Happy 3rd birthday, buddy -- The little guy is growing up, and mama is trying to

My little toddler man turned 3 yesterday. He was adorable first thing that morning, belting out the "Happy Birthday" song while sitting on his big-boy potty. OK, he's pretty adorable all the time. My little 6-pound, 1-ouce peanut of a baby boy now demands that I "chase" him down the block, announces mommy's coffee is yucky and loves to climb on top of his daddy and wrestle him. He held his longest phone conversation with "Grampa Jim", my dad, last night -- it was so cute, and so big-boy, to see him chatting on the phone instead of as a little baby boy.

I worked that day. I hope it's the last time I have to work on one of my kids' birthdays, but I doubt that's realistic. I dropped off my little monkey at his new big-boy school and went to work -- at the end of the day, I eased out a bit early to get him, collected his baby sister at her daycare and headed home for festivities.

Well, what was I thinking. Daddy started opening presents with a wound-up-and-tired little guy while Mommy finished some work. (I hate sometimes that I'm *that* mom). A few presents in, the little man was melting down bad, in a I'm-hungry-and-tired-and-this-is-going-to-get-worse way. Uh oh. We had dinner, which my little somewhat picky eater devoured, and then had a dee-licious chocolate cake. He blew out his candles as we sang HB again. He and his sister Baby C devoured their slices, both sporting cake beards in no time and laughing their little heads off at each other. It was as sweet as the cake.

Then the hub wanted to continue presents -- but the little man was in rough shape. As I put my chocolate-y daughter in the tub, I could hear some really intense tantrum-ing in the kitchen. I suggested opening the presents the next day -- he's so little to him it won't be a big deal? My hub was annoyed. We talked after the kids went to bed, and I realized that he just wanted everything to be perfect for his first-born son's birthday.

And yeah, bad planning on my part -- I should have thought to move the party to a a weekend day, instead of his actual birthday. I shouldn't have worked on his birthday. I should have had enough eggs on hand the night before to make his cake instead of having to get a store-bought cake (OK, the store cake was amazing, though.)

I've been down this road before, with my now 19-year-old son, whose childhood I tried to make a good one. But there were things that didn't go off perfectly. There were disasters. So I guess I'm a little more "oh well" than my hub is. But I like that he's like that -- reminds me that yeah, the little guy won't be 3 forever -- my little once-three-year-old is now a college freshman -- and we can aim for a certain experience. But sometimes we get something else that's great, just not what we thought, if that makes sense.

Now, if I could apply my "oh well" to my life. Yesterday morning I got up at 3:30 to get in my long run, 9 miles. I actually have a friend who is crazy enough to run that early with me, god bless her. I'm in the most stressful, demanding job of my career and going through some major wake-up-stressing-about-work growing pains. Like, major. Working parents know the drill -- you get done at the office but of course you're on BlackBerry as you start your next "job" -- kid time! It's a fun one, but dinner-bath-bed-figuring-out-what's-for-dinner-for-mom-and-dad is a whole other operation. My hub is nice enough to cook as we wrangle our kids but by 9 at night, I'm fading fast.

Back to running -- I find myself craving more running time, more non-responsible time. I feel like running is helping me feel like I'm a little in control of a life that is wonderful but so, so demanding. I got up at the painful half past 3 time and made the mistake of looking at my work BlackBerry with a tough demand scolding me from it. I tried to scramble and do a couple of things before meeting my friend for the run, and sure enough by the time I met her I was stressing out bad. The lakefront was empty, the sky that darkest-before-the-dawn black, and the path a dark ribbon ready for us to pound our feet on and dissect what was going on in our heads. We talked careers. I talked, she counseled. She talked, I counseled. A friend met us after we'd finished the first four miles and we talked more. This third friend is on a long course to completely change careers, juggling a challenging day job with night classes in an entirely different field.

As we ran the last five miles, it dawned on me. My other fitness love is yoga. Yoga is the opposite of our lives -- you're not supposed to be competitive. You work only at your own pace. You don't "push" your body. I think that's what I love about it so much. And in yoga, instructors teach you -- as you're breathing or holding a pose -- to observe, not judge, meaning instead of focusing on "oh crap, my calves are tight, I hope this doesn't lead to a running injury" you're just supposed to observe, breathe into it, and the muscles will give a little. So why can't "observe, don't judge" apply to life? OK, easier said than done. But maybe, if I can "observe" a work situation, do my little mini-freakout in my head, and tell myself not to "judge", I can just turn off the freakout choir in my head after a few minutes, or 15 minutes, or whatever, and then just calmly do what needs to be done, shutting our harsh words from others or those in my head, where I'm judging myself.

OK, I'll report back on how that's going. Now, it's time to kiss my boy good morning.