MisterIsms

All from the mouth of Mister:

"Ima gweatest, Ima gweatest Ima gweat gweat Little Mister!" Sung 1000 times. 

Reading about trains:

C: "...and this type of tanker car is full of gas."

M: "Ohhh yes. Yes is. Full a gas. This twain all full a gas. Has go a big poo poo. Go you poo, twain!"

At bed time getting PJs on:

C: "you picked out these jammies all by yourself! You are really a big boy!"

M: "Oooh, yes 'am! And YOU! You really a big Mama! Yes! A big! Huge! Huuuuuge Mama!"

Looking at a dr Suess book:

"Uh, mama. Whoa man! This book, is all cwazy. Is all stuff all awound a place, and flyin funny an'mals and all jus all is cwazy like that. Take-a this cwazy book mama. Les have some twain book. Is better, k?"

Me: "can I get a hug?" 
Mister: "um,no. I'm just a all outta hugs. Maybe you can make one, your own hug. Outta some tofu, somepin like that."

Me: "uh oh, buddy. I see that face. Do you need a time out?" 
Mister: "Uuuuhhhmmm...yah. Need time out. I'm SPICY."

Little Mister Two

The birthdays always bring me back.  And this Little Mister had a big one in December- Two.
As He will tell you, proudly, brandishing an arbitrary number of fingers like He's displaying the ark of the covenant, "Ine TWO!"
What a Two He is, too.
Little Mister has had the effect on our family of figuratively (and very nearly literally) turning the entire house upside down and inside out.  He rips through our lives like a two-foot tall tornado that sings, leaving a trail of mess and chaos, and all of us feeling like maybe we just got off a carnival ride we don't remember getting in line for.
The thing about Him though, is that we turn to scold Him for it, and find this golden-haired angel, beaming at us with big innocent eyes, saying things like, "Ah wuv oo!" "cuddle time!" "sungle me up!" and then showering you with hugs and kisses and sighs of "MAma home!" (or Daddy, or Sister, or MissMiss, or whoever you may be).
This deep appreciation for your existence and generosity of affection entirely stuns the brain so that all you can do is melt into a puddle of warm-fuzzies and bask in the adoration.
Then, He's off to get Himself some milk (He does that), and you turn around, and through the stars in your eyes see the wreckage He he's trailed behind Him in a swath of destruction.  Argh.  That Mister.
What can we do with Him?!
He's impossible because He's impossibly sweet.  He's not so much rebellious as just spring-loaded. The absolute best way to imagine Mister, if you haven't met Him, is to envision the personification of a big bottle of soda-pop, having just been vigorously shaken.  So, so sweet.  SO about to explode all over everything.

His big achievements at two are:

Total mastery of the limbs
-From climbing and running and monkey bars to delicately removing the loose screws from whatever-it-is, Mister has the motor skills checked off the list.

The Alphabet
-uppercase, lowercase, spoken or sung- this kid rocks His letters and He's plenty proud to show you.

Counting (except for 14 and 15)
-He can get to 30, but 14 and 15 are usually a stumble, and after 10 the written form gets mixed up.

Shapes and Colors
-Thanks to bossy sisters, Mister knows not just His primaries, but His teals, lavenders, and fuchsias.  He thinks carefully if you ask Him what color something is, because He knows that if He calls turquoise green, He is going to hear about it.
-He's good with the basic shapes, kites, and pentagons, because He has a puzzle that says so and He has a small love affair with all puzzles of all kinds.

Headstands
-Thanks in part to His beloved gymnastics class and in part to His two personal coaches (Missy and Little One), Mister's favorite party trick for guests is "looka me this!" and running to the sofa or wall to do a headstand.  If you don't notice at first, no problem.  He'll just stay like that, turning red, until you notice.

The Potty.
-Unless He's busy and having fun. In which case He does not mind being wet so long as the train tracks link up so that the bridge connects to the whatever.  Fortunately, we have left the days of stinky pants far behind, but being dry all day still requires a lot of reminding and cajoling.

the iEverything
- Sigh.  I did all I could to keep screen time from Him entirely until He turned two, but He has seen all of us on a phone or tablet at some time, and so such devices have held this mystique that He is obsessed with.  Turn around for one moment and your phone is gone.  Wait, what? Wasn't it just here? Wait, what? Who emailed my boss from my account to say "asdfsgjgwieortjjdhfgjnfverBBB43fi9g"?!   And why is it so quiet....  oh there you are, Mr.  Hiding under my bed/in the closet/behind the sofa.  How did I find you? Must have been your giddy conversation with your crush, Siri.

The mastery of His sisters
This guy.  His sisters are basically the minions to His super villain.  The pawns to His king.  The tweens to His bieber concert.  And He knows it.  "Sissy, hab some?" blink blink.  Whatever they were eating is now His.  "Sissy, my want it.  Give me toy please".  His.  And I can't tell you how many times I've caught them comforting Him in Time-Out.  He has them wrapped around His chubby, drooly fingers, and they love it.

Things He loves include:

Food. The spicier, the better.  If He won't eat it, sprinkle on some of the Mexican chile-lime powder we stockpile for Him, and it will disappear.  Just don't give Him the bottle, or He will eat it straight, until His face turns red, the tears stream down His cheeks, and He is panting, "More...'picy....More 'picy... please.."   He loves Ethiopian food, Indian food, Cajun food, all the 'picy stuff.  We have even put cayenne in His oatmeal, upon request.  He loved it.

Chocolate- He is all my influence when it comes to desserts.  He loves chocolate and frequently approaches me out of the blue- "mommy.  Think a time a make a chock-it cake. Wan' some chock-it, Mama? We can make some, chock-it cake".  He knows He's asking the right person.

Cars/trains/planes and especially construction vehicles.  I'm still flabbergasted about how this information infiltrated into His tiny mind deeply enough for Him to become so obsessed with it. But He is constantly on the lookout for interesting vehicles, and if you call an excavator a backhoe, you will be corrected.  Believe me.

Repeated brain damage.  I sometimes take a big, steadying breath and wonder whether I would be arrested if an MRI was ever done on this child.  I send up a little prayer that He will retain a decent amount of control over His faculties as an adult.  Because He has lived like a linebacker pretty much all day every day since He could walk.  I promise I do my best to protect His little skull, but He seems to have a magnetic-type material in there that is attracted to all hard surfaces, especially those with sharp corners.  He is so constantly going, racing, jumping, crashing, diving into, around, and over things with no consideration whatsoever for any possible consequences, that we have simply come to think of blue as the normal color of His forehead.

Since we don't have a padded room (which might be a good idea), the next best thing is the trampoline.  And it is one of the great loves of His life.  We have a small one with the big net walls around it in the basement.  Plopping Him in there is like putting a hamster on a wheel.  He'll just go until He is so tired He can not stand up anymore.  He positively loves gymnastics classes on Saturdays, and the trampoline is the crowning glory of this day He waits for all week.  He can do seat drop, pike, open-closed with His legs, arms up and bounce in a circle, and a front flip, landing on His back.  We aren't sure whether to be proud or quite concerned.

Music.  Mister reminds us of Little One with His affinity for music and knack for pitch.  He sits through His Sister's piano lessons positively emerald green with envy, and often I have to take Him outside to wait because He simply will not stop clapping and counting to the beat, or loudly repeating the names of the notes His sisters read off. Or just random strings of letters that might be notes.  When they practice at home, He insists that He also has to have a turn to "practic my pano", and He sits there plinking along very seriously.
He loves music and dancing, and thanks to His sister knows all the steps to the Whip NaeNae, which is totally His song. Standing in line at the grocery store He will suddenly burst out singing and dancing- "watch me, watch me, watch me, watch me! Watch me yooooo, watch me supa-may-an.." and I never really know how to respond.

The alphabet.  Letter flashcards, puzzles, and games never get old.  His favorite book is Dr. Suess's ABC book, and He prefers to recite it to us, if you please.  He sees His sisters reading, listens to Missy practicing with me, and wants it so badly He's practically drooling.  It's like watching a baby on the brink of being able to crawl, two inches too far from a toy they want.  So...close....but so far.

My Do It.  Mister wants to help- stir the pot, put the laundry in the washer, put the silverware away, zip the zippers, drive the car, vacuum the house- ALL the things.  ALL by Himself.  Others who complete tasks of any sort without Him, are treasonous traitors and will be treated accordingly.
Elevator broken and we have to walk down four flights of stairs?  "NO mama, carry me.  No pick-a up. MY do it. MY self do."  I find myself frequently talking to me, like lunatic, reminding myself that independence is good, that this is a wonderful opportunity to practice patience.  Unless we are late.  In which case there will be screaming.

Telling it like it is.  Mister can not, as much as He wants to, drive a bulldozer.  But one thing He can do, is talk.  He has a voice.  He has a vocabulary. And He is not afraid to use it.  He will tell you all about it.  Whatever it happens to be.  He will be sure to correct you if you say something crazy like "no, you can't drive the bulldozer".  He will tell you long stories about His day:
"Oh, we play a game, chug some trains 'round, read a story, I see a alligator..." 
"you saw an alligator today?" 
"Yes!" 
"Really." 
"Yes! An' lookout! Still in here! Gonna bite you! Scary-yikes! Hahahahaha no it jus' me.  Got you, Mommy.  I scary you. HAHAHA!" 
He will patiently and lovingly take the time to teach you everything you need to know.  "K, mommy, now time for make a cookie, uh-kay? So, now time, you get out a shiny bowl.  Get em a-gredients weady a counter.  Need a spoon- my pick it- we make a cookie time.  My stir it, and we make cookies kay.  Mommy.  DON' washa bowl.  Don' wash it. My lick it, eat a cookie stuff in there.  Then-a wash it.  Ok? Ok Mommy.  Let's go.  Right now Mommy.  Mommy.  IN A KITCHEN TIME!" 
He will see you coming a mile away and stop you right there. "Mommy, ok, listen me.  Read a story me, ok.  Ok, read a story, but no is sleepy-time. No put a jammies, no zip a up. No singing songs, no sleepy time. No rocka chair, for no sleepy time now.  2 stories, mommy.  K, two story, then I chug some trains. Ok." 

His Sisters.  Yes, we have reached the age of metoo.  He works those little legs very, very hard trying to keep up with the Sisters, and whatever they are doing, He wants to do.  Whatever He is doing, He wants them with Him.  Most days, the first thing He does when He wakes up is call out for them, and if I get Him out of bed, the first thing He wants to know is where they are.  Lucky for Him, this adoration absolutely goes both ways.

His Daddy.  Little Mister at 2 is a 100% Daddy's Boy.  The look on His face when He stares up at J can only be described as the type of thing religions have been founded upon.  Whenever there is an option, "Daddy take me" "Daddy sing me" "Daddy read me" "I go Daddy" "I ride Daddy's car".  Nothing can cause Mister's sweet little face to fold and crinkle and dissolve into sadness like the dreaded words "Daddy is at work".  Nothing can top the exultation in His voice when He hollers "Daddy home!" Lucky for Mister again, this adoration goes both ways, too.

In fact, Mister is pretty hard not to adore.  Is He a human wrecking ball? Yes. Is He frequently regarded as the world's tiniest acting dictator? Yes.  Has He developed the indescribably annoying habit of shrieking when He is upset or at random times and do we hope this phase passes like the fastest kidney stone ever suffered through? Why, yes.  But is He also the gentlest cuddler, the most empathetic care-taker of us all, the most joyful, infectious belly-laugher, and the most hysterical source of crack-ups He could possibly be? Also yes.

Little Mister shaken soda-pop, we wouldn't have you any other way.  You are the chile powder in our bowl of life, and we love you.  Happy Two.

Little One Turns SEVEN

Today my Little One is seven.  Seven.
It has been a wild year, full of challenges.  She moved to a new state/town/home/school.  She weathered Her father disappearing into residency and Her mother going back to work.  She had three health emergencies at school, including on picture day and Her birthday.  She lost three great-grandparents, a grandfather, and Her dog.   She switched schools again.  She started riding the bus, 2 hours a day.  She found out that when the year is over, She will switch again, and oh- also be moving across the world.  (More about that later).  She adopted a fish, took on gymnastics, piano, and swimming, and had a sweet baby brother morph into a 25 pound wrecking ball.  And she lost a bunch of teeth.
 Little One has dealt with all of these things in the Little-One-est way possible; with grace, resilience, and cheerfulness.  Little One, surrounded by challenges, peers out onto a horizon of endless mountains and sees a grand adventure in each one.  Her first instinct on facing any steep terrain in life is to find a foothold and start climbing.
As my little girl begins truly to grow up, Her innate drive to Try Hard is something I find so beautiful and inspiring in Her.  It's this adventurous, open-hearted spirit and willingness to go through the struggle of something new that has brought Her through to being a seven-year old who seems to excel at everything She tries.  It's because She tries, and tries, and tries again until She gets it.  I might want to be like Her when I grow up.  In the last year, Little One has covered a lot of ground.  She has:

- Done well in school, and been accepted into the accelerated STEM program at the magnet school that is practically in Siberia it's such an long bus ride from Her mother.  Ahem.

-Become a self-described "book addicted person", consuming books like a flame.  In the last year she has read the entire magic treehouse series, fairy series (good riddance), and most of encyclopedia brown, in addition to stacks and stacks of others.  She usually gets about 20 from the library each week, and burns right through them.

- Started gymnastics for fun and was invited to team-track.  Last week She completed a gym right-of-passage and climbed 20 feet of rope to stick Her name tag on the ceiling!

- Become super interested in robotics, and for Her birthday asked for "small motors, lithium batteries, and lots of scotch tape".

-Begun cooking meals and baking all by Herself.

- Gotten pretty good on Her bike, though not yet ready to let go of training wheels.

-Managed to keep in touch with friends from Her old school, and also make great new friends on the bus and at Her new school.

-Moved forward in swimming and with Her grandad's coaching learned to dive.

-Been a flower girl in both Her aunts' lovely weddings!

-Taught Her brother the alphabet song, and also how to Cha Cha slide.

-Grown tall enough to ride some of the rides at a theme park

-Taken good care of Her fish.

-Eaten probably several metric tons of sushi.  (should I not have put those last two in a row?)

-Realized that Her parents are not perfect (that one stings a little)

-Loved us anyways (at least so far).

-Loved all of us, actually.  All of of us in the immediate and extended family, neighborhood, and basically the world.  She loves the whole world.  She wants to take care of all the everyone.

Her Loves and Not-Loves:

Loves:
Sushi
Seaweed in any form
Japanese food in general
Hot Dogs/Tofu Dogs/anything called dog that gets ketchup on it
Home made bread and honey
French Onion soup
Ethiopian food
Brussel sprouts
Sugar.

Reading
Robotics
Pokeman (because the bus kids play)
Anything that ends with Her covered in mud
Traveling/visiting new places
Learning about Anything
Making Mister Laugh
Art projects and pretend with Missy
Chasing the boys
Riding the bus
Dancing
Cooking (French Onion soup is Her specialty)
Vegan Baking (Brownie Pie is Her top recipe)
Riding Her bike
Being altogether silly
Pigtails
Headbands
Sparkles/ruffles/fancy shiny anything
Sleeping/snuggling with Her sister

Not So Much
Mushrooms
Bell Peppers
The idea of cheese or eggs.  The look and smell and existence of them.
Sitting at the Peanut-free table at school
Missing Her dog
When Little siblings don't get the memo about Her being In Charge
The "frog" stretch at gymnastics
Playing with dolls/barbies
Scary movies or stories
Lights Out at bedtime (She would read until midnight)
Sleeping/snuggling with Her sister

Little One at seven alternates between being curled up reading, practically in a coma She's so still and  quiet and unaware of the rest of the world, and being a whirling top, cartwheeling through the living room, dancing in the kitchen, creating utopian worlds in the backyard with Missy, constructing 4-foot cardboard robots all over the basement, and asking ALL. the. questions.  About ALL the things.

She's at a fragile stage of growing up, wondering aloud if there's really such a thing as a tooth fairy, but not daring to think about applying the same logic to Santa.  She wants the freedom to wear Her crazy mis-matched outfits and to ride Her bike beyond our line of sight, but still wants cuddles and lullabies before bed.  She's beyond wanting us to read to Her, but still likes to read right beside us.  She thinks She should watch these movies Her friends talk about, like Star Wars and Jurassic Park, but hides behind me when Bambi's forrest catches fire.  Sometimes in gymnastics I watch Her, steadily stepping along the high-beam, and it feels familiar.  She's walking the line between a Little Kid and a Big Kid.

Knowing how close that era of Her life (and ours) is now, it's impossible not to look ahead, as a mom, and go breathless with the wonders and worries of the more complex years ahead.  But being around Little One helps me to keep from panicking.  Hanging out and chatting with Her, it's hard to imagine She could ever not be sweet, fun, and fantastic.  When I'm with Her, I see all those challenges ahead in the Big Kid years for what they are through the Little One lens- adventures waiting to be taken on and made into successes.  Mountains waiting to be climbed.

Seven on the Seventh.  A golden birthday! Happy, happy birthday Little One, my golden little girl.  We love you so much, and love going through all your grand adventures with you.  May you always climb with such strength.   

Not Breaking The Internet

C:"time for dinner! We are having daddy's famous chickpea masala!"

Littles:"yay!"

Then Little One gets all teenagery and rolls her eyes. She deadpans: "famous? It's not famous."

C: "well, sure it is!"

LO:"is it on a website?"

***crickets***

LO:"yeah. Didn't think so. Not famous." 

But Her Vocabulary Is Progressing Well

The miracle of learning to read is an altogether different experience with Little Miss.
She wants to be able to read.  Secretly.  She practices and tries- when no one is watching.  She is learning, slowly, but it is not. yo. business.  
So.  Practicing together takes patience.  She gets frustrated, She says She gives up, She huffs and puffs and wriggles around.
But She reads.
So tonight we practiced.  It was brilliant, watching what She can do- if She will.  When we finished, She went to bed frustrated that She'd had to try so hard, and mad at me for sending Her to bed (an hour past bedtime) instead of next reading to Her.
But Miss is so extremely practical.  She wants to know the reasons for things.  Once She deems them necessary, they will be done.  So as I tucked Her in I tried to explain to Her the magic of reading.

"When you know how to read, you can do ANYthing!  You want to fly? You can read about how to become a pilot or how to build an airplane! If you want to go down under the ocean and meet an octopus, you can read and learn how to become a diver, and where to find an octopus.  If you want... (searching for something relevant to Her interests)...if you want 50 cats, you can read all about how to take care of cats, and-"

Miss can't take it anymore.  She interrupts, Her fists clenched, Her eyes piercing: "Arg! FIFTY cats? FIFTY?! UGH! Mom- that's WUH-DIC-A-LUS!"

I can say nothing.  I mean.  She's right.

Missy: "Fifty cats. Theh would be no woom foh anyone. Wu-dic-a-lus."

And She rolled over and went to sleep.  

Bad Blood

A benefit to writing your own story is you get to be the hero if you want!  Which, of course, I do.  SuperC! Saving the day by changing the baby with one hand and sticking a bandaid on the preschooler with the other, while answering the gradeschooler's questions about why a / is used to denote fractions.  Tum-ta-da!

But every good hero has nemeses. One of mine, is Kidzbop.  

This diabolical entity is many things.  But in my life it takes the form of a Pandora station that plays all the crap pop songs you have never heard of because you are not a 12 year old girl, and then plays them in re-mixes performed by Alvin and the bleeping Chipmunks.  

I have Little One's Kindergarten teacher to thank for this monstrosity.  Apparently, she liked to play it in the afternoons and let the kids dance around to such educational gems as "all about that base".  The Disneyfied version.  She let Little One set it up, so Little One knows all about how to get Kidzbop on any device.  And She is. OBSESSED.  

It is all Kidzbop, all day.  Every. Day.  And so, SO loud.  

In my effort not to already be the curmudgeonly older generation (too much) I mostly try to just plaster on my haunted grin, and bear it.  Though sometimes it feels a little like the CIA is probably playing a joke on me, spying to see how long it will be until I crack under the torture.  

Sometimes I get into it and dance along. But really, guys, as a general thing?  

Chipmunks singing Katy Perry??? Why????

Every time I think I win a battle against this villain, playing something else, or hiding the iPad, it's little minions find a way to blast it again. 

Last month I arrived in Ethiopia, allllll the way across the world, in a place where there is no Pandora.  No Spotify.  No iAnything.  No Kidzbop! And what do I see. 

 I CAN'T ESCAPE!

Both Sisters are into this stuff.  

But at least I have my uncorrupted baby. 

Last night, I was washing Little Mister in the tub.  He started singing. 

Mr: "ya wa ga baaaah bod! ya wa ga baaaaah bod!"

He's so cute! Right?  So cute, all innocent and tiny, singing in His sweet little voice in the tub.  Singing His cute little made-up song.  

His sisters hear Him and start giggling.  A little too something, those giggles.  

They clap for Him and say, "Yes! Yes that's right!"

Then they start signing.  They start singing: "baby now we got bad blood you know we used to be bad love..."  

And I realized my sweet baby was singing some violent, angry, girl-drama Taylor Swift song.  

He learned Bad Blood before the ABCs.  I die.  

Kidzbop Strikes again.    

Baby You're A Firework

 For Independence Day, we celebrated with all the standard stuff.  Picnics, bounce castles, popsicles.  Construction paper flags, big band music, and glow sticks.
Documentary videos and books about the history of the declaration of independence, of America, and fireworks.  And of course, fireworks.
I think this might be the first year Little Miss has stayed awake long enough to see any.  Since last year we were all sleeping by the time the sky lit up, it was also Little Mister's first encounter.
He was amazed.  At first, He jumped and held onto me like we might all be about to blow up, and looked at me like, "whatintheholyheckmom!" But when He saw that I wasn't in a panic, He settled in to watch (from the safety of my lap).
He kept pointing up at the display and saying, "Color! Color-color! Color! Nice."  
Nature celebrated with us, too, as a big orange harvest moon climbed up through the lights.  It was as amazing as the fireworks.  Mister pointed- "Ball!" He asked for it.  "Ball! Please?" 
Oh my Mister.  If only I could fetch you the moon, I would.
Luckily, the whole point of the holiday is that you are lucky enough to belong to a country in which you have the freedom to chase any dream you choose.  If you want to shoot for the moon? Have a ball.

Miss Magic

On our way home from a day trip, Little Miss pipes up in the backseat.

Missy: "Mommy? You know I think I am little bit magic.  I think I have some magic in me, in my inside me.  Buh-cause, you know what?" 

C: "wow, tell me!"

Miss: "Well.  When I'm sometimes tired, even I'm too tired to try foh being magic, still when I'm tired, sometimes, my own eyes just... Close. All by theh-selfs."

C: "They do?  Well that is pretty cool."

Miss (in a voice of awe): "Yes.  Mommy.  Isn't that a little bit of...a miracle? I think.... I think it might be a little miracle."  

Summer Vacation

Little Miss:  "So, now that school is ovah, foh me and foh sistah, it's summahtime.  Right?"

C: "Yes!"

LM: "So, that means that Daddy gets to stop wohking too!!!"

C: "Oh! Nooo, he has to keep working sweetie.  All summer."

Dead silence.

Miss: "But. But.  But....so...when does he finish?"

C: "finish working?  you mean for the day?"

Miss: "No when does he FINISH.  When will he finish his big job, so he can STOP wohking!"

C: "He can't love.  He has to keep working.  All the way till you're a grown up!"

Lots of stunned silence.  Contorted faces of disappointment and outrage at the injustice of the world.

Miss: "Well.  It would be bettah, you know.  If he just could wohk on-y on the days I go to gymnastics."

C: "You'd like it better if Daddy only worked on Saturdays?"

Miss(grumbling): "YES!  At LEAST for the summah."


Well.  J gets no such luck.  In fact, he will be working almost all the hours this summer on some difficult rotations.  Sorry J.  But for the rest of us, it's summer!  We are celebrating.  The Littles have been staying up late catching fireflies, playing until they must be revived by popsicle, swimming, playing with friends, and checking out all the books from the library.  Mister can't believe His luck.  Sisters are with Him all the time!  

Knock-knock Jokester

Little Mister has finally come around to reading.  He now LOVES to be read to, or to toddle Himself into His room, shut the door, and spend ages pulling books off shelves and leaving through them.
Or maybe He's just in there searching for the right one.  Because He does have absolute favorites, and He won't put up with any grown-ups trying to waste His time on boring stuff like "goodnight moon", and for sure will not be having any Sisters try to rope Him into a Fancy Nancy.  ANYthing but Fancy Nancy!
His current absolute, we've-read-it-10,000-times-and-it's-looking-haggard book is "Go Dog, Go".  He has some of the pages memorized now, and starts waving at the characters before I read the text- "goodbye, goodbye".  He also likes "Llama, Llama, Red Pajamas", an occasional board book, and "The Wonderful Sounds Mr. Brown Can Do."
One of the sounds Mr. Brown can do, in case you wondered, is he can sound like a hand on a door.  Knock Knock.
When I read it, I rap on the back of the book to make a knocking sound (I'm not as wonderful as Mr. Brown), which is hilarious.  It has, in fact, become Little Mister's signature joke.  If He's feeling silly, He will get your attention, knock on something, and then- haha! wait for it!- look at you all goofy and expectantly, waiting for you to laugh.
Before bed we read, we rock, we snuggle.  And then He reaches waaay over to the crib and knocks.  I'm supposed to say, "Knock knock? Who's there?" and he screams with laughter, sometimes until He cries.  Sometimes, we've been knocking and laughing a long time, and finally I kiss His silly cheek and settle Him into bed.  He laughs Himself to sleep.

Superbowling

Superbowl-pajama party.  Double win!

The day before Superbowl, we had a fun but very busy day- we were jetting from one activity to another for 12 hours.  So on Sunday, we really didn't feel like getting back on the road. Mister was practically threatening revolt if He had to miss one more nap.  But we still wanted to have all the most important elements of a good Superbowl party:  chips, dips, game, good company.

So we decided to throw our own family Superbowl party!  

For dinner we had nachos (Little One's thanks to daiya vegan cheese), chips, raw veggies, and lots of home-made dips.  The Sisters thought it was about the most awesome thing ever.  

Missy was unimpressed by the football ("They don't even SAY anything.  They jus' run AWOUND.  This is a boh-ring movie")  but She sat and watched, and waited for the halftime show.  

And then fell fast asleep during the commercial break before the halftime show, and missed it.  

Little One has long liked to watch football, and She was super into the game.  She didn't like the commercials, but loved the football, and the halftime show (during Missy Elliot- "I don't know what they call this dance- but I. LOVE. IT!) and, also, the chips.  

She almost made it to the end of the game, but got too tired.  

Little One: "How much more of the game is there?" 

C: "Well we are in the 3rd quarter, and - how many quarters in a whole?"

LO: "In a what?"

C: "A whole. How many quarters do you need for a whole?"

LO: "What?! You don't need any quarters for a whole. All you need is a shovel!" 

Always

C: "Little One, can you turn on the light?" 

LO: "Um, sure, I think so mom."

She reaches, it's too far.  

She hops.  She jumps.  

Again and again, throwing Herself up the wall with Her fingers stretched waaaaaay up, trying to hit the switch.  

She's six, but She's little.  She's still so little, and the light switch is just too high.  

I watch Her a few more times, then offer, 

"Little One, would you like a little help with it?" 

She doesn't slow down.  She's jumping with all Her might now, running out of breath.  

"Just-a, few-more, times, mama-"

"Ok, love, no hurry.  Just let me know."

I look on as She jumps again.  Five times, ten. Twenty? I don't know how many.  

Then-  

She gets it.  

The light flashes on.  

She stops, panting, Her hands on Her hips, beaming as bright as the bulbs.  

I'm grinning too.  

"You did it!!"

Little One smiles, She wiggles Her hips in a little victory dance and chants, 

"Always believe in your self."

This is  one of the most beautiful things about being a parent.  Getting to witness these little moments, these trivial things, that are not little or trivial at all.  

Miss-isms

Little Miss girl-with-a-curl is approaching four.
This is terrible, because before my very eyes the last traces of babyness are evaporating like drops of water on a hot skillet.  Strangely, despite the fact that She is my middle child, Missy is still sort of "The Baby" in my heart.  It may be Her so-sensitive nature, it may be the high tonnage of cuddles Her soul continues to require.  I don't know.  But the idea of Little Miss growing up is particularly difficult to wrap my brain around.
Nonetheless, it's happening, and fast.  The change in Her even in just the last couple of months is drastic.  Because, the wonderful thing about Miss approaching Four is that She is blooming.
She is stepping out from behind my leg to smile and chat with people.  Even strangers (sometimes)!
She is learning to go with the flow a little more.  Most importantly, She has grown in confidence.
A lot of this has to do with Her great pride in being a big sister.  Some of it has to do with Little One encouraging Her as much as She does.  I think it also comes from having found some things that She is good at, and really enjoys.
Gymnastics class has been a great asset to Missy.  She surprised us all by loving it so much, and it seems to be an activity that suits Her abilities and interest really well.
Her other great passion is Art.  I suppose it always has been, but now that She's in school She has the opportunity to paint, in several mediums, every day.  And boy does She.  Her teachers are lovely montessori teachers, and have a fondness for the intensity of Little Miss's love and careful thoughtfulness when She paints, so they encourage Her.  She is a prolific painter.
We use the large ones for gift-wrap, the smaller ones for greeting cards.  I've saved some favorites.  And still, we could wallpaper with it.  At home, She draws, colors, and journals every day.  Sometimes for hours.
Today when She got home from school I asked Her to choose any activity She liked for us to do together while Mister napped.  She wanted to "cuddle under a blanket and you can watch me draw in my journal".  So we did.  Each page had an elaborate story to go with the illustrations. Her imagination is wild and wonderful.
And Her artistry isn't limited to art- it's a part of Her, it comes out through the way She talks.
Missy can be reserved, but She's anything but cheap on words.  A few examples:

Miss comes shopping with me for a new dress.
C: "What do you think of this one, Missy?"
Miss: "Uh, well, uh.  Well.  It's prettyah than a rusty old car."

C: "I'd like to button up your coat.  Are you a little chilly?"
Miss: "Oh! I am! I'm  cold- coldah than ice! Coldah than snow!  My hands is feezing icicles and my toes is moh frozen than a shivah-ry lake of frozen ice!" 

C: "Hey guys! It's snack time! Would anyone like a snack?" 
Miss: "Me! I am hungry-ah than a barbarian." 

C: "I love you, Missy."
Miss: "Oh, most loviest Mama.  I love you too!  You ah the best mommy.  You.  You ah nicer than a cruel stepmothah. OR a wicked witch."

Vitamitzvah

C: "Little One! What are you doing up on the counter?"

Little One: "Getting our vitamins.  We finished breakfast."

C: "O...k.  But you need Mommy's help to open the containers.  So hang on minute, please." 

Little One shrugs: "It's ok, Mom.  I got it."

C: "They're child-proof, love.  That means that-"

Little One expertly pops the lids off.

C: "Um.  Who taught you how to do that?!"

Little One looks at me almost piteously and shakes Her head.

"Oh, Mom.  You know, I can read now."

She smiles at my blank stare and pats my shoulder, as if consoling a small child.

" Look here- 'push down and turn right'.  Want me ta show you how?"

I guess we can skip the sweet 16 party.  Apparently, once one can read, they are no longer a 'child'.

Prayrers

Getting ready to tuck the Sisters into bed, Little Miss informs me:

Miss: "Mommy.  You don't have to say foh me a prayrer, buh-cause I already sayed myself foh prayrers ah-ready." 

C: "Wow, you said four prayers.  What did you pray for, Love?"

Miss (sits up to look at me squarely, that I may better grasp the gravity of the revelations She is about to bestow upon me.  She holds up Her index finger:) "One: I prayered foh me- a hot dog."

C: "You prayed for... for a hot dog."

Miss: "Yes. (She holds Her hands out wide to demonstrate) A BIG one." 

C: "Ok.  Well, so.  You had four prayers; what else did you pray for?"

Miss holds Her hand up and ticks off Her topics of appeal to Her creator:
"Two.  A prayrer foh some must-ahd.  Thwee. Foh pickuh welish.  And foh- some ketchup."  

I have a weird feeling that what I serve Her for lunch tomorrow may have an unusual significance. 

What Are The Chances

Little One: "Bye Mama! Where are you goin'"?

C: "To yoga. Who wants hugs and kisses?"

Missy (cheerfully hugs, kisses, waves to me as I walk out): "Buh-bye mama! Have 'nice time! I hope you don't get hit by laht-ning!"

Little Life Plans

Little One: "Mommy? I'm worried."

C: "Why?"

LO: "Well, when I grow up, I want to be FOUR things, a scientist, a baby-catcher*, a person what discovers and digs up dinosaur bones, and a gymnastics teacher.  But! How can I do all the four things, if I have to be there at the same time?"

Miss: "Well.  When I go up, I wahnt to wah-tuh plants.  And I want take cay-uh foh Little Mistah."

LO: "Ok but, you know Miss, when you are a growed up, Little Mister will probably be a growed up. Or even a teenager."

Miss: "Ooooohhh.  Oh, no.  OH. NO!  If He's a teenage-ah, then I can't sing sweetly to Him!"

C: "Sure you can, Miss. You can sing whenever you want to a'course."

Miss: "Yeah no.  I don't want to.  A-stead I will go up to be a bea-ah.  On'y, I don't want to have claws.  I on'y want to have some fingahs."

C: "You want to grow up to be a bear.  With fingers."

Miss: "Yeah!  Hmm.  Or! Or if I can't go up to be that, I think, I want go up to be Daddy."

LO: "Ooh, Miss.  That's a good one."  

All Drains Lead To The Ocean

Little Miss (holding Her tummy and looking a bit concerned): "Mommy, is theh fishes swimming around inside my body?"

C: "What?"

Miss: "From when we ate the sah-mon last night. Is the fishes swimming in theh?"

C: "Oh. No Missy, that salmon is gone now, love.  Your body absorbed it and turned it into energy!  Isn't that cool?"

Little One: "Pffft.  Turned it into the toilet you mean." 

Missy: "Oooohh.  Like Nemo."  

Made A Man Out Of Me

Pandora was playing this song from Disney's Mulan.  The phrase "I'll make a man out of you" is repeated often.  Not my favorite song, but whatever.  Background music.  Little One, though, if there's music on She's always listening.
She started to giggle.

LO: "Hee hee.  Mama.  You've already made a man out of YOU!" 

C: "What?! I'm very happy to be a tough strong lady, thank you!"

LO: "No, no.  Hee hee.  'Cause guess what?   Little Mister is a man and you made Him out of you! Haha! Made a man out of you! Get it?"

First Days- For Those Of Us Left Behind

 I have been asked if there were any tears on the first day of kindergarten.
From Little One: Please.  The girl was like a chihuahua on pixie stix She was so excited to be there.  Walking up to the teeming masses before the bell rang, She admitted, "I am a little scared, Mom.  But I'm pretty brave.  So it's ok."  Other than that moment, She was all smiles.
No tears from me, either.  You read right! Because:
Miss had enough sadness for us all.  For Her, the trauma was multifaceted; She lost Her best friend, being left behind in both a physical and metaphorical sense, and preschool doesn't start for another week and a half.  Which is, I'm told, "Impinity" years away (three-year-old time).
To lessen the blow a little bit, I tried to talk up how great it will be for us to have all this time together in the mornings, just us two (and a half. Mister naps, so He only gets a half), and I told Her that on the first day, we could do ANYTHING SHE WANTED.  ANYthing.  Go to the zoo, out for ice cream, a museum, swimming, whatever She wanted to do.  I braced myself to hear what crazy thing She would come up with.  She's got a good imagination.
Here's Her choice:  To stay home and play together in the playroom with toys.
So we did.  We played with airplanes, princesses, dress-up dolls, and an aircraft carrier.  We played pretend.  And, because it's Missy, we cleaned everything up as we went, and we also played "orga-zizing" games.  Here are the animals, orga-zized into flying, walking, and swimming.

 I think it's interesting how She so instantly and definitively categorized the ducks and geese, and not always into the same pile.  The snake got it's own pile, because, as She explained, "it on-y sliss-ahs."
After Mister woke up, I talked Her into a picnic at a new playground and She loved it.

A tractor drive right onto the playground, and a couple of deer walked by as well, so there was plenty of excitement.  Without the shadow of Her big sister, She was unusually chatty with strangers who said hello, and was so proud to be the one that got to show off baby brother and list all the ages of the kids in the family.  On the way to pick Little One up, She even said She wanted Little One to go to school another day so we could have more "fun things wif us".  In the last two days, we've baked cookies together, played games, read stories, worked in the garden together, and even just cuddled on the couch.  Each day, I offer any outing of Her choice, and so far She'd rather just hang out at home.  This morning we read for two hours, played chutes and ladders, and then as I pushed Her on the backyard swing, She sighed, "Oh, Mama.  Isn't it just so. nice. and. PEACEFUL. I love this a bazillion."  I love it.  I love Her appreciation for the simple; how many of us never get it?  I love the wisdom beyond Her years (and maybe mine) for Her to know that we will have more real, quality time, if we just stay somewhere quiet, the two of us, and be together.  I have truly enjoyed these few mornings with my middlest baby.  As much as I'm looking forward to Her getting to go to school and begin making Her own friends and Her own way in the bigger world, I'm also really treasuring these days.  In which She's the teacher, and I'm the student.