This was the view from my rear view mirror yesterday on the drive home from work.

 
Methinks that Sir Isaac likes swimming lessons, no?

One of my favorite childhood memories involves hours and hours of tennis lessons. It started when I was four and I didn’t really stop playing until after high school. Growing up on the Peninsula, everyone plays tennis. If baseball is America’s past time, then someone should tell Monterey because here, it is all about the courts.

I remember a specific conversation with my mom, wherein she explained that if I was to ever be a proper woman, I should know these few things:

- how to correctly match my shoes and belt

- how to sprinkle my conversation with impressive vocabulary

- how to kick an opponents’ ass in a friendly game of tennis

Her quest to make me a real girl started with group tennis lessons and quickly moved to private lessons as finances provided. So, at the tender age of 8 I would walk from Carmel River School to Mission Ranch next door and have private lessons twice a week. I absolutely loved the freedom of walking from point A to point B and I especially loved the individual attention of the lesson.  

The lessons were scheduled for twice a week and on those days I would cut through the back of the school, where there was a hole in the fence and make the treck across a field to Mission Ranch. Before I hit the courts, I would stop in at the front desk. The office had a candy vending machine with what I thought was the best candy bar known to man, the Violet Crumble. My mom was a bit restrictive on the sugar front at home so this stolen chocolate treasure was usually the highlight of my day. 

After my candy break I would head to the court to meet my instructor. He was tall and tan and he wore the typical short white tennis shorts of the early 80’s nature. He had the perfect sandy blonde hair and a really cool accent. Even at 8 years old, I was aware of my good fortune in tennis coaches. The best part about him though was his name, Chic. He had no last name of record but does it really matter when your first name is Chic? Chic was from Australia and he moved to the Peninsula with the sole purpose of teaching tennis, I think. For this I am sure that every well kept wife, with a sudden interest in tennis, was thankful for his voyage from Down Under to the West Coast.

So, as Chic moved about the court teaching me proper forehand and backhands, serves and volleys I took it all in. I just knew that one day I would be a tennis star and Chic would be in the stands cheering me on. After my lesson was over, I would head back over the school and wait for my mom to pick me up. She would come racing in after a long day at work and ask how my day was and if I enjoyed my lessons. I would of course answer that my day was fine and lessons were okay, I couldn’t let on that I had a big 8 year old crush on Chic, lest she decide to tease me or find a less intriguing coach so that I would pay more attention to the game.

As time went on, I began to loose interest in tennis and began to flirt with other sports. Tennis went from first love to an old mistress, thought of fondly but no longer properly nurtured. Because of this, my game never really went to the level I would’ve liked but I still managed to make Varsity in high school, where a small and spry female coach would scream at me from the sidelines of practice about my form and concentration.

The disenchantment came fast a furious during my years on Varsity because how exactly does a girl go from playing tennis at Mission Ranch in Carmel with Chic to a high school court in Turlock in 106 degree weather? For this reason, I still have a love hate relationship with the game, but many fond memories to keep me going.

Yesterday my four year old had his first private tennis lesson at Carmel Valley Ranch. When I asked him how it went, he said “Good.” He was very non committal about it, which made me wonder if maybe Chic now has a daughter and she is a tennis instructor at Carmel Valley Ranch.

Me: Isaac what are you doing? 

Isaac: I’m pooping Mommy, almost done!

Me: Okay.

Isaac: Hey Mom? Can you come in here?

Me: Yes, what do you need?

Isaac: I need you to wipe my bottom.

Me: Isaac you are 4 years old and you can do it yourself. 

Isaac: I don’t want to. When I’m old,  like maybe 7, I’ll do it by myself. 

Me: Isaac why don’t you want to wipe? Seriously this is gross for Mommy.

Isaac: Because I have you Mommy, that is what girls are for.

There are no words for this. If this is what I’ve taught him, then clearly I should’ve spent more time at work.

To all of the butt wiping Mommy’s out there, it’s 5 o’clock someplace right? Have a glass of wine…but wash your hands first.

Some people amble through life directionless. Some people let life’s injustices pass them by. Some people don’t feel obligated to right the wrongs of this world. Well, I ain’t some people.

Cue theme music: “Believe it or not I’m walking on air, never thought I could feel so free-e-e…”

So, much like Mariah Carey, I believe there is a hero in each of us (go ahead sing along, you know you want to). There is a small part of every human psyche that aims to rise above, be great and serve humanity in some way. For me, that little superhero has a name… it is Captain Justice.

My family has referred to me as “the Captain” for some time now. It stems back to my desire to see things “righted” in this very wrong world. Cutting people off in traffic? The Captain says, “no you don’t!” Talking loudly on your cell phone in a restaurant? The Captain will STARE YOU DOWN. Acting like an asshat in general - the Captain will point it out. That is what the Captain does, she let’s you know when you’ve stepped out of the bounds of what she deems is appropriate.

Now, life with the Captain, or CJ for short, isn’t always easy. CJ can change the rules like Superman changes clothes. CJ prefers to have things done the “right way” a.k.a. “her way.” CJ likes to provide a safe environment for everyone so if danger is lurking around the corner, whether it be physical or mental, she is sure to show up and kick some ass.

I tell you all about the Captain because for years I thought it was cute, maybe even endearing. The people in my life were better off because of the Captain’s life saving actions!

However, after many a family snicker at my attempt to make things well with the world, I started to realize that the Captain bordered on…well, bitchy and bossy. Mind you I said  bordered, not fully crossed over.

As a mother now, my CJ tendencies are heightened. My sense of safety and appropriate behavior sound alarms in my head that cannot be ignored. I must let people know what they should do, at all times in order to mother/parent/exist appropriately.

Fast forward to a day at the pool with my parents. My four year old is on the pool raft with my father. My father is baking his already leathery tan body in the sun (hi Dad!) and decides that it is time for a dip in the pool to cool off. As he performs an alligator death roll off of the raft into the water, the raft shimmies and shakes. It tosses the four year old around a bit, but does not put him in any real danger (I would know). However, the movement of the raft scares him a bit.

Does he whine? No.

Does he cry? No.

Does he say: “Well Papa, that wasn’t very safe.” Yes.

Ladies and gentlemen, introducing Captain Justice Junior. Born March 13, 2004 to the proud superhero Mama, Captain Justice Senior.

Look out world, there’s two of us now.

Dear Internet,

Some days I hate you. Some days I find you extremely helpful. Some days I wonder if the government is watching me through you.

However, there are some days when I want to give you a big ol’ sloppy kiss. You wouldn’t mind would you? I mean, it isn’t at all awkward with all your wires and cables and “cyber parts” right?

Why am I so fond of you right now? Well, a few days ago I got an email.

A really special email. I got an email from a wonderful girl named Danaly. She found my site through a mutual friend (six degrees of separation, right?) anyway, she knew that I had some pregnancy drama and wanted to know more about this pesky little genetic mutation we have in common (MTHFR). No, I’m not cussing at you via acronym. It is the name of a specific gene that, upon mutation, can cause high homocysteine levels and lead to increased risk of blood clotting (oooh man do I sound smart!).

When I first found out about my MTHFR diagnosis, it was after three miscarriages and a whole bunch of heartache. You can read more about what went down here. The day my doctor told me about my mutation, of course I went straight to you Internet. You had a bevy of information for me to sift through and like the many women before me, I gained my Google PhD in fertility research. I researched and read bulletin boards and looked for other women who had to take injectable blood thinners during pregnancy.

However, in all of my research and all of my reading, I never found someone who’s case was entirely similar to mine. I never actually talked to another woman who had faced this random diagnosis. Until the day Danaly emailed me. She emailed me with a ton of questions. As I read the email my heart burst! I was happy to answer as I could - finally, someone to talk to who knows what homocysteine levels are! A bird of a feather.

 It really is no matter that it wasn’t a joyful subject that brought us together. Internet, you must understand that us women…we like to relate to one another. Haven’t you seen two total strangers start talking about birth and breastfeeding and next thing you know they are like old pals? Women need to connect, and because of you Internet, last friday two little genetic mutants did.

Internet, you’ve made me a happy gal this week. One who believes in your goodness, despite your incredibly ridiculous porn content.

So Internet…what do you think? You want to go steady?

Love,

Jenn

Okay so a while back I asked y’all about your thoughts on the full Adobe Photoshop suite vs. Photoshop Elements. Due to OVERWHELMING feedback, or NONE AT ALL!!!!! I went with Elements. Here is a pic of my hubby’s tatoo that I played with…

Cool, eh? There is so much to learn and I am just getting started but it sure is fun! Here are a few silly shots of the hooligans tonight at bathtime also…

I really love taking pictures, I just wish my subjects would sit still long enough to get a decent shot!

10:30PM - Joshua is crying

11:00PM - Joshua is quiet, back to sleep

1:00AM - wake up due to major coughing jag, lovely

2:00AM - Isaac is staring at me. I come slowly to a state of awareness, he tells me that he wet the bed but “just a little bit.”

2:30 AM - back to bed, laundry is going and something is clicking in there. ARG!

3:00AM - Joshua is crying, my head hurts.

4:40AM - Joshua is really crying, he means business this time. I make him a bottle and change his diaper.

6:00AM - alarm goes off, damn.

6:20AM - alarm still going off and I am oblivious to it. The toddler that crept into my bed at some point is now saying, “Mommy the music is on, I think you should wake up!”

6:30AM - I drag myself to the shower and contemplate the joys and wonders of motherhood…

 Scene: Isaac is jumping on the bed, while I am laying there trying to convince him to put his pajamas on.

Isaac: Did you hear that?

Me: (sigh) Yes.

Isaac: I tooted.

Me: I know.

Isaac: Can you smell it? I can smell it. I can smell it a lot.

 On March 13, 2004 at 9:02 p.m. Isaac Thomas Stone came into this world. His birth was magnificent, if only for the fact that he weighed 9lbs! I was in labor for 26 hours; I had two epidurals, neither worked. After pushing for more than 2 hours, they used a vacuum to assist in delivery. It was traumatic for me but as of today, 4 years later, I can barely remember the pain. All I remember was seeing him for the first time and thinking that I would never be the same again. And I wasn’t.

My pregnancy with Isaac was fairly uneventful. Life was very difficult at the time I was pregnant, as we lost Kevin’s mom to a battle with cancer when I was about 3 months pregnant. It was very emotionally tough the 6 months between D’Lynne’s death and Isaac’s birth. However, his birth brought healing and comfort to a family in need. Isaac will always remind me that God is a Healer.

Isaac got his name from the Old Testament story of Abraham and Sarah. Sarah was 90 when God told Abraham they would bear a child. Sarah laughed at God. So, a year later when their baby was born, they named him Isaac, which means laughter. Even in grief, our household is full of laughter and I thought it was appropriate for our first child to be representative of the joy that exists between Kevin and me.

Isaac was a colicky baby, allergic to milk at first. He started out as pretty difficult but by 8 weeks old he was sleeping through the night and giving me very little grief. He crawled at 6 months, walked at 10 months and was pretty much speaking sentences by 18 months. He was and still is an over-achieving typical first child. He has a pretty serious personality and he really likes to understand the world around him and how it works. When he was little, he always had a furrow in his brow. We called him Walter because he looked like a grumpy old man.

Isaac loves music and movies. He will memorize the songs to movies and sing them all around the house. These past few months he has been learning his letter and is fascinated with how things are spelled. I suspect that he will be reading some beginner books in the next year. He derives so much joy from learning. You can see the satisfaction in his eyes when he grasps a new concept. It is contagious.

Isaac is also famous around our house for being precocious and saying very adult things at opportune times. The minute we laugh, he gets this mischievous look on his face and starts thinking of what else he can say to astound us. When he does this, it reminds me of myself as a child and I smile on the inside as I see a part of myself in my firstborn child.

I love my new camera. So if I bore you with pictures, I am sorry but it is my favorite past time. Well, aside from politics and make-up. Seriously.

This morning while Joshua was napping I took some pictures of Isaac and it is shocking to me how much he looks like his father. That stubborn type-A personality of his however, is all Mommy….