.

This is when I was faced with a logistical problem: I already had Hagen strapped to my front, so I had to fireman's carry you out of the building. As we were walking to the stairs, you were screaming, "I WANNA DO IT MYSELF!!!" "You want to walk by yourself?" "Yeah." "And you'll walk down these stairs?" "Yeah."

So I set you down on the landing of the main staircase. Mistake #238. Instead of walking like you promised, you threw yourself down on the landing, face-first in a big "X" and wailed. Now, we had a for-real audience, since no one could go up or down the stairs until we resolved our misunderstanding, and several people had gathered to see if I was going to turn this into a teachable moment. What I wanted to do was beat the ever-loving tar out of you, right there in front of that picture window.

With Hagen on my front, I couldn't bend over far enough to get a good grip on you. All I wanted was to snatch you up and be gone, and I couldn't...until you threw an elbow, and I caught it, and hurled you over my shoulder. I scooted past the computer library and the coffee cart, and I'm sure your screams of "I WANNA DO IT MYSELF!!" and "LET ME DOWN!!" are still echoing there, five days later.

As I walked through the parking lot, I was thinking, "Everyone says you'll love your children equally, but there are moments when you have a clear favorite. And this squealing, screaming, kicking, crying young'un on my shoulder is not my current favorite." And then Hagen, on the mend from his stomach bug, puked into my bra.

And we were back to even.

I put you both in your car seats and headed for the interstate, and just as we were merging onto the I-90, you whispered, "Mommy, I sorry I crawl under da table." I turned around in my seat to say, "Thank you, and I'm sorry I was so mad," but you were already asleep.

Love,

Mom

Give Me A Minute. Or A Week.

I know. It's been a week. In that time: I had the stomach flu. Hagen got the stomach flu. Laney caught a cold and brought it home. I had a cold. Hagen got the cold. We had a houseguest. I took a freelance job, only to discover that the work was four times as hard as I assumed it would be when I sent them an estimate. We toured preschools (more on that to come). We showed the house three times; I now think that we're never going to sell the place, and these showings are God's way of reminding me to clean my house. Thor and I spent five nights sleeping in shifts, because our children refused to sleep at the same time. On night 6, we let Laney take the iPod upstairs and told her she could watch Wonder Pets all damn night if she would promise to stay in bed. Bad parenting, or survival strategy? Eh, a little of column A, a little of column B.

So give me a minute, and I'll catch up. I promise.

The Best Table In Town

Dear Laney,

Yesterday was Valentine's Day, but more importantly, it was Somersault School day. I drove you into town and walked you into the gym and had just finished taking off your shoes when you sauntered up to a table full of waiting parents and kids and hollered, "HI GUYS! WHAT'S EVER-BODY DOING?" The parents all laughed and one lady answered, "Not much. What are YOU doing?" And you gestured, "Well, this is my mommy..." It's the first time I've ever been introduced to a group of strangers by a two year-old, and I have to say I enjoyed it immensely.

Your dad joined us and was your parent coach for the day. When the class was over, I asked him how you did. He said something like, "Well, there are a few things she's interested in, and those she can knock out of the park, but if she's not interested in something, she doesn't apply herself at all." I said, "I don't know if you're telling me how Laney did, of if you're just going a dramatic reenactment of every report card I ever received."

When I called Peg Peg on the way home to tell her this story, she started to laugh knowingly before I even got to the punchline. Sometimes, mothers can be so irritating.

We all went out for cheeseburgers at Wendy's after your class. Your dad and I never go out for fast food, but almost immediately, we recognized its appeal. We had a booth by the bathroom far away from everyone else. You could scream, holler and act a fool and no one would give us the side eye, because the Wendy's demographic has very low expectations when it comes to their dining environment. And free balloons!

Mom: Ok, we're going to start eating here every day.

Dad: I'll be 700 pounds.

Mom: I don't care. I don't have to worry about my children's behavior and hey - free balloons!

Three years ago, your dad and I celebrated Valentine's Day by going to a ridiculously expensive swanky dinner in our going-out clothes. Two years ago, we went to Spokane for the weekend and had a nice low-key dinner in our comfy pants. Last year, your dad brought home a cake and we exchanged gifts in the living room. This year, we had junior bacon cheeseburgers and went to bed at 8:30p. At this rate, I look forward to next Valentine's Day when we'll share a pecan log in the parking lot of the truck stop off Exit 99.

And that'll be just fine by me.

Love,

Mom

Oversharing

Dear Laney,

Sorry for the lapse in blogging. I was laid up most of the weekend with a stomach bug and I will spare you the details, because they would fall into a category I like to call "oversharing."

Speaking of... I am often torn about whether or not to put certain photos or stories on this blog. I know that there's a fine line between great blog material and invading your privacy. Unfortunately for me, you seem to wait 'til you're totally naked to bring your best comedy material. I know that years from now, you might not appreciate that I put naked photos of you online. Also, Tex worries about the perverts.

It's probably hard for you to imagine, but we didn't get (dial-up!) internet in our house until the summer after I graduated high school in '94. I didn't get a cell phone until I had moved to Los Angeles and gotten my first real job. To this day, I rarely send text messages because I'm so ungodly slow that I find myself finishing the message, "We're on our way to your house!" as I'm already sitting in my friend's driveway. It's possible your dad is worse than I am, since he refers to the iPod as, "Mom's Hand Computer." All this to say that we didn't grow up with facebook or cyberbullying or (God help us) "sexting," and now as parents we're going to be faced with the challenge of teaching you what does and does not belong on the internet for worldwide consumption.

Though it's all one big grey area, here are some things that have happened at our house recently that I think fall more on the side of "cute," than "potentially embarrassing."

1) Potty training is going pretty well. Your favorite bathroom reading material? The Fisher Price Catalog. "Mom! Look at all da toys in my magazeeeeene!"

2) I was in the living room this weekend when I heard you yell from my bedroom, "MOM! Can you put this thing on me?!?" I walked into the bedroom to discover:

Mom: Hey Laney, whatcha doing?

Laney: Making a bottle for the baby.

Mom: That is so sweet. Let me know when you're done.

Laney: Is hard. I done.

Mom: I know just how you feel, sister.

3) Cedar came over for a play date last week, and when it was time for her to leave, you wanted to follow her out. "You're going to need some shoes," I reminded you. "Right!" you agreed. I figured that PANTS would go without saying.

In times like these, my strategy is to let you realize all by yourself that it's cold, and then hope you have enough common sense to come back inside. So far, this strategy has failed me. You had zero interest in coming back inside and were last heard yelling, "Bye! I walking to Grandma Sue's now!"

I told Peg Peg about this, and she told me there was an awful story in the news last week about some parents who forced their toddler to stay in the snow in only his underwear as a punishment. Around here, we would call that a "Don't throw me into the briar patch!"* situation.

Love,

Mom

* If you understood this reference, please e-mail me and let me know how the weather is today in Alabama.

My Funny Valentines

(photo courtesy of Barnibbe photography)

(photo courtesy of Barnibbe photography)

Dear Hagen,

Because she believes in tough love, your sister has spent a lot of time recently introducing you to her favorite cartoons, screaming the lyrics to songs about the differences between "Over, Under, Around and Through!" in your ear, trying to head butt you while chirping, "Bonk!" and - when no one is looking - cranking your swing up to 11.

Next year, you get the big box of candy.

Love,

Mom

Multitasker

Hagen = needs to be fed.

Laney = "Dad, need you to be knight so we can find da scary dragon. Here's your hat!"

Desperate Times

Dear Laney,

Again, we're down to one final pacifier in the house. It's broken, it's weathered, and your dad is so grossed out by it that he's convinced that even after we run it through the dishwasher, it must be crawling with flesh-eating bacteria.

Last month, your dad and I instituted a new rule that the pacifier lives in your bed. You can go visit him if you want, but he can't can't come visit us. Sort of like having a relative in San Quentin. Mostly, I was tired of seeing it, and I decided that I don't care if you keep that pacifier in your bed until you're 16, I just don't want to have to look at it.

But here's the magnificent byproduct of this rule: sometimes, when you're feeling down, you'll say, "I just want to go see my par." And you'll go upstairs all by yourself. Twenty minutes later, your dad and I will creep up the stairs only to discover you lying in bed, silently staring at the ceiling and sucking on that pacifier. You don't mind bedtime so much, because it means you'll be reunited with your love. At nap time, your dad and I will look around and ask each other, "Where did Laney go?" and as it turns out, you've gone upstairs and put yourself down for your nap. Unheard of.

Maybe one day you'll get past the pull of the par, but in the meantime, your dad and I would like to thank this $2 chunk of plastic for the only alone time we ever get.

Love,

Mom

I Love Him So Much

Dear Hagen,

I'm sorry you're not getting equal coverage on the blog these days, but it's hard for me to generate content when your entire social calendar consists of eating, sleeping, and pooping. But that doesn't mean you're not already a huge part of our lives and a tremendously good-looking addition to our family:

In fact, there are moments in every day when I feel exactly like Holly Hunter's character Ed in the movie Raising Arizona, right after they've kidnapped their baby and robbed a convenience store:

Hormonal, sleep-deprived, a little crazy, and totally in love. That's me.

Love,

Mom

Fisher's Day Out

Dear Laney,

I've frequently shared - both on this blog and in person - that I think my friend Amy is one of the best moms I've ever seen. Sometimes, when her kids are misbehaving, she smiles at them and says, "I deserve you." I think what she's suggesting is that when her kids are at their worst, they're also the most like their mom. I understand this now.

Late last week, we went over to Cedar's house to join her new brother Fisher for his first trip out of the house and his first walk around Alberton.

Welcome to Montana. Here's your baby in a sling.

I don't know why, but our local deli has a collection of old tricycles, purple battery-powered Jeeps and assorted scooters on its front porch. My (completely unfounded) theory is the deli is between two bars of wacky repute and that's their way of providing safe transportation options to the bars' patrons. As in, "Sorry, Fred, I'm cuttin' you off after ten beers. Here's your tab and a tricycle."

We walked over and said hello to a horse, which is the last thing that went well on our walk.

Here's the thing about your mother: When I'm done with an activity, I'm done. I can't count the times I've turned to a friend in the middle of a social event or outing and said, "Get me out of here." I will leave a party without saying goodbye, and leave my casserole dish behind because honey, it's time to go.

You got halfway through this walk and decided you were done. You wailed, "I don't think I can do it!" You begged to be carried. You sat down in protest. Cedar hiked back to where you were splayed in the snow and offered to give you a hug, because obviously you needed consoling. It frustrated the hell out of me, but let me tell you: in that moment, I deserved you.

On one of my first dates with your dad, we went for a hike in the mountains outside San Diego, and halfway through, I asked, "Do you think the Search & Rescue helicopters could come fetch me?" I've since learned that your dad believes that Search and Rescue should only be contacted in situations where you've lost so much blood you're pretty sure you could dial the first two digits of 9-1-1, but you're not sure you could tap that final number. He actually wants to have an official family rule that says Dad must be missing in the wilderness for at least 12 hours before Mom is allowed to contact the authorities. He wanted 24 hours, and I countered with 30 minutes, so we compromised.

Moments like this have taught me that at your worst, you are not your dad. You are me.

I love you, and I deserve you.

Love,

Mom

IRASHAIMASE!!!

Dearest offspring,

IRASHAIMASE!!! is traditionally what sushi chefs yell at customers when they enter the restaurant to eat. Your dad says it means WELCOME!!!, but they always shout it with such enthusiasm that I always thought it meant CONGRATULATIONS!! YOU'RE OUR MILLIONTH CUSTOMER!!! I was starting to wonder how I could be so lucky so often.

Last week, we read about a sushi restaurant in a nearby town that had just been declared one of the top 100 Asian restaurants in America, so we decided to take Grandma Sue there for her birthday dinner. We drove for an hour to a little 10-table restaurant in Hamilton, Montana. Because it's Montana, the sushi chefs were college-age white dudes who did not yell at us in Japanese. Instead, they were probably planning a kayaking trip and were - like - totally stoked.

We had hot sake (Japanese rice wine), which I did not like, and which cemented my belief that rice should only be used as a vehicle for gravy. Hagen was happy being held by his dad, and I was endlessly impressed that Thor could handle chopsticks and an infant simultaneously.

Laney tried and liked the miso soup, but then became restless and loud. Needless to say, we had the only small children in the quiet sushi place, so I figured we either needed to get you quiet or start buying drinks for all the adjacent tables. And I couldn't raise my voice at you to sit down, because that would have added to the problem. I tried to do that thing that Granny Jack can do - after four children of her own and a lifetime spent as a public school teacher - where she can say something to a child that puts the fear of God in 'em without even separating her teeth... I probably need to practice that some more, because I don't look like I mean business so much as I look like a crazy person with lockjaw.

In the end, Laney said, "I just want to watch Team Umizoomi and eat rice." So we put you in the corner behind the table where you happily used the chair as a table and watched a movie on the iPod and ate handfuls of sticky rice. We almost forgot you were there.

I figured since it was Asian animation, it went with the theme of the evening.

We had a great time, and I think Grandma Sue had a nice birthday. But since there are 85 sushi places on Ventura Blvd between the 101 and Laurel Canyon, there's no way in heck this place was in the top 100 in the country. Unless they received bonus underdog points for having a restaurant in Montana that doesn't serve steak. In that case, hooray for thinking outside the box.

Love,

Mom

Laney Lou Retton

Dear Laney,

On Tuesday afternoon, I took you to your first-ever gymnastics class. I figured it was time; for months, you've been hurling yourself at the ground, doing a slow-motion sideways roll and announcing, "SOMERSAULT!!!" It's super-cute now, but if we don't get you some professional gymnastics help, I'm worried you're going to use the same technique into your teen years, and people are going to suggest we get you medicated.

I didn't take any pictures, because sometimes I think there's a thin line between being a supportive mother and being a middle-aged Japanese dude at Niagara Falls.* But since we got to the class 15 minutes early, I got some extra footage of you playing around on the equipment.

You call this class "Somersault School," and I think you had a great time. I went into it hoping that you would have fun, but mostly praying that you would not be the most poorly-behaved child in class. [Reader: If you think that sounds terrible, you have obviously not had a two year-old that needed to mingle with the general public.] As it turns out, you were NOT the most poorly-behaved kid in class. That honor fell to a 5 year-old boy who could not be coerced to participate, and spent most of the class sprawled out on a gym mat, pouting. All of us parents were corralled into a spectator section, and his mother thought she could get him up and moving by repeatedly screaming his name, which is how I know his name is EZEKIEL CORNELIUS GOLDENBLATT, IT'S TIME TO GET ON THE TUMBLING MAT.**

Okay, his name wasn't exactly that. I changed one of the words to something similarly awful, because I don't want him to google himself one day and find this blog. Anyway, when I was naming each of my children, my mother advised, "Go out in the yard and practice screaming it, and make sure it sounds good as you're hollering it, because you'll be doing that a lot." Now, I understand that advice. Poor Zeke.

You've been asking when you can go back to Somersault School, so it looks like gymnastics is a hit. You're a maniac, maniac, on the floor.

Love,

Mom

* = I know this is ridiculously stereotypical. Lord, I apologize.

** = After reading this again, I think it would be a great title for a children's book. Someone remind me to write it.

Everyone's An Expert

Dear kids,

Last Sunday, we went into town because we had a free babysitting offer (see birthday girl in the post below), and your dad and I wanted to have a date night. I had promised you that we would go play on a playground, so we stopped at the snowed-over water park on the way to Sue's to let you play. I believe two things: 1) When you make a promise to your children, you'd better by-God keep it, and 2) There is nothing more depressing than a snowed-over water park.

At dinner that night, your dad and I had a few glasses of wine and a very serious discussion about parenting. We talked about what we thought we were doing right (keeping promises!), and what we thought we could do better (To Do: find a way to get "The Wonder Pets" permanently removed from our house without telling Laney that the characters all contracted rabies and had to be put down). What? Did you think that since it was our first night away from you guys in forever that we were going to put on some shiny clothes, hit up a rave, drop some ecstasy and dance to techno music while swinging our glow sticks? Oh, no my friends, we use our free time to have a Parent Summit.

We talked about our childhoods, and the things our parents did that we want to replicate, and those we want to avoid. We had a plan! We had it all figured it! This is when your dad looked at his watch and said, "You know what would make us even better parents? If we remembered to pick up our kids."

Lesson: Sometimes, it's the little things.

Yesterday, I had my postpartum visit with my obstetrician. He asked me how things were going with you two. I told him, "You know in action movies when two characters pretend to bump into each other so they can pass along a secret message? My theory is that when Laney's hugging Hagen, she's really whispering, 'You take 1am and 3am, and I'll take 2am and 4am.'" Then, the doctor told me - and I am not making this up - that I should wake up in the middle of the night with a smile on my face and say, "This is a new opportunity to be a parent!" And "This is why we become parents - for moments like this!" And if I think my partner is working too hard, I should tell him, "Don't worry, honey, I'll take this shift. You go rest." I couldn't keep my left eyebrow from rising about two inches in the universal expression for "Are you for real?" In that moment, I would have paid any amount of money for his wife's cell phone number, because you'd better believe I had some follow-up questions for her.

In the end, when it comes to parenting, everyone is different, everyone's an expert, and everyone's an idiot.

Love,

Mom

Happy Birthday, Grandma Sue