Inside

When you come crashing down the hillside on your scooter, reeling at the turn, skidding to a stop right before the curb, I appear calm.

When the swing is mere millimeters from flipping upside down, your laugh echoing through the trees, I am the epitome of serenity.

When you "drop in" with the 20-year-olds at the skate park, I blink momentarily, waiting for the cry, the scream of terror -- which never materializes -- and I exude peace.

When you run, run, run out the back door, jumping over rocks and stones, climbing a much-too-skinny tree, yelling out 'look at me', I applaud, beaming outwardly.

But on the inside. Oh my. On the inside I cringe, I squirm and I hold my breath.

And then I remember:

This. This is life as a mother to boys. Who yell and shout and lunge and revel in anything remotely dangerous.

And so I prescribe myself a daily dose of "they're fine" and "don't react" -- and continue to watch and marvel at the stunts which so effortlessly punctuate our afternoons. And mornings. And evenings.

Love you guys. Even if you do make my heart skip a couple of beats.

The Best Fish Tacos. Ever.

A few months ago, we took a fantabulous two-family five-day trip to Palm Springs. Four adults, and four boys, six and under. We played. We swam. We jacuzzi-ed. In the evenings we took turns cooking: chicken nuggets, pasta, tuna salad with crackers and sliced cheese for the minions.

For us: expertly-prepared and divinely seasoned steak, fresh fruits and salads, and fish tacos the most deliciously moist, cilantro-fied and lime-kissed halibut tacos I have ever eaten. 

Normally, I don't write down recipes. At best, I half-guess cups and tablespoons and simply throw in dashes of herbs and pinches of flour, tasting as I go, ultimately ending up with a delicious result, but never exactly the same as a previous iteration. But these were so so good. 

Hence, for posterity's sake, le recipe, courtesy of my lovely friend, Flour Girl Wedding Cakes.

halibut
salt & pepper
1 bunch cilantro
2 or 3 limes
3 or 4 cloves garlic
olive oil

Cut halibut into bite-sized pieces and throw in a bowl. Season with salt and pepper. Zest one lime and squeeze the juice of the others over the fish. Chop the cilantro, and add to the bowl. Mince or press the garlic, toss it with the fish and other goodies then generously drizzle with olive oil. Marinate for 2-5 hours in fridge. When ready to devour, throw in sizzling skillet until nice and yummy! Serve in tortillas (obviously) with guacamole, lettuce, tomatoes, more squeezed limes and hot sauce.

Reminders

"We're not helping raise children -- we are helping raise adults."

Teacher Beth delivered that, as well as a few other eye-opening lines -- during preschool graduation last week. Her point wasn't that kids can't be kids. On the contrary, with 30 years of guiding little ones under her belt, she truly understands the crazy fun and delirious wildness inherent in being under the age of six.

The focus, which despite the crying babies and mumbled "be quiets" from the parents actually trying to listen, was rather on being consequent. True. And consistent. On delivering clear guidelines and sound principles and exemplifying that manners and kindness and an attitude of respect-your-elders still very much applies today. 

All parents know, this is no easy feat. We have fantastic days when time-outs are applied fairly and calmness exudes, even during the most trying moments. And then there are those other little blips. The ones that keep you, as a parent, awake late into the evening and the ones that result in unappealing "what ifs" and "shoulds" and perfectly crystalline hindsight.

Despite knowing that nobody is perfect, least of all those of us trying to herd little guys onto a positive and productive path, it's still so important to remember that being a responsible adult doesn't mean you're perfect. 

It does mean that you should have an open mind. A willingness to listen. And the honesty to admit that while love can certainly conquer a lot -- it takes more than that to teach your kids how to live, laugh and grow.

A First: Graduation

Dearest Curtis:

Wow. Just about three years ago, we dressed you in a preppy white, collared shirt and plaid shorts as you entered your first morning as a 'Woolie' with Teacher Maria. You learned how to count to 15, the alphabet song and how to get dressed 'all by myself.' We traded diapers for Super-hero underroos and -- despite your Mamma's initial protests -- cut off those blonde baby curls so you could apply hair gel in the morning, just like Pappa.

A few months later, you left the cozy confines of that tiny room and moved on to daily circle times with Teacher Brooke, shorter naps (yes!) and a more rigorous curriculum. You cherished being the daily 'special helper' -- mostly because this meant organizing the lunch bags, being first in line and getting to peek out the window and meteorolgically declare the weather to the rest of the class.

And now, here we are today. You're 5-and-a-half. You're tall, confident and funny. Athletic and a genius Lego builder. You've spent a full year with Teacher Franca, mastering how to spell your name, draw all kinds of insects -- spiders being a favorite subject -- and in your outdoors-oriented mind, there's never a day when it's too cold to wear a T-shirt. 

Your friends adore you. Your teachers see you as a true leader. And your little brother knows he is incredibly lucky to have you in his corner, always.

Pappa, Axel and I are so proud of you. And we can't wait to see what's next.

Love,
Mamma

Balance.

We own three iPads, one desktop and three laptops. Each room in our house has a TV. We have two portable DVD players. And two iPhones -- for the adults, not the kids. Excessive? Probably. Disruptive to our kids? Au contraire.

It's so fancy to say you limit your kids TV time. And while I agree that most littles probably don't need to sit in front of the telly for hours upon hours each day, there's nothing wrong with a bit of technology. iPads are awesome travel tools. The games and apps are educational, entertaining and fun. And every time our oldest watches his fellow Star Wars afficionados assemble a new Lego set he usually ensues, building cities and forts and ships for display in his room.

Thinking through the pros and cons of do's and don'ts this weekend, I remember the savvy and brilliant advice of the best pediatrician we ever had. He always recommended 'feeding on demand,' and finally one day, exhausted after months of only 90-minute boob and bottle breaks, we asked: "when does this stop?"

He replied, without skipping a beat: "When they turn 18."

So as I talk to moms about how much computer/TV/technology time we allow our kids, I am instantly reminded of Dr. Zucker's fantastic advice, and how it, too, translates here.

If you give your kids an inch, they don't always take a mile. And if you let them explore, invent and be themselves, you might just find they'll go back to tried-and-true forms of entertainment.

Exhibit A: the egg race!

Lies. Little Ones.

Presenting them with a giant bowl of soy-sauce covered quinoa, I declared to the kids: "It's just rice!" And they ate it. Almost all of it. And the edamame beans at the bottom. And the corn kernels peppered throughout.

When prompted for orange soda -- a household item recently purchased to discourage pull-up-poop and incent toilet-poop -- I came up with a long-winded story culminating in: "all the bubbles in there will bubble in your belly and make it hurt."

Yes. I lied.

Moments later, my independent 5-year-old emerges from the bathroom, claiming to have washed his hands. 

"Are you sure?" I ask.

"Yes," he replies, smiling guiltily.

Being the little liar that I am, I try again: "You have one second to tell me the truth."

"I did!" he insists.

"OK," I say, relying on my own subtle technique to play truth masterminder, "If I go in and check the sink and it's not wet, no TV tonight."

At which point he darts to the bathroom, scrubbing, slathering and sudd-ifying the floor.

"Told you I did it," he casually smiles, emerging moments later, calm, cool and collected.

Just like his Mamma.

Attitude

To the TSA agent scanning our bags at Sky Harbor International Airport: really? Was it necessary to sigh so unappealingly-loudly at the sight of our one measly sippy cup filled to the brim with orange juice? Was it so exhausting to pick up your hand, wave to one of your colleagues and have them perform the ever-important "liquid bomb test on child container" while two pairs of little eyes followed your every move? Might be time to pick up your trusted manual which clearly spells out that we're allowed to bring a beverage for a three-year-old. PS: seriously consider laying off the donuts and free Coke refills at the snack bar.

To the Southwest Airlines flight attendant who stuck a 10-foot-long piece of toilet paper in his pants just to make the kids laugh during taxi, only to top it off with a rubber chicken oxygen mask prop: thank you. Thank for your understanding that little things matter. And that tiny passengers strapped in for what seems like "forever" completely appreciate your attempt at humor.

And finally, to the perfectly-sized pool in the middle of Scottsdale: you rule. It's amazing what six foam noodles, two pair of goggles, and four brightly colored dive-squid can create for the five-and-under crowd. Memories. Laughter. And fearless, chlorine-filled, fun.

Choices

Perspective hits you at 10:30pm when your 3-year-old is rambling about which cars are his favorite and how he can't wait to get on that airplane and could he please have some cereal in a bowl in his bed with a cheese stick. It sneaks back sometime around 2am when you're debating if it's worthwhile to attempt crawling into your own bed, and his little tiny hand grabs onto your cheek -- checking to make sure you're still there.

The news, quite frankly, should sometimes be banned.

Burning buildings, injured children and lives forever changed. Certainly a world-wide-event, but also so not possible to comprehend, distill or compartmentalize when you're refilling chocolate milk sippy cups and rationalizing why eating gummies for breakfast is not the healthiest kick-start to the day.

It's funny how in these weird moments everything is juxtaposed: our little ones end up showing us the way. And we follow, knowing that their tiny world is still intact and perfect, decisions as simple as which rock will skip best on the lake or whether it's too windy for a favorite hat.

So today, I will follow their lead. Take the path they choose. And just revel in that.

The Post

For the past 11 years, I've abided by the unspoken mantra: never blog about your employer. And although I'm less than enthralled with the home of the yodel, I have no desire to spew forth negativity directed at not my fellow nose-to-the-grind-ers, but more appropriately, those with natural light offices and super-fancy triple-booked calendars.

Nope. Not doing that.

Instead, I've been thinking a lot about focus. Strength. Meaning. And pinecones. Because when unappealingness finds its way to your cozy little nook, it's much more productive to consider the benefits. The reasons. The little nuances that most VPs, CEOs and others who've devoted their beings to the market most likely don't have the luxury to remember.

We created our own little slice of Paradise almost seven years ago. We uprooted, we left behind, and we loved. We waved good-bye to "shoulds" and "woulds" and instead embraced the freedom inherent in living in a smallish town with actual neighborly neighbors, miles upon miles of forest service land at our fingertips and late afternoons and weekends devoted only to outdoor adventures and -- gasp -- life.

With that departure from city-life, Starbucks and Whole Foods-populated neighborhoods also came the knowledge that we were removing ourselves from the ins and outs associated with the quest for climbing the corporate ladder. We considered that -- for about two minutes.

And then we raised our glasses on our ever-quiet back deck, glimpsed the sun setting through the pinetrees, and discussed the best approach to tricking the woodpeckers into thinking our house was less edible.

Fast forward to now. Today. This life we have. These kids we adore. And the world we are so excited to share and live and love with them.

It doesn't involve commuting. Or car-pooling. Or early morning alarm clocks and rushing out the door. We have time to play outside in the morning. To run down the bike path to the lake after school. And on those lovely Spring and Summer evenings, an after-dinner treasure-search hike is what we know and love.

So. Dear Yahoo!: Thank you for the past. Now, if you'll excuse me, my future awaits.

Three Years Ago

We didn't think it would be possible to love another little being as much as your big brother. We had no idea how a tiny infant would fit into our Batman-costume-filled afternoons and superhero-stunt mornings.

But then we met. It was 10:45am and I knew in that very instant that unless you, my darling Axel, made an appearance in the next 20 seconds, I was going to get up, crawl out of St. Mary's and be the only woman in history to cancel birth during labor.

And then you cried. And we cried. Well, Pappa almost fainted -- as he did when Curtis arrived -- but I was prepared for that the second time around.

Fast forward through Yo Gabba Gabba fetishes, sleepless nights and a persistence perseverance of the love of OJ and here we are, just days before your third birthday.

Now you're tall and funny, sweet and loving and always adoring of your big brother. You love your scooter, the battery-powered Thomas ride-along and any pants that can be labeled as "cozy." You're admirably addicted to dressing yourself, even if it means spending long minutes wrestling with your outfit before it agrees to be pulled on. You still have your "babies" in a corner of your room, but it's been months since you've truly played that game.

Now it's more about being faster and best and bestest. About keeping up with Curtis during backyard bughunts, emulating any iPad games so effortlessly played by big brother, and -- through it all -- staying forever loyal and true to Apa and Mimi, although the latter is saved for bedtime snuggles.

My most favorite little baby brother, Axel: happy delicious birthday. And thank you for adding a little empathy, coziness and three-year-old smarts to our every day.

Love,
Mamma

On Language

Right around 18 months, Curtis lost complete interest in Swedish. I vividly remember an afternoon on the playground in Mar Vista, trying to ask him if he wanted to get in his toy push-car so we could head home. He refused to answer until I rephrased my question in English.

Axel is completely different. He not only embraces my native language -- he excels at it. At two-and-a-half, he doesn't quite grasp that Pappa doesn't really understand his foreign-sounding questions and demands, but I'm guessing that will come soon. He loves his Swedish books, understands everything I say, evidenced by the recent impressive mastery of the word 'wheelbarrow' which came up, unprovoked, during a bed-time story.

I'm so committed to continue encouraging his command of Swedish. And I can't wait until next summer when all the cousins, sisters, brother-in-laws, and grandparents will gather in Ljunghusen for a couple of weeks, and the smattering of languages -- and surely, communication snafus -- that will ensue.

Ironic, in a way, that my little guy got the Scandinavian name, and true to his roots, speaks the language.

Curtis on the other hand. He'll always be my little American.

Perspective

Four years ago, the Angora fire devastated South Lake Tahoe. Homes were destroyed, lives forever changed, glorious pine trees torched. And although we never had to evacuate, the possibility was still eerily close -- as was the decision on what to bring. What to leave. In hindsight, it's ridiculously simple: take photos and birth certificates, passports and hard drives. Leave: everything else.

And then. Just a few days ago, another fire, this time only about a quarter mile from our house, just up the sage-brush covered hill. Right off the path we hike, run and trot the dogs. Initially we knew nothing. Eventually we knew we were OK. Our local fire-fighting heroes had it under control before even a few acres had burned.

Interestingly this time we were ready. And in addition to the government-issued paperwork that is too complicated to replace, I stashed extra diapers and wipes in my purse. Because seriously. Who wants to be left with a messy two-year-old in the middle of complete chaos.

And now. Less than a week later, at Curtis's soccer game, watching him run and kick and score. Laughing, high-five-ing and so clearly in his element. Little brother imitating from the sidelines, trying, oh-so-trying, to be just like his almost-five-year idol. That's when you realize that even the little bitty pieces of paper nestled in the safe are frivolous. 

That all that matters are those you love.

Perspective, full circle.

Preschool Soundtracks

Just the other day, I had a fleeting thought, entertaining the idea of a conversation without Dora or Diego or Power Rangers on in the background. And as appealing as that still sounds, I also know that time: it flies. It runs and scurries and silently swooshes through days and weeks and months. And a today that's filled with tiny Legos and ninja costumes will soon -- way too soon -- be replaced by big-kid-isms.

So.

Although we would all probably prefer a life less invaded by Nick Jr, I'm so not ready to leave behind the delicious days of being almost-five and two-and-a-half.

Something that was incredibly evident when I added the homemade baby food cookbooks to the garage sale pile.

Dear time: pause. If only for a little bit.
 

Born in Reno, NV

In terms of coolness, claiming that they were born in Lake Tahoe probably would be a bit more fancy, but since we were completely uninterested in testing the medical savvy of the tiny hospital in this town, we opted for a one-hour-drive for both kids. And interestingly, the drives -- totally different for each soon-to-be-baby-boy -- were lovely and crazy, all at the same time.

We're clearly way beyond infancy and have now reached an age where both Axel and Curtis thrive in their settings. They've come to know and love the outdoors, something we hoped to find as we left the smog and filth and unappealing-ness of LA many years ago. If given a choice, they would play outside all day: digging, scooping and sorting dirt; looking for hidden treasures amid giant pinecones and sap from scented trees; riding bikes and plastic zebras up and down the driveway; or tooling around in their little Jeep, learning how to spin and reverse and navigate regardless of how cold the thermostat claims it to be.

Life with boys means tasting and touching and feeling and playing for every moment. Life with boys in Lake Tahoe's majestic paradise is all that and then some.

 

Dear Boys

You both absolutely love watching "Elf" with Will Farrell. At 4 and almost 2, you know exactly what parts are funny and which moments to mimic. Your favorite popsicles are branded by Dora and aside from the ever-popular Skittles, the miniature chocolates from the somehow-still-full Advent calendars are your preferred sugar treats.

Axel: Elmo and Barney viewed on the TV in Curtis's room is part of your morning routine. That, paired with a sippy cup filled with Vitamin C and a bowl of yogurt-covered raisins, and you're perfectly content.

Curtis: Our own little super-hero, you've recently discovered the magic of a treasure box with a lock that your little brother has yet figured out how to pry open. It's contents? Darth Vader and Storm trooper figurines, a container of Lego guys, your fake mustache stash, a Lego headlamp, and a pirate gold coin purse.

Every day you delight, amaze, and refresh our lives. You're both blessed with a luxurious love of life and -- thanks to Spiderman, Batman and Superman -- speed. And though you're obviously brothers and share many of the same passions: rolling down the driveway on a plastic Zebra, jumping off the coffee table and dancing with music turned to the max -- you're also developing individual tastes and preferences.

It's almost a new year.

And I can't wait to see what you've both got planned.

Love,

Mamma

Mormor

What makes me the happiest is knowing that you finally are where you always wanted to be: with Morfar.

That, and knowing that you lived your life to its fullest, for as long as you possibly could.

Thank you, always, for:

• making me feel like a Slalom champion in Are
• Swedish summer golf rounds
• baked chicken with cheese
• chocolate cookies
• your fantastically, whimsical and ever-so-confident approach to clothes
• warm water with honey
• cheese and crackers before dinner
• in your own way, always pushing for family
• stressing the importance of comfortable shoes
• morning gymnastics, long before yoga was cool
• buying organic before anyone else knew what it meant
• your elaborate lunches
• driving me to golf camp and making sure I had a friend before you left
• always being so, so happy to see us
• being my very own, special Mormor

I'm sure we'll play another round someday.

Air Claim

Turbulence aside, I'm not much of a flyer. In my fantasy dream-world, every location on the planet is accessible by car. Or train. Bus would even be fine.

Anything but that giant bird in the sky.

No matter when I travel, I always get stuck on the "flight-attendants-please-take-your-seats-due-to-choppy-air" route. And despite being ipod-equipped and in possession of a dramatic page-turner, I'm anything but relaxed.

Though all of a sudden it seems that those in charge of puddle-jumping might be on to a new concept: air ownership.

Seriously. At least 20 minutes prior to landing, someone proclaims throughout the plane: "Thank you for flying with us. And welcome to [insert city name]." Evidently, city residency now includes the thousands of feet of vast blue sky, hovering above.

Which is great news to me. I assume that means we'll have floating townships in mere decades. Followed by a fancy, new high-tech way of commuting, sans airplane wings.

Old School

Two things:

1. I used the phone book the other day. Despite my super-fast Mac and having "the world at my finger-tips," flipping through the Yellow Pages still won the race. And while I did for a split-second marvel at the very out-dated-ness of that behemoth directory -- it worked. Like a charm.
2. Yesterday, I spoke with the nicest man in America. Theoretically he was a customer service rep for a card company, but he was just way too friendly, polite, and helpful to be anything run-of-the-mill. He even called back a few moments later, to revise the previously agreed upon $-total, and chit-chat about the beauty of the Sierras.

Learnings: Letting your fingers do the work is not such a bad slogan after all. Playing nice pays off -- which is probably why sharing toys in the sandbox continues to be our kindergarten mantra.

The List

1. Yoga, three days per week.
2. Make tarragon-and-grainy-mustard crusted rack of lamb.
3. Purchase more wine from ACME.
4. Design thewineplanet.com.
5. Update Out of the Frying Pan.
6. Buy as many books as possible by Anna Gavalda.
7. Send a 'reader's tip' to Cooking Light, have it published and win a Capresso coffee maker!
8. Try not to purchase any more PJs.
9. Buy more PJs.
10. Train the dogs to not jump on exciting, new guests.