Fuzzy Wuzzy Wasn't Fuzzy Was He?

Cursed with hair that will later prove a blessing – incredibly fast growing, and lots of it – Tizzy became terrified of buzz clippers at an early age. We thought that by keeping him shorn, we were doing him a favor. By reducing the frequency of barber visits, we imagined he'd have less to fear.

  

We were wrong.

Within two years, we were banned from all the salons who'd at one time assured us he'd be welcome.

Imagine, for a moment, trying to shear a raccoon. 

Now you have a sense of what we were up against. 

Seated on my lap, his legs locked between mine, my arms wrapped crisscross round his body, the stylist would attempt to clip his hair, his body convulsing under my constraints, thrashing his head side to side screaming, "IT'S O.K!!! IT DOESN'T HURT!  – IT DOESN'T HURT! (SOB-SOB-SOB)"

I remember one man hanging his head low, half of T's head clipped, the other half wild, saying, "I'm sorry. I just can't do this. You're going to have to find someone else to finish the job."

That someone was me.

He wouldn't let me buzz him, which was about all I was qualified for, but, he would quietly sit in our yard as I thinned his hair with thinning shears. In my early attempts he'd frequently end up looking like a dog with mange.

I can't say I got progressively better, but he did get a little calmer. For special occasions, like Christmas and birthdays, we'd venture forth to the one salon where he'd developed a crush on the stylist, and after multiple promises not to bring out the buzzer, he'd let her "clip" his hair.

Throughout this time we had to discuss haircuts quite a bit. How he liked "clips" but not buzzers. How he would like buzzers when he was a big boy, but not yet. Pushing those buzz cuts on him in his early years became one of my regrets. It had clearly been traumatic for him, but, people kept telling me he'd get over it. That all kids cried, but after a few visits he'd look forward to them.

These are the things we learn as parents.

Buzz clips are not a problem for Zip. He likes loud noises, is loud himself, and generally unfazed about being touched. Tizzy's more like a cat. He comes to us to be held, hugged, and touched – not the other way around. He doesn't like anything on his head, and is still convinced the vacuum cleaner is going to suck up their feet.

I was looking at their hair recently. It was growing out, still short, but getting ragged around the edges, and it just killed me to think of having to spend another $40 to get the two of them trimmed.

I thought back on all of the times that Tizzy had told me that he would use the buzzers as a big kid. He's now a big kid – He'll assure you of that.

I went to the drugstore and bought a kit.

I came home and I said, "We're going to watch a hair clipping movie. It's about big kids who get their hair buzzed, and after we watch it, we're going to buzz Zip's hair. You can decide after watching it, and watching Zip, if you think you're ready to have your hair buzzed too."

He wasn't sure.

We watched the movie one time through. We then went outside and I buzzed Zip's hair. Slowly but surely, Tizzy inched his way forward as I rotated the buzzers around Zip's head. He carefully leaned in peering down at the blades.

I lifted them away from Zip's head and held them so Tizzy could get a look. Slowly but surely, he inched his way forward and let me put them against his hand.

"See, they don't hurt."

"O.K. Mom. You can try the buzz clippers on me, but, just don't cut my ears."

"I would never cut your ears honey."

It wasn't a completely smooth transition, but, he let me try. He still squirmed in his seat, and when he was done – he was done! 

But, we're off to a good start.

Over the next week, there were several times that he would sneak off into our bedroom and turn on the t.v. While washing the dishes I would hear the groovy music start up in my room, and a woman's voice saying, "Guide the clippers up and out. Up and out."

Driving in the car, I listen to Tizzy in the back seat reciting, "If you want to create a mushroom cut guide the clippers like this."

I Scream, You Scream!

Me: Hey Tizzy. Would you like some ice-cream?

Tizzy: Quick gasp. Of Course!!!

Tizzy skipping around the kitchen: I shore do like ice-cream Mom.

Me: laughing. You’re so cute.

Tizzy: So are you Mom!

Tizzy peering over the ice-cream box: Is that Danilla?

Me: No it’s Rocky Road. It’s like chocolate.

Tizzy: Chocolate?! That’ll keep me up Mom!

Me: That’s why I’m giving it to you now hon’, during the day.

Tizzy: O.K. Mom!

Zip comes riding in on Brad’s back: Ice-Cream! Ice-Cream! I want some too-ooo Mom!

Me: Comin’ right up, Sweetheart!

Zip: Datz Choc-what?

Me: It’s called Rocky Road.

Zip: Rock n’ da road?

Me: Rocky Road.

Zip: Hmm. It’s Rocky Road.

Zip doing an ice-cream dance: It’s Ice-Cream! It’s Ice-Cream! It’s Mine, It’s Mine, It’s Mine!

As I hand Zip his ice-cream cone: It’s mine Mom?

Me: Yes, it is.

Zip: OH FANX MOM!

Me: You’re Welcome.

The End of an Era

Sitting in a large auditorium, which served as a theater and restaurant, I was holding a baby Zip, who, while still having a baby face, was ridiculously large. I could hardly hold onto him.  As I got up to leave, I tried passing the childless couple sitting to the left of me. I was saddled with diaper bags, a fold up stroller and this enormous baby. The couple wouldn't budge. They sat and glared at me as I struggled to slide past them, loud gasping sighs annunciating their disgust. I changed directions and squeezed past the person to my right, got down to the auditorium floor and opened up the stroller with a crash. It was a traveling stroller. It had served me well in the past, but, at this particular moment it collapsed. The bars were bent, the right handle collapsing in on itself, the fabric tearing loose in shreds. I fumbled with the stroller, deeming it dysfunctional, diaper bags sliding from my shoulder. I could feel all eyes burning down on me, watching with silent judgment as I became the main attraction. I managed to get the stroller to a trash can, untangled myself from the mess of shoulder straps and realized I'd lost Zip.

Where was my baby?!

Oh my God!

I looked around wild eyed. Gazing up at the people smirking down at me from the stands, I knew I would get no assistance from this crowd. I wouldn't even try. I ran into the hallway and tried to recall where I'd last placed him. I knew I hadn't set him down. The fact that he was no longer with me left me panicked and gasping for air. Where was he? Where was my baby?!

I woke up.

My first thought was, "Where's Zip!?"

After a moment, my heart stopped racing and my breath slowed down. I could envision him in the next room, long lean body splayed out on his bed, and I realized Zip's still here, but my baby is gone.

For so long, it seems, Zip has been doing everything in his power to keep up with his brother, and he's done one hell of a job. I remember Tizzy and his friends sitting at a table observing him. Tizzy's friends asking, "Is he a baby or a big boy." It was established that he was a big boy, because he seemed far too like them to even think of him as a baby. It helped of course that they were all only 22 months older. Their mothers and I knew he was a baby, but they were all our baby's, so what did we know.

Now he's no longer a baby. He's tall and strong, and carries a big stick. He's fierce and vocal and doesn't let anyone stand in his way. He's proven he no longer needs diapers, though he sometimes asks for them for comfort in new situations.

Brad and I were watching the boys, and he said, "Zip finally seems to know that he's three. He used to try to act six, but secretly knew he was not, but now? Now he seems to know that he's three, and that that's the age he's always wanted to be."

Yesterday, I was in the grocery store and there was a lovely baby smiling out at me from behind her Bjorn. I couldn't help cooing at her, she was so perfectly scrumptious. 

"Looks to me like you're ready for a third." Her mom laughed as we discussed her sweet nature. I smiled, but inside I thought, "No, not me."

I've just gotten back to the point where I can look at other peoples babies and not feel exhausted. It's taken me a long time. 

Baby's are fabulously delicious, but, so hard to live with. When I think of babies, I think of long sleepless nights. Utter disorientation. Overwhelmed and in awe that a creature so delicate and small could so completely consume my mind, body and soul.

I feel most fortunate for having had two. Should one miraculously arrive on my doorstep, claiming to be my own, I will lovingly embrace it and raise it as such. 

As it stands, I have two fabulously wonderful little, big boys, growing bigger day by day. I'm rediscovering the me inside that escaped a pace while my stand in was changing diapers, soothing tears and offering up her body for sustenance. It's nice to be back, and it seems I've grown in unpredictable ways as well. 

Babies are an era in this journey that's a lifetime.

So THAT'S the Difference Between Boys and Girls...

We were driving down the street listening to talk radio, because that’s one of those very “Mom” things that I do. 

Tizzy: What are they talking about?

Me: That woman’s son is in trouble because he was too young to drink beer but he drank it anyway and then he drove a car.

Tizzy: That’s not a good thing. How old do you have to be to drink beer?

Me: 21.

Tizzy: How old was he?

Me: 19.

Tizzy: Hmmm.

Later while eating lunch...

Tizzy: Mom? How old do you have to be to drink beer??

Me: 21.

Tizzy: How old is Daddy?

Me: 41. 

Tizzy: I see. So you can drink beer if your 21 and 41.

Me: That’s right.

Tonight he woke up disoriented from a dream.

Tizzy: I’m feeling kind of soiled from my dream in the car.

Me: Oh yeah? What does that mean?

Tizzy: Soiled means that I’m feeling kind of sad.

Me: Mmm. Mm-Hmm. That’s not a good feeling.

Tizzy: No.

Me: How ‘bout if I snuggle you a while so you can get back to sleep?

Tizzy: O.K.

Silence

Tizzy: Mom? 

Me: Yes honey?

Tizzy: When I was a grown up... when I was 14 or 16, I drank beer and drove a car.

Me: Oh, you did?

Tizzy: Yeah. Is 14 or 16 a grown up?

Me: Well, no. You have to be 18 to be a grown up, but then you have to wait until your 21 before you can drink beer.

Tizzy: O.K. Well when I was 21, I drank beer and I drove a car, but I never drove in a bad mood, because that’s dangerous.

Me: It’s true. It’s not so good to drive in a bad mood.

Tizzy: Yeah. My friend Christopher drank beer when he was a grown up too, but, hee-hee-hee... tall girls NEVER drink beer!

Me: Is that what Christopher told you?

Tizzy: (Muffled giggle) Yee-ah. Girl grown ups CANNOT drink beer!

It's Planting Time!

The boys and I have started our summer garden. I've turned the soil in the planter boxes, we've added worm castings and worms from our compost, and today we started planting the seeds. Most of our vegetables will be planted in the main garden, but, I read that to prevent diseased tomatoes, you should not plant them in the same spot for three years! I don't have enough room for that kind of rotation, so, we got some planter buckets and I'll just change the soil in the buckets each year. I took a tip from Sus over at Wigglerooms, and added banana peels to the soil in my planter. They're supposed to make the tomatoes taste divine. Thanks Sus!

While Zip and I were filling the buckets, the mystery paparazzi (His name begins with T) got in a few practice shots, so, Woo-Hoo! Pictures of me!

Then Zip kicked me out and took over with the trowel, which he's claimed as his own.

Not to be outdone, Tizzy got in on the action toward the end.

We had a great time, and I was glad to be teaching my boys about growing their own food, but, before you think it was all roses and sunshine, I heard myself more times than I'd like to count saying, "Agh - Gah - Watch the flowers. Hey - ack! Don't you see those?! Hey I have an idea... Why don't you go to your house and make me some soup?!" Then I went and ate some "Ivy" soup and pudding and it put me in a much better mood.

Are you planting a garden? – Follow me over to my reviews, for a way to give back this summer and a chance at an awesome giveaway.

 

And Then He Said...

In case you were wanting to know more about all those Sam's... Apparently, after lunch, their father would call to them, "S-aa-am!" And say, "Hey. How would you like to go on an adventure?" To which they would reply, "Yes! Certainly! Mm-hmm!" They'd then follow him outside and swing from the trees like a bunch of monkeys.

"Welp, that's all you need to know about Sam." So their father says...

Who's Your Mama?

Six years ago, Brad and I were, not so discreetly, admiring someone else’s kids while eating sushi, and, on the way home Brad said, “Don’t you think it’s about time we had some of our own?”

“Now?” I replied.

“Well if not now, when?”

“I don’t know. Next year?”

We’d been together seven years and married for four when this conversation took place. We were really just buying time.

“You do realize,” he said, “That even if we were to have a baby tomorrow, I’ll be 72 years old when that baby’s my age.”

“Your right. Let’s do it.”

We didn’t have a baby the next day. We didn’t even try. After spending our whole adult lives trying not to get pregnant, it was a little freaky making the switch. Instead, we tried the following day, which was Mother’s Day. We didn’t get pregnant. We spent the rest of the month getting used to unprotected sex, and then, I got pregnant on Father’s Day. 

Kind of an equal opportunity pregnancy. So Tizzy.

Then, 8 1/2 months later, T made me a mother on what would have been his due date if I had gotten pregnant on Mother’s Day. 

Again, So Tizzy.

Fourteen months later, Zip pushed his way through while we were still debating the issue of when to try for a second. He didn’t even give us the pleasure of unprotected sex, he just said, “Listen you two, I’m a Sagitarian – due the week before Christmas – and I’ll be damned if I’m waiting another year you to decide that your ready.” 

We haven’t had a dull moment since.

They come in with personalities all their own, these little people – Some through us, some to us.  All we can do, is raise them to be the best selves they can be and then send them out to face the world on their own. Or so they imagine, because once mom, always mom.

Happy Mother’s Day to all you Mom’s out there. And, to all you Dad’s, Happy Father’s Day a month early.

Sam

Tizzy:  Before I was a child, I was a dad. I had six girls and six boys. I named the girls “girl” and the boys “boy.” When they grew up to be grown ups, I named them all Sam. When I called them in for lunch, I’d say, “Sa-aa-m,” and they’d all come running. First my boy Sam jumped over my head and onto the lunch bench. Then my girl Sam ran between my legs and onto the lunch bench. Then my other boy Sam swung around my side and onto the lunch bench. Welp, that’s how it goes. Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam...

Prehistoric Creatures in Modern Times

Last night we went back in time to the Castro Theater, which ten years ago, was our neighborhood haunt, and saw The Lost World, circa 1925:



Updated, by a live performance by Dengue Fever, who rocked the orchestra pit:



It was Great.

If you're into campy, silent, Dinosaur films set to Cambodian pop / Psychedlic Rock, or just nights out with you husband sans children, I highly recommend it.

Afterward, we walked down Market to the original Chow, where we frequently ate when we were young, urban, and childless. The owners were on a similar trajectory as us, and now have restaurants in the suburbs, where we take our kids, infrequently, when we want a taste of our old life.

We found one of the last remaining tables, (Why is it places are always so much smaller than you remember?) and split a burger, salad, prosecco, and chocolate cream pie, before taking the Muni and BART home, and back to our Real World.

It's Like Apples and Oranges

Me: Would you like to try a banana?

Tizzy: NO! I don't eat Banana's!

Me: I know you don't now, but, you didn't used to eat apples either. If you try one you might find you like them.

Tizzy - shaking his head in disbelief : This Tizzy is a Chocolate Man!

And This Little Piggy Stayed Home

Zip’s favorite pastime is to sit on my legs while poking his fingers into my abdomen, singing, “Squish Yer-Belly, Squish Yer-Belly, Squish Yer-Belly!”

The year between having Tizzy and getting pregnant with Zip, I was in the best shape of my life. Two weeks after my c-section, I was walking the three mile reservoir near our house, and did so at least four times a week if not more. I felt great, was in excellent shape and my pre-pregnancy jeans were loose!

But, I don’t do pregnant well, and as soon as I got pregnant for Zip, that all stopped. All I wanted to do was sleep, and, with a 14 month old, even that wasn’t happening much.

I’ve tried over the years to get back into walking regularly, but, logistically it’s been tricky. Getting the boys in the double stroller, making it through the 3 mile walk without melt downs, snack attacks and ultimately, fellow stragglers turning my 12 minute mile into an all day affair – in addition to 112 degree summer’s – I now have a muffin top that’s worth singing about.

I’ve never been a gym person, preferring in the past, to exercise outside. The one time I did join a gym, presumably to meet boys, I ended up going a total of six times during my 12 month commitment. It just seemed like more work to drive across town, change into sweats, work out for an hour in a sweaty gym, shower, change back into street clothes, and then drive wherever I was going next. It made so much more sense to just ride my bike everywhere.

Then, a couple of weeks ago, I was sitting in the park with a friend while our boys played, and she started telling me about her very expensive gym, that offers 3 HOURS of childcare a day, tons of classes, a family pool, restaurant, Wi-Fi – the list goes on and on – I couldn’t help but go check it out. 

Granted we don’t do expensive anything. We just had our first overnight away from the boys – something we’ve been dreaming of for five years – a month ago, and it consisted of trading houses with my mom while she watched the boys, pizza and a movie and a drink at a real bar. It was very luxurious! Really!

So, I went to visit this gym and IT was luxurious. 

I did the math, and while still ridiculously expensive, I figured the daycare and pool alone would pay for itself. 

I maxxed out my three day visit, and aside from being paged to the daycare the first day because Zip wasn't as potty friendly as I'd thought,  getting paged the second day after he got into a fight, and then finally, Zip refusing to go the third day because he didn’t want to wear the number tag they pin to the children’s shirts for ID, I was still committed to making this work.

I signed up last Tuesday with a ten day bail out period if it didn’t work.

The boys and I went swimming that night and had a wonderful time, despite listening to a man in the lap pool, hacking and spitting, hacking and spitting.

The boys got sick the next day.

Every day this week, I woke up to the radio announcers listing the various schools in our area that have been closed due to children contracting the swine flu. I’m less concerned about actually getting the swine flu from the gym, than I am about paying the expensive premiums if we don’t go. Googling germs and gyms didn’t leave me feeling any more confident that we wouldn’t spend half this year sick just by attending the place.

Then I got sick. 

I went to bed early last night, then woke wide awake at 2:30 am and spent the next three hours, waves of nausea washing over me, running to and from the toilet bowl contemplating the pros and cons of this gym. 

Part of me really, really wants it. But, the fact that we haven’t been able to go all week, and the fact that Zip may get himself kicked out during the first month, makes me wonder if my frugal ways are not cut out for this much luxury.

Night Sounds

Opening credits sound from our bedroom.

Zip: What was THAT?!

Tizzy: It sounds like a Scary Movie!"

Zip: Uh-huh. It's NOT for boys.

Tizzy: Yeah. I'ts probably a Grown-Up movie!

Zip: hee-hee-hee... Ha-Ha-Ha...  HA! HA! HA!!!!!