On Saturday, Zach will turn 2 years-old. I’ve enjoyed every minute, even the tough times, of these past 728 days.

He’s an amazing little guy and both my husband and I are so blessed to be his parents. He is teaching us as much as we teach him.

My mother, my sister and my 23-month old neice are coming to join the festivities. This year it will be as relaxed as possible. We only did an Evite for family members. Cake, burgers and hotdogs will be the feast.

Here is a little photo of what was going on almost two years ago.

He likes his bath a lot more these days…

Last night we went over for dinner at our neighbor’s house. They have a three month-old baby girl.

Their house is impeccably clean and is decorated like a model home, meaning lots of stuff that you can’t touch neatly displayed in every nook and cranny.

The house was not baby-proofed, toddler-proofed, or Zach-proofed. Immediately he got into about ten things that were not for two year-olds. Even with his own toys, he was hard to keep contained.

I swear I could feel them wince. He didn’t wreck anything and most of his disturbances were based on curiosity.

At dinner after watching him eat a bit, she decided that it would be best to cover their upholstered chair with a towel. (Honestly, give a toddler an ear of corn…you think?)

I can’t poke too much fun, because we were there, 21 months ago. With your first child you can only handle as much as you are given at the time, everything is so overwhelming and new. Throw a two-year old in the picture and new parents can go into culture shock.

I remember thinking, “Oh, we’ll never have all these toys that take over our living space.”
HAAA HAAA HAAA!

That was a funny joke we told ourselves. Before your child is mobile, one can be so presumptuous on how you plan do things differently.

It reminds me of an episode of Malcolm in the Middle where the parents remember their life before the four boys were born. They lived in an edgy, white, perfectly furnished home, hipper than thou. By time the fourth one was born their house is in shambles, front lawn is dead, etc. I can honestly see how easily that transformation could happen.

I’m sure in a year; our neighbor’s house will tell a different story.

I wonder if anybody sexist works at this company? Hmmm. (Insert Church Lady voice.) I’d like to think they just have a good sense of humor. I could see this on a college t-shirt.

Hey, where did my weekend go?

I think it was that one big blur that just passed me.

This weekend’s highlights include swimming with Zach, awesome chicken and steak fajitas made by my dear husband, and our first Glowing Vagina Club Meeting that focused only on Atonement’s sex scene.

Also I’m on a hopeless quest for a Wii Fit. It’s becoming a Holy Grail of sorts at this point. I may break down and buy it off of Ebay, but what’s the fun in that chase?

Next weekend is Zach’s second birthday and a big visit from my mom, my sister and my niece. I’m excited but wondering when I get to get a good night’s sleep.

That’s how it goes, some weeks just creep by and then other speed past you.

On top of that I’m trying to make a choice about where to go back to school for a teaching degree. Of course, because I had this late summer epiphany, I’m way behind the eight ball.

Whoopie!

Yesterday one of our roofing companies held a seminar about these really amazing new solar panels.

They are about as thick as a restaurant menu and as flexible. They coat the top of the roof and are applied with adhesives right to the surface. The panels are hail resistant and warranted for twenty-years…and um…ah.

Excuse me.

The slide show is on the screen, gentleman. You can’t see through the presenter’s lap top, it’s facing her… and her GIANT BOOBS!

Oh, I now I get it.

So, yesterday our entire crew of estimators (even a few women) were transfixed by a living, breathing, blond Barbie talking about solar panels. She had the long blond hair, itty bitty waist, and large (though well-covered), unnaturally huge breasts. Imagine Jessica Simpson, professionally dressed (all-be-it a tight, form-fitting suit), with a better vocabulary, talking about solar energy.

So, basically most of the guys didn’t even realize there was a slide show.

They are, however, really, really on board about these new solar miracles. They way they are crafted with silicone to remain so flexible, hold their shape and still generate power…wait, are we still talking about solar panels?

Hiring the hotty was in fact brilliant strategy for the market. How better to reach a bunch of number plugging estimators? Pure genius.

Lesson learned: The successful application of fake boobs in the work place exceeds mere strip clubs and Hooters restaurants.

Here are all four costumed pictures of Zach from the daycare photo shoot. They crack me up. This looks like it must have been a lot of work. A lot of work that I didn’t have to do. That makes me love it more.

Here we have Zach the Love Boat captin, Zach the stock broker, Zach the duck hunter and Zach the hockey player.

I just finished a fun, long weekend with house guests from Minnesota. It was very fun to show them around and give them a taste of our favorite things in Colorado.

I actually got to ride the train on the Georgetown Loop, which after ten years of living in the Denver area, I have never done.

I struck up a conversation with a grandmother who had a granddaughter from California with her, about trains and the many trains I rode while on vacation as a child.

My father has been a railroad man since he was 19 years old and has served as a Conductor, Brakeman, Engineer and is now the Yard master. Railroads must get into your blood.

After the ride I was looking through some vintage railroad posters and an older gentleman approached me.

”I heard you telling the women about your father working for the railroad,” he said. “I worked as a conductor for many years.”
He told me how he stared with a line in Pennsylvania and ended working for Amtrak. He told me he had been retired for 15 years, “So it’s paid for itself already!” he joked.

Over the years I’ve formed my own strong opinions about railroads. It’s a shame the way our country has pulled up so many lines in lieu of speedier methods like semis and planes. It would be such a blessing to be able to travel by train the way they are able to in Europe and Japan.

There is also a wonderful sense of pride with the older generation of railroad workers. It’s something you don’t see too much of anymore. After all those years on the lines, I’ll always meet at least one at every railroad museum.

For the love of the trains.

Welcome little Emma Lee!

I can’t wait to meet you and snuggle!

Emma and Noah

My brother and proud pappa with Noah and Emma!!

Every estimator in my office is under 30. A couple are a few years shy, but they dread, dread, dread turning 30 and talk about age often.

For some reason they feel like your life just shrivels up and dies when you turn 30. And if you’re my age, 34 (and an administrative assistant) you must have struck out hard in life.

Whatever.

For one thing, I’m really enjoying my 30s. The only person I have to prove anything too is myself. I realize that for something as mostly meaningless as a “career”, I still have 31 years before I’m forced to retire.

At 34 years old I have a house, two decent cars, a great marriage, a wonderful husband and a great kid. Ten years ago, I wasn’t even remotely satisfied with my life as I am now. And according to society, back then I had it all. I was young!I’m not the only one who thinks being thirtysomething is a good time. I’ve known people who didn’t get married until their late 30s. Then there are women who had a great career and in their 30s and QUIT to be a stay at home mother! These people aren’t millionaires. They aren’t odd balls. They are real people who turned 30 and found out, guess what? It’s not that big of deal.

It’s actually becomes refreshing to take care of yourself, plan for your long-term future, enjoy the nuances of life, and never have the boasting conversation that begins “I got so drunk last night at the bar” again. Because frankly if you did, it sucks to be you, and why are you telling me?

In addition to that, being around the block with jobs, so to speak, I’d have to say if I were them, I’d be worried. There is something to be said about a company that only hires twenty-something college graduates and that message is: you probably won’t have a position that grows with you for the next ten years. Over half of them will not be with this company in a decade. The job will have outgrown their needs.

So that is my age rant. I admire people who are willing to change careers at any age, or go back to school or grow, period. Maybe that’s where the 20-somethings are short-sighted or naïve.

What no one really tells you when you when you become a parent is that you become a huge sap.You become the sappy, crying-over-a-Hallmark-card kind of person. Particularly when it comes to the darn cute and sweet things your child does.
No one told me that the simplest things would make your heart turn into a huge blob of mushiness.
I did see this in other parents, but I noticed it with distain as a teenager. Yes, your child can be cute people, but what about the times it’s throwing things, screaming and pulling hair? Huh?
Still, the memory must stay strong after your children are raised and less cute. When Zachary runs like a track star down the grocery isles or screams “I want pizza” in the deli, inevitably there is some older adult who suppresses a chuckle with a smile. Does this mean that even the trying times seem cute after awhile? Something to look forward too, I guess.
Last night we put our chatty boy down early in hopes of correcting his bedtime schedule that never fully recovered from the Fourth of July party. I rubbed his back and started telling him everyone who was sleeping, “Grandma is sleeping. Grandpa is sleeping. Memaw (my mom) is sleeping. Poppa is sleeping,” continuing down the line. Daycare kids, teachers, cousins, aunts and uncles were listed. Soon he started repeating me, “Abby is sleepin’. Grandma is sleepin’. Lisa is sleepin’.”
AND IF IT WAS NOT THE MOST PRECIOUS, CUTEST THING EVER!

Sorry, I couldn’t help myself. It was friggin’ adorable.
Give me ten years and I’ll be the one snickering at kids running laps from their frazzled parents at Target.