Food, Glorious Food!

Someone needs to feed this boy! So, here we are on Family Pizza Night (aka Friday) at our favorite little pizza joint. Yes, you can get decent New York pizza in Arizona. Notice I said decent. That is a long way from unabashed praise. We are still New Yorkers at heart.

Well, on Family Pizza Night, there is usually one or more memorable events that highlights the evening. Just a few:

• Connor spilling soda all over Thomas. Ian taking napkins and wiping up the soda. (now whose child is THAT?)
• Ian playing with the plastic menu holder and snapping it in half. An apology to the owner followed, but nothing paid in damages.
• Ian making a break for the door. Nice try.
• Connor attempting to eat some pizza. (No, we didn't actually GIVE him pizza!)

Connor is just ready for some honest to goodness food. None of this oatmeal and rice cereal crap. He clamors every night during dinner for something palatable. Who could blame him? I've tried the baby oatmeal. It tastes like you've chewed a piece of paper for an hour. The boy could be an orphan in "Oliver". (Food, glorious food!) So, I feel for the kid. Really. But, being the timely mother that I am, I will wait until he turns 6 months old. Because I am not mentally ready to move on until October 7. It's delightfully weird.

These pictures just make me laugh. The expressions, the ordinariness (is that a word?) of our family night, yet all the little silly, unexpected moments that turn up to make each one special.

Freeing the inner artist

Arts and crafts time at the Murphy household. Special note to Crayola: Thank you for making washable products. Bless you. I am forever indebted.

Ian enjoys painting, as you can obviously see. But, why use just paper.....

when you can use yourself as a canvas? It looks more like warpaint to me at times.

A friend of mine suggested using a smock or an old t-shirt for moments like these. Sure, I would avoid having to give the child a bath in the middle of the day. It would be cleaner in some respects. But, how often do you get to use yourself as a work of art? And I wouldn't get these pictures that bring me right back in the moment. So, move over Picasso, here comes Murphy.

Blog Fun Time

I thought I'd jump in on this after reading several blogs today:
1. YOUR ROCK STAR NAME: (first pet and current street name)
Linus Carmel
2. YOUR “FLY Guy/Girl” NAME: (first initial of first name, first three letters of your middle name)
L-Mar
3. YOUR DETECTIVE NAME: (favorite color, favorite animal)
Black Puppy
4. YOUR SOAP OPERA NAME: (middle name, city where you were born)
Marie Poughkeepsie (not loving that one folks)
5. YOUR STAR WARS NAME: (the first 3 letters of your last name, first 2 letters of your first name, first 2 letters of father’s middle name)
Mur-Li-Ru
6. SUPERHERO NAME: (”The”, your favorite color, favorite drink)
The black sangria
7. NASCAR NAME: (the first name of both your grandfathers)
Hugh Carlos
8. FUTURISTIC NAME: ( the name of your favorite perfume/cologne and the name of your favorite kind of shoes)
Happy Clarks
9.WITNESS PROTECTION NAME:
Oh boy...Muriel Ruben

Golden Slumbers

You just have to love pictures like this. Moments like this.

A Master Chef has to get his start somewhere

Okay, I am having flashbacks to my own childhood. I went through crazy streaks of only eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches or only hamburgers...you catch my drift. Or at least my mom will anyway. (hey Mom, remember the time I woke you up in the middle of the night to tell you I wanted a peanut butter sandwich in my lunch bag the next day? Good times, right?) Interestingly enough, Ian is in the peanut butter and jelly sandwich phase. Not only does he want to eat them and wear them, but he also insists on making them.

I learned my lesson with the cake that had one too many taste tests and finger swipes. So, I monitor the proceedings closely to avoid double dipping into the jars after licking the knife. (It's a butter knife, people) We are learning how to use the knife for spreading the peanut butter, which is a tough motor skill for him right now. The ratio of jelly that ends up on the bread vs. that which is directly eaten is quite disproportionate. That does not make him less determined.

He slaps the bread together, we cut it into triangles and he sits happily at the table with his sandwich....which he promptly begins disassembling, because not unlike an Oreo, the middle is the best part. At least he's not dunking it in his glass of milk.....yet.

And so what if he eats peanut butter and jelly everyday for the next however long? Just the fact that he can participate in making his meal makes him a happier boy. And there is nothing better than an happy little boy.

Scraping some of the gum off the shoe!

Okay, this is really an update of sorts, if you read the last miserable post. I got a phone call last night to interview for a part time, mostly at home position of executive assistant for the Sonoran Desert Chorale. It involves administrative work, such as contracts, helping with guest artists, emails, board meetings, etc. Also nice is that it is a salaried position, so the income would be steady. From the sound of it, they didn't seem to be interviewing anyone else at the time. My husband occasionally plays for the chorale, so they seemed even more enthusiastic when they made this connection.

I don't believe in higher powers, which is probably discussion for another day, but it just feels like this happened at the right time, whether I get the position or not. I needed a boost.

Gum on the bottom of a shoe

Not much time to write over the last few days and I've missed it. What was that promise I made?? To write every day.

So, today I am pondering my career path. As I do quite frequently. As most of you know, I've been a general music teacher for 12 years now. It's been a very successful run and I believe I've played a part in many children's lives over the years. Some have even gone on to pursue music or theater as a result of the seeds that I have planted in their elementary years. Go me! (hey, I deserve it!)

However, there is that little part in the back of my brain that always tells me about other avenues. Sometimes I feel that teaching isn't the true me. It feels like an act, like I step into an alter ego that doesn't match my real nature. While I must be a terrific actress, some days I wonder if I am doing myself a disservice. Those who know me know that I am a quiet person, sensitive at heart and I avoid confrontation. I like doing quiet jobs, like writing or even boring jobs like data entry or repetitive physical work. I feel at peace doing work by myself. In teaching, it's never peaceful, it's quite political, and it's never redundant.

So, here's my dilemma....having a degree in music education is very limiting. It's even more limiting when your Master's degree is also music education. I don't have computer training. Never taken a writing course or followed through on the things that interest me. Why, you ask? Of course, the first and most obvious reason is money. I feel stuck. Teachers don't make money, but you don't go into teaching to make money, period. I don't have the money to go back to school, even for a class or two. I don't have a lot of extra time to take classes with two boys and a husband who works his tail off to help our budget. I am afraid to pursue something and make less money than I do now, even if I enjoy it more.

Secondly, my own mind is my worst enemy. Suppose I leave teaching, find something else to do and hate it? Or I am not successful? What then?

Finally, teaching is the noble profession that isn't a profession. We aren't treated like professionals (at least here). Putting my two boys in daycare full time and making next to nothing for someone else to raise my children. This year, we are pinching because my husband wants me to be home with the boys for some extra time. We cannot afford this. I am so thankful to be able to see my little ones grow. The cost of this luxury is financially and emotionally draining. Our healthcare costs are outrageous. This honestly makes me regret becoming a teacher and it saddens me to even think that thought.

I want to work hard and love what I do. I want to come home at night and play with my boys and not have work to do in the evening. But, now I am losing sight of myself and what I need professionally. I want to be challenged and fulfilled. I feel empty career-wise. I don't know how to fix it and I don't know if I can afford to change it. My husband and I both comment that we lose the enjoyment of music itself because we teach it all day long. Coming home to practice seems like a chore when you've been doing that all day long! So, do we love music less? No, but it sure seems that way.

Do I feel envious of others who are more successful or chose a more lucrative path? Not really. I am harder on myself because I knew I had other options but I chose this one. Why blame someone else?

I've read all the career books and taken all the tests. I know what jobs I should be doing that fit my personality. But I feel stuck like gum on the bottom of a shoe, I just cannot seem to move.

What in a name?

Nicknames. We all have them. I wonder about my sons and if they will actually have a nickname or use their given name once they are consciously aware of what people are calling them. Right now, we call Ian "E" for short. He calls himself "E".
"No, E do it"
"It's E's turn"
"E needs chocolate milk" (we all know who to thank on that one)

He sounds pretty Y2K with all the E related discussions. He also refers to himself in the third person, which is just amusing to all of us.

Will the child have spelling issues with his first name? He seems smart enough to figure it all out. I think he has it figured out better than me.

Connor is "Little C". The boy knows his name, he lights up whenever you say it. Not sure if that will get shortened to "C" but probably. Tom was so adamant that they have first names that have good nicknames. Then we picked two names that are probably the most difficult to even come up with a shortened version. But we did it! (cue Dora music)

There are those nicknames I say to both my boys. Sweetheart. Lovey. Cuteness. Cute stuff. Sweetness. Sweet boy. Cute boy. E-boy. Connor-Connor-Connor(using a batter-batter-batter accent) and on and on. It seems a bit smaltzy, but soon enough they will be too old for the really sugary sweet names, so I have to lay it on now before they scrape it off.

There is Thomas, Tom, Tommy. I prefer Thomas, although Jesse and Tewlyn (or Jess and Tew) convinced me to say "Tom", which I was loathe to say for years. In fact, I believe it was Jess and Tew who actually heard me first say "Tom". (are you out of your mind?) I don't say Tommy, I think it is a bit too diminutive, but his family tends to mix it up and uses all three names. I prefer saying "Pup", our universal nickname for each other.

And there is me. Those who know me very well know that I like to be called Linda. Not Lin. I would correct folks who called me "Lin" by saying "DUH". (as in finish the name, you jerk!) (jerk is an inside joke, friends, don't get all huffy) My future husband was taken aback by this early in our dating life. He just calls me Pup now.

By the way, as a complete sidebar, I am not in the mood for writing. However, I read a very insightful article saying that I should practice writing every day. So here I am. It feels lame today, but perhaps I'll have a bit more energy tomorrow. The boys decided to take 2 hours to actually get to sleep tonight. Fun. Those sweet, cute, lovey, insomniac little boys.

P/S: The picture of Connor is solely for its cuteness factor, just for fun.
P/P/S: I don't know why I am writing with a lot of asides. (what's my deal?)

Give me Gym over PE any day

PE teachers unite.....and please save me!! The phrase "Never assume" has never rang truer.

First of all, here is the deal with me and PE.

1-I need to call it PE and not "Gym". Now, it is possibly a New York or East Coast thing, but every last one of my schools called this class "Gym". Time for gym class. I hate gym class. Let's skip gym class. You catch my drift.

I clearly recall the day when I was teaching in New York for a few years, we were in a staff meeting. The new gym teacher stood up and reprimanded us for calling gym class "Gym". It was PE or Physical Education and the "Gym" was where we did physical education activities. We looked at each other in complete surprise and pondered that for a bit. Then, in true NY fashion, we continued to call it Gym class, just like we always did.

Well, for the West Coast bunch, it IS called PE and not gym. No one knows what I am talking about when I say "gym". I tried to uphold my New Yorkness and keep calling it gym, but it didn't catch on here. So, I am really, really, REALLY trying to call my class PE. And that alone makes my brain hurt because I have to consciously think to say PE.

2-I don't like dressing down for PE. Now, who doesn't love wearing sneakers to work? Well, of course I do, but then again, I don't. I prefer sandals or flip flops. I hate wearing PE type shorts and PE shirts. I am wearing khaki Docker shorts instead and a t-shirt. My husband keeps saying I need a hat, but I refuse to go that far. Who knows why? All of my past GYM teachers look so unfeminine and I just don't want to be that way.

3-Sneakers vs "tennis shoes". I say sneakers. The kids say "tennis shoes". Being sweet and honest little kindergarteners, they immediately ask me "Mrs. Murphy, what are sneakers?" I point to my shoes. "Those are tennis shoes, Mrs. Murphy." Huh? Is this another East Coast language barrier? And so I add another term to my ever growing Gym, I mean PE lingo.

4-What age do they know how to walk in the same direction? Or know how to move without falling down or knocking ten others down in the process? Because it's definitely not the 5-6 year old group! The very first class I assumed. I assumed they would go the same way, they would automatically know how to stay in their own space. Remember the adage I wrote above...I now live it all PE day long. I explain every little thing in small directions and I demonstrate. It is better after three weeks, but I still have the little boys who pratfall whenever I blow the whistle. (what is this about and are Ian and Connor going to do this?)

5-Okay, I am getting exercise, but for an entire day? Does this means I am home free the rest of the days?

6-Is PE as bad as I thought? Hmmm. Yes, until someone finally gave me lesson plans that made sense. Yes, because I have to practice hula hooping before next week's lesson and I better know what I am doing and how to teach it! It is challenging me to think about something that doesn't come naturally to me. But I am surviving it and secretly enjoying it a bit more than I thought I would.

7-Not being PE qualified. I feel conflicted on this. If an unqualified teacher were doing music, I would be unhappy but supportive. This is how our PE teacher (the real one) feels. She likes me personally, but professionally it is hard for her to accept. I understand and even though I am following her lesson plans and asking her advice, she isn't completely comfortable with me and her PE kids. I feel inadequate but I also am willing to do the best I can.

Well, I am tired, it's been a long gym day and I need to kick off my sneakers and get some rest. Wait, let me rephrase that....long PE day and kicking off the tennis shoes. Sigh!

Missing the mohawk

My son Connor was born with a mohawk. He had a ton of dark hair with most of it standing at attention at the top. I stroked that mohawk all the time, smoothing it down and raising it up punk rock style. Could not keep my hands off of it.


Now, it is hard to believe this is the same child.




All the baby fine dark hair is gone, replaced by lighter strands of short hair that don't stick up at all. It's still soft and beautiful, but for some reason I miss that little mohawk.

Mr. Sandman brought me a dream

Rocking your child in your arms while they sleep is the most indescribable feeling. I am not sure I can put it into words that truly complete my thought.

Today my little Ian, who, for the most part, doesn't want to rocked to sleep any longer, wanted to snuggle at naptime. It feels so rare anymore, that despite the conflict of knowing I would have a few hours to get things done or just be alone for a few moments, (we all need that) I couldn't say no once those little arms snaked around my neck. I planned on sitting with him for a few minutes before allowing him to lie down in bed. Using a fairly comfy Cookie Monster pillow, I laid down on the floor and my son hugged and snuggled with me. I could feel the coarse texture of his hair on my face and that little boy smell. I watched him suck his thumb and twirl his fingers in that particular way that calms and soothes him. I closed my eyes and we took off into a peaceful, dreamless nap that was more refreshing than checking anything off my list.

Connor also fell asleep in my arms tonight, fighting tooth and nail with the Sandman all the way. For him, I try to make him comfortable but every night is a guessing game. What he likes one night is not the same the next evening. Connor does not operate in a predictable world. We sat in the glider, he rolled and cried on the Boppy, until I finally stopped trying to pat him or hold him. Instead I chose to sing him a few lullabies. And the thumb finds its way to his mouth and he listens and calms himself. After two songs, he is sleeping and I can finally stroke his hair and just watch him sleep.

Overall, I don't get a lot of sleep. It's just the way life is as a mother. I think we are secretly hard-wired for sleep deprivation. However, those little moments of taking a nap with your boys or nodding off while my baby sleeps in my arms are the best sleep I get. Sure, I complain that I slept for 4 hours upright, my arms loaded with pins and needles because that is more bearable than possibly waking a sleeping boy. But nothing compares to snuggling with my boys. Smelling their freshly washed lavender scented hair. Picking up their arm to see if they are truly asleep. Kissing their fingers and cheeks. Hearing the little sighs when they turn and toss. And I know it only lasts so long, so I intend to catch all the moments I can.

Paragraph 101

I occasionally find it helpful to read the directions.

I know how to write a paragraph

I promise each and every one of you that I do write a good paragraph. However, being a novice blogger, none of my paragraphs seem to make the final cut. They disappear into lengthy run on paragraphs that don't make this blog easy to read. For that I apologize and invite you to imagine the paragraph breaks until I figure this blogging thing out......

I'm feeling (not so) blue

Okay, let it be known that stupid things bother me. Here is my pet peeve. Infant boys are boxed into girly blue, green and yellow colors. There is sky blue, baby blue, light blue, mint green, neutral, middle of the road yellow. I will admit my boredom with dressing my son in clothes that question his gender, even if they are "blue". When I see my boys in true colors like red and orange and dark blue, hunter green, I just love it. I love little polo collars around their necks.

So, I entrust my dear mother-in-law to shop for the boys with specific color instructions. And, by golly, she does it. She finds the cool orange shirts. She digs up the clothes that makes my boys look like boys.

Well, then there is Ian. Who decided to get an opinion of his own in the last few weeks (months?). Mommy doesn't get all the say anymore. Mommy chooses the handsome button down shirt and Ian chooses the Thomas the Tank engine that he has worn every other day. Mommy chooses a cute collar shirt with little geckos and Ian chooses to remain in his pajama shirt. We all have what we like.

Connor is still within my fashion clutches, so he wears whatever my little heart desires. I reach for the colors I think make him more vibrant. I labeled my sons with colors, which is probably going to be cause for therapy for all three of us someday. I really don't know what this post is about. If it's my passionate distaste for baby colors. Or my need to control something for just a little awhile. Or the inevitable question of someone asking me "is it a boy or a girl?" What mother doesn't secretly hate that question???

Strolling in the baby section of a local department store today, I noticed winter coats, heavy fleece Halloween costumes....perfect for Arizona (note the sarcasm). I looked at the marketing heavy boys section filled with characters my son loves. The baby section replete with baby blue stalking me from all angles. The girls section that seems twice the size of the boys section. And I walked away, nothing to buy and nothing to really want, except someone to recognize that boys are more than just the color blue.

Share and share alike

Ian, Connor and I went to the bookstore this evening, after a delicious stop at Cold Stone Creamery. The bookstore has a Thomas the Train table with a pretty cool track setup. Normally when we go to the table, two of two things happen.....Ian refuses to share and/or throws a fit when we leave and one or both of them desperately need diaper changes (sorry, it's true, I am not sure what it is). Well, tonight was a turning point in our normal bookstore routine. Ian played trains quietly alone, until another younger boy came over with his parents to play. Being the neurotic manner minded parent, I asked Ian to share a train with the boy. Usually, this inspires anxiety, tears and several rounds of "No, E's train!". To my amazement, he turned and said, "Here, you have this train" and gave the boy a train. This would have been more exciting if the boy actually wanted to play trains, but he spent the entire time staring at Connor, who was staring back. Ah, babies. Another older boy comes over. The first boy leaves with his parents. The older boy asks Ian for some trains (which he quickly monopolized once he figured out the first boy was not going to participate). I bite my tongue and try to let Ian figure out his own social path. Miraculously, he offers the boy two trains. They continue to play together quite nicely, passing trains back and forth, playing with the stoplight and never one tear or argument. I actually read a magazine without interruption. The boy is whisked away by his parents, who have a crying baby in their entourage. I was actually sad to see him leave because it was so interesting to watch Ian interact with him. Along came another girl, much older than Ian, with no parent in sight. She walked up and began taking trains away from Ian. After all his generosity, it was sapped away in a second. He's grabbing trains, she's grabbing trains and here we go. After really, really trying to give Ian a chance to figure it out, the little girl ended up with all the trains. I ask the girl to give him back a few trains, which she does. The play and share time is strained although Ian does keep playing and doesn't get too intimidated. Inside, I am thankful for not repeating "Ian, share the trains....Ian, let him/her have a train..." After seeing so many ill-mannered children over the years, I tend to be a little crazy when he is out in public (and at home). I expect him to behave and I expect him to be well-mannered. I was really proud of him tonight, for his age and being a toddler, he impressed me. And, I didn't have to change one diaper!!

Mommy, what are you doing?

"Daddy, what are you doing?"
"Mommy, what are you DOing?"

Does it get cuter than this? I am really not sure if we ever get enough of Ian's little phrases nuanced with his own inflection. So many phrases have come and gone, here one week, gone the next. Strangely, I seem to coerce or goad my son into saying these little phrases just to hear them one more time. However, the best part are when his words are so spontaneous, so genuine it just stops you cold. And Tom and I laugh or we just knowingly smile to each other, feeling the impact of that tiny voice touch our heart at the same moment.
I know that there will be many, many things Ian will say over the many, many years I have to get to know him. But the precious tone of his voice will change. His depth of understanding will change. And sometimes, I just wish that he wouldn't change too quickly. And how I desperately wish that my mind will record the sound, the inflection, the exact words and let me close my eyes and hear that innocence hundreds and thousands of times over. And that will not be enough.

El Padrino

Connor's new nickname is "El Padrino" or the Godfather. Listening to this little guy "talk" is such a trip. He has a low, raspy edge, not too loud and definitely not understandable. It reminded us of the Animaniacs cartoon with the "Godfeather" a pigeon who sounded like Marlon Brando doing baby talk. Thing is with Connor, he only talks when you are not paying attention to him. If you look at him, he stops and stares at you with his cute half smile. The minute you look away, he'll start chatting it up. In other Connor news, we haven't figured out where this child's genes come from. He is almost too big for his swing. And the swing doesn't swing much once he's in it. He is on the tallest setting on his Exersaucer. He wears 18 months onesies and 12 month shorts. Did I mention that he is only going to be five months next week?? Ian was a big kid, but Connor is off the charts. Tonight he ate two bowls of oatmeal and wanted more after that. He is twice the size of babies several months older than he. Honestly, he is just so cute that none of that truly matters, but it is just so interesting.

This Old House

First of all, I have to recognize my handy husband Tom for all his work on installing our new flooring. Our motivation for doing projects is usually non-existent, so this is quite an undertaking for us. This weekend, our goal is to work on the hallway. As you can see, the prep work is complete in this photo. Another words, the easy part. Tom has measured and cut all the door frames to slide the flooring underneath and now the planks need to be added. Thomas is doing 95% of the work, so I need to acknowledge his hard work, which we will all hear about for years to come (from him). Anyway, the other 5% percent of the work is shared among Ian and me. We decided to attempt this task without calling in the reserves to watch the boys. Connor didn't feel that our attention should be divided between him and some project. He kept his naps to one hour or less, so our worktime was compromised at times. Then, there is Ian, the master apprentice. Daddy always find something fun for him to do. Today, he got to watch Dad chip out a broken tile and assist with the sweep up. Ian felt he could have been more useful if he were allowed to try out some of more interesting tools. So, hopefully, provided our runny noses quit and our energy reserves don't crash, we can finish up the hallway this weekend. (minus the mouldings, we haven't done those in any rooms yet) Coming to a blog near you....Ian Unplugged and "El Padrino"....if you're curious, keep checking back!

Blessed and Lucky

Just look at my boys. They are so alike, so unique all at once. My goal is to connect them to the ones that love them so very much. To start the stories that we will be telling for years to come. To try and capture these fleeting moments before they disappear. I hope that you'll take the journey with me. Now back to these little guys. Today I was looking at my little C thinking how much he looks like E. Those chin dimples. The beautifully long eyelashes that have earned the envy of more than a few women. The big almond shaped eyes. The expressive little faces that tell me more than their voices do. And yet, they are so completely different. Ian is a bundle of energy, animated and spontaneous. He follows his routine and likes things in their place. He has a surprisingly adept sense of humor. He amuses himself most of the time. His moods shift and change in the blink of an eye. And then there is Connor. So calm in the face of danger (yes, that would be Ian). Cries only when he is exhausted from observing everything so carefully. He is a cool drink on a hot summer day. He probably could entertain himself, but he would much rather have an audience. He is on his own little schedule, which most of the time does not mirror anyone else's. He loves watching other people who are funny and makes a very agreeable audience. Oh, and there is the differences in their physical appearance. Connor is bigger than Ian was at this age. Ian is becoming tall and thin, but still a solid chunk of boy. Ian has dark hair and soft brown eyes. Connor has hair that looks like a day of sunshine and eyes that change from blue to green. The thing is that I could read this next year and maybe have to rewrite my opinions. These boys are changing before my eyes. It feels so unfair some days that life goes so quickly, but I am undoubtedly blessed and lucky, just like the song reminds me.