I did it (mostly).

I did it -- I managed more than a whole day without the internet. (Ok, I did sneak online on Mike's iPhone for a minute in the car today.)

I have to say that I am amazed at how often my mind went to, "Oh, I'll look that up online." From checking the weather to wondering what hours the bank is open to thinking about options for Charlie's birthday party, hopping online is really second nature for me.

Even my friend Beth called to ask me about basketball camp carpooling. Usually, we'd work in out via e-mail, but Beth said "I figured I'd better call since I know you're not checking your e-mail."

We went to Mike's parents for a quick visit to celebrate his birthday (which was yesterday). It was really freeing to be there without a laptop in tow. And when I was tired, I just went to bed. Instead of stopping to check my e-mail/visit Facebook/send a few Tweets before turning in for the night.

At brunch this morning, I was telling my in-laws about my self-imposed internet moratorium. Charlie suddenly got up, put his hand across his cheek so it extended from his ear to his mouth, and froze. I asked him what he was doing. He said "a cell phone pose." Get it? I said "self-imposed" and Charlie heard "cell phone pose!"

Anyway, I'm happy to be back online. The break, albeit brief, was good. But at least now I can easily figure out what tomorrow's weather will be.

I CAN do this. I think. Maybe.

Ever have something you know you need to do, something that is necessary and probably will even be good for you, but you have to psyche yourself up for actually doing it?

That's where I am. The circumstances of my weekend necessitate it. The state of my house is begging for it. My children will be refreshed by it. But the mere prospect scares the heck out of me.

I guess the best thing to do is just take a breath and jump.

Here goes, once I finish this post, I am going OFFLINE for 36 hours -- 36 HOURS! That's more than a whole day.

No sneaking in to send a few tweets. No speed-round Scrabble games. No Facebook forays. No checking my e-mail via the iPhone. I think I might have to have the kids hide my laptop.

Go ahead and leave a comment here -- or not -- I won't know until 9pm tomorrow night.

Until then, have a great weekend!

Apparently, "date" IS a dirty word

Last night I took Charlie to an Indianapolis Indians baseball game, tickets and refreshments courtesy of the rep from my printer at work (thanks Lorrie!). It was a beautiful night to be at the ball field.

Mike dropped Charlie off at my office and from there we headed to the downtown stadium. Charlie was beyond excited. He had his baseball glove with him so he could catch foul balls. (Never mind that the glove was wet because he'd left it in the yard during Wednesday's rainstorm.)

We parked and headed into the stadium. I could barely get him to the suite where our seats were located because he wanted to stop on the lower level to watch the game from under the bleachers. Once we got upstairs, Charlie gave a courtesy hello to Lorrie and then wasted no time taking a seat in the front row of the suite.

I, of course, wasted no time in getting some food, which Charlie couldn't bothered by for fear he might miss an errant ball. Before I'd gotten the tomato on my hamburger, Charlie burst in the suite again, yelling, "Mom! You just missed a double play!" The people watching the game from inside the suite were quite amused.

The whole evening was a lot of fun. I met some great people who are also clients of Lorrie's (shout out to Liz, Megan and Ashley). Charlie unknowingly entertained the crew in our suite with his impromptu hip hop/urban/breakdance moves to one of the songs played over the loudspeaker. We saw a homerun; well, I saw the running, not the actual hit because as luck would have it I was chatting when the batter swung.

The only downsides to the night were that the Indians lost the first game (not sure about the second, we left at 10pm) and that Charlie didn't catch a foul ball. That's all right, he did snag two hot dogs, about four giant cookies and who knows how much popcorn.

On the way back to the car, I put my arm around Charlie, gave him a big squeeze and said "Charlie, this was a really fun date!"

To which he replied, "Ewwww! Gross! Don't call it a date!"

"Well, what was it then?" I asked.

"It was mother-oldest-son-fun-time."

Apparently, unlike "grandma," "date" IS a dirty word, at least if you're 9 years old.

If I'd only known...

I've come to learn that things tend to make their way around the blogosphere -- stories, photos, and blog awards. Tonight Liz tagged me with the "Keepsake Blog Award" because she considers my blog (along with several others) to be a keeper. Awww! Thanks Liz!

The deal is that when you get tagged with this "Keepsake Blog Award," you have to post a funny or sweet keepsake that tells something about yourself and then pass the award on to 10 other bloggers that I think are keepers.

It took me a few minutes to come up with a story to share. But since my sister just had a baby, one from Charlie's newborn days comes to mind.

Charlie was probably about 2 months old. Annie was about 2-1/2. We were in the kids' bathroom, where I was giving Charlie a bath. I had the baby bath tub set inside the big bathtub and was leaning over the edge of the tub cooing at Charlie while running the soapy washcloth over his baby rolls.

Annie stood behind me and started brushing my hair. Now at this time in her life, Annie HATED having her hair brushed. It was a real ordeal. So when she started brushing mine, I took the opportunity to tell her how nice it felt. How it was such a treat to have my hair brushed.

As all this was going on, I took in the scene. Here I was lovingly tending to my newborn while engaging my 2-year-old in a teachable moment and I felt like a great mom. Truthfully, I was basking in the glow of motherhood.

This went on for a few minutes. Charlie was content and Annie kept brushing. I turned slightly to grab the hooded towel (oh, I miss those things!) for Charlie when, for the first time, I got a look at Annie.

SHE WAS BRUSHING MY HAIR WITH THE TOILET BOWL BRUSH!

"No! Yucky! Yuck! Yuck!" I screamed, scooping Charlie up as fast as I could.

Annie, sensing trouble, took off running down the hall waving the toilet bowl brush high overhead.

I ran after her, wet, slippery Charlie tucked under my arm. The basking was definitely over.

Looking back, I should have known the idyllic moments in the bathroom that I felt so glowing about were too good to be true. Because, really, my experience of motherhood has mostly been about running, hollering and having a good story to tell at the end.

Want to read more blogs that are keepers? Check out these:

Recipe for Chaos -- Single mom, 4 boys, you know somethin' funny's goin' on there!

Barnes Family Blog -- My sister's new blog (not the one who just had the baby)

Dragonfly -- I'm dying to know how tall she is -- and how tall her dh is!

Fairies'N'Firecrackers -- formerly known as Junior Mints and Reese's

I Got Something More -- She's a mom who just graduated from college after 7 years! Give her some love

Sanibel Toot's Lazy Days -- This is what I want to do when I grow up.

The Cat in the Hat and Things 1 Through 4 -- She'll make you think. Try it, it doesn't hurt!

Incredible Unorganized Mom -- Anyone who can call themselves that is a friend of mine.

Rainbow Sherbet -- A new blog I found and thought was worth a try.

Back to Square One -- Written by one of my sorority sisters. Anchors away!

Grandma is not a dirty word

A story in today's Boston Globe talks about how many baby boomers love being grandparents, but don't love the traditional "grandma" and "grandpa" monikers that come with the role.

Now, I am not a boomer. In fact, I am the child of boomers. But I consider the titles "grandma" and "grandpa" to be honorable.

When I had my first child, and my parents first grandchild, my mother couldn't wait to call herself Grandma. She told me that she felt she'd earned it -- this from a woman who just four years earlier had given birth to my youngest brother. Still, as the parent of a then preschooler, she was not scared off by the word "grandma."

My mother-in-law, on the other hand, wanted nothing to do with the word. Her own mother was never "grandma" to my husband and his cousins -- they call her "Buck." My father-in-law had already declared "Poppo" as his grandparent name. So we were quite scientific in how we chose a name for our kids to call their grandmother; we went down the alphabet>:

BoBo
CoCo
DoDo
FoFo
GoGo...GoGo, that's it!

My mother-in-law will tell you a few tales about how the name came to be, but now you know the truth.

I understand the need for alternate names to differentiate between sets of grandparents; I grew up with a Grandma and Grandpa and a NaNa and PaPa. And I suppose that it's each person's prerogative to decide what they want to be called.

But some of the names cited in the article and included in The New Grandparents Name Book just don't sit well with me.

"Sonoma" and "Napa" for grandparents who are wine lovers. In that line of thinking, Mike and I would be "Jedi" and "Scrabble."

"Bubbles" and "Pebbles" conjure up images in my mind of flighty women who might be delivering singing telegrams or else making balloon animals at birthday parties.

So when it comes to be my turn to be a grandparent (in no less than 16 years or so, kids), I'll proudly be "Grandma" and I'll expect a sweatshirt that allows me to tell it to the world.

(Note: This is a little bit of a cheater's post -- I posted it here earlier today.)

The power of fiber

Cereal is a staple in this house, especially for Robbie. I try not to buy what my mother-in-law would call "crappy" cereal -- those sugary monstrosities that try to pass for breakfast. I do buy honey nut Cheerios pretty often (even though I know that regular cheerios would be better).

The other day, I found Kashi Heart to Heart honey toasted oat cereal. With 4g of protein and 5g of fiber per serving, it sounded like a healthy alternative to the honey nut Cheerios. Fast forward to this morning:

Robbie: Mom, can I have honey nut Cheerios? But not the heart kind.

Mom: Why not the heart kind? It tastes good and it's good for you.

Robbie: Because it grumbles my butt!

It's Josh, by gosh!

Last Wednesday, May 27, I became an aunt again! Joshua was born to my sister Shelley and her husband Steve, weighing in at 7 pounds, 6 ounces. (Isn't Joshua a nice name?!)

I was waiting for more pictures of him so I could announce his birth, but I guess Shelley and Steve have their hands full with three kiddos at home now. I know how that is. Word has it that Max and Kate think Joshua is the perfect little brother.

We hope to get back home soon to meet the little guy in person!