It’s funny, isn’t it. Every parent you talk to will say, “How is she/he already 9 months/almost 6?!” And in the next sentence, they’ll ask something like, “She isn’t crawling yet?” “He’s only doing t-ball this season?” Oh, it’s not because they’re judging me or my kids, I know that. It’s because that’s how we measure our success as a parent. By what other parents and kids are doing. And it makes us feel like—even on our most desperate days—if our kid was the first to walk/talk/read/say thank you/hit a homerun, we must be doing something right.

And of course, there are days that I find myself caught up in this mindset too. But this weekend I was reminded that I’m only stealing time from myself with my kids as I push them to the next phase. Then again, my kids have proven that they can’t really be pushed, and I’m going to embrace that. And wear it as my own badge of pride.

Big, he’s an observer. And a perfectionist. No matter how much we encourage him and work to build his confidence, the littlest mistake can break his spirit and set him back. So he waits. He watches. And watches. And watches. Then one day, he decides he’s ready. And you know what? He is. From potty training to writing to making new friends to playing organized sports at recess to taking the training wheels off, he’s proven that he can do it. Once he does, there’s no stopping him. His motivation is internal and the confidence boost each new step gives him is like gold. (And for a kid who loves money, that’s saying a lot.)

Little, his motivation isn’t so internal, but it certainly isn’t aggressive either. His comes in the shape of a circle (surprise, surprise). When he still wouldn’t walk at 15 months old, I was in a panic. Our pediatrician wasn’t. She told me to go home and hold up an M&M, then walk a few steps and do it again. Within 48 hours, that kid was running through the streets with a chocolate smeared face. Little is a passionate, stubborn kid, desperately trying to fit the stereotype of neglected middle child. But for the most part, that’s nothing a few morsels of goodness can’t solve. (When he’s interested, of course.)

Pink, well, she’s taking her sweet time as well. Now that I’m confident it’s a personality issue, not a physical one, I’m ok with it. In fact, I’m more than ok with it. She hates rolling over. She refuses to scoot. She shows no signs of using her arms to crawl or pull up. You know what she does do? She sits. Smiling, dancing and singing. Why on earth would I wish that away?

No doubt Pink will be moving all over the place, trying to eat the boys’ Legos and giving me heart palpitations in no time. Little will be writing his name from left to right, maybe even with the letters in the right order. Big will be going off to friends’ houses whose parents I haven’t known since he was crawling. And I’ll say, how did this happen so fast?!—even if on the baby-to-kid spectrum it happened to be rather slow. Because on my spectrum, the one where I have two little boys and a baby girl, it will be like the blink of an eye.

So, please kids, continue to take it slow. Because I, too, need a little more time before you grow up any more.

Lesson #1: If the boys—who have been at each other all day—are finally getting along, chances are they’re playing a game where they’re pretending to fight each other. Yes, lightsabers and guns, they’re a mom’s best frenemy.

Lesson #2: Even though you can’t get sick from a flu shot, you do. Every time. Pink has only had two bad colds—ever (a miracle in our house). Each one has hit within hours of the magic potion (we’re still waiting for Wednesday’s shot to wear off).

Lesson #3: Then again, having a brother whose preschool friends were trying to one up each other on Tuesday might have been part of the problem. “I have the worstest cold.” “I have the badest of the badest colds!” “I have the badest of the worstest and I’m coughing and my nose won’t stop dripping.” (Have I mentioned what co-oping does to me?)

Lesson #4: I’ll take the preschooler’s germs over the kindergartener’s lice notices any day. Especially when they’re sent home the day after Big, Little and I all spent the afternoon getting cozy in the classroom.

Lesson #5: It’s a relief that my obsessive searching has proven that the only thing reproducing (at an alarming rate) on my unwashed scalp so far is grey hairs.

Lesson #6: There’s just as much name dropping at parties in the Silicon Valley as in LA. Only the celebrities here aren’t Brad, Angelina and George. They’re Larry, Steve and Mark.

Lesson #7: If your kid has a balloon biting fetish (fortunately this is one thing that hasn’t plagued one of my kids…yet), it’s probably best not to let him run around unsupervised at a birthday party with a balloon artist.

Lesson #8: It seems all good food comes in circles. Somehow, at the end of every meal (which is really the beginning, most of the time), Little only has a circle left. What can cure this? Cookies. Cupcakes. Donuts. Or chips.

Lesson #9: While Big’s diet is far more impressive than Little’s, he has his make-mommy-oh-so-proud moments too. While I was running Sight Word Bingo in his creepy-crawly class on Valentine’s Day, he was struggling to find the word “we”. Then he explained—in front of the teacher and another mother or two—it’s because he was looking for “Wii”.

Lesson #10: Now that Big’s a two-wheelin’ biker boy, I’m going to need to invest in a better pair of running shoes or my own bike.

Time to jog my way over to the couch to veg out on this not-really-Sunday-Sunday night. Enjoy the long weekend!

There was a relatively short list on a post-it note. A five-year-old boy who actually enjoys grocery shopping. And an almost-9-month-old baby who doesn’t care where she is, as long as she’s in a Baby Bjorn. We hopped in our chariot for what was sure to be a quick trip.

About a block from the store, Pink started screaming. Being the baby whisperer that I am, I recognized the scream as one of a little girl whose flaming diaper rash has just been, well, reignited. Perhaps it was because I’d changed three dirty diapers the past hour or so, perhaps it was sheer arrogance, but whatever the reason, I didn’t bring the diaper bag.

“Mah-om, Pink’s crying!”
“Do you see any diapers or wipes back there?”
“Nope.”
“I didn’t think so.”

A couple loops around the parking lot confirmed the usual Sunday crowd had multiplied into Thanksgiving-eve proportions. We parked. Big, who insisted on sitting in Little’s car seat, couldn’t get the belt unbuckled. We wrestled it. We got Pink out. We walked into the store. We bought diapers. And wipes. We walked out past a sign notifying patrons that the store had applied for a license to serve alcohol. How strange, I thought. We walked back to the car. I changed Pink. Big complained that it was taking forever. I put Pink in the Bjorn. We walked back to the store. We tried again.

After checking off the majority of our list in the produce section, we fought our way out and on to the next aisle. Big started swaying side to side with his knees knocking together. The sound of swishing track pants had me rolling my eyes long before he said:

“I have to go to the bathroom.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Ok, I don’t have to go.”
“No, no, of course it’s fine. You obviously have to go. Come on.”

We worked our way through the carnivores—who were much more gruff and aggressive than the herbivores—and went to the restroom. I’d love to say we didn’t know where it was, but it’s as familiar to us as the milk section.

There was the requisite fight discussion about why he couldn’t go in the men’s room alone. So we all headed into the ladies’ room where he proceeded to examine each stall before settling on a vacant one. A toilet flushed. And if you’ve been with a baby who’s just decided loud noises are as offensive as a burning rash, you can imagine what our wait was like. In order to distract myself, I looked at my phone. Lenny had texted, “Can you please get celery?” Sure. Sure we can.

We headed back out relieved (meaning Big’s bladder and Pink’s anxiety, of course), and went all the way back to the far end of the produce section to get logs for Lenny’s ants. Then tried again.

Our cart was right where we’d left it and ready to roll (in an awkward, lopsided fashion of course, but it rolled nonetheless). Actually, it would have rolled if every single person in the store didn’t seem to be stopping right where they’d block us from making progress—with bold defiance. It was as if they’d made an announcement that the person who most blatantly got in our way would get their groceries free that day.

Oh, and Big heard that announcement. He wanted in on the competition. I’d zig, he’d zag. I’d beg him to walk in a single file line behind me, he’d step on my heel. I’d get ready to go and he’d suddenly be standing in front of the cart.

Meanwhile, Pink’s confidence was building. About half way through the store, she decided to get in on the fun. Cereal boxes were being knocked off shelves. The grocery list was being chewed on. Drool was making the shiny floors extra slick.

So when we got to the baby food, I knew I’d have to be extra careful. In our world, digging through all that pureed goodness is like mining for gold. You see, the only kinds Pink can eat (thanks to her lovely allergies) are pears and squash. Not the pear/raspberry combination that was in the pear slot. Nope, can’t have that. Somehow, someway we escaped with four measly jars of squash and no broken glass. Phew.

More blocking. An accidental tackling of a two-year-old girl whose mother let her roam free in the cracker aisle. And a final check of the list revealing we only forgot one thing. Cream cheese.

Cream freakin’ cheese.

I don’t know about your store, but at this one, the cheese aisle not only draws the most traffic, it has huge poles throughout it to ensure that there’s no smooth way in or out. And, well, I don’t think I need to spell out how well our final acquisition went.

This may come as a shock to many of you, but patience isn’t something that comes naturally to me. Or unnaturally, most of the time. But I kept my cool. I joked. Told Big we’d better check the lost and found to see if someone had come across my mind. He joked back. Saying that I was off-the-charts crazy. But could we buy some gum? No. No gum.

Together we emptied the cart. I glanced at my phone. Another text, “Where are you? Is everything alright?” Big wiggled his way to the end of the checkout line and started packing up the bags (because of course I chose the line with no bagger). He did a great job—and was so proud that he was being helpful when I was feeling so frustrated. And I couldn’t help but feel the same way. A shining moment.

I handed over a ridiculous amount of money and realized that they didn’t ask for my ID. Not because I didn’t look 40 (obviously people around our parts have had serious work done if that’s the criteria for carding), but because I didn’t buy any wine. Right.

We loaded up the car and finally headed home. As soon as we walked in, Lenny, who had been relaxing on the couch with a sleepy Little said, “You should have had me go. I like grocery shopping.”

End scene.

Do tell, what was your most memorable shopping trip? (Please tell me I’m not alone!)

Now, on to official blog business. While these really span the last couple weeks, lessons #1-3 were today. I’m still reeling.

Lesson #1: After a grocery trip (with Pink and Big) that brought me to my knees (and very close to tears), I realized that our local Safeway is totally on to something. They’ve applied for a license to serve alcohol. And based on my experience—along with the other families I witnessed—it’s going to be a big money maker for them.

Lesson #2: According to Big, crazy is on a scale of 1-100. And after our shopping trip, he said I was “like, a 2000″. I’m thinking telling him we needed to see if the grocery store had a lost & found so we could try to find my mind may have been the culprit behind the last 0.

Lesson #3: Maybe a little crazy isn’t such a bad thing after all. Somehow Big finished the shopping trip feeling so bad for me that he ended up bagging all of our groceries. Without being asked. (And surprisingly quickly…though at the 2-hour mark, what’s a few extra minutes?)

Lesson #4: If you find yourself jealous that both your kids have play dates, take matters into your own hands. I one up’ed em—had the plumber and washing machine repair guy come over on the very same day.

Lesson #5: If you happen to be a plumber and your clients can overhear you talking to your colleague, there are certain phrases that don’t exude confidence: “Hmm…” “Wow!” (followed by loud sighs) “I’ve never seen one like that…” “Hey, how’d you do that?!” “Oops!”

Lesson #6: Beware of hiding from your play date if you aren’t sure that they’re going to arrive any moment. Otherwise when they do show up, they might find you sound asleep.

Lesson #7: And if you have a kid who really likes to hide—especially when it’s time to leave for school—you might just find him curled up in the empty bookshelf you’ve been too busy to fill.

Lesson #8: When you leave your kids behind to go away for a few days, you can’t help but worry about them picking up bad habits. Big’s new vice? Eating seaweed.

Lesson #9: Your brain takes a few days to come back from vacation. Which explains why I put Pink’s bowl of sticky icky baby food within her reach. Every meal for the first three days.

Lesson #10: Apparently Little thinks he’s a better parent than I am. The other day, he turned to me and said, “Can you watch Pink? I need to go to the bathroom. I’ll be super fast!”

I’d write more, but since Safeway hasn’t gotten that license yet, I have to make up for lost time. Have a great week!

This Week’s Spotlight: Norton Reserva Malbec
This Argentinian wine was served at the party Lenny’s company hosted at our resort. It was flavorful, smooth and kept magically reappearing in my glass. Since most of the wines I drink are from California, it was fun to try something different and find a new wine I can share with friends for under $20.

Do you have a wine you enjoy from Argentina?

I’m not going to lie. I was nervous about leaving the kids. Really nervous. (The ten pages of typed directions, overflowing fridge and collection of daily goodies/notes for the kids were proof.) But our wonderful nanny and my brave mom—with the help of many kind friends along the way—had everything under control.

We relaxed, we ate, we drank, we danced, we swam, we spa-ed, we enjoyed being spoiled rotten (and the event planners made sure we were—at every turn). It came and went all too quickly, and now we’re home with little more than our tans and some lovely souvenirs to prove we were ever away. And while I will certainly miss the carefree, breezy beach vacation, I find myself drawing surprising parallels now that we’re home.

Waking up to the sounds of the waves crashing on the shore and the warm sun put my soul at ease and made me smile.

Waking up to the sounds of a quietly babbling baby then a definitive, “Ah duh!”—her best attempt at “all done”—filled my heart with joy and made me laugh.

Oh how I loved walking along the sand, collecting itty-bitty seashells.

Oh how I loved walking through our tree-lined neighborhood, watching Little collect stick after glorious stick.

I was basking in solitary moments—uninterrupted—lost in thought-provoking novels with deep characters and twisting plot lines.

I was basking in needy limbs—constantly interrupted—as Big took on his new library book filled with silly characters and word play.

Very few things are as relaxing as lying on a plush lounge chair, only lifting a finger to sip the fresh ice water or fish tacos that magically appeared in front of me.

Very few things are as relaxing as lying on our soft couch, typing away as Little’s body melts into mine, and he finally dozes off for a few quiet minutes.

Dancing to MJ, Rihanna and the stellar karaoke stylings of my new friends, had me laughing and moving with wild abandon.

Dancing to Alvin, Simon, Theodore and the Chipettes had me remembering just how much fun it is to watch my kids laughing and moving with wild abandon.

Hearing Lenny’s SVP share the accomplishments of the team members at the awards dinner was an amazing reminder that a compliment—especially shared in the company of others—is a true gift.

Hearing Big, Little and Pink help each other, laugh together and kiss goodnight is an amazing reminder that having siblings—even during squabbles—is a true gift.

Having Lenny all to myself gave me time to reflect and remember the many reasons I adore him.

Watching Lenny come home and jump right in with the kids allowed me to remember the many reasons they adore him.

Oh, I’ll look back on this vacation and wish myself away to the magical suite with the vast patio overlooking the water and our very own private hot tub. I’ll long for the serenity of palm trees swaying and waves crashing. I’ll wish someone was delivering me a mid-morning fruity cocktail and asking if I need anything else. Because of course, the answer is always yes.

I’ll look back on this time fondly and look forward to the idea that we might do it again someday. But until then, I’ll do my very best to get caught up in the every day moments that take my breath away. Because between the rushing and arguing and tattling and whining, every day has a little bliss waiting to be discovered. Not in the obvious, over-the-top way an extravagant vacation does, but in the quiet, unassuming way that is life. My life. And I’ll be glad I’m right where I belong—right here at home.

Lesson #1: Saying goodbye to the kids left my heart a little broken and my face a little tear streaked. Saying hello to a tropical paradise, on the other hand, was a much easier transition.

Lesson #2: Those four free cocktails in first class became a whole lot pricier when they resulted in a carefree Lenny leaving his new iPhone on the plane.

Lesson #3: While I do love my new morning ritual of a green smoothie, I might love it even more if I added the ingredient they use to make theirs at our resort. Tequila. (Kidding, of course, Cristie.)

Lesson #4: Everybody has different vacation cravings. Mine has been reading—and I’ve totally indulged myself.

Lesson #5: While I may be an introvert, I’ve had a great time getting to know my husband’s “other” family. (Did I mention we’re here with about 30 people he works with? Oh, and I’m not just saying I like them…none of them read this. Yet. But since they’re kind of like my family now too, they won’t really have a choice.)

Lesson #6: If you give two moms of young children an empty dance floor, you better stand back or join in.

Lesson #7: Michael Jackson makes everybody your best friend. So do a few margaritas.

Lesson #8: Lenny really likes when I wake up at 8am on a kid-free vacation.

Lesson #9: He likes it even more if I talk a lot when I wake up at 8am on a kid-free vacation.

Lesson #10: The early bird catches the whales breaching. And the best lounge chairs.

I better get back to doing nothing. Adios, from sunny-ish Mexico.

He wakes up long before the rest of us to play football on his Leapster. He comes home from school with football fields he and his friend draw during free choice. He wants to wear a college or professional team’s shirt every day. He asked to paint last weekend—a welcome relief—and when I came back out, he’d painted a UCLA vs. S [for Stanford] sign. Did I mention he’s obsessed?

Not only does he have sports on the brain, he’s got movement in the body. He wants to tackle, catch, hit, chase and give commentary on each and every move along the way (and then again at dinner…and then again at bedtime). While we haven’t had much rain around here this year, when we do, I panic a little.

Don’t get me wrong, we love getting out and splashing around, but between having a baby and winter sniffles, there are times there’s no venturing out. So we venture in. Here are a few things we do to blow off steam on rainy days when we’re stuck inside:

1) Build an obstacle course—inside. I set up cones to crawl around, turn trash cans into goals, make the kids do jumping jacks and—the magic of it all—time them. The socks come off and the gloves come on. (It’s true, we take even the silliest of competitions seriously around here.)

2) Play beach volleyball, table tennis and/or have a dance off—inside. That’s right, we save video games for a rainy day treat. (So you can imagine that the boys have one heck of a rain dance.) We fire up the PS3 and alternate between Big’s favorite, Sport Champions, and Little’s Favorite (and mine, of course), Everybody Dance. You’d be amazed how quickly we’re all working up a sweat (both games use the Move controller which means you really have to get into it). The kids learn about different sports and I learn some awesome new moves to try once a year when I happen to meet a dance floor (beyond our living room).

3) Get balloon happy. While the boys would much prefer to bring the pigskin inside, I have to reign them in (or kick them out). We blow up some fresh balloons and find ways to “play ball” without breaking as much anything. How many times can we hit it in a circle or across the table without it touching the ground? Who can hit it hard enough to get it up in the skylight? Who can keep their balloon in the air the longest? You get the point…

All of these attempts to keep the kids moving—and eventually sleeping—seem to do the trick for us. So, do tell. What are your secrets for getting your kids’ wiggles out when you’re stuck inside?

Disclosure: I’m a proud member of the Play Station Family team and this post was inspired by our interactions and conversations. As a member of this group, I received copies of various games to enjoy with my family, including the ones mentioned in this post. I was not compensated for writing this and all opinions are my own.

Lesson #1: There’s a little more Claire Dunphy in me than I care to admit. Big had his first school project—to make a creative display of 100 of his favorite things—which really ended up being our school project. Come egg drop time, someone’s gonna have to lock me up.

Lesson #2: Sometimes instead of looking for a logical consequence for upsetting behavior, you just have to look for the logical explanation. This week I realized that Little’s non-stop morning tears aren’t about his clothes or breakfast, but about saying goodbye to his best friend, Big, for the day.

Lesson #3: When you’re three, going for a quick bike ride is about a ten step process. Hop in bed with your blankie. Ask for a snack. Insist on a wardrobe change. Read a book. (Baby sister’s diaper change.) Ask for another snack. Throw a temper tantrum about your shoes hurting. Throw a temper tantrum about your helmet hurting. Ride until you’re at the furthest point from home and then decide that you’re too exhausted to go any further. Watch mom have a temper tantrum. And, eventually, ride home.

Lesson #4: While getting dressed with the door open may be the prudent thing to do to ensure you can keep an eye on the kids, it becomes a bit of a risk when they’re playing “I Spy” at the breakfast table. Before you know it, the “peach” item they’re searching for is your “boobie pads”.

Lesson #5: Two little boys can empty a box of crackers and fill a laundry basket in a 24-hour period.

Lesson #6: No matter how brilliant you think your own kid is, there will always be someone to humble you. While working in Big’s kindergarten class the other day, I reminded a little girl to write her name on her paper. And she did. In cursive.

Lesson #7: Some boys play superheroes. Some play fireman. Mine plays Food Network. The other night I found Big re-plating his Chinese takeout and offering much more appealing looking items to his brother.

Lesson #8: Certain things should not be done while wearing a baby in a carrier. Trimming your bangs. Showering. Blow drying your hair. Hanging streamers. Moving the car out of the driveway. I know because I considered all and attempted a few recently.

Lesson #9: Sometimes a title is not reflective of your qualifications. While I’m thrilled to be returning as a Yahoo! Shine Parenting Guru this year (and the company just keeps getting better!), I’m thinking they should consider calling me Bossy Mom Who’s Learned Everything She Knows From Her Own (Frequent) Mistakes and Failures. (I hope you’ll read my latest, comment and share…over here.)

Lesson #10: I did something to anger the nap gods. In a major way.

I’m afraid I’m too tired to come up with something witty here. I’m blaming #10. That and the kid in my lap trying to type (luckily it’s the one who can’t read this). Good night, sleep tight.

You see lately I’ve been feeling suffocated by our stuff. When we moved into our sweet little house seven years ago, we were newlyweds and didn’t have enough furniture to fill three glorious bedrooms. Now, as a family of five, we have enough to fill every bedroom and and then some. Which is where the shed comes in.

But as we move things out to their new home, I can’t help but wonder why we’re holding on to some of these things. Do we really need them, or is it just too hard to let go?

Will I ever glance back through my brainstorming notebooks from the ad agency I worked at ten years ago? (Or the company I worked at one year ago, for that matter?) Probably not. But I can’t help remembering that people thought I was pretty good at writing ad copy. And this being at home with the kids thing I’ve been doing? Well, I’m not so sure I am good at it. Even if I do love it.

That box of itty-bitty bikinis and the like? Even if I could wear them still, I wouldn’t. But I can still smell the salt air that screams, “It’s 10am on Saturday. Time to roll out of bed and onto the beach again.”

I haven’t had the heart to move the bassinet out there yet. Besides being buried under a pile of—you guessed it—stuff, it’s a reminder that we have a teeny, sweet, cuddly baby. Only that sweet, cuddly baby isn’t so teeny any more.

Old toys, Halloween costumes and, Lenny’s favorite, my roller blades. It’s not about the role they might play in our future, though that’s what I tell myself. It’s about the role they played in my past.

And the more I think about this, the more I realize it’s not just my garage or closet that’s overflowing with stuff. My head is too. So I can’t find the really important stuff, because it’s buried under a bunch of other junk I can’t seem to throw out.

How am I going to get Little to preschool and get to Big’s school in time to be the art volunteer tomorrow? Did I sound professional in the email I sent regarding a freelance job this morning since I was holding a crying baby at the time? Will saying “no” now mean that people will stop asking altogether? It’s been a couple weeks since I bought that DVD organizer and it’s still sitting in the bassinet. Did I remember to do the dishes tonight? Will Little wake up scared again and cry for me to sleep in his bed? Will I ever get a sign that my dad is watching over me? Will my kids? What am I going to talk to a bunch of strangers about at Lenny’s work dinner next week? Is Jennifer Aniston really going to be a mom? And if so, will she ever have a day like I did today? I should go to bed. I just totally over shared…and I’m pretty sure it wasn’t in the endearing, insightful way, but in the creepy a-blog-is-not-a-journal way.

You see? I have too much stuff. But I’m working on cleaning things up. A little bit at a time.