About Me

Apparently there is a character limit to the "About Me" section on my blog template. So, I'm sharing it as a post instead ...

I live in the beautiful city of Seattle that has everything going for it, except public transportation. My parents, inlaws, and siblings also live in Seattle, which I greatly appreciate since there is always someone available to hear me rant during a commute call. It’s also pretty great having a cheering squad behind you as you parent your own children, providing encouragement, wisdom, and multiple relievers when I can’t manage another game of Uno. The only down side with everyone being so close is that there are more people to notice if I wear the same MOMMY UNIFORM one day too long.

I am married to a wonderful man named Brett. I feel lucky because he loves me even though he hasn’t had a peaceful night’s sleep in 15 years. I don’t want to go into detail here, but suffice it to say, there has been a lot of sleep SHOUTING that would have sent most husbands packing for the guest room years ago. I also appreciate the fact that he is not judgmental about my foot fungus (probably oversharing, huh?)- although, I think this is because he knows in his heart of hearts that he gave it to me on our honeymoon as my “present.”

I got the award for being the outstanding female Gym student in junior high and then went on to get the award for being the outstanding Physics student in high school. I mention this because in my 36 years, I have yet to met a woman physicist who is also an accomplished at badminton. Maybe I missed my calling.

Instead, I do Marketing for a wireless company. This means I get paid to have a lot of opinions and to influence people to use their phone for everything from watching TV to blowdrying their hair. It does NOT mean that I can tell you why your cell phone dropped at 20th and Jackson or how long the battery life is supposed to be on your particular phone model. It does however mean that I am partly responsible for the extra stuff you sometimes find in your bill. My apologies. It’s just that we would very much like for you to please, pretty please, spend some more money with us.

I am a runner when I am not lactating and when it’s not rainy. This means that I probably have a window of 60 days this year to pursue my hobby. I did run a marathon in 2003 and I plan to continue to tell that tale until I’m very old or I pick up another hobby.

I love hazelnut gelato. It is the only single food I believe could sustain me – happily - for days on end. It actually did as a 20 year old backpacking through Italy. I also really like avocados. However, I’m not sure a backpacking trip through Mexico with only the world’s perfect fruit/vegetable? would work out for me in the end.

In addition to having family nearby, I have a great group of friends. I am surprised daily by their generosity and thoughtfulness, and wish that I could have a communal barbeque with all of them every night. Plus, it would help me get rid of that ketchup I bought at Costco last year.

Speaking of barbeques, I do enjoy cooking. I think God knew this when he sent me a house full of boys. He must have wanted me to have ample opportunities for practice. Right now we are practicing eating our bread crusts and experimenting with grains.

I also believe in a God that loves us more than we can even begin to comprehend. That knowledge keeps me going on the good days, but especially on the bad ones.

If Only There Were Just 20 Questions

No one ever told me that as a mother you would be required to answer so many questions. Had I known this in advance, I would have shunned all questions in the 5 years prior to my first child in preparation. Or, at least I would have been fitted for a hearing aid which would inexplicably start acting up right around dinner time and then magically be better by 8:01pm.

First of all, there are all the math related questions. Somehow early on, my husband convinced our son that I was the MATH PARENT. Apparently, you automatically become the MATH PARENT if you know how to do formulas in Excel and you don’t recoil at the thought of spending 20 minutes of your free time working a Soduku puzzle. The good news is that I have my dad as the back up MATH GRANDPARENT. He got me to believe that he was smarter than any math book I ever had, and so I’m hoping that I can lean on his experience especially once my kids get to Geometry. I’m already having trouble remembering how to calculate the area of a triangle. Being the MATH PARENT can be tiring especially when you child expects your brain to operate faster or at least at the same speed as a $5 calculator. Recently Quinn asked me the following: “How many seconds would someone have lived if they died exactly when they were 100 years old and 1 second?” Rather than try to understand why this was a question of interest, I smartly responded back with a question of my own, “Well, how would YOU go about figuring that out?” He then explained it would be 60 seconds in a minute x 60 minutes in an hour x 24 hours in a day x 365 days in a year x 100 years + the 1 second of course. “Great job!” I say. Pause. I realize that he is still waiting for the answer. There is no calculator or scratch paper within reach. And so without missing a beat, I redirect but stay within topic, “Do you think you will live to be that old?”

Then there are what I call the Almanac questions. Usually they are multi part questions that have to do with geography. My husband is the LANGUAGE ARTS PARENT which I think should include all things related to geography, but apparently not everyone has gotten the notice on that one. It’s questions like “Where is the hottest place in the world?” followed with “And what was the hottest temperature ever recorded there?” The thing about the Almanac questions is that even if you don’t know the answer, they still want you to guess. And even when you have guessed, then there’s always the follow up: “Okay, now where’s the second hottest place in the world?” Be forewarned: The only way out of the Almanac questions is to fake a stomachache and run to the bathroom. But make sure to run to the bathroom on another floor where you aren’t still within earshot.

For awhile I thought that I might try to use some of my business travel time to GET SMARTER by reading more books related to subjects that my kids were interested in or at least make it through a full issue of “The Economist.” But then once I’m in the hotel room, I remember that I can paint my fingernails and no one will be able to touch me for the 30 minutes I need for them to dry. Not only that, but I can call the hotel operator as many times as I want and every time they will say, “Yes, Ms. Ballbach, what can we get for you?” They can’t even get mad at me if I call like 10 times in a row. Even if they do start to think I’m a little crazy because I’ve called to triple check my wake up call, they still keeping calling me “Ms. Ballbach” and asking me if there is anything else I need. I want to ask the nice voice on the hotel phone to please come up to tuck me into bed with a massage, but then I remember that this is inappropriate and so instead I put on my comfy robe, pillage around the mini bar for some chocolate, and turn on the TV to watch something completely uneducational . When I wake up in the morning, I unfortunately have not gotten any smarter, but my nails do look fabulous.

Another favorite are the “Best and Worst” questions. My husband might add here that this is a genre of question I happen to be quite good at myself. Not too long ago while we were looking for a gas station, Quinn piped up from the backseat to ask “Mom & Dad, what is the best gas?” To which we told him that we were looking for an ARCO. Not satisfied with the response, he retorted, “No, I didn’t say the cheapest gas but the best gas?” Alrighty then. It was time for a lesson in the concept of commodity goods. Gas as one example. Milk as another example we explained. “So why then do you worry about buying Organic Milk?” Okay, yes there is organic vs non organic milk and skim vs 2% -- okay let’s use a better example, flour. Gas and flour are commodity goods. “So white and wheat flour are the same?” “No, actually they are not the same. And you know, now that I think about it, SHELL probably has the best gas.”

I love the fact that Lawton cannot yet ask me any questions that I can’t answer. I also love the fact that he doesn’t yet know that Quinn can do math in his head better than I can. Since he is only 7 months old, what Lawton appears to need most from me right now is access to my face for his gnawing pleasure. I think he would actually prefer something more soothing than a hunk of flesh to alleviate his teething pain, but since he currently lacks both verbal and motor skills and because it’s hard to have a teething toy on you at all times, he appears to take whatever is most readily available which is flesh first, and hair second. The flesh part hurts like you wouldn’t believe because if there’s one thing a baby can do, it’s grasp things really tight. And unless you’re committed to cutting your baby’s nails as often as you brush your teeth, he’s as dangerous as a frisky kitty. Thankfully, I have a good head of hair on my shoulders and so have been able to spare a lot of it. At least I think the hair pulling is related to teething. Either that or he is trying to tell me that he’d prefer something other than that green crap we keep calling “Yummy Spinach and Potatoes.”

The most troubling category of question are the ones that offer few clues. It’s the question that often goes something like this, “Mom, what is that thingy that I like?” “Hmm… by thingy, do you mean the globs of butter you like on your bread or that toy that isn’t actually yours?” Your first response will never be correct, so be prepared for the increase of volume when the same general question is repeated which may or may not have an additional helpful clue, “NO, Mom, what is that thingy that I like on the TV?” Oh, now I understand – the “on the TV” part is just what I needed. “You mean that funny Budweiser commercial I told you not to watch where the man gets hit in the head and falls down.” “Yeah, that one!”

Some of the hardest questions are the ones that have to do with Faith and Theology. This is where I just wish they would stick to understanding that Jesus loves them because the Bible tells them so. How do you even begin to try to explain the concept of Faith to a 4 your old who still doesn’t always trust that you will make good on your promise to feed them again in the next 6 hours. If they can’t see the next meal, how do they know it will be there? This makes even the most elementary discussion of the Trinity naturally tricky. Not too long along, Quinn asked us, “What is Exodus about?” “You mean, the whole book of Exodus as in the second book of the Old Testament?” “Yep, that one.” Okay, Brett, quick grab the Concordance. In the meantime, I take this opportunity to mention that the 10 Commandments are described in Exodus and that God has chosen to put the one about “Honoring your Mother and Father” right in the middle as #5 so it wouldn’t be easily overlooked.

Once you give an inch, they take a mile. This is really true when it comes to Foreign Language. As soon as you let on that you know a few words in another language, they expect you to know them all. I was recently reviewing the names of primary colors I knew in Spanish with Colin. Verde, Azul, Rojo, Blanco, Negro. Just when I’m feeling pretty good about my recall from high school, Colin blurts out, “Yeah, but how do you say magenta in Spanish?”

Then there is the whole category of Sports related questions. Just because I am a member of this household does not mean that I also study the Sports page for fun. Colin expects that I should know every MLB player on every MLB team by their number. He asked me recently, “Mom, who is #23 on the Cubs?” Of course, I don’t have a clue and so move towards the Sports page for some assistance. When I come up with what I think to be the right answer, the incorrectness of my response is met with great irritation. “No, Mom, who was #23 on the Cubs team we played last night?!” Oh, how could I be so silly? Not only am I supposed to commit the entire MLB to memory, but apparently I should know all the 9 year old Pony League players as well. Since I’m not willing to call the coach of the Pony League Cubs team to find out who #23 is, I do the next best thing – I guess. Scanning brain – think of most popular boy name from the year 1998. “Oh, do you mean Jacob?” Yes, mercifully, that is who he means.

So when I get home from work and my husband asks a simple question like “What should we have for dinner tonight?” this is the context for why my body starts to twitch uncontrollably and why when I’m not being careful, something not very nice sometimes comes out of my mouth. Those are the usually the nights when the kitchen closes early, Mama says she’s not playing 20 Questions for the rest of the day, and we order pizza.

In Flight

I find airplane travel these days about as enjoyable as plucking my chin hairs. Neither is pleasant, but sometimes there just isn’t another alternative.

So when we decided to go to Hawaii as a family for Spring Break, I was excited for the vacation but terrified about the long airplane trip.

When you travel on an airplane with a newborn, the American Academy of Pediatrics recommends that you place the child in a seat that is as far away from you as possible.

When you travel on an airplane with a 4 year old, the American Academy of Pediatrics recommends that you place the child on another aircraft.

When you travel on an airplane as a family of 5 in 4 paid seats on 2 airplanes at 100% capacity for 7.5 hours plus a 4 hour layover minus a DVD player, the American Academy of Pediatrics simply says “Good luck!”

So there we were. Row 17. Window. Seat A – Colin. Seat B – Brett. Seat C – Kate & Lawton. Aisle. Seat D – Quinn. Seat E – Man looking worried that baby might move to seat D? Row 16. Exit Row. Seats A, B, C – unknown persons with fully reclined seats. Already? Aren’t they in the Exit Row? Unknown persons on path to quickly becoming inconsiderate persons.

Since we haven’t brought a DVD player along with us, we quickly scan through the Hemispheres magazine to see what in flight movie will be playing. Well, I say scan – but you actually need an advanced degree to understand the in flight programming guide. Westbound, to Hawaii, April 9, Boeing 767, terminals A&D, lavatory in rear, … just to be sure, I check my interpretation with Brett. Yes, the movie playing will indeed be “Happy Feet.” It is now safe to tell the children the good news. Row 17 is very happy. The rest of the passengers look understandably disappointed.

The pilot tells us we are now at cruising altitude and that we can safely unbuckle our seatbelts. The people on the flight to NY hear it also. The fading Lawton is now WIDE AWAKE. Thanks so much for the information.

45 minutes in. Change of seats. We’re on Snack #2. The beverage cart is on it’s way. Yes, we’ll have apple juice. No, we don’t want the can. Where would you suggest we put it? Do you notice that we are all using the one tray table that our 7th month year’s old arm can’t reach? We then pool our pretzel bags together and count 19 pretzels.

55 minutes in. There is a request for Snack #3. It has been denied. Movie to start in a few minutes. What did the flight attendant just say? “In a moment, we will be starting the movie “The Holiday” starring Cameron Diaz.” No, this can’t be! Where are the penguins! In our panic, we pull out the Hemispheres magazine once again. This starts a brief, but intense, debate between Brett and I about who misread the information first. All we know is that this “Holiday” has messed with the 2 hour holiday we were planning to have away from our children. Out comes Snack #3.

We try to explain why “The Holiday” is not an age appropriate movie. So we let the boys listen to the iPod instead. Their selection: “Californication” by the Red Hot Chili Peppers.

Next up is coloring. That lasts a good 6 minutes. They are boys after all. However, they were able to knock out about 4 pages a piece in that 6 minutes. Amazing what you can do with one crayon applied vigorously to a page. Yes, of course, “It’s beautiful!”

Yatzee, anyone?

Now 3 hours in. Lawton should be sleeping. Why is he not sleeping? We have rocked him, we have walked him, we have submitted our bodies for his comfort. It is not enough. He is still awake, and is not very happy about it. I consider the overhead compartments for a moment. Ok, bad thought. There’d be witnesses. It’s official. Row 16 are definitely inconsiderate persons. Not only are they reclined for the duration, but now they are snoring.

After the 115th time, I am too tired to tell Colin to please try to not kick the seat in front of him. Oh well - if 16A wakes up from his happy slumber, perhaps he can take a turn walking Lawton.

Now 4 hours in. I am wondering why I brought a book to read on the plane. I am wondering why I even have my own personal carry-on luggage. So far, I have only been Snack-source, Toy-source, and comfy pillow-source. I wonder if all the other people on this airplane are appreciating the fact that they can read and enjoy some small personal space. That’s it – I decide to call the flight attendant to bring me a Diet Coke. With the can, please.

5 hours in to the second leg of our trip and the descent begins. Mom and Dad are exhausted; big boys are on the edge of their seats. Colin keeps saying, “Mom, look at the beautiful water! Which ocean is that?” To which I keep saying, “No, honey, it’s just the sky … and by the way, put your shoes on.”

Then we touch down and I look over at Quinn who muttles under his breath, “Wow – that was a peaceful descent.” Not “nice landing” but “peaceful descent.” Two words I didn’t even know he knew, let alone knew how to use them together in context. He hasn’t even noticed the hardship his parents have endured over the past 7+ flying hours, because HE has enjoyed the journey. The journey that didn’t include a movie but did include a very small bag of pretzels.

Once we get to the gate, Colin’s eyes are big as saucers as he sees again all the planes. He is mesmorized by them and finally exclaims, “Mom, do you know why airplanes can fly? Because the engines are so STRONG!” After which, he begins to point out all the different kind of airplanes he sees. For him, this is magic.

After so after a deep and reflective breathe, I am able to finally forgive the Captain for talking too loud, to forgive the unknown persons in the Exit Row, to forgive the person who couldn’t keep the urine in the toilet, and to say, “Yes, Colin – those engines are so strong!”

All the lights come on in the cabin. And Lawton is finally asleep. Ahola!

Tryst

I was recently at a Client Summit Meeting in Las Vegas. Like any Vegas business trip, this was one of those “edutainment” kind of trips. Work by day, play by night, hope that someone responsible has the agenda for day 2.

The hosts for the Client Summit Meeting graciously planned the evenings entertainment for me and 500 of my-never-seen-before and never-to-see-again client colleagues. While I was secretly hoping for a show (if the truth be told, I was gunning for Celine and would have even settled for watching David Hasselhoff in the Producers), our hosts instead reserved some private tables for our very special entourage at one of Vegas’ hippest nightclubs, Tryst. Of course, as a 30 something year old mother of three, this is the first time I had ever heard of Tryst (the club, that is.)

Another truth. I hadn’t been to a hip club for a really, really long time. Let’s call it Post LL Cool J but Pre Beyonce. There’s been a lot of binkies, Baby Beluga, and dancing in front of my own mirror in those middle years.

So here are some observations and tips to all my 30ish friends with children who may one day find themselves unexpectedly at Tryst (the club, that is.)

You’ll feel overdressed. While versatile, business casual just doesn’t cross over well to club attire. Even the hippest outfit in your closet would probably still not be Tryst-worthy. Guaranteed that it would have more fabric – a lot more. So go with what makes you feel good, but please for the love of Katie Couric, no sweater sets under any circumstance. And do use this opportunity to wear your thong. At least you won’t have a panty line. Plus, someone ought to represent for the underwear-wearing female population.

You’ll feel underendowed. The silicon per capita at Tryst is very high. The general perkiness per capita also high. This is where you remind yourself that breastfeeding is a love gift you give to your child. This is also where you renew your commitment that this will be the year to buy bras with better support.

Leave the purse in your hotel room. As much as you think you might, you will not need the hand sanitizer, the first aid kit, the photo album of your children, the just-in-case baggie of Goldfish or any other small appliance that you are able to squeeze into that oversized bag you call a purse.

Pushing is allowed. Forget what you told your kids about not pushing people when they are in line. Pushing is not only allowed, but it’s required if you want to get anywhere. This becomes particularly tricky when you have to push someone who is in the middle of striking their pose.

Speaking of poses, I realized that you don’t actually have to be a good dancer to make your way onto one of the many elevated stages. It looked to me that you were stage-worthy as long as you could either a) hold a 15 second pose without falling over or b) dance really close to another woman.

Don’t think about how much your drink costs or how many Thomas the Trains you could be funding instead. It’s not the place to be budget conscience or be thinking about Thomas and his friends. Except for maybe Gordon. He is the Biggest Engine after all.

There are a lot of men between the ages of 20 and 35 who are doing their best to look like Justin Timberlake. The ones between the ages of 35 and 45 were Client Summit meeting attendees by day and men-trying-not-to-look-like-Client-Summit-meeting-attendees by night. The ones over 50 all looked to be relatives of Tony Soprano.

"Celebration" by Kool N the Gang will not be played. The Gang only plays at weddings, not at the club. Ditto that for "Bust a Move" by Young MC.

Women still go to bathroom in packs. Some things never change. But ah-ha! – now I understand why women no longer need their purses. Club bathrooms are stocked with many of the personal hygiene items you may find yourself in want of during a long, sweaty evening – deodorant, hair spray, mouthwash – most everything but the baggies of Goldfish. On this count, may I suggest from my mothering experience that everyone is happier – albeit sometimes only temporarily – with a steady stream of empty-calorie snacks.

Don’t expect to have an intelligent conversation with a male colleague. I suppose there’s only so much thinking that a man can do with Shakira’s “Hips Don’t Lie” playing in the background. My favorite line of the evening was, “Yes, I understand. Yes, I see what you are saying. Hmm…I’ll have to give that a good think … later.” I laughed so hard I almost peed my thong.

Don’t think about your own kids one day at Tryst. The more you think about it, the more the panicked look on your face will give you away. And as hard as you may try to wish it, Tryst and all clubs like it will not magically disappear with a little fairy dust by 2020. Believe me, I tried.

Hoodie

I always knew that one day my sons would no longer think I was cool. I expected that this would begin sometime around early adolescence and hoped that it would end before global warming destroyed our planet or Howie Mandel started a third career, whichever came first.

What I didn’t expect is that it would happen when my son was 4.

I thought I was doing fine on the cool scale. After all, I know that the Black Eyed Peas are a band, not a legume. I know that Indie Rock is genre of alternative rock and Indi.Arie has a period between her first and last name. I know that Mets third baseman David Wright is da bomb. That’s right – I know Randy, Paula, and Simon. I also know that if at any time I feel compelled to use the word “awesome” that I should not and that a misplaced substitution of the word “tight” might even be worse. And I know (after a Google search) that the TMNT movie playing at my local theatre is a continuation of the (alleged) early 90s teenage mutant ninja turtles phenomenon.

So recently I came home with a newly purchased hoodie for my 4 year old. According to Wikipedia, a hoodie is “a shirt or sweatshirt with a hood. Some hoodies have strings that can be pulled to tighten or loosen the hood.” So this hoodie I found was red (my son’s favorite color), well made (no polyester here), and of course complete with strings to tighten or loosen the hood. You could say this hoodie was tight. It was also on sale.

Wikipedia goes on to add, “The hoodie has become a durable fashion staple, especially amongst younger generations.” This I knew already. You see my 4 year old son has been coveting his older brother’s Red Sox hoodie for the past 6 months which was purchased 2,000 miles away while on a trip to Boston. However, with 5 years and 40 pounds between them, borrowing the Red Sox hoodie has not been an option. Although abstaining from wearing any jacket or coat that is not officially deemed a hoodie in December apparently is.

Turns out my 4 year old’s best friend also has a hoodie. From Disneyland. The one in California.

So needless to say, I was excited coming home with this red, right-sized, durable, on sale, within a 50 mile radius hoodie after a 6 month long discussion of the topic. I called a family meeting to deliver the surprise. First, out comes a second hoodie for my older son. I don’t know if it was that ever-present compulsion to show equity to your children or because it too was on sale. So naturally my older son says, “Thanks Mom .. but why did you get me another hoodie? I already have one … and well, isn’t summer about to start?” Geesh, there is still so much teaching to do before their first relationship – the need for multiples, the seasonality of the sales cycle, the dilemma of the tapered pant. But, after a few moments, he is pleased with his new piece of clothing although somewhat curious as to why I selected a UCONN hoodie given no connection to or real knowledge of the school.

Anticipation is now building for the 4 year old. As he pulls out the red hoodie from the bag, the maternal vomit of the mouth begins, “Look! A hoodie for you! It’s just your size! It’s your favorite color! It’s got a string for you to tighten and loosen the hood! …” As this is happening, my 4 year old is closely examining the hoodie. Finally he interrupts my monologue with this announcement: “MOM, THAT’S NOT COOL.” It is spoken with little emotion, but delivered with utter conviction. I’m not ready for this. Most pre-schoolers still call their mother “Mommy.” I’ve been “Mom” since he was in diapers, so the moniker doesn’t surprise me. What does amaze me however is that my son has just declared something not cool, something beyond the boundaries of his 4 year old fashion sense. This is a boy who has only been alive through one Presidency (which I hope he is able to forget) and who was born the same year that Gigli was released (a movie the whole world is still trying to forget.) And yet, in only 48 months on this planet, he is already acquired a personal sense of style. Like all mothers of preschools, I am equipped to deal with the daily chorus of “I don’t like it.” or “I don’t want it.”, but I am absolutely humbled by this declaration.

In this moment, I realize that there is nothing I can say to make this hoodie cool. It is also in this moment that I realize that perhaps he too is curious as to why I selected a Washington State Cougars hoodie given his love for their rival, the University of Washington Huskies. Did I mention the sale part? Or, the fact that Cougar red is more versatile than Husky purple. Whatever the case, there ain’t no foolin’ a real sports fan – even if he is only 4 years old. I suppose my husband would say that he has the makings of a true sports fan, not one of those fair-weather fans whose loyalty shifts depending on team colors (or is that just me?). I say I’m just glad he isn’t a girl. I also say that I’m glad the hoodie store accepts returns and that summer is just around the corner.