From Baby to Boy With A Bang

I was doing dishes while Mr napped.  Suddenly I heard Him singing.  I smiled.  He does that all the time, just wakes up and entertains Himself with His own personalized soundtrack for awhile before calling me to get Him up.  But then I stopped smiling and got a dumb confused look on instead.  Because why did He sound so close?  And getting closer?
I stepped out into the living room, and there He was.

C: "Mister! How did you get out of your crib? You're supposed to be napping!" 

Mr: "Well now, Mommy. I counted, a 10. 9-8-7-6-5-4-3-2-1, and count a 1-2-3. And that's a long TIME, a long of SECONDS, and is ENOUGH napping, and well, Mommy. I just a busy guy. Got some trucks here."

And just like that he went off to make a train out of trucks.  
I knew it was the end of an era, but I didn't realize how serious it was.  
Because that night, I put Him in bed like always, and like always He pulled the blankets up to His chin, rolled over onto His side, and went to sleep.  Maybe it was a one time thing.
But later, the peace of the morning was shattered, sort of literally, by the sound of a huge crash, something glass smashing, and then, after the briefest vacuum of silence (all parents know the terror of this moment), the hysterical screaming of my son.  
Peanuts you can believe I was on my feet and across the house before my brain had even fully registered those sounds.  
There are moments (many while driving in DC traffic) in which I have to believe in guardian angels, because nothing else can explain the miraculous escape from injury.  This was totally one of those times.  
Little Mister rose from the midst of epic wreckage like a giant at the end of a good smiting.  There were broken shards of green, a storm of pennies and quarters, and scattered random keys and little things.  Oh.  And an iPad.  
Mister had awakened first, let Himself out of bed, and wandered out of His room to spy an iPad sitting on the high shelf over our entry table.  It was up there, of course, to be out of sight, out of mind, out of reach.
He pushed a big chair over to the table, climbed up, and must have stood on His very tip-toes on that narrow table to reeeeaaaaaach for His prize.  Something went wrong there, because the iPad, the shelf, the Boy, and the big ceramic dish full of change all took a big leap into the arms of gravity and hit the linoleum by the front door.  Pennies for miles.  Pennies for days.  Pennies in places we didn't know we could find pennies. 
And that dish.  J and I got that dish in a small village outside Budapest, on one of the best trips we've ever had.  I kept it over the doorway so I could see it throughout the day.  It reminded me of a beautiful, peaceful place, and a time when J and I were so happy there was actual bliss going on, guys.   It was our first trip as parents on our own, such a wonderful adventure we promised ourselves we'd do one every year.  
Well, we modified that promise due to Life.  But the dish stayed the same, and was a special piece of proof that the whole dream really happened.  Also, it was really pretty.  
Still, as I looked at the splinters of it while folding my crying son into my lap, all I could be was thankful that the dish got broken, and not Little Mister.  He somehow emerged without a scratch or bruise.  
Somethings can't be replaced, like intrepid little boys who try to steal illicit material while their parents are sleeping.  
I can't exactly replace that hand-thrown dish either.  But as I swept up the pieces, I called to mind all the memories of our trip and tried to tuck them into my mind somewhere they won't get lost.  The memories don't mean less because their icon is gone.  Honestly, I would have kept that dish.  It would have been one of the things that would be too hard not to keep.  But life and Mister did it for me.  Thanks for the assist guys!
As for that Mister, He won the freedom of His Big Boy Bed.  Sometimes He wakes up ready for action in the wee hours and terrorizes us by jumping on our heads or pitter-pattering up and down the hall at 3am. But for the most part, He just sleeps. Like the big two-year old boy He is, somehow and all the sudden.  
So. I had this pretty Hungarian ceramic.  I had this little baby, this last little baby, sleeping in a crib.  
I let them go.  

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.

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.

Birthday

Yep.  I had one.  

It was kind of hard to tell, at first.  Since J worked like 12 hours that day, and I spent it cleaning bathrooms and organizing the basement and covering my ears and rocking back and forth signing REALLY LOUDLY to drown out all the WHINING from the kids who were stuck in the house due to a mosquito invasion of apocalyptic proportions, and neglected due to the bathroom scrubbing and basement cleaning.  

As a special treat there was the insurance adjuster who came to assess my birthday present this year, which will be a new car door, seeing as how I smashed the other one into a wall.  Tricky, those walls! He knew it was my birthday, so he brought me a back-scratcher shaped like a bear claw.  Er.  Thanks..

He also tried to give me the gift of "hey, you're not that old" by giving me his number, and repeatedly telling me to call and text him, but not to tell my husband.  Or to tell him about the back-scratcher either.  And if he were my man, he wouldn't be mad at me for wrecking the car.  ('Don't tell your husband I said that').  And then after he left, he sent a few text messages and then came back, texting me from the driveway to ask if he could come in and borrow some duct tape.  Really? At which point I directed him to the furthest hardware store and went back to the basement, where it was less creepy.

The Sisters wanted to throw me a "party", which means they got out every piece of everything and flung it around the room, draping beads and scarves and, ahem, my bras ("they're so fancy!") from the furniture and lamps and taping stuff to the walls.  

Then, while I tried to wrestle a two-ton angry crocodile (or maybe it was Mister, hard to tell which was what that day) into a nap, Sisters decided to bake me a cake.  I guess the floor in there was white anyways, so whats a bunch of flour and sugar and stuff? Right?!

The whole gang of them wanted in on decorating it, too, so we got out- the sprinkles. Which, all the moms who shuddered upon reading that know, are almost as bad as glitter.  

J had offered to bring a birthday dinner home, but he got stuck at work until after bedtime, and couldn't text me until the children were already gnawing on their own elbows they were so hungry.  So it was microwaved tofu-dogs and freezer peas for dinner.  And wine.  For me. 

I re-wrestled the crocodile into bed, and stopped at the door to chuckle.  

Because I mean.  

This day.

This day guys! 

Then, guess what?

I walked back to the dining room, where I'd left the sisters finishing their dinners, and there they were. Grinning. With such a beautiful chocolate brownie cake, a banner that said "happy birthday mommy we love you so so so so much", a stack of handmade cards, and two gloriously decorated boxes.  

They sang to me.  

We had cake, and I opened the boxes, which they had apparently been hiding under their beds for weeks.  They were filled with little treasures.  

We chatted and laughed and I was showered in hugs and kisses.  

It was the best birthday ever.  

It was the first time that my children, all on their own, threw me a birthday celebration.  They worked hard and they did it because they love me.  

I realize that as I've aged and grown another year, so have they.  There has begun a great tectonic shift beneath the surface of our relationship, a change by which now, and more and more from now until forever, I not only take care of my children, but they take care of me, too.  

My children have always saved me, taught me, and brought me joy.  But now, they do it on purpose. 

On my birthday I realized, there is certainly a gift in that.  

Bus Crash

I took the Little two to check-ups.
We'd spent a long day out in a park with friends, Mister had missed exactly one point five naps, and lunch, and was playing on the giant school bus in the waiting room when we were called back.  He could not be enticed to leave the huge steering wheel, so I fetched him.
As He wriggled and complained, I stooped to get through the doorway of the bus.  My heel caught on a frayed bit of carpet on the top step.  And, if you'd like to imagine how I fell, you should be thinking to yourself "tiiiiimmmbeeeeerrrrrrr!" as you watch me fully fly off the steps, with Mister in arms, and eat it.  In the middle of the packed waiting room.
Now.  If you are going to massively fail in this epic manner and fall, crashing into the wooden armchairs, and crack your kids head open and break his leg (which, incidentally, I do not recommend), it can be said that the best place for this to happen, if it has to, would be a pediatrics waiting room.
Because crowds of people will SHREIK with compassion and rush up around you, office staff and nurses and medical technicians will come rushing en force, and multiple doctors will be ripped away from their duties and thrust upon you to assess your emergency.
However.  IF you are going to massively fail in this manner as fall, as above, while instinctively cocooning your baby in a scooped-out hollow of your thoracic cavity which you didn't even know you had, so that despite the epicness of the fall He is FINE- which I don't recommend either- I can tell you.  The actual worst place for this to happen is the peds waiting room.
Because people will SCREAM and SHRIEK and began squealing in Spanish "His face! His Face! It broke His Face! AAHHH! THE BABY'S FACE!!!" Which only adds to the confusion as the office staff which has also rushed over starts yelling at random people, "what? What's she saying?!" who throw up their hands "I dunno! I dunno but she saw it she knows what happened and the kid is hurt!" At which point the nurses flock and the doctors are wrenched from their patients and thrust upon you to make sure your baby, who didn't get hurt but did get scared, is really, totally, fully, and exquisitely FREAKED OUT.  Because "WHO-are-all-these-crazy-people-and-why-are-they-screaming-in-my-face-and-touching-me-and-shining-lights-into-my-eyes-I-want-to-drive-the-bus".
And then, because He bit His tongue a tiny bit (so tiny they couldn't even find the cut when they SEARCHED HIS MOUTH for it later- oh He loved that)- and one single drop of blood appeared at the corner of His mouth- Baby's Face Woman starts again shrieking "His Blooding His blooding!!!!" and Her family member has to help her to her chair and the whole thing revs back up.
Mister and I had to have full examinations.  We had to be checked for concussions.  We had to sit for 15 minutes and be monitored.  You know what an over-tired toddler who just got His bus stolen from Him and is not happy with these crazy people does NOT want to do?  Sit for 15 minutes and be monitored.  So He would get up and run towards the open door, and I would chase Him down and bring Him back to the Chair Of Shame.  And He would cry.  Because He wants. the. bus.
And the nurses would hear Him cry and come running- Is He ok?! Did He fall again?? Is He hurt?!
Little Miss, meanwhile, is doing Her absolute best to actually disappear into the corner, because She wants NONE of that loco.  Our doctor was out, so we saw a new lady, who gave us an extra-thorough examination because, frankly, I think she doubted my capacity.  And then, we headed over to immunizations.  But that's another story.  

News From The Ark

Well hello there.
It seems that every time I post here, I start out with some iteration of "it's been a long time".
It's like a person who loves to cook grand, multi-course meals, whose life speeds up so fast they realize one day they've had nothing but drive-through take-out for months.
Me, I like to write overly involved stories about things that are important to me, trying to preserve these gorgeous, fleeting moments, but it's come to a point around here that Instagram is about as good as it gets.
But the busy cook-at-heart would surely stay up late stirring spices into a pot from time to time, for the sake of remembering who they are, right?  And now and then, even though I should be doing other things, I pop in around here.
Hey.  It's been a long time!
But we're all still around.
This has been a rough year in some ways.  In the last six months, we lost J's remaining grandparent.  And his father, unexpectedly.  We lost my Nana, as I've mentioned.  And then, just a week later, my grandfather.  My grandaddy was a really, really important and special person to me.  I think I just shut down for awhile.  But I'm just carrying on, as we do, and missing him quietly.
We have also been adjusting to not only having J in residency (with the erratic, stressful schedule that entails) and having me go back to work (from home, mostly, with the erratic, stressful schedule that entails), but doing both at once.  We've had some struggles with Little One and school, plus, you know, Life.  Waah wahhh wahh.
The last year almost, it's felt like our little family was sailing through a storm.  We hunkered down, getting tossed around and soaked and bumping our heads on the rafters and just riding it out.
But, slowly (and with the help of J's parents and my mom, bless them), we've adjusted ballast so that, even though it's still windy out there, we've got a pretty even keel and strong sea legs.  Balance.
I returned from a trip to Ethiopia just in time for the last week of school, and all that fun and chaos. Little One had one more snow-day-make-up on today, and now we are FREE for the summer.  Freeeeeeeee!
It is possible that this change will knock me sideways again for awhile, but I have to admit I am incredibly excited to have long days spread before me with all my littles home.
Here are a few updates on those little monkeys, since it's been awhile:

Little One
Well for one thing, She lost another tooth tonight.  The growing up just will. not. stop.  It's crazy.
Little One has had a great year at school with friends, and a rough year with the learning part, but She handled all of it like a star.  I'm so proud of the way She has faced Her challenges and been a good friend and not stopped hugging me goodbye at drop-off yet.  She might be a little boy crazy.  But this is not really new.

Miss
Missy has traveled light years in Her ability to express Herself and handle Her emotions.  She is still our drama queen, no doubt. But She's able to reassure Herself that the world is not actually ending if She can't find Her favorite shoes.  She was the darling of Her preschool teachers, who really truly will never believe that I could call Her dramatic or accuse Her of refusing to get dressed for school in the morning, leading to Her arrival at school in nothing (I mean nothing) but a bathrobe.  She painted Her way through preschool, but somehow learned to read. It's because She quietly notices everything. She's the most cuddly, loving, kissy Little of all time, and also hilarious.  Mostly on purpose.

Little Mister
This guy.  He has his moments.  Moments in which He is hangry, and then gets frustrated, and reacts by throwing Himself backwards with all His might, whacking His head on the floor, and then, every time, freezes for a moment- in complete shock, as if it's never happened before- and then cries because, you know.  THAT HURTS.  In those moments I can only look at Him blankly and wonder if maybe I drank heavily during pregnancy and forgot about it.  But most of the time, most of it, He is sweet and fun and adorable.  He talks all the time, constantly, and we are realizing that He is actually saying stuff.  We can make a lot of it out now, and He's pretty funny.  He loooooovves His sisters.  He loves raisins.  And shoes.  And, ok, all the things.  He loves all things.  Except the ones He can't have.  Those things are WAHHHHHAAAAHHH!  Lucky for Him, with two doting Sisters wrapped around His pinky, there aren't a lot of those.

J
Not a Little.  But he counts right?!  I hear he's doing fine.  If you see him, you can ask.  I'll have to take your word for it.  Kidding, kidding.  Sort of.  J is working long hours and long weeks.  But he's still making time to be superdad, and I'm trying to accept the extra housework and kid-wrangling he's been picking up lately as we adjust that ballast.  It's funny how difficult it can be for a person who considers herself to be a feminist to allow someone else to do the laundry.  I just bite my tongue really hard, and breathe deeply in a quiet place for awhile repeating, "it's ok that he sorted into only two piles. If they all turn out pink I can buy all new clothes. Let it go. Let it goooo".   That Frozen movie song really applies to mis-sorted laundry.  Which never turns out pink.  He's basically a champ.

Me
Well I have a laundry problem, clearly.  But I'm thankful that J is so supportive of the new balance we are finding as a family.  I'm thankful to have a job I believe in that I can do without hiring help with my Littles, and that our moms step in at crucial times when I otherwise would have had to hire help.  And I'm especially thankful for this time when my Littles are all going to be with me all day, all summer. And like it.  At least, hopefully they'll like most of it.  I know these days are finite, I know they are precious.  I take none of it for granted.  And, despite the rough waters at times (that's life!) I am thoroughly enjoying the ride.  

With Chocolate and Kleenex

We have been s-ICK over here.  The last couple of weeks have been a toxic slurry of nose goo, coughs, fevers, and the dreaded pink eye.  "When can She go back to school?" I ask the doctor.  "How about when She stops looking like an extra in a zombie movie?" Ok then.
After a week and a half of un-planned vacation, we have stir-crazy children and a behind-at-work mama.  Luckily, the Sisters have come around in the last day or so, and my mom is here to save the day. (!) So Mister has a lot of love to soothe His oh-so-pitiful self, and we are determined to have a happy Valentine's Day.
Now, in the case that tomorrow I'm the next one hit (I hear that if you get slimed by a zombie, you turn into one), or in the case that we are all well and having too much Valentine fun to stop, or in the (most likely) case that I fall into a chocolate coma, here is a happy, happy Valentine wish for YOU from the Littles.
We may be far, I may not check in often enough, and we might not say it as much as we think it, but it IS true, Peanuts.

We love you.  

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.

One Fish, Two Fish

Little One recently developed a love of rabbits.  She asked for one for Christmas, and was valiantly thankful when She got one- that was plush and stuffed. "Fluffy" has become a favorite, but She still kept asking for a real bunny.  To be Her very own, to care for and love.
Soon Missy was drawn into pining for a pet, and their little hearts were just bleeding all over the place making a huge mess.  So J and I had a powwow; we needed a plan.
Soon after, I surprised the Sisters with a visit to the aquarium store.

We oohed and aahhed over all the exotic creatures, and then stopped and fell in love with the stand of vivid, flowy betta fish.  I pulled them aside and presented The Deal.
IF they earned all the money needed to buy the fish, AND all the stuff fishes need, and IF they promised to take care of the fish and understood that I really, seriously, no seriously, would take-the-fishes-right-back-where-they-came from-so-help-me in the case they weren't being taken care of, THEN they could have a fish.  Of their very, very own.  To be In Charge of, to love, to name, and to keep.
Well, Little One mused, it's not quite a bunny.  But still super great! We had a deal.
They patiently listened to the pet shop guy preach about all that would be needed to care for this menagerie of one.  We added up the cost.  And went home to the chore chart.

All of those flowers are responsibilities the Littles are expected to complete each and every day.  But in the little basket there are stars with extra chores they may do to earn money.  There are plenty of options, but since they have not yet figured out how to form a union, the wages for these tasks are quite low- a quarter to vacuum, 10 cents to polish the fingerprints off the chairs.  They did lots of extra chores to add to their piggy banks.

Chopping veggies

Working hard for the money

Mister wanted to help too

Baking brownies from a recipe.  All I did was put them in and out of the oven. And eat them.  I did lots of that.

Plus, they have both been hoarding money since forever.  They each spent some money at Christmas buying presents for each other and for Mister, but otherwise they've scrooged it up in their room every time they find a penny on the sidewalk or rake in cash from selling their old toys at a yard sale.

They also pooled their resources, both in terms of labor and cash, and decided to share a jar of fish food and water conditioner, to save on overhead. Wise financial planning.

Also, all my cheap ways have rubbed off on them. Rather than buy the pricey glass bowls and marbles at the fish store, they chose to shop for these supplies at the thrift store.  They carefully compared prices in the glass isle, and chose less expensive options.

So before we knew it, our little laborers had saved up all they needed.  They were just a little excited about reaching their goal.

Finally, the big day came.  The bowls and rocks were clean, filled, and temperature acclimated.  The pennies and nickels were counted and packed up.  When I got home from yoga class, the Sisters were at the window, and were jumping into their shoes and jackets before I got through the door.

We drove to the aquarium store and the Littles explained their purpose (by which I mean shouted it while jumping up and down giggling), and the manager was all about it.  He told them all about how wonderful they were, and gave them a veritable college course in betta-fish ownership.  They listened, they nodded.  They asked a few questions.  And then.  Drumroll please.

They got to pick out the perfect fish.  It took a good long time, but in the end they were certain they had chosen just the very exactly perfect, right fish for them.


Little One chose a robust and vivid blue fish with red underfins which swam and swirled quite like a peacock.  Blue like the ocean, She named it "Wave".

Missy selected a slender, docile, pale pink opalescent fish with a few purple spots.  She'd had the name ready a long time- "Smiley".

We've brought them home, released them from their dixie cups into their new, slightly larger habitats, and they have been quite doted upon already.

Smiley and Wave have joined us at the dinner table, they've been shown countless drawings made just for them, they have been sung to and talked to and cooed at.  They are each read bedtime stories by their new girl, and placed on the bedside table to "almost cuddle" through the night.

It will be very interesting to see how these relationships play out.  For now though, I'm happy to think that some message about work ethics and economics must have filtered in through the excitement, I'm happy to have had so much laundry sorted for me, and I must admit they are pretty and fun to watch.  Mister and I spent half an hour sitting together today, peacefully eating banana slices and watching them swirl.
Of course, part of that time I was thinking, "What are we doing all I need is another two creatures to keep alive around here".  But after laying in bed this morning, listening to Missy croon love songs to Smiley, and after Little One whizzed through Her homework yesterday with Wave's "help", I confess it's true.  The more, the merrier!

Presentation Is Everything

When you have a toddler (which, unimaginably, I do now), people are always asking if He's a picky eater. So far I've just laughed- far from it!  Mister has been happy to eat anything.  Everything.  He's taken to signing "food" at random people.  "You finishing that? " At a New Years party, He sauntered up to a lady on the couch, picked up her fork, and helped Himself.
He continues to be amenable to any food.  But.  Whether He will happily eat it, or fling it on the floor, depends entirely on how it is served.
Cheerios and raisins are apparently finger-food.  Those can be served plain on a plate and He will eat them. Fine.  Steamed carrots? Yeah-no.  Fling on the ground.  Steamed carrots on a plate, with a fork? Hmm.  Maybe, maybe...no.  Fling on ground.  Carrots on the end of a fork held by a loving adult? BIG no.  No way.  FLING ON GROUND!
Same exact steamed carrots, with a fork, with one bite already on the fork, waiting, now we have a deal. He will eat them all.
Oatmeal from a spoon in my hand is destined for the wall.  Oatmeal with a spoon in His hand is destined for (the front of His shirt and) His mouth.
Peas, conversely, in a bowl with a spoon are going to be poured over the side of the high-chair.  Take that, peas!  Peas spread out on a plate (not in a pile), are a delicacy and will be devoured.
Milk is chugged from a bottle, hurled with epithets in a straw-cup.
Water is shunned in a bottle, sipped happily from a straw-cup.
Bananas are only good served whole, to chomp like a monkey.
The rules are exacting, nonsensical, and prone to change without notice.
This guy, I tell you. It's like a dictator! It's like a spoiled rock star!  It's almost like dealing with a... a... toddler.  

The Little In Mister

When we rock in the chair before bedtime, Little Mister likes me to hold my hand up, outstretched, so He can press His little fist into my palm.  I curl my fingers around His hand, closing it in.  He signs and coos, His eyes flutter shut.  He finds it somehow comforting, to have His hand held in mine, like that.

Every time, I know, His hand takes up a little more space in mine.  One day soon, I won't be able to close my fingers all the way around it.  Some day, His hand will be able to encircle my own.  

It's a distinctive strangeness, mothering this boy, to know that He will grow into a man.  That He will with some certainty become much bigger and stronger than I am.  How amazing to consider that, as I cradle Him so tiny, so fragile in the crook of my arm.  

Of course all my children will some day surpass me in strength, as I age, but this one will likely get there first, and while I still feel strong myself.  While I still feel that I am his protectress, His shelter.   

I think of my mother, caring for her father now.  I think of how one day, I will need my children to look after me.  To protect me, to lift me, to hold my hand.  

Sleepy Summer Snuggler

It is such a beautiful thing, this cyclical nature of life and loving. It is, if we are lucky enough for it to work the way it seems meant to.  When I reflect, I am hopeful and thankful in this future dependence on my children.  But for now, it seems so far away.  While I hear the racing of time along life's track, coming at me like a locomotive, I close my eyes.  I drown out the sound with a gentle lullaby.  I  hold His hand, close to my heart, and savor the little while it fits in mine.  

Little Mister One-Year-Old

Busy as things have been, I have utterly neglected to do birthday posts about Mister the last couple of months- including the biggest baddest birthday post of all!
That's right, Little Mister completed His first trip around the sun, and has kept blasting through since then.
It's so hard to believe it was a whole year ago that he arrived. 14 hours of stagnant labor and then BOOM! Baby.  But it was, and it turns out that is still His style.
After several months of cruising around the sofa without any interest in letting go, He took His first step at His birthday party.  He'd happily grace us with one, *one* step any time after that, but didn't seem to have any ideas about bipedal ambulation whatsoever.
Until last week, when we were playing together in the living room.  I was holding Him up by His hands, singing, and He let go to clap.  And didn't fall.  He balanced there, and a light went on in His eyes.  I didn't say a word, I just smiled and held my breath.  I held my arms out and He took one, two, three-four steps into my hug, and we cheered.  Then He pulled up again, let go, grinned at me, and then slowly, carefully, turned around- balance!- took a step- teeter...teeter...balance!- took a breath, and walked across the whole room.
And just like that, we have a walker. Boom.
And a climber.  As suddenly as He figured out walking, Mister became the stair master.  And also can ascend ladders and the slide, stack things to climb them and reach the sofa (or something dangerous), and open the drawers of the china cabinet and climb those to reach the glass doors and bang on them, looking probably for something dangerous.
He seems to be a danger-seeking missile, streaking through the world in search of whatever will terrify me the most.  He knows if the bathroom door is open.  By baby ESP.  He beelines for the toilet water.  (shudder).  He can pry the covers off of some of the outlets.  He goes right over the edge of things like a happy little lemming.  On Christmas, He figured out the child latch on the kitchen sink, busted in, and got a nice bite of dishwasher-detergent before I got to Him.  What's a holiday without calling poison control anyways?  He was very proud of Himself.
But Mister has accomplished all sorts of things since that last birthday post an eon ago.  He has arrived at a state of consciousness in which He is watching, listening, learning a mile a minute.  He understands what we are saying and, wonderfully, we are starting to understand Him too.
He has His words, nothing new so much as a more grown-up clarity.  "Ah-da" has become a true "All done",  "Da!Da!Da!Da!" is a concise "Do-g".  Common phrases we use are starting to take shape, the proper consonants are not there, but the vowels and the intonation mimic us so closely that I'm starting to know what He means.
Baby sign language, which has been fun for awhile now, has become a richly useful tool, saving us I'm sure from many potential whimpers and whines.  He now knows to not only recognize them when we use them, but to use them Himself to achieve things.  When He's hungry, He doesn't cry.  He pulls at our leg, grins and signs "food".  When He's wet, He signs for "change-change" instead of fussing. He is FINALLY, starting to tell us "all done" BEFORE making it clear by dumping all of His leftovers onto the floor. When He wants His sister's water cup, He points and signs "drink", and His adoring sister unfailingly hands it over, cooing all over Him about how smart He is and how sweet He is to want to share.
Yep.  He has them that wrapped around His chubby little finger.  Little Mister thinks His Sisters are the most wonderful people on the planet, and they more than return the sentiment.  I'm not sure any baby in the history of ever has been doted on like this one.
Now that He's big enough to be into everything, I had some expectations that His perfection in their eyes may begin to tarnish.  Not yet.  When He smashes their lego castles, they look briefly devastated and then say, "Yay, Mister! You sure crashed that tower right down! Want me build you 'nother one to crash?"  He claps and they are putty in His hands.  It's fun for me to sit by and watch not just the Sisters playing together, but all three of them now, zooming trains around the floor, stacking blocks, banging on instruments and making 'music'.  
Suddenly, I don't have two kids and a baby.  I have three kids.
This might be totally terrifying, if Little Mister weren't so unnaturally easygoing.
But He is.  He's happy as a lark to be played with, talked to, visited by anyone, hauled around wherever you want to go.  He's fine and dandy being left utterly to His own devices, to go bang on things and push them around the floor going "vvrrrrrrmmmmm" all day.  He eats everything, naps like a dream, and only bothers me sometimes at night.  And it's only because He wants a cuddle.
He has grown to really, really love a cuddle.
For a brief while, I was shocked to find my easy baby diverging from His even temperament to pitch little fits at the silliest times.  Until I realized the problem was that, other than the cuddles, He is just about over being a baby.  He wants to know everything, to do everything. By. Him. Self.
Once I got that memo, he went back to being the happiest little thing ever.
He no longer fusses in His highchair and bats away His food.  Because now I set down the bowl and the spoon or fork, and He feeds Himself.  It's actually less messy than it was trying to feed Him and getting steamed kale catapulted all over the dining room.  It turns out He likes the kale just fine (and anything else under the sun), so long as He puts in in His mouth Himself.  
He no longer writhes and hollers on the changing table, either.  Now I hold out the arm hole and say, "ok, get dressed", and He grins and carefully puts His arm through.  Now He helps fasten His own diaper, smiling and proudly signing "change" when it's done.  I set His pants out in front of Him and He steps in, one foot.  Then the other.  We pull them up together.
He doesn't cry at nap time anymore, either.  It wasn't the impending nap He objected to; He just wants to put on His own sleeper, to choose the story Himself from the shelf.
He doesn't mind my taking His toys away when it's time to go, just so long as I point to where they go, say "let's clean up", and leave Him alone to put them away Himself.  And He does.
He had hated my cooking or doing dishes, whimpering at my feet.  Now I let Him stand on the little ladder the girls use to help me, and let Him stir, help pour, wipe the sponge maniacally all over the counter, or splash in the water while I wash dishes.  He just wants to help.
Life takes more time, but it goes more smoothly.  And really, I'm too impressed with Him to be annoyed.  Maybe because He is the littlest of my Littles, I still see Him as a baby and am surprised each time He shows me something new He can do on His own.  There seems to be something else each day!

Favorites:

His fave toy was given to him by our neighbor, who also happens to be His pediatrician.  It is a wooden box with a hole in the top, and a xylophone on the bottom.  He sets a ball over the hole, bangs it with a little hammer until it falls through and rolls down the xylophone, making a lovely sound.  Repeat. Repeat.  Repeat forever.

He loves banging all things, really.  Especially with hammers.

He likes to take things apart, and try to put them together again.  To dump things out, then put them away again.  Except the kitchen cupboards.  That stuff He never puts away.

He likes to push stuff around.  Trucks, cars, trains, duplos, doll strollers, wagons.  His Sister's dress-up shoes seem to be a favorite.  Apparently, high-heels with pink fluff on top go "vvvrrrrrrrmmmmmm" when they slide across the floor.

He likes books so long as He selects them and gets to turn all the pages.

He loves the toy airplane ride-on and the tree blocks He got from grandparents for Christmas.

He likes to swing, to slide, to ride the merry-go-round.

He still LOVES water and His bath.

He still LOVES pat-a-cake and will play it with anyone, anytime, and sometimes with Himself.

He likes food.  All the food.  His favorite food is everything.  Are you going to finish that?  His favorite food is what you're having.

He loves music.  With passion.  With dancing, with clapping, with sounds of glee.

He loves dogs, especially ours, and children, especially ours.

And, ok.  He likes practically everything.

I tried to think of a list of things He doesn't like and really....I got nuthin'.

He's just a happy guy.

I already miss His babyhood.  I feel like I have slowed down to soak in it, to deeply appreciate it. Extra, because His Sisters have shown me how fast it flies, extra because who knows if it's my last, extra because He happened to be a baby during such an eventful, tumultuous time for our family, and so the minutes seemed to evaporate the moment they were born.
As much as I savored it, it slipped by so quickly all the same.  But as much as I miss having a baby, I am daily more aware of how lucky it is that at any age I will always have this Little Mister, this fabulous person, around in our lives.  Like a little rolling ball of fire; slightly destructive, but full of warmth and light.
Looking ahead to Little Boy Mister, I am just so excited about watching Him grow and learn and become.  He is a true joy to parent, and I don't think any of us could tell you how on earth we got along without Him before last year.
Happy birthday to my little ball of fire, my son-shine, my Mister.  We love you so. 

Halloween Tricks and Treats

Our Sisters had the idea of being the Frozen Sisters for Halloween the first time they watched the movie, back in the summer sometime.  They are obviously not the only ones to be struck by this particular inspiration, but they were so excited about it (mainly about Mister filling the role of Olaf) that even though I prefer not to get characters involved in Halloween,  I couldn't say no.  Plus, then they got their Nana involved, and after that it was just out of my hands, guys.  
And into her very talented ones.  My mom whipped up all three costumes from nothing in a couple of weeks!  Complete with capes, appliquéd flowers, and embroidered snowflakes. So, while their theme may not have been unique, their costumes certainly were.  
Thanks Nana! Now.  When it comes to those characters, my Sisters faced an existential dilemma that had them debating for weeks.  Who is which sister??? On the one hand, they reasoned, Little One is the eldest, so She should be Elsa, and Missy Anna.  BUT then again!  Missy has the blonde Elsa hair (an all-important aspect of Disney identity, you know), and Little One has Anna hair.  
Problems. 

Almighty Nana solved this crisis for us, by sizing the dresses such that both Sisters could fit into either.  And they worked out amongst themselves how to trade off. 

Little One got to be Elsa for Her school parade and party.  

Miss and Mister came to cheer Her on, and got to join in the class party as well. 

 Little One's favorite part of it all was getting to have Her sister sit next to Her at Her desk. 

 They had snacks, played bingo, and helped me lead the class in some crafts, which was a lot of fun. 

 Another parent had brought candy corn for the bingo game, and had tried three stores to find a version (which I did not know existed) that was allergy safe for Little One. When the mom told Her, Her face lit up like fireworks, and Her teacher exclaimed, "it's a Halloween Miracle!"

Little One also played Elsa at a Halloween party, and this time Missy dressed up too. 

Little Olaf stayed home to nap, but the Royal Sisters had a ton of fun, especially after the party, when they discovered a huge leaf pile.  Lots of kids got involved. And ok.  So did I.  Who could help jumping in a leaf pile on a perfect autumn day?!  We came home bedraggled, but it was worth it.

When it was time for the costume parade at pre-school, Little Miss chose to be Elsa.  

She must have been pretty in-tune with those ice powers, because it was a very chilly parade.  Luckily, Olaf was toasty in that snowsuit, Little One huddled in Her cloak, and Elsa was so proud to be showing off Her own school event, that the cold never bothered Her anyway.  

In the deal brokered between Sisters, Missy also got to wear blue for the Halloween-day party and actual trick-or-treating.  Our neighborhood has this strange cosmic phenomenon of providing residence to quite a few sets of sisters the exact age of Little One and Miss.  So we got some of the pairs together to run wild and dress up together before the party.  The giggles could be heard for miles, I am sure.  

Mister courageously survived as the sole representative of His gender.  

Then we all struck out for tricks and treats.  J joined us, even though He was coming off a 30 hour shift.  Actually it worked out for him; he was a totally believable zombie.  

We walked to a neighborhood famed for it's Halloween spirit.  The police even close off the street, knowing that scores of tiny costumed monsters come to beg for candy and ogle the amazing decorations.  

It was a little busy, but a lot of fun.  Everyone was in an excited spirit, we ran into lots of friends, and the setting was really cool.  One house had transformed itself into a diorama from Harry Potter, one was a haunted castle, there were graveyards, haunted houses, and yards full of costumed actors.  

Pirate tales and treasures

A "produce stand" on the street filled with dragons tails, newts eyes, and the like

Grumpy trolls 

20 foot ghouls behind me!

Someone, somehow, had even gone into the storm drain under the street and set up an entire ghoulish scene, with lights and music, for kids to peek down and exclaim over.  There were fog machines, lights, music, and of course, candy.  Our gaggle of girls had a blast.  Olaf took it all in from the cozy stroller with eyes that were as wide as saucers.  Until they fell asleep.  

Not long after that, we walked back towards home.  Zombie J and Olaf called it a night, and the Princesses and I trick-or-treated around our own neighborhood before heading home to divide the candy.  

This year we bought allergy-safe candy to hand out, and let Little One trade in Her chocolate for treats from our dish.  It was like a magic trick for me- we started with this extra pile of lollipops and such, and by morning had a whole bowl of chocolate.  Another Halloween miracle! 

You know.  Halloween has never been my favorite holiday. The macabre element of it is so far from my thing, it belongs in the netherworld from which it supposedly comes.  I don't like teaching my kids its ok to take candy from strangers, and I don't like them to consume loads of refined, artificially flavored sugar.  

But this year, I think I made friends with the holiday.  As we travelled door to door, greeting neighbors we knew and meeting some we didn't, I saw a different side of this tradition.  I guess it's not really about taking candy from strangers; it's about this one night in a year when our culture breaks down the barriers that make us strangers.  Door after door opened in the dark to give warm words and token treats to my little kids.  At door after door, my Littles met smiling faces, smiled back, and practiced their please-and-thank-yous.
Looking down the street and seeing a line of porch lights and flickering pumpkins, watching the doors open and the children walking in and out, weaving the porches together with their steps, it felt less like a row of self-contained homes, and more like a community.
It's always a treat to watch your children lose themselves to the magic of innocent fun.  But for me to really appreciate the tradition of this holiday, seeing the sweetness beyond the candy, was the trick.