73

My baby's first tooth appeared this weekend. And it's darn sharp. It's a teeny-tiny weapon of mass destruction. I tied to get a picture of it, but yeah right. The boy will not allow me to keep his mouth open long enough. Soon enough his teeny-tiny tongue popped out and then tons of drool.

Oh, my, does the boy drool. Drool strings can stretch from his mouth to his toes. Literally. Because, you see, he enjoys chewing on his toes. Of course, he enjoys chewing on everything -- and anything and everything. His blanky, his sleeves, his bibs. If you wrap him up in his favorite blanket for a nap, without fail you'll find him gnawing away at it 15 minutes later.

He just such a good baby. It's amazing. So laid-back, so smart, so coordinated. I mean the kid could grab anything you put in front of him. The other day Daddy was eating fruit loops and within seconds, the boy had grabbed a purple loop and shoved it in his mouth. Soon a soggy, purple mess was all down the front of him.

His coordination just blows us away everyday.

And he's gorgeous. Stinking gorgeous.

There's no person he loves more than his Jack. 99 percent of the time it's only Jack that can get him to calm down on those rare occasions that he gets upset. All Jack needs to do is start howling the Spider-Man theme song and dance around a bit and Brennan's toothless, goobery smile and laugh come out. I really, really need to get it on camera. And he gets kind of angry if anyone sings the song besides is bro.

Speaking of that guy, Jack has announced he'd like to name a doggie Peter Parker. But he plans to call him Parker. And he needs to be black and little like Teddy. It's a priority for him these days. And when Daddy said no, he's already announced he plans to discuss this "Great idea" with Santa Claus.

The conversation went kind of like this: The two were lying in bed talking.

"Hey Daddy! I have a great idea!!"
"What's that, Jack?"
"We should get a doggie. And we should name him Peter Parker. But I will call him Parker."
"We don't want a doggie, Jack."
"Yes, we do."
"No, we don't."
"I do. Brennan does. He told me. We want a little black doggie that will run and play. He will be my best friend."
"Maybe when you are older ... on second thought, it's just not a good idea."
"Yes, Daddy! It's a great idea. I will talk to Santa about it. He will get me my Parker."
"Oh, yeah?"

71

So both my boys have ear infections and upper respiratory infections. We've got a lot of drainage going on in Okemos.

Brennan has been up every two hours the last three nights. This of course means his parents will soon take on ear infections and sickness. Wonderful.

Brennan ain't so little anymore. He weighed in at 19.05 lbs. He's hasn't got a smidge of fat, he's pure muscle. He's just a big little guy.

Jack came in at 39 lbs. and is now 3 foot 4. And he is rail. He's a walking piece of plywood.

Sometimes I think about how much food are they going to blow through when they're teenagers! Speaking of food, B has been cleared.

The poor guy is starving! And very, very constipated.

We were told homemade food only. Yes, you did read that correctly.
Home... made... baby... food.
Organic only in pinches. Apparently when Gerber and Beechnut process the jarred food, the fiber is drastically reduced. And let's be honest, it's probably a good idea in the days of China-scares and 2-year-old meat recalls.

Fiber is now replacing Fredrick as Brennan's middle name.

As the doctor was explaining how to make the food and how easy it is, I felt myself start to glaze over. I nodded my head to make it look reasonable but in my mind I was just kind of wondering when I would fit that into my 50 hour work week, traveling husband and two boys 3 and under. I may have even said, "OK, right ..." a few times. I am pretty sure I pulled it off.

... Only orange-colored veggies;

I can do it all, right? No problem.

... prunes; apples, no peels; no bananas; he can't handle meat ...

Hey! It seems I will be making baby food somewhere between 11 p.m. and 3 a.m. if anyone needs to reach me.

Brennan doesn't like carrots -- in case you were wondering.

70

So, I have become obsessed with the kids on YouTube. There are thousands of videos that are hilarous HIL_ARIOUS on there and I know my boys could do that well... even better.

"Charlie bit me" at http://youtube.com/watch?v=_OBlgSz8sSM has had 6.4 million viewers... probably more now if you click on it. It's candid, it's cute and it's British. I kind of think the accent makes it funnier.

But couldn't just as easily be, "Brennan bit me" ... absolutely?! Obviously, we can't do that exact thing. And we'd have to figure out the viral marketing to get it to the 6.4 million level but ... and no offense to Henry and Charlie ... our boys are 100 times better looking. We could be talking the Ellen show or even Oprah.

Even at work we're hit the YouTube circuit. We have a contest posted there and the winner earns $1,000. All the contestants have to do is come up with the second best purpose for our boxes. Go to www.twomen.com/contest to find out more.

This evening we reviewed our Christmas videos, Brennan's first food experience, a random night here. The boys were enjoying reliving our life, I was secretly looking for anything buzz-worthy. And, I am going to say, we're close.

Now if only I could figure out how to edit and post it.

69

Personally, I hate Valentine's Day. And it's not for the obvious reason. It marks the anniversary of my Papa's funeral. February, since 1996, has been a bit of a blurry disaster for me. This year, it kind of snuck up on me, actually.

Things have been crazy, crazy at work. I am juggling two little boys and Hubbie is on the road all the time for basketball. In truth, while he's always somewhere in my heart, his death hadn't really crossed my mind since February hit.

Then last night I had a long-awaited conversation with him. Please don't tell me it wasn't him because I believe he whispered in my ear last night while I was sleeping. And it's become a somewhat annual experience.

It seems like my deceased grandparents tend to show up right when I need them most.

My Gramma died when I was only 15. I was at home taking driver's ed when she lost her long, horrible battle to cancer. My entire family was in Pennsylvania. I can remember the call from my mom like it was yesterday. I was staying with her best friend. The friend later took me to see Sister Act starring Whoopi Goldberg. Bizarre. I was wracked with guilt for a long time over it. It wasn't until about a month after her death -- 4th of July weekend, that she came to me to talk. We had spent the last 4th of July of her life in Pennsylvania. This dream duplicated that holiday but it was obviously new. We sat in her kitchen and talked. And when I woke up, I felt better.

My Nana died when I was in my first year of my first job. She and I were always close. She had a soft spot for me even though she wasn't always the softest person. She didn't do well after Papa passed away and over the years following his death she deteriorated both physically and mentally. It was certainly trying on our family. However, one of my last conversations I had with her was about my now husband. She was the one who told me to go for it. And in some way because of her, she's reason I let down my guard long enough to see Husband had potential. And now we're blessed with Jack and Brennan.

So work has been hard. It's tax time, so money is a worry. And it's freezing. Life's a bit of a drag, honestly.

However, Brennan is at that fantastic stage where he's starting to babble and stare off into the distance and laugh at nothing. I like to think it's Gramma, Nana and Papa huddled over my boy cooing at him and making him happy. I know with my heart all three of them would be tripping over each other to spend time with my boys. And it makes me sad when I think about how they aren't here. So maybe that's why Papa's been on my mind.

But here's what I am trying to say -- and this is to dispute any doubts. I wasn't talking about him before I went to bed. I wasn't thinking about him, I hadn't just looked at his picture. But somewhere between 11 p.m. and 5 a.m. he decided it was time to visit his Ka-Ka-Ka Katie.

Here's what happened. My dreams are insanely clear. Hauntingly clear, actually.

I was going to my parents house for the weekend because Husband was on the road. I walked in my parents foyer to find my Papa standing there. He had on a navy golf Izod shirt, khaki pants and boat shoes. Classic. He seemed taller than I could remember but I walked into his arms and just smelled him. He had that Papa smell. If you are a family member, you know what I am talking about. I took a deep, long, breath. I buried myself in it. And then, I just started crying.

I was holding Brennan when I walked in but he had faded into the background. I immediately just wanted to sit on my Papa's lap. I wanted to sit on his lap and watch him read the paper. His passion had been passed onto me and I wanted to share it with him one more time. I just squeezed him. And I could feel his pacemaker in his chest.

Green sweater. He had a green sweater, I just remembered that. I can't describe to you the rush of relief, of pure joy I experienced. It was like his death had been a complete dream. His death was the dream, not this. And my level of excitement was unreal.

I just kept looking at his details. White soft hair, gnarled hands from arthritis, gentle eyes. Everything. He was there. I just wanted to squeeze him and squeeze him. I quickly asked him about Brennan. Did Nana know? Did she love it? The name didn't die with her Dad. He told me she did, of course she did. He told me Brennan was gorgeous. He told me he was so happy for me. He reminded me how blessed I was. He told me Joe was a good writer. All of the things I wanted to know he knew, he knew.

For some reason Jack wasn't there. And Brennan was missing ... in my mind, I thought my mom had him but she never entered the front hall. And then suddenly, just like that, I had to go. I had to pick up Jack. I have no idea where he was ... I just knew I had to pick him up. And I started to tell Papa about Jack. I told him how smart he was, how detail-oriented he was and how much he would just adore him. And he smiled at me. He knew all this.

I didn't want to go but I had to pick up Jack and I asked him if he'd be there when I came back. I begged him to stay so he could meet Jack but I knew he wouldn't be and I started to cry; and he hugged me.

And then he patted me gently in his Papa way and told me he was always with us.
And then that was it.
That's all I remember.

I woke up to hear Brennan stirring. I brought him into bed with me and I just lay there with my baby for a little while. And then in his sleep, B put his hand on my cheek.

68

Somewhere between the age of 26 and 30 I lost my desire to try new things. I don't really know how or when it exactly happened but looking back, I got kind of stuck.

In my 20s I didn't hesitate to jump in -- literally. I guess it started even earlier. When I left for college, I knew I wanted to meet to new people. Hell, I went skydiving. I let myself have fun. A lot of fun. Tons. Laugh out lout 'til it hurts fun. And I didn't feel bad about it. I knew I deserved it as much as the next person, somewhat of a feat acutally after my brooding years.

I spent a summer at college. I spent the next overseas. I went canyoning in Switzerland, bike riding through Munich, boating in Amsterdam, took a trainride through the French Alps. I visited my family's land in Ireland. I drove through the night to NYC to see Radiohead at Radio City Music Hall and then turned around and drove back. (Actually, I rode. No car for me in college.)

When I graduated, I got out. Once I decided ... I literally got a job, bought a car and moved to South Carolina in a matter of weeks. There I did things I never thought I would. I went fishing in a true swamp. I learned to differiente gator croaks and bullfrog croaks. I learned to masterfully shuck oysters. I ate roadkill (accidently). Professionally, I interviewed the top national GOP members. I covered some crazy-arse stories, including the Klu Klux Klan, teen prostitutes, cold cases solved.

Hubby and I drove from LA to Vegas. We visited Philly, NYC, and used to laugh a lot. Sometimes at each other, mostly at other people.

I was fun. I looked for fun. I relished in fun. Fun was my middle name.

And then somehow, we became boring. Hubby and I went from having a social life to falling asleep on the couch. And it's not just about going out. It's certainly not about drinking. It's about us falling into a boring routine and not being able to escape it. And not even wanting to ...

We'd get asked to do things and our gut reaction was ... let's not. We'd rather just pajama-day it and well, call it a day. We both decided we had enough with making new friends and socializing outside of our house.

But I am sick of it. I just don't think it's healthy anymore. And I just never would have predicted it when we got married. I want my boys to know just how fun we were and still can be.

So far this year, I have already noticed myself trying a little harder to break this vicious cycle. It started at Christmas. My sister got a Wii. I like to call it video crack. By the time our holiday was over, everyone in our family was hooked from Jack to my Grandpa. Honestly, at first, I didn't want to participate. I suck at sports. Just ask my siblings. They like to laugh about it and have for years. I think my last effort at team sports ended with me chucking a softball at my coach ... and then stomping off the field. I was in 8th grade.

My sister giggled when she asked me to play tennis. I knew what she was thinking... "This will be a fast ass-whipping." Strangely, surprisingly, I beat her. And with that win, I was a little more interested in playing. I even beat my brother; a satisfying feat. It felt good to have some fun and reap the benefits.

Then, for New Year's, we had a couple over. I mean, it was nice. We played a game or two. We ate junk food and Jack was overly excited to FINALLY see someone other then our family. I mean the kid was bouncing off the walls.

I can only hope the boys don't allow themselves to fall into this kind of rut. Life is hard. We are so busy. He's on the road all the time. The baby is not sleeping through the night. We're frickin' tired.

No doubt pre-babies it was a lot easier to branch out. But I know if we don't make the effort these days we're going to be even more alone in 10 years. And it's no example to set and let's face it, we'll likely get sick of each other. I am just not that interesting.

Life is hard. Everyday I feel like I learn another tough lesson. My gray hair is coming in thicker. Whether it's corporate restructuring or a friend's 7-year-old nephew fighting brain cancer, it's pretty dumb to shrivel up and waste time.

Jack and Brennan: Everybody needs a little fun. Fight the dull-drums and allow yourself to experience it.

(And when you're having too much fun, and I let you know, don't even think about throwing this in my face. It's all about B-A-L-A-N-C-E.)

Jack-ism:
Just seconds ago Jack poked his buns in the air and yelled, "Hey Mama! Hey Mama! Check out my cutie-a-tootie buns!"