After all, we couldn't agree on a girl's name to save our lives.

He liked TATIANA! I liked Grace.

He liked ARIANNA! Well, like I said, I liked Grace.

So we had boys. And we never once argued about boys names. We loved the ones we picked as soon as we picked them, and there you go.

There was never much suspense, either, about which gender baby we would be having. We wanted to know ahead of time - and boy did we know. We had barely settled into the ultrasound room when the tech, after asking if we wanted to know, told us to start buying blue.

The second time around, when, in all honesty, I was hoping for a girl, they practically yelled "THERE'S THE PENIS!'' when we were still in the parking lot. Really.

No suspense, and only momentary disappointment.

I mean, I will always wish I had a daughter. But that wish goes along with wishing I had three or four kids, not wishing that Luca was anything other than Luca.

I come from a family of three girls and have had wonderful relationships with a great-grandmother, a great-aunt, several much older female cousins, many female cousins, two grandmas, a mom to beat all moms, two fab younger sisters and two delightful (and graceful!) nieces.

I lack for nothing.

Sure, there will always be a "what if'' in my heart for Grace.

But grace is where you find it.

We're running a story tomorrow about gender disappointment, and as I edited it I felt for those women who wanted whatever it is they didn't get.

I get it. Their sense of loss is real and needs to be honored.

But in the end, I am sure they are unspeakably happy for the babies they do get, whatever their gender.

I have watched too many friends struggle with infertility. They would give an arm for the chance to paint a nursery - blue, pink or any color in between.

Gannett ContentOne fil

We don't have a pumpkin yet.

There's one at work without a stem that I guess I could haul home tonight, but that is a last resort.

I'm hoping at lunch I can find one.

After all, one slip like that can cause the Great Pumpkin to pass you by ...

I had a lot of fun Tuesday night checking into Facebook as friends, family and coworkers updated their posts while watching "It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown.''

" I got a rock.''

"You didn't tell me you were going to kill it! UGH!''

"I wouldn't want to be accused of taking part in a rumble.''

"If you try to hold my hand, I'll slug you!''

"Just wait til next year!''

It was a strategic decision to wait on buying our pumpkin. That's because when we buy it early, the squirrels have a field day spreading pumpkin carcass goo all over the front porch.

One year, I went outside when I heard a weird sound, and a squirrel was actually inside our carved pumpkin, eating it from the inside out, and all I could see was the tip of a tail and two greedy little fists tossing seeds out the top!

So, let's hope I can find one.

Linus, where are you when I need you?

We've snuck off for a night or two for our anniversary, but no vacations. Until now.

My mom, who is awesome, has agreed to watch the boys for five days so we can hop on a plane and visit friends in California.

Walks on the beach. Uninterrupted conversations. A dinner or two out without mac 'n' cheese, crayons or paper menus - not to mention the requisite 72 trips to the bathroom.

There's even talk of hot springs!

I'll just be happy to sit on a plane with a book on my lap and read more than a chapter without being interrupted with demands for A. Juice, B. Something up on a shelf, or C. Another round of "Monsters,  Inc.''

I am also much in need of some time alone with my sweetie. It's amazing, as you get going on the parenting train, how you have to remind each other to pause, make eye contact and talk about something that has nothing to do with the kids (baseball and politics don't really count).

We are both looking forward to it, and it's also a chance to reconnect with dear friends who we miss since they left Jersey for their Cali adventure.

We are looking forward to it, and we need it.

And about 36 hours in, I will miss my boys so much my heart will hurt. I will call too much. I will talk about them too much.

And nothing will feel better than those big, squeezy hugs the moment we arrive back home.

Here I sit, a Yankees fan in a sea of red and white.

I never intended to move to South Jersey, it just sort of worked out that way. I fell in love with a Cherry Hill guy who said if I gave South Jersey five years, after that we could move back where I came from (Hunterdon/Bucks).

It's been seven years, and I like it here fine.

Usually, being a Yankees fan here is patently ignored.

But today, it is like showing up wearing a Jerry Brown T-shirt at the Republican Convention.

My kids will likely grow up in South Jersey, and while I hold out some small measure of hope that they will wear pinstripes, I would put my money on them loving the Phillies.

I am genetically programmed to root for the Bronx Bombers. It was either that or the ... uh, Flushing Amazin's??? ... as the Polish side of my family is nearly all Mets, and the Italian side is nearly all  Yanks.

I was only about 6 when the long, dark rides between my grandparents' house and ours left plenty of time to sit in the back seat while everyone but my dad slept, the night games on the radio. For me, baseball has always been a way to be closer to my dad, whether we were actually going to a game at the stadium, listening in the car or watching on TV. Pretty much everything I know about the game, I learned from him, and there is no better teacher.

I can't remember a time when the voices of  Phil Rizzuto and Bill White and Frank Messer resonated in my head; when I couldn't visualize Reggie and Micky and Sweet Lou and Chris Chambliss holding their caps across their hearts for the National Anthem.

Thurman Munson was my guy. I followed the Yankee captain's career from the time I was just old enough to turn the TV on by myself and flip to Channel 11, to his tragic death in a plane crash in 1979. 

 It took me more than 15 years to have a new favorite player, which didn't happen until Tino Martinez donned the Yankee pinstripes in 1996.

I am excited some of the champions from the Joe Torre dynasty are still with the team as they take on the worthy Phillies ... Posada, Pettite, and the legendary door slammer, closer Mariano Rivera.

Whether you love those Phils, or bleed pinstripes - or root for the Mets and hate them both - nobody's going to be getting much sleep in the next week.

I look forward to the days when my little guys are sitting on the couch with me - or rooting from the backseat - even if they are rooting for the other team.

I have an editorial cartoon on the door of my office, syndicated to papers shortly after 9/11, just as Major League Baseball was tentatively resuming play in the "new normal.''

It shows God reaching a hand to Adam, as he does in the Michaelangelo work on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.

Only this time, he is handing Adam a baseball.

"This,'' says God. "Is for the tough times.''

Yanks or Phils, it is still baseball.

And it is good.

I was eating dinner out one night, when I quietly said to the person next to me, "Why does asparagus make your ...''

I didn't get the words out fast enough when he practically shouted, "... make your PEE SMELL?''

You might guess it was my 5-year-old, but you'd be wrong.

It was my friend, Chris, who thought it would be funny to watch me turn beet red.

In case you're wondering, approximately 50 percent of people who eat asparagus report the phenomenon, and scientists are not in agreement about exactly which chemical compounds cause the stinky phenomenon.

More here: http://www.wisegeek.com/why-does-asparagus-make-some-peoples-urine-smell-funny.htm 

Nonetheless, stink or no, asparagus is very good for you. My 3-year-old loves it, especially grilled. My 5-year-old, not so much, but he does like crossing green veggies off his fruit and veggie chart we got from Wegmans, so he'll tolerate a little - especially because he enjoys shouting "Asparagus makes your PEE SMELL'' about 30 minutes later.

Stay tuned for more Veggie Tales ...

Copyright Jennie Avila/www.jennieavila.com

Overheard from the backseat:

Luca: It's rainy in space.
Jonah: No, there is no weather in space.
Luca: YES THERE IS!!!!
Jonah: No, there isn't. Well, actually, there is only one kind of weather - meteor showers.

Ok, then.

***

When Jeff and I were first together, we got up before dawn to watch a meteor shower in the front yard. It was pretty cool, although getting up before dawn is not something I ever really enjoy. Plus, we lived at that time two blocks from the Cherry Hill Mall and its giant security street lights, so ...

***

My friend Jennie Avila - an most fantabulous singer-songwriter - has a great song about meteor showers that she wrote for a friend who died too soon. It's a beautiful song.

Here's a taste to change your weather:

http://www.aca-perco.com/music/index.html

How rich the life, indeed.

It's sweet to start your day with a phone call telling you you won something.

Especially if the call is NOT from the Poconos telling you you won a weekend in a timeshare.

Today, the library called to tell me I won a storybook (Dr. Seuss' If I Ran the Zoo) and corresponding stuffed Seuss character from a recent book fair.

Hey, Santa, scratch one item off your list, there.

The book and the creature are getting hidden away for the Christmas morning.

Here is a link to a cool post about what this Seuss work has to say about kids' dreams for the future:

 http://www.mvnunewsletters.com/articles.php?articleId=531&parentId=&subId=8

Associated Press

Most moms - those who work exclusively at home, from home or in an office - would likely respond to a survey question like this:

Q: Do you feel you don't have a lot of time for yourself?

A: Can you please repeat the question?

Q: Me time? Getting any?

A: Umm, well, the other day the paper delivery person tossed the paper in the neighbor's yard, so I was alone for a few seconds there when I went to get it, until the dog and the toddler noticed and followed me, and the neighbor came out to complain about the recycling guy and then my phone rang ....

Q: Uh, yeah, ok. So, what do you do for alone time, when you really need to recharge your battery?

A: Make a dentist's appointment. He always makes me wait 35 minutes to get in the chair, there's my alone time.

OK, so maybe it's not always quite this bad, but there are days - especially when fighting brothers battling over one piece of Lego decide to join me in the shower - that it feels that bad.

That's why I had to giggle last week at Patricia Heaton's "The Middle,'' her new ABC sitcom about being a working mom in a middle America "fly-over'' state with three kids, a well-intentioned husband and a pile of demands as overflowing as my laundry hamper.

The writing could be better. Actually, it could be lots better. But Heaton is still appealing in the role.

At the end of last week's episode, Heaton is so desperate to "get away from it all,'' she thinks of a trip to an out-of-the-way carpet remnant store as a vacation. When that falls through, she retreats to the grimy restroom of the car dealership where she valiantly tries - but fails to sell cars each week. She locks the bathroom door, settles herself on the lid of the toilet and gives herself a pedicure and an aromatherapy session with Febreze.

 There's more, but I won't spoil the jokes.

It is hard, and not just for moms, to carve out a little peace and quiet these days. It helps to shut the phone off. It helps to get up a little earlier than necessary, although I am not good at that. It helps, even, to have a commute (I don't).

But it's ok. I'm not tempted to hole up in any public restrooms just yet. I grab my moments where I can, and I look at my  little dudes, growing up so fast already, and want to slow down time.  It's worth some interrupted showers, some crazy chases for the morning paper, some crazy everything.

MORE ON THE SHOW: http://www.reuters.com/article/televisionNews/idUSTRE58R5QG20090928

USA Today

Before you watch this, THE BABY IS FINE!!!! and so is the poor mother, who neglected to engage the brake. This happened one day after an Australian national campaign about strollers in train stations.

(Thanks, Jay!)

They were all the same shade as her dark brown hair, but they were in every sort of style, from super long and straight to short and curly.

My sister and I were in heaven. The "dress up'' bag had begun.  My mom added some old heels, a few stray scarves, some assorted cast-off clothes and slips, and we were on our way.

On our way, that is, to some pretty scary "shows'' which we staged and forced our poor relatives to watch.

Mostly, I got to pretend I was Cher, which was pretty much my idea of heaven at the time.

Jonah got a taste of dress up the other night while visiting friends. He came home wanting to know where his "dress up'' clothes were.

Since I don't have any  Cher wigs handy, I dug out all our past Halloween costumes plus a few someone had given us that never got used. Jonah spent all rainy day yesterday running around dressed half as a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle, half as Buzz Lightyear.

I got to watch many a command performance.

Luca got in on the act for a bit, trying on his costume a bit early and getting chased by the Buzz Ninja around the house.

It's fun to spend a day pretending you are someone or something else. And it got everyone in the proper mood for trick or treating.

"Gypsies, tramps and thieves ... ''