Blog Break

The other day i was looking for a photo which I only have here on this blog.  To my surprise, it wasn't there.  I've realized that none of my photos from this blog are there before 2011.  They're gone.  Since this has been sort of my family scrapbook, I'm sad. :(  See.  Sad face.
And in the course of trying to figure out what's gone wrong and whether I can fix it, there's been some suggestion that I might have maxed out my photo memory (didn't know I could do that).  So, now I'm all afraid to post anything, lest it bump something else off.
While I try to sort out the issue, I'll be taking a break.  Hopefully to return soon.  And if any of you know how to perform internet miracles, please send some divine intervention my way.  

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.

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!" 

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!

The Selflessness of Selfishness

A couple of months ago, I was having a rough night.  I was shuffling around.   J was working night shift, I was home with three fussy kids, all with colds.  The Littles were finishing up dinner, I was at the stove.  I was getting more for someone?  I was starting to clean up? I don't remember.
What I remember is a sudden shooting pain, from my heels my shoulders.  Like lightning.  Like fire.
I went rigid, I drew a sharp breath.  And then, I had no legs.  They were gone.  It felt as though someone had actually pulled them out from beneath me; they simply were not there.
Without legs to stand on, I fell.  I tried to catch myself on the edge of the stove, but I wasn't strong enough.  I crumpled to the floor, took a moment to get my bearings, and was shocked to find that I still had no legs.
The Sisters could see me from the dining room; they were asking if I was all right, if I fell down.
I was telling them I was ok, I'll be there in a minute, and my voice sounded strange in my own ears.  Disassociated from me, like the lower half of my body.
I stayed there awhile. 10 minutes that felt like hours. Finally, I was able to grab onto the bar of the oven door, and pull myself up.
I was able to shuffle into the bathroom and turn on the water.  I got Mister into the tub.  But it was hard; it was very hard.  I carried Him from the high chair to the tub on Faith. I carried him inches at a time, with great effort, telling myself all the way- my legs are there; I see them.  I can do this; I'm fine.  I put Him in the bath.  I could tell now, that my legs were not gone.
But my legs and my back felt strange.  Weak and heavy, sort of transparent. My arms began to feel heavy, like I was lifting them through thick mud instead of air.  I tried to pick Mr up out of the tub and found that I couldn't.  I just could not.  I may as well have been trying to lift the house itself.
It wasn't because it hurt, I just couldn't make my arms lift Him.  I began panic.  But what about my kids?  Because they were watching, I didn't get hysterical.  Because there were there, depending on me, I didn't have the luxury of that.
So instead, they got a very, very long bath.
I waited.  Eventually, with my direction, Little One was able to get Mr into my lap, where he held onto my neck like a little monkey. From there I stood up and was able to get Him to the changing table, put Him to bed.  Because they are so independent now, I was able to get the Sisters into bed, and then I laid down too.
By the morning,  I was as good as I had been before the lighting at the stove.
Which was really only kind of ok, actually.  I'd been having numbness in my feet and hands for weeks.  So much so that once I'd been holding my flat iron with my finger on the plate and not noticed until I smelled burning skin.  So much that I'd gone out and bought flat shoes because I could no longer balance in my heels.  I stopped going to yoga because I kept falling down. So I went to a doctor.  I had bloodwork, MRIs, lots of tests.
It turns out I was lucky.  I apparently had Guillon-barre syndrome; a problem in which the immune system reacts to a mild illness by attacking the cells of the nervous system.  Only a third of people who get this remain able to walk at all.  Many people become totally paralyzed; in some even their heart and lungs stop.  I had a really mild case, and the best thing about this syndrome compared to other things I was tested for, is that (as long as you don't die), it goes away.
It can take a long time, I'm told, for nerve cells to heal.  But they almost always do, eventually, heal. I'm already a whole lot better.  I still have some numbness and tingling in my hands and feet; I still cannot feel my big toes even if you were to stick a needle in them, even if you put them in ice.  But I will, in time.
Looking back now I feel stupid.  All those weeks of struggling to braid the girls' hair, of dropping everything, of straining to walk the kids to school, before even making an appointment to see my doctor.  I think of that night at the stove and am horrified.  It could have become so much worse than it did- it's incredibly lucky that it didn't- why on earth did I not call for help?  What if it had become worse- and my kids were there alone in the bath.  
The thing is.  At the time, I wasn't so much worried about the problems I was having as I was ashamed of them.  With my new job, J's residency hours, the kids' new schools, and getting used to a new home, I was stressed out and missing a lot of sleep.  I would stumble or drop something and think, "wow, I am just really not handling things very well".  I was disappointed in myself for not being able to pull myself together.  I just needed to try harder, to manage time better and get more rest. The night I couldn't lift Mister from the tub I was scared.  But more than that, I was angry at myself for being so weak.  For making such a big deal out of a strained muscle or something, for not being able to make myself push through it and look after my kids.
As a mother, the primacy of caring for your children can become so overwhelming that you start to forget yourself. You stop being able to see yourself as a person, start to forget that you need things. As your focus shifts to the people who need you, it's easy to feel less human and more like the machine that keeps the conveyor belt of life rolling.  How many times have I packed well-balanced, allergy-safe, carefully planned-out snacks for three kids for an all day excursion- and not even thought of bringing an apple for myself?  How many times have I insisted J take a nap after a long shift- yet after staying up all night with sick or fussy kids, when have I ever asked for a nap? I have cancelled lots of plans and pushed plenty of deadlines because someone was sick or tired and needed to be in bed- but I've never skipped gymnastics practice, story time, or field trips because I had a fever or headache.  Machines are not supposed to take sick days, or naps, or even bathroom breaks.
Usually, it's not my line to complain about those facts.  I believe that parenting requires sacrifice and prioritizing my kids needs over my own, and I'm good with that.  I don't resent anyone when we are in our sixth hour of Smithsonian museums and I'm starving while the kids munch organic apples dipped in home-made soy-yogurt.  It's no one's fault.
But mine.  Because sacrifice implies that you are giving something up for the good of others.  Prioritizing kids means doing the best thing for them.  Is it really for their good, is it really what's best for them, if I get hungry or exhausted and can't quite be at my best?  Or if I get sick and sicker and end up unable to get my baby out of a bath tub?
This whole experience has left me feeling extremely fortunate.  Because it wasn't bad enough to have caused any permanent damage.  But it was bad enough to shock me into reassessing the way I see myself, and into realizing that the way I take care of myself directly and profoundly impacts my ability to take care of everyone else.  Sometimes toughing it out and ignoring yourself to be there for others isn't brave or valiant or generous.  It's just stupid.
As I recover from that bizarre episode, I feel a lot like Mister, discovering the joy of movement and abilities.  I go to yoga and I'm grinning through the poses that burn- because I can do it without falling over!  I put on my old shoes and do a little dance in them.  Because I can! Everything seems like so much fun; things I had taken for granted are significant again. I'm practicing french-braiding the Sisters hair, I'm mending things by hand, I'm cutting stuff out with scissors.  And.
I'm eating breakfast, even if we will be a little late for school.  I'm locking the bathroom door.  And today (after tucking in two post-scary-dream Littles and soothing one who bumped His head in the middle of the night) even though the kitchen was messy and there was work to do, when Mister took a nap, I did too.  It may seem strange, but for my New Year's Resolution, I'm going to try to take better care of my family- by being a little more selfish.

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.  

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.  

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.  

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."

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. 

I'm Over Here

Hi guys!
It's Me! C!  Remember me?!
ME EITHER.

Last summer, I was cruising down my path in life.  You know, just going along, hitting occasional bumps, getting into ruts and out of them, going down hills and up hills, enjoying the ride.  When suddenly there was this little side path that just popped up out of nowhere.

It wasn't on like, my highlighted map or my GPS travel plan or anything.  But there it was, and I had to decide fast! So I slammed on the brakes and cranked the steering wheel as far as it would go, and spun out and fishtailed and skidded onto it.  And just kept going.

It's been quite a ride.  Until now, I truly have not been able to take both hands off the wheel long enough to type a single thing.

What happened was that I started working.  I have been so lucky to be able to stay home with my kids, and I had hoped and planned that I would always be able to do that while they are little.  But this opportunity came up that I couldn't pass by.

I have been volunteering for Artists For Charity for 8 years now.  It is a cause so dear to my heart.  And it's personal; I've met the kids.  They've taken care of MY kids.  I believe so wholeheartedly in what this organization does and the way they do it.  So when the opportunity came up to be a bigger part of that, I had to take it!

It's great, because I am able to work almost completely from home, determine my own schedule, and work pretty flexible hours.  So I still get to take care of all the Littles myself; no need for child care or babysitters, and I still get to be there for the tea parties, the first words, the fevers.  It's a dream come true, in so many ways.

The other side of it is that the line between "I'm working here" and "I'm living here" can get pretty blurry.  There are no hours that I'm not at work, but also no hours that I'm not at mommy-ing.  So I'm still working out the balance.

Add to this that I happened to jump in right at the absolute busiest, most crazy, chaotic time of year for the AFC team here- right before our big benefit that funds the whole operation.  And to really make it crazy we had two big benefits for the first time this year, on back-to-back Saturdays, one in NYC and one in DC (whose crazy idea was that?!)  Add to that J working over 90 hours a week as a resident, and me stubbornly refusing to miss PTA meetings or skip planning birthday parties, and I'm basically a hot mess.

My mom once described her years as a single, working mother as being on a runaway steam engine, just blasting through time.  I have thought of that metaphor so many times the last four months.  I get it mom, I totally do.

There have been times I've wondered whether it was the right choice.  Times I've been sure it wasn't.  Times when I thought that if I didn't get some sleep soon I might actually, seriously, spontaneously combust.  Mom-guilt and sleep deprivation are a toxic combination, Peanuts.  DON'T DRINK IT.

But.  The two events (which sound all small and cute when I say it like that, as if they can't possibly have dominated my entire life for three months) are now over.  They went well, thank goodness, and so I can go forward in the new year knowing that the AFC kids are going to be ok.  They are going to keep their home, their schools, their doctors.  I can take a deep breath, a step back, and start again working towards this goal of creating balance.  (Any of you have that? Care to share your secrets?!)

Also, my in-laws were here for a week, which helped a lot. Helpful, lovable in-laws are a luxury in life, and a blessing.  My mom, bless her, arrived at the height of the crazy and scooped up my Littles, made some lasagna, folded the laundry, and let me take a nap.  She'll be here a few more days, at which point I haven't decided whether chain her to something in my house, or zip my family into one of her suitcases.  And J, who has much more than I do to deal with right now, has nonetheless pulled through for me and been the most supportive and helpful person ever, as always. He even came and volunteered at the benefit, he even unloaded the truck the next day.  After making breakfast.

So while I'm still driving in unfamiliar territory, without a map, I think I've cleared the switchbacks and am headed for a simpler stretch.  Most importantly, and so luckily, I'm not driving solo.  Hopefully I'll be able to stop in here more often now, so you can come along, too.
 First- Hot shower.  Cookies.  Sleep.

And please, I have to ask, go check out the charity.  I wouldn't be getting up this early and working this hard if it wasn't that important.

Mary Had A Little Lamb

Mary had a little lamb. But Missy has a little dog.
Well.  Not that little, really, at 50 pounds, but Her dog seems to have other things in common with Mary's lamb.  Like being soft and fuzzy.  And wanting to follow his mistress to school.
We are lucky enough to live within walking distance of both Sister's schools.  Today Miss and I had dropped Little One off and were heading to preschool, when we were surprised at being charged by a big brown dog.  Who happened to be ours.
I told him to go home, at which he looked surprised, but turned to obey.  I watched him run across a green space and up a hill, where he made a valiant effort to get back into our yard through the hole he had dug under the fence.  He tried, but could't wriggle in.
So he just looked at me helplessly, a little guiltily, until I sighed.  "Ok then, X.  Come on."
He bounded over like he had just won christmas.
Little Miss, who had been complaining of the cold, of her feet being tired, of "please-carry-me-I-need-be-unner-yoh-ja-cket" was suddenly and miraculously cured of Her ills.
We backtracked a block to pick up his leash, and then he followed us to school.

X has never been a runner.  He is the dog who, as a puppy, stayed in our front courtyard during the day.  One day, a parcel deliveryman left the front gate open while J and I were at work- all day. When we finally got home, there was X, wagging his tail on the doormat.

There have been times he has jumped fenced before.  Always to get to the front door, where he waits expectantly to be invited inside, where he knows he belongs.

Until he developed a serious grouchiness with other dogs in his middle age, we never even bothered walking him on a leash.  He likes to be near his people.

The great tragedy of X's life was Little One's asthma.  Little One is allergic to dogs (of course).  A lick in the face gives Her a swollen eye that could compete with a bar fight injury.  She does pet and cuddle Her doggies, but always at the price of sneezing, wheezing, itching, and hives.  Dog time is always followed by wash time.
When She was three, She began to have serious trouble with asthma.  It was the dogs.
Numerous doctors have told us, in no uncertain terms, to "get rid of them".  But we couldn't.  Just couldn't.  So we tried everything; we restricted them to one part of the house, away from Little One's room.  We shaved their fur and bathed them every week, washed their beds every few days, vacuumed the house twice a day, and had HEPA filters all over the house.  Little One took a daily inhaler and a daily allergy medicine.
She was still needing Her rescue inhaler a couple of times a week.
So with heavy hearts, we built them a dog house in the back yard.  Within two weeks, Little One stopped having asthma attacks.  Soon She didn't need any of those medicines.  We couldn't argue with that.
So X and E became something none of us ever expected- outside dogs.  In Virginia they had reign over the yard and garage, but this house has no garage.  There is a storage room in the basement, and when we moved in it became the "dog room" for them to sleep in at night or during bad weather.
But just a few weeks in, Little One began having breathing trouble again.  Just having the dogs walk through Her playroom twice a day to get in and out was enough to affect Her health.
So we have converted the shed in the back into a behemoth dog house.  We fitted it with a dog-door, and they have their beds, their bones, their basket of toys in there.  They will have heated pads to curl up in when the weather gets cold.  But we still miss each other.
With the all-consuming life of babies and toddlers, we are sure they have felt quite neglected for some time.  But we've found a new turn of events now that the Sisters are six and three-and-a-half.
The dogs still don't get anywhere as much attention from me and J as they did before their banishment.  But, like all siblings in large families, they now get it from the other kiddos.
Miss and Little One play with them in the yard, throwing things for them, running with them, playing around and cuddling them.  They are now old enough to walk the dogs, holding the leashes themselves while I hold Mr, making their attendance possible on family strolls.  They seem to be reintegrating into the family in a new way, and the bond between the dogs and the children is pretty sweet to see.

It's why our otherwise well-behaved, never-been-a-runner dog X plotted an escape- to walk his girl to school.  It's why he greeted Miss first when he ran up to us.  And why he wagged his tail all the way to drop off- and whimpered all the way home.
Yesterday, Little Miss spent two hours in the back yard mixing mud and decorating a beautiful, elaborate "cake" for X, to celebrate his tenth birthday.

It's hard to believe it's been a decade since I held a tiny flop-eared puppy on my shoulder and whispered him a promise that I was taking him out of that county shelter and would take care of him forever.

Looking back over those years, I remember how he stood guard at my bedroom door every night when I was pregnant with Little One.  I remember how he herded her into the room with us when she was toddling around, how he he loved going down the slide with both girls at the playground and letting the neighborhood kids throw sticks for him or mob him to wash him together in the summers. I remember that time a foster puppy got out and I could not catch her- then I let X out and he rounded her up and shepherded her home.

X with the foster puppy he rescued

 
 There have been times I've watched a Little lean into his fur and cry quietly, and know that it helped them because I've done the same.  I remember the time all the houses on our row of town homes got robbed one night- except ours.  The time when J was deployed that he and E barked so ferociously in the middle of the night, and then the police knocked to tell me that a neighbor had seen a man trying to break in- who didn't.  I realize that while I've kept my promise to feed and shelter him, maybe he's the one who has taken care of me.
On the tenth birthday of the member of our family who was sort of our first baby, I maybe should have scolded my dog for digging a hole under the fence and wriggling through to chase us to school.  But I can't help thinking that he wasn't doing something wrong, so much as righting a wrong.  After all, he ended up right where he should be.
By our side.

 

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'.

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.