An Open Letter to My Sons on Their Sixth Birthday



I spent the better part of the afternoon on my hands and knees bleaching the bathroom floor. There are people coming over tomorrow for a birthday party and there is pee all over. Age six and aim is not your strong suit.


Your memorial day birthday coincides with the conclusion of kindergarten. For some reason this seems so much older to me. First grade is for big kids. Continue reading


Little League: Observations of Coach Pitch


When Major League Baseball kicked off the 2016 season, my sons insisted we watch the San Jose Sharks game instead of the Oakland Athletics’ game 2. I immediately questioned all genetics.

But still, I could tell there was minor improvement and enhanced interest occurring on the diamond. Coach-pitch, albeit still in the t-ball category in terms of Little League division designation, showed some impressive development. Continue reading

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Regular Person


GrammaJ hung out with the muppets while Jon and I made a quick getaway.

Mid-grandmothering, she received a call from UCLA Medical Center regarding records requested for a school nurse. This would have made perfect sense, given that said school nurse used to work for GrammaJ, except for a glaring contradiction of GrammaJ’s retirement going on year 3. (It was later determined to likely have been a crazy coincidence of a single-digit cell phone discrepancy.) Continue reading

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Mother’s Day Mad Dash

I am a mupit

“You are invited to a very special mother’s day treat,” the invitation read. “The children have been working very hard to prepare a very special treat for you. Please join us to celebrate your day with a morning event meant to honor you.”

I happily RSVP’d that I’d be there. <cue saccharin> What a sweet moment for my precious little boys to show off as their inaugural elementary year rapidly began to rush toward its close.

I rolled up to the school and immediately spotted a hoard of mothers milling around outside the two adjoining portable classrooms comprising our suburban kindergartens. Inside, I have no doubt frazzled underpaid teachers were rushing around trying to coral 6-year-olds wild with the excitement from a change in schedule.

It was at this point that full realization set in. This was not a combined grade-level effort – such as the spring concert we’d enjoyed by the full kinder component earlier in the week. This was individual classes creating their own individual programs.

My twin boys were in separate classrooms.

Competing attentions. I straddled the playground lines between classes and did some pre-game warm-ups. I was about to attempt to attend both programs at the same time. Running shoes ready.

I entered Search’s classroom first. Each child would come to the door and greet his or her mother and escort her to a table-clothed seat with prime viewing of the class performance.

Search stood stock-still in his corner. He did not move. Although I did see the corners of his mouth twitch into a smile when he saw me. I found my own way to a seat, considering this a great improvement from the last split-screen attempt – the first day of school.

The day kindergarten started, I’d started in Destroy’s class before running over to wish Search well. The end result was me trying to escape Search’s class without him fleeing behind me. Shout out to the nice mom who took pity on my little man and guided a sobbing Search in with her own son. (Trivia: said son is now Search’s BFF.)

Singing in rounds (unintentionally), Search’s class performed a rousing rendition of “She’s Got the Whole World in Her Hands.” Search remained in his stock-still stance; artistic performance is not his thing. I maintained eye contact and cheered wildly anyway.

At the conclusion of the first act, I stood from the tiny tot table, and darted out of the classroom. The whole classroom turned to look at me as Search called out, “Hey! We’re not done yet!”

“I’ll be right back! I’ve got to go see brother,” I mouthed while gesticulating frantically toward the classroom next door.

I tiptoed into Destroy’s classroom completely unnoticed. At least until Destroy spotted me and called everyone to attention by interrupting his teacher and shouting, “Hey! My mom showed up!”

I took my seat and enjoyed a poem and song before running back to the first classroom.

My plan to inconspicuously dart between performances was then officially crushed. Search’s classroom door was shut. And locked.

I had to knock. “Hey! It’s me, the mom trying to not be noticed. Can you let me back in to the private performance?”

Later I tried closing the door oh-so-gently, so that it wouldn’t latch.



Upon my later return to Destroy’s class, my little muppet looked up at me as I poorly navigated the mini-mite size table and chairs, “We made a special snack of cookie and strawberries for the mommies. But I saved you a strawberry. Now can I read you my card?”

He smiled adorably while wiping his mouth of crumbs from the long vanquished cookie, left too long alone in my absence.

Destroy picked up his hand-drawn “I Love My Mommy” picture book and began to read.

The best thing about my mom is…that she loves me.
I like it best when my mom…is happy.
My mom thinks I am…a [muppet].

Out of the mouths of babes – although I do suppose it came out of my mouth first.

I guess they do pay attention.



From the FAQ

I love that you call them the muppets. How did you come up with that?
Several hours before their imminent arrival, as medical personnel scurried about prepping an OR, Jon posted a cryptic status update on Facebook. “It’s time to play the music/It’s time to light the lights/It’s time to meet the Muppets on the Muppet Show tonight!” It stuck.

Which muppets do they remind you of?
Now that they’re big giant babies, they seem to personify Kermit and Fozzie Bear. Search is thoughtful and takes everything in around him. Destroy is his happy-go-lucky best friend and constantly cracking jokes that no one can understand as of yet. As tiny little guys in the NICU, with their preemie pattern baldness, they were eerily similar to Statler and Waldorf – the cranky old men up in the balcony.

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Just Say Yes to Drugs

Concerta 18mg

“How do you feel about medication?”

Our pediatrician’s question reverberated through my mind. I felt the same way as any other kind of pharmaceutical intervention – positively delightful if it makes a difference. Better living through chemistry as we align all elements and chemicals that comprise the human body and the mysterious mind that runs this whole system. Continue reading


Play by Play of Coach Pitch Practice

Coach Pitch

Little League season has begun. Is there anything more hilariously chaotic than practice? I’d give you an update on our first game of the season, but a California rarity occurred: We got rained out.

Instead, I give you a recap of practice: Continue reading


ADHD: It’s a Continuing Saga

Captain Destroy

Holding the boys back a year is not an option.

Because this would mean they’d turn 19 during their senior year of high school, repeating kindergarten would make them ineligible to play high school sports their senior year. Granted, they are currently terrible at said sports… Continue reading




I made it through six years at Chaparral Elementary School without being sent to the principal. Destroy made it three weeks.

It didn’t surprise me. I mean, come on, the kid’s name is Destroy. And he does. Continue reading


The Coach-Pitch Kerfuffle


As spring wraps its warm arms around the end of winter, talented athletes toss a ball into their gloves repeatedly, anxiously awaiting The Call. For major leaguers, the draft is held in June.

For Little League Coach-Pitch level, that draft is February.

I’ve been anxiously awaiting The Call. Pitchers and catchers reported to the show last week, right around the same time Bay Area winter temperatures hit the low 90s. Baseball is officially back for the 2016 season. Continue reading

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Reality of the Dreaded Elf on the Shelf


Elf on the Shelf.

The phrase that strikes dread into the hearts of so many, while eliciting utter glee from others (of a much younger age). You know the type.

Regardless, this past decade transformed December into an elfin pictorial bonanza where we’re either bombarded by daily pics of insane creativity and waiflike mischief or pleas for a Facebook blocker. (The latter of which has become it’s own sport of griping.) Continue reading

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