Children: A Social Experiment

So, my son let’s me put things on his head. Books, toys, cups, bowls, it really doesn’t matter. He sits there as still as he can with a big, fat grin on his face and waits for me to do it again. I’m not sure if he really enjoys balancing things on his head or whether he’s jus t responding to the fact that I get such a kick out of it, but it’s become one of our favorite games to play.



I love how he alternates between a look of concentration when he’s trying to balance it and a look of triumph when he does it successfully. Notice the way that his grin gets progressively bigger with each successful attempt. I think we should all have such joy at the small victories in life.



It’s my goal in life to make this kid laugh as much as I possibly can. Fortunately for me, this is not a hard task. The other game of ours that gives endless entertainment is the high five game. Most of you should remember this from your school days and it goes something like this: “Give me five…up high….down low…TOO SLOW!” Parker thinks the too slow part is just the funniest thing ever. He will intentionally miss your hand just in case he wasn’t slow enough just to play the part. What a good sport!


Food/Exercise Log, July 30th:

9am: Kashi trail mix breakfast bar

11am-1pm: Ran 3 miles, taught a 60 minute spinning class

1pm: Cliff protein bar

2pm: 2 slices homemade pizza, 1 cup baby carrots

4pm: Homemade guacamole and baked tortilla chips (if you don't feel like making your guac from scratch, just mash up an avocado into a 1/2 cup of your favorite store bought salsa and viola!)

6pm: Smoothie (8 oz. vanilla soy milk, 2 Tbs. peanut butter, 1 banana)and a mixed greens salad with almonds, raisins, diced pears, and a raspberry vinaigrette.


July 31:

9am: 40 minute run (speed workout)

10am: Kashi breakfast bar, coffee with hazelnut soy milk creamer

1pm: Smoked salmon sandwich with olive tapenade and waffle fries from an excellent french restaurant

5pm: Romaine salad with olive oil and vinegar, an apple and watermelon

6pm: 1/2 cup 2% cottage cheese with fresh pineapple

On The Menu

So, I thought I would start doing something new here. People ask me all the time, "what do you eat?" Whether they're my spinners looking for tips or friends bored with their own recipes, I thought I would start a daily log of both my food consumption as well as my workouts. I stopped eating meat (beef, pork, chicken) about 5 months ago, so this will be a vegetarian log, but it's really easy to add meat in to any meal. In fact, that's how I cook around here. I start off by making whatever it is that I want to eat and then I just add a meat portion for the Irishman, be it a grilled ribeye or a lemon roasted chicken. I haven't had a problem making the switch. If it's a more complicated dish like lasagna, I just add meat to half of it.

You'll also notice that I eat most of my food raw. I've done a lot of research on nutrition and how our bodies process foods. As a result, I try to keep most of my foods as close to their natural state as possible. That goes for sugar and salt too. I stay far away from fake sugar products because they are completely synthetic (for example, Splenda is touted as being made from sugar and it is - 1 part sugar and 3 parts chlorine - yum!).

Oh and you'll notice something else - I do eat junky foods on occassion! (Gasp!!) I started out living by the 80/20 principle (eat things that are good for you 80% of the time and splurge the other 20%), but I'm closer to 90/10 now. The funny thing is that I just kind of gravitated towards things that were good for me as soon as I started thinking of food as fuel. I challenge you to eat a fried meal and then try and run for an hour. Can you say cramps?!?

One last food tidbit is that I don't view junk food as a reward. As a result, I don't feel the need to "treat" myself with it. I'm ok with anything in moderation (except for arsenic because even a drop will kill you) so if I want dessert I have it, if I don't then I skip it. Easy as that. Ok, so here we go.

Tuesday, July 29th:

Breakfast (9am) - Whole grain bagel with light veggie cream cheese, coffee with half and half and sugar

Gym 10:45-1:00pm - Ran 6 miles and taught a 50 minute spinning class (the earlier bagel was a big mistake because I had a cramp for my entire run - tomorrow, something lighter for breakfast)

Lunch (1pm) - Veggie burger on a sesame bun (Amy's Organic brand which is made up of actual veggies, not processed soy), pint of blackberries, pint of raspberries, a banana

Snack (3pm) - 1/2 cup 2% cottage cheese and fresh pineapple

Dinner (6pm) - 1 slice homemade 4 cheese pizza (I bought a pre-made crust from the health food store made with spelt and flax seed - it turned out to be awesome!), a large romaine salad with white balsamic and olive oil, 1 pint strawberries, 1/2 a banana that Parker didn't finish.

Roar! Hiss!

Keeping with the animal theme, here's another clip for you to enjoy!

Animal Kingdom

We just got back from Parker's first trip to Disney World. We met up with with a nice sized group of the Irishman's family and we all stayed at the Animal Kingdom Lodge. The best thing about the resort was that our room was located on the Savannah side, so there were all kinds of animals right outside of our balcony. Parker thought this was the coolest thing ever. Here are some pictures from our balcony.











We all went to the Polynesian Resort's luau for dinner the first night there. They had a very entertaining show complete with Polynesian dancers and lots of fire, which Parker also thought was very cool. I had no clue that he even knew the word "fire" until he started pointed and shouting it over and over. Hmmm, what are they teaching him at school? Here are some pictures from the luau. (Yes, Patrick and Parker are wearing matching shirts. Yes, I had one too, but elected to not wear it because it was dang hot out there! I'm a spoilsport that way.)









(Here's one for the ladies!)





We woke up bright and early the next morning and went on the Savannah safari first. There are an incredible array of animals there. I ended up getting some great pictures and while we were decently close, these were all taken with my telephoto lens.

















As a side note, I get depressed as hell seeing gorillas in small enclosures. Read Ishmael by Daniel Quinn for full enlightenment on this.





After running around for another couple of hours and going on a couple more rides, Parker decided to crash during lunch.



He woke up recharged and ready to go so we took him on his first kiddy ride! (Truth be told, I think I was more excited about this than he was. Notice the look of apprehension on his face.) That's my mother-in-law riding in our cart behind us.



"Mom, are you sure this thing is safe?" "Don't worry son, it's Disney, they have great accident insurance."





After the ride, the Irishman and Parker played (and won) every game they had. As an aside, I would like to draw your attention to my husband's ridiculous hat (as if you could have missed it!). I have a severe aversion to drawing attention to myself in public. As a result, my darling husband usually does whatever he can to make us the center of attention simply to make me uncomfortable. I have no idea why. If you know, please clue me in. Thank you. So, as soon as we got up that morning and he realized that he forgot his baseball hat, he went off in search of the most obnoxious hat that he could find. He succeeded.









And here are some other random shots.

Parker's Nana (as he calls her)and his Aunt Carol giving him some love.



Parker and his great-grandma.



And with his Uncle Michael outside of the Magic Kingdom.



And that concludes Parker's first trip to Disney. Never one to stop moving, Parker is already gearing up for his next big adventure.

Lulu Belle

Lulu Belle is the only real cat in the house. It’s quite possible that you’ve been to my house and have never seen her. She’s elusive that way. She graciously allows the rest of us to share her space, but it’s always on her terms. If she hasn’t screened your application, chances are that you won’t get within 5 feet of her.

Weighing in at just over 7 lbs., she’s the most diminutive of the gang. As such, she treats the house like it’s a hostile territory. For example, if she wants to go outside, you have to open the door and get out of her way. Then, she’ll scan the surrounding area to make sure there are no predators lurking about before running at warp speed through the door. It’s important during this time that you don’t make any sudden movements in her direction or she’ll abort her flight and you’ll have to get up 20 minutes later to open the door again after she’s satisfied that it was a false alarm.

The amazing thing about Lulu Belle is that she’s a completely different cat when all of the other animals are away. This only happens during meal times. The dogs eat in the office and Payton has to eat on the porch because he’s a gluttonous fatso who would scarf down both his food and hers without batting an eyelash. So, he eats outside and then stares longingly through the window while Lulu meanders her way through her meal. I think she does it to torment him. She’ll take a couple of bites and then wander away. Maybe get some water, lick her paws, or come and sit on my lap before eventually strolling over to resume her meal. Yup, she’s a stinker all right.

Anyway, back to Lulu Belle being a different cat. You see, when she’s all by herself in the house and there are no predators lurking in the shadows, she becomes the most affectionate cat you can possibly imagine. She’ll sprawl on your lap and roll around. She’ll follow you around the kitchen and rub against your legs. I sometimes wonder if she wouldn’t be happier as an only cat somewhere else, but then I remember that being alone only has value because she’s accustomed to being crowded.

It’s kind of the whole “you don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone” thing. For example, I recall before having a child that I was once bored. HA! I was bored because I didn’t have anything to do. I had all of the free time in the world and not a single obligation. Woe was me. That single recollection is probably the most laughable thing in my life. I guess that it’s possible that I’ll be bored again one day, but I doubt it because I now know the value of having a single hour completely to myself with absolutely nothing to do. In other words, I think that Lulu Belle and I can enjoy those brief moments of freedom because they’re sandwiched between chaos and mayhem. Secretly though, we wouldn’t change it for the world.

My Favorite Things: Jeans Edition

Now that I’m no longer working in an office with a dress code, I’ve noticed that I’ve unofficially adopted a uniform of my own. Probably 6 days a week, I grab one of the 20 long tank tops that are stacked in my t-shirt drawer and pair it with one of my 20 pairs of jeans. Even when class is in session, I always start off with the intention of looking professional, but typically I regress to jeans within a matter of weeks. I figure two weeks of dress slacks is enough to establish my authority as Dr. Cyn. In fact, my jean addiction is so established that when my friends invite me places, they have to specify whether jeans are appropriate because without fail, that’s what I’ll wear unless told otherwise.

Before the designer jean boom, I used to have a perpetual jean dilemma. You see, I’m 5’11” and it was virtually impossible for me to find a pair of jeans that was both long enough and a good fit. With the average American woman standing at a petite 5’4”, I was clearly not the target market for most stores. However, about 6 years ago, something changed. First, the cost of jeans skyrocketed to the triple digits, but with this price hike, the average inseam also went up from a 32 to a 34/36. For someone like me, that was like winning the denim lottery!

Once the denim world was open to me, I went to Saks Fifth Avenue and tried on every single pair of jeans that they sold in my size. I’m really not exaggerating here. I told the saleswoman to please bring them all to me. (I had mentally committed to buying three pairs so that it was worth her while.) I quickly learned which brands catered to Greek hips and which ones were made for women built like 12 year old boys.

My new love when I left Saks that day was Citizens of Humanity. They were perfect. Really. They fit well in all the right places, they were more than long enough and I felt like they were made for me. I bought 2 pairs of Citizens (same cut, different washes) and one pair of Seven For All Mankind jeans in a wide leg. (Random fact: the creater of Citizens left the Seven For All Mankind corporation and started his own company. If you’re thinking right about now that I know way too much about designer jeans, you are correct.)

Anyway, over the last 4 years, my collection has slowly grown from 4 pairs to 20 pairs. I acutally even have two pairs of Citizens in maternity! I have every cut, leg width and wash imaginable and I wear every single pair. I love them all equally – really, who can pick a favorite? I’m sure over the next 4 years, that number will most likely increase by at least 10 pairs as they come out with new styles.

Now, in my defense, I generally do not spend much at all on shirts (my favorite tank tops were $7 each), I don't gamble and I'm not an alcoholic. If this sounds like I'm rationalizing my demin addiction, I am. But seriously, if you’ve never sought out the perfect pair of jeans, I strongly encourage you to make the pilgrimage because once you find them, they only get better with age. Besides, is there anything sexier than a perfect fitting pair of jeans that are comfortable to boot? I don’t think so.

How Did I Get Here?

So, my 30th birthday is about 6 weeks away and I've spent a lot of time wondering exactly how I got here. I don't mean that in an existential way (although I do spend a lot of time thinking about that too). But this time, by here I mean having a family, living in Florida, working as a managing editor of a sociology journal...

When I think back to the eve of my 20th birthday, I would have pictured my 30 year old self still single, living abroad (maybe in Paris), working on my 3rd novel. I wouldn't have even cared if any of my fictitious novels were published. I just craved the experience of it all and wanted to be accountable to no one but myself. My days would consist of waking up with the dawn, meandering down to my favorite cafe, feeding ducks by the river. Ok, that last part is a total lie because I hate ducks, but you get the point.

Fast forward a couple of years and in my alternate future plans, I was still single (are you noticing a theme here?), still traveling as much as possible, but working as a special agent for the FBI (or another federal agency). I was really serious about this one. I did all of my research and knew the pros and cons of each agency (I had contacts in several of them). I met all of the basic criteria and knew from speaking with several different recruiters that I was a strong candidate. I just needed to make the decision and move forward.

Free will is a funny thing, isn't it? A single decision that you make can change your life so drastically. I have to say that I still remember the moment when I veered away from this almost reality of mine. I had just finished my Masters degree and I had to choose whether I stayed in graduate school to pursue a PhD or start moving full speed ahead towards federal law enforcement. The deciding factor for me was the defining characteristic I had listed above in my fantasy life #1 - I wanted complete control over my life. So, I shelved all of my applications and began learning about criminological theory and it's practical applications.

Then, something else happened. Something very unexpected. I fell in love with my best friend. Talk about not seeing that one coming. I had gotten out of a long relationship earlier in the year and I was all about living the single life (finally!) for a good, long time. But, life happened. You know, I had always thought that I would eventually marry a brooding intellectual who drank red wine and wore horn-rimmed glasses and black turtlenecks. We would discuss critical theory during our morning runs and vacation on a yacht.

That image now seems completely absurd as I conjure up a picture of the Irishman in his Steelers t-shirt and jeans, drinking a pint of Guinness. As I ruefully shake my head over the image, I can't help but think of him rolling on the floor playing with Parker or reading a book to him during bath time. Somehow, I can't imagine my brooding intellectual getting spit up on his black turtleneck or putting Neitzche down long enough to read Curious George.

No, I'm not exactly sure how I got here, but who knew that here would be such an unexpectedly delightful place? It's like finding a beautiful waterfall on your way to your final destination and then deciding to build your life there instead. It's also interesting how we all make our "here" work for us. Even though I now have a husband, a child and a hord of small animals, I still live each day for myself, complete with indulgences and no regrets. The one thing I always swore is that I would always be the captain of my own ship. I don't believe in sacrificing yourself for the sake of others because you only get once shot at making your own happiness. So, while I may have other passengers on my ship, some for long stays and some for short ones, I'm happy to report that I'm still in charge of my final destination, but I'm certainly open to noticing the waterfalls along the way.

Back In Business

So, yesterday was my first run after taking 11 days off to nurse my foot and I have to say that it was everything that I was hoping it would be. I started off with the intention that I would run a slow and easy couple of miles, but that didn't happen.

My legs were so fresh and rested, that I ended up running 3 miles in a quick (for me) 23 minutes. I felt like I was flying and that my legs were weighless. I kept telling myself to hold back, that this was only a warm up run, but I was so overjoyed to be doing it that I just had to let loose.

It's interesting that my life has switched so drastically from doing things that I "had to do" to doing things that I "want to do." It's such a subtle difference, but it's amazing the effect that it has on your motivation. I see people in the gym chronically looking at their watches, agonizing as the minutes tick by, just waiting for their required 25th minute to pass before they can quit and go home. I guess for them, the term "working out" applies in the literal sense - it's just another job.

On the other hand, I hate when my workout is over. I prolong it as long as I can and I'm constantly allowing myself just "5 more minutes" to enjoy the sensation of my body in motion. I love that I have the ability to get where ever I'm going by sheer will and that I can take for granted that my body will comply. I think that's why injuries are so stressful to me. They mean that my body is not functioning entirely as it should. I also like the feeling of burning muscles and fatigue. Call me a sadist if you'd like, but the protest of my body means that I'm pushing myself to new limits and there's nothing I like more than the sense of satisfaction I get when I wanted to quit, but didn't.

For me, there's just one absolute in life. Whether it's with regard to challenging your body or your mind, the only limitations that exist in life are ones that you set for yourself.

Comic Relief

My son has the most infectious laugh I have ever heard. In fact, I keep this old clip of him on my desktop as an instant stress reliever at work. I challenge you to watch this video while keeping a straight face all the way through. I tell ya folks, it can't be done. So today, my gift to you is the pure laugh of a happy baby. Witnessing those 60 seconds of joy are the best therapy that I've ever had.

Legislating Morality

So, I'm really starting to think that there is no rhyme or reason to the way that public policies are set in this country. Did you folks know that you can only purchase a limited quantity of certain cold medicines at a time and that you must request them from behind the counter? Actually, I'm sure that all of you already knew about this. I'm slow like that. Anyway, my buddy, Meg, recently told me about this and I was just floored. Seriously, she couldn't buy two different sets of cold meds because there was the possibility that she might run home to make methamphetamines.

Um, what? How can anyone possibly think that they're preventing anyone from making meth by limiting the number of cold meds that are purchased? I would have loved to have been in the room to hear the discourse on the formation of this policy. I'm quite certain that no one in that room thought that this would actually prevent meth from being manufactured; however, it does provide the public with the illusion that something is being done about the problem. Nice.

In the meantime, I can go to the liquor store, purchase unlimited quantites of alcohol (which I don't even need to mix with anything to make it lethal) and do whatever the heck I feel like. Kill myself with alcohol poisoning. Drive my car through a crowded market. Give it to underaged kids. You get the point.

I am by no means advocating for increased regulation of alcohol. I'm just saying that it makes no sense to hide cold medicine behind the counter in an attempt to deter anyone's behavior. I have no idea when the government decided that it was their job to legislate morality...and then to do a piss poor job of it! Unreal.

Ok, rant over. Carry on.

Is This Love?

So, I normally hate commercials. I despise the idea of someone trying to sell me something that I haven't gone out of my way to look for. With that said, once every three years or so, I come across a commercial that I identify with so closely, I almost forget that they're trying to sell me something.

This New Balance commercial is one of those. (In fact, I've since found out that the entire series of Love/Hate commericals rock. Click on the hyperlinks throughout this post to see more of them.)


I saw this commerical for the first time this week as I was sitting on the couch rolling my foot on a soup can for the second straight hour trying to get over this latest injury. It came on just as I was wondering why I was continuing with this running journey when it seems like there are so many roadblocks cropping up left and right. I mean, is all of this really worth it? What is running giving me that swimming and cycling aren't? As the doubts and second guesses roll through my head, I wonder if running is punishing me for picking swimming back up so early in our relationship.

After the commercial was over, I sat staring at the TV as I had two thoughts simultaneously. The first was, "Thank God I'm not the only person who thinks of sports as living entities that I'm involved with." And the second was, "Holy crap, I've fallen for running!" I was so busy rediscovering my relationship with swimming that I didn't even realize it was happening. I mean, I knew that I had been looking longingly at new running paths during my hiatus over the last week. And I also noticed the jealous stares that I was shooting at runners who were happily treading along without any foot pain whatsoever, but I didn't realize that it was this serious.

I have to say that I'm glad that I know now where I stand with running. I'm not sure that all of this pain would have been worth it for a fling, but since we're headed towards a long term relationship, I'm willing to work out the issues as they surface. Is running one of the hardest relationships I've ever had? Absolutely, but I'm willing to stick it out because you and I both know that my make-up run after my foot is better will be unforgettable!

Oh yeah and that picture at the top, that's a nearby path that I want to take running to after our break is over.

The Run Down

Well, it seems like I'm working my way through every type of injury on my way to the marathon. I had a really bad case of runner's knee back in March and April and while that's remedied, it appears that I'm now fighting the same thing that my brother had: plantar fasciitis. Translation? My heel and the arch of my foot hurt like hell. Nice, huh?

The good news is that, while my foot heals with ice and anti-inflammatory treatments, it's recommended that I cross-train with swimming and cycling. Lucky for me, I already do both of those activities, so I shouldn't lose too much conditioning while I'm getting over my foot pain. I'm going to consider this the calm before the storm since, at 6 months away, my training is about to get much more aggressive as I start working long runs into my routine.

Swimming is going great. When I first got back into the pool about a month ago, I could really only go about 10 laps at a time before my arms were on fire and my lungs were burning for air. In 4 short weeks, I now start my workout with 40 laps (1,000 yards) and can easily complete them without so much as a stitch in my side. I can't possibly begin to tell you how good that feels.

With the Olympics on the horizon, I've been thinking a lot about swimming lately. I watched the swimming trials last week and was on the edge of my seat the entire time. As the swimmers approached the blocks, I was mentally putting myself through the paces of how they were feeling and what they were thinking. As they dove into the water, I was screaming "kick, kick, kick!" inside of my head and when they made the last turn and were headed for the finish, I could feel the fatigue in their muscles as if it were my own. Incidentally, I have the same type of out of body experience when I watch any woman giving birth. I can't help but hold my breath when she pushes and get tears in my eyes when that little baby is put on her chest.

Anyway, back to sports. There's something so appealing about watching athletes at the top of their game. Knowing that the blood, sweat and tears are behind them and all that's left now is the fight and the glory. For me, that level of dedication is probably one of the most attractive things in the world so you better believe that I will be tuned in to watch every second of the Olympics this summer. Forget Big Brother, this is the only reality TV that I'm into.

In Your Eyes

It's so rare that I get a picture of my little guy with a serious expression. Typically, the second that the camera is on him, he starts mugging for it, but on this particular morning, I happened to have my camera in the front seat and I caught him deep in thought at a red light on the way to school.

I love his face. I know that all mothers feel this way about their children, but seriously, there is no other face on this earth that sucks me in the way that his does. Just looking at him makes my heart feel so full and sometimes, I have no idea what to do with all of this excess love.

As I look at this picture, my eyes wander over his face and take in the slight reddish tint of his hair, the perfect bow shape of his lips and the way that his ears are exactly like my father's. But when my gaze settles, I can't help but stare at his eyes. They're like two liquid pools with thick black lashes that I get completely lost in. The most amazing thing about this is that I've been staring at these exact eyes in the mirror for 29 years.

Back in grade school, I used to hate my eyes. It always seemed like they took up my whole face and everyone was always talking about them, which is so not a good thing to a 10 year old. I remember that I disliked their shape and the fact that they were a boring brown instead of the glorious light green that both my brother and mother had. I used to guilt trip my poor mom by saying, "why couldn't you have given your eyes to me instead of Dean" and I now know without a doubt that if she could have taken them out of her head and put them in mine, she would have done so without hesitation just to make me feel better about it.

Looking at my son's eyes, at my eyes in his perfect little face, I shake my head in disbelief. How could I have ever wanted to be anything other than exactly as I was? Who knew that seeing yourself in your child would be so therapeutic. When we're out and about and a stranger says, "Your son has your eyes. They gorgeous," I take it as the biggest compliment in the world and as an afterthought, send my 10 year old self a virtual hug. If I could have spoken to her, I would have said the same thing that my mom said to me, which is the same thing that I'll say to Parker if he's ever hard on himself and it's this: Chin up kid, you're perfect just the way you are.

Independence Day

I always think of today as America's symbolic 18th Bithday. It's our coming of age when we gave the finger to England and pretty much said that, while we really appreciate the help you gave us in the beginning, we've got our big boy pants on now and we don't need you anymore.

I consider myself a patriotic person, but not in the traditional sense. In my worldview, having patriotism does not mean spouting off that America is the best country in the world. For me, being patriotic means exercising your civil rights. Our extensive freedom of speech, expression and dissention is what makes this country what it is.

When I was in high school, I never stood for the pledge of allegiance. Kids in my class thought that I was just being difficult (which I typically was), but to me, the fact that I could exercise my right to stay in my seat said more about this country than standing up and shouting my support.

When we would have debates in class, I would never condemn those who spouted off what I considered ignorant drivel, because it was their right to do so. When one of my friends questioned me about my silence (I was known for being opinionated), I explained that in order for me to have the right to speak as I chose to, I had to be tolerant of others whose thoughts I found offensive.

I have a sticker on my front door that says "Protected By The Fourth Amendment," which is our freedom from unlawful searches and seizures. My friends always get a kick out of this since I just spent 4 years working in a law enforcement agency. I have a deep seated respect for law enforcement officers, but that doesn't mean that I want them unlawfully searching my house. Do I have anything to hide? No, but that's not the point.

Here's the thing folks, we have rights. Lots of them. What kind of citizen would I be if I let any of them go to waste? I'm always afraid that rights are a use 'em or lose 'em type of enterprise and in the current climate in this country, civil rights are always at risk. It is very easy to have rights taken away (i.e. Patriot Act), but it is far more difficult to get them back. So today, on America's birthday, let's have a toast celebrating the fact that we can say "Screw You!" to our government and get away with it. Cheers! Now if I could only find those American Flag high-top Converse that I had in 9th grade...

Pardon Me, May I Sit On You?

It's interesting to watch the interplay between a 19-month-old child and a small menagerie of animals. When Parker is in the room, the dogs and one of our cats make a hasty exit to safer areas. Payton, however, does not. I'm not sure if it's feline bravery or just a twisted case of "negative attention is still attention," but even when Parker is barreling towards Payton at full speed, he holds his ground.

I remember the first time Parker lifted Payton by his tail. Payton just stood there, back paws lifted 3 inches off of the ground, looking lazily around the room. Strangely, even after I moved him to the safety of the kitchen, he was back in the living room less than one minute later. As a result, Parker spends a great deal of time hanging out with him.

I'm not sure what the fascination is, but Parker has a particular fondness for sitting on Payton. Yes, you read that correctly. The funny thing is, Parker is very polite about it. Just watch the following exchange.

"Pardon me sir. I can't help by notice that you look amazingly soft. Would you mind if I sat on you?"









And here he is on another day.





Typically, he'll sit there for 10 seconds or so, give Payton a squeeze and then go about his business. This happens probably three times a week. I just file it under the strange and unusual things that happen in the house and go about my business.

Mrs. Brightside

One of the cool things about reproducing is that you can't help but take a slow walk down the memory lane of your own childhood. I've spent a lot of time over the last couple of years thinking about who I am as a person and figuring out how I got here because for me, the hardest part of parenting is deciding which values and beliefs you want ingrained in your children.

As I've cultivated various relationship over the last decade, I've come to realize that I really lucked out in the parent department. I mean, I have great parents. Don't get me wrong, we didn't always get along and we both made mistakes, but at the end of the day, I always felt loved, supported and safe. There were a lot of lessons that were imparted to me over the years. There was an undercurrent of "regardless of the problem, everything is going to be ok" and a lot of "you can do anything you put your mind to" mixed in with it, but there's one lesson in particular that affects me every single day of my life and it's this: "It could always be worse, so suck it up."

Let me begin by saying that my mom never put it quite that way, but that's the way my brain translated the thousand different exchanges with this underlying theme. My mom had a standard answer for most complaints. If I would complain about having to do homework, she would respond with, "Cyn, there are children starving in Africa who would love the chance to get an education." Translation? It could be worse, suck it up kid. I'm sure at the time, I rolled my eyes and felt sorry for myself, but somewhere deep down inside, I could acknowledge that yes, I was pretty lucky to be where I was.

I know that this particular lesson was supplemented by all of the traveling that we did as kids. When you travel to other countries, it becomes so clear how good we have it here. The Greece that I know and love is not the Greece that you see on the Travel Channel. Certainly, we've been to those places, but we've also been to small poverty stricken villages where people are barely scraping by. To those kids, we were like celebrities. They wanted to know everything about us and our experiences in a world that they would never see that seemed light years away from their own existence. It was a really humbling experience.

The Irishman has experienced culture shock on a number of different levels over the years, but I'll never forget the time that we went grocery shopping after having just returned from a month-long stay on the island. He was standing in the frozen food isle of Publix just staring at his choices. When I asked him what was wrong, he looked over at me in disbelief and said, "we have so many choices here!" Yup, in most supermarkets in Greece (which are about the size of an American gas station) your choices for frozen pizza are a single brand that comes in plain cheese or pepperoni. I know this is such a small thing in and of itself, but it's so indicative of the differences between America and most other countries.

The funny thing about life lessons is that, at some point, you take ownership of them. As I was navigating through college, I found myself hearing my mom's voice in my head in response to various situations that came up and then, strangely, it became my own voice that I heard.

My favorite thing about this particular lesson is that it's so true. For the vast majority of us, we have relatively few problems. We have indoor plumbing and an abundant food supply; available health care and some source of income. With these basic needs met, how can I not be elated that right here, in this moment, life is good. When you add in the fact that my son is healthy, I'm batting 1000.

I guess what I'm saying here is that it's all about perspective. There are so many people in this world going without or dealing with real problems (life or death decisions) that I wake up every morning so damn thankful that I'm here to enjoy another day. When people ask the question of whether my glass is half empty or half full, I respond by saying that I'm just glad that I have a glass at all.