Is Santa Real?

The murmurings had been there for weeks, maybe even months. "I'm not sure if I believe in Santa," Holden mumbled one evening while I was reading "Henry Huggins" to him and Riley. Henry, the Beverly Cleary character, is about Holden's age - maybe a little older - and was also questioning the existence of Santa, the Tooth Fairy and all the wonderful, magical creatures who make children dream, and give parents ammo to ensure good behavior.

As we near closer to winter, Holden's musings on the existence of Santy Claus came faster. He'd raise his doubts without warning, in passing, with his brother - still full of wonder and belief - nearby. "Shhhh..." we'd say and whisk him out of his brother's earshot. "Let's talk about it later," we'd add, hoping we wouldn't have to.

But today, as we enjoyed one of our favorite family holiday rituals, Holden couldn't quell his doubts any longer. We were going through Grandma Sheila's dozens of boxes, lovingly removing the ornaments she's collected over the years. We love hearing where each came from and hanging our favorites at the front of the tree. Holden, though, walked away from the activity he's looked forward to for weeks. When he returned, he asked to speak to me privately.

We went in the other room and he said, "I have to know. Are you and Dad Santa Claus?"

"Well," I said hesitantly (after all, I'm the Jew in this relationship, I didn't sign on for the job of quashing kids' dreams). "What do you think?"

"I don't know," he said quietly. "I want to believe, but I also want to know the truth."

So I sent him to get his Father.

They returned and I told Kevin what Holden and I were discussing. He looked at me. I shrugged.

"OK, Holden. You're right," he admitted.

Holden's eyes got teary, as did mine. It was as if, in that moment, we were mourning a little piece of his childhood, and we all felt it.

He agreed to keep the secret, for Riley's sake, and to not talk about it at school. We explained how, although Santa may not be real, the magic and hope the character creates is. And, at this time of year, it's nice to have him be a part of the season - representing giving and filling children's dreams.

Holden got it, and returned to the living room to continue decorating the tree. Then, he made a big show of making his wish list for Santa, and got Riley inspired to do the same. He asked if he could be in on the Santa plan this year. He doesn't realize it, but he already is.

Scouts Honor?

We don't eat at Chick-fil-A. It's not because we don't like the food (which is mediorcre, at best). But because we don't want our hard-earned money to go to the coffers of a company that endorses hate and intolerance, and supports it financially.

Which is why, now, we find ourselves with a true moral dilemma. For the last two years, the Boy Scouts of America has been a big part of our lives. Holden has very much enjoyed the group activities, camping and all that he's learned and earned. We've always known that the Boy Scouts had some backward policies on allowing gay scouts and troop leaders, but we were encouraged that the policies were under consideration, and felt that our own little Cub Scout world was insulated from the hate of the larger organization.

But with the Boy Scouts announcement last week that, after a two year review, it will still ban gays, we find ourselves questioning if we can allow our children to participate in an organization that is so exclusionary. Holden is a great scout and we are so proud of him for his commitment, effort and accomplishments. He has worked so hard and we've all had a lot of fun. Riley can't wait to join the ranks in a few weeks.

We're going to begin, I think, with a dialogue with our local Cub Scout leaders. I don't know of any other way to start this tough decision-making process.

The boys would be disappointed to have to give up Scouting, and I don't want to be the source of that sadness. But I think about all the kids and parents being denied this opportunity, and how awful they must feel that the Scouts' message is that they are not good enough, not the same. I don't know if my boys would understand now. But I have to hope that, later down the road, they'll look back and know that whatever decision we make is out of love, peace, fairness and in support of something we truly believe in: That everybody, no matter what, should be treated equally with all the same opportunities. Bigotry is just not valued in our family, and shouldn't be by a service organization, either.

At the Advancement Ceremony in June. Proud Holden and his proud dad, as Holden becomes a Bear.

Holden's Den 6 with Cub Master Plaster

Fire Watch

About a year ago, Kevin came across an article that talked about renting out an old fire watch tower at Morton Peak in the Angeles National Forest (in San Bernardino, by the back-way route to Big Bear). We filed it away in the "when we have a free weekend" file, and finally got to pull it out and use it a couple weeks ago. It's billed as one of the area's best-kept secrets with a view to die for. They weren't kidding.

Three Hipstamatic Shots:

So, basically, what we have is cabin two stories up on top of a peak that sports 360-degree views of Yucaipa, Mentone and Redlands and the forest. Volunteers from the U.S. Forest Service staff it during the day to keep an eye out for smoke in the forest. There are several of these scattered on peaks throughout the forest, but this is the only one the public can rent for the night.

We arrived mid-afternoon and ran into some volunteers who gave us a crash course on the tower, smoke spotting and everything else we'd need to know about (like rattlesnakes). Then, they got in their four-wheel drive trucks and headed down the three-mile, one lane, bumpy dirt road to the main highway. And we were on our own - just us, the view and a warm breeze.

We explored, we played catch, we cooked dinner on our grill at a picnic table below (no cooking inside). And we really, really enjoyed the view, the sunset and the stars.

Inside the tower - the thing in the middle helps volunteers spot and report exact fire locations. There is just enough space for two twin beds and kids on the floor with sleeping pads and sleeping bags.

The kids tried to stay up to see as many stars as possible, but by 8:30, our early risers were asking to go to sleep. Before that, Riley correctly spotted and named Mars and the Big Dipper, proclaiming himself a "genius."

I stayed inside with them a bit until they were settled then wandered back out on to the balcony, only to be overcome with feeling so small and insignificant at the vast universe showing itself around me. Nothing like feeling like a speck of insignificant dust in the universe to make your problems seem small.

This was something Holden, our aspiring astronomer, could not miss. Kevin went in and woke him and picked him up to carry him outside. "What's going on? Where are we go- WHOA!" he said when he saw the twinkling sky. It was a magical moment we will never forget. (Be sure to click on the photos to see them larger).

None of us slept well, unfortunately. The wind rattled the vents on the roof and a wire on a pole outside and Riley wrestled around restlessly in his sleeping bag all night.

Before our early departure back down the mountain, the kids honed their rock throwing skills over the side of the cliff.

Making Kitsch Hip

We have a lot of very, very talented friends who make the most magical, fun and whimsical baked goods you've ever seen (I'm talking to you Jami, Jenn and Nanette.) They are part of burgeoning movement to make food interesting. I so admire them, and people like them, who bring design and creativity into the kitchen.

I am not, however, one of those people.

Not that I completely lack creativity. I can write with flair sometimes. I feel I have a pretty good eye for photography. It's just that, in the kitchen, I'm lucky if I haven't completely messed up the recipe and used all the ingredients correctly. But when it comes to food appearance, I've never had the patience nor the talent to get the "wow" that my friends and so many others get with their creations. And there are so many people out there making food look amazing. I know, because they all post pictures of their masterpieces all over the Internet, leaving people like me wondering if I'm the only one who can't swirl frosting or work with fondant.

But, despite the bazillions posting all over Twitter, Facebook and, now, Pinterest ... I have to believe I am actually in the majority. There must be many more people like me quietly keeping their kids' birthday cake photos to themselves, lest they be shamed by comparison on the Internets. So, here's what I'm thinking: we all start posting photos of our truly-homemade-like-our moms-used-to-make cakes and cupcakes and start our own trend. Kitsch becomes trendy, in an ironic hipster sort of way!

I'll go first. Here's the rock climbing cake I made for Holden's 8th birthday party. I used candy rocks and licorice to mimic the climbing wall theme of his party. I knew I couldn't possibly use icing to get the letters to look good, so I went ahead and bought the pre-made candied ones. It's covered with (gasp!) store-bought frosting. There, I've admitted it.

Who's with me?

Taking Stock

There have been some sad and scary things happen recently that have caused me to pause, look around, and take stock.

In the last couple of years, we've lost some friends to heart attacks or cancer. They were all fit men in their 30's or early 40's. Most recently, a college pal of mine, Chris Stevens, died suddenly this week of a heart attack. He was a fun and funny guy, always up for anything: Dinner in Chinatown, a Giants game or a Sunday afternoon at the local Irish pub.

We've had other friends battle cancer, some who still are. We've had our own medical mysteries to contend with, too, that you can't help but eye wearily in the wake of repeated bad news.

For a few weeks there, I somehow pushed through not knowing if a lump I found under my arm was benign or not. After an ultrasound and mammogram, it appears to be benign ... but my doctor insisted I get a second opinion and, likely, a biopsy. I'm feeling more relaxed about it than I was before. But, I feel like lately, I can't seem to shake that "you just never know" feeling about life's end.

So, sometimes, when we're all just buzzing around the house, doing out routine, I find myself stopping and taking it all in. I see the boys sharing a chair at the computer while they play games online or watch episodes of "The Electric Company," and they laugh and smile, their big heads bobbing close together. I watch as Kevin rough-houses with the boys, eliciting giggle after giggle as he tickles them relentlessly. I listen as the boys play "pretend," flying their airplanes and helicopters around the living room staging daring rescues.

And I think: "This is all worth living for."

Turn and Face the Strange

About a year ago, we experienced the joy of moving to a new home and starting a new preschool for Riley, all in a 24-hour period. That just forced us to raise the bar for this year's end-of-the-summer transition. This year, I started a new job (with an hour commute each way) and Holden had his first day of first grade, all in the same two-day period. And, for kicks, a first soccer practice for Holden was thrown into the mix ... along with an ant attack of massive proportions.

One thing at a time, though. First, the job.

To bring you up to speed, here is what I wrote to the Daily Breeze readers to explain the change. Here is how I explained it to my colleagues:

It’s hard to look back at 25 years of goal-directed behavior and decide to veer off path. For as long as I can remember, I’ve always wanted to be a newspaper reporter. And, for the last 15 years, I’ve been living that dream. But, like all good dreams, you have to wake up some time, and face reality.

My reality now is two young boys who deserve to have their own dreams fulfilled, whatever they may be. For the last few years, like almost every reporter I know, I’ve existed under a cloud of uncertainty. The lack of job security hangs over my dream, and my children’s future dreams, like a dark, thunderous cloud ready to strike unexpectedly. Like a nightmare.

Most the time, despite the stress, it’s a lot of fun. I love the thrill of a breaking news story, everyone hunkered down trying to figure out who the killer is and why he did what he did. I love the thrill of watching justice served in emotional courtroom dramas. I love being in the newsroom, filled with funny, smart, dramatic, entertaining and supportive people. But there are many days when the unpredictability, deadline pressure, lack of resources and mean-spirited user comments take their toll. When those days began to outnumber the others, I knew it was time for a change.

I will always believe in newspapers, especially scrappy ones like the Daily Breeze, where a team of reporters and editors are working their asses off to do real good journalism under less than ideal conditions. I would be lying if I said I don’t feel guilt and am undergoing a bit of an identity crisis. But this just feels like the right move, at the right time

I'm now two days into my new job as a writer/editor in the public affairs department of First 5 L.A. I can't say I love it ... yet. I can say it doesn't suck. I wish I can say the move has brought me a windfall of extra income. It has brought me a change of direction and pace when I needed it, and it feels kinda good to be out of my comfort zone. I feel secure for the future for now. Change is hard and this one didn't come without a lot of tears and debate. Down moments last weekend were sometimes met with panic. I hoped I made the right choice. I don't know yet if I have - I believe time will tell. But I feel at peace with my decision, and I'm gonna just go with that for now. I've received lots of wonderful support from Kevin and many friends, colleagues, professional contacts and family members - and that means more than I could ever say.

There are, of course, trade offs. Putting aside the whole journalism thing, the other hard part is the commute to downtown L.A. Which means Kevin is point parent for pick-up after school, and most nights I won't be home until around 6:30 - an hour later than before. Which means, every week, this already guilt-ridden, full-time job mommy is spending five hours less with her kids than before.

Today was Holden's first day of first grade. When I came in and asked, while he was eating dinner, how the first day was, he replied: "I already told Dad." Sniff.




Then came the rush-rush of finish dinner, homework, baths and bed. Finally, through heavy eyelids and with an exhausted voice, he told me about his day, where he sat in the classroom and that his teacher, Ms. Laster, seems nice.

With new beginnings - be it a job, soccer season or school year - comes the inevitable sense that things are changing (and an endless wave of emergency contact forms to fill out). Change is scary and hard, and this week so far has proven that. But with change comes excitement, challenge and learning. I think we're ready.

Soccer Mom

For several moments every week, the only thing in my line of vision is my cleat-covered foot, my breath and the starry night sky. As a child who did anything to avoid sports, especially organized team sports, the irony of these moments is not lost on me. Every Tuesday night, I force my tired, exhausted and over-wrought body out of the house at 8 p.m. and trudge over to Holden's elementary school, where a new, fake-turfed soccer field beckons to me and dozens of other women.

This whole thing began with an email last fall from a fellow "mom" and a soccer player who was tired of seeing all these women sitting along the sidelines while their kids reaped the benefits of soccer. Expecting maybe 20 or so women, she got about 70 - and the numbers keep growing. Off the Sidelines, as it's called, is affiliated with Holden's AYSO region and gives women of all experience levels a chance to learn and play soccer.

I have never, ever played soccer in my life and felt lucky that I could even recognize the black and white spotted ball as the correct one for the game. But in the last six months or so, I've learned the rules of the game, some strategies and how to head, chest, knee and kick a ball into the general direction I wish it to go.

It hasn't been easy. But, by far, the hardest part is forcing myself out of the house into the cold when all I really want to do is curl up in my jammies in front of the TV and enjoy the couple child and work-free hours of day I have. Once I'm out on the field under the lights, though, I'm thrilled to be there.

For an hour and a half I don't have to think about anything but soccer. From our warm-up runs and stretches to the drills to the scrimmages, the only thing on my mind is my feet, the ball and the goal. I don't wear a watch and am always surprised to hear the 15-minute warning has come so quick. Nose running and cheeks burning rosy, I charge forward repeating my mantra to myself: "Go! Go! Go!" No thoughts of kids who hit or deadlines - just me, the night and the sport.

Besides the obvious health benefits of regular exercise and the opportunity to learn something new, there's something else I think of while lying on my back on the damp "grass" and stretching my calf with my foot up in the air: I look around, and see all these other women doing the same thing. Most all of them are mothers who live in our neighborhood with kids who go to the same schools mine do or will go to. We're so close to home I can see the field lights from Holden's window and, as I run down the sideline dribbling the ball, I can look up and see Riley's pre-school classroom. It's the first time since my childhood that I feel a real sense of "community."

This feeling comes not only from these weekly scamperings, but also from being a part of the local school - where I'm involved on the advisory board at the Child Development Center (Holden's afterschool care and Riley's pre-school), take part in PTA activities and Kevin and I both regularly volunteer in all the kids' classrooms. In the past year, Kevin has taken photos for Riley and Holden's classes and attended the big 100 Day Celebration at kindergarten, while I've talked about Hannukkah and Passover in Holden's classes and accompanied Riley's class to the pumpkin patch for Halloween.

Through each of these activities, we've got to know our kids' friends and are slowly learning who their parents are. Along with birthday parties, T-Ball and regular school drop-offs and pick-ups, we're finally placing faces with names, and vice versa.

In addition, we have 26 new neighbors in our new townhome complex who we are getting to know. Most have young children (younger than Holden and Riley), but I imagine when all these babies start riding their bikes, Holden and Riley will be leading the charge along the driveways. Hopefully, this will be while their parents and us sip margaritas on the patio! But HOA meetings and other celebrations have given us a chance to meet and interact with our neighbors in a way we never have before and, as we set down roots in this new community, we are hopeful we'll intertwine and grow with everyone else's.

This may all seem cliche what with the middle age women seeking athletic outlets, the soccer mom tendencies and the PTA meetings ... but we're learning that there is a reason people take part in their communities. It's grounding. It's nice to belong. And we hope that, as the kids grow, they really get a sense of what it's like to be a good neighbor, friend and, of course, athlete.

New Kids on the Block

It seems like about once a year, it rains babies. In the last couple months, there's been this one, and this one and then this one. We are very very lucky in that that first one, Sidney, lives about 15 steps from our front door. And her parents are kind enough to let me come over pretty often to take in her sweet baby smell and kiss her soft head. We eye each other's kids with a bit of envy. Linda has admitted that she sees Holden and Riley and all they do and can't help but wish Sidney were a bit older – out of that newborn fog, laughing and running. Meanwhile, I look at her baby and think back on some moments I'll always remember, but will never relive again: Napping with Riley for three hours in the morning on the couch, watching them kick kick kick with glee at the water in their sink baths or the little coos they make when nursing in the still of the night.

Now, everything is so big-kid oriented. We even gave Grant our Pack 'n Play, marking the final finale of our crib days. I can't remember the last time I changed a diaper. Our sippy cups sit unused, taking up space in the cupboard.

Riley informed me a couple weeks ago that I'm to no longer give a “boop” on his nose with the toothbrush after brushing his teeth. “I'm three now,” he said. After a boopless tooth brushing, he runs to his room where he takes his clothes off by himself and puts on his pajamas mostly without help (shirts are hard!).

Holden, who plays soccer with that concentrated determination I remember seeing in the boys I grew up with, gets completely dressed and undressed by himself. Yesterday, he came inside after school and realized he forgot his backpack in the car. Gone are the days where I'd sigh and retreat back to the garage to fetch it for him. What did I do? I handed him the car keys. I. Handed. Him. The. Car. Keys. And without an ounce of hesitation or whines of “I caaaaan't,” he went into the garage, unlocked the car, got his backpack, LOCKED the car, and came back up. Whaaa?

We still struggle with our expectations of each other. We still expect them to not yell, run, roll around on the floor and jump off the furniture during a quick errand to the mall. They still expect us to drop everything and anything to respond to their needs RIGHT NOW.

While I still catch myself thinking wistfully of the future and how great it will be when they're more independent and reasonable, I look back at all these newborns and see how far we've come. Those babies are damn cute. But I still find the cute in my long-limbed boys, scooting around on the floor with their fire trucks, planes and race cars while making up elaborate stories about flying to outer space. It makes me smile when they play so nicely and creatively together, for remarkably long periods of time. They may not always need me anymore, but I'll always need them.

Kindergarten: The Beginning of the Beginning

I feel like there should be something really profound to express here about Holden's first day of kindergarten. But I've got nothing. I'm all the usual things a mom should be on such a landmark day for her kid - happy, proud, a bit nervous. Aside from that, the day felt suspiciously like many others in its past.

Holden started two days ago at the Washington Elementary School Child Development Center, where he will go before and after his afternoon kindergarten class. Riley started there several weeks ago in the pre-school, and we've thus far been satisfied with out experience. So dropping Holden off on his first day of kindergarten was not how I always pictured it would be, or how I remembered mine oh so many years ago. For us, there were no tears, leg clinging, pictures by his cubby and lingering waves and blowing kisses. It was our usual "see ya later alligator," and I barely got a kiss good-bye as the kids were eager to run off and play cars together.

So, while the day itself didn't seem very momentous, I can't help but think about all this means for all of us in the long run. The long run being the next 17 years or so. It's been nearly 15 years since I graduated college, and left things like homework, scheduled vacations and emergency contact forms behind. Now, all I see is a life defined by these things - multiplied when you factor in all the responsibilities and activities that come with this time of life: PTA, soccer, religious school, scouting and whatever other sports or extra-curricular activities likely to come our way. It's overwhelming, honestly.


But, for the first time in nearly 15 years, I'm also experiencing what it's like to have life defined by child, family and community. Sure, we'll be a slave to the still non-existent weekend AYSO schedule for the next few months and we'll have to think hard about taking off for three-day weekends in the middle of April ... but we are looking forward to watching the kids learn, play and have fun with what we hope will be a whole new batch of friends. We've already started feeling the community a bit in our new townhome complex, where we are surrounded by kids who are starting to get to know each other, and we get to know the adults.

This must be what it means to plant roots. The last few months has felt like soil tilling. Today, a little seedling got plopped into the fresh dirt. It's going to be a thrill to watch it grow and blossom.

On Blogs, Wienermobiles, Carousels and New Friends

The Internet is kinda weird. Never before have people who would otherwise not have any way of knowing each other wind up friends, correspondents, lovers, fans, supporters, co-workers or enemies. While I guess, with this blog, I could be categorized as one of the "Mommy Bloggers," I know I don't hold a candle to the mom's and dad's who are really OUT THERE with their lives. Some have turned their musings into an industry, while others have found unexpected communities of generosity, kindness and support.

About a year ago, I was bored at work one afternoon and reading a blog kept up by Nanette, a friend of the Messingers. She is one of the first people I know in real life who was regularly writing a blog that had followers who were not just people she really knew. She had amassed a whole new group of friends with similar interests based on her writings about such things like baking and pop culture. Figuring I liked the things she wrote about, I'd see who else she was reading and started clicking down her blogroll.

Somewhere down the list, I stopped. For a very, very long time. I had found one titled Matt, Liz and Madeline. Despite having no idea who these people were, I was suddenly sucked into the most heartbreaking tale. Long story short, I quickly figured out that Matt Logelin was sharing publicly his daily ins-and-outs in a world that brought him his daughter, Maddie, one day - only to take the love of his life, his wife Liz, the next. Through my tears that afternoon, I kept reading. And since then, I check back every few weeks to see what Matt and Maddie are up to.

Weird, right? I know. But I found myself reading his posts as I would from a friend who had sent a letter or an e-mail. I cared. I was concerned. I cheered his joys and teared for his sorrows. All the while, I watched as the most beautiful and photogenic little girl grew from squirmy baby to nearly walking 15-month-old. Matt also takes lots of great pictures, often with an edgy urban feel I admire (have to admit, been using dutch angles in my work more because of his inspriation!).

At one point, he and I corresponded briefly. I felt compelled to share his sharing and the reporter in me itched to do a story about him. But, because he is what we call "OTA" (Outta the Area) and way off my court beat anyway, I had to get special permission to do it for our sister paper in the Valley. Matt wanted to participate, but had just given an interview to a national magazine and promised he wouldn't do anymore until that article came out. Between then and the publication of that People article, the editor who gave me the green light got fired and the publicity storm around Matt swelled. He's since been on Oprah and God knows where else.

Part of that recognition came because, late last year, Matt announced on his blog the formation of the Liz Logelin Foundation. As more and more people found him and began to follow their lives, more and more people sent presents for him and Maddie. Wanting to share the wealth and honor his late wife's memory, the Foundation benefits single parents who don't have the resources they need. To further raise awareness for the organization, he holds little gatherings (he lives in the L.A. area but travels a lot) for people to come and meet him and Maddie and support the Foundation.

When I saw last week that they, and the Oscar Mayer Wienermobile, would be having a meet-up Sunday at Griffith Park AND that we had no plans on Sunday, I knew I wanted to go. I packed a picnic lunch and the boys to go and meet some complete strangers friends in the park.

The Oscar Mayer people sold raffle tickets for a ride in the Wienermobile, as well as a hotdog-shaped pedal car and a remote control hot dog car. Furthering our weekend of sourpuss ungratefulness, Holden's mood turned drastically when our tickets weren't picked. There's been a lot of complaining lately about things that are not worthy of complaint ... things that are fun, little boy-oriented and planned specifically with their interests in mind. We had had a nice time, and I remained as patient as I could running solo with them all day, but we needed some perspective.

I reminded Holden of all the fun things he got to do - play in the park, ride the carousel and eat ice cream. Then, thinking of Matt and Maddie, I launched into some speech about appreciating all you have and being grateful for other people's generosity, which I'm sure he didn't hear. But after meeting all the people that came out to support the Liz Logelin Foundation, I attacked with a new sense of vigor and purpose, knowing there is lots and lots of good people out there.


Here is Maddie, by far the most popular girl in the park that day. I looked forward to photographing her and glad she was a willing subject. When I first arrived, I held her for a while. But she wanted nothing to do with me and kept reaching out for my adorable companion, Holden. He, unfortunately, wasn't so cooperative and responded by taking a step back and hitting me on the head as I tried to chat.

Both kids were keen to ride the carousel. Despite the enthusiasm, Riley balked when it came time to, uh, pony up. Just before the spin started, he mounted and was fine.


Here is Maddie with dad Matt. She is on the verge of walking and it was fun to watch them interact. Matt was very gracious when I realized, kind of embarassingly, that my being there was like being a groupie. He disspelled that notion quickly and said he didn't see it that way.

As we said good-bye, I told Matt, "Thanks for sharing." Looking back, that kinda sounds lame-o and I don't think it even came close to conveying the gratitude I wanted to express. I wanted to thank him for sharing his words, photos, thoughts, emotions, adventures and life with me and the anoymous Internet. His story, and the people who have come out to support Maddie and Matt, and then their cause, can really renew one's faith in humanity. And I wanted to thank him for letting us be a part of that life, even for just one day.

Bittersweet Good-Bye

This is gonna sound silly, but the day we sold our glider - I cried. The thought of watching our couch go out the door to a new family this weekend makes me weepy. And don't even get me started on the tears I have to swallow every time I think about saying good-bye to our house.

For as much as I want to move, there is a huge part of me that will really, really miss this little home. It's the only home the boys have ever known, and it is where we had so many firsts. First words, steps, "I love yous," tears... they were all here between these four walls. That I'll never again see them tearing through the living room at full speed or choo-chooing their trains through the dining room or lining all the cars and planes up on the edge of the rug seems unfathomable.

Although this isn't the first home Kevin and I have shared, it is the first one that was really ours. When I think of all the little (and big) touches we put on this place - the painstaking hours we spent looking for the perfect pendant lights for the kitchen or the days of cutting, painting and replacing door jams - I almost feel as if I'm in mourning for a dear, lost friend.

It's about the end of an era. In this home - on that glider and on that couch - I've spent countless hours feeding, cuddling and reading to the boys. From burrito-wrapped newborns who slept snugly against the couch cushions to squirmy infants who lay on their side and nursed for hours - I know those days are gone. Leaving the place where those special times happened, never to return again, is just too much acknowledgment that those days are over.

While I look forward to making new memories against a new backdrop, I will always, always hold a special place in my heart for 15516 Chadron Ave. Backed-up plumbing, damp walls and possibly dangerous electricity be damned. It was all worth it to have a warm home filled with love and fun. Our final good-bye is just days away, and as I imagine closing the door behind me one last time, I'll remind myself that I'm only walking away from some wood and plaster.

But I'll know I'm leaving behind so much more.

Thanks for the memories.

On This Historic Night

We don't usually get political here on The Nix Family Blog. But there are some occasions where we just can't keep our mouths shut. This is one of those.

First, we have to just say, "Holy-wow-so-amazingly-blowing-our-minds-insanely-great-way-to-go-America!" Talking heads usually bore to tears. Tonight, Barack Obama moved (some of) us to tears. This is one of our first presidential elections since we became parents, and is certainly the first to come along since our economy has plunged into despair and our troops in Iraq have plunged into a no-win situation. Pension plans, mortgages, health care, education ... these are the things that keep us up at night, plotting and strategizing and worrying. We know change won't come over night, but we have something now we haven't had in a long time: Hope.

Second, we have to express concern about the early numbers coming in on California's Proposition 8. At this point, it looks like it will pass, which is heartbreaking. On a night where America literally scoffed at generations of oppression and bigotry, California seems set to set the civil rights movement back by generations. If you think people of the same sex getting married is scary, just think how scary it is that people in their own community want to deny them equality and dignity.

Yes we can.