My day in pictures-a picture every hour

8am The Tootie still sleeping.

After trying to wake him up for half an hour he's finally up and full of beans! He decides to wear my sneakers around the house.

Breakfast time.

9:45am
Finally at work.

Waiting for the elevator...

10am My lovely office.
My friend Christina sends me a picture-she is receiving her bone marrow transplant today!

Staring out my window thinking about Christinaback to work...

11am 
working..
12pm 
still working...

1pm

Gym!

spin class

me after spin class. Tired.

2pm lunch at my desk

3pm
working working working.

workin it.
4pm
meet Bell for coffee

5pm Brandi's fabulous Target sandals



snack time

6pm 
our lovely supply area.
very important business.

7pm

homeward bound!

L.A traffic

home at last...

ready for dinner!

8pm

yay taco night!
time to play again...

doing dishes, I've trained him well...
old man

bathtime!

post bathtime, The Toot likes to wear his biking helmet whenever possible

Friend stops by to talk Triathlons

storytime

time for bed

Goodnite moon in Grey's room

9pm
Time for Mom!

Triathlon

This year with one Triathlon under my belt, I decided to blog my experience while I go through the process of training for the next one I'm doing in September. So here we go...


I train with a group of individuals that Husband stumbled upon at work. He is the hero in this group, and I am the wife of the hero which is not that bad, but often times irritates me, because I like to be the hero. Why he's the hero is any ones guess. Mostly, I think its because he is very outgoing with these people and becomes The Mayor of triathlonville when he's around them. He's always busy slapping everyone on the back and kissing babies. For some reason when someone close to me becomes Mayor-like I become wallflower-like. This is a phenomenon that has happened to me since lower school. I guess I feel like if you need to talk really loud I should probably be quiet, cause two people talking really loud always annoys me.


So this year I will be going to all the training sessions, instead of starting later like we did last year. I guess I'm really excited about this, because ever since the first training day I have been feeling really stoked. It kind of surprised me. I like this group of people and even though I'm the Mayors wife, I still enjoy the scene and don't mind so much having to hold the kings scepter while he's busy kissing babies.


For both Husband and I to be able to go to the training we would have to have a babysitter. This of course causes problems. Not because we don't have a babysitter, but because Husband is on hiatus from work right now and babysitters are expensive. So each week we will argue about who gets to go. Last week I got to go cause it was the first one, and The Mayor figures I need it more, since he is a more advanced Triathlete. There is a hierarchy in the triathlon world. You think doing one would make you awesome, and at the office it does cause everyone thinks you are amazing just for wearing yoga pants, but in the Triathlon world the very second you have finished your first race everyone is already talking about the next one. Its kinda like having kids- You go through this intensive experience of giving birth and the first thing people say to you when they see your sweaty face is: "so when are you gonna gave another one?". My answer to that is: "fuck you".


Training day #1- 15 mile bike ride


I get up bright and early, forgoing the second glass of wine the night before so as to be chipper and energized. I eat my oatmeal as advised to do by The Mayor and put my bike into the back of the truck. There is no graceful way to do this. I really wish I was one of those women that drove a truck with style and grace like I belonged behind the wheel, but honestly I just find myself worrying about breaking my nails when I have to haul that stupid bike over the truck bed while looking like I'm doing it with ease. Note: if you ever see me doing this, whatever it appears, there is no ease happening here- I am struggling.


I drive to the park, easy. I get there early. I eat the "nutrition" everyone is always blabbing about when you do things like runs and triathlons. This is basically just energizing liquids in the shape of jelly beans or slimy goo in packets. I then pretend to look busy. Here's the thing: I'm a really organized person. I don't really need to fiddle with things like my bike or my bag or any of my "gear". I however, loathe and detest small talk with people I don't know very well and will most times avoid it at all costs. Therefore, I will start to fiddle with things that are organized and don't really need to be fiddled with. 


In the middle of all this fiddling and re-organizing things that have already been organized, one of The Mayors friends who I actually really like approaches me and we chat. She is really nice and very helpful and experienced. This passes some time while we all stand around in the parking lot waiting and looking busy. I'm finding though as I talk to her that the nutrition I have eaten like The Mayor told me to do before the ride, is really taking effect-its packed with vitamins, electrolytes and caffeine and I am feeling PUMPED! Which is kind of a problem since we probably aren't going to ride for another 15 minutes at least. If you have ever done a 'line' of any kind, you will understand what I mean when I say I was ready to GO!!! LIKE RIGHT THAT SECOND! LIKE WHAT ARE WE WAITING FOR?! Foot tapping, dancing around kind of jazzed to the limits. I found myself fidgeting my way through the conversation and talking really fast and being really distracted. I kept looking over this woman's should thinking to myself "I NEED TO RUN. RIGHT NOW!' I almost started running during the middle of the conversation. I have eaten power block chews and excelorade drinks in the middle of a long bike ride before, when I was tired and needed some fuel, but not having done any exercise yet, I was feeling like my feet could lift off the ground, I was ready to power it up to the heavens! I occupied myself with finding a bathroom and then putting air in my tires (which I actually didn't know how to do) and by the time I had done all that, I was starting to feel more normal again.


The coach of the team separated us into groups: beginners, intermediate and advanced. Some advanced riders would go off on their own to ride a longer ride, some would stay and pair up with the intermediates and the beginners. Now, I have done a Triathlon once before, so I fancied myself an 'advanced' person. So I sauntered on over to the advanced group. I stood there while the coach then pointed to me and said "OK all intermediate people stand here with her". Right, I knew that, intermediate.


I was then paired up with two other women from my group and a woman from the advanced group who would be leading our ride. we all introduced ourselves and then immediately agreed that before riding we should pee first. I liked this group already. The women were friendly and real. right out of the gate we had a whole tampon discussion while waiting for one of the ladies in the restroom. They all seemed pleasant enough. I thought to myself: Husband can suck it, there's a new Mayor in town! Later Husband would ask when I told him about a conversation i had with one of the women: "so you knew her from last year?". "Nope, just met her for the first time." "huh". he said annoyingly, as if surprised by my ability to talk to other humans.


We began our ride at the opening of the bike path. To get to the bike path you had to cross a reasonably quiet side street. I don't personally like riding with cars, they don't see bikers, and it's scary. Usually I avoid it, so only riding across one main street to get to the bike path where there would be no cars was right up my alley... Until of course, one of the women in my group cut in front of me while we crossed the street, right when a car was coming straight at us. She then proceeded to loose her footing on her bike, not being able to clip her bike shoe into the pedal fast enough and swerved right into me. Luckily, I was high as balls on energy beans and had cat like reflexes. I swerved out of her way before she could hit me and push me into the oncoming car.


I quickly decided two things: 1. I was not going to get stuck behind this woman EVER again. 2. I was not going to get stuck anywhere near this woman. I realized since the second we had started riding, to the second we stopped riding she never stopped talking. It was a one sided monologue directed at whomever was in her vicinity. I can't exercise and chat, I'm not that person. I barely have enough brain space to walk and chew gum, let alone carry on a full conversation about the inner workings of my knitting circle while simultaneously riding a bike. 


Due to my avoidance of The Talker I rode fast to catch up with our group leader and was quickly right behind her. After about 3 miles of this, she turned to me and said "how fast do you normally ride?". since it did seem kind of slow to me, and I wasn't working that hard I said "I guess 20 miles per hour on flat like this?". we were currently riding at about 15 miles an hour. "yeah, ok I usually go 18, we can go faster if you want". I later relayed the conversation to The Mayor who exclaimed: "20?! I don't even ride at 20, you probably don't ride at 20". "Um yes I do, I look at my speedometer". He quickly recounted like I knew he would if I threw a 'fact' at him."Oh, ok well then that's great babe". I realized later that maybe he was right, and that maybe I don't ride at a 20. Honestly, I have no idea what pace I normally ride at, I had just thrown out a number when she had originally asked me, but I felt like I could ride at a 20 and that's all that mattered. 


So with my awesome 20 mile per hour ride under my belt, I am ready for my next Tri practice adventure!

Happy Valentines day

Today while in Friend/Boss's office, I stood behind her computer while she complained about the website she had just used to make a Valentines day card for her Family. "Can you believe they have a card that says 'I love being inside of you?'". "what?" I exclaimed "No they don't, lemme see..." I peered in closer as she tried to find the card on her screen. With my hand on the back of her chair I stood up and said loudly "why don't they just say I love your Vagina?".

At the exact moment that the words "...I love your Vagina" came out of my mouth the executive producer of our show walked into the room.

"...and on that note...." I said as I tried to slump out of the room.

Luckily he has a great sense of humor and ADD and was quickly on to the next issue of asking me to stay so he could pitch us his idea.

Happy Valentines Day. I love your vagina.

Lashes

Lets talk eyelashes! well I got me some, the store bought kind, but fancier. I thought as a treat for myself for just, you know, being me- I would get me some salon lash extensions that's all the rage these days (by rage I mean people in my office). After many months of deliberation, I finally settled on the deal of a lifetime at my hair salon where they were having a sale on the lash applications and gave into temptation! That, and Grandmas crisp Christmas fifty dollar bill still fresh in its envelope, burning a hole in my pocket.

So I made an appointment at my usual salon, with a guy I don't know, who specializes in applying these permanent lash extensions. With the help of my college friend/hair stylist I just 'happened' to know he was having a cheap Amazon deal and wheeled and dealed my way into a Saturday appointment.

The setup was this: in the salon I normally go to, there is a small closet size room with a curtain that is mostly open. so as you lie on this hospital type bed you can hear all that goes on at the salon, yet they cannot really see you lying on the hospital bed since you are mostly obscured by this curtain. Eyelash guy then applies these permanent individual lashes with professional glue onto your actual lash line in between your actual lashes. The effect is stunning-picture a modern day natural twiggy meets Sophia Loren. I was really excited to HAVE the lashes, but not excited about actually going through the process of GETTING the lashes.

OK, I thought- don't freak out, just lay down and chill out-who cares if you don't know this guy and he's about to stick his fingers in your eye? whatever right? No. Wrong. I laid down on the hospital bed where he then informed me "you are gonna be lying here for at least two hours so you probably don't want to drink any more coffee". Hmm OK. I will be zen and just focus on my inner light or whatever to pass the time.

So I laid there while he taped my eyelids shut. I can't quite explain why this is claustrophobic to me, but it is. I couldn't get over the feeling of being trapped. It didn't help that I am so damn tall that my feet were butted up against the wall of this tiny closet I was in, which I'm sure no one thought of since no one else in the world is as tall as me, and seems to have these types of problems. The thought of course of just ripping the tape off my eyes to freedom, did not escape me. Even though I rationalized in my mind that in the event of an emergency I would be able to perform this task of desperately tearing the tape off my eyes like a wild animal and thus sit up to safety, I still felt trapped.

So I managed to be an adult and lie still awaiting the torture that I assumed would ensue after the taping, but alas it was mind numbingly benign. Unlike the dentist, where you can focus on your hatred for the Dentist, here I just had to wait out what felt like someone 'sort of' about to touch my eyeball with a paint brush and then stopping at my eyelash at the last minute a million times in a row.

I started to relax, even though I couldn't move (or shouldn't move I should say). I realized that soon enough it would all be over and I would look like Bambi, I focused on my end results and zoned out on the hairdresser chatter outside the closet.

...and then, there is was, like nails on a chalk board-that familiar voice: friendly, withholding, and slightly hungover-HER voice, the voice of my ex best friend. It was unmistakable, I had known it since kindergarten, it was for sure Ex best friend. I haven't seen or spoken to her in four years, after knowing her my entire life. Even with sharing a manicurist, hair stylist, facialist, and multitudes of friends- I have yet to run in to her once in these last four years...

...until now. When I am laying on a friggen gurney with my eyelids taped shut. I immediately panic. I can feel my eyeballs go into what can only be described as an REM state back and forth inside my head like someone getting electrocuted. I can feel my neck pulsating, and my palms start sweating. It was horrible. I actually think I lost a year of my life from the panic alone. Wild thoughts crossed my mind: 'should I bolt upright and run to the bathroom before she has a chance to get settled? Maybe there's a window I can climb out of. " The idea of being trapped in this closet with this man I barley knew, locked in this corpse-like position while my frenemy lurked mere feet away, alerted all my warlike instincts: The enemy was approaching! and I couldn't just take it lying down!

I had to keep it together. "Get control bitch!" I yelled internally at myself: "You are 36 years old, you can handle this! You gave birth for fucks sake! You've done a triathlon! Stop acting like a crazy person!" and so, slowly I started the process of calming myself down. Crazy eye rolling and panting wasn't gonna cut it while some dude is trying to apply lashes to my face-I had to get my mind right. I had to stop my body from going into full blown panic, otherwise it was gonna be disastrous. The main reason I think i was able to physically slow my pulse down, was imagining the conversation I would have to have with eyelash man, that I didn't particularly like that much to begin with, about why I had bolted upright like a Frankenstein bride. "Well you see, I haven't seen this woman in four years and she slept with my ex boyfriend, no not while we were together, but it was going on for a long time behind my back and well, you know..." Uch, it just seemed so fucking stupid to be brutally honest, I just couldn't bare it.

I finally calmed myself enough, to not appear to be an epileptic on this mans table. I accepted the fact that Ex best friend would be there for the full two hours, getting her hair done while I silently listened to her every word. She would also be there when I would have to get up and pay at the front desk in this small salon. I accepted the fact that I would have to deal with the cold Clint Eastwood western style confrontation, while we obviously ignored each other while I tried to pay my bill. Each word out of her mouth made me panic deeper, but I was determined to gain the upper hand and be the adult. I would handle this, and I would do it with dignity God Damnit!

That's when I heard it, her flurry of goodbyes. She had come apparently to collect some product or the other and then leave again. I felt relief like no other, as I heard the jingle of the doorbell on her way out. Could it be? I wasn't just wishing it to be true, had she really left? Could I be that lucky? I strained my ears listening hard for her voice to re emerge amongst the hair dresser chorus-it was true, she was gone! ...and she had never even known I was there.

I excused myself from my death tomb to use the bathroom and stared at myself half finished in the mirror for a few minutes in great relief and exhilaration. I returned back to the hospital bed exhausted from from my panic. "Did you peek?" eyelash guy asked. "Yes" I said "and I look fucking amazing!".

Middle aged Lady

When I looked around my weight sculpting class at the gym the other day I realized something: I have become a middle aged woman. I'm no longer the 24 year old party girl. I'm 35 and I have reached that middle aged woman status in my life.

I looked at the other women in the class: All women in their 30's and 40's, (keep in mind these are LA women), most of them are blond, toned and fit. I looked at the teacher; a beautiful black male dancer in his late 40's, flamboyant and fabulous. He was telling one of his slightly crude yet hilarious jokes and we all laughed. Suddenly I caught a glimpse of myself: finally fit again, blond (with dark roots), laughing at fabulous gay Marvin's jokes, and there it was- I am now a middle aged lady. Whats even weirder? I friggen love it!

I love that I am finally in shape and actually know what I should be eating and wearing instead of trying the latest trends. I love that at 35 I have pretty much figured out how to wear my hair, and that if I pee when I laugh I don't really care. What I really love is that I don't have to try and be cool anymore, I'm just me. I have arrived at middle age and guess what? Its rad. I can see the stereotype of the fabulous gay teacher at the gym teaching all the middle aged moms, but whatever. I love Marvin, I love his crude jokes, I love how when he teaches us how to tone our butts he says things like "just think of George Clooney ladies as you raise those glutes, are you ready for George to stare at your ass?".

That's the thing about being a middle aged lady, you don't care anymore about who's watching or how cute you look while doing whatever it is you have to do. I'm married, I have a son, I don't have to be the cute young thing in the room anymore, the pressure is gone and it feels great.

Lets be clear: my vanity isn't gone- lets not get crazy. I still need to look good, but see that's also a part of the middle aged lady club-we care about our appearance we just don't care what you think about our appearance, and that's where the liberation begins. I know exactly what angle I look best in photos, where to place my fat upper arms so they don't look like marshmallows. I know how to tilt my head so my chin doesn't disappear into my neck, and when I walk into a room I don't have to be the hottest thing in it, because I'm not 22 and everyone knows it, and its ok with me.

This new found freedom has had a great effect on my life. I am now able to do a great many things I wasn't able to do before: like talk to people I used to get nervous around. I'm also lucky enough to have my career, so its not like I need to impress anyone there either, I can just be free to be me. I'm not the young- just- out- of- college -woman trying to climb the latter anymore, I'm fine with where I am at.

What it all boils down to is this:

I really don't give a flying fuck. If you don't think I'm thin enough, pretty enough, smart enough or funny enough- it doesn't matter. I'm a middle aged lady, and the thing that us middle aged ladies know the best is: time flies, and most likely we'll forget what it was we were supposed to be upset about because who can even remember a half hour ago and who the hell cares anyway?

The Ex

Well, it was bound to happen someday, in a city of only 4 million people.... last Sunday I ran into my ex-boyfriend on the street while out shopping with Toddler and Husband.

You know the one, the Ex who I was with for 6 years before I met Husband, the one who I haven't seen in about 3 years since "the incident". The Ex who went through AA, and on his stepping stone process stepped on my head by telling me he had been sleeping with my best friend for the past 5 years. That lovable Ex who after our separation ended up working in the porn industry, only to become some big wig who started a whole new type of porn, ya know; girls with blue hair having sex....

As far as run ins go, broken down into a point system- 10 being the best, I feel pretty good about it:

My outfit was decent = 4 (even though it was a Sunday and I was caught off guard, so add an extra point there = 5)

My hair was a little crazy = 2

I didn't have a spec of make up on = 1

...8 out of 10 not so bad...

However, The Family really represented: Husband for some unknown reason had thrown on a nice sweater before leaving the house and Toddler was in my favorite outfit of his.

We stood on the corner the three of us, a picturesque image if you will; Husband and I both with lattes in hand, Husband (wearing the sweater) pushing Toddler in the stroller. We were waiting for the light to change when Ex Boyfriend appeared out of nowhere, as if he had been standing there the whole time I lived in this town and I hadn't noticed before. He looked at me and smiled "Hi". what's even stranger is how casual I was about the whole thing. I looked over at him as if just running into a neighbor while out on a Sunday stroll, instead of an ex boyfriend I hadn't spoken too since he announced step 8 of the program over the phone. He said he had appreciated the person he was with me the most, and that after our break up he had become a totally despicable human being consuming endless amounts of drugs and sleeping with inappropriate women. He may not have said that exactly, but you get the gist...

After the run in Husband commended me: "you were really amazing!". Was I? I knew my voice was calm, I knew that I hadn't throat punched The Ex, I knew that it didn't really seem like that big of a deal at the moment. It actually seemed kind of normal to be honest. We chatted, he told me he wasn't working in porn anymore, wasn't living in the house he had bought, was looking for a place to live, and was now working at a dub house. It appeared quitting drugs had done some changes on him.

I was struck by a few things while talking with him:

1. How nice he was, there was no weird bragging like he used to do. He was actually a nice thoughtful person with nice things to say.

2. How genuinely happy he was to see not only me, but Husband and Toddler as well, like he had just run into old friends on the street...and

3. how very much like an old gay Queen he had become...

Now I say this with wonder, respect and curiosity. It was hard for me to get over his interesting mannerisms: The hands whipping flamboyantly through the air, the odd speech pattern, the pitch of his voice. I tried to decipher: has he always been like this and I just never noticed before? or was this something new? Best Friend # 1 generously offered upon hearing my story that maybe I was taping into his softer, nicer side. Could this be a new softer version of this man humbled by excess, coming out in a Queenish lilting vibe? Was I reading him wrong or was this the man he had always been and I had never seen it before?

Its hard to say, but my mind was boggled. To not have ever noticed these apparent glaringly obvious personalty traits before was eating away at me. I questioned Husband:

"Did he seem different to you?"

To which Husband responded helpfully:

"I don't know babe, I've always thought he was a weird guy"

The bottom line was Queen or not; it was working for him, and I suddenly liked him so much better then I had in years. If this was the real version or softer side of this man, the true person inside after the drugs and endless years of editing close up shots of Vajayjays, then I rejoiced for him! This newer 2.0 version of The Ex, was the better version as far as I was concerned and I was happy to see the transformation.

Where is your Mother?

Last weekend I took Toddler to the park. He drove his little blue car while I pushed him along. Let me explain that I was also utterly exhausted and the only reason I took Toddler to the park to begin with was that I was hoping that the fresh air and the exercise might wake me up. Seeing that there is really is no other option then to be awake while Toddler is awake. It was one of those days where sweatpants and an incredibly large sweatshirt were the only clothes I could even consider putting on. Toddler and I had a nice time. He is still getting his legs used to walking, he often resembles and a drunken Frankenstein trying to traverse the land. He also seemed stumped as to why there were wood chips on the ground and kept picking the pieces of wood off his hands each time he fell down like: "how the hell did that get there?" He picked the wood chips off his palms flummoxed each time it would happen again.

We went on the swings and down the slide, we even went face to face on the spring loaded duck and elephant chairs-mine apparently having a lot more "spring" in it due to the weight limit then his, as I bounded forward almost touching my ducks bill to the wood chipped ground as I rode the thing like a bear on a tricycle. We'd made our second circle around the playground when I noticed two kids playing with Toddlers car, which we had parked near the swings.

It was an older girl and her little brother. The girl was about 7 and the brother was probably about 5. The girl was pushing the brother in Toddlers car. It seemed harmless enough, Toddler and I were still playing and planned on doing another round on the slides. Then I noticed that sister was really pushing little brother pretty fast in the car and that I wasn't sure how long they would be staying inside the park the rate they were going in the thing. I collected Toddler and walked quickly over to them.

"Hey!" I said casually, holding Toddler on my hip, "that's our car, but you can play with it as long as you stay around here". They paused and stared at me with wide eyes, then continued to play. "Good" I thought "that went well, what a great example I am " I thought congratulating myself -"cheerful, diplomatic, generous even". Toddler and I then went over to the swings, to be close to the car, yet with a safe 'trusting' distance. As I pushed Toddler on the swing I noticed that even with his mild temperament he seemed to be very distracted that the kids were playing with his car. I figured "its probably time to go anyway' we should wrap it up".

"hey guys" I called over cheerfully. "its time for us to go now!". The kids continued to play. I walked closer, maybe they didn't hear me "OK!" I said a little louder, "its time for us to go now! We need our car!" I smiled with a cheerfulness I wasn't quite feeling. They stopped their game and looked at me, both smiling as they stood on the other side of a concrete picnic table. The boys legs crunched up into the car, the girl with her hands on the handle. I stepped closer to them, Toddler on my hip. The girl smiled at me manically and pushed Little brother to the opposite side of the table. I tried going the other way toward them and she went the opposite way smiling at me the whole time. I tried again thinking this couldn't be happening, she wasn't deliberately going the opposite way? I tried again and her smile grew as she moved away from me like some Laurel and Hardy movie. We went back and forth around this table, each time I stepped one way she would step the other way, grinning like some demented clown. "It's time for us to go, we need our car back! " I said loudly, this time hearing the desperation in my voice. This kid had me by the balls and she knew it. I couldn't chase them, not only would it be ridiculous, but I was carrying Toddler who weighs a solid 30 pounds. Upon hearing me ask for the third time if I could get the car back, the brother and sister jerks laughed and kept playing. I wanted to scream, but I realized that wasn't gonna help my cause of looking like a moron. I stopped in my tracks realizing quickly that this was a game for them and by going around this table- they were winning. The girl stopped on the other side mirroring me, tilted her head and then smiled a wide grin. I paused for a long moment considering my options, I had to out smart them if I wanted to get Toddlers car back. Suddenly it hit me: "where's your Mother?" I said loudly in my deepest voice. "Is that her over there?" I pointed to a group of women in the distance. suddenly the boys face went serious, clearly the jig was up. He looked up at the sister waiting for her next move. "No" the girl said grinning, "she's over there" and pointed to a woman standing by a cart. "OK" I said knowingly. "Maybe I'll have to go talk to her". The boy looked up at his sister alarmed. I seized my moment as they paused in fear, to attack. I quickly walked over to them and grabbed the handle of the car with my free hand. The boy immediately got out of the car not wanting to push his luck any further. I held fast onto the handle trying to balance Toddler and negotiate him into the seat. Toddler looked at the kids with an innocent smile of excitement, like here was his chance to get to play with them. I had a good grip on the car when the girl jumped back into the seat pushing past Toddler saying loudly "My turn!". I blocked her, with a death grip on the car handle with one hand and Toddler now hanging like a sack under the other arm, I held fast filled with rage and determination. I stopped myself from throat punching this kid as I said in my deepest dog training voice "IT IS NOT YOUR TURN, IT IS TIME TO GOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!". I plopped smiling Toddler into the seat and took off in anger down the street.

Here's the thing-kids are rotten, most of em genuinely are. I have known this fact since I was a kid myself, but Toddler has instilled in me over the last year a love and kindness toward all children that I never had before. I now cry at those sappy commercials that have kids or puppies, because in each child I now see my sons sweet little face. Not these kids though- I have never wanted to clock a kid as much as I wanted to clock that girl as she smiled at me with each step she took away with my sons car.

Never again will I be the pushover at the park, who assumes all kids are as sweet as my kid. I now rightly know that they are all assholes.