Twins for a Day

Are you familiar with that expression, "God doesn't give you any more than you can handle?"  I've always thought there was some truth to it, but now I'm a believer.  (Uh oh!  Look what I started.  Now I'm hearing the Monkees belting out "I'm a Believer" in my head!)  Why are you now a believer, you ask?  ("Then I saw her face, now I'm a believer."  Sorry, I'll try to stop.)  

Well, today from 7 AM - 4 PM, I had "twin" almost-three-year-old boys in my care, while the parents of the other "twin" were tossing back margaritas in Mexico on well deserved getaway.  Where was Supernanny when I needed her most?  I was peeking out the windows, praying her black English sedan withe "SPRNANNY" plates would pull in the driveway by some miracle of miracles.  Now I realize that God had a generous helping of mercy in His heart when deciding to give me one child, not two.  I know my limits, and I guess He does, too.

Sam was so excited when Trent pulled in the driveway at 7 AM that he was jumping up and down and flapping his arms enough to take flight like a 747.  Too bad he was running out of juice by 11 AM.  Even though it felt like there were four little boys running willy-nilly in the house, not a mere two, the morning passed without major incident.  That is if you don't count Sam sitting in a big plastic tub and Trent trying to shut the cover on him.  Thank God Sam is on the tall side so the cover wouldn't close on him.  Oh my.  When I got a change to look around, there were so many toys, cushions, and God-knows-what strewn all over that it looked as if the house had been burglarized by a particularly sloppy burglar.  

When I finally put Sam down for his nap at 12:30, he went right to sleep without so much as a peep.  On the other hand, Trent is the Energizer Bunny reincarnated in the body of a cute blond haired blue eyed boy.  I took him in the guest bedroom and read him a couple more books. When I asked him if he was tired, he assured me, "Sure, sure.  I'll take a nap."  Very grown-up, huh?  Who was I to argue with such a compliant little guy?  Well, within a minute of leaving the room, I could hear something ricocheting against the walls.  Holy cow, what the heck was that?  Was the furniture falling over on Trent?  With much trepidation, I plowed open the door to Trent's room, and there he was on top of the bureau.  The second he saw me, he threw himself across the room onto the bed and tried to make it look as if he had been there all the time.  I guess he wasn't so tired after all.  By that point my nap looked like it had gone by the wayside with his.  Noooooooo!  But yes!  All I can say is thank God for the Letter Factory on DVD and the patch of sugary cupcakes I had made, so I got some time and sugar to regroup for the afternoon shift.  And before I knew it, Sam's nap was long over, Trent was still brimming with energy, and Trent's grandparents Mee-maw and Pop-Pop were on their way to pick him up.

Although having twins for a day made time sail by faster than ever before, I'm quite content to have one boy on a permanent basis.  "Not a trace of doubt in my mind."  I'm a believer -- in singletons.  "Couldn't leave him if I tried."  But I could leave him for a vacation in Mexico!  Our turn will come -- hopefully.

LibbY

Sam's Rosy World

The philosopher Descartes is famous for his Latin statement, "Ergo cogito sum," translated as "I think, therefore I am."  Not to be outdone by the Father of Modern Philosophy, Sam has developed his own sophisticated toddler philosophy --"I want it to be so, therefore it is."  Let me tell you, those are some nice rose-colored glasses he's wearing!  If only that were true, then we probably wouldn't be calling this place Earth.  We'd be calling it Heaven.  I'd like a prescription for a pair of those glasses.

Yesterday as I got him up from his nap, he exclaimed, "Gram and Pops are downstairs!"  I replied,  "No, honey, they're not down there.  They're home in Boston."  And he insisted, "They're down there!"  And I relented, "OK."  Heck, in his mind, they probably were down there despite the fact that they are really 300 miles away.  Who was I to interrupt this impromptu visit, even if it is in his own mind?  Please tell them I say hello...

The other day he commented out of the blue, "Everett's mommy is at the hospital."  In case you haven't guessed, she wasn't.  That was as far as I knew at least, and since she is a good friend of mine, she probably would've at least mentioned her illness to me.  "Oh, really?"  I replied.  "Is she sick?" wondering if he is perhaps clairvoyant and knew something I didn't.  (Clairvoyance could definitely help with a college scholarship!)  "Yes, she doesn't feel good," Sam responded, continuing, "Everett's staying home with the trains."  Ah, it all comes back to Everett's gia-normous collection of Thomas trains.  Sam didn't seem too concerned about where Everett's baby sister Maggie was with all of this hospital business going on.  Note to self:  I don't think he is ready to babysit anytime soon.

My all-time favorite scenario is when I suggest inviting someone over to play and he isn't interested.  I'll say something like, "Sam, do you want to invite your friend Billy Bob over?" Without missing a beat, he'll reply in all seriousness, "Oh, no, he can't come.  He's tired.  He's taking a nap."  

The flip side is if there is a friend he really wants to see, he'll say, "Nathan's knocking at the door!  He's here!"  So, what do we do?  We open the door and greet Nathan in his mute, invisible state and invite him in to play.  Why not?  Oh, I forgot, we also offer him snacks.

Sure, I could set him straight on his hallucinations, but why?  I sure do like his version of reality better than mine.  So, maybe I'll give his world a shot and see what happens.  Here I go -- "Mommy is running a marathon without breaking a sweat, wearing size 4 jeans, writing a future best-seller, and keeping the house spotless at all times."   Hey, when you dream, you gotta dream big, right? 

LibbY

Grams and Pops Hit the Jackpot!

It's true!  Grams and Pops hit the jackpot on this trip, much to their delight.  They have been making the pilgrimage down 95 South from Boston every six months or so since Sam was born almost three years ago.  If you are not familiar with this masochistic drive which includes some of the worst driving in the Northeast -- Boston, Manhattan,  DC, and the New Jersey Turnpike -- consider yourself one lucky soul because you are just that, one lucky soul.  I still have the NJ Turnpike exits burned on my brain from driving that stretch during college and law school so many times.  Vince Lombardi is the first one, I think, when starting from the New York side.  

OK, back to the grandparents reaping the benefits of their dedication.  Miraculously, the Saminator now completely understands who they are and, better yet, thinks they are rock stars!  As my mother commented, "At least someone is excited to see us!"  Hey, who doesn't love a big payback on an investment, especially when it involves their first-born grandchild?

Looking for fun one day, we took Sam Macky to the Amtrack station at Staples Mill.  Who knew that an amusement park lay beyond the  parking lot arm?  And, better yet, who knew that the first three hours of parking there are complimentary?  Free, I tell you!  We arrived at around 10/10:30, and it was jackpot time again!  A passenger train was boarding for about ten minutes, and then a freight train passed through the station.  This was the longest train I have ever seen -- it went on and on and on for a good ten minutes.  

Needless to say, Sam was thrilled to pieces to be part of it all, and we were even more thrilled to see him so thrilled.  He was also a bit scared of all of the noise, commotion, and the loud horns.  And who did he grab onto for reassurance?  No, not me -- Grams to the rescue!  I suspect that alone made the arduous trip worthwhile for her.  God, I can't wait to be a grandparent!  

At that point we couldn't have wished for anything more, but there was more in store for us.  As my good friend Mary would say, "All that and a bag of chips!"  The frosting on the cake was the commercial bus parked in front of the station, complete with a motorized lift for handicapped passengers.     

And the crazy, wonderful thing was that whole deal was free!  That is, of course, if you don't include the price of gas to get there, which makes that and everything else one pricey venture. Let's not think about that right now.  Let's focus on the fine-dining we did at the McDonald's next door.  Watching trains with Grams and Pops sure can make a boy (and his mother) crave some deep-fried chicken nuggets -- and riding the train all the way to Boston.  That's one way to beat the traffic.

LibbY

  

It's Official!

This blog is moving on over to a new site called www.RichmondChic.com, a new online women's magazine developed by the Richmond Times-Dispatch and Skirt! Magazine.  Don't worry -- I'll still be posting here for a while yet, as well as posting there.  And it's still called "Libby With a 'Y.'"   

Stay tuned!

LibbY

Fireman Sam to the Rescue!!

Sam has been obsessed with fire engines since before he could walk, but now it is at a whole new level.  Fatal Attraction's got nothing on him.  For the past month or so, Sam has worn his red plastic fire hat from World of Mirth all the time.  And when I say all the time, I mean ALL THE TIME!  He wears it to school, church, the doctor's office, the grocery store, etc.  You name it, he wears it there, muttering, "Sam's a fireman."  

He has it on when I put him to bed at night, it's on when he calls out in the middle of the night, and it's on when I get him up in the morning.  Needless to say, it takes some cajoling in the bathtub to get him to take it off for a quick minute to wash his hot, sweaty hair.  And then, dontcha know it, he slaps it right back on his wet head before I've even had a chance to comb it.  A fireman's gotta be ready on a moment's notice, you know!  And ready he is.   

The other night after he had gone to bed, we could hear a fire engine wailing in the distance.  Within seconds, we heard him exclaim through the monitor, "Fireman Sam hears a fire engine!  Fireman Sam need to go to the fire!"  We've found the best way to get him motivated for 8:45 mass on Sunday morning is to tell him that the church is on fire and he needs to go put it out.  (God will forgive that little white lie, won't He?)

We take his red Radio Flyer wagon ( a.k.a. his "firetruck") to check out the local hydrants to pump water from them.  He has  also converted my red resistance band into, you guessed it, a fire hose.  (Glad to see someone's using it!)  When we get back home, he puts the nozzle of the garden hose into the grill on the front my car, I mean, pumper truck, so it can fill up when we are inside.  

Then we launch into this rather creative game of his.  I go inside the plastic jungle gym thing in our yard, and he climbs up the side to "rescue" me from the burning building.  Then we switch roles, and I save him while he calls, "Help me, Fire Mommy!"  You just can't make this stuff up. For one, I just don't have that good of an imagination, but Fireman Sam sure does!  I guess I don't need to tell you his favorite show is "Fireman Sam" on PBS.  

We've often been stalking, I mean, visiting, our local firehouse quite frequently.  We sure have gotten the value out of our tax dollars!  I think they are losing money on us.  At this point we have seen the firehouse several times over, upstairs and down -- their various lockers, sleeping quarters, living area, kitchen, the whole shebang.  Sam has explored every crevice of their two pumper trucks, right down to the axes stored in a secret compartment on the side.   Everyone seems to know his name there by now, just like "Cheers."  I guess that means they know my name, too -- Sam's mommy.  (No, they do not call me Fire Mommy.  I do have some pride left.)

Yesterday one of the firemen indulged Sam by showing him how to switch on the siren and blinking lights.  Whoever said ignorance is bliss is onto something big.  Granted, this did add another couple of notches to the black leather belt he stole from me because it looks like a fireman's belt.  We also got to see the jaws of life stored inside of the back of the truck.  I've got to admit, that was pretty cool.  Being Sam's sidekick has its perks!

So you can sleep a little bit easier tonight, knowing that Fireman Sam is ready to save you from a burning building wherever you may be!   Maybe Santa will bring him a pager next Christmas...

LibbY

Walking Like a Train

Daddy Mac was out of town this weekend, so I wanted to do something extra fun with Sam on Saturday morning.  It was as much as for me as for him -- I was dying to get off of Midlothian Turnpike, even for a little while.  Lots of parenting articles recommend giving toddlers options whenever you can, as long as you really are OK with whichever one they pick.  So I gave him two options --  going to a park with lots of pretty flowers (i.e. Louis Ginter's Million Blooms) or a place that has a lot of train stuff (i.e. the town of Ashland.)  

Yes, it was a no-brainer for Sam the train fanatic but hopefully empowering since he got to make the call himself.  If not, he can tell his therapist all about it when he is older.  All I can say is I tried my best to develop his sense of self.  Anyway we set out on our field trip up to Ashland, local train mecca, with both of us wearing firehats, his voluntarily, mine upon command from the Fire Chief in the back seat.  Thankfully there was no need for a permission slip since I am his mother.

What an adorable little town, downright refreshing.  We careened into one of a zillion open parking spaces on the street, something Fan residents can only dream about after too many shots.  Without any further ado, we raced over to the old train station that has been converted into a cozy little Visitor's Center.  (Actually Sam raced, and I walked while yelling at him to slow down.)  Then we ambled along the tracks down quaint Railroad Avenue to check out the fire hydrant and ogle the pastries at Homemades by Suzanne.  Then I stopped to get some liquid sunshine on a rainy day get some coffee at Ashland Coffee & Tea while Sam ran around like a Mexican jumping bean wearing a firehat.  Don't worry, I had the wherewithal to left mine in the car.

Sam was so excited he started to walk with his legs bent, kinda like permanent squats.  Yes, it was a bit odd.  I wasn't sure quite what the heck was going on, but he seemed happy doing his squats, so that was fine with me.  After a few minutes he announced, "Sam's walking like a train!"  Of course, I was trying not to guffaw and crush his budding imagination, so I replied, "Oh, that's neat!"  (What else can you say when your kid tells you he's walking like a train?)  He continued, "Sam's rolling along the tracks!"  OK, I got the concept better then, no problem.  Then he commanded, "Mommy, you walk like a train, too!"  Let's just I was so happy that I only know two people who live in Ashland who were nowhere to be seen.  

We rolled on down the street in search of the renowned toy train store, Train Town Toy & Hobby.  Wow!  It was all it had been cracked up to be and more.  (Thanks for the tip, Linda!)  This place is serious about its trains -- everything trains, trains everywhere, and a real red caboose in back.  Best of all, it was so neat to see how much the guys running the place genuinely love trains and love their jobs.  If only we all had such job satisfaction, we could put Prozac out of business.

The minute we ambled in the door, they turned on their elaborate three-tiered Lionel model train system.  Sam was so mesmerized I was ready to ask it to babysit.  After reminding myself that babysitters need to have pulse at a minimum, I gave up the tempting idea.  Within minutes of looking around the store, though, I realized that Thomas the Tank Engine is only the beginning for me, the mother of a True Train Fanatic (TTF).  

When TTFs get older, they seem to graduate onto Lionel model trains.  They are amazingly sophisticated toy trains, but they sure do make the Thomas stuff look like a big ole bargain.  At least the Lionel trains don't have lead paint issues!  They last forever, and TTFs don't necessarily ever outgrow them...  Boys will be boys, you know.  I'm willing to bet our knowledgeable shopkeepers, both TTFs, have been playing with toy trains since they were Sam's age or younger.

At this point, I'd be thrilled for Sam to run a train shop when he's older, even if it requires him to walk like a train from time to time.  It's a heck of a lot safer than being a fireman!

LibbY

It Happened.

You know it's going to happen eventually.  It's bound to happen.  It's part of that whole growing up process thing called childhood.   That's a-OK with me, I just didn't think it would happen quite so early.  Heck, he's only two for crying out loud.  Well, the other day as I was picking up my little mini-fireman at preschool, it happened.   Miss Julie told me that she needed to "talk" to me.  (Insert ominous-sounding drum roll here, please.)   

I really didn't think anything of it at first, assuming it had something to do with Sam getting Angel of the Year Award or the equivalent.  Once she started talking, though, I knew that Sam was officially In Trouble At School for the first time.  I'll admit it, this was one milestone I was not quite ready to hit, but I didn't have much choice.  There was poor Miss Julie, looking frazzled and frustrated.  Her usual sunny disposition had been covered by rain clouds.  And if those rain clouds had names apparently, they would be Sam and Trent.  

Apparently the munchkin partners-in-crime have been having way too good of a time together at school lately.  It's dos amigos against the oppressive institution known as preschool -- throwing toys, refusing to pick them up, ignoring the teacher, all that Bad Boy stuff you dread hearing about your sweet little bundle o' joy.  And as has been their pattern, Trent is the mastermind behind the operations and Sam the blind follower.  Here's how it works - Trent comes up with great ideas like running away at the mall or horsing around at the back of the room during story hour at the library.  Then he takes off, and Sam gets crazy glimmer in his eye and lopes off in hot pursuit, giggling the whole time like "I don't what we're doing, but it's going to be fun!'

Trent is Sam's first real buddy, you see.  His mother and I have been fostering this friendship since before they were born, literally.  We met through our Mother's Club when we were both eight months pregnant, feeling large and in charge.  After delivering within a day of each other at the same hospital, we have been getting together ever since.  It's only lately, though, that they have really hit it off.  Now they get really excited to see each other and start walking around holding hands. 

So, back to the problem at hand.  What did I do?  First and foremost, I summoned all my energy, resisted the overwhelming urge to laugh my head off picturing all the antics going down in the Green Room.  Second, I had him apologize to Miss Julie for taking a year or two off her life, all for not nearly enough pay.  Third, I gave him a stern talking-to without laughing, mustering my best disapproving tone of voice.  It went something like this:

Me:  "Sam, you need to listen to Miss Julie and not listen to Trent."

Sam:  "Sam wants to listen to Frent."  Exhibits no signs of remorse.

Me:  Resists urge to pull over and split my sides laughing.  "Sam, if you listen to Trent, you are going to get into trouble.  If you listen to Miss Julie, you are going to do the right thing.

Sam:  "Sam doesn't want to do the right thing."

Me:  "Well, Sam, if it happens again, you are going to get a time-out when we get home.  Plus, you won't be able to watch TV for the rest of the day."

Sam:  Displays look of unabashed horror at the thought of not being able to watch his precious "TB," as he calls it.  Silent for a while.  Eventually utters, "Sam's a good boy."

And that he is.  Case closed.

LibbY

What Did He Just Say?

It is only lately that Sam and I have been able to engage in little mini-conversations, which just blows my mind.  I just never thought it would ever happen, but it has.  I was on the phone the other day with my friend Hilary (that's with one "L")  in Norfolk when she heard him talking away in full sentences in the background.  Most likely he was rambling on about needing to go fight a fire, wanting to watch TV, or asking for some orange juice in his favorite Cars sippy cup.  

"Wow," she exclaimed, "the last time I saw him, all he said was 'digga, digga, digga.'"  And it's true, the transformation was fast.  "Digga, digga, digga" used to be his catch-all phrase for everything, an expression to fit all occasions.  Usually, though, it meant, "Gimme that!" often referring to something in your hands, like food.  Before "digga,digga, digga," his big phrase was "maning" (pronounced mah-ning).  And with that "word," too, he used to say it three times in a row-- maning, maning, maning.  We finally figured out it meant that he wanted something to drink.  I guess he was pretty thirsty there for a while until we clued in.  

Alas, both "maning" and "diga, diga, diga" are mantras of the past.  I must admit I was sad to see them go but thrilled to be able to communicate with him better.  Why is it that just about everything in motherhood is so bittersweet?  Now, whenever I throw either word into the conversation to see his reaction, he looks at me like, "What the heck are you saying, crazy lady? Do you need a speech therapist?"  I guess that is a sneak peek into life with a teenager will be like down the road.

Well, the other day I was playing trains with him, trying to muster - or at least feign - some genuine interest.  Out of nowhere, he blurts, "When is the cleaning lady going to come?"  That was by far the most complex sentence he has ever uttered.  Let's face it, you know your house is seriously trashed when a two-year-old is asking for the cleaning lady.  "Uh, tomorrow," I replied, trying not to burst out laughing right in front of him.  He was right, of course.  The house was crying out for a thorough cleaning, something that has never been my forte. 

Then he announced, "Sam needs to pick up his toys!"  And lo and behold, he started to clean up his toys with vigor, something he never does when it is just Mommy Dearest around.  Yes, that is learned behavior.  Since infancy he has watched me run around the house like a maniac before the cleaning lady arrives, clearing clutter so she can get to the surfaces and actually clean.  Needless to say, I wasn't about to stop him.  Heck, I'm willing to take any motivator I can get.  Hmmmn...  There's another good reason to rationalize having her come more often.  It would be great for his language skills as well as an invaluable tool to teach him how to clean up!  Oh, I suppose there is an added benefit for me, too - a cleaner house.  Well, there's nothing wrong with that, right?

LibbY

LibbY

To Be So Literal...

Why is it that we are the most honest and sincere when we are too young to know any different?  Why not speak the truth as you know it without doctoring it up or spinning it into oblivion?  There is something so basic about that, yet so not part of our repertoire as adults. Something gets lost in the translation between toddler-hood and adulthood for sure.  Perhaps it is our innocence...

Last December we went on a highly coveted Santa train ride out in Cumberland County, Dillwyn, to be exact.  Jiminy crickets!  The tickets sell out in July, which in case you haven't checked is six months before Christmas.  That's when we are all wearing tank tops and changing them several times a day because it is so ridiculously hot!  Nevertheless, Sam loved each and every minute of being on that train ride.  Recently I caught wind that the same train also operates in May, and I set out to investigate.  

Then I decided before I would put any elbow grease into my investigation, I would first ask him if he had any interest in going back on the train at all.  So one morning while he was still in his footy  pajamas, I asked him if he wanted to take a ride on the train again.  Without batting an eye, he responded, "Sam needs to get dressed first."  Then he started to walk towards the door with a purpose.  

As you can see, I had not yet taught him the in's and out's of buying tickets through PayPal or Ticket Master.  How refreshing it was, though.  Of course, I felt awful for inadvertently getting him all psyched up to go on the train right away, only to tell him to cool it for six weeks, give or take a week depending upon availability.

I guess that's part of growing up, realizing that people don't always say exactly what they mean. In the meantime, bring on the unabashed honesty.  It give me faith in the human nature with which we are born before adults have any input.

LibbY

Put out the fire.

Run, Walk, Hobble

Yes, I made it through another 10K without calling the paramedics.  I ran some, walked some, and downright hobbled the rest.  And I'm still hobbling, probably even worse than before.  Oh my.  I am sore in parts of my body that I never knew existed before right now.  I must admit though, after all my grumble-grumbling about "never again" and procrastinating on training for it like it was the bar exam all over again, it actually wasn't as bad as I thought it would be.  It was even kinda fun.  

Here's the secret -- I left the chip in the car, liberating myself from worrying about my time.  I highly recommend it.

LibbY

Thomas on Sale! It's True!

I never thought I'd see those three words strung together, but never say never as I have learned yet again.  The Baba Noba (Barnes & Noble) near us on Huguenot Road is moving across the street to Chesterfield Town Center, so they are selling off lots of books on the cheap.  The clerk there said they are going to mail all the leftover books back to the publisher, and then the publisher will mail "new" copies of the same book across the street to the new store at the mall.  If you can make any sense out of that inane plan, please don't bother to explain it to me because I am going to be too busy cleaning out my sock drawer to follow your logic.  

So, anyway, back to the main feature -- Thomas on sale.  Yes, lo and behold, there were the Thomas trains on sale, up for grabs.   I thought I was hallucinating when I first saw the display near the cafe, perhaps too much expresso to the brain from inhaling a grande latte.  Don't ask me why they are on sale because the trains are small and hardly heavy, plus they sell like gangbusters, which is why they never go on sale in the first place.  But who am I to turn my back on a 40% off sale, especially when they are going quickly and my son is a Thomas-a-holic? 

Of course I charged in and snapped into prime hording mode, grabbing trains left and right. Sam looked thrilled but confused, wondering what he had done to earn such a train bonanza. He joined in the fray, amassing trains too, ready to rake 'em in while the going is good and Mom seemed to be in a gung-ho buying mood.   The problem was that I wasn't.  Yes, I was buying trains by the fistful, but I wasn't planning on giving him any until his birthday.  And that, my friends, is in June, a whole three months away on the calendar and a lifetime away in toddler-time.

So, as we get up to check out, I am now trying to balance all of the trains, yet keep Sam by my side while not letting him see just how many trains I had in my hot little hands.  This was no easy feat, mind you.  Well, when we got up to the counter, I decided to put most of them on hold until I could come back later to buy them without him.  Sam couldn't figure out what in the world was going on -- we had all these trains between the two of us, we were at the counter, yet only a couple were actually going home with us.  What?!  So, I looked at the clerk, giving her a desperate look.  You know, the look, "Please, do something, anything!  Help me!"  She stepped right up to the plate, announcing, "We need to keep these here and make sure they work."  Brilliant.  I will never shop at Borders again.

As we walked out to the car, Sam kept muttering to himself, "Bill and Ben need to get repaired."  That's right, and hopefully they will be shipshape come June.  But even then, I couldn't wait until June either, so I broke down and whipped out Peter Sam for him as a reward for being such a good sport.  He was 40% off after all, the same price as my latte.

LibbY

Dread

I dread tomorrow.   Yes, I wholeheartedly dread it, big time.  Tomorrow is the Ukrops 10K for which I have barely prepared.  Ugh.  I know that my come-uppings are on their way, and I am not looking forward to it all unfolding  and experiencing the pain as it happens, not to mention the aftershocks for days afterwards.  Why did I sign up for it again?  What masochistic streak inspired me to pay money to do something I truly hate?  Because I was overly optimistic that I would stick to the training schedule.  Yeah, right, and Bambi is a dog.  Well, the only part of the training that I stuck to was the rest days which, by the way, I now have down to a science.  I'm very good at resting.  Read my words -- with God and you, the reader, as my witnesses, I will never be tortured by the 10K again.   Instead I am actually going to be nice to myself (novel thought) and do exercise that I actually enjoy (radical concept) -- spin, weights, pilates, yoga, and swimming, to name a few.  That should keep me plenty busy, in shape, and, most important of all, less grumpy.

At least I've had fun carbing it up -- two bowls of noodles, french fries, and beer.  Now that's my kind of carbo loading.  Plus with the beer I figure I'm multi-tasking -- drinking water and stocking up on carbs all at the same time.  I really should patent that idea.  Well, I'm off to pop open another brewski, all for the sake of training.  Then I'm going to check on my Ben Gay supply.  I think I'm going to be digging deep into it tomorrow.  Could be an ideal time to buy stock, dear reader...

Break a leg, I guess.  If only...

LibbY

Fire Station Roulette

We have initiated a No Fire Station Left Behind Policy.  Well, I kind of feel forced into it because we had been to our fire station so many times.  They were always hospitable and all, but I didn't want to wear out our welcome before Sam turns 3.  So we've started seeing another fire station, keeping our options open.  Hope our original one doesn't get jealous!  But we never promised it would be the only fire station we'd ever visit.  Still, I do feel a bit guilty, a self-confessed fire station two-timer.

Today we had a really great firefighter dude showing us around.  He put Sam in the driver's seat of the fire chief's car and then sat next to him in the passenger seat, showing him how to use the walkie talkie.  Then he pretended that they had just arrived at the scene of a fire, and Sam was the Chief.  He asked Sam, "What do you want me to do?"  Sam answered, "Put out the fire!"  Now there's some delegating ability to behold!

Now we're getting a little picky on our fire stations, playing the proverbial field.  I've started asking around, trying to find one that has a real fire pole which Sam is dying to slide down. Perhaps actually finding one is not such a great idea, come to think of it.  However, I also heard through my fireman sources that the station with the fire pole also has an honest-to-goodness hook and ladder truck, something our first station did not have.  That could be worth checkign out sometime soon.  Hmmmm...  Looks like we could be making the rounds and start seeing yet another fire station.  

Let's hope they all don't compare notes and expose us as the fire station hussies that we are. "Hey, have you seen Sam Macky lately, you know, the two-year-old who refuses to ever take his fire hat off?  No?  Well, he 's been here every day for the past two weeks, even wanted to put his crib in the corner of our sleeping quarters."  Well, we never promised the second station that she was our one and only, now did we?  If anybody gets their fire hose in a knot over the situation, there's always Henrico County.  Bet they've got plenty of stations over there to check out.

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