I wonder if it's inevitable to grow cynical.

You reach a certain point in your life and you've seen it all. People behaving badly? What else is new?

The last couple of weeks I've found myself looking at some specific and disparate situations and wondering what the hell is wrong with people?

First is the situaiton with Leno and Conan. I don't know what NBC was thinking, other than money, money, money when they gave Leno his 10 p.m. show. That move not only cost them money in the long run in lost viewers, it has ultimately cost them good will. Worse yet? The whole debacle makes Leno come off looking like a total ass in his inability just to step aside. The thing is, he's not doing anything different than the rest of his Boomer comrades, refusing to step aside for the ideas and values of a younger generation. His brand of stale humor may play well to people of a certain age, but that's a demographic whose influence is fading. I fear he has lost the good will of the 24-49 year old set by simply not stepping aside to allow Conan his time to shine as host of The Tonight Show. I know, I won't be watching that show anymore even though we previously did. Of course, we began watching it as precursor to Conan back when we had our first child and were up every two hours for feedings. I have fond memories of Conan's Lullaby and maybe I relate to him because his kids are so close in age to mine. Whatever my reasons for appreciating Conan O'Brien, I know that there's no way I'm going back to watching a Leno hosted Tonight Show and I fear NBC has killed that franchise and Leno has illustrated what an ego-driven person he is by refusing to give someone else a chance.

The next frustrating issue on my list of reasons our culture is dying out is the lack of fresh and original ideas and the willingness of megacorps to steal and render bland and tasteless the fresh and original ideas of others.

I am the first to admit that Thomas the Tank Engine is not high art. But, the videos are based on the original stories of Rev. W. V. Audry which he wrote for his own son. The stop-motion videos are cute-creepy, variously narrated by the likes of Alec Baldwin, Ringo Starr, and George Carlin. As the mother of two sons, I've grown to love those cheeky little engines and find myself telling my sons they are "bossy boilers" or that they are "causing confusion and delay," whenever they misbehave.

So, it was with great dismay last week that I learned that Disney has now come out with its own train cartoon called Chuggington. And it could not be a) a bigger rip-off (What?! Anthropomorphic trains that misbehave and have to learn a lesson? Get out!) and b) more craptacular! I hate Disney's brand of really bad CGI that looks like something some dude did on his PC in the basement. I swear there's not an original thinker left at Disney with the exception of John Lasseter and I don't know if he has anything to do with their TV programming, but I would hope he wouldn't allow something so ugly and unoriginal to happen under his watch.

Then, today I read this piece. I can only imagine it's cheaper to hire a bunch of cheap Indian labor in Bangalore to render some lifeless and dull CGI instead of paying talented, creative model makers in Wales. Yet, I can't help but wonder if it's in response to Disney's thievery. Again, just dismayed at how little thought and humanity exist in "business."

So, that rounds out my week of realizing what a cold, cynical, narcissistic world we live in.

I have to say, I'd be more disappointed if I hadn't also seen some great examples of people taking time to show others they care for them...all the goodwill expressed to me around my birthday, friends volunteering to help me this week when Beckett and I both have had the flu, a new friend spending hours talking to and getting to know Scott, all of the world pulling together to help Haiti, my sweet son wanting to invite all the kids in his class to his party and shaming me when I point out that some of them have been cruel to him by saying, "Just because they're mean to me doesn't mean I can't be nice to them."

There is good in the world. I suppose I need to focus more on that than on all of the negative. The negative just wears me down so.

The months and weeks that led up to my fortieth birthday were packed with my mixed emotions and thoughts that varied from the obvious "I'm getting old" to the trite "You're only as old as you think you are." Neither of which provided much inspiration or comfort as I enter this new and exciting decade of life.

Scott has continued to struggle with all that he has been going through. My efforts to have a killer body before turning 40 got stymied by my own lack of time management, and the holidays. (I am closer, though, which, I guess, is something.) I don't feel I'm where I want to be professionally or as human being. All my goals seem just out of reach.

Yet, before I knew it, January 13, 2010 was upon me. Forty years before Mama Sloan gave birth to me, six weeks early during a snowstorm (at least as my grandmother recalled it) and here I am. Five hundred miles or so away from where I was born. Married with two children of my own and a husband I adore. Who, also, apparently, adores me...

To celebrate my turning forty, Scott and my darling friend Lucy, with some help from our other wonderful friends, threw me an amazing surprise party!

I had no idea it was coming. Scott had told me that he just couldn't plan a big party for me and that my celebration would be a trip to Vegas around my birthday. I was okay with that. I mean, I want to celebrate birthdays with friends and was hoping we could convince some to go to Vegas with us, but wasn't too hopeful since times are tight for everyone. But, I was okay. Vegas is fun and Scott has never been so I was excited about sharing that adventure with him.

So, he effectively tricked me and he and Lucy planned a spectacular and beautiful party just for me. Talk about feeling loved! I could move the stars with all that love!

The party was at Lucy's beautiful home and they invited my closest girlfriends from the neighborhood. The only thing missing was my bestest friend Courtney who lives in Texas. I am sad she wasn't there. I'd always imagined the two of us celebrating all these milestones together. But aside from that fact, everything else was splendid.

White roses. Sparkling crystal. Amazing food. Delicious cocktails. Flowing wine. And lots and lots of laughter.

My friends Laura, Lauren, Jean, Jennifer, Stacey, Tara, Lucy (of course), as well as Scott, Lucy's husband Foley, and Tara's husband Steve, were the guests. Steve and Tara were also our private chefs and they made the most exquisite gourmet meal I have had in my life.

Being a lover of great food, I have my top meals ranked and this one rose to the place of number one almost instantly. It was prepared with such love and such thought to the things I like. Two nights when I thought Scott was working late, he was actually at Steve and Tara's planning the menu. Steve and Tara, who, by the way, is six months prengant with twins, worked hard to source almost exclusively local ingredients, too, which I thought was very special. Here's what we had:

Georgia Coast Shrimp on Gouda Cheese Grits with Fresh Tomato Relish
Frisée lettuce, Pine Street Market bacon, homemade croutons, apple, with a Warm Sherry Vinaigrette
Braised Short Ribs, Celery Root and Potato Purée, Haricots Vert with Shallots, in a Red Wine Truffle Sauce
A Selection of Local Cheeses, Homemade Fig Compote, Candied Kumquats, Local Wildflower Honey, and Fresh Bread
Old-Fashioned Chocalate Cake by Southern Sweets

Seriously. Best. Meal. Ever.

If you need a private chef in the Atlanta area, let me know and I will hook you up!

Lucy has such amazing taste and I know she worked very hard to make the night special. Everything was beautiful. And it was so nice just to relax and enjoy the night, laughing and talking with friends. I didn't have to lift a finger and how often does that happen?

I really couldn't have asked for a lovelier evening and I am grateful to my beloved host and hostess, Scott and Lucy.

2010 is not beginning the way anyone would want their year to start.

For my community, the beginning of this year has been marked by pain and loss, sorrow and confusion.

On Monday we learned that a family from our neighborhood was missing. On Tuesday, we learned that the two children, a boy and girl in third and second grades, were in Virginia with relatives. Their father had dropped them off on Monday. On Wednesday, we learned that the mother was dead. Murdered by her husband.

Her name was Maureen. And I didn't know her. I had seen her at the school and at the pool. She was close to friends of mine. Yet, I am shaken to the core by this.

You see these stories on the news all the time. A father loses a job or has financial trouble or loses his mind for one reason or another and murders the whole family. Yet, reading about it on CNN is a hell of a lot different than experiencing it so close to home.

I can't stop thinking about it. I'm so worried about her children.

I picked up my son's ragged lovey yesterday, a dog named Uffie. And as I held him and smelled his dirty fur, all I could think was "Who will make sure Maureen's kids' lovies are preserved?" Who will treasure and hold on to the mementoes of their childhood? As if that even matters.

Their childhood is gone.

Shattered. Stolen.

By their father.

I am furious. And heartbroken.

And I am amazed by the things I have learned about Maureen. And sad I never knew her. She sounds amazing.

All of my friends who knew her and everyone who posted comments on her Facebook page has talked about how she encouraged them and helped them. They talk about her smile and laughter and quick wit and passion for life and family.

I wish I had known her.

Maybe that's why I'm so sad.

My community lost a vital member. Someone who was a vibrant life force who inspired others and made them believe in themselves. Someone who saw the joy to be had in life and embraced it.

I've certainly seen and been a part of my community coming together to support one of its own in quite meaningful ways. But the outpouring of love and emotion I've seen for Maureen has been astounding. I am thankful to be a part of this community, but I think we are lessened by the loss of Maureen and her children who will, I am sure, be going to live with relatives.

I hope we will all, even those of us who did not know her personally, honor Maureen by carrying something of her optimism and joy for life with us.

May she rest in peace.

Finding the right toys for your child's Christmas or holiday gift or even their birthday can be a challenge. With most kids there's so much they want, but usually only so much you can afford. If your child has Dyspraxia or another developmental condition, you probably find yourself needing to purchase toys that can help with your child's fine motor and vestibular development in addition to the fun toys they want.

If you are trying to keep your toy spending in check by combining fun with functionality, you might want to consider some of the toys below. By and large, they are toys that were recommended to me for my son Brendan by our occupational therapist. There are a few I found while researching this post that seem cool. For the most part, they are for kids with mild to moderate levels of impairment. And for the record, I have not been paid or otherwise endorsed by the makers of any of these toys, nor was I asked to include any specific toys in this post. It's all me, Baby....

The first is the Plasma Car. I had not heard of this until our therapist recommended it, but it looks like a lot of fun. MeMe will be giving this to Brendan for Christmas this year and I hope he will enjoy it and that it will help him develop more spatial awareness. The Plasma Car is a ride-on toy that uses no batteries or leg power. It uses kinetic energy and centrifugal force from the rotation of the steering wheel to move. It's great for kids who need vestibular stimulation and can also help with motor planning issues. And because it doesn't use leg power, it's great for kids with poor leg strength who have trouble pedaling.


Next on my list are Wedgits. Wedgits are great multi-dimensional building blocks (for lack of a more fitting term). You can use them with your kids to help them see and repeat sequences and to recreate structures you build. Brendan got these for Christmas from MeMe last year and has really enjoyed them. They were his favorite thing to play with during therapy, so it was a no-brainer to add them to the list.


Perhaps not quite as much fun, but a great tool for building upper body strength and aiding in motor planning is the Scooter Board. We don't have this yet, but depending on how things go when we resume OT in January, we might end up with one. I do know Brendan loves using it and anything that makes at-home therapy fun and easy for me, wins in my opinion, because so often it's a battle to get him to do our home exercises.


I guess you can see that vestibular and motor planning issues take up a lot of room in my head. We also struggle with hand strength and fine motor coordination, as well. The next item, while very basic, is basically where you want to start when you're trying to help your little one build up the strength and flexibility in their hands to do something like grip a pencil. We spent a lot of time when Brendan was 4 and 5 playing with clay and Play-Doh hoping to improve his hand strength.


For the child who is a bit older – maybe Kindergarten or first grade or older – the nifty Spyrogyro pen is really cool. It encourages them to hold the pen properly and the chunky grip makes it easier to hold it the right way. Also, when the harder the child presses down on the pen, the smaller the shapes they draw get, giving them a better sense of how hard or how lightly they are pressing. This would be a cool stocking stuffer.


Thanks to it's just being plain silly, Mr. Potato Head is a great tool for helping develop fine motor skills that transcends age to some extent. My silly almost-seven-year old loves it as much as his three-year old baby brother. It's great at forcing them to pick up and manipulate small pieces. It can be frustrating at first, but the more they play with it, you'll see improvement.



I'll try to add more to my list as we go along, but for now, for those of you looking for last minute gift ideas for your Dyspraxic children or other kids with development issues, here are a few to get you started. Good luck! And Merry Christmas!

"Happy Birthday to You! Happy Birthday to You!" we sang.

"Me?" Beckett squealed delightedly as we sang, 15 or so smiling faces showering him with love and affection.

He genuinely sounded surprised and delighted, his James cake that I baked and decorated just for him, sitting before him.

It is that sweetness, that sense of wonder and delight and joy in everything he does that makes my sweet Beckett so special. Perhaps because he has been such an easy baby and toddler when compared to his beautiful, intelligent, sensitive, stubborn, Dyspraxic brother who questions everything and pushes every button, that these three years have all but flown by. Or maybe it was the distractions of a life lived more fully this time. Whatever the cause, I want my baby back. (Okay... Am I the only one who just heard that Chili's commercial in my head? Okay. Good.)



Seriously. Where did all the time go? How did he get to be so big and strong and tough. He talks constantly and makes up funny stories. He says the funniest things. He has a delightful sense of humor. He's just like his big bro in his love for all things Thomas. But he also loves animals. Especially elephants. He does the cutest impersonation of a baby elephant and insists that I be the mommy elephant.

He just moved to a big boy bed on Monday night. I got a fantastic deal on a great mattress on craigslist from an interior decorator who does model homes. And I bought his cute, old-fashioned solid wood bed at a yard sale last summer for $5. I plan to paint it, but he was eager to have his own bed like his brother instead of the crib he was still in with the side removed.

He helped me pick out dinosaur bedding for it, which I haven't ordered yet, but plan to do later this week. It will be part of his Christmas presents. The bed was his birthday gift from Mom and Dad. His brother gave him the James train (which he had already) as his gift. We encourage Brendan to give Beckett one of his toys that he has outgrown as a gift each birthday and Christmas. How long that can last, I don't know. But I love how Brendan has embraced and really gives it a lot of consideration.

All of this rumination is really, quite simply, about how much I hate the passage of time. I would have liked to have had more children. I still long for a daughter and find myself increasingly resentful of friends and acquaintances who are expecting who tell me they are having girls. Not all of them, of course. But some. I know that I don't feel like I could do the whole pregnancy thing again. Not because I feel old physically. I actually feel fantastic. But, I am regaining my body. I am more physically fit than I ever have been in my life because I started working out pretty consistently after Beckett, dropping out from time to time because of my schedule or sickness or whatever. But the idea of taking 9 months off, of getting stretched out again. I can't do it. Call me selfish. Call me vain. (You're so vain! I bet you think this post is about you, don't you, don't you?) Whatever. I am turning 40 in January. I want to own my body for once and love it.

Beckett's birthday is just another mile marker on Life's Highway that reminds me to embrace and enjoy every day, every moment. I spend way too much time locked up in sorrow and worry, anxiety and grief over my failings or loss or the failings and loss of others. All I have is now. All any of us have is now. I want to be thankful for the beautiful gifts – Scott, Brendan, Beckett, Courtney (my bestest friend) my friends, extended family, my talents, my home, my health, my faith – and let the rest of the chaff flow on down the river.

And I want my sons to live their lives filled with gratitude and joy. How can they do that if their parents don't embrace that attitude?

So, what is the best gift I can give my Beckett? A life lived fully, in love, in faith, in joy.

Happy Birthday, Little One.

To celebrate and promote the premiere of Dora's Christmas Carol, Nickelodeon has invited Twitter Moms to share some of their favorite holiday activities and traditions they share with their kids.

When it comes to the holidays, I'm just a big old sentimental softie. I bet y'all wouldn't have guessed the obvious, huh?

I love traditions and I love making new traditions with my husband and sons. I want to create happy holiday memories that the boys will carry into their adult lives. And I hope, someday, they'll share some of these same activities with the kids.

The first and most obvious tradition I share with my boys is decorating the house for Christmas. Growing up, my family always put the tree up the day after Thanksgiving and this is a tradition I strive to continue, although there have been a couple of years (like when I was pregnant with my second son), that it hasn't happened until later. I put on Christmas music and pull all the decorations down from the attic. I start outdoors with wreaths on the door and windows and garland around the door, a few lights here and there. Then we move inside where we have two trees. The one in our living room is a more formal tree with white lights and fancy decorations, but the second one is all about family! It stands in the corner of our kitchen near our kitchen table and has brightly colored lights and all the decorations the kids have made plus all of our special decorations that we have been given over the years by the grandparents. Part of this tradition is that each year I take the kids to pick out a new decorations for themselves and one for me and my husband. So far we have lots of Sesame Street and Star Wars ornaments for the boys and lots of guitars and musical notes for my husband while I get Santas because I love Santa.

Another way we celebrate the season is a tradition that started when my oldest was in preschool that we participate in through the school. The year he was three, as I was about to give birth to his baby brother around Christmas, this tradition took on new meaning for me. The preschool, which is part of an Episcopal church collects and organizes bundles of new baby items like diapers, blankets, bottles, layette, socks, pacifiers, etc., and puts them into what they call Baby Jesus Baskets. The baskets are then blessed by the priest at the church and taken to Atlanta's public hospital and given to new mothers and their babies who are in need of the items. I love doing this each year, but as I said, having my own December baby and imagining what it would be like not to have the resources to give him the basic necessities has made this tradition even more special to me.

Baby Jesus Baskets may not be as much fun for the kids as it is for me, but I hope they learn to give from their hearts, expecting nothing in return through that act.

Something that is more fun for them, and maybe the thing they love most other than Santa, is watching all the holiday movies and tv shows together. From It's a Wonderful Life to How the Grinch Stole Christmas we are a family that devours Christmas media. Our schedules are busy and since we also have a lot of basketball to watch at this time of year, we often Tivo the shows so we can watch them later, but we love sitting down and laughing or crying together as we bond over the perils, pratfalls, and precious moments holiday TV.

While my fantasies of spending a day in the kitchen baking 10 different kinds of Christmas cookies with my daughter may never come to fruition since I don't have a daughter and the boys seem to have no inclination toward the culinary arts so far, I am planning to introduce a new tradition this year that is tangentially related to baking: the gingerbread house. I figure the building aspect of the project will appeal to my little Lego lovers and give me a chance to play around with icing. Since I hate gingerbread I won't be baking it myself. We'll just buy a kit, but I think it will be a fun way to spend a day off from school in the week or so before Christmas and hopefully be a fun thing we can do year after year.

Our biggest and most meaningful tradition, the one that I think they will carry over with them in the most significant way, is spending Christmas Eve with Grandma, or MeMe, as she is known in our family. We spend the day at her house with all the cousins running around playing. There are usually Mimosas for the ladies and bourbon for the gentlemen. The kids create chaos but seem to love being with one another. At least until someone has a meltdown.

We eat a traditional Christmas dinner then we all go to Mass together at the church my husband and his brothers grew up in. There are so many of us now, we can take up almost two pews. We always sit in the same place if we get there in time and enjoy the beauty and solemnity of the Christmas Eve mass. I always cry when I feel the weight and beauty of the moment and am reminded why we celebrate Christmas. I look at our family, big and imperfect, and I am able to forgive slights and see only what I love about these people and feel thankful that we are all together for that moment.

After Mass, we head back to my mother-in-law's where we have dessert and the kids open their presents from MeMe. Then we bundle everyone into the car and head back home to snuggle in bed and wait for Santa's arrival.

"Mom," the conversation began, as oh so many do these days. I can tell from the tone of Brendan's voice that he has something important to tell me.

Usually when a conversation begins this way, it involves the newest cool trick he has learned in Lego Star Wars for the Wii
or some super-awesome-fantastically amazing-so-great-it-must-be-bought-today Star Wars toy.But not this time.

Now, let's pause for a moment... I bet you're thinking that whatever was coming my way was something that I was utterly unprepared for. And any other day besides today, you would have been right. I so did not see this coming. But thanks to fate, luck, the perfect alignment of just the right celestial bodies, and my super-awesome-fantastically amazing-so-great-I-don't-know-what-I'd-do-without-him husband, I was ready.

So, the conversation continued, "Mom, some of the kids at school told me and Peter that there's a word called fuck and that it's a bad word. But I don't believe them because I've never heard that word before. Peter didn't believe them either."

I must have stood staring at him for a full 10 seconds, mouth agape, completely in shock. In shock, not because my angelic-looking six-year old just dropped the f-bomb, a word, by the way, that I didn't learn until I was in fifth grade (Thanks, Renee, for corrupting me!). Well, at least not entirely because of that, because honestly, it was pretty shocking.

No, I was in shock that he'd never heard it. While my husband is someone always in control of the what he speaks, an artist and master of language who doles out his words carefully, with the precision of a Vegas dealer and rarely utters a cuss word unless it is demanded by the situation, I have the mouth of a sailor. More or less. Well, at least I did until Brendan came along.

Then, I took great pains to dial it back. I had no idea how successful I had been because I have only been aware of the times when I've missed the (effing) mark. Like the time we were watching The Simpsons and Homer yells "Dammit!*" And Brendan, in a burst of glee and triumph shouts, "Mom! That's what you always say!"

My daze of shock and awe over Brendan's discovery of this new verbal device was cut short as he pulled me back to the moment with his persistent questioning. "Well is it?"

"What?," I responded.

He gives me an exasperated sigh and hand gestures that demand my attention as he asks me again, "Is fuck a real word?"

And so, there I was, in the middle of the kitchen having one of those real-life teaching moments with my son, thinking, "I am so NOT ready for this. Not ready for my baby to be learning such bad words and who are these bad children who are teaching him this?" when I realized that I was ready.

Instantly, I flashed back to the evening before when Scott and I were sitting in bed and he read me this article. Can you believe that? Less than 24 hours earlier, my husband reads to me a random, but very funny and insightful, article from a dad dealing with exactly the same situation I found myself in? What kind of awesome luck is that?

So, I turned to Brendan and said, "Yes, honey, that is a real word. And it's the worst word you can possibly say. There is no word worse than that one and I hope that you'll choose never to say it to anyone. And by the way, who told you about it?"

He looked at me as if he had just learned the coolest thing in the world, saying, "Wow. I didn't know. I'm sorry I said it and I won't say it again," which I guess, is about the best you can hope for in that situation. I'm sure it will come up again. I just hope I'm lucky enough to have read someone else's witty response to their child the night before so I'll be prepared when it does.



*For some reason the bastardization of "damn it" to "dammit" bothers me. A lot. But when I hear Homer saying that line, I believe he's actually saying "Dammit!". So, that's what you get folks. Even if, technically, it's wrong.