It's All My Fault

I was reading today about a study that says a mother's diet during pregnancy may affect the genes of her future generations. In the study, researchers found that supplements given to pregnant mice not only affected the coloring of their offspring, but their offspring's offspring as well.

According to the study: "This is the first case in which the relationship between a mother's diet and the biology of her grandchildren has been mapped to a single gene and a defined diet."

If that is the case I hope that Schlotzsky's and Chips Ahoy are still around in the year 2050.

Leaps and Bounds

Occasionally your kids say things that really make you stop and think. I'm not talking about the twee, bittersweet quips (not this time anyway) but the things they say that make you realize they are growing intellectually.

For example, this morning Sam was up earlier than Jake so we sat together at the breakfast table. He wanted to eat fast so he could play trains for awhile before we left for school. Last night I had patiently reassembled their train track after it had sat disassembled for weeks. I told him we should've fixed it sooner since he and Jake liked to play with it so much.

"But the coal loader is in the wrong place," he told me.

I started to explain. "Well, the track is kind of hard to put together so I started with the original track and didn't add the extra pieces until the end. I put the coal loader at the end of the track so the trains could pull off, load up, and get back on the track."

"But you need to move the buffer because the longer trains can't reach the coal loader before they hit the buffer. They can't load the coal," he told me.

I know it's not the theory of relativity, but it was a valid point, and one I'd missed.

Grouse

Jake was up at 5:30 this morning. And despite my best efforts, nothing I did made him happy. We ended up sitting in the big chair, watching Teletubbies for the millionth time. I was a little frustrated and cold. Cold because Jake will not let me wear my robe - the robe that Sam loves, brings to me every night, wants to sleep with. And frustrated because Jake insisted on holding 3 pancakes, a bottle of 'chocky' milk, 3 board books, 1 Matchbox car and 2 'Mama' bears and I am too big to share a chair with a 2-year-old holding 3 pancakes, a bottle of 'chocky' milk, 3 board books, 1 Matchbox car and 2 'Mama' bears. But eventually the sun came up, 7 a.m. rolled around, Sam got up, more breakfast was made, I showered ...

I have a theory, nothing revolutionary, that despite how early anyone is up, the last 15 minutes before leaving the house will be chaos. Shoes are lost, coats are removed, toys are dropped. And so it went this morning. Jake wanted to wear tennies, no stompers. No one wanted to wear coats. And even though there had been a verbal agreement that Sam get the Batman toy and Jake get the Superman toy, Sam wanted them both. Most of the drive to school Sam and/or Jake were in tears, at any one time one of them crying "NO FAIR!"

And so I did what I rarely, if ever, do in front of the kids. I lashed out at their dad.

"You know what I think is no fair. The fact that I'm the first one up and I bust my hump to get everyone up and fed and dressed and out the door on time and every day I'm 45 minutes late to work so I can drop you off at school even though your dad works 50 yards away and no one EVER says thank you."

Sam broke the silence a couple of minutes later: "Thank you."

The Power of a Brand

We drive through downtown Dallas every morning on our way to school. This morning one building on our route featured a new billboard - I guess you'd call it a billboard - that covered one entire side of the building. It was a jaunty red and green ad promoting a very famous coffee shop chain featuring carollers, snowball fights, sleds, dogs in sweaters and a small logo in the upper corner.

I pointed it out to Sam. "Look, Sam. Isn't that festive? The snow, the singers."

"Ah, Starbucks," he said.

Santa Claus Is Coming To Town

We walked out of school last night with one of Sam's buddies. "I'm going to be 5 in December," he proudly said. "And Santa Claus will be coming to my birthday party."

When we were in the car I told Sam I didn't realize Santa was going to make an appearance at his party this year.

"Of course he is. It's the start of the season, you know."

Right To Remain Silent

We were near the end of our evening commute last night when President Bush landed in Dallas to do some last minute stumping for Governor Rick Perry. Suddenly there were police blockades and processions everywhere. It was a traffic headache but the boys love watching police officers (firefighters, police officers, et. al).

"Look Sam. The po-po."

"Why do you call police po-po?" he asked.

"Because I think it's funny." (And I do. I makes me laugh every time.)

"I don't think you should call a policeman a 'po-po' if you are talking to him. He might not like it."

"You are right. He probably wouldn't."

"He might throw you in the pokey."

Well played, Sam. Well played.

Long Time No Blog

I'm one of those people who live from event to event forgetting that, as John Lennon said, life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans. So, somewhere between the hot summer, my birthday, Bryon's birthday, a visit from my family, switching schools, Jake's birthday, a Halloween party, Halloween and today, the boys are several months older, the weather is signifcantly cooler and I am 30 weeks pregnant. I said early on I was going to write a lot about this pregnancy since it will be my last, but I have done just the opposite. I suppose I'm fortunate that there haven't been issues to write about. No concerns or problems. Just an ever expanding stomach, kooky appetite and gas (from the baby, never me), none of which needs elaboration.

Bryon and I have been getting along unusually well. Maybe because my mood is more stable when I'm pregnant (if he's reading this, he's probably laughing) or maybe because he's traveling a lot and we are both more appreciative of the other, or maybe because my boobs are bigger or maybe because, for a reason I'm suspicious of but haven't asked about, he's been letting me spend money like there's no tomorrow.

So the Romines are easing into Fall, trying to keep up with the parties and feasts at the boys' school. Trying to plan our holidays. And seldom talking about the little one that will be joining us in January. Occasionally when things are rowdy, which happens a lot as Sam gets older and Jake turns into a midget wrestler, Bryon and I look at each other like "and there's going to be another one?" but the majority of the time we are working toward this January 'deadline' that has no name.