Mad Dog's wishes.

Though my twins are nearly identical in appearance, they couldn't be more different in terms of personality.

Mad Dog is carefree and unscripted. The Deuce is extremely Type A.

For me, watching The Deuce is like looking in a mirror. She reminds me of me when I was her age -- and to be perfectly honest, sometimes it makes me cringe a little. She's a deep thinker and a worrier. I wish I could get her to lighten up a little.

Mad Dog, on the other hand, embodies much of the girl wish I was. She's confident and independent. And with confidence, comes a sure hand.

I don't believe I've ever seen her second guess herself.

Mad Dog brought home a school project a few weeks ago that sums her up perfectly. The assignment was to create a 3D shamrock and on each of the four pages write a wish.


If it would've been The Deuce or me doing the assignment, our wishes would've been similar. Something like:

• I wish I could draw better.
• I wish I had my own room.
• I wish fractions were easy for me.
• I wish I had curly hair.

Our wishes most likely would've reflected a desire to further improve a skill or characteristic. They would've somehow focused in on a perceived flaw that needs correcting. Our wishes would've been opportunities for self-improvement.

But not Mad Dog.

Her wishes don't reveal insecurity. Her wishes reveal a girl with purpose:

Mad Dog's wishes are:

• I want to have super powers.
• I wish I was rich.
• I wish I could read minds.
• I wish everything was like Star Wars.

I have a new wish: I wish I had a little more Mad Dog in me.

Naughty-kid amnesia

What they say about mothers being able to forget about the pain of childbirth so they willingly have more kids is totally true. But I think there's another kind of amnesia that mothers experience when separated from their kids for a while.

I call it Naughty-Kid Amnesia.

Whether off on a week-long business trip or just shipping the kids to Granny's for an afternoon, it seems like no matter how bratty and awful your little monsters were before they left, you forget about it while they're away. Then, when you're reunited, memories of their monster-like behavior have gone out the window.

And it's a good thing too, because otherwise, you wouldn't even let them back in the house.

Just this past week, my kids have been barely tolerable. The bickering between the twins is unbearable and Crowbar's daily reports from daycare have been awful. (He's started calling people stupid asses there.)

So, when Wednesday rolled around and their dad picked them up for an overnight stay, I was elated. I gave them kisses and hugs, all the while thinking, Don't let the door hit ya on the way out.

Laying in bed last night, I replayed the week's events over and over, feeling frustrated by all the naughtiness. But this morning when I woke up, memories of their foolishness had been replaced by an aching desire to see them again.

Funny, I'd considered changing the locks just the night before.

I guess it's God's way of helping moms maintain their sanity. Every day with my kids is full of drama that even the best soap opera writers couldn't concoct:

There's mystery: Who took my backpack?!?!
Intrigue: Who ate the last of the Pringles?!?!
And even a little violence: He hit me, so I punched him back.

It's downright exhausting. I guess that's why these breaks are so good. While my energy level replenishes, my brain seems to recalibrate, wiping my memory banks clean, so I can welcome them home with open arms -- and a clean slate.

I guess it's one of those miracles of nature, akin to natural selection and survival of the fittest. But with as naughty as those kids were earlier this week, they're damn lucky. Naughty-kid amnesia is as much a gift for them as it is for me.

The family that kicks ass together, well... kicks ass together.

Mad Dog and I have started a little mother daughter thing -- we've started taking taekwondo lessons together.

At first, the lessons were just for Mad Dog. She had energy to burn and needed an extra nudge in the self-discipline department, so we went down to our local YMCA and signed her up.

One day as I sat watching on the sidelines, a woman with a black belt approached and knelt down beside me.

You know, I was 39 when I took my first lesson. You're welcome to join us, if you'd like.

I thanked her and told her I'd think about it, even though at the time, didn't really think it'd suit me. But then, after a week or so, I decided to go for it. After all, it looked like a fun, but challenging workout. And, if I could pick up a few self-defense moves along the way, that'd be a plus. And it'd be cool to have some special one-on-one time with Mad Dog.

So, I signed up.

I had my first lesson a few weeks ago. Mad Dog was so proud to lead me into the room. She instructed me to bow when entering and leaving and showed me where I should stand, so we could both see each other in the big mirror.

Together, we bowed to our Grand Master and began our first class as a mother-daughter duo.

I'll admit, it was tricky keeping up, but somehow I managed. I matched my classmates, crunch for crunch and sit up for sit up. And I even managed to stumble my way through the basic one form.

While at first I wasn't sure if taekwondo would suit me, now I'm convinced that it does.

I like the physical and mental discipline taekwondo demands. Also, my classmates are the nicest, most polite people I've ever met, due, I'm sure, to strong observance of the five tenants. And though the first few lessons were tough, I really enjoyed them.

I learned several self-defense techniques, including how to break free from an attacker and, more important, how to finish him off so he can't retaliate. Grand Master advised my partner to not go easy on me - so he wouldn't give me a false sense of confidence or security. And believe me, he didn't.

My partner grabbed my wrists, arms and neck, simulating a series of vicious attacks. Over and over, I applied what I learned, breaking his grip and applying finishing moves such as kicking his knee or punching his face. It was exhilarating and exhausting.

From time to time, during class, I try to glance over to see how Mad Dog is doing. Watching her spar with someone her size, I'm struck by her pluck and perseverance. Often matched up against boys, I've noticed she throws more kicks and punches than some of them do. She's a natural and won't be a white belt for long.

She's a bad ass in a pink mouth guard.

Me? Punching still feels so awkward. I know I'm more comfortable in defense mode than taking an offensive position. But someday it'll come. Someday, I'll feel comfortable throwing punches and round-house kicks. I know I will.

I'm so happy I'm doing this. And I'm proud I'm doing this with my daughter.

And that, my friends, kicks ass.

For Crowbar

Dear Crowbar,

This week you turned four. It seems like yesterday when I held you in my arms for the first time. I remember studying your chubby little face and wondering how on earth I could be so blessed.

I love everything about you. Here are some of the things you do that endear you to my heart:

• You're the best cuddler in the whole history of cuddlers.
• You often ask me how my day was.
• You prefer to be called Crowbar over your real name.
• You've got the cutest, skinniest little pajama butt.
• You make the best helicopter sound effects.
• You've already set high expectations for yourself. (Relax a little, honey.)
• You're a great dancer. Seriously. (You didn't get that from me.)
• I love your dimple.
• You tell jokes to make others happy.
• Your impression of WALL-E is spot on.
• You've known how to work those baby blue eyes since you were two.
• When I scold you, you do that fake quivering lip thing. It makes me nuts, but deep down, I love it.
• You care about your sisters, even when they're being awful to you.
• Your imagination knows no limits. I've never seen a kid who can entertain himself for so long with just his fingers.
• You love broccoli and get mad when I don't make it.
• You took me aside to explain that "Chuck E. Cheese's is clean now" and thus, a suitable location for your birthday party.

Crowbar and Mom at the newly clean Chuck E. Cheese.

The first four years have been wonderful. While we've had some tough times, I can always count on you to give me a hug and a smile when I need it most.

I love you so much.

Mom

Registration Eggs.

Our church did something pretty cool this year to help families discuss the story of Christ's death and resurrection. They gave each family an egg carton full of bright plastic Easter eggs. Each was numbered and starting April 1, families were to open an egg and discuss the contents.

It's like an Advent calendar, but better. Each egg contains a slip of paper with a Bible verse and a small item to represent what the verse described.

Egg #4, for example, contained tiny thorns and the verse from Matthew, describing when the soldiers dressed Jesus in a purple robe and placed a crown of thorns on his head.

Egg #6 contained a small silver spike and the verse describing how Jesus was nailed to the cross.

It's been a great way for us to talk about the importance of what Jesus did to save us from our sins -- in a way that's fun and easy for kids to understand.

Despite all this talk about Jesus' sacrifice, the kids can't seem to remember the word resurrection. Instead, they say registration and each morning, bound up to me, carton in hand, asking to open a registration egg.

As long as they're getting the purpose of the eggs, I don't bother correcting them.

Happy Easter, everyone!

A sneak among us.

It was the stuff parental dreams are made of. The best blackmail photo op in the history of the world.

I went in to wake up Crowbar, when I spied...

my boy -- with a naked girl in his bed!

With glee, I raced downstairs to fetch my camera. I squeezed off a few shots, imagining how valuable they'd be one day when he was a horrible, rotten teenager.

I giggled and snickered all morning, until I heard Mad Dog talk about how she'd set him up. I grilled her for information and ultimately learned that Barbie was a plant. A joke played out by a conniving sister.

Disappointed, I consoled myself with the thought that there'll be plenty of legitimate blackmail opportunities in the next 9 years.

I just have to be ready. And armed with my camera.

Scenes from a rented townhouse.

The scene out my living room window nearly brought tears to my eyes.

So much has happened in a week's time. We made an offer on a single family house and it was accepted.

If you've ever been through the home-buying process you'll know that the phrase accepted offer can at once bring on feelings of pure joy and crippling nausea.

There's so much to do: home inspection, appraisal, planning the move -- it's a little overwhelming.

But one task is the scariest in a point-of-no-return kind of way: notifying the landlord.

It's scary as hell to tell the landlord you're leaving (and to rent your place to someone else) when you don't have the keys to the new house in your hands yet.

For us, we'll close on the house around May 8 (exact date TBD) and move around the 16th, giving us two weeks to get settled in the new place and still clean the old place properly.

Since I moved in 3 1/2 years ago, my landlord never presented me with a lease. He never even discussed if this was a month-to-month or year-long commitment. So, when Mark and I first discussed our plan to marry and move out, out of courtesy to my landlord, I let him know. He knew we're getting married and nodded when I told him we'd be buying our own place soon.

But yesterday, when I told him the news, there was shock and surprise. He acted hurt and angry, reminding me more of a breakup than a business transaction.

Despite the fact that I gave him nearly 60 days (I'm legally required to give 28), he chastised me for catching him off guard and leaving him in a lurch.

How could I do this to him?

Why couldn't I give him more time?

And then he grumbled under his breath,

I should've had you sign a year lease a long time ago.

He hung up on me and then called me back - twice. It was downright pathetic.

I, on the other hand, kept as cool and calm as possible. With Mark by my side, I reminded him that I was within my legal rights and, having been a landlord for 6 years myself, knew what it was like on both ends of the transaction. I also pointed out that spring is the best time of year to rent a property and that a place this great (yeah, I was stroking his ego) would go in a snap.

Sounding more like a jilted lover than a landlord, he said, I hope you two will be very happy together, and then hung up on me again.

An hour later, he was in the front yard, raking and looking forlorn. He reminded me of John Cusack in Say Anything holding his boom box over his head, standing in the rain.

Eventually, he went away. And left behind a sign:

FOR RENT

This move can't come too soon.

Our House.

I owe you details, I know. But I'm a little afraid to jinx this whole thing by saying too much too soon.

And on April Fool's Day no less.

But here goes: Mark and I had been informally house hunting for the past few months. The wedding is in June and we figured we'd start looking in earnest in July.

Our search had been little more than a casual interest in seeing what the dollar buys these days. We didn't bother getting pre-approved and hadn't yet called my realtor friend. We didn't want to waste his time.

Then Mark finds a little gem online. It's 5 bedrooms, 2 and a 1/2 baths and is located on the edge of a park. When I saw the listing, I shrugged. It looked okay. But when we walked in the front door, I just felt... home.

Mark felt the same way and, after crunching some numbers told me,

I think we can do it.

We had a lot of questions on the pros and cons of buying now vs. waiting until after the wedding. We called my mortgage broker and, after running several scenarios, decided that Mark could purchase the house in his name before the wedding. Doing so, we'd reap the full benefit of a veterans home loan and would still qualify for the first-time home owner tax credit. And just though my name wouldn't be on the title, because of state law, when we marry, the house will automatically become half mine.

So, we're this close to making an offer. At the last open house, we'd heard the listing agent say the seller's offering to pick up closing costs - but our realtor hadn't heard anything about it. We want to get the details before we make our move.

In the meantime, we wait.

So, if this deal really does go through, it's possible we could have a house before June. And, if that's the case, our wedding reception venue will change from a cool, funky old restaurant to our house.

Don't you just love the sound of that?

Our House.