The day we moved into our home in 2000, the neighbors to the right and left of us came to welcome us, newlyweds brimming with excitement about owning our own home. Neighbor to the left later retired, but the family that moved in after them were just as gracious and nice. I have seen their daughter grow up (she's now taller than me) and we have gotten to know our neighbors across the street, in the corner and even a couple of doors down.

Today is Good Neighbor Day and Flowers by Robert Taylor continues its heartwarming tradition of giving away a dozen roses free to anyone who promises to give 11 of those roses away to neighbors, teachers, friends, co-workers and even complete strangers.

Well, with the Michael Phelps saga done, I thought the whole family would be able to sleep earlier than midnight, but the Olympics is truly keeping us up! The boys enjoy watching most of the sports, anything with water being a major draw, and they loved the gymnastics competition. Of course, we don't miss anything about Kobe and the Redeem Team, and I am right there preaching about attitude and good sportsmanship and how hard the athletes work to get to this one day of competition.

On opening night, we allowed the boys to stay up and watch and we were wowed as well as anyone. One world, one dream, indeed! Wonder Boy's comment at the end of it all? "What a wonderful world!" like a mini-Louis Armstrong!

Last night, we watched the interview Bob Costas did with Michael Phelps and his mom, who, it turns out, is a principal back in Baltimore, Md. She was also a single mom with three kids who her son proudly says, lives her passion (teaching and changing childrens' lives.) That's the example he points out as a major factor in his success.

After the "aww" moment, I turned to my boys on the couch and asked, "Boys, what sport are YOU going to compete in in the Olympics?"

"What sport do you want me to join, Mama?" Joseph blithely replied.

Ahh, would that it was all so easy! But I did resolve to be truly conscious of what kind of example I am setting for my kids: when I grumble about housework, will they connect work to drudgery and not something noble? When I complain about the drivers on the road, or raise my voice to them when I'm tired, will they do the same when they're grown-up? And do they see me doing things I love? (Reading, scrapbooking, cherishing family?)

Debbie Phelps said it was hard to see her gangly, awkward son get teased at school for his big ears or to hear his teachers tell her his ADHD will get in the way of his success. Still, they found a way to channel his energy into something positive. (But I noticed she still remembers the bullies and tormentors of her only boy! I think I will be a fiercely protective!) D

Debbie also underlines the stress and nerves every parent feels when they watch their kids compete or do anything, really, where they can get hurt (physically or emotionally).

My sons don't have to win an Olympic medal for me to be proud of them. (I don''t think their Asian genes will allow them entrance into the NBA and the U.S. Olympic basketball team!) But I hope, hope, hope we will enjoy the same, easy, loving relationship Debbie Phelps has fostered with her son. And I pray that at 23, my boys will be as optimistic, hard-working, and humble as Phelps.

I'll always be on the sidelines cheering.

Today's column on co-sleeping is going to give me a good night's sleep.

Thanks to everyone who e-mailed with comments and support, even those who don't co-sleep. I know us parents are apt to judge and compare ("Is he a good sleeper yet?" "Does she still use a sippy cup?") but I truly haven't met a parent in the San Gabriel Valley who put down the way I'm raising my boys. We're wonderfully polite! Either that, or their shocked looks or raised eyebrows just go over my head!

Anyway, Hugh from CoSleepingSurvey.com also e-mailed:

"Hi Anissa,
Here's a link to the site and other co-sleeping links, too, including my favorite Ask Dr. Sears. (askdrsears.com) I use him mostly for making sure I am giving the right dose of medicines to the little ones. As the daughter of two doctors, I have a healthy (harhar) respect for meds, unlike Hubby, who will NOT take a Tylenol for a headache if he can help it.)

Sherry and Karen also emailed and I had to tell them that while I love co-sleeping with my boys, I  have to admit my non-co-sleeping sister can get a whole lot of stuff done in the evenings when her three are in their separate beds. (Each child actually has their own room!) Anna can e-mail, gab on the phone, clean up a bit, watch "Lost" and work on stuff she volunteers for. I have to be more efficient, as when I lay my kids to sleep, 90 percent of the time I'm down for the night too!

But Hubby and I love it!

Here's the link to the column: Mom's the Word

After two kids, I know my parenting style leans more toward the relaxed mode. Sweetened breakfast cereal is now allowed in the pantry. I don't hyperventilate when my kids bike around the block. Even Spongebob Squarepants is now praised for the solid half-hour he gives me to do non-mommy stuff.

Hubby's the more vigilant one. He will choose lemonade instead of soda for their Happy Meals. He will remember to push veggies just one more time during dinner. And he's the one who will turn a deaf ear to the boys when they complain their seatbelts are too tight.

He's saving our boys' lives.

Congratulations to the new babies in our family, born on 08-08-08.

Hubby's first cousin gave birth to Kailyn de Jesus in San Dimas this morning and my sister's second child, Ethan Thomas Carreon, was born at 1 p.m. in Arcadia. Ethan weighed in at 9 lbs. 2 oz. and 20 inches! He's the champion baby in our family! And my sister sounded so well and rested when I talked to her a while ago, eager to have visitors come see her little boy.

When I gave birth (both times) I was exhausted and didn't really want to see anyone. It didn't help that I retained water so "attractively!" I cringe when I see the pictures still!

But new life is always cause for celebration, especially on such an auspiscious day as today! May both babies always be surrounded by love.

One of the things I missed most as a newbie parent was sleep.

Oh, to sleep a straight eight - no, six. Oh, just give me four - hours, with no interruptions, and I will change the baby's diapers with a smile, dance as I mop the pureed spinach slop from the floor, and never complain about anything else.

Oh, I love to sleep, and - upon waking - luxuriating in a tangle of blankets and stretching like a cat, taking my sweet, sweet time. Now that the boys are older, on some weekends, after my morning stretch, I can even go back to sleep. Yes, I know, a miracle.

In my family, sleep is a talent. We can sleep standing in a corner, sitting up, open-mouthed, anytime the car is running. One time my mom even woke herself up when she snored (sleeping in the car, as usual).

"What was that?" she asked with a start. "Was I asleep?"

My sons know to nudge me with an elbow when their bedtime stories start to sound like this: "Jack pointed to the pyramid picture in the Egypt book and the turn left did you see transparent okay."

"Mom!" they will chorus, and the Magic Tree House comes back into focus.

The day Firstborn Son was born, my husband woke up every few hours just to check that Joseph was breathing. He had a whole routine: put face close to baby's, feel the breath, put hand to baby's chest, make sure it's moving.

"Would you like a mirror, make sure it fogs up?" I asked helpfully.

Will holding your 5-year-old back a year lead to success in kindergarten, and later, in life?

A study says not really.

But my husband and I did give Firstborn Son an extra year of preschool. Joseph entered kinder at his Arcadia school when he was 5 but he turned 6 three months later. All but 5 of his classmates also turned 6 before the year ended, and his kindergarten teacher said the difference in maturity is noticeable.

I think we made the right decision. When Firstborn Son was one of the youngest in his preschool class, he was easily swayed by the "older boys," who were markedly more assertive and confident. Everything they said was gospel to Joseph. ("Mama, Eric said he saw a sea monster!" and nothing I said could convince him otherwise.)

Firstborn Son is thrilled to have survived the first earthquake he remembers. (He slept through the two other times.)

We were on the carousel at Westfield Santa Anita and had just gone round once when the lights flickered, the merry-go-round shuddered and I actually saw the display window of Urban Street on the second floor of the mall bulge out, once, before the shaking stopped.

I got both boys and my niece off the ride and met a shaken carousel operator, who, despite being totally unnerved by the experience, kindly told us to come back later to finish our ride. Then I almost bumped strollers with another mom who was smilingly reassuring her little ones that all was well.

Was it? I had a moment of panic when I realized I didn't know what to do at a crowded place during an earthquake.

Yesterday we went to Bolsa Chica Beach and Firstborn Son got a sunburn. We applied sunscreen before leaving and once after his first swim, but I forgot after the second dip, even though the sunscreen was just in my huge purse. So Joseph is now proudly sporting reddish cheeks and a red V-mark across his shoulders.

"I just can't wind my arms like this," Joseph says, forgivingly.

Bad Mommy moments come regularly in this house.

The Last Lecture professor died today.

Randy Pausch battled pancreatic cancer for almost a year, giving a sensational lecture, writing a book and showing us all how to die well. He was 47.

Pausch seems like a really laidback, friendly sort, a self-proclaimed computer nerd who dreamed of working for Disney and winning those huge stuffed toys at fairs. At the time of his diagnosis, he seemingly had it all: a great job teaching, a wonderful wife and three young children.

That's what hurts.

Firstborn Son completed a one-week basketball camp a couple of days ago and he came away with a souvenir program, a camp T-shirt and lasting inspiration from some pretty cool role models.

We paid $150 for the one-week b'ball camp, held at Glendora High and run by the men's basketball staff at Citrus College. Hubby was impressed that they are the reigning 2008 California state champions and 2008 Western State Conference champs too and we liked that Coach Rick Croy had coralled some of his players to help coach the camp.

There were about 100 or so kids, ages 6-14 and most of the kids had a pretty good foundation in basketball. My little one had none, save for occasional drills with his Papa out in the backyard. So Firstborn Son spent most of the time checking out the gym, talking Pokemon with other kids, and generally not breaking a sweat.
 
The Fighting Owls changed that. (Below, Coach Croy runs Joseph and company through some defensive drills.)

Do you yell at your kids?

I do. At least once a week, I think. Heaven knows I try not to. I don't remember my parents yelling at me at all (but then again, they both worked and they had help.) I do remember Dad spanking me with his slipper once. But that's it.

My friend M. told me once what her 12-year-old daughter suggested her mother give up for Lent: yelling at her kids. M said that was the only way she could get them to clean their rooms or do their homework.

I thought I'd be different. I would be the Zen mama, calm and loving, Cosby-esque in my wisdom, imparting only peace to my children. Right.

I do notice that I yell usually at the end of the day, when I am run ragged or worried about one thing or another. Does my yelling damage my boys? I hope not. Although when it's Hubby yelling I want to stop it right away.

At one of my favorite Web sites, ParentCenter (sibling to BabyCenter), 31,427 readers polled about yelling admitted to doing it several times a week (28 percent) and that yelling only sometimes made their children behave better (63 percent). Most of us had our parents yell at us when we were children, although only sometimes. And a whopping 53 percent said they regret yelling at their kids.

I know it scares Firstborn Son. Once I yell, he will do what it is I have been asking him to do ("Come here, ""Get dressed," or "Stop tackling your brother!") and once he told me, "Mama, I don't like it when you're angry because it makes me sad."

That stopped me. I know I'm modeling behavior to my boys and I don't want them to be yellers. Will yoga calm me down? Another piece of chocolate, maybe?

I don't know. I do know I want to keep the lines of communication open with my boys, so that they know if I'm tired or stressed, that Mama still loves them. I feel I can conquer this whole yelling thing soon.

Or at least until they turn into teen-agers.

We managed a day off on Friday and decided to go to Newport Beach (mainly because Grandma needed a ride there.) We didn't pack much, just a beach towel and extra clothes, but came back with lots more.



Firstborn collected sea shells (he's not too picky, any ol' seashell will do). In this picture, he's burying the plastic monkey ninjas he got in his kids' meal. Wonder Boy ran around, mimicking brother in picking up shells and finally showing off an intact mussel shell with pride.

The boys all ran to the surf, and spent most of the time running away from the waves or throwing sand into the water (which explains why their heads had the most sand at the end of the day.) Hubby shepherded the boys in the shore while I prepared our feast: from Jack in the Box. But any hot day I don't have to cook is a good day, so we enjoyed our chicken nuggets, burgers and fries.

I gave thanks for the time to just sit on the sand, watch my boys play, watch Hubby hang with them, look at the people around us, breathe in the air, stare at the clouds and later, watch the sun set. Didn't worry too much about anything at that beach.

Stuff of life.

More, please. And thank you.

Witness my escape artist days: Sundays when we would pile into Dad's little cream, two-door Toyota, Mom playing navigator in front while us six girls (yes, you're reading right), would do our best sardine impressions in the back. We were hot, we were cramped, we invariably sat for hours in traffic, and during one summer, Dad's eight-tracks consisted of nothing but Abba tunes.

One time we went to the mountains to beat the heat, another Dad fished from a nearby polluted river. Of course, he didn't catch a thing. But those were the days.

           

Yesterday, Firstborn came running into the room, screaming, "Spider! Spider!" mimicking his older cousin who has a healthy fear of the little things.

In comes Wonder Boy hot on his heels, bellowing, "Aaahhh!"

Then he stopped, looked at me and said, "Wait. Are we afraid of spiders?"

Children's entertainer Zak Morgan of L.A. told me kids' brains are like brand new hard drives.

"It's uncluttered and fast and fertile," he said. "I love to challenge children without taking away any of their naivete."

Father's Day is an uncomplicated affair at our house. We have Hubby, the young dad, to present ties, DVDs and power tools to. There's my father-in-law to honor too, usually with homemade cards, fishing gear and power tools. My own dad, I tell my boys, is in heaven. To them he's a picture in a shadowbox, a distinguished-looking, mustachioed guy with his hand to his chin, or a name on a gravestone.

"Grandpa in the grass," my youngest once called him.

Fathers. Even today I have to cry.

Time IS a tricky thing.

I feel like a twenty-something who weighs 30 pounds less than I actually do. I thought I had a few gray hairs until I counted more than six. I l look at Hubby and see my handsome groom, but in the morning, he'll rub his belly and complain about his expanding waistline.

Last week I attended my 13-year-old niece's eighth-grade graduation. As milestones go, it isn't the same as high school or college, sure. But it's close.