What I know for sure.

Oprah writes a column in her magazine every month called What I Know for Sure (which is, apparently, a lot since she has been writing it every month for many, many years). I love this column because usually it's quite poignant and it always make me stop for a minute to think about what I know for sure. Or, more accurately, whether I even know anything for sure.

What I also love about this concept is that the things one knows are constantly evolving and are almost always the result of growth. I truly believe that there is something to learn from even the most random or awful things that happen to us, and if you're not afraid to do a little mental exploring you'll learn a lot.

Here are a few things I know for sure.

• People just are who they are. Even people who are important in your life aren't always your favorite people, so you just have to learn to enjoy the good and walk away from the bad.

• I will never learn to like broccoli.

• My kids know I make mistakes and they don't care. They love me anyway. I hope this is because they know I feel the same way about them.

• Hugging your parents makes them - and you - feel good.

• People falling down will always be funny. Why do you think America's Funniest Home Videos is still on TV after more than 20 years?

• No matter how fascinating the show is on the History Channel I cannot stay awake.

• Knickers were a bad trend and I have the pictures to prove it.

• Some people will never catch on to the idea of using their turn signal, no matter how loudly I honk at them.

• Exercise is really good for you and if I did it more I would feel a lot more relaxed/in control/able to wear any T-shirt I like.

• I will not get up at 5 am to accommodate said exercise.

• Even though it's always worth the effort, yard work is still torture.

• No matter what else happens in life, waking up like this is pretty darn good:

The worst of both worlds.

I'm supposed to be writing an article right now about a hospital and a construction company, and their unprecedented partnership. Instead I'm thinking about how nice it is to be at work without the baby.

Anne has been coming to work with me three or four days a week for the last couple of weeks. Everyone loves her and loves having her around. Except me.

Don't get me wrong. I know I'm among a rare minority of women who have an accepting work environment that allows me to bring a baby to work all day, whenever I need to. I've got a little purple rocking chair under my back desk and the pack-n-play is set up in the back room where it's darker and quieter than the rest of the office. At work Anne is smiley, largely cooperative and widely adored. It's working out pretty well and I secretly hate it.

I've been mulling over the pros and cons of having her here, and this is where I'm at:

Pros
- I get to be with Anne much more than if she were at home with daddy/grandma/nanny
- I am saving big money on childcare

Cons
- I am with Anne all day. At work.
- I am easily and often distracted. I'm like this anyway - I can't work 15 minutes without having to get up or just stare out the window for a while. With Anne here it's worse.
- When it's very quiet in the office everyone can hear my silly cartoon-talking-to-the-baby voice, which makes me feel kinda stupid.
- I am being a mom and a writer/business owner all at the same time. It's like that episode of Seinfeld where George talks about how some worlds shouldn't collide.

This last one is the crux of it, I've realized. I love my work. Most of the time I'm lucky enough to find my work and my business invigorating, and the person I am while I'm doing that is a different part of me than the Mom part. It's not that the two can't co-exist, but it's more difficult than I thought when they are actually trying to take charge at the same time. I'm proud of and love both these identities. But I also enjoy keeping them separate.

Work is one thing in my life that is just for me. In a strange way, being at work is a relaxing break from being a mom. I may have deadlines, interesting clients and days that just don't go my way, but when I'm here I don't have to censor my sarcasm, pretend to like green vegetables, keep anyone company in the bathroom or feel like I'm being a bad mom because I'm looking at Facebook while the kids are going googly eyed at the TV.

It's my little world. And I'd like to keep it that way.

But it's fortified with vitamins and minerals!

I totally love sugary cereal. The best is Captain Crunch, aka Captain Gum Shredder. In some circles I am renown for my ability to eat three bowls in a row before my gums begin to shred and bleed. It's good stuff. It says so on the box.

My love for the Captain has led me to be one of those moms who lets my children pick out Lucky Charms at the store, lick the spoon when I make brownies, eat raw cookie dough with a blithe disregard for the risk of salmonella, and generally treat sugar as a treat that is to be enjoyed in moderation and never demonized.

But then I bought Lauren some Tinker Bell vitamins.

I've been giving the girls gummy-chewy vitamins intermittently all their lives, or at least as long as they were capable of chewing a gummy bear without choking. You know how it is, sometimes we remember, sometimes we don't. They are generally healthy so I don't sweat it. But I recently made a change to Lauren's diet, significantly reducing her milk intake to see if it made a difference with her eczema. I've been hearing for years about the milk/eczema relationship, but her eczema seemed more related to either extreme dryness (winter) or extreme sweatiness (summer), with periods of relative remission in between. While we were on spring break this year she drank just about nothing but water and juice boxes, and I noticed that her eczema had disappeared. I chalked it up to the healing qualities of salt air until a week after we got home and it was BAD. Itchy, red... and she had been drinking milk morning noon and night.

I quit serving her milk. In two days the eczema was gone again. Hmmm.

Her doctor said milk could definitely be the culprit, so if I was going to limit the milk and cheese I needed to be vigilant about a multi-vitamin. She chose the Tinker Bell ones and we went home from the store. That night we opened the fresh bottle, chock-full of sparkling stars, butterflies, wands..... wait. Sparkling? Why are vitamins sparkling?!

BECAUSE THEY ARE COATED WITH SUGAR!

That's right. I have just purchased an entire jar of vitamins that are coated in sugar. And not a little bit of sugar. These things look like they've been coated in glue and pasted with rhinestones.

I went a little nuts, ranting on to the girls about how they better enjoy these vitamins because this was the last time they were EVER getting sugar-coated vitamins (Yeah, Grace got some Hannah Montana ones too. I hate that girl.), I couldn't BELIEVE that they even make sugar coated vitamins, and they darn well better eat them BEFORE they brush their teeth not after, because otherwise they will go to bed and get cavities while they are sleeping.

Then I went downstairs and had a bowl of Captain Crunch.

So now we're two for two.

Friday night was Grace's first softball practice. She doesn't know it, but she's really a good athlete. Great hand-eye coordination (which she did NOT get from me), good balance, and she has that thing I hate in other people where everything she tries she pretty much figures out how to do in about five minutes.

The girls were lined up across from each other in pairs, playing catch more or less. And then...

Grace got hit in the face with the ball.

Right above her eye.

She cried so hard that this time I DID run out there and look. Her forehead was red and I was pretty sure she was going to wind up with a major shiner, but I just held her close and told her it was fine. The crazy thing is, it was fine. Three minutes later she was back to throwing and catching, and there is absolutely not a mark on her face.

But I think from now on I'll just keep the baby in the car.

And that's what you call a slam-bang start!

Last night was Lauren's first soccer game. She was alternately excited to be participating in the same sport as her friend Georgia, who is a big, cool, kindergartener, and appalled and angry about wearing large padded socks up to her knees. Also, she was a wee bit disappointed that her team shirt turned out NOT to be purple.

But the game must go on.

First play of the game Lauren lines up around the circle in the center spot. The other team gets the first kick and WHAM! Lauren gets smacked square in the face with the ball. I mean, you could hear the thuhwack from the sideline.

It was heartbreaking and I did the only thing I thought was right. I stayed in my chair and didn't say a word. Her coach ran over and checked her out, and gave me a glance to let me know that Lauren was relatively okay, only psychically injured. Lauren cried, copious tears that were more about fear and shock than pain. Still, I stayed in my chair.

Lauren cried through the whole game. Once or twice she kicked the ball, and once she got to make the starting kick herself. She's got dead-on aim. Her tears slowed, but mostly she stood rooted with her hands up by her face. It was killing me, but A) she stayed out there and didn't try to leave the field, B) her team only has 6 kids so they couldn't really afford for her to be out, and C) I don't think it's a good idea to always rush to the side of your kid, especially when you know they are more scared than hurt. I wanted her to be brave and realize that things were really okay, and that we were still there watching, but we couldn't play the game for her.

But I felt like a heel.

The brownie and juice box afterward worked wonders for her soul, as did the visit from Georgia, whose game had ended first. She's already looking forward to Saturday's game.

I, however, am still recovering.

the raw truth

A couple of days ago I was snuggling in bed with Lauren on a Saturday afternoon in a desperate attempt to get her to nap. It wasn't working, but that's beside the point.

As I lay there sort of marveling at her still baby-fatty elbows and hands, and wondering when she might stop flopping around like a walleye trapped on the dock, she snuggled up close and looked up into my eyes. In a perfect stage whisper she said, "mama, you have bears in the cave."

You can do maaagic....

My good friend Hannah is a first-time mother (and one of, like, 3 people who read this blog so I hope you don't mind that I'm talking about you). Her new daughter was born on my oldest daughter's birthday, which makes it easy for me to remember and also is pretty cool. Avery is bright-eyed with wild hair and a look of total happiness on her face. I'm sure this baby must cry, but no one ever takes pictures of that part, so from my point of view she is the happiest baby on earth.

Hannah is awash in new-mother joy and tiredness, but mostly joy I think. She wrote a blog post recently about how she hopes she can create the magic for Avery that her parents created for her growing up. I know what she means. Making magic is the best part of being a parent. Playing Santa and watching your kids faces light up as they come downstairs in the pre-dawn, twinkly-tree light to discover a plate full of cookie crumbs on the hearth. Slipping your hand under their crinkly pillow to spirit away a tiny tooth and replace it with a gold dollar or two. Deep discussions about how Ariel lives at Disney World but still visits her sisters and King Triton in the ocean. It's magic of the very best kind because when you create it for them you're living it yourself.

But I'll tell you something. I'm on baby #3 and I'm wishing for another kind of magic. For example:

- I'd like to make my childrens' voices magically disappear when they begin to whine.
- I'd like their lunches to magically be made and sitting by the door when I get up in the morning. It's the easiest job I do and I freaking hate it.
- I'd like to magically remove every Littlest Pet Shop bobble-head freak animal, Barbie, Hannah Montana doll, and Dora-with-baby-twins-in-a-snuggli doll from its packaging on Christmas Eve without having to get out a pair of pliers and a band saw.
- I'd like my children to magically learn to love fruit, vegetables and my cooking. Before age 35.
- I'd like to magically be able to sleep 9 hours a night without having to go to bed at 8:30 pm to do it.
- I'd like Mary Poppins to magically land on my doorstep and not only be my nanny for the next three years but to do it for free.

That last one is definitely NOT going to happen.

But you can always dream.

P.S. I've been away a long time. I've been kinda busy. But I miss writing so I'll try to do a little more and thanks for reading. All 3 of you.