The great thing about writing is that you get to take life's challenges, and turn them into opportunities for assignments!

My article "Gluten Free Dining in the Bay Area" in June's Parents’ Press newspaper is an example of this. Having a three-year-old son who is gluten free, I've become a reluctant expert on where to dine without wheat. But I also learned a lot about Celiac disease as I researched this article, so it added to my conversation today with my son's doctor at his physical.

So now we get to decide if we want an official Celiac diagnosis, which would mean putting him back on gluten, having a blood test, and possibly an endoscopy, and if in fact he does have Celiac disease, or is just gluten intolerant, we would just end up back where we are now- avoiding gluten. I'm not sure if it's worth all that, but we'll see.

For now, I'm just grateful for all the food options we have that are gluten free.

By Kristy Lund

Labels: blood test, Celiac disease, doctors, endoscopy, gluten-free dining, Kristy Lund, life's challenges, opportunities, Parents' Press, San Francisco Bay Area, writing assignments

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It’s time to write. 

To schedule interviews. 

To work on my book proposal. 

The kids are in preschool, though I’ll be picking them up early since Lucas is getting over a cold.  Still, I have two fruitful hours left to work.

I check my e-mail.

Nothing urgent. No excuse to linger.

I must check Facebook and become a fan of Seventh Generation and Oprah.  I read others’ status updates.  Then I update my own account about how my son convinced me to buy fluorescent blue-colored Peeps. But even Facebook, which can usually suck hours out of a day, takes just a few minutes. 

I call my husband. 

I’d spoken with his mom the day before, and I’d forgotten to tell him that they can’t see the Disneyland pictures on their digital picture frame, oh and that LEGOLAND in Denmark is open every day when we’ll be visiting in May.

My husband, ever the efficient engineer who rarely procrastinates, is working, so he responds, “OK.” The entire conversation takes less than a minute.

Damn it!

None of my normally reliable stalling techniques are working today. Now I have the actual time to be a real-life productive writer.

But what do I write? An article? My book? A blog. A personal update? That's fast and efficient. But where? Facebook? MySpace? Twitter? 

Sigh. . .

It's not easy being a writer today.

By Kristy Lund

Labels: blog, Denmark, Disneyland, Facebook, Kristy Lund, LEGOLAND, MySpace, Oprah, Peeps, Seventh Generation, Twitter

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My favorite authors are those that invite you into their lives to become one of their family members, friends, or loved ones for the duration of the book. For me, Kelly Corrigan is one of these authors. I had the pleasure of hearing her speak at Book Passage, an iconic independent bookstore in the San Francisco Bay Area, recently. She is even funnier, smarter, and wittier in person, with her book The Middle Place having already set a very high standard.

Because her book magically weaves tales of cancer, being a parent while also having parents, and lots of humor, she had us all crying and laughing. The majority female audience continued to grow as she spoke. At one point I counted ninety people or so, but more kept arriving (and staying).

She asked those who have had or currently have cancer to stand so we could support them, and at least fifteen people stood. One was a woman, thirty years old or so, sitting in front of me with a knit black hat covering her bare head. All I had to do was see her wiping tears, and then I was done for.

When Kelly read, she kept interrupting herself to tell us back stories, or follow-ups, which were just as hilarious or touching as the material she was reading. It was like getting the director’s commentary on a movie.

But overall, from hearing her talk and reading her book, what I came away with is the optimism that she shares with her father. It’s contagious, and you come away wanting to be a better person.

“I’m so lucky,” she says, and you can’t help but believe her.

See what I mean by watching her touching video that has gone viral. Just click here.

By Kristy Lund

Labels: Book Passage, breast cancer, Kelly Corrigan, Kristy Lund, optimism, San Francisco Bay Area, The Middle Place, viral video

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I had a vivid dream years ago in which I was able to fly in my fish tank. Technically this would be swimming, I know, but it was different --  I could fly underwater.

According to a dream book I read years ago, flying symbolizes freedom from constraints. As for flying in airplanes, to me it means a new opportunity for travel and adventure. Of course, air transport is much different with two young sons. Gone are the days of watching a movie in its entirety, losing myself in a good book, or, one of my favorite past activities on a plane --  sleeping.

There are advantages, too. While you walk the aisles with your young ones, you get to meet all the child-friendly people on the plane, meanwhile finding out who would rather not have a toddler pat his lap to say hello. Actually, I'm always surprised how few in number the child-unfriendlies are.

In a few months we will board a plane to Sweden, where we'll do a house swap with a friend. Not only does this help out with the cost of traveling, but since we have kids around the same age, both families get to experience "new" toys! But just to be sure their favorite toys aren't left behind, my boys have already packed their mini backpacks for the trip. They get this planning ahead gene from their father, I'm pretty sure.

Speaking of Scandinavia, sons, and flying, a friend of mine recently sent me an e-mail titled, "The boy stuff us Moms go gray over." This video make me think back to my flying dream, and for a second, I wanted to join these dare-devil young guys jumping off cliffs in Norway and flying. Or at least I could go see them in action. But my next thought stopped me -- I don't want my boys to see this. I'd rather that they stick to jumpy houses with confined, padded floors and walls for now.
Here's the video, and happy flying:
http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=1778399&server=vimeo.com&amp

By Kristy Lund

Labels: daredevils, jumpy houses, Kristy Lund, Sweden

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I’m happy to share that my article, "Good Day Sunshine" is in this month’s Common Ground magazine. It's about celebrating the Winter Solstice and was a fun topic to research and write about.

When I was working on it though, the fates seemed to be playing with me.

I summarize with the following “P” words: 

Procrastination- I was determined to not do this. I wanted to get it done early. My plan, another “P” word, was to submit it to the editor an impressive week ahead of the due date since I already had some of the interviews completed. Thankfully, I started early because:

Pinkeye -- took hold of our family two weeks before the article was due. That meant laundry, laundry and more laundry to try to avoid its spread, though spread it did. It also meant both boys were home from school, but on different days as my eldest got it first, then my youngest. So the precious time I had planned to write was suddenly lost. Then of course, I caught it as well!

Potty Training -- my youngest decided he was suddenly ready to enter the world of big boy underwear. No more diapers, only colorful briefs with fire trucks or comic heroes would do. We praised him, of course, and it worked out since he was home sick and we could run to the potty at any time. But did I mention laundry? I think we’re up to twelve loads (no joke) by this time.  Other "P" words apply under this topic as well, but I won’t go there.

Panic -- After being home with at least one sick child for a seemingly endless stretch of days, I sat down at the computer one night at ten-thirty, my official muse time. No sooner had my fingers hit the keyboard to put the finishing touches on the article, when my youngest cried out in pain, “Mama, my ear hurts!” Of course he wanted me to be with him, and I wanted to be there. So there I lay with him in bed, and ultimately slept, asking the gods to help me get my article done the next day.

Publication -- in the end I did get it done. Not a week early as I’d planned, but on the contracted date nonetheless. Having a plan to finish early was probably the best thing I could have done. 

It was certainly humbling to not have time I could count on, and I’m grateful for my husband who helped during evenings and weekends so I could escape. But having a challenging time to create the piece makes the final product that much more dear. 

Analogy to parenting and childbirth anyone?

By Kristy Lund

Labels: article deadlines, Kristy Lund, pinkeye, potty training, sick kids

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I’ve been feeling a bit down lately.  Suddenly the states of our schools, health care and the world’s economy have got me singing the blues.   

It started when we were rear-ended by an uninsured driver on the way to the kids’ school in September.  Thankfully, we are all OK and the car is fine.

After crying from the shock of getting hit with the kids in the car, I sat with the guy on the curb and had a good old-fashioned "talk" with him about personal responsibility. He was probably ten years my senior.  People that passed us on the road later told me they thought it was a married couple having a disagreement.  

Once I was done delivering my "mom" lecture, though, it was clear he had little money, and a small mark on my bumper seemed trivial in the larger picture.  

But it freaked me out that bad things can happen. 

I believe that there is a higher truth (I avoid using the word reason here) to life’s events, but find it annoying how the lessons are not apparent when they are happening. 

If I were the Divine Organizer, I would have little asterisks next to life's unpleasant events that you could click on, similar to the Amazon Kindle's dictionary function.  It would contain a brief synopsis about how, in the long run, this would serve you on the path to becoming a better (or at least a wiser) person.

In the first few days after the accident, I tortured myself with “it could have been worse” scenarios.  Tip: Don't do this.  You just end up feeling badly for others in those situations. 

I also found myself unable to blog.  I didn’t want to be Debbie Downer. 

So, I figured if you can't beat 'em, join 'em.  I watched a Debbie Downer episode that made me laugh until, well, I didn’t feel so down. 

I hope you are feeling happier today, but in case you are not, I recommend checking out this episode when Debbie meets Disney (and Lohan) and the SNL actors can’t keep a straight face: http://www.buzznet.com/tags/debbiedowner/video/.

Happy viewing!

By Kristy Lund

Labels: car accidents, Debbie Downer, Kristy Lund

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My husband speaks Swedish with our boys, but when his parents visit, there are actual adult conversations going on.  If what’s being said is one sentence like, “Let’s change your diaper” or “Let’s build a train set,” I feel pretty good about my Swedish comprehension because I know what’s being said.  

When the discussion deviates to emotions, verbs, or anything above a two-year-old’s vocabulary, I become a bit lost. 

I don’t like to tell people I attended adult-ed night classes for five years to learn Swedish.  They might expect something from me.  Like being able to understand the language.

On a recent visit, my mother-in-law and eldest son Lucas were having a fun time playing hide and seek in our house.  The noise of their laughter played in the background while I savored a rare moment of daytime book reading (The Italian Affair, if you must know.)  When Lucas jumped out and found my mother-in-law, she gasped and exclaimed, “Du hittade mej!” (my translation: “You hit me!”). 

She seemed shocked.

I was stunned as well. That was not something my son normally did.  Now, I hadn’t seen it happen of course, but I heard what my mother-in-law had said.  She didn’t seem to be reacting much, so I marched in there and told Lucas in a stern voice that it is not OK to hit Farmor.

Everyone stopped and looked at me as if I’d lost my mind.

It was then that I conveniently remembered that “hittade” means found, not hit.  She had been feigning surprise saying, “You found me!”

I apologized to Lucas who looked more confused than anything else.  I think he was amused that Mommy had made a minor fool of herself.

No major harm done, I humbly accepted my lesson: when translating on my own, it’s probably best to fact-check before reprimanding.  Actually, that might be a good lesson regardless of the language being spoken.

Now when the kids get older and it come to Swedish curse words, well, I’ll be blissfully clueless.

By Kristy Lund

Labels: Kristy Lund, Swedish

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10. Every time you see an author talk, you promise yourself you will not buy their book. Even if the book is about worm cultivation in Zimbabwe, you walk away with a signed book.

9. When life finds you down, you turn to book buying. (Note: this is different than book reading, which you have little time for.) But who can resist buying Money, and the Law of Attraction on a day when the stock market dips over 700 points?

8. You borrow books on CD from the library, but then buy the same books in print so you can highlight your favorite quotes. Example: Anne Lamott’s Plan B: Further Thoughts on Faith.

7. You promise yourself to use the library more, but can’t wait for others to get their fix before getting yours.

6. You spread out your book purchases between different stores so that there is not an obvious large charge on the credit card to alert your spouse.

5. Sometimes you pay cash to reduce the paper trail even further.

4. You confess your addiction to the people working at bookstores as you know their answer will be an enabling message of, “There could be worse addictions,” or “I have the same one, that’s why I work here!”

3. You refuse to do the math of how long it would take to actually read all the unread books you own. (In recovery terminology, this is called Denial with a capital “D.”)

2. When your mom comes to visit, she firmly tells you that you can’t buy any more books until you have more bookcases.

1. You buy more bookcases.

* Disclaimer: this blog was written hypothetically. This in no way resembles me, my family, or anyone I’ve ever known. The local chapter of BBA meets Sunday evenings in the multi-purpose room of the All Saints Lutheran Church. Bring cookies.

By Kristy Lund

Labels: Buying Books, Kristy Lund

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When the French tightrope-walking Philippe Petit broke through security in the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center in 1974, it was to create an act of rebellion, and of beauty.

Although extremely self-focused (and what artist- and I put myself in this category- isn't really?) he had a band of friends and acquaintances who helped him pull off the unimaginable task of stringing a heavy tightrope wire across two towers and securing it so he could walk across or "dance" as a police officer later described it in awe.

I thought I would come away from the documentary about this event, "Man on Wire," inspired to create, but Petit's change after his success soured me a bit. What struck me, however, besides his drive to want to tightrope walk a quarter of a mile off the ground with no safety net, was the story of the World Trade Center's birth.

Petit knew he wanted to walk across the towers before they were even built.

It almost feels like a sacrilege to admit this, but before 9/11 I had no fondness for the towers. Yes, I knew they were tall, but aside from that I hadn't give them much thought. But to hear the story from Petit and his friends and to see the early footage of the buildings, I felt that I was part of the historic erecting of the towers. One scene, hauntingly familiar to the ground zero footage, was of the very beginning of the building. I suddenly missed the towers as if they were old friends.

Trying to digest the movie afterwards, part of me wondered, as if critiquing my own personal essay, "What was the point of the story?"

This was the same question everyone asked Petit after his tightrope walk -- "Why did you do it? What was the point?"

He thought this was an amusingly American point of view.

There was no point. He just felt he had to do it.

That I could identify with.

By Kristy Lund

Labels: 9/11, Art, Kristy Lund, Twin Towers

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As a sensitive person, I didn’t do caffeine. 

The few times I drank coffee my rate of speech doubled, and I couldn’t sleep until a few days later.  

(Maybe a slight exaggeration, but you get the point here.)

But now that Starbucks is in my local Safeway, I find myself indulging in a tall, one-pump chai latte. 

They normally have three pumps.

The other day, sitting at the computer after drinking one, I shared in astonishment with my husband, “I really get inspired when I drink caffeine!” 

He gave me his best “no, duh” look.

My husband often suffers the brunt of my health-conscious rants.  No high fructose corn syrup, no food coloring, no soybean oil, and the list goes on.  I’ve been on the anti-caffeine bandwagon since I met him.  As a Swede, he began drinking coffee shortly after being weaned from his pacifier.  Upon my ever-so-subtle suggestions, he eventually went off caffeine, surviving the withdrawal headaches for a weekend before they cleared. 

But children-induced sleep deprivation changed that. 

He’s back on.

And, apparently, so am I.

I’m finding it best not to be too “anti” anything these days.  Any judgment or rigidity on my part seems to find me eventually eating my words. 

Or in this case, drinking a latte.

By Kristy Lund

Labels: Coffee, Kristy Lund, Latte, Starbucks

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On the finale of “Last Comic Standing," comedian Jon Lovitz explained, “I discovered the secret to losing weight. As you all know, muscle weighs more than fat. So if you really want to lose weight, you really have to get rid of all that muscle.”

I think I’ve been on that plan lately.

With both kids in preschool for the past three weeks, my body is changing. Where I used to be constantly on my feet, wiping bottoms, cleaning up spills, and running after bikes during the morning, I’m now happily seated, sedentary, rarely moving, in front of the computer, writing. 

I’m loving my time, don’t get me wrong, but my butt seems to be enjoying it as well, seeing as it has grown a bit. I haven’t gained weight, but my pants don’t fit anymore (except for stretchy yoga pants, thankfully.)

And no, I’m not pregnant.

I’m happy with my body as is, but would like to be able to wear my non-sweat pants again. So I went for a run/walk today. It felt good to exercise again. I’m going to yoga when I can.

Of course, my nightly Häagen-Dazs habit doesn’t help. But a girl has to have at least one vice in her life, right?

But I’m curious.

What is your exercise routine? 

What is your vice?

By Kristy Lund

Labels: exercise, Haagen-Dazs, Kristy Lund

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Yesterday was my annual OB-GYN appointment.

I was filled with such gratitude for the doctor who brought my boys safely into this world.

Without her, the outcome of my first son’s birth may have been different.  During the twenty-four hours prior to her entry into my son’s birth story, the other doctor and nurses were expecting me to make important decisions and lead the birthing process. 

I didn’t know what I was doing -- this was my first time!  

When they gave me medication for nausea, I couldn’t keep my eyes open so they let me sleep.  The next doctor took her shift.  I was awoken from my slumber with her shrill voice filling the room and demanding, “What? She’s ten centimeters! Why isn’t she pushing?”

I had never met this woman, but my people-pleasing desire kicked in and I started pushing.

She made a crucial decision in the last minutes of labor by calling the specialized neo-natal team "just in case." When Lucas was born in a bit of shock (and who wouldn't be, really?), they were there to help him in the first few minutes of life. How can you thank someone for such an impact?

I've told her many times that she’s intuitive, but she would never call herself that. She's about five feet tall, dresses in fun clothes with artsy glasses and is probably the most energetic person I've ever met.

Her office is bright with pinks, yellows, and greens throughout, and cool quotes painted on the walls. I was happy to hear that she has hired a midwife. Almost makes me want to have another baby.

Almost.

By Kristy Lund

Labels: gynecologist, Kristy Lund

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Labels: Kristy Lund, Sea World, Whales

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Monday afternoon my boys were begging to go outside.  They didn’t want to go in the backyard where they can play independently, but in the front yard to ride their bikes. 

I needed to unload the grocery bags first, and then empty the dishwasher.  That doesn’t sound difficult, but with cleaning up accidental spills and refereeing the sharing of toys, it looked like it may take us three days before we’d get to see the sun.

Finally, I told them we would visit the bathroom and then go outside.  When Henrik, my two-year-old, was standing by the bathtub, all of a sudden he fell straight down, hitting his chin on the bathtub and then ricocheted back to hit his head on the toilet, and then crumpled on the floor screaming.  Lucas, my four-year-old, ran to his room to hide since he hates the sound of his brother crying. 

I picked Henrik up and saw he’d split his chin.  It was so sad to see that I started crying along with him.  He calmed down and looked at me confused.  What’s that? He asked, touching my tear.  “Mommy’s crying,” I answered. 

Lucas was listening from his room and yelled out worriedly, “Mama, are you crying, too?”  “Yes,” I called back, “but it’s OK.  I’m just sad that your brother hurt himself.”  Henrik then pointed at his tears.  “Rerick cry, too!” he said, making the connection.

I called my mom for advice on making butterfly bandages to close the cut on his chin.  With five kids, she has lots of experience. 

Two days later, his chin has already healed.  It’s amazing how quickly young bodies bounce back. 

And I survived my first butterfly bandage application. 

I hope we have many butterflies, but very few boo-boos, in our future.

 

By Kristy Lund

Labels: bandages, boo-boo, butterflies, Kristy Lund

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My good friend Kevin Costner came for breakfast Sunday morning.

OK, not in real life, but via “Parade” in “The SF Chronicle.”

I was having one of those days where I think the world is mad at me, and I wonder if I should even continue with writing since if everyone is mad at me, they won’t want to read me.

Do I really want to put myself out there?

What if people don't like me (yes, to be read like a whiney fourth grader) or what if I fail? Blah, blah, blah.

Annoying, really, but these thoughts had taken residence in my brain.

While I tried to Zen these thoughts away, something in large print caught my eye on the kitchen table. It was a quote from Kevin Costner, "Don't let fear hold you back."

OK, sign noted, so I read the article. Truth be told, I'm not a big follower of movie stars. I’d take a run-in with Allende or Lamott any day.

But Costner was my guru for the day as he said, “We’re afraid of a lot of things in life. It’s part of the human condition. What do we fear? Love? Failure? Telling the truth about ourselves? I think we don’t show people all we truly are because we’re afraid that if they actually know everything about us, they won’t love us. I’m as guilty of that as anyone.”

His words comforted me.

We’re all in this together (not to be sung like “High School Musical.”) 

Ugh, but now that song’s in my head. At least it’s not “Kumbaya.”

By Kristy Lund

Labels: High School Musical, Kevin Costner, Kristy Lund, Kumbaya

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Standing in the kitchen at the brink of dawn, I'm not quite awake, so I don't want the junior paparazzi capturing the moment. But I've grown accustomed to the photographs, so much so that I often don't notice them being taken any longer.

The pictures I take of our family are the life moments I want to remember, the "cute" ones: the first day of school, a baby with food all over his face, my two boys eating popsicles on the front step.

My husband takes amazing photographs of nature, including a pair of frog lovers preparing to bring new tadpoles into the waterways of College of Marin. He also photographs our boys, zoomed in with serious expressions or action shots of them riding their bikes.

I prefer the smiling ones.

For Christmas, my son received a digital camera with video function. I wondered if it was too advanced. But by his fourth birthday, he knew all the settings and could independently take pictures and videos, even viewing and deleting the ones he no longer wanted.

I'm intrigued by what captures my son's interest. Not exceptional events, but the ordinary moments of daily life. His favorite video subject is his trains. Sometimes the camera even takes a ride, videoing the whole trip.

My son also likes to run through the house with the video on, saying, "Here's my room, here's my brudder and heeeeere's Mama!" Pan to me, in my pajamas with major bed head. To my defense, it's only seven in the morning, but this is something I would not have chosen to capture on memory stick myself. Or the time he was videoing his trains, and you can hear me (quite clearly) talking on the phone about how I'd been having a hard time, but am thankfully feeling better now.

But this is life.

The hard times, the better times, the bed head. Why not preserve them along with the rest of the happy moments? My son even captured me scolding him and his brother in the infamous "train tracks in the potty" incident. The camera lay innocently on the floor, on video mode unbeknownst to me.

I will continue with my Kodak moments, and my husband and son will continue with theirs. Somewhere between the three, we're probably capturing a fairly accurate slice of our daily life.

Yesterday, my youngest son, who is only two years old, begged me to use the digital camera. I reluctantly handed it over, saying, "Be careful…"

While I wasn't looking, he somehow changed it to video mode and we now have a video of his dimpled feet performing with the kitchen cupboard as the backdrop. Then, a moment later, the camera dropped, thud, onto the floor. The video ends with me saying, "No more camera," and taking it away. The camera survived, but I realized it may be time for him to have his own camera.

With a fourth photographer in the family, we have one more perspective.

By Kristy Lund

Originally published in the Marin IJ, June 17, 2008: http://www.marinij.com/lifestyles/ci_9606904

Labels: Kristy Lund

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My husband must be the most difficult person to shop for. 

He hates knick-knacks or anything without a utilitarian purpose.  The only “things” he likes are either technology-related, or camera equipment.  I can buy neither for him because he is one, an engineer, and two, a master researcher who reads hundreds of reviews and somehow is able to buy things for less than it costs to make them. 

Like our Tivos. Yes, plural. We have three.  Two currently sit next to our TV, and one is in the attic, just in case.

“Why do we have a Tivo in the attic?” I asked. 

He explained how one deal came along, which basically gave us a Tivo and one-year service for free.  Then there was an even better bargain! We somehow got paid fifty dollars, after mail-in rebates, to buy another Tivo.  These two were in addition to the Tivo we’ve had for years. As you can imagine these deals were just way too good for him to pass up.

Bargains are his obsession. 

He somehow locates super-deals on new and used items so that when he’s done using them, he’s able to sell them on Craig’s List for the same, if not more, than he paid.  Although I like to support buying less “stuff” for green reasons, it’s hard to complain about a husband’s hobby when little money is being spent, and he’s helping out with the kids and house.

Still, this makes it impossible to shop for or around him.  As he sees me ordering kids clothes online, on sale I might add, he yells out, “Don’t order until we search for coupons!”

When I gave him a digital picture frame for his birthday, he looked worried, and asked, “You didn’t pay full price, did you?”

I’ve given up trying to buy him things. This is probably better for everyone. There are only so many golf ball paperweights a man can own. 

So this Father’s Day he’s getting the gift of time: lunch out and the afternoon off. 

Plus, a “bonus” present: intimate time with me for you know what. My husband will have a double smile knowing that this special gift comes at a great discount. It won’t cost us a cent.

By Kristy Lund

Labels: Kristy Lund

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Before my first son was even interested in potty training, I worried about it -- should we be starting, why doesn’t he show any readiness at age three, etc.  

When he finally was ready, my husband and I made a big deal every time he peed, congratulating him. 

With my second son following two years behind his big brother, I’m amazed at how much simpler things have been.  His birth, for example, was so much easier than the first; things were already stretched out, and I knew how long to wait at home before going to the hospital.  I also knew to ask for an epidural instead of trying to make it through excruciating back labor as I did the first time.

When it came to potty training number two, I figured we’d wait till summer, one of these summers, to do it.  It’s so much easier when the kids can run around naked. 

This summer has ended up being the time to potty train him.  Our house has been transformed into a temporary nudist colony, and we play mostly in the backyard.  When he pees in the potty, we make a big deal and praise him, but it’s not like the first child when time stopped and I would call all our relatives to update them on his urination progress.

This evening, my youngest wanted to wear underwear like his big brother.  So we put it on him and reminded him he still needed to use the potty. When the time came, he yelled, “Pee pee coming!” and ran into the bathroom.  My husband and I smiled at each other. It was cute, but we continued with our tasks in the kitchen. I thought how with our first child we’d be following him around, and with the second, well, he would just know what to do. 

At least I thought he did.

He came out of the bathroom smiling, “I went pee pee!” 

And he had. 

He’d sat on the potty and peed. With his underwear still on. Then it dawned on me -- we forgot to tell him to take his underwear off  before he pees. 

Oops. 

So we praised him while changing him out of his wet undies and told him the steps boys need to take to have a successful piss. 

While we still make mistakes with number two, we’re a lot more relaxed about them.  If we're less tense, hopefully, he will be, too.

I'm also hopeful, like the mother of every son is, that his aim will become accurate and the outside of the toilet, as well as the floor, will be white and not yellow. 

By Kristy Lund

Labels: Kristy Lund

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The funny thing about motherhood is that there is no warning when some mommy challenge is on its way.

They just sneak up and surprise you, like it did to me this past Friday when I picked up my son from preschool. It was 101 degrees outside and my head felt foggy as I noticed my sons’ red cheeks and wet hair from perspiration. I was trying to take a sip of water to cure my headache. It was then, with my two boys playing in a shaded spot we’d named the “magic tree” that my four-year-old used “the word” for the first time.

Gun.

He had broken a stick and said, “I’m going to shoot something with my gun, bang, bang!” My mind raced. What is the appropriate response to this? Before I could say anything, he turned the stick/gun towards me and said, “Now I’m shooting you!”

There was no malice or anger in his voice, just amusement with this new activity. I told him that we never aim guns, real or not, at people, only at non-living things. He asked if he could shoot the sky.

“No,” I replied, thinking back to the posters they have in L.A. bus stations around New Year’s urging people not to shoot their guns into the air as stray bullets can kill. I explained the physics of bullets and why we didn’t want to aim up.

Although I don’t like guns and think they are too numerous and easily accessible in our country, I loved shooting BB guns when I was young. My granddad would let us shoot them into the pillows in his living room. Maybe not the safest thing, but we had a great time doing it.

As my son got into the car, he said that he was going to shoot the seats. Not knowing what else to say, I told him, “I don’t like hearing about shooting. We can send each other love and energy instead.”

I am, after all, an energy practitioner. But I was aware that my words fell flat.

On the way home, he asked me to tell him stories about the magical train forest. He enjoys interjecting “train crises” – “Mom, look out, there’s a broken bridge!”

“Oh no,” I replied, “What are we going to do?” He sat for a moment and answered, “We’re going to shoot sticky balls from the gun!”

Shoot sticky balls at the bridge? Of course! They would fill in the gaps in the bridge, like glue, so the train could continue. At last, something I could agree to. Happily, I told him that it was a great idea.

Thankfully he hasn’t mentioned guns since. Maybe I should start preparing for questions about where babies come from. I'm hoping those questions will be easier.


By Kristy Lund

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After a community meeting, a fellow mother asked if I could give her a ride home. As we walked to the car, we spoke mama stats: she had two boys, five and eight years old. I belong to the boy club as well, ages two and four.

I always feel a bond with other mothers of boys. I asked how the five and eight-year-old stage is. The prognosis was good. I like it when people with kids older than mine say it gets better. I dislike those people that tell you it's still hard, just different. I don't mind if you lie to me, just tell me it gets better and easier, please!

As we get to my car, she says, "Cute!" as I have a butterfly pasted on the butt of the car. But as I look in the passenger seat, I realize there is a few days' worth accumulation of definitely not cute stuff. I know she's a mom, so I remind myself not to worry too much, but I tell her it's going to take a while to clear the seat so she can actually sit on it, hopefully finding a place for her feet as well.

I take off the first layer - everything we needed for a dinner at our favorite Thai food restaurant that night. A cooler-type bag of supplemental dinner options for the kids, two jackets of mine, one for each of the kids. I throw them into the back. The next layer was from my art class the day prior -- paper bags laid out to protect the seats from wet paint and a box of art supplies. They find their spot, sitting in the empty car seats in the back.

I'm finally down to the final layer. This was from three days prior when I got to my son's preschool in the morning and realized it was freezing cold and wet, and my son was in a short-sleeved shirt. This fact should have been noticed before we left the house, but somehow escaped my mommy radar until that moment. So I emptied the diaper bag, which had been recently organized, and pulled out all the extra clothes until I found a long-sleeved shirt for him to wear, pulling it over his head and finished dressing him in the parking lot.

As I tossed back the tighty whities (thankfully clean, these were from the spare clothes) of my four-year-old, along with unused diapers, jeans, shirts, and socks, she said honestly, "I guess you don't drive with other people very often."

I laughed. "Only my kids."

I love it when people are honest with their thoughts. I wish I was more often.

By Kristy Lund

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