Only Fitting.

When I had my first child, I swore I would not over-buy clothes. I promised myself (and Brad) that the clothes would not overtake the closet. I promised myself that I would buy only as many clothes as the kid could wear in two weeks or so since, if I haven't done laundry in more than two weeks, then the problem is really my laundry-doing habits.

When I had a second child - especially since it was another he, to match our first he - I made the same promise. Here, it got a new caveat: I wouldn't buy too many new clothes for Pierce, since he has all of his brother's in-good-condition, only-recently-worn, was-cool-enough-to-spend-money-on-then-so-it-should-still-be-cool-enough clothes. And, again, generally I stuck to it. Pierce got a nifty, new bring-home-from-the-hospital outfit and some new stuff for holidays, but generally, he's wearing what his brother wore. This has led to two phenomena.

Phenomena 1. Telling apart baby pictures of the boys is harder than it should be. My boys aren't identical, but they're definitely siblings, they're both boys, they're in the same house, with the same backgrounds, in the same positions, and wearing the same clothes. I have, on more than one occasion, looked at the date of the photo to definitively determine which of my darling children I'm gazing at.

Phenomena 2. Watching my kids grow out of stuff. It blows me away that they can wear something one day and it fits; then, a little more than a week later, it doesn't. Suddenly, Colin's pants are too short or Pierce's shirts become midriff-baring (like Gus from Cinderella). It's hysterical to watch my kids grow out of something. They do it because they're growing. They're literally changing shape. Amidst all the jumping-on-couches and chicken-nugget-eating, they're finding time to make more cells and grow up. Literally. I haven't grown up (as in: the direction) in a long, long time. But these kids do it all the time. They're champions about it, too. I remember growing pains (the actual physiological pains, not the show), and they hurt. So next time Coco's a little naughty, I might cut him a little extra slack. For Heaven's sake, the kid is busy with cell replication, bone expansion, gray-matter growth, and mastering his 6-foot jump shot. The least I can do is credit him with multi-tasking and ease up on my requests not to play with the water dispenser on the fridge. Since growing-up is exactly what helped him reach the water dispenser in the first place.

Adult Conversation.

Now that I have a little more time on my hands, people have advised me to be sure to take time to myself, keep hanging-out with grown-ups, and have some "adult conversations." Apparently, this is the antidote to getting bored. I'm sure the advice is wise, but it entertains me for two reasons.

Reason 1. Adult conversations sounds like my friends and I will sit around and have x-rated discussions. I'm more willing to have a "conversation with adults" than an "adult conversation."

Reason 2. This morning, Colin says to me, "Mom, Io is one of Jupiter's big moons, but the biggest moon is Ganymede." To me, discussions about the Galiliean moons qualify as "conversation with adults," even if it is with my three-year-old son.

My New Job.

So, up until June 10th, I was working. And now, I'm not. Truth be told, I still feel kind of discombobulated and funny about it. Not having to be anywhere by 8am (and, if you're a former co-worker reading this, then, granted, 805am) still feels like being truant. Most days, I honestly like I'm getting away with something to not have to be answering any calls or checking my email all the time.

But the upgrade is outstanding. Colin and Pierce are the two coolest bosses. Their work day starts late - around 10am. And we get a siesta everyday. It's like working in Spain, except I speak the language better.

Perhaps because I gave so much notice to my boss (over a month) or perhaps because my last day overlapped with the last day of schools around here, but as I wound up my job, I kind of felt like I was gearing up for summer vacation. The whole concept of a "summer break" with my kids was so delightful, I could hardly stand it. And while my kids actually are delightful, the summer weather isn't.

I'm not sure who's right in this whole climate debate. Misters Gore and DiCaprio make a compelling case in An Inconvenient Truth, but probably, so could anyone who had a million-dollar budget. When I lived in Las Vegas, the concept of global warming made more sense and seemed more applicable, since you know, it's like a thousand degrees there. All the time. It's fun to blame something for how hellacious Las Vegas is. Like, somehow, it would be an awesome place to be if it weren't for that darn global warming. Las Vegas residents everywhere probably all think, "Man, if only there weren't global warming... then, it would be 80-degrees here." Like Las Vegas is really San Diego but with more global warming.

Here, though, not so much. Yesterday, during my summer vacation, the boys and I bundled up against a 57-degree day. Colin stepped outside in jeans and a short-sleeved t-shirt, took one look at me, and said, "Mama, it's cold. Can I put on more sleeves?" And since we had no where specific to be (only Petco, to see the parakeets) and since we didn't have to be there by 8am, I said yes. So back inside we went. Because this new job rules.