For the Love of God (and the Fear of Yoga)

Hatha.  Bikram.  Ashtanga.  Kundalini.  Gentle.  Classical.  Family.  Mom & Tot.  These are but a few of the types of yoga classes offered locally.  Encinitas is widely considered one of the original hubs of yoga practice in the U.S., with well-known Indian teachers bringing the practice to town in the early 1970's.  It has since blossomed into a center for teaching, learning, and practicing this ancient....thing.  I say thing because there is presently a major debate about what yoga is and what it represents to our children, our schools and our local society.  Is it exercise?  Is it an art?  Is it a religion?

If you have a child in the Encinitas Unified School District, you undoubtedly know what I am angling towards.  For those of you who do not, here is a brief synopsis:  A locally based non-profit called the Jois Foundation has provided a $533,000 grant to our district of nine elementary schools to provide twice weekly 30 minute yoga sessions to our kids over the next 3 years.  This grant is in conjunction with a study being conducted by the University of San Diego and the University of Virginia on the effects (good or bad) of the kids having access to 30 minute yoga sessions.   Specifically, the mission is  "to design and implement a research study to measure the impact of system-wide implementation of yoga, health, and wellness curriculum."   The Jois Foundation is supported by Sonia Jones, the wife of hedge fund empire billionaire, Paul Tudor Jones.  An avid, ashtanga practitioner, Sonia became a benefactor for the Jois family who is widely attributed with bringing Ashtanga yoga to the states from India. 

Archaeologists have found yoga related carvings in India dating back to 3,000 years before the birth of Christ.  These carvings suggested people 5,000 years ago were utilizing systematic poses as a form of strength, discipline and honor.  Yoga was then incorporated into several different regional religions including Hinduism, Buddhism, and Sikhism.  Since then, these religions have grown, as has the practice of yoga.  In modern times, people of all religions have begun to reap the mental and physical health benefits of the practice.  From lowering blood pressure to cleansing the lymphatic system, few people I have spoken to have ever left a yoga class feeling worse than when they came in.  I think this is true of most forms of exercise. (http://www.medicinenet.com/script/main/art.asp?articlekey=78815)

So this brings us to the controversy now creeping into town like the storm clouds over head this weekend.  A small group of parents feel that this grant, study and practice is actually an attempt of "religious indoctrination" of our kids.  Referencing Hinduism and its use of yoga as a major component, these parents are threatening to sue our school district to discontinue the program.  On October 10th, the North County Times quoted one father saying, "I will not allow my children to be indoctrinated by this Hindu religious program. Because of this, you're forcing me to segregate my children."  According to the newspaper, he went on to say that the children whose parents do not allow them to participate in the yoga classes are "ostracized and bullied, comparing the situation to Nazi Germany."  The parents threatening the lawsuit are reportedly Christian, being advised by a pastor and counseled by an attorney whose website describes his non-profit firm as specializing in "the protection and promotion of religious freedom" among other issues.

I am a Christian.  I do yoga at the YMCA (Young Men's Christian Association).  Never upon leaving the class have I felt pressured to believe anything different from what I believed when I entered the class.  I think my Jewish friends who have done yoga would say the same thing.  (I also think my Jewish friends would take great offense to someone comparing their kids not participating in a school program to Nazi Germany.)  The great irony is that these individuals feel their civil rights are being violated and are being represented by an attorney who supposedly fights for religious freedom.  They are the small faction that misrepresents Christianity through ignorance, fear and defiance.  Every major religion has its own group of wingnuts who, through extremist views, ruins its for the whole. 

This group of parents will not have their collective view point swayed, that is something I can say with almost all certainty, without even knowing any of them.  To sit and argue with them would be to throw a rock against a stone wall...nothing is going to budge.  Religion is at the core of the most brutal, bloody conflicts throughout all of history.  What does yoga really represent to these parents?  The devil.  Fundamentally, they have connected the dots from a foreign religion, to a practice, to scripture, to a class being offered at their kids school.  At at the end the picture is of a false profit, an alternate god, an indoctrination of the anti-Christ.  So is anybody going to change their minds?  No. 

The greatest problem with this entire situation is that this small group is not content to simply have their own children not participate in the program.  They do not want the program to exist, period.  Not for their kids, not for my kids, not for anybody's kids in the EUSD.  So much like this group is throwing around the "civil liberties" card, I am going to throw my hat into the ring and suggest that they are in fact violating my son's civil rights by forcing their own beliefs on the larger community.  I do not view yoga as a religion.  Similarly, I do not view karate as a religion.  Both practices incorporate body, mind and spirit and my son does both.  But at the end of the day, we remain a Christian family.  This small group of people, who is actively preparing to plunge our already financially-strained school district into an expensive lawsuit, must not be as resolute or comfortable in its faith.  I am fairly confident that my son will not be converted to the dark side when he is in Child's Pose.  I give him more credit than that.

http://www.nctimes.com/news/local/encinitas/parents-may-sue-over-yoga-lessons-in-encinitas/article_335f0003-c7d4-5c7f-b72a-25d8d3d47306.html

Are These My Only Choices?

I have never been a big fan of "the group".  I took my sons to Legoland today and lamented that other people had decided to do the same for their kids.  "Why are so many people here today?  I thought all the tourists had gone home by now."  After all, why would anyone else what to get their pent up kids out of the house on a beautiful, 70 degree San Diego Saturday and go do something fun?  But the lines on every ride and the moving sea of human ants detracted from my amusement.  My boys were impervious to the mayhem and moved with the masses.  But it spurred me to think about what it is that I don't like about the group mentality.

Don't get me wrong, I am not moving to a cave on the back of some unexplored mountain.  I enjoy the relative security we all enjoy by being part of this larger human body.  We have created a collective system that generally works.  We have a clock, calendar and currency we can all agree on.  Love and health, hey who doesn't want those?  There are fundamental bricks in each of our constitutions that are communal.  But what happens when one's sense of self is overridden by the group.  Be it religious, political, societal or familial, does the group actually know what is best for any one person?

In the case of manual labors of the industrial age in the second half of the 19th century, being part of a group was revolutionary in that collective bargaining protected the poor, disenfranchised men who were willing to fill their lungs with soot digging coal to fuel the factories sending this country into an unprecedented state of growth.  One for all and all for one.  You piss us off and we will drop our shovels.  You don't pay us fairly, your factory won't have fuel.  And so was formed the idea that a group is safer than going it alone in labor.  For those men, it was undoubtedly a life-saver. 

Now 150 years after the industrial revolution, unions are alive and well. In general, teachers, nurses, police officers and other professionals opt to have an organized union work for the benefit of the whole to negotiate a collective agreement, such as all union members receive a 2% raise in pay in a given year.  This is done on the union members' behalf and in exchange for the right to pursue one's own individual pay raise.  Because the people in these professions are so invaluable to our society, our children and our individual well-being, I am inclined to say whatever works best to keep them happy and taken care of is in all of our best interest.  But what about the rest of us?  Who is going to bat for me?

Through circumstances both within and out of my control, I am a small business owner.  I have one full-time employee.  I have a husband (also a small business owner), 2 small children and a mortgage.  I give approximately $.30 of every dollar I make to the state or federal government.  By worldly standards, my life is luxurious.  I have clean, plentiful water.  I have clothing to give away.  I have food that goes bad before I get to it.  My children have their own bedrooms and more toys or books than they care to play with.  My problems are small when compared to a mother who is faced with famine, homelessness or poverty.

So this brings me to the groups we are forced to be a part of on November 6, 2012.  I did not watch the debates, neither presidential nor vice-presidential.  Why?  I am sad that I have to pick one of these groups to represent me.  If you live in Amarillo, Texas and you are a bleeding heart Democrat, you are probably not wearing that sign on your back.  If you live in San Francisco, California and you are a die-hard Republican, you are probably muttering quite a few things under your breath, but not out loud.  Our individual affiliation with the group we choose defines us, whether we like it or not.  And, as I look at the choices on the menu of this upcoming election, I find myself asking "Does the chef have any other options?".  Make no mistake, both of these candidates are privileged and wealthier and than most of us will ever be.  Neither of them are an average Joe.  Private schools, Ivy League, advanced degrees and millions of dollars.  In all honesty, why would any of us want anything different from the leader of our country, regardless of which ever group we are a part of?  If this was a football team, we would want a coach who knew how to score, how to motivate, how to mobilize.  We would look at his track record, his wins vs. losses.  But somehow, when we are looking at the potential leader of the United States of America we expect to see someone who has both worked retail and also successfully negotiated an international hostage stand-off.

I received my family's health insurance renewal paperwork today.  To insure my family of 4 with a modest High Deductible Health Plan ($2,500 deductible with no benefits prior to the deductible being met), our rates are going from $720/month to $1,090/month as of January 1, 2013.  There is no change in coverage.  The only change is that the federal government is now requiring private insurance companies to insure people who previously would not have qualified for privatized coverage.  These companies are also being required to remove the cap on Maximum Lifetime Benefits historically offered through their contracts (usually in the ballpark of $6 million per contract).  Additionally, the federal government is requiring that companies allow subscribers' adult children to stay on their plans as dependants until age 26.  Remember that word dependant.

A good feature of the ACA is the 80/20 rule that mandates health insurance companies must use $4 out of every $5 for actual health care costs, with the remaining 20% going to administrative and advertising costs.  Actuarially speaking, if $872 of my $1,090/month will be going to projected expenses for statistically similar cases in  my rate category, yet I am this year paying $720 TOTAL for the same set of statistics during this current policy term, it shows you just how much this governmental decision is costing just one American family.  And in this one situation, I am clear on what group I do not want to be a part of.

We are Americans.  We are resilient and hard working and durable.  Kick us and we will get up and stare you in the eye.  I wish I had another choice on the menu that didn't apologize for success, that was gracious in its appreciation for what we have and that was invigorating in its momentum to take us to new heights.  But that dish is nowhere to be found.  So I look the clubs I have in front of me and ask, do I want to think for myself or hope that someone else has a better idea?  We do not need to be dependant upon a government to think for us.  There are more than 300,000,000 million of us!  How could 1, 2 or 100 groups define us?  But these are our only choices.  I hope we all fit in with the group that makes us feel the strongest, not just the safest.

Perspective

There seems to be a consensus that, for many people, 2011....well, it sucked in a lot of ways.  I started the year with great optimism, full of go-gettem' momentum, that was quickly squashed when I realized the new "super-producer" I hired in early January was actually a scheming con man.  That realization and subsequent fall-out had a the effect of sucking air out of a balloon (or my lungs) without the humor of a high-pitched helium tweaked voice.  By March, I found myself asking "Is it 2012 yet?".  Not a good sign.

The rest of this year slipped past us with highs and lows.  A new home, loss of a grandparent, discovery of new talents,  a little dab of viral meningitis.  It's the ebb and flow, right?  Life is not always going to be good and just because something seems bad at any given moment, doesn't mean it should be any other way.  I am chalking 2011 up to being what the Chargers might refer to as a "building year" as opposed to a winning year.  And is that ok?  I am starting to think so now that I am looking at it through my rear view mirror.

I find great irony in the fact that this new shiny year we are all reaching towards is 2012.  We are hanging our optimism on its branches like sparkling ornaments left over from the Christmas tree.  And I think we should. My senior year at the U of A, I took a pre-Colombian art history class that studied the ancient art of the central and south American civilizations.  It was in that class that I first learned of the Mayan calendar and its apparent expiration in the year 2012.  The professor shared that some in modern civilization have interpreted this as a prophecy signaling the end of time for us little human beings.  At the time, I was more concerned about which bar everyone was meeting up at that evening, but I do remember thinking "Whew, at least we have another 13 years to figure this one out." 

So now we are here.  2012, we are knocking on her door and she is about to let us come in.  I have to ask myself what I learned from 2011 before I can become friends with 2012.  I learned that misery loves company.  I learned that trust is not something you give out like someone passing out fliers to a rave.  But on the flip side, it's become clear that it is okay to be honest, and raw, and wrong.  I was reminded that time doesn't care about anyone, but gives of itself endlessly.  As I watched my first born son lay unconscious while a team of doctors explained he had a viral infection in his brain and spinal case, I watched time skitter back and forth from his birth to his funeral to him in the bed to him as a grown man.  I still feel anxious when I think about that night in the hospital.  In some ways, that night was a catalyst to the rest of my life.  I prayed.  I prayed for forgiveness, I prayed for help.  I thought of all of my mistakes.  And then I realized I was not alone.  That was 2011's gift to me.

This year gave me angels.  They have of course always been there, but I reconnected with a beautiful soul from my childhood who actually introduced me to them.  And they are the reason I am so excited about 2012.  We are living in scary human times.  Suffering, poverty, demolition of societal norms, climate change (though I really have to admit the summer-like winter we are having is just delightful), loss of faith, isolation.  I could go on, but we all know where this planet stands.  Like those who believe in the Mayan prophecy, some would argue that we are in the "end times".  But, maybe this isn't as dire as it all seems. 

Perhaps 2012 is the end of what we humans have created in terms of destruction of each other and the earth.  God can wipe the slate clean at will.  But he only has love and hope for us.  Maybe we will do it  to ourselves this year, blow up the whole damn thing.  Or maybe we will, intentionally or simply through circumstance, deconstruct the ugliness we have become.  Maybe 2012 is just a new soulful character who only wants to deal with  honesty.  For those whose existence depends on the detriment of others, you just might want to start looking for a new address on Mars.

I feel good about you, New Year.  2011, you taught me a lot.  Simplicity, I want you to be my new best friend.  Kindness, I hope you become my new next door neighbor.  Love, I hope you become the sun in my sky.  And dear, sweet angels...guide us all into a beautiful new era.  Out with the old and in with the new!!

Happy New Year everyone!!

For Caroline

How often do you do the right thing for the sole reason that it is the right thing to do?  Not because you will reap some sort of reward.  Not because someone is watching.  Not because you are hoping to put a little polish on your karma.  If there is no obvious benefit to you, do you look at "right" or "wrong" with indifference?  Beyond that, when wrong might benefit you more than right somewhere down the road, can you somehow justify that turn when staring at the crossroad?

These questions are steeped in philosophy, but I am facing them on a fundamental level with a little person who lives in my house.  We teach our children (and we were taught, ourselves) to treat others as we want to be treated, to make people feel good, to do the right thing.  Some humans seem to do this quite naturally and they usually possess their own gravitational pulls.  But for many people, it is not innate to give away what they love or prize for the benefit of another.  Over the past 6 years my husband and I have had this parenting gig, we have fallen into a pattern of bribery.  If you eat your food, you will get dessert.  If you are nice to your brother, you will get a star on your chart (and eventually a prize).  If you build it, they will come.  We are training them to provide conditional kindness and contribution.  And this is wrong.  Sometimes it feels like the only tool in my weak little toolbox, but it is not effective.  So I have begun to correct myself, and my husband, by saying "You give the toy back to him, because it belongs to him and it is the right thing to do".

Mike McQueary.  He witnessed a child being raped.  He told somebody "above him" and then he washed his hands.  At first glance, it would seem he did the right thing.  Until it is revealed that he has now climbed the ranks of one of the most prestigious collegiate sport teams to become a coach.  He likely passes through the locker room where he saw this atrocity with his own eyes on a daily basis.  Had he called the police that very instant and screamed "There is a 10 YEAR OLD boy being savagely attacked in front of me," would he have the coaching crown he has today?  That answer is a big fat no.  Would he be in protective custody today due to death threats as this travesty unfolds its seemingly endless wingspan?  No.  Would he have peace of mind that he stopped the "alleged" monster from going on to steal the innocence of more little boys in 2005 and 2008?  Yes.  He did not do the right thing.  Maybe it was fear.  Maybe it was the hope that by keeping his mouth shut he would become part of this elite group of indifferent untouchables.  Money, relative fame, football and an institution.  Or do the right thing.  We all know now which path he chose.

Veteran's Day.  If a person is in the service, he has handed his time with his family, sleeping in his own bed, living a "normal' life over to me and everyone else who enjoys the beautiful life we live in this country.  She has given her most prized possession away, and sometimes her life itself, for the benefit of others.  For the soldiers of our generation, they do it not because they have to but because they have chosen that path...and for that, every man of draftable age should be thankful.  In this giant grown-up sandbox, with no one watching, they have gifted us with our freedom.  What an amazing thing to do.

Today, someone I don't know all that well (though she does officiate fantastic weddings in the LA area), reached out to me.  From seemingly nowhere, she brought kind words and encouragement to me to pursue my dreams.  She didn't stand to get a medal or a prize or a pat on the back, she just did it because it was in her heart.  She could have let her thoughts just pass through without taking the time to write to me.  But she didn't.  She reminded me that we all have the ability to do the right thing, big and small, and doing so can't help but keep us all on the path to great things.

Lo

That Which Can Happen In 4 Years

Time keeps on slipping into the future.  Steve Miller really summed it up in that sentence.  Sand through the hourglass, clouds in the wind, the earth spinning on its axis.  Time's lack of interest in our desire for it to slow down or speed up is abundantly clear.  And so passes four years, in the blink of an eye and at the pace of sap sliding from a tree, all at once. 

In the last 4 years, I have watched my 2 year old turn into a 1st grader with certain deficits for which we are seeking guidance and help.  I feel my second son grow in my womb and emerge a firecracker of spunk and sweetness.  My beloved dog, Leo, loses his battle of kidney failure, and then we acquire 3 new dogs (one each year since he passed) who for the most part drive me nuts.  I metamorphosis from an insecure impostor to a confident businesswoman.  I see friendships built in the most dire of circumstances, that then crumble in calm waters.  And then new friendships are built again.  I hear hypocrisy from people I hold dear, and then learn to feel empathy for them and their lack of repentance, for I too once was too stubborn to admit my mistakes.  My faith in God has time to stagger and then flourish once again.

Over the weekend a very, very large tortoise heaved it's heavy body up my driveway.  I cannot imagine where it came from, how long he has been slowly but steadily running the race, or why it turned up my driveway from our relatively busy street.  It was so shocking and beautiful.  I carried it to my neighbor's house where the girls live who spotted the big guy while riding their bikes past our place.  They are sweet girls well-versed in caring for animals (they let their goats out of their pen and put the tortoise in so he could feel secure for a moment or two).  They have put signs up all over the neighborhood looking for his rightful owner, as any responsible person would do.  But I have found I cannot stop thinking about the tortoise.  Maybe he wasn't lost at all.  Maybe he was a gift from God sent to show me that time can appear to slow down if I stay present in the moment.  Sending my mind out on an exploratory expedition into the weeks and months to come causes me nothing but worry and stress.  Finding the peace and harmony in an experience, no matter how odd or difficult or fulfilling it might be, has given rise to my understanding that one cannot deny their emotions for the fear of being uncomfortable.  How would we know what "good" is if we had nothing to compare it too?

My dad died 4 years ago today.  He was 57.  As this anniversary hits and the lump in my throat seems to grab my vocal cords like a vice, I am ok with the fact that the emotions I feel today are stronger than the ones that came on the previous anniversaries.  He is really gone and he has already missed so much.  If I live to be 90 years old, I will have seen his face but for 30 years of my life.  And I do wonder for what period of time his face, and voice, and laugh will stay fresh in my mind.  After all, time remains an unbridled strength pulling us forward and away from each moment we live.

On my drive in to work today, I was deep in thought and staring at the tail of the semi truck in front of me.  I wasn't looking to left at the glassy ocean or the right at the peaceful lagoon, just straight ahead.  Then for one second I glanced at the car passing me in the next lane.  Its license plate read "Call Dan".  I wish I could, in the physical sense.  But I still can in the spiritual sense and again, I think it was a reminder sent to me that time doesn't have to take him away.  The paradigm that we can remain frozen in memory and progressive in life, is the gift of time. 

I miss him, we all miss him, and we will continue to move forward into our respective futures in his honor.  I love you, Dad.

Things That Baffle Me

I am going to indulge in some Seinfeldian observations for this post, the reason being that I find myself having an internal dialog that frequently starts with some variation of "What the hell...?"  As I look around in the world, I notice there is quite a girthy population of individuals who have a different set of tools with which they are working.  Some have sharp tools.  Others, well, not so much.  And these are the folks who fascinate me the most.  Here are some of my recent observations involving the dullest of butter knives in the silverware drawer:

The Burrito Chucker:  While driving behind a big monster-ish truck last week, I suddenly noticed a large projectile fly out of the driver-side window.  It was partially wrapped in paper and bounced its way to a splattery death.  It was a half-eaten burrito laying naked on the double yellow line.  First of all, it should be a crime to treat a burrito with such disrespect.  But beyond that, I am pretty sure tossing  your garbage out the window while  you are driving is actually a crime.  What is the thought process of that individual throwing the poor burrito?  The birds will eat it?  The street sweeper will suck it up?  No!  It's trash and no one wants yours...find a trashcan, Loser.

The Tray Abandoner:  This is the Burrito Chuckers snobby sister.  She is the one who orders food at a counter restaurant (i.e. McDonalds, Chipotle, Subway).  She eats her food, crumples her napkins, finishes her drink.  And then she bails.  And her tray of remnants sits there for everyone else to enjoy.  Invariably, some lowly employee has to come out and clean up after her.  Now if she were to leave a tip in exchange for someone else cleaning up after her, then I wouldn't have a problem with her.  But you know she never leaves a tip.  So my message to the tray abandoners of the world is unless it's your mama working behind the counter and she still likes to clean up after you...find a trashcan!

The Ignorer:  My new neighborhood is fun and friendly.  However, my last 2 neighborhoods were crawling with Ignorers.  These are the people you pass when taking a walk who would rather stare at the ground, the sky or anything than have to make eye contact with you as you share the sidewalk for 1/2 of a second.  And God forbid they actually have to acknowledge you when you say "Hello".  I have never let this put a damper on my willingness to say hi to people as I pass them.  But as I get older, I have found I really want them to reciprocate.  Give me another 20 years and I may be cruising the 'hood with a bullhorn.  Neighbors will know not to ignore me, lest they be followed by the crazy lady shouting "Hello?  I know you hear me!" behind them.

The Jungle Gym Smoker:  A few years back, while on a family vacation, I took my son to a park to play.  We were in a part of the country where smoking is still prevalent.  Still I was so dumbfounded when I climbed up the jungle gym with Luke only to find the grandmother/mother duo taking a smoke break next to the top of the slide their toddler was about to shoot down.  I wanted to tell the little guy "Go!  That is your escape hatch!  Hit the ground and keep running!".  But he just sat there taking in the trees, the sunshine and the toxic carcinogens from Gma and mama.  I used to smoke.  I'm not passing judgement.  But let's be honest, there aren't too many health benefits to smoking that I am aware of...and on the flip side I have seen some pretty crappy side effects (i.e. lung cancer, coughing up lung butter, smelling like an ashtray).   So, while it is one's choice to smoke (and God bless you if you haven't been able to stop), I'm pretty sure it is not what a child's growing body is craving.  Keep the smoke outside, but maybe just stay off the jungle gym.

So these are just a few of my favorite genres of people.  I have other groups I may touch on in a future post (i.e. Gunboat Grannies, Common Denominators:  people who fail to recognize themselves as the only constant in all of the problems in their lives, and Booty Shorts:  Knowing one's limits.)  Stay tuned!! ;)

Micah: "Damn it. I'm silly."

This was not a quote from Fay Dunaway or my flamboyant neighbor, Roger,  in West Hollywood.  No, this was a quote from my 3 year old son as he casually trotted out down the hall with an armful of stuffed animals.  It should also be noted that he was pantless.  And this is how he rolls:  direct and with varying degrees of nudity.  While I don't condone the mild curse words coming from his lisping, raspy little mouth, I do have to commend the good usage of the words.  Because, damn it, he really is silly.

I spend most Tuesdays and Thursdays with Micah.  He doesn't have preschool those days and so I take the opportunity to be a stay-at-home mommy on those two days.  There is no down time, no dull time, no let's-lay-down-and-take-a-nap time with Micah.  He hits the ground running at 6:00 am and shifts comfortably into 5th gear by 8:00 am.  In fact this morning after dropping Luke off for his last day of kindergarten, Micah sighs in the back seat and says "Man...I'm tired."  You and me both, kid.  It was 9:00 am.

We have joked that Micah is our little Prefontaine because he doesn't walk anywhere.  Throw a sweatband around his head and he's a dead ringer for 1970's icon with his wispy flowing hair, head cocked back and arms held tight to his solid little body as he strides around the yard, the beach, Target.  He is a sturdy little specimen.  But what makes him truly fun (and silly!) is the steady flow of awesome commentary on things that I have overlooked, either by accident or on purpose.  (And now I devolve into some bathroom talk, so look away if this ain't your cup o' tea.) I am in the kitchen this afternoon and Micah proudly proclaims "I gotta poop!"  Since he has only been potty trained for 2 months, I still give him the pumped up, go gettem' mommy cheer.  He returns to the top of the stairs a minute later in a move that is a combination of sliding into second base and Tom Cruise from Risky Business.  Again he is pantless.  "No poop.  Just peep."  I assure him that is okay and then he looks at me and with a bit of a suggestive smirk says "Mom, maybe you have to go peep?" in the same tone a waiter uses when asking if you've saved room for dessert.  "I'm good, Babe.  Go get your pants."  I appreciate his concern.

He scurries away again and it's a little bit too quiet upstairs.  A few more minutes go by and then I hear a large exclamation of intrigue and shock.  I rush upstairs assuming he has rubbed the Bengay on his face again.  But, no, this time he has done the deed.  And as he admires his work he says "Look at that!  How did that come out of my body?"  I think the same thing when I look at him and his brother.  "That's not even a fire bomb poop.  That's like a daddy poop!"  A fire bomb poop?  What is it with guys (of ALL ages) and their fascination with this inescapable part of existence?  Anyone with a household with more than one male knows what I am talking about.  More than two males and it becomes a new dialect of poop-related science that can apply to all non-poop related subjects.  (At least our hamster, Sunshine, is a girl.)  Nonetheless, the little guy made me laugh.

Tonight, as I snuggled Micah on the couch, I nuzzled his little soft cheek and told him I loved him.  I do this, in part, selfishly because I love his typical response.  "I love you all the time."  He crashed but a few minutes later before the sun even fell out of the sky.  He lives life in a very vibrant way...fast, sweaty, happy.  And even when he gets mad at me, usually for denying him yet another treat, he will say "Fine.  I'm not your mom anymore."  I just nod and agree with him, don't bother to try to explain that technically he has never been my mom.  Because even when he's angry, he is adorable.  Ultimately, he is a little fun bun.  My little short stack.  And he is silly, indeed.